#I am a rabid creature for languages | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finalshaper · 5 months

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i have gone to face the beast and to drivel at his feast,

may the two of us never be seen.

and my love, may you sleep as the oceans fall deep,

and i swear i won’t tell you where I’ve been.

—

the onceler guy

cayde/saint/vex/voryn

he/it/xe/rok. please do not use they/them pronouns to refer to me. I default to he/him and it/its. Reference the information below the cut for how to utilize my neopronouns properly.

weird queer. the t4t butch bear my-agab-is-none-of-your-business fagdyke they use as an example of how not to be queer. It’s me I’m the strawman. Local goth guy, resident metal dude. Both doesn’t give a fuck and very much does give a fuck about your feelings and thoughts about things, absorbs things like a sponge as a result. Overthinker and overnanalyzer extreme. Big asshole (subjective?). Indigenous.

I may occasionally reblog things that are suggestive, follow/scroll at your own discretion. I will not post explicit cock-out nsfw, I have a sideblog for that. The only exemption to this is non-sexual nudity.

Personal/other sideblog @cayde6feetunder. This is my fandom main blog therefore I follow from here.

rabid machine-animal-demon-monster thing. The Sol Divisive in a physical human-shaped body on Earth. An Ahamkara free from the restraints of mere story. Local batshit dark elf boy. Some sort of creature. Unironic kinnie/alterhuman/etc in 2024 (if it isn’t obvious).

disabled+mentally ill

I am anti-Zionist and pro-Palestine. This does not equate to antisemitism. This is not up for debate nor do I want to debate this because I don’t engage with those “debate me bro” types. Cry me a river and feel free to drown yourself in it too, I don’t want to hear it. I am not responsible for your lack of education or unwillingness to re-educate yourself.

writer. oc haver. feel free to ask me about them, here's my spreadsheet! Tumblr and the destiny community’s most blocked sweetiepie (for having correct opinions and a juicy ass). The guy who promises to write things but then never does it.

Hey I have a discord server too, anyone is welcome even tho a majority of the people there are destiny guys. We are pretty tightly knit but don’t mind newcomers to our fold.

please reference my pronouns page (first link) and the google doc linked therein (first link on pronouns page) for additional information. Such details will also be included here below the cut for convenience, albeit more specific to Tumblr.

Neopronouns

Xe/xem

Examples taken from the samples on the pronouns page:

I think xe is very nice.

I asked xem if I can borrow xirs pencil.

Xe told me that the house is xirs.

Xe said that xe would rather do it xemself.

The subject pronoun is “xe.” The object pronoun is “xem.” The possessive determiner and possessive pronoun is “xirs.” The reflexive is “xemself.”

Rok/ok

Once more, examples taken from the samples on the pronouns page. This pronoun is taken from the dragon language present in The Elder Scrolls and therefore might be more appropriately suited for it than any other language. thuum.org is a great reference tool.

I think rok is very nice.

I asked rok if I can borrow ok pencil.

Rok told me that the house is ok.

Rok said that rok would rather do it rok.

The subject pronoun is “rok.” The object pronoun is “rok.” The possessive determiner and possessive pronoun is “ok.” The reflexive is “rok.”

Additional Information

Here I will detail some other key miscellaneous bullet points. I maintain a neutral yet punctual tone through this but since this is through text, prior apologizes if I come across as aggressive.

I do not have a DNI as I am to the belief that they’re useless but know that if I block you it’s for a reason.

Do not tone police me. I don’t need to be made to walk on eggshells anymore by anyone. If you need clarifications, ask me. Do not ever make hard and fast assumptions about anything unless you’re willing to bet on that high-stakes gamble that you also gotta be ready to lose severely. Thank you.

This blog is not a place for drama or discourse. Please don’t start shit with me. Please don’t drag me into shit. Tell me the gossip but do not expect me to get involved or mediate.

If you want to vent to me about something, feel free, but please ask me first. I am low-to-no empathy, but I would like to consider myself compassionate.

Do not harass anyone on my behalf in any and every capacity. You are not righteous. Keep my name out of your mouth.

Do not pester me as to why I blocked you or someone else. I block people liberally and for various reasons. Do not send anyone to pester me as to why I blocked you or someone else. It is most likely between me and the other person involved, or, again, because I block people liberally.

I am anti-pro/comship. No, this does not equate to harassment/doxxing/etc in any way, shape or form and if you are to that assumption not only is it incorrect and not only are those serious accusations, you are on a one-way flight to my blocklist. Me being antiship does not mean that I am anti-dark media. Do not bother me about it. There are way fucking bigger things to worry about in this world.

I am an inclusionist. This means that I support any and every harmless, good-faith identity I.E microlabels, contradictory labels, xenogenders and neopronouns, etc etc. It is not to be confused for radical inclusionism (which, encompasses “identities” that are far from harmless I.E MAP or zoo).

I fucking hate radfems/terfs/TIRFs, if you’re gonna send me anon hate about it and accuse me of being a transphobe in any form over it you are legally required to be funny or you’re just wasting both of our times and it will most likely be deleted anyways cos I don’t have time for that shit. Above all else I believe in the unity of all trans people and will not stand for anyone or anything that will threaten this unity such as general transphobia/(insert any other specific terminology here), radfeminism/terfism et-cetera. If this is something that you are for some reason against you will not have a place here.

I am a therian and I identify with alterhumanity and non-humanity. Do not be weird about it.

I welcome asks and messages! Go crazy.

I only bite in the way that two play-wrestling dogs do.

Please communicate to me about anything and everything. I don’t bite, I would be a hypocrite if I do.

Discord and other usernames are available on request.

(Galaxy divider source)

#caydeposting #song lyrics is werewolf’s eyes by birch book

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oh-katsuki · 6 months

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omg callie pie i forgot that i initially followed you because of your armin fics jhskgkdfb i used to be so rabid over him and this might just get me to return to my armin brainrot phase hjsvdjfbfdb i came for armin but stayed for you <33

also ilysm and your brain and how well you articulate your thoughts on character/story analysis and even on unrelated to fiction topics sjnhkjdsfkj reading the stuff you post makes me lose my mind sometimes /pos like fr you’re the person that motivated me to start working on my articulation instead of just being like blah im bad at words like how i usually was before hfsjdhsk and you motivate me to start thinking more deeply about characters and analysing them and the source material, it’s like you motivated me to start using my brain more and start actually having fun with it :) you also make me want to become a sweeter person and spread love and positivity because of how lovely you are jbdsjb like really, just reading your posts feels like a warm hug <333 i hope you get a lovely and warm hug real soon from someone you care about <33

i’m also very amazed at you and when i think about all the hard work you put to grow into the wonderful and talented person you are today <33 and i’m looking forward to seeing you shine brighter than you already do with more years to come staying by your side and cheering you on <33 (man i remember when i used to be v active on tumblr months ago and used to check on ur blog like it was the morning newspaper and sending you nice things in ur inbox every other day jdvjdhfbh)

have a great day/night lovely and remember to stay hydrated!! <333

this is genuinely such a kind message i am blushing and rolling around on the ground and shit. you are so sweet and so kind for sending this to me <3 im so flattered that you've followed my blog for so long (armin has been off to war for a while in my brain now) it rly warms my heart to no end. it's a little silly to me that you find my articulation inspiring purely bc most of the time i view myself as an animal crossing creature speaking in their language and everyone just nods and smiles bc ive got the spirit 😭

anyway ur so kind and im so happy ur still here and i hope u continue to find me amusing and my blog fun <3 i hope you're having a wonderful day / night too!!!

#[ 🏩 – chatting ]#holds this message really close to my chest #this is so kind #absolute favs #thank you for sending it <3

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oumaheroes · 3 years

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hii its bougie <3 if you're still taking hc requests, i was wondering if you'd have thoughts on something that's been on my mind for a while. i was interested in the nuance to english culture due to regional differences. eg.,dinner being called "tea" in the north of england, rugby being more popular in the south, the difference in how scones with jam and cream are enjoyed in Devon and Cornwall?? or how certain english accents are perceived as... "less attractive" i guess (the black country accents are unpopular apparently?) -- you'd probably know more about these particularities than me ;u;

i was wondering how these cultural differences might map onto hws England's character, and how they might influence his attitudes and behaviours. because there's such a clearly defined stereotype of the english that i think shape people's expectations of what the english are like, i usually think that Arthur usually consciously acts according to what counts as positive interpretations of himself. however, i love nuanced and somewhat subversive interpretations of his character, and am very curious if you might have any ideas on how these kind of internal regional differences might shape him.

--------------------

Bougieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <3

I’m not gonna lie this sent me down a RABBIT HOLE of thoughts, so hang on tight cos we're gonna get messy.

Accents:

Let’s start with my personal favourite, so excuse me whilst I geek out for a second. I’ve gone into this area already in this headcanon, but I personally see England being a very proud little dragon regarding English accents, those both native and non-native to the British Isles. Focusing just on accents within England for this post, the way Arthur himself sees them, (regarding class and general preference), comes a lot down to how I see him feeling about language and the unification of England in general.

England is a tiny country. It’s really teeny, compared to some, and yet holds an incredible number of regional accents and dialects (from digging about the internet for a good source, I keep finding numbers ranging from 37 to 43). There are a number of reasons for this, but the one that I love the most is that accents are influenced by the previous/ influential other languages spoken in a given area. Accents on the East of England are more influenced by Viking invaders, both phonologically and via the dialectal words used, and accents/ dialects in the West are more influenced by Welsh, for example.

Accents and dialects tell the history of a place, all who ever came there and influenced it to some degree. The map of English accents is a patchwork quilt of old cultures and people now lost to time, but their ways of speaking have been preserved in the modern tongue. The old English kingdoms might now be mere counties- Kent, Essex, Sussex, East Anglia, etc- they may not have their own influence or language these days as they used to, but their old ways have been imprinted on their people of today whether they know it or not and they carry pieces of the past in their words and how they speak them. Older speakers of the Northern English dialects liek the Yorkshire dialect still use ‘thou/thee’ where this has fallen out in other areas, the Midlands and parts of the South-East still keep the ‘-n’ ending for possessive pronouns (‘yourn’ instead of ‘yours’, ‘ourn’ instead of ‘ours’), and there’s even some linguistic research into how Brittonic, the ancestor of Modern Welsh, influenced English structure and phonology (for references, see notes at the end).

Back to England the person (to contain myself slightly), his regional accents are a story of himself, his history being kept alive in all of its variety every day. He doesn’t hold a classist view of a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ accent because he knows why they’re all there- what languages and people influenced them and how these events affected him- the older generations now lost and forgotten being kept alive in the smallest of phonemes.

Every dialect, every accent, and every language tells the story of a people, from the smallest phonological marker right up to a language as a whole and England takes comfort and pride in his dialects and accents’ longevity and variety. He is as much of the North as he is the South, as much of the East as the West and a patchwork man born of patchwork cultures it makes no sense for him to favour one particular accent over another.

That being said, he is aware that there is a common cultural stance on accents as well as an opinion regarding ‘ugly’ ones, ‘common’ ones, and ‘classy’ ones, but he himself doesn’t partake in these ideas. I like to think that a nation takes on the speech of the people and the area they’re in, matching the person they speak to or the area they visit to relate to their people. So, for me a Chav Arthur exists as much as a Brummie one does, or a Scouser, or a Geordie, or a Cockney. They’re all English, and thus they’re all a part of him.

Class

I have to include this one, if only to touch on it lightly regarding accents and dialects. Class does influence which words you speak, arguably just as much as which accent (this is known as a sociolect). Although I said that England adopts the accent of whatever area he’s in, or whomever he’s talking to if they’re English, the class people are will also affect which words he choses to use.

Here’s a short example from here:

'It is pudding for the upper class. Dessert is sometimes used by upper middles, but afters and sweets very clearly put you below stairs.'

Have some more!

Upper class: Spectacles, Lavatory or loo, Die, Napkin, Sofa

Middle class: Glasses, Toilet , Pass on, Serviette, Settee or couch

(Working class is a mix but harder to find sources for).

This is where England treads a fine line. It could be that he again adopts more of a class lexicon regarding who he is speaking to, matching his people word for word. However, England is not unaware of the affects of class, regardless of how he himself feels, and also although class snobbery and divide frustrate him, he cannot deny using this understanding to benefit himself, which also conforms to how his own people behave. (I myself have, many times, diluted and filtered my speech to be seen as ‘better’).

Want to be seen as more reliable and powerful? Want to be taken more seriously? RP and Estuary English (a lot more so these days), hold undeniable sway and England is not above adopting a manner of speaking to come across ‘better’ or more polite, or a more ‘common’ accent to fit in with the working classes. I think of England as leaning more towards a working-class mindset- he’s very hands on, very up for and used to manual labour and this particular English class has always made up the bulk of his population. It makes no sense for a nation, who represents all of their people, to have a snide view or a preference for a particular group and England as a person I see is someone who does not enjoy the foppery and false airs of aristocracy.

That being said, England is an intelligent man. He knows how to work a room and use a crowd to his advantage, knows what must be done and what he needs to do to achieve a goal and if this entails courting the upper classes for a time then he will do so. He’s adepts at switching himself like a chameleon, blending his behaviours, accent, and dialect to match who he’s talking to to achieve a goal or to fit in with someone’s perception of him, or to gain influence or prestige. He also doesn’t hate his upper classes- they are of him too, and the middle and working class have their own prejudices and ideas against the others. But he doesn’t adopt a stereotypical distain of lower classes because to him, it really doesn’t make much sense.

Abroad, this need to cultivate a particular perception defiantly comes under greater pressure. RP and Estuary English are more well know, more heard and taught, and more recognisably ‘British’, and so these are what he uses when speaking English to other nations or foreigners, either wanting to uphold an image of himself (more so in the Victorian/ Edwardian period than nowadays) or just for the ease of being understood.

Regional Differences

Okay, this one is a lot more fun. Does England put in his milk first or last when making tea? Does he put jam first, or clotted cream when having a scone? Does he have chips with gravy, or curry sauce? Does he have dinner at 6, or 9? To marmite, or not to marmite.

Ah, that is the question, and England does not know the answer. Does he do what he does because that’s what he likes, or because that’s what his people do? He didn’t grow up with these habits, after all, they’re all relatively recent in his lifetime, and so these habits are defiantly things he cultures for a particular audience.

I’m not really sure if the above preferences are class based, (well, milk first when making tea is argued to be, but I can't find any sources I'd consider entirely credible. I put the ones I did find in the notes below, in case any one's interested), so it’s hard to get a sense of which one to use. Overall, it doesn’t matter which you do and neither is right or wrong, but the English feel strongly about them, one way or another, and often Arthur the man isn’t sure at all which one he himself actually thinks is better.

Food in another sense though is something he can be surer of. A Cornish pastie not from Cornwall is not worth eating, nor is a Bakewell tart outside of Bakewell. England can be very particular about this sort of thing and enjoys maintaining and supporting the ‘original’ flavour or recipe of a thing where he can, considering this to be the ‘best’. Sally Lunn Buns from Bath, Gypsy tarts from Kent, Eccles Cakes from Eccles.

