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h0nology · 1 year

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The Metkayina Way

Neteyam x Metkayina!Reader

warnings: mentions of mating, war, fighting, death, swearing, violence, crying, angst, death threats. lmk if i missed anything.

happy ending here.

It was a little past eclipse, you and Neteyam still sat in the same place. Your back was against a tree and his head was in your lap as you ran your hands through his braids, you made a mental note to yourself that they needed to be touched up soon. The two of you had sat there, talking about any and everything, avoiding the scolding you’d get from your parents when you returned.

“Once we are mates,” Neteyam grabs your hand, “I will bring you to the forest, to meet Mo’at and everyone I grew up with.”

“I would love that, Nete.”

You were willing to go anywhere he goes, you always wanted to see other parts of your world. You could only imagine how beautiful the forest was.

“Where are we going to raise the kids?” Neteyam chuckled, looking up at you.

“Um…” You trailed off, locking your eyes on his. It was a good question, maybe too soon but still a good one, “I do not know, we will figure that out when the time comes.”

“No time soon though.” He laughs again, “Definitely not.” You join in.

Oh, but you couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait to spend your life with him. Kiss him, hold him, whenever you wanted. Create a family with him, raise them wherever you guys decide on in the future. Neteyam couldn’t wait either, staring up into your ocean eyes, getting lost in them. He wanted nothing but to make you his, right now, right here but he respects your wishes.

The two of you sat there until dusk, finally coming to an agreement to head back to your families. Once you two parted ways you walked to your pod, opening the flap to see your family gathering for breakfast.

“I will not even ask where you have been.” Your mother says, “Eat child.”

You sat in between your siblings, picking at the variety of fruit and other things in front of you. The pod was silent, the only words being exchanged were a few between you and your siblings, but the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

“You look tired.” Ao’nung looks over your face, he wasn’t trying to be funny, he genuinely noticed how your face isn’t lighten up how it usually is, “And you look like a skxwang.” You retort.

Ao’nung laughs, “I was not trying to be mean. Do you want me to cover training for today?”

“Why would I let you do such a thing?”

“That is the best idea.” Your mother buds in, “You need rest.”

Ao’nung does a victory laugh, popping some berries in his mouth before hopping up and grabbing his weapons.

“Thank you, mother.” He says, “Tsireya, I will need your help setting up.”

You look at Tsireya, who is already slightly smiling at you, “You do look tired, sister.”

After the two left you finished up your breakfast and laid in your hammock, it was weird to be laying down at this time of day, you're usually already out beginning yours. But your mother insisted you rested and that it was important, especially with the days to come. It had taken you awhile, tossing and turning back and forth but a few moments later you were able to fall into your slumber.

You emerge from the water, calling for the figure in front of you. You had been following behind them for some time down, for some reason you were infuriated, your chest felt tight and you wanted nothing but to put your hands on them. Loc’s. Much shorter than yours and golden. Their hair swung in front of you as you followed behind them on the beach, blood dripping from their hands onto the sand. You called for the figure but it only ignored you, moving further away with each step you took. You screamed, throwing objects that only bounced back, not a scratch made. You fell to your knees, defeated, putting your head in your palms. Once your breathing regulated and you removed your hands, you were back on the rock