England wants to preserve his food and culture and has what could be considered a snobbish view on the ‘best’ way of creating or eating his national foods. Some things he is more lenient with: he will eat cheddar cheese, whether or not it is from Cheddar, same from Cumberland sausages not from Cumbria. But he certainly has a preference and he is not afraid to voice this when asked for his opinion.

Okay, we're done

Phew! This had me digging out my old linguistic student brain. To anyone who has made it this far down, gosh golly miss molly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride, and especially @prickyy who was kind enough to want to hear my opinions about all of this <3

----------------------------------------

Notes:

Brittonic influence on English:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brittonicisms_in_English

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://journals.mountaintopuniversity.edu.ng/English%2520Language/Celtic%2520Influences%2520in%2520English%2520A%2520Re-evaluation.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm29zTF0FBCpd1KqDiAbjM-0X7nfoA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://www.oppi.uef.fi/wanda/unicont/abstracts/14ICEHL_MF.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm3UvOXbJEb0b51J73eBnTJvgGaQOA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

Sociolects and class distinction within language in English:

https://languageawarenessbyrosalie.weebly.com/social-dialects.html

https://www.grin.com/document/313937

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U_and_non-U_English

Milk in tea first and the potential class reason:

https://www.theteaclub.com/blog/milk-in-tea/

https://qmhistoryoftea.wordpress.com/2017/05/11/milk-in-first-a-miffy-question/

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yanderes-galore · 3 years

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Xenophobic Chapter 3 - Containment

Possible Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Strong language, Gore, Drugging, Kidnapping?

Screeching, It was the sound that gave you flashbacks from the day your beloved friend died. You silently watched with scientists as a chestburster burst out of the prisoner's chest. Poor bastard.... he was on death row anyway. The chestburster then plopped onto the floor and slithered around dripping blood. It examined everyone through the plexiglass with it's pale body.

You didn't know how to feel about this. They were trying to train a literal monster that kills people to survive. You grumbled and turned away, hearing desperate screeching coming from the creature as it was gassed to be moved to a test chamber. Enough of this, you needed rest. You walked off to go find your friend Carl to see if he wanted to go out and eat. Maybe you could use the time to relax and not think of the black demons who host within people.

Carl was reading a book, sipping a coffee. He still had a few scratches from the earlier capture mission but he had already went to the medic to get them checked. Nothing too serious. You sat next to him and peeled the book away from his face.

"Hm?" Carl questioned as you looked at him with stressed and tired eyes.

"You want to go get lunch?" You asked, yawning in the process. Carl then gave you a hesitant expression.

"You look pretty tired, are you sure you don't want me to go and get something from the cafe and bring it to you?" He asked, just trying to help. You thought for a moment before giving a nod. Carl hummed in agreement and offered his hand to escort you to your room.

Time Skip

You laid in your bed, fed and rested. You smiled as you remembered you will have to thank Carl later for the lunch in bed. You then shot up when you heard a knock at your door. Shaking your head, you stood up and dragged yourself to the door, opening it. It was Liam, the synthetic robot you had met before the expedition. Liam gave a warm smile before speaking.

"Ms (L/N) I am sorry for bother you but we need you to see our experimental findings." Liam requested as you gave a stiff nod. Looks like you needed to check on their Xenomorph. The walk down the halls seemed to take forever as Liam pulled out a keycard and slipped it through a card reader by a door. The door beeped before opening and letting you two in. You then stood before another door.

"Decontamination sequence." Liam explained in a robotic tone as a laser lightly brushed against your skin. The second door then opened and you saw what was inside the dimly lit room. A fully grown Xenomorph was curled up in a containment area, possibly resting. Liam lightly took your hand and led you closer, you cautiously shuffling behind.

On closer inspection the Xenomorph was labeled. A set of numbers that read "526" was marked onto the Xenomorph's shell like skin near the chest. The Xenomorph looked to shift a bit before smacking its tail against the container and standing up, showing it was around 7 foot. Liam then made a noise similar to clearing his throat.

"This is experiment 526, He is a genetically modified Xenomorph that is male and has human DNA combined into him. He can now learn what a human can learn and is less rabid than the others." Liam listed off and the Xenomorph began to hiss at the synthetic.

"'Less Rabid?' Liam, It's hissing at you quite violently." You observed as 526 thrashed his tail violently. He didn't look friendly either. Liam stared at the Xenomorph before quickly replying.

"Well, At least he shouldn't be-" Liam claimed before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter right now, I need your help training 526."

"Training?" You questioned, 526 looking at you "You want me to train a creature whose species murdered my whole colony!?" You lashed as Liam looked taken aback. 526 hissed more as he slammed himself against the cage. Then, Liam began to chuckle.

"It looks like you share the same personality, too." Liam commented as you scoffed.

"Now is not the time to joke about my dead friends and family you piece of scrap!" You snarled as Liam narrowed his eyes.

"Ms (L/N), that is not very lady like." The synthetic argues as he began to approach you. You widened your eyes and backed away, running to the security doors and trying to get them to unlock. You screamed, or at least tried to as the rogue robot gripped you and held your mouth closed, 526 loudly hissing in the background and thumping around as it tried to break free, stressed due to the commotion.

"It seems you need some sedatives (Y/N)..." The corrupted robot said as you felt a pain in your back.

#yandere x reader #xenomorph #yandere xenomorph #horror #female reader #yandere alien #xenomorph x reader

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Cries

CW: Dehumanization, nonhuman whumpee, blood, restraints, captivity, muzzling

Introduction | Siren Song

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Transcribed October 4th, 20XX by Bahram Anvari, R.A. to Dr. Rachel Lachlan

First Draft – NOTE TO SELF – REMOVE ITALICS BEFORE FILING

Recording Transcription: Day 1 of Mer Residence

1.34.52 AM

October 3, 20XX

The first sound on the recording is a terrified keening.

It’s inhumanly high-pitched, closer to whistle than wail, but still unmistakably, desperately frightened.

The camera jostles, unfocused, as whatever hands hold it fumble to bring the creature into view. There’s a blurred thrashing of pale and dark, little more than shadow and light, smears of charcoal gray from the individuals dragging the thing along the floor as it fights them.

Their swearing is muffled, hissed whispers of frustration and irritation. The words aren’t easy to understand, although the tone of those speaking easily gives away the anger behind them. There’s a thunk as the blurry thing drops, half-wriggling and half-sliding across the damp floor. The camera picks up a scrambled mad movement to regain control, forward motion closer to the camera and then off to the side.

Over the whistling, keening crying, a deep male voice, edged with effort and strain, yells, “Is Miah-... shit, you little fucking rabid dolphin-... is Miah recording?”

“Yeah, camera’s on!” Another, much younger male voice yells back. “She’s having some trouble with focus, looks like, but it’s getting the sound at least. Do you need help, Mr. Kirsse?”

“Just get-... shit, shit shit he’s slick-... get the lift ready to put him in the tank!”

“Yes, sir.” There’s a pause. “Are you good, Doctor?”

A woman’s voice answers now. Strong and confident, only a little strained with effort. “I’m fine, thanks, Bahram. I think Anders is having the worst time of the two of us. Thanks to the muzzle this creature is harmless to me. Have the-... the lift ready, please.”

“Will do, Dr. Lachlan.”

A man moves past the camera, a hint of waterproof canvas overalls thrown over a sweater in the chilly room, brown skin and black hair. The camera follows and lingers on him briefly before returning to the entryway.

When the recording finally comes into focus, a muzzled male mer restrained with thick, abrasive sisal rope is suddenly visible, carried by Dr. Rachel Lachlan holding him under the armpits and Anders Kirsse trying and largely failing to keep a tight hold on his tail.

Muzzle is of Dr. Lachlan’s own design and while it protects humans from a mer’s sharp teeth, it will not prevent him from vocalizing.

NOTE: Include Dr. Lachlan’s design in filing, Fig. 1. Photograph living mer in muzzle to file as Fig. 2. Check before official filing to see if Dr. Lachlan’s patent application is pending approval by then.

Dr. Lachlan will want higher-quality vocalizations while wearing the muzzle recorded.

The rope that ties the mer’s hands behind his back is the cheap type often bought at home improvement stores and never intended for any kind of skin, deep red blood that is just shy of violet dripping to the floor beneath him along with remaining saltwater, a perfect trail that echoes the party’s slow, halting progress across the floor.

“This’d be easier if we-... had staff for this.” Anders Kirsse, an older man whose voice still has traces of a northern accent. “Or put it in a fucking wheelbarrow.”

“What we’re doing is highly illegal and more than a little outside the bounds of my profession’s insistence on humane capture procedures,” Dr. Lachlan replies. She is a tall woman with brown hair in a long ponytail, still wearing the hip-waders and boots she had on the boat (note to self- ship or boat? Miah will be pissed if I don’t get that right) and a heavy wool sweater currently damp from the mer’s struggles and spotted with its blood.

“Humane, huh?”

“Indeed. Generally speaking, due to their complex matrilineal social structures – a bit like orca, if you will-“

“Sure. Fuck, this thing is slippery!”

“-they don’t do well when separated in youth from the pod.”

Mer blood appears thicker than human, and Mr. Kirsse and Dr. Lachlan struggle not to slip in the trail of droplets whenever they have to stop and readjust their grips. When the creature falls briefly to the floor, thrashing like any fish desperate for the water, the floor is momentarily smeared with the deep burgundy beneath him. The two look down at him while he stares upward at them, panicked high whistles only a little muffled by the straps of the muzzle.

Anders Kirsse kicks the mer at what would be knee-height on a man, and it shrieks, trying to roll away from him. “I mean, is that going to mess with your work?”

“No. I do not require it for longer than six months.” Dr. Lachlan breathes hard. Her hands have the mer’s blood staining her palms. “Adolescent specimens will likely last at least a year.”

“Plenty of time for us both, then.”

“Precisely.”

The room comes into view as Miah Kirsse briefly stops focusing on the mer’s continued struggles and changes the angle. The walls are beige and taupe except for a vast circular tank with a small platform built high above it and some desks, couches, and a mini-fridge shoved out along the walls. Inside the tank there is a large manmade rock with a small cave inside that climbs just up above the water to give the mer a place to sit underneath sun lamps to warm itself, although not high enough to enable it to climb out of the tank. Various ferns and other plant life are dotted along the tank’s floor along with false coral in a wide variety of colors, giving it the appearance of ocean bottom for the purposes of giving the mer a comfortably familiar new home.

The camera lingers on briefly on the tank, but then quickly returns to Dr. Lachlan and Anders Kirsse. The creature’s vibrancy and life, not to mention his saturated blood, seem to take the full focus of the individual holding the camera.

(Note to self - him or it? I’ve gone back and forth a little. Continue transcription after speaking to Dr. L)

Answer: Mer is male, but Dr. L would prefer to utilize ‘it’ to ensure we are not anthropomorphizing the animal.

The mer is attempting to free its arms, lying on its stomach on the floor. Its white hair, stiff with dried salt from the sea, shakes from side to side with the motions of his its body. Some of the hair is slightly brownish-red stained with its own blood.

It tries frantically to hit out with its tail, scales shimmering under a flat fluorescent light that shines from overhead. This mer comes from a northern band and its tail is utilitarian for that purpose and contains only a small flutter at the end. Coloration is pale, the same near-white as its hair, fading into a deep black shimmer of scales that pales again when scale shifts to rubbery thick skin just at its navel.

At first, it finds no surface but the floor.

Then it succeeds and smacks heavily into Anders Kirsse, a broad-shouldered man in his forties. The tail hits Anders across the face, sending him stumbling to hands and knees and knocking his glasses to the ground where they skim along the cool concrete floor. Dr. Lachlan’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

A soft half-whispered rhythmic sound begins, clearly coming from the person holding the camera.

The man knocked to the floor stands back up, eyes narrowed either in an attempt to see or simply in fury, and snaps, “Stop laughing, Miah,” his hands moving quickly to echo his spoken words in American Sign Language, hereafter referred to as ASL in all future transcriptions.

Miah Kirsse, who is holding the camera, does not stop laughing.

Mr. Kirsse tells Miah, “I saw that sign, young lady,” and gets back to his feet, taking the mer’s tail in hand again, leaving his glasses on the floor with a visible crack across the lens. The mer seems startled that it made contact with Anders and has gone still, looking in what seems to be Kirsse’s direction. There is a sound like a series of small clicks before its gaze seems to shift over to Miah and therefore directly into the camera.

Miah quickly zooms, and the focus blurs before sharpening again to show the mer’s wide eyes, a deep green very much similar to the color of a species of seaweed that grows in the mer mating territories near the Nalowale Islands. (Note to self - what is the name of that seaweed?) Mer eyes have no visible sclera or pupil. Due to the black muzzle covering up the bottom half of its face, its expression is not wholly visible, but eyebrows the same near-white as its hair are furrowed in confusion or upset. Hair falls over its face.

It looks very human like this.

It clicks again. This transcriber believes the clicking may be a way to ask a question.

Bahram Anvari, Dr. Lachlan’s research assistant, is seen walking across through the video to a large sling held by thick ropes to a kind of forklift, also something Dr. Lachlan has personally engineered for use with the mer. It has been retrofitted from a similar type of machinery utilized for much larger cetaceans at Dr Lachlan’s prior place of employment, which closed down after a series of incidents that ended with widespread public disapproval.

After knocking Mr. Kirsse’s glasses off, the mer seems more subdued, and ceases fighting as it is moved across the room, but it does continue to click. Between the placement of its brow and the sounds, this transcriber believes it is trying to ask what happened to the glasses that it perhaps believes were simply part of Kirsse’s eyes.

The mer is placed into the canvas sling and Mr. Anvari steps over to the control panel, moving a lever. The lift kicks into gear with a low mechanical whirr, and the mer lets out a new kind of sound, a startled chirp and click combination, as it jerks into motion and is lifted up into the air above the height of the tank. Chirps quickly ramp up into fearful cries as Mr. Anvari moves the sling to swing out over the water in the tank.

The camera is set down on a nearby desk and Miah Kirsse moves onscreen. She is nineteen years old and bears a strong resemblance to her father. She signs, “Is the water right for him? What about his face and arms?”

“The animal will be fine,” Dr. Lachlan speaks out loud. Miah frowns until her father repeats Dr. Lachlan in ASL. She continues to frown, but more in annoyance now.

Miah replies, “I could tell what she said. Are you going to untie him first?”

“That would pose too great a risk.” Dr. Lachlan watches the mer renew its struggles, but the sides of the sling go up too high for it to do anything more than wear itself out even further. “When the animal is ready to eat, it will allow us to free its arms and remove the muzzle. Bahram, lower the mer into the tank.”

As Dr. Lachlan is not looking in Miah’s direction and does not use ASL, Anders Kirsse translates the answer into ASL for her and her words back to Dr. Lachlan. Her expression darkens further.

Anvari nods and presses a small button on the control panel. The lift reverses its earlier rise and the mer shrieks in fear as it perceives a sudden drop down towards the water. There is a small splash as it submerges, thrashes more, and finally frees itself from the sling. Bahram raises the sling back out of the water and back to the floor by the tank.

The assembled party is silent as they witness the mer’s first experience with its new home.

Nasal slits designed to breathe air close – the muzzle is placed just under them, leaving them visible – this is a personal decision on Dr. Lachlan’s part for ease of research. With the nasal slits closed, there is only the vaguest suggestion of their existence. Gills in the neck open to take oxygen in from the water around it.

There is a small pump system that will ensure new oxygenated saltwater is constantly cycled through the tank, and the mer’s ear fins which echo the colors of its tail, twitch as it searches for the source of the sound.

Its tail undulates in a consistent, slow motion to keep itself placed where it is in the water.

It pulls at the bindings holding its arms and turns back to the four humans who watch it. Green eyes appear to look over each person in turn. Then it calls, an undulating sound under the water, similar to whalesong but softer and higher-pitched, turning to show them its restrained arms, burgundy weeping into the water around them. Its fingers end in claws and are heavily webbed for ease of motion in water. There is some scaling around elbows and shoulders present in male mer that is not present in female mer.

The mer clicks, looks at them over its shoulder, clicks again.

Miah Kirsse: “He wants us to untie him.” She points at the mer. It appears to brighten a little at the sign that she has noticed it and uses its tailfin to move slowly back until its arms are close to the side of the tank.

Dr. Lachlan doesn’t respond at first, approaching the tank and looking at the mer. “I don’t think it can tell where the water ends and the walls begin. Interesting.”

“Don’t those things use echolocation or something?” Mr. Kirsse asks.

“They can, but I don’t think it’s tried yet. We know that adult animals utilize it more heavily than young. Fascinating.” Dr. Lachlan is quiet, for a moment. “I’ve never seen one so young introduced into human habitats before.”

“You mean captivity,” Miah signs, hands moving in harsh motions to lay plain her mood. Dr. Lachlan looks at Anders, who translates. “You mean cages.”

“Yes,” Dr. Lachlan replies. “I do. Let’s track how long it takes for the animal to cooperate in order to eat,” She says, brusquely. “Right now removing anything at all would lead to it clawing or biting us.”

Miah snorts. “He just wants to be untied-”

Dr. Lachlan holds up her hand and Miah’s fall still. “I understand that, Miah. I want it to be very well aware that its best interests lie in giving us total cooperation. Especially as we will be doing daily blood draws and it will no doubt be as reticent about needles at every other mer that we’ve tested. Now I need to make sure no one noticed us while we were on the water. Bahram, you’re on mer duty until I come back. Do not approach the platform, do not attempt to unbind it. Absolutely do not remove that muzzle. If you do any of those things – or allow anyone else to - before I give express approval, you will be dismissed from the project.”

Bahram nods. “No problem, Doctor. I understand.”

“I want to help,” Miah signs quickly. “I want to help B watch him.”

“Later,” Mr. Kirsse replies, both vocally and in ASL. Anvari is watching the mer, and as transcriber I should note that it is at this time that Anvari believes the mer watches the exchange between Miah and Anders Kirsse and appears to be focusing on their hands. It clicks, softly, barely audible. “You have to help me with the website first.”

Miah looks briefly into the camera. “I regret learning coding now.”

“This is not a TV show, don’t talk to the camera!”

“Try and stop me.”

“Miah, for the love of-”

“Let’s take this outside,” Dr. Lachlan says, and everyone but Anvari exits the facility holding room.

The mer spins back around and tilts its head. Pale white hair floats around it as it cries to get their attention, then looks at Anvari, who meets its gaze briefly before he appears to realize the camera is still recording.

Anvari moves to the camera to turn it off, but the mer seems to think he is also leaving and grows visibly agitated in the recording, throwing itself against the side of the tank. It thumps into the thick walls and makes a sound of confusion and hurt.

“I’m not gonna get any sleep tonight, am I?” Anvari says, carrying the camera over to a set of switches along one wall. He turns the lights off and ends the recording. There are cameras in the tank, which has low lights set at regular intervals along the bottom to ensure the mer is still visible at all times. There seconds between the overhead lights turning off and the tank lights turning on is just long enough to show that mer eyes glow faintly in the dark.

The last moment is very much the same as the first.

It is the sound of a frightened mer crying.

End transcription.

---

Bahram, you have a gift for storytelling, but that isn’t what we’re looking for here. I still have to figure out how to gain industry acknowledgement of this project and your constant humanizing of the mer is not helping. Being startled by a change in environment is not mortal terror. Redo this and remove all these plays on emotion. Also, remove the exchanges with Miah, she is not officially part of this project. - Dr. L

B, you forgot to add what I said to Dad when he told me to stop laughing. Make sure you put that part in the transcription next time. If this gets published I want the whole peer review whatever to know I called him a dick. Also that poor thing is totally frightened and also also Dr. Lachlan is a dick too. Leave my stuff in or I’ll never talk to you again. - Miah

Note to self - Stop leaving transcription drafts where Miah can find them.

Maybe I can get Miah to watch it for a few hours if I buy her coffee or something. I can't keep listening to it. Sometimes I swear it sounds like a kid. At least if Miah was here, she wouldn’t actually have to hear it. It’s hiding in the cave thing now, which I guess is good. Familiarizing itself with shelter.

I hate that he’s scared of us already

I just wish it would stop making that sound.

----

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump

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zmwisethepoet · 3 years

Text

“Saluting” the Alabaster Progenies

Written by L.J. Talbot

Published in The Literary Parrot Anthology

Hellfire brewing from the Second Continent…malicious activities. Fallen out of grace, weakness rises. Predictability written in treasonous blood. Triumphantly independent, equality for all! Our forebears made this country spectacular… for the White Man.

White Klansman ruins the title of Dragon and Wizard, turning to triangular ghosts of disgrace. Peace in their doll’s eyes involves no color but their own. To lynch is to be honored. To maim is to win every war. White Man’s rope hung the hangman and a karma-laden universe.

White Man in his White House, sequestered in conspiracy’s safety, endless halls with treacherous rooms.

White ‘Murrican’ Man flaunts his patriotism like an Ivy League graduate with doctorate in hand, boasting of benefits and the many joys of segregation, the splendors of the lack of unresolved issues. Separate, but equal, but sugarcoated. White Man’s white carpet turns red, the color of betrayal from ‘civil’ brothers.

White Textbook Man made Jesus a glamorous dentine, lavish robes and biblical aromas. Every rendition, a fabrication of a Holy Grail Answer. The Spear of Destiny impales the carcass of White Man’s previous alter ego.

White Man demands that you speak the mechanical English language in a country that was never his to begin with.

Hungry, Hungry Hypocritical White Man turns his back on the newest families, arriving with aspirations of their own. Immigrants of horrific locations, dictated by those who would murder if questioned. They plead with waterfalls of sincerity, but he drives away in a Korean automobile, wolfing down spiced Pakistani dishes of nourishment. White Man just remembered where he placed a great number of Native Americans.

White Man waves his shielding genitalia. There are but two genders. You will never change his mind.

White Bread Man stuffs his face with wholesome artificiality. Mayonnaise and marshmallow fluff! White corn tortilla chips and sour cream! He bathes in ivory soap bubbles, cleansing his skin with absorbent microscopic children he released nary an hour ago. White Man’s stomach trampoline is on display through every mirror.

White Man utilizes lethal gases and increases oven temperatures, incinerating the roasted flesh of his own class.

White Man with a badge spreads the honest word that blue lives matter immediately after gunning down protestors with the only method of communication he has known his entire existence. His breed has made them the enemy since the dawn of sirens. He is yet another statistic on the Holy Hit List. White Man is only erect when his firearm is present.

White Man promotes himself, skinhead ways of life, the Neo-Con dream of the century.

White Machismo Man extends the impossible, forbidding white women to promote white feminism. Equality for all except the majority they call ‘minorities’. White Man’s nuances wag the decaying tail. White Man paints a target on the back of every woman. White Man inquires about what the term ‘intersectional’ means.

White Man, Heir of Destruction. White Man inherited a planet of pollution. White Man inhales pollution to be pessimistically optimistic.

White Settler Man 2.0 enslaves the rightful owners of the purest lands, tainting them with rodentia’s diseases. Listen to the White Man’s sage words while raping native women into traumatic oblivion. He calls them all ‘filthy savages’. White Man’s fate, decided by the arrowhead’s end.

White Man sings of paradiso. He should have listened to Lilith. His burden is his own.

White Man in white collar, operating his deceased emerald brethren on numerical paper, privileged above all. Shuns the impoverished residing under dank overpasses, begging for half a life. He is quite charitable towards his investors. White Man speaks up about his own struggles.

White Whining Man is a staunch supporter of racial division. There are great numbers of ethnic heritage months because he made all progress possible. White Man’s idea of progress is inevitable defeat.

White Man pays no heed to the vicissitudes of modern living, for he was always in the past tense.

White Knight Man defends the honor of women who wish to speak for themselves. Bodyguard for the Incels, tormented misfits whose virginity is a rabid kennel beast. They spend their funds on deliberate objectification, to ogle at a dream that remains a magazine photograph. White Man’s superiority complex is small penis energy.

White Man stands alone, kissing his first world problems on the reflecting glass lips.

Straight White Man weeps, pounding sand about how there is no Straight Day to celebrate, no Straight Month with soft, grey parades. White Man does not comprehend acceptance. White Man, straight and diamond mind mundane.

White Man cries out for his former alliance, yet his abandoned principles retaliate.

Abrahamic White Man wants you to believe in his white deity. He is welcoming if you join the mountainous army of chanting followers, but points a mortal finger of judgment if you spurn his Lord and Savior. White Man’s finger is now officially broken.

White Man loves his orientation, yet the rights of humans beyond his are excluded from his fallen kingdom.

White Food Chain Man endangers his fellow creatures by means of bullet kisses and taxidermy trophies. He deserves his Bald Eagle mascot, a thief and scavenger by natural trade. White Man does not discover; his parasitic form feasts on scraps of original delicacies.

White Man lives his own afterlife, serving white voices with blackface paint… Reminder of a world too white for him.

I am an independent river flowing the other direction. My alabaster skin is ashamed to be seen around the lot of you, mutations of descendants. A melting pot of curiosities, we ought to be. A species who is eager to learn, but the race has reached the finish line.

July 8, 2020

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arazialotis · 4 years

Text

Long Distance

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 1700

Summary: Dean and Y/N have been separated during the holidays due to a string of hunts but Dean has a thought to make the distance seem not so far apart.

Warnings: Language, General SPN spooky stuff

This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as hobby. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

-----

Nights came early this time of year, each day growing darker a little earlier. It was hard to fight off the fatigue that crept in every passing moment. Even harder so with Dean out of town on another string of hunts. You sat in the picture window curled up in a fuzzy blanket with a warm cup of tea and a new book. Though you had a corner lamp turned on, the Christmas lights outside bounced off the white snow, illuminating the world and keeping the dark at bay.

Your phone had occasionally been buzzing as Dean updated you on his progress in a new town. You did what you could to not worry, to have faith, but each day he was gone you needed distractions to keep your mind off it. And of course, communication. The longer he went without an update, the more your stomach turned.

Though you were entranced with the novel, methodically flipping pages and on the edge of your seat, as soon as the phone sounded, you threw the book down only focusing on him.

You answered with a pant of excitement. “Hey babe.”

Dean’s smile practically shined through the receiver. “Evenin’ Y/N. Man it's good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too.” You echoed setting your tea down on the ledge as you started pacing the floor. “How’s the first day been?”

“Ah, you know, just getting settled and the feel for things. Wish I had your mind here to sort things out but this has been a long stretch, it’s starting to drag. It was good for you to stay home.” He paused waiting for a reply. “This’ll be the last one, promise.”

“Don’t say that.” You chided knowing fully well he easily broke these promises. “You are doing good work. If you need to keep going, that’s alright. Just promise me you’ll come home eventually.” “You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“And besides.” You sighed. “I’m still here virtually, put me together the case details tonight and I’ll scour over them.”

Dean’s blush heated up the air around you as he shamefully admitted. “I already sent them to Sam.”

“Ugh! What? God Da…” Dean’s chuckle cut you off. You rubbed your brow reminding yourself it wasn’t a competition. “I want to help too.” You whined.

“Okay, okay.” His voice faded. “I’m sending them now.”

You looked at your phone waiting for the email to come through. A few moments passed and it eventually did. He had sent over a few news articles, pdfs, and a word doc of his own notes.

“Hmmm… it’s definitely a werewolf.” You teased. “Shut up.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid enough to get stumped by an oversized rabid poodle.”

“I’ll shoot you some real ideas by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Don’t feel rushed, I got some pretty good leads to follow up on tomorrow.” He assured. “Alright, enough work talk. What about you? How was Thanksgiving?”

“I mean, it wasn’t the same without you and everyone else. But uh, I still tried to make the most of it. Brussels, beans, wild rice, potatoes…” You listed. “Mashed?” Dean interrupted.

“Pfft. Of course. Cranberries. Oh, I did a cornish hen cause like, what the fuck am I going to do with a whole turkey? I already have enough leftovers to last me ‘til Christmas. Tell me you had something more than deli meat turkey.”

“Don’t worry about me babe.” He lightly chuckled. “Denny’s got me covered.”

“Dean.” You scolded.

“Pie? Please tell me you had pie.” He begged.

“No way I’m having pie without you.”

“But.. But… Thanksgiving.” Dean pouted.

You giggled at his adorable antics. “There’s one waiting in the freezer for when you get back.” “Yes! Cherry?” He pleaded.

“Of course…” You giggled together until a knock sounded at the door. “Hey, hold on a sec.”

“What is it?” Dean’s voice grew concerned. He heard the door open, a soft thank you, and the door closing before a bit of rustling. “Oh, nothing.” You fiddled with the box and the phone. “Just looks like a package for you.” Dean licked his lips with anticipation. “Why don’t you go ahead and open it for me?” You wrinkled your nose, unsure if you wanted to. “Really?”

“I’m sure.”

You grabbed a kitchen knife to hack away at the tape. Dean sat down on the motel bed anxiously waiting for you to find what was inside.

“It’s um… it’s.” You pulled it out further inspecting it. “It’s a lamp?”

Dean grinned ear to ear waiting for you to figure it out. “A long distance lamp? What?” “I found it online. You have one and I have one.” He explained. “I felt bad the last hunt with the bad reception. My lamp will light up when you touch it and vice versa.”

“What?” You squealed.

“Yeah. It’s an early Christmas gift.” Your heart melted. “Go plug it in.” He ordered before you could respond.

“Dean…” His thoughtfulness nearly brought you to tears. “Go!” He repeated before you got too sappy.

After a few minutes of him guiding you through the set up, you were ready to test it out. “Okay, ready?” He asked, his hand hovering over the lamp on his end.

“Yes.” You sat on the floor staring at the dark lamp. “Nothings happening.” You sighed. “Oh, wait!” It was dim at first but slowly turned into a green glow reminding you of his eyes. “Oh my gosh.”

“Your turn.” You pressed the top of yours sending him a warm purple glow. You could hear his smile over the phone.

“See, now we can talk to each other even without the phones.”

“Dean. This is… it’s… thank you.” Was all you could muster to say. “I’ll keep it by my bed so I can say good night and good morning.” “Me too sweetheart.” Dean agreed. “And in case anything happens to my phone or I get stuck in another dead area, you’ll know not to worry.”

The two of you spent another good hour talking; tentatively setting up holiday plans, explaining the unexpected twist in your book, and thrilling him with all the juicy details of exactly what you were going to do to him when he finally did make it home. You read a few more pages before finally calling it a night. Tucked into a bundle of blankets, you reached to your nightstand sending him a final thought of the night. A few moments later came the dim green glow. Though it was just a light, it made you feel as though he was there, his arms wrapped around you making your heart warm.

When Dean awoke the next morning, the lamp next to him was already glowing purple. He smiled, typical that you would be the first to rise. After a yawn and deep stretch, he sent the thought back to you before going to freshen up and shower. The hot water and steam soothed his sore muscles and the tension he held in his shoulders if only for a brief minute. Towel wrapped around his waist and clean shaven, he came back out to get dressed in a suit for the day only to find the light had not faded. With another chuckle he assumed you must have been on the same schedule and sent another touch back before heading out for the day.

From the morning, he was in a sprint; talking with the local police department, interviewing witnesses, consoling family members. Dutifully, he kept you updated on his progress hoping to hear back from you soon on any thoughts yet you were quiet. He wondered if he had mixed up your work schedule again. Having gone nonstop throughout the day, he opted for an early dinner back at the hotel room.

Entering back to the room with his Chinese takeout, he immediately noticed the lamp was still on. He set down his food on the table and pulled out his phone.

‘The lamp doesn’t need to fully replace the phones.’ He texted you, adding a little laughing emoji hoping you wouldn’t be offended by him calling out your silence today.

He popped open his laptop and dug into the Mongolian beef hoping to review any ideas you had come up with. But you hadn’t emailed him like you said. It was still early enough in the day, and especially if you had worked, maybe hadn’t had time to get around to it. He pulled up Sam’s email instead, reviewing notes and potential leads.

An hour had passed and the light still glowed purple. Thinking it must be broken, Dean meandered over to the plug resetting it. The only other explanation would be your hand on top of it consistently which didn’t make any sense. The lamp powered back up and momentarily was dark before the purple hue came through again.

“This is weird.” Dean muttered to himself.

He walked back over to the table and grabbed his phone and dialed your number. After two rings, it answered.

Dean chuckled, thankful to finally have gotten you. “Either these things are malfunctioning or you must really miss me.” He heard a deep breath from the other side of the line.

“Y/N?” His voice dropped. “Sweetheart, are you there?” A sinister voice crackled on the other end. “It’s been a long time Dean.”

Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach. Panic and anger rose to his chest. It was a voice he could never forget. “Alastair.”

“Now I was hoping to find you home when I stopped by but this pretty little lady said you were out on business.” Alastair's voice delightfully slithered.

His jaw clenched. “If you’ve touched a single hair on her head, I swear to God…” Dean spat.

Amusement rose into laughter. “What makes you assume I could harm such a delicate creature. Her neck as easy to snap as a sparrow's."

“You better pray that's not what I find when I get back.” Dean threatened already furiously packing his bag.

“Its not her I want, it’s you.” Alastair clarified. “But I guess that all depends on how long you take getting back home Dean. I might become bored.”

-----

TAGS:

Forevers: @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @jotink78@blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21@carryonmyswansong @atc74 @superapplepie @cassieraider@adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67@monkeymcpoopoo @adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants@onceuponathreetwoone @thisismysecrethappyplace

Dean x Reader: @akshi8278 @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa @tacklesackles @aubreystilinski @iamabeautifulperson18@jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @ria132love

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #spnfandom #spn fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n

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ayoitsnic · 3 years

Text

Crowley x Reader x Lucifer

Part 1

*Based loosely around 12x15 but Ramsey kills Gwen and gets away

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger Warnings: Injured animal? Idk? If you think something should be added to the TW list drop a comment or DM me

Summary: Humans aren’t supposed to see hellhounds, so what happens when y/n finds an injured hellhound and brings it home to care for?

*Disclaimer* Lucifer will be introduced in the 2nd part which should be up by Saturday 4/3/2021

It was almost midnight when y/n got off of work. She was exhausted after her shift at Regional West Medical Center in Nebraska. As she trudged through the parking lot to her old, beat up 2002 Suzuki she couldn’t help but feel eyes on her, like something was watching her from out in the darkness. Fumbling with her keys she turned to unlock the driver’s side car door (The remote to unlock the door was broken. The car could only be opened with the actual key.), only to freeze in place when she felt the hot breath and heard the heavy breathing of some sort of animal behind her. “Dear god, please let it be my overactive imagination.” she prayed silently, knowing it was no use. Whatever stood behind her was very much real.

Very slowly she turned to face whatever it was that was sniffing her, her keys moving between her middle and ring finger in case she needed to defend herself. Instead of being met with what she thought for sure would be a small bear or a rabid coyote, she was met with a very large dog. A very large dog that looked like it had been through absolute hell. Its fur was matted and caked with dried mud and dirt, and it was covered with cuts and what she naturally assumed was its own blood. It was hard to tell through the thick, matted fur but it also looked very underweight. “Oh you poor baby….” Y/n’s heart melted upon seeing the creature.

Obviously the dog had been out on its own for a very long time. Y/N took pity on it. It seemed so sad, and it didn’t appear rabid or vicious. It looked like it just wanted help. Reluctantly she reached down to check for a collar. There was a collar but it was in a foreign language. One she’d never seen before. Unlocking the back of the car she coaxed the dog in with some leftover food she had from her lunch break. She knew the poor thing must be starving. Being hurt it took a little help getting in. Little did she know how dangerous that dog really was or that there was a man out right now searching for it.

The K-9, which y/n decided to call (Dog’s name) had fallen asleep on the car ride home, snoring softly over the radio that was playing some Green Day song. Pulling into the driveway, (Y/N) stopped the car and turned off the radio. Almost on queue (dog’s name) looked up to see where they were. A light was on outside, illuminating a large porch (Which could probably use a new paint job, if we’re being honest) with 2 rocking chairs, a small table and a plethora of healthy, brightly colored plants. She picked up the injured dog and carried it inside, planning on taking it to the vet in the morning to see if it was microchipped.

She was going to let the dog sleep in the basement for the night, unsure if it would destroy the house or not. She remembered her aunt’s German Shepherd who took pleasure in tearing up sofas, and eating her plants. The dog also really needed a bath and she didn’t want it on the furniture until it got one. Unfortunately around 3:30 am, y/n felt a dip in the bed and then something making itself comfy by her feet. Looking over, she found the dog curled up in bed with her. Way too tired to deal with it now, and knowing she had to wash the sheets anyway she just fell back asleep let the dog stay with her so long as it stayed at the foot of the bed.

The next morning, Y/N got up early to go to the pet store and get stuff for the dog. She called up the local vet, making an appointment, she washed the sheets, and most importantly she began trying to wash (Dog’s name). At first the dog resisted, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the water. Y/N knew exactly how to deal with this though. Placing a glob of peanut butter on the side of the tub to keep the dog preoccupied, (Dog’s name) happily entered the bathtub. A trick y/n had learned from that aunt with the poorly behaved German Shepherd. By the time y/n was done with the dog she’d had to drain and refill the tub 3 times before she gave up and kept it drained, just using the shower head. She couldn’t believe how much blood and dirt had come off this dog.

Around 2pm the doorbell rang and this dog who was once so sweet, albeit a bit skittish turned into an absolute beast. Running to the door, loud deep barks and growls left it. The dog seemed ready to tear the stranger on the other side of the door to shreds. It was almost like it had turned into a completely different dog. “(Dog’s name)!!!” Y/n shouted as she raced down the stairs after it, hoping to get to the door before the dog did. “NO!!!” She yelled. Even hurt and underweight, (Dog’s name) was really big. If it wanted to break that door, it probably could. Without thinking, Y/n quickly grabbed the dog by the collar to stop it. “I said no!” She told her firmly with a pointed finger. The dog whined, tail between its legs as it hurried back up the stairs to the bedroom to do that thing dogs do when they roll around on the rug to dry themselves.

The front door had a glass window looking out so y/n could see the stranger. He was short, and wore a nice suit. He seemed only slightly concerned about the interaction. The man didn’t even flinch as the massive hound lunged itself at him. It seemed like this was a normal day for him. Actually, he seemed more unnerved after she called the dog off. Opening the door, y/n apologized profusely for the dog “I am so sorry about the dog! I-” Before she could continue, the man squinted at her, clearly confused about something. “What are you?” He questioned in an English accent.

“Hellhounds? Really?” She questioned with a quirked eyebrow and a small grin, crossing her arms and constantly turning to keep facing the man. It was obvious she didn’t believe him.

Obviously his question confused y/n as she gave him a look of confusion back “What do you mean ’what are you?’” She stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her “I'm human”

“Yes, really.” The man continued, as serious as a heart attack “You especially shouldn’t be able to control that bitch. I’ve only ever known one person to be able to control Ramsey and you and not that person.”

“Oh really? And who might that person be then?” Y/n asked, beginning to think this was some elaborate prank being played on her by a friend or coworker.

Remembering what the demon said about her being able to control the hound, y/n gave it a shot. Raising a hand she firmly commanded “Ramsey stay.” Not only did the dog stop dead in her tracks, she laid down and waited for further orders. Now most people would be a little freaked out by this; finding a hellhound that they didn't know was a hellhound, and now being visited by a demon sent to collect said hound. Y/n however wasn’t afraid. Actually she kind of got a Déjà vu feeling at this.

“No you can’t be. Humans can’t see hellhounds, much less control them.” Normally Crowley would just collect the demonic hound and leave, with humans being none the wiser that the rogue canine was even there, but not only did this woman know the hellhound was there, she was taking pretty good care of it. Even stranger, the dog was letting her care for it. There was something different about this woman, something special. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet. Crowley circled y/n, inspecting her. He was trying to find any indication of her not being human.

“Lucifer.” Crowley responded

At that, y/n was done. “Look pal, I don’t know what kind of kool-aid you’re drinking but I’m not buying it. Now’s the part where I tell you to get off my property.” she turned to go back inside, closing and locking the door behind her. As she turned to head upstairs though, Crowley was standing right behind her, his eyes red. She let out a screech, jumping as far back as she could (Which wasn’t far as the door was right behind her). Again, the dog that the demon in front of her called ‘Ramsey’ came running to her defense.

“The name’s Crowley. King of hell.” He introduced himself “May I ask who you are?”

“Y/n y/l/n.” she responded before telling him “Queen of this house.” This was crazy. Y/n was standing in her entryway conversing with a demon king. “Could I offer you tea ‘your highness’? Maybe Coffee?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she addressed Crowley as 'your highness' She wasn’t gonna hand over the dog so easily, and something told her the demon wouldn’t be leaving without Ramsey.

“.....Who are you?” Y/n asked the man

Y/n and Crowley sat in her kitchen, sipping tea and chatting. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” The demon who sat across from y/n questioned “Most people would run, or beg for mercy if a demon showed up at their doorstep. Not invite them in for a drink.”

If it weren’t for the fact that y/n could sick Cujo on him at any moment, Crowley wouldn’t be being so patient with her. He wouldn’t be trying to convince her to send the dog to her death. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you take that dog back.” Y/n told Crowley. For some reason she felt bonded to that dog, with the overwhelming need to protect her.

“I’m afraid I must insist. She’s dangerous and unpredictable. It’s for the best that she be put down. She’s killed a lot of people who weren’t on hell’s hit list while she was topside.” Crowley explained “A pup like that out and about isn't good for business. It makes it look like I’m not in control.”

“Do you want me to beg for mercy?” Y/n asked with a smirk and a small, dry chuckle. “Sorry but you’re not very scary so forgive me if I’m quaking in my shoes.” She would never be seen begging for mercy. Not in a million years.

“I thought you were the king down there.” Y/n questioned “A king answers to no one. You could turn, walk right out that front door, and pretend she vanished. That you weren't able to find her. Or you could go back and tell your people she attacked you and you killed her. Besides, you’re a demon. You don’t really care about the people she’s killed, do you?” Y/n definitely cared and felt bad, she just didn’t believe Crowley did.

“The Winchester’s. They hunt monsters. Vampire’s, werewolves, demonkind, et cetera.” Crowley explained “They’re ruthless, and if they find out that dog is here they will show up and kill her. Painfully. If you hand her over I promise her death will be a painless and merciful one.” Of course he would make the boys sound worse than they were. In reality they’d kill it as quick as possible if they could. He’d say anything to get her to give up Ramsey.

“Of course I don’t, but some hunters I know care a lot about the people that were killed. If I don’t collect this dog, they’ll come and collect her for me and they’ll be far less inclined to sit and chat over hot beverages.” Crowley explained

“Tell me about these hunters.” Y/n asked, genuinely interested. "I assume you're not referring to people who shoot buck in their free time."

“Let them come.” Y/n spoke after quietly mulling over what was just told to her. Whether she was underestimating these hunters or just didn’t believe what Crowley was telling her he was unsure. “She may be in a weakened state now but she’ll get better. She’ll get stronger and when she does I’ll be the only one who can stop her. If they show up, I’ll be ready and they’ll have to go through me. When they get through me, she’ll be ready for them too.”

“Y/n I know you think-” Y/n cut off the demon king, her patience wearing thin. She had all the leverage she needed in this situation and she knew it “You said I was the only one who could control her. Now I don’t know how or why that is, but that means there’s nothing stopping me from sicking the dog on you. If she really is as vicious and dangerous as you claim she is, I would be afraid of the one person who can send her after you. I’m telling you to walk away. I’m giving you an out. I strongly suggest you take it.”

Thinking about it later though, she was actually kind of sexy. She knew she held the power and the leverage in that situation and she knew how to use it. Not only that but she was bold enough to try and intimidate not just any king, but the King of Hell. And she didn’t need to raise her voice once while doing it. She was clearly a strong, intelligent, woman. He liked that.

After he was gone, y/n was in fact a little freaked out. If there was a hell that meant there was a heaven. Would she be going to hell just for harboring this animal? And better question; how do you even properly care for a hellhound? She imagined it would be a lot different from taking care of your average, run of the mill Pitbull.

Crowley stood his ground, calling her bluff. He didn’t believe she would actually do it. “Ramsey!” Y/n called “Ramsey c’mere girl!” she whistled as the Hellhound came barreling from upstairs “Ramsey, hurry up! Go get him! Get the demon!” Y/n told Ramsey in the same sickeningly sweet baby voice most humans use to talk to animals they find cute. Before she could get to him though, Crowley had disappeared into thin air.

After hours spent searching on the internet y/n got her first lead. Okay so it wasn’t really a lead. It was more of an idea. It’s not like she could just log onto wikipedia and pull up a page on 'How to take care of a Hellhound'. She did however find instructions for summoning and trapping a crossroads demon. She didn’t realize there were different types of demons but to her, a crossroads demon was still a demon so good enough right?

Late that night y/n put Ramsey in the car with her and drove to the nearest crossroads. Spray painting a ‘devils trap’ in the road she buried a box in the center. It contained a photo of her, some graveyard dirt, and the bone of a black cat. No, she didn’t go out and kill a cat. She was able to get that from a wiccan shop on the outskirts of town.

After burying the box, she stood and read the incantation she had written on a scrap of paper “Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae!” She waited a moment and when nothing happened she thought she might've gotten a word wrong. That was until she heard a woman speak behind her “What can I do for you tonight?”

Jumping a bit she turned to face the demon. “I just need some information.”

.....To be continued....

#Crowley #Crowley x Reader #Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Supernatural #x reader #Female reader

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the-broken-truth · 4 years

Text

The Father of All Wolves (Havenfall is for Lovers)(Mackenzie Hunt x Roxie Brooks) Part 3🐺🐺🐺

🦇🦇🦇HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! 🦇🦇🦇

[While Mackenzie & Annabelle were talking to the Beast] [In The Depths of Roxie's Mind]

Roxie's ocean eyes blinked open as they began to adjust themselves to the foggy amber light they were met with. Roxie groaned as she sat herself to an upright position - one hand flat on the ground while the other reached up. clasping her forehead in hopes to subside the pounding vibrations in her head. Her eyes opened again once she felt the headache fade away and looked around to see her surroundings - there was nothing. She sat under a bright light that shined miles above her head but everything that was beyond the circle that the light overhead was encompassed in the void of darkness. Roxie began to slowly pick herself off the ground - standing in the center of the circle of light - trying to think of where she was and how it was she came to be there. That's when it hit her: The Beast of Gevaudan.

"That's right. That bitch did something to me - some kind of rite." Roxie lifted her hands and they confirmed her fears, for her hands were human. Her claws were gone. She reached them up to touch her hand and sure enough, the wolfish ears that she grew to love were gone as well. "If she separated my Human Soul from my Wolf Soul, and I'm the Hyman Soul...Where's the Wolf Soul?"

That's when a hot and heavy gust of wind breezed from behind her but it was not wind...

It was Breath.

Something behind her was breathing and from the feel of it...

It was big.

"You're here...aren't you?" Roxie asked with her eyes wide, her body lightly shaking in fear at what would answer her question.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I am the one who called you here." A deep masculine echoing voice called out from behind her. Then she remembered - while she was fighting against the Beast's Rite taking over her body, she heard the voice from deep within calling to her - the voice of her wolf asking for her to come.

Roxie turned 180 and her ocean eyes collide with eyes are powerful as leaves in the summer sun; and they were large. Roxie's eyes trailed along the figure that the eyes belonged to - she could make out the muzzle of the canine, his obsidian fur that was darker than the void he was resting in, his paws here crossed in a waiting manner, and his body was curled around the circumference of the light she was standing in - from what she could tell, the tip of his tail was behind her.

This is what Damien and the Beast of Gevaudan were talking about - this was her Great Beast.

"You are...massive." Roxie's voice came out in a squeak.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Ingólf." The giant wolf responded. The name confused Roxie.

"Ingólf? My name is..." The wolf's scoff cut Roxie off.

"I know the name you were given at birth, but to me, you will always be Ingólf - it means Little Wolf in my native tongue." The wolf explained.

(I got the translation off Google, please don't flame me.)

"That's not from any language I've heard before." Roxie explained.

"That's because the once great knowledge of who I was and where I came from - along with those I have shared the light with - are not very known in this new world." The wolf said.

"Just who are you? I know Damien and the Beast said I had a Great Wolf inside me but I was not expecting you." Roxie said making the wolf raise his eyebrow (If wolves have eyebrows and I think they do.)

"And just what were you expecting, Ingólf?" The wolf asked.

"From what the Beast was saying - I explained a rabid wolf, foaming out the mouth, ready to rip me apart and take control of my body & life." Roxie explained, the wolf just exhaled and rolled his eyes.

"If it were a normal wolf spirit - perhaps - but the Beast of Gevaudan does not know the true nature behind the rite she used because...there's no way I would have let that insolate pup turn me against one of my own." The wolf explained.

"The Beast of Gevaudan? An Isolate Pup? Do you realize who you are talking about? This...This creature was around before Wolf became Pack - she is one from where all werewolves hail and now she is here, trying me make me..." Roxie was cut off again when the wolf began chuckling again. "What's so funny?"

"Child, the Beast of Gevaudan might be ancient and she may be powerful but she is not the first - she is not the First nor is the Harold of Wolf Blood to mortals. She and all the others are simply...not caught up on the history of their true lineage." The wolf explained.

"Wait...if the Beast wasn't the first...Who was?" Roxie asked.

"That's simple - I was. I am the one from which all wolf kind spawns from. I am the Father of all Wolves. I am Fenris - The Monstrous Wolf of Norse Lore." The Wolf - Fenris - stated as he began to sit upright, showing Roxie is massive height.

"You're...The Father of All Wolves? Then...why are you inside me?" Roxie asked.

"Your Family's Blood has been tied to me and mine since the days of old - when humans built temples and shrines dedicated to their gods, giving them offerings to ensure good health or fortune; I - however - was nothing like that." Fenris said with a snarl.

"Then what are you and how are you tied to my family?" Roxie asked.

"For those who are familiar with my name - I am the Son of the God of Mischief: Loki. The Gods received a prophecy about me - stating that my growth would mean trouble for them and thus, they locked me away. I sent my sons - Skoll and Hati - to chase the sun and moon to devour them so that I may be free to exact my revenge upon the Gods but...I didn't need to." Fenris said with a smile as he replayed the memory in his head.

"What happened?" Roxie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A Pack of Humans somehow managed to find and free me - they brought me to an abandoned temple that was long forgotten. The Leader - A young woman named Mara - told me that she had a vision of me, she knew I would have been wronged and she was not going to let that happen. As time went on, that temple became my place of devotion and I lived in peace with my followers and my sons - for those I found to be trustworthy, I shared my blood with them and rebirthed them in my image." Fenris's words made Roxie's eyes grow wide.

"They were the first werewolves." She said.

"Yes, and for the longest times, all was good...until one of my own befell my doom." Fenris said - sorrow laced in his voice.

"One of your own? One of your followers betrayed you?" Roxie asked.

"In an act of desperation - A young man - I have long since forgotten his name - his family grew ill with an unknown disease and he begged the God of Knowledge - Mimir - for any kind of a remedy to help those he loved but Mimir wanted something in return; knowledge in exchange for knowledge. That young man gave up the location of my temple and the fact that I was free from the god's prison. In exchange, the young man was given the information he wanted and returned home to save his family, but when he told his family want he'd done; he was exiled from his family's home, and his sister came to warn me...but her warning came too late." Fenris said.

"The Gods found you?" Roxie asked.

"Yes. Just her she explained what her brother had done - The Gods came raiding down upon my temple - killing my Lycans and imprisoning my sons. They were moving in on my chambers - where Mara and I were hiding. Mara didn't want me to be at the mercy of the Gods and thus...she made a choice. Using the knowledge she knew - she sealed me and my essence inside herself and ran away from the temple; the gods never found her."

"Mara saved you. What happened after she escaped the Gods?" Roxie asked.

"Mara began to document everything that happened in a special tome that would never age and she began a family of her own. My essence - my soul - and the knowledge of the Fenris Temple were passed down from old matriarch and patriarch to the newest but it was when humanity began to evolve in the way they have now when my knowledge and legacy began to fade from the family and I was sent into a deep slumber. Then your family began working for Code Black and I remained undetected...until now." Fenris explained as he looked down at Roxie.

"Wait...what triggered you to wake up? The Rite the Beast of Gevaudan did?" Roxie asked.

"No, Ingólf. I awakened the moment you met Mackenzie Hunt and began to bond with her. Two wolves know each other and while I was sleeping for so long, her wolf told me everything I had missed."

"Wait, you and Mac's Wolf know each other? How?!" Roxie asked with her jaw dropped.

"That's because Mara was the Mate of Mackenzie Hunt's Ancestor - Souls know each other and true love always finds a way, Ingólf."

"Wait a minute...If Mac's Ancestor was Mara's Mate...then that means Mara was..." Roxie said as she began to put two and two together.

"Yes - Mara was your Direct Ancestor, Ingólf." Fenris said. "And right now, Your Mate is in trouble."

"I know." Roxie's fists began to ball in tight fists. "I don't know what I can do. The Beast of Gevaudan is too strong for me to handle and without our pack bound, Mac isn't strong enough to take her down either. I don't know what to do...I'm confused." Roxie admitted.

"She may be strong but she is not the strongest. My Blood is the Oldest and those that fall under me will always yield to me." Fenris crouched down until his eyes were in line with Roxie's. "Join with me, Ingólf. You will have all my power and I will share in your consciousness. We will be one body and one soul. I shall defeat the Beast of Gevaudan and I shall teach her that her actions against my children are unforgivable." Fenris said with power in his voice- his eyes seemed to glow with promise.

"You won't devour my soul?" Roxie asked - her own eyes seem to glow as well.

"I will not commit actions against my own spawn nor against the soul that saved me from the Gods. We will be one but we will still be our own person. I shall bear no transgressions against you nor upon your human life." Fenris promised.

Roxie's hand reached out for him, placing the palm of it her the surface of his cold nose before she uttered a single word.

"Yes."

A bright light shined between them and their souls melded together.

Making something new...and powerful.

--------------------------------------------------

Previous Page - Part Two

#mackenzie hunt #mackenzie x mc #havenfall is for lovers #lovestruck

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bandaged-writer · 4 years

Text

a chance || dazai

➤ Pairing: Dazai x Reader

➤ Genre: fluff

➤ Warning: none

➤ Summary: To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

➤ Word count: 3.1k

➤ Note: This is my first time writing after nearly a year, but I hope you still enjoy it. Please, let me know what you think and feel free to drop a request in my inbox. ^.^

The sound of hurried footsteps were successfully drowned out by the hustle lingering within the busy streets of Yokohama. People chattered away either on their phone for business purposes or with their peers, laughing at jokes, pouting and enjoying themselves underneath the glowing sun of spring. The smell of food filled your nostrils as you passed them in a hurry and for a moment you contemplated getting a piece of that delicious piece of strawberry cake the bakery had on display. After all, your morning stopped you from having the slightest bit of breakfast in your system.

That train of thought, however, was interrupted by your colleague, Kunikida, picking up the phone. “Where are you? You’re already five minutes late and I doubt you’ll finish the reports you have to finish at this rate.” You couldn’t helpt the slight roll of your eyes, yet you knew that Kunikida only meant well - or so you’d like to believe. “I’m sorry, Kunikida,” you started with a heavy sigh, stopped at a traffic light and waited for the lights to turn green. “My car wouldn’t start this morning and the traffic is too horrible to take the bus. The next train would’ve arrived late so now I’m walking to work.”

To anyone else, it could sound like an excuse, but Kunikida never saw you arriving late without a plausible reason and even that case was extremely rare. Whenever he entered the office, you’d arrive at the Agency only a few minutes after him, a treat from the local bakery in your hands and a grin on your face. Truth be told, it had become a part of Kunikida’s schedule: “Greet [Name] at 08:05 am”. That’s how consistent your presence was. “That’s unfortunate,” Kunikida spoke and glanced over at your supposedly empty desk which Dazai was occupying, mumbling something about finding your Google search history and using it for blackmail while Atsushi was quite literally dragging his superior away from your desk. Luckily, all the chairs possessed the ability to roll. ‘‘How much longer will you take?“

One hand stuffed into the pocket of your jacket, you hastily crossed the street once the traffic lights turned green and skillfully avoided bumping into people, only stopping once because someone’s dog was sniffing your leg with a wagging tail. You stroked the pet’s head affectionately and cooed at the creature that possessed such button-like eyes. At least there was one good thing about your morning now. “Hmm..Maybe about ten minutes? Could be less, could be a few minutes more,” you spoke into the phone, unsure of how long you’d actually take. If the streets continued to be so lively, then you’d definitely need longer than usual. Why couldn’t those people choose a different day to go outside and meet up with their friends and business partners? Ah, not like you had any control over such a thing.

‘‘Dazai-san! I’m sure you won’t find anything on [Name]‘s computer!“ Atsushi argued loudly enough for you to catch it over the phone. ‘‘Isn’t this what people your age call ‘finding tea‘?“ Dazai whined in response, pouted his lips and acted like he had gotten seriously betrayed by the Internet and its slang language.

‘Oh, Dazai is back?” You asked Kunikida before he could ask you to hurry up so he wouldn’t end up wringing the brown-haired man’s neck who was currently going on Kunikida’s nerves with his usual antics. A smile cracked your lips at the thought of a sense of normality returning to the Agency. Well, as normal as it could be. “Unfortunately, yes. Please try to arrive as early as possible.”

With those words being said, the call ended and the small smile fell from your lips faster than it had found home on your face. Everyone was still on high alert after Atsushi was abducted by Akutagawa and fought the Port Mafia’s rabid dog. Then there was Dazai purposely getting himself caught by the mafia just so he could find out who had placed the bounty on the young boy’s head. He was successful as always, but usually it was a death sentence once you were within the wall’s of the Port Mafia.

Of course, you believed in Dazai. His calculations were awfully accurate and somehow, everything played right into his bandaged hands. A man of such intellect would be terrifying to anyone else, but it only made you wonder how sharp Dazai really was, how deep his thoughts truly went. You’d probably never find out.

Despite Dazai’s plans always working out one way or another, you couldn’t help but worry about the suicidal idiot while everyone else brushed it off, saying he was either drifting along the river or chatting up some pretty lady. Only Atsushi and you had voiced out your concerns at the time.

You’d barely made it through the door and shrugged off your jacket when your hand was suddenly held by an awfull familiar, bandaged one and chocolate orbs sparkled brightly upon your apparently long-awaited arrival. “What a blessing you are for my sore eyes!” Dazai exclaimed dramatically and pulled off his daily, overdramatical act, lips pulled into an anticipating and hopeful smile that this time you’d say yes to a double suicide with him. “Ah, [Name]! You won’t believe how dull and grey the morning is when you’re not here and all I see is Kunikida’s unflattering face.” Somewhere in the back, you could hear Kunikida call out his partner’s name in an offended and warning tone of voice, probably about to pop a vein, too.

Normally, you would’ve laughed at their antics, but this time, a frown slowly spread across your face as you looked at Dazai, his hand delicately holding yours. Only one mistake in his planned abduction could’ve sentenced him to death by the hands of some mafioso. He wouldn’t be here, holding your hand and fooling around with Atsushi, annoying Kunikida and receiving more paperwork as a result. That idiot wouldn’t ask you for a double suicide every morning or steal bite after bite of your food until it, according to Dazai, magically disappeared. He would be gone, erased, deleted. This was the first time Dazai had been at the office ever since his visit at the mafia. “A wonderful face such as yours would look absolutely stunning in a lover’s-”

Dazai cut himself off as you refused to even crack the ghost of a smile at his attempt of openly flirting with you. Usually, you’d hear him out and end up laughing at his rather serious suggestion, but this time, there wasn’t even a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. Instead, he found a layer of sudden sadness clouding your gaze, but it wasn’t enough for tears to spill. “Is everything okay?”

You lowered your gaze to the ground, bangs casting a shadow over your eyes while you slowly let your hand slip from Dazai’s gentle grasp and raised it up high. Suddenly, you smacked him upside down on the head - maybe a bit harder than you intended to, but it was deserved either way. “You idiot!,” you exclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of your colleagues who were more than puzzled that you were upset with Dazai of all people. After all, they were convinced that the two of you were connected by the hip or siblings separated at birth.

“Ah, didn’t I tell you that I’m not as fond of pain as I am of your face, [Name]?” Dazai whined after his chin collided with your shoulder pretty hard. A pout found home on his lips as he was about to rub the sore spot you had hit so mercilessly and out of the blue, as well. “Shut up,” you said and rested one hand on his back, the other one cradled the back of Dazai’s head, getting tangled in his messy, brown locks. It probably looked funny given that Dazai was taller than you and maybe you’d laugh about that later. “I was worried sick about you,” the grasp you had on his trenchcoat tightened like he was about to disappear, slip from your embrace like water through the gaps of your fingers.

Chocolate-like orbs widened as he understood what the hit was for and he silently admitted that it was indeed deserved. He’d told you nothing about his plan to extract information directly from the mafia instead of receiving it through a third person. Of course, Dazai knew you’d be upset with him once he’d return to the Agency, knew about the feelings you held for him.

Dazai could feel your heart thumping against his chest in relief and allowed himself to bask in the warmth you radiated. He didn’t necessarily return the hug, but ended up patting the top of your head and gently messing up your styled hair which had probably frustrated you like every morning. To be held so closely and tightly by you, reminded him of the time you confessed to him one late afternoon. Now that Dazai thought about it, it was a lovely memory and wondered if it was okay for him to give in.

The sun was beginning to set and dipped the office of the Agency into an orange hue, giving the usually lively space a tranquil and warm aura that would be welcomed by anyone walking in. But the office was empty safe for Dazai and you who was typing away on the laptop in front of you, sending off important emails and bringing certain documents into chronological order to make it easier for Kunikida to skim through them whenever it’d be needed.

Dazai had ended up with more paperwork than necessary since he insisted on annoying Kunikida all day while you just had a lot to do. A case had caused a lot of material damage throughout Yokohama and now it was your duty to get everything organized and ready to be paid off by the insurance that had saved the Agency from bankruptcy more than once. That was why the two of you were currently stuck in the office, working overtime, unpaid.

Usually, you’d chat with the man sitting opposite of you about anything that came to mind, but that afternoon, you were nervously biting your bottom lip, chewing the sensitive flesh until it was reddened. The glances you stole of him were fleeting but you’d always look away whenever Dazai was about to make eye contact. Your cheeks were dusted in a pink hue as well and truth be told, it looked cute and suited you in a way. However, Dazai wasn’t too fond of your sudden silence. He was about to break the silence, but you cut him to it and closed the laptop shut a bit louder than necessary - you flinched at the sudden, strong sound bouncing off the walls of the Agency.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” your voice was full of conviction yet it was shaking with the insecurity of a child, your fingers couldn’t properly hold still. Interested in what you had to say, Dazai rested his chin on his palm, brown eyes attentive to your every move yet they held a soft glimmer in them and conjured a smile on his lips. “Hm? What is it?”

You took a deep breath - once, twice. It felt like your heart was trying to pound its way out of your ribcage, your pulse raced and you could hear the blood ringing in your ears. But this was no time to chicken out. If you didn’t do it now, God knew when the next best chance would be offered to you on a silver platter like this. “This might sound silly, but I think I might be developing feelings towards you,” you confessed in one breath and for a moment it felt like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders. It felt good to come clean. “You don’t have to return those feelings at all. I just..really needed to get this off my chest and I don’t want it to change anything between us,” and it was true. You didn’t mind being just friends with the suicide enthusiast as long as he remained by your side in some way. But unsaid feelings can be one’s downfall, so you took the risk.

The expression on Dazai’s face didn’t change, but it wasn’t quite readable, either. There was a certain depth to it that you’d never reach the end of, no matter how deep you swam, no matter how deep you’d cut. “I was wondering when you’d notice,” Dazai pretty much deadpanned. He had taken notice of your lingering gaze, the more frequent blushing when he’d compliment you or the fact that you always brought food with you, although you knew he’d eat it instead. The confusion on your face at that moment was quite amusing, too. Dazai chuckled, “you’re pretty much an open book for me to read, [Name].”

Of course, he’d know before you’d even notice your own feelings, you thought to yourself and let a gentle chuckle slip past your lips. It was really futile to hide anything from that man. “Promise it won’t change anything between us?”

“Promise,” he smiled in a heartfelt way.

“Yes, we’re all very happy you two get along,” Kunikida cut the moment without mercy and dumped a load of paperwork on your desk that contained things like finances, complaints, cancelled cases as well as successful ones. “But work comes first.” The blonde adjusted his glasses on his nose and then crossed the point of giving you your work for the day out of his schedule. Next was getting the discounted eggs and several other goods. No way he was going to miss out on that. “Come on, don’t be so harsh on them, Kunikida,” Yosano said, sitting on the edge of Ranpo’s desk who had been watching the scene with snacks between his fingers. “You know how they are,” the doctor tried to reason with the idealist and possibly lessen your paperwork. Kunikida shook his head no - as was expected but one could always hope, right? “That’s no excuse to be slacking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured your colleagues and got to your desk only to find your Google search history opened. So that bandaged bastard really did want to find dirt on you. Luckily, this wasn’t your personal laptop but the one you explicitly used for work. “It has to be done sooner or later, anyway. I’d rather have it off the desk now than tomorrow,” getting comfortable, you opened up Excel and began typing in the different losses as well as profits the Agency had made, giving several documents your signature and the likes.

“And what was that about my face being unflattering, you bandage wasting machine?!”

“Ouch, words hurt, Kunikida-kun!”

True to your words, all the paperwork was off your desk, every single data was saved on your laptop and the documents were stored away safely in a folder. When you looked out of the window, you saw that the large crowds from this morning were beginning to clear out, the sun was about to set soon. Considering the time, you doubted that anyone else would enter the Agency, today.

Atsushi was out on a job with Kenji, Kunikida was getting those discounted eggs, Ranpo had finished a murder case and most likely went home with Tanizaki’s help. Yosano had given you a hand with some of your work but left early.

You closed the Agency’s door when your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching you and sighed. “I’m sorry but we’re closed for today,” you spoke and locked the door properly, letting the key slide into the pocket of your jacket. But to your surprise, it was no possible client that wanted to give the Agency yet another case. “What? You can’t recognize me by the sound of my footsteps? I’m disappointed, [Name],” Dazai feigned hurt and put his hand right above his heart. The audacity you had to not recognize him after working together for so long! You couldn’t help the surprise adorning your face - Dazai never got back to his workplace unless he was dragged by Kunikida or it was a top priority. “Yeah, you must be incredibly hurt and will never get over it,” you laughed and cocked your hips to your side. “Now, what did you come back for?”

It was at that very moment that Dazai dropped the theatrical act that you had grown so fond of and replaced it what that damned tender face of his. You know, the face someone made when they could see their puppy grow up. “Let’s go on a date,” He spoke softly, not tripping over a syllable and remaining completely composed unlike you when you had confessed one or two months ago. Heat rose to your cheeks and suddenly, you grew oddly shy. Sure, Dazai was the epitome of a flirt and regularly asked women to commit a double suicide with him, but never quite asked them for a date with a look in his eyes that made the endless depths of them seem reachable. “Are you serious?” You double-checked, eyebrows raised in curiosity of his sincerity. Although you were pretty sure that Dazai wasn’t messing around in that moment, you feared that your ears might’ve played an ill trick on you. “As serious as a suicide enthusiast can be,” Dazai confirmed and offered for you to take his hand. Your eyes flickered from his hand and back to his face a few times, wondering what changed his mind about your feelings towards him and being a little bit cautious. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You trust me, don’t you?” You hated it whenever he pulled the trust card. Both of you knew you could never say no to that particular question, because it’d be a lie. And Dazai had a nose for lies. Sighing, you put your hand in his and watched his face light up in a pleased way, red staining your cheeks and your heart rate gradually picking up the more you realized that Dazai was seriously taking you out. In a date way.

As the two of you strolled throughout Yokohama’s streets and ended up in a small restaurant where Dazai made up for all the times he’d eaten your food by treating you to dinner, he’d realized that maybe this was one of the few right decisions he’d ever made.

A friend of him once told him he could never fill the empty hole in his heart. But maybe you could.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs imagines #bsd imagines

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llendrinall · 4 years

Note

So i got another fic idea in my head The dates are very important. 1 (May 1998) Percy was a Ministry spy and he worked closely with Albus. He saved a lot of lives no matter their blood or if they were creatures. And at the battle of Hogwarts he saves Freds life but hes in crit condition George is a total ass (He's angry and takes it out on Percy) going off at him saying nasty things along the lines of that Percy isn't welcome at the Weasley home anymore.

2 When he tries to go to the House to talk to them he's not treated very well ("Dont wanna hear excuses Percy"). He just give up, packs his things in his flat, & the next morning he goes, gives his mission reports that date from the start of his Ministry career along with his resignation letter on Shacklebot's desk. Then he's off to America to start over he snuck into Freds hospital room & used Snapes healing charms as a way to 'set things right' before leaving.

3. Percy is now in New York, gets a job, and then spends the next 6 months working diligently and whatnot. Then he meets Audrey Smith, they end up going on a few dates and she introduces Percy to her local gym and they become gym buddies and soon start dating. (Aug 2000) After 2 years together (They're married) Percy and Audrey find out they're expecting. And then the twins are born on the 2nd of May 2001. Percy laughs a bit as Audrey pats him the shoulder and says "They sure chose the date"

4. Sep 11 2001) Audrey dies in the 9/11 attack (she was a muggle) & Percy is left a widow with 2 daughters to look after. (June 2002) He bumps into Oliver who's on a quidditch training exchange. They catch up. (Oliver doesn't bring up the fact that Percy's fam has been looking for him for years and that he's saved so many lives) As December rolls around Oliver spends it at Percy's, meeting the kids and hearing Percy tell him everything (His wife, his family and the war)

(I think this is part 5? Idk its 2am here) (Jan - May) They spend a lot of time together after Xmas and slowly Percy begins to heal a bit more after Audrey's death. Oliver ends up going back to the UK and Percy misses him. (July) Oliver comes back with news that he's transferred to an NY team "They might not be big on Quidditch here but they're extremely good, Perce" (Its not because Oliver has been inlove with Percy since Hogwarts. Neither is it because he loves Molly & Lucy to death either)

6 (Feb 2004) The UK Papers get a picture of Oliver, Percy the twins out and it BLOWS UP. Charlie (The only one who even heard Percy out back after the war ended, He knows the others did wrong by him) floos in and then warns Percy about everyone knowing he's here and that they're gonna be coming in 2 days. So He ends up having Charlie take the girls. He ends up meeting with his fam and it takes a long long time for them to heal and fix things.

7. His Fam only get to meet Molly and Lucy when they're 6. When they're 7 he and Oliver gets married. Idk why but i seem to only send you these fic ideas when im hella tired and at 2am. T_T Why am i like this? So Audrey named Molly and Perce named Lucy (After each others moms)

Honestly, What can I say at this point? You have the whole story thought out. Go for it and write it!

It’s not the kind of story I write, though. But since you dropped the materials here, I can share how I would assemble it.

I would avoid New York. Big cities have a character. They are characters and you have to treat them as such. In Life skills, London is a character, complex and big and hard and beautiful. In Secret language of plants, even though Draco and Harry end up in London, I had them stay in the house because London was too big of a character for that stage of the story.

So, no New York. If I had to use a well-known city I would go with Boston, I think. Otherwise, a small one with a nice name.

Audrey doesn’t die on 9/11. Well, she dies on that day, but not on the attack. It’s something as simple and dull as a traffic accident. Percy wasn’t with her, not that it would have mattered. Yes, wizards have potions to mend bones instantly and protective charms and spells to stop the momentum, but Audrey died instantly, and no one could have seen the car until it was on her.

The driver was an old man, fumbling with that new invention, a mobile phone, trying to call his daughter who worked in New York.

Magic Law on the States is a bit… over the place. It would be extremely simple to put a curse or a hex that man. If Percy was clever about it, it wouldn’t be too illegal. But he doesn’t. Percy realizes it wouldn’t make him feel better.

Percy doesn’t particularly like the States. The tea is terrible, the coffee is weak, the spelling is painful and people are entirely too talkative. But it’s sunnier than England and the orange juice is good, so he stays.

He goes to Romania every summer to visit Charlie. The girls love it there and it was always easy to talk to Charlie. Charlie who had such a promising career in Quidditch and rejected the fame and fortune for a thankless career working with dragons. Not even training dragons for bank security, which is a cool and profitable career, but fighting that very same use.

Charlie only goes back home for a week during Christmas, so he gets it. They don’t have to talk about it, never mention that weird state of loving your family and not wanting to be with them, to fight, to have to explain and justify your very existence and your life decisions.

He meets Oliver in Romania. Supposedly Oliver is there to see the sights and rest his left shoulder, that was injured at the end of the league. But he is not the first Quidditch player who has a crisis of faith and comes to Charlie with questions. So far, none of them had taken up dragon-protection, but one became a broomstick racer and another is the head coach of an Italian team.

Charlie only thinks about dragons. Oliver only thinks about Quidditch and is in the middle of an existential crisis. So it’s perfectible understandable that the topic of Percy, his war heroics and his semi mythical status is never brought up. To be fair, Charlie doesn’t know much about it because he doesn’t read English newspapers and his family never talks about Percy when he is around. Oliver just thinks that Percy is the first Competent Adult he has ever met and is much more interested about this Figuring Life Out than any hero status.

So it’s fair to say that the headlines come as a surprise.

Someone snapped a picture of Oliver and Percy sitting very close together in a park, with twin stupid loving smiles. It was all perfectly innocent. Molly was doing something cute out of frame and they never kept any physical distance between themselves, not even in Hogwarts. But it doesn’t matter. The picture is sold as proof of the mysterious war hero and the dashing sport star carrying a secret love affair. It’s a beautiful story, powerful. Percy is the tragic handsome hero and Oliver the right person to bring love back in his life after years nursing the wounds of war. Or perhaps Oliver is the sweet and honest good boy, the boyfriend every mother wants for her daughter, seduced by the man living a life of exotic and daring adventures.

Whatever it is, the world wants to believe in it. So much so that bloody Draco Malfoy pops up to warn them that there is a dozen of rabid, ruthless, paparazzies coming their way. He knows because Malfoy owns the most read magazine in England and has put a bounty on a photo of the two of them kissing.

Paparazzies don’t have a concept of trespassing, but breaking and entering into a dragon reserve has certain difficulties that can’t be bypassed with an alohomora and a lack of morals. Percy and Oliver spend the rest of the month in the reserve, not daring to go out. Twenty-two days in each other’s company, hiking in the mountains and playing with the girls. Molly and Lucy have decided that Oliver is similar to Charlie in all the right ways, so they like him.

On day nineteen, they kiss. Someone gets a picture of it, but, in his excitement, the photographer wanders into a nest of young dragon carps. He is recued three hours later sans pants or shoes. The photo of their first kiss is lost.

Oliver says he is almost done with his existential crisis but now Percy has one of his own.

You see, there is something Oliver hasn’t said. Something he didn’t mention at all. And Percy doesn’t know if Oliver just hasn’t noticed (it took him two years to realize all the Weasleys were siblings) or if he noticed but… doesn’t care?

There is more than one reason why only Charlie has met the girls.

Even now that Percy has received letters from every family member (including Freaking Aunt Muriel) and even a surprise visit from them (he has a life debt with Charlie for the heads-up) and they have begun the unpleasant work of fixing their relationship; even now, they haven’t met Molly and Lucy.

It’s because of the Weasley cousin they never talk about. The accountant.

Percy knows that it’s perfectly normal. Many wizarding children don’t exhibit any magic until they are at least seven. But he also knows that every single person in his family was levitating toys (Bill, Ron and Ginny) or stopping spilled milk in mid-air (him) or shooting sparks (Charlie and the twins) by the time they were three.

Molly and Lucy had done nothing magical so far. Nothing at all. And Percy knows, in his heart of hearts, that if anyone makes them feel inferior, if anyone dares to say anything against them, he will go the Dark Lord route and kill every single person prejudiced against squibs. He might kill every single wizard and witch and eradicate all magic, so his girls won’t feel inferior to anyone. He found in himself the strength to forgive the man than took Audrey’s life, but he won’t do the same for the person who speaks against his children. He can’t.

On Christmas Percy reluctantly agrees to go to England with the girls because Charlie promises he will be there too. It is not easy. It is, in fact, very, very difficult and tense. He is forever grateful at Lee Jordan, who is glued to Fred’s hip cracking jokes and defusing tension. Also, Angelina Johnson takes George and Ginny to the kitchen and informs them they are the biggest idiots she has ever had the misfortune of meeting and that helps to avoid anyone saying something unforgivable they will regret their whole life. On Christmas’ Eve Harry Potter takes everyone’s wands because he is Harry Potter “and I do what I want” which means no one hexes anyone and they can overindulge the punch.

Oh, why bother? The whole thing is terrible and awkward and it hurts. But it is a necessary painful step, either to fix things with time or to say that he tried, actually tried, and never look back at this moment with regret.

Also, he gets to meet with Oliver. It turns out that Oliver hadn’t noticed the girls’ lack of magic, but he also doesn’t care. Why would he care? Are you- are you supposed to care? Is this another thing Oliver missed because he only thinks about Quidditch? What’s wrong with not having magic in any case? Oliver’s mother is muggle and it is agreed that she is wonderful.

(Even Potter says so. Percy has no idea of when Harry Potter met Oliver’s mum, but he speaks of her in the highest terms).

You can read about what happened next on issues of 32, 33 & 34 of Alakazam as well as special issues 17, 21, 22 and 25. Draco Malfoy earns 1.5 million galleons with issue 33, setting a record for most successful print in wizarding history. Then he obliterates that record with a single stolen picture of Percy and Oliver’s wedding. He committed around a dozen crimes to get that picture, got drunk on champagne and victory and asked Harry Potter to marry him.

(He also donated all the money to a newly created society for the support and trade education of squibs, but only two people in the world know that).

#asks #percy weasley #oliver wood #Anonymous #vese: dad percy

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leviathan-dee · 4 years

Text

DMC Week 2020: Day 6: You Belong Here

(Here’s another small wholesome piece. I really wish we had more interactions with the entire crew in DMC, but the community provides enough to sate that need for wholesomeness). (All prompts were used for day 6). (Alcohol mention, and one use of a curse word lmao).

Family was never a word that Dante had to use too often in his vocabulary. Decades of separation and neglect seemed to stretch, until he finally found where he belonged; in this drunken celebration with his slightly dysfunctional family.

Word Count: 1,755

Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, Kyrie, Trish, Lady, Nico

Read On AO3

The scorching July sun seemed to boil every living being which dared step foot outside, merciless rays beating down upon the Earth. Whoever escaped the confines of their four walls were bound to become crispy at the sheer thought of the sun. There were, however, some fools who tempted fate, and proceeded to have an entire barbeque outside.

The Spardas, alongside the Devil May Cry crew, were said fools.

Of course, no one could deny Kyrie, the kindest, most gentle creature to ever grace the planet, a day outside. Especially during a celebration. Especially on a pregnant Kyrie’s birthday.

It was July tenth, the weather being arid and overly vacant of any breezes. This only made the heat far more excruciating. Kyrie didn’t seem to feel the blazes, her skin absorbing the rays to form a honeyed tan which complimented the amber glimmer in her eyes. Whereas Nero, unfortunately, panted like a rabid dog. His skin seemed to turn scarlet at the mere thought of summer. Evidently, the situation turned even worse for the boy since he had to man the barbeque, grilling burgers, as well as sausages, meanwhile being inevitably covered in helix coils of smoke. His beloved watched him apologetically, whilst he continued to sweat up a storm, beckoning the children to pick up their mouthwatering meals.

Dante sat beside an orchard, the apple trees being a godsend for shade in his time of need. Although the Sparda twin could withstand blazing temperatures, it was only for a short period of time; Not an entire day. Brushing his white, sweat-soaked locks away from his brow, Dante grabbed the neck of the beer bottle, letting the bubbles gently glide down his throat. He basked in the sensation for what seemed a whole eternity, whilst the sound of bickering and giggling children filled his ears. It was blissful, to say the least. To feel like he belonged. To have family.

He had hoped Verge felt the same about this reunion.

Thinking about his twin brother, Dante turned to the blue devil, noting that Vergil’s usual scowl was wiped clean off of his visage. Instead, his face was soft, bereft of any tension. He seemed… happy. Relaxed. It was refreshing to see. Albeit his quiet nature, the elder twin continued to lift the corners of his lips, reacting to the children, as well as Nico’s vulgar comments and Kyrie’s deathly glares at the gunsmith. Trish and Lady were the other pair to cause a ruckus, making Vergil smirk anytime they were told off by Nero for using non-family friendly language at the dinner table.

“Aww shit, we’re out of ketchup.” As a slightly intoxicated Lady let the curse word slip, she squeezed the condiment bottle harder, making it spurt out a less-than elegant bowel movement noise, and a pathetic dollop of tomato sauce. The children fell into hysterics, Nero and Kyrie unsure of whether to reprimand the woman, or giggle alongside the kids.

Dante continued to watch the spectacle, a warmth blooming in his chest.

Vergil was happy. In turn, so was his younger brother.

“So, Verge, enjoying yourself?” Sipping on liquid courage, Dante turned his head to his twin.

“Hmm. It appears as though I am.” The blue devil assumed a somewhat distant stare, turning his gaze towards his busy son at the grill. His eyes softened at the sight of Nero. If there was a trace of bittersweetness in Vergil’s expression, it came and went almost instantly. However, Dante knew him better than anyone, and could recognise his elder brother’s ghosts of guilt and regret quickly.

As a sudden breeze eased the tension of blanketing heat, Dante sighed, and recalled a nostalgia fueled memory.

“Remember when mum and dad brought all of their friends to the manor for a barbeque? We ended up playing with the other kids, whilst the grown-ups got drunk?” The scarlet devil sucked air in through his teeth, the memory almost too painful to relive. Vergil recoiled at the sudden recollection.

“I reminisce about those days often.”

“You were a damn sprightly kid, Verge. Always running off and hiding to read. Me and the others had to search for you, only to find you up on that gnarly tree, chomping on some apple.”

Dante continued with the mental memoir, his lips curling upwards. He could almost hear the voices of the children and Vergil’s adamant refusal to climb down. He could smell the delectable cuisine of his father's famous burnt burgers and his mother’s soft laughter. Even the gentle grass lapping at his ankles was as vivid of a memory as the display of giggling children before him.

“And now…” Dante inhaled deeply, a ghost of a bittersweet smile gracing his lips, “now we’re the ones sitting, getting wasted, whilst the kiddos play.”

“What are you getting at, Dante?” Vergil uncrossed his arms, running his fingers through his hair, a tell-tale sign of either annoyance or discomfort. Dante simply waited to collect his thoughts, the image of past times being too much. In retaliation to the thoughts, he inhaled the scent of sweetened smoke, inching himself to the empty seat beside Vergil. He let out an almost elderly sigh as he landed in the chair before continuing earnestly.

“We made it, Verge. We've come full circle.”

Vergil's reforming thoughtful brow wrinkle made its famous comeback, his mind processing Dante's statement.

So they did come full circle.

Dante was so adamant on having something dear to hold onto, he was finally rewarded with a family. Finally rewarded with what he longed for since he was eight years old. Though it was a screwed up little group with issues that would take a few more decades to sort out, it was his family. Vergil was very much a part of that family. It warmed every cold crevice of the blue devil’s beating heart, the melodic rhythm becoming even prouder.

"Christ, Vergil. You have a son, can you believe it? In fact, you're going to have a grandkid. You're going to be the youngest looking gramps to have ever lived." Dante attempted to pinch his brother’s cheek, earning him an irked scoff, alongside a hearty slap to the back of the head. It seemed as though they returned to their youthful selves, ignoring the wrinkle lines that arose with age, and the exhaustion inflicted violet splodges beneath their eyes.

They were kids again, trying their best to catch up on the lost years of brotherly bickering.

...

The air began to cool off as the evening drifted. Nero was unchained from his duties, sipping a chilled beer, pleased hums and sighs resounding from his chest. Kyrie cuddled into Nero’s side, the both of them entangled behind the table. Viewing the spectacle, Dante turned to Vergil once more.

"I think mum and pops would be proud." The statement came out of the blue, yet did not startle the blue devil. Instead, his visage was graced with a saccharine smile, the type that Dante had rarely seen in the man. In fact, it was only witnessed during their eventful, albeit brief, childhood.

"Hmm… I hope so." Sighing, contentment written all over Vergil’s features, he craned his neck up to the trees, breathing in the tender breeze of the summer evening.

Dante continued to reminisce about his nephew, and the love of Nero’s life. Seeing the shy ‘couple’ back in Fortuna, he never anticipated to witness this decade-long result; A great-nephew. Kyrie seemed to glow as she nuzzled into her beloved’s side, with a five month bump becoming a prominent addition to her frame. It was a wondrous thing to Dante, knowing that their little dysfunctional family was ever-expanding. The fuzzy feelings appeared to bloom at an exponential rate, which the scarlet devil attempted to gulp down with bubbling alcohol.

He was proud of them. Proud of the tiny group. His family.

A boisterous Nico interrupted any thoughts, eclipsing the view of the couple with her presence.

"So, 'nother beer for ya, gents?" She offered to provide more drinks, with Dante gladly accepting and Vergil politely declining. Whilst the Spardas’ intoxication was low, Lady and Trish were completely sloshed. Their joyous dancing was evidence of the fact.

Nico turned to the middle of the garden where the pair were swaying their arms about as if they were attempting to fend off mosquitos.

“Lady is gonna regret all that booze in the morning. Not sure ‘bout Trish though.” As the young gunsmith twirled on her heels to approach Nero and Kyrie, the dancing pair of intoxicated women began to beckon Dante.

“Hey! Give us your iconic MJ dance!” Trish slurred not a single word, Dante noting that she was playing the drunk to accompany Lady.

“C’moooon Mr. Sparda. Please?” Lady, however, slurred every word. It wasn’t often she had the time or the energy to let loose, so the evening was some well deserved alleviation of pent up stress and frustration. In the distance, Kyrie giggled at Lady’s tipsiness, earning the birthday girl an amorous peck on her button nose from Nero.

The scarlet devil stood from his seat whilst giving Nico an impish smirk, before summoning Dr. Faust into his palm. It appeared as though the cowboy hat materialised from countless twinkling coils of demonic energy. Nico returned his mischievous smile with her own, silently fist bumping the air. Nero simply sighed and clicked his tongue, mirroring his father’s own mannerisms of annoyance and exasperation.

“Not again…”

“YES AGAIN! HIT IT, DANTE!” Nico joined in on the two buzzed women on the garden dancefloor. As a natural performer, Dante swished the headpiece upon his crown, assuming a pose that could wow the crowd.

For hours, the party continued, each member of the crew joining in on the song and dance. Even Vergil pranced into the centre, grabbing a wasted Lady to waltz with him. Toasts were made, followed by treasured tears trailing alongside the speeches, each word weighing the world. Their love for each other, and this little makeshift family, could not be altered or demolished in any way possible. For each of these members lost someone close to them. Whether it was a father, a mother, a brother, or their entire livelihood. They ultimately found a group of like-minded individuals to fill the void. Nothing could separate them.

‘You belong here’ a tiny cherished voice uttered in the back of Dante’s mind. For the first time in decades, he was happy. He felt like he belonged.

Hell, he did belong.

And nothing could change the fact.

#dmcweek #dmcweek2020 #devil may cry #dante #vergil #lady #nero #kyrie #trish #nico

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miracalicethebookgirl · 4 years

Text

The Phony and the Famous Pt. 3

AO3

Pt 1. Pt 2.

Summary: Lila spreads lies about being famous with worldwide connections to increase her local popularity. She’s confident that Marinette will never be able to prove otherwise. What she, and even Marinette herself, don’t realize is that Marinette won’t have to do any of that to come out on top. - A story in which everything Lila lies about, Marinette turns into reality for herself, usually unknowingly (our girl is quite the lucky one, after all).

“Yes, I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my left ear. I've had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my eardrum on the runway when I was saving Jagged Stone's lost kitten.”

Season 3, “Chameleon”

...

Fang was a simple creature.

He was hatched straight into the hands of the human he now called his owner and raised among those who often cowered from him. Very rarely did a human try to test Fang’s temper, so he grew up rather tame. His owner fed him well and presented him with many interesting gifts, most of which were quickly chewed through within days, if not hours. When Fang was not feeding or playing (or taking delightful baths), he would walk with and rest near and carefully watch his owner, for Jagged was a human worth Fang’s avid attention.

He could see when his owner was happy and content. It happened most when Jagged’s frequent companion—that human with the clipboard in her hands and the phone to hear ear, “Penny” she was called—would smile at him. It was even easier to tell when his owner was irritated and upset. Such moments were less frequent but still happened once or twice a week. Fang was now very accustomed to emitting a loud hiss on sight of the annoying man with the sunglasses and clanky jewelry.

And so Fang had his routine. Eat, play with his owner, sleep, growl happily at Jagged and his friends, hiss at the rabble, lounge in the bath, repeat (some steps more often than others).

Sure, Fang was unusual for a crocodile, but he was still a simple creature.

…

There was one girl who Fang recently began to see often. She was one of the few he was happy to ask for pets from, considering his owner always shouted happily when he saw her.

His owner called the girl “Marinette” or something of the like, but Fang thought her name should be Treats because she typically brought a box of cookies with her on her visits. Normally Fang wouldn’t care for human foods, but ever since the girl began bringing a variety of meaty snacks for Fang along with the cookies, the crocodile learned to become just as excited by her presence as his owner.

She was also very kind to Fang. Sure, she was reluctant to approach him at first as most humans do, but Fang understood that was how humans protected themselves. It proved she was a cautious one, yet also a brave and understanding one when Fang noticed that over time she became more comfortable with him, allowing him to nuzzle against her legs and growl in joy before climbing atop some furniture to beg for treats.

So one day, it was with little fuss that Fang allowed himself to be led out of the usual hotel by Treats. As a crocodile, he understood just enough that he would be in her care for the day.

Together, they walked down the streets of Paris. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and nearby humans consistently gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk with horror on their faces. Just how Fang liked it.

He prided himself on being able to keep the massive crowds away from his owner when they traveled around the world. Under Fang’s watch, not once did a “rabid fan” lay their hands on even the hair from his owner’s head.

Well…except for that one time one of those “fans” managed to zap Fang with a bright light, thus sending the crocodile to some empty white place.

But that was neither here nor there.

Treats was watching Fang for the day, yes, but that also meant Fang would watch out for her.

“Wow, Marinette! You weren’t kidding when you said you were pet-sitting a crocodile today!”

And there it was. The first test.

As soon as the two of them entered a park through its gated entrance, a tall boy came running at them, followed by a few others. Fang was quick to intercept as he maneuvered himself in front of Treats and snapped his jaw in the air once. The boy instantly recoiled.

“Whoa!”

“Sorry, Kim! Fang doesn’t like it when strangers come too close.”

“Unsurprising. Crocodiles tend to get aggressive when their space is invaded and considering their large size, that space can span a couple meters radius from their body. I can’t quite tell if Fang is of the freshwater or saltwater variety, but I can tell you that 95% of attacks on humans are caused by provocation no matter what species the crocodile is.”

“That’s a pretty good explanation. Thank you, Max,” Treats said as she bent down to pat Fang’s head. “Fang is just really protective of his owner and it extends to other people he likes. It takes some time for him to know a person so best to keep your distance for today.”

The first boy slumped. “Aw, man.”

Fang turned his snout away. That was the human’s problem. No way was Fang going to let his guard down just from some pitiful look.

By then, more young humans had gathered around but stayed far away, much to Fang’s satisfaction. They seemed to be friends with Treats, judging by her easy smile as she conversed with them, so he figured he’d keep his hissing to a minimum.

The afternoon passed peacefully in the park. Treats’ friends came and went without bothering Fang much as he lounged in a sunpatch.

He kept a watchful eye on one boy, though, who seemed a little too familiar with the girl. When the boy placed a hand on her shoulder, Fang let out a quiet warning hiss only to be met by a short hiss from the boy himself. It was oddly high for a human and the others didn’t seem to hear. Fang retaliated by crawling over and draping himself over Treats’ lap.

She let out an indignant squawk but Fang ignored it, reptilian eyes focused on the boy who had smartly moved away when Fang had approached. All the boy could do then was narrow his eyes at the crocodile momentarily before his face smoothed over and he went back to smiling at Treats.

If his cold-blooded body had allowed it, Fang would have scoffed.

Crocodiles may be simple creatures. But cats were even more so.

…

At some point, Fang became hungry.

He plodded a circle around Treats, who by then had moved to sitting on a bench as she struck up conversation with more friends. He rumbled and groaned for attention, which she was quick to give, and he delicately snapped his jaws at her to indicate his hunger.

“Oh, no! That alligator is about to eat Marinette!” came a shrieking from the distance.

Fang’s jaws clamped shut as he was quick to look for said alligator so he could fight it. Maybe he could make a meal out of it because such a scuffle would take a lot of him.

He was ignorant to the random screaming that erupted from all around the park while Treats’ friends spread out to try and calm people. Fang huffed.

Seriously, how was he supposed to find the alligator with all the chaos?

He turned back to Treats to see her glaring at another human girl. Ah, this must be another test. Perhaps the girl cried alligator as a ruse to distract Fang.

“No, really!” the girl continued. “I’ve seen rabid reptiles before and this one just isn’t safe! They latch onto one prey and they’ll keep on chasing no matter what you do! We have to get Marinette away from that alligator!”

Humans around the park hadn’t stopped running every which way while Treats’ friends looked on uncertainly. It confused Fang, because he still did not know what alligator the girl was screaming about. So he simply plodded closer to Treats and nuzzled her leg, hoping she would clear things up for him.

She must’ve understood crocodile language because thankfully her next words cleared things up for everyone.

“Lila!” Treats shouted reproachfully. “You need to be quiet for five seconds so I can explain to you and everyone else in this park that it’s all a misunderstanding. I am absolutely safe right where I am!” Her expression reminded Fang of when Penny would stand up eerily straight with a glare and somehow tower over his owner despite being much shorter. Needless to say, the posture and tone got the girl to shut up just as quick as Jagged would.

Treats marched over to this “Lila” and Fang was quick to follow. At least until Treats turned back to him and kindly motioned him to stay. Fang was a good crocodile so he did as he was told. The friends kept their distance.

“Now listen here, Lila,” she started off quietly once she stood just a meter away from the girl. “I need you to remain calm because panic from you and panic from everyone else is not going to solve anything. Fang is a completely tame crocodile and though he might look threatening, he knows better than to attack anyone. In fact he’s lived with humans his entire life.”

Fang nodded in satisfaction. He understood now that the girl thought he was the alligator. How silly. But an unfortunately common mistake.

The other humans seemed to share the same sentiment. Many of them nodded and smiled in relief. The Lila girl however, notably did not look reassured. If anything, she looked about ready to burst into tears.

“But Marinette! I thought you knew that I’m deathly afraid of crocodiles. I was traumatized as a child when I had to save baby flamingos from a herd of them in Africa!” And then she covered her eyes with her hands and actually started to cry. “How could you ignore that and do this to me!” she wailed.

Okay, Fang felt kind of bad at this point. He was sure Treats would never purposefully scare someone but he didn’t want to stick around any longer if a human was so terrified of him.

A few of Treats’ friends rushed over to the crying girl and tried to comfort her but they also defended Treats.

“I’m sure Marinette didn’t mean any harm!”

“Yeah, she didn’t even know most of us would be at the park today.”

“Come on, Lila, maybe we should get you home?”

Treats herself took a step back to let the others surround Lila. She held a frown on her face but said, “If Lila needs some time to calm down then Fang and I will head out first. Better to take away the cause of her trauma immediately, right? Besides, it’s about time we get him back to Jagged anyway.”

Some heads perked up at that.

The cat-boy from earlier, who stood apart from the crowd (and noticeably much closer to Treats) had a little glint in his eye. “That’s right! Fang is Jagged Stone’s beloved pet crocodile. Pretty neat that you were the first person he thought of to pet-sit for him. He must trust you a lot.”

Lila had been taken to sit at a far off bench by then, but Fang’s crocodile senses allowed him to hear that her sobbing had stopped and surprisingly a low growl had replaced it. One glance at her and he could spot the fury and shock in her eyes, unseen by anyone else.

If Fang had eyebrows he’d have raised them so high up. He settled for a confused hiss.

He really wished humans were simpler creatures.

Most of Treats’ friends wandered back to them after seeing that Lila had calmed down considerably and they excitedly began to ask Treats questions about Fang’s owner.

She just raised her hands up placatingly and shook her head, insisting that she get Fang back to the hotel to avoid any other mishaps. It made Fang a little sad to go back indoors so soon, but he didn’t put up a fuss. He just waited patiently as Treats finally turned around to walk over to him.

However, as soon as she looked in Fang’s direction, Treats’ eyes widened and she screamed his name. Almost too fast for his eyes to follow, she sprinted towards him before scooping his entire body into her arms and lifting him above her head.

Nobody moved for several seconds as a large runaway food cart went speeding through the exact spot Fang had been in.

The cart crashed into a nearby tree and a man—probably the owner—rushed by in distress, a constant stream of apologies spilling out of his mouth.

Fang felt himself being lowered to the ground. When he turned to look at Treats, he saw that everyone looked as gobsmacked as he felt, even the heroic girl herself.

“Holy kwami,” Fang barely heard cat-boy say under his breath. The sound of his whisper seemed to break the group out of their trance.

“DC, that was insane!” shouted the tall boy from before. “You just deadlifted a massive beast! Max, how heavy was that?!”

“U-uh, let’s see. Based on Fang’s size, he could be anywhere from 80 to 85 kg (approx. 175-188 lbs).”

“She reacted so fast I didn’t even see her move!”

“My girl’s always been on another level. Guess I didn’t realize how much until now.”

“Marinette saved Fang’s life! Ooh, we’ve got to post this!”

While her friends continued to chatter in amazement among themselves, Treats didn’t even notice them. She merely stared at Fang in relief before she patted him on the head. He looked up at her in question.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she sighed and slumped forward. “That was way too close.”

Fang was sure he could have handled it just fine, but was thankful nonetheless. He showed his gratitude by giving a low grumble and nuzzling her hand.

Soon the other humans finally calmed down, allowing Treats and Fang to leave the park. Treats herself seemed paranoid on the walk back, looking every which way to make sure danger didn’t come flying at them again. Meanwhile Fang made sure she didn’t accidentally walk into a busy road or run into objects.

They met with Jagged and Penny back in the hotel suite and were immediately brought into a group hug by the man.

“Marinette, your rock n’ roll heroic deed went viral and it’s all anyone’s been talking about for the past hour. I may have written a song about Ladybug and Chat Noir but I think I’m gonna dedicate it to everyday heroes like you, next time I perform it!”

The girl stuttered out some response while his owner kept shouting happily about this and that. Fang ignored it and ambled over to the couch to take a nap, something he felt he earned after such an exciting day.

He was a simple creature after all.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #fang #lila rossi #miracuclass #the phony and the famous #croc facts #adrienette

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reinydayz · 4 years

Text

Orc X Male Reader

Art Credit: https://twitter.com/ZachGiering/status/1098799468999143424?s=19

It was odd being an adventurer. One minute you're in a peaceful forest filled with nymphs and friendly slimes and the next moment you're in a dark cave full of vampires, bats, and rabid monsters. You just finished exploring for the day but instead of keeping up with your normal routine of going to a guildhall to look for jobs for some extra cash, you headed off to a serene lake that's known for it's magical properties. Rumors say that when the moonlight shines in the lake, you can see snippets of your future in the waves. You peered down into the moonlit pool, hoping something would show besides the trees and the crescent moon hanging above you. You stared for about a minute before you huffed and gave up on the lake showing your fortune. A howled erupted not far from where you were and made you jump a bit. You clutched your weapon, an enchanted bow, closer to your side before sliding down the trunk of a lanky tree. You sat down and looked on in amazement as fireflies and pixies emerged from their hiding places to flutter about. You were starting to relax when a strange noise similar to when someone stubs their toe and an odd yet lyrical language flew into the air. You carefully rose from your spot, careful not to make a single sound as you cautiously approached the source of the noise. Your eyes were drawn to something big, green, and muscly. The creature twisted towards you but didn't seem to notice your presence.

"An orc..." You breathlessly speak. The orc moved more towards where you were and picked up a small grey bunny, petting it gently as he sung something in a language you didn't understand. Now that he was closer, you could see his features better. He was gigantic in muscle mass and height with sharp eyes, boar-like teeth, long yet well kept hair, and a jawline that could kill. You slowly backed away, careful not to alert the orc when you suddenly slipped on a pebble. The orc's head whipped around to stop right at you. Your eyes went wide as the orc started towards you. You tried to ready your weapon but the orc had already reached you. You quivered as he towered above you, eyes sharply narrowed. The moonlight illuminated the outline of his body and the various scars scattered over his skin. The orc opened its mouth.

"What are you doing here, human?" His booming voice surprised you, not because of it's volume but the fact that he spoke English. You didn't know how to react and the fact that you were scared out of your mind didn't help either. The two of you stared at each other, waiting for the other to say or do anything.

"Have humans forgotten how to communicate?" He sighed, clearly frustrated. Your mouth finally moved to speak.

"W-we can talk..." You whispered. The orc then proceeded to squat down in front of you with an eyebrow raised.

"Then why didn't you speak up earlier?" He questioned.

"I was scared..." You honestly answered.

"For what reason?" You were intimidated by his size and stature but you didn't want to say that. The orc didn't seem hostile and was talking to you calmly now so you remained quiet instead of speaking up again. The orc blinked as he waited for an answer when another howl sounded somewhere nearby. The orc said something in his native tongue before hastily standing up and holding out a hand to you.

"Let's go somewhere else. It is dangerous here." The orc stated. You nervously took the orc's hand and you were practically flung up from the ground by the orc's light tug.

"You humans are surprisingly light..." He remarks, making you blush a little. The two of you arrived at a small clearing with a single log. The orc plopped down onto the log and patted the spot next to him. You gingerly sat next him and stared at his side profile.

"Are you alright...? You fell pretty hard earlier." He asked as he stared into the starry night sky.

"I'm alright now..." You shyly respond.

"That's good." It got quiet again. The orc doesn't seem to be one of many words. You part your lips to attempt conversation.

"Um... who was your bunny friend earlier?"

"Ah... just a rabbit I check up on every so often..." The orc elaborated. You thought that was all but the orc continues. "I like small and cute things. They intrigue me." He turns to you as if to show he referring to you. Your face goes flush and you turn away from him.

"You can't say things like that...!" You say, trying to prevent your voice from shaking.

"Did I say something wrong? Is cute not a compliment? Did I miss understand the word's meaning?" The orc inquired as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You jumped under his touch and you felt the orc's hand immediately retract. The orc got up from his spot on the log and rubbed his arm anxiously.

"I apologize if I am making you uncomfortable... I'm not good with human communication..." He confesses. You glance up at him and your heart is pained by the gloomy look on his face.

"No... I'm sorry... I've been so nervous this whole time..." You also get up from the log and boldly stride up to the orc. "You've been nothing but nice to me yet here I am upsetting you..." The orc's expression changed into a more sympathetic one and he took one of your hands in his much larger one.

"I think both of us should start over." The orc cleared his throat. "I am Tarran."

"Nice to meet you, Tarran. I am (Y/N)." The two of you exchange smiles.

"Oh! Wait here for a second..." Tarran rushed back into the forest and returned with something in his hands. Tarran held out a flower crown to you that was made with flowers you had never seen before. The flowers were a vibrant indigo and glowed softly. Tarran placed the crown on your head and let a small smile slip onto his lips.

"You look great." He complimented.

"Y-you think so?" You asked and Tarran nodded in agreement. You bashfully rocked back and forth on your heels as it got silent once again. This time it didn't feel awkward though. It felt... comfortable. You looked up at the sky right as a shooting star shot across it. You closed your eyes, mouthed a wish to yourself, and opened your eyes to see Tarran staring at you.

"What was that?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" You questioned back.

"You mumbled something... Why did you do that?"

"I made a wish on shooting star. Humans believe if you make a wish on a shooting star, it will come true." You beam.

"What did you wish?" Tarran grew closer to you.

"I can't tell you. Another thing humans believe is if you tell someone your wish, it won't come true." Tarran grew quiet again. The truth was, you were embarrassed of your wish. You wished you could remain here with Tarran but you had to go. The life of a adventurer is always moving and changing.

"Tarran... tonight has been lovely but I have to leave." You sadly say.

"Leave? But we just started to communicate normally..." Tarran's shoulders fell.

"Aw... don't be so distraught. I'll come back to visit tomorrow night. How about that?" Tarran's face immediately lit up.

"Yes...! I'll wait for you." Tarran grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming slightly in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Tarran." You wave to him as you walk away and out of the forest. You can't wait to see him again tomorrow.

#orc #gay #yaoi #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writers #male reader #male x male #male x reader #oc #adventure #adventurer #might continue this

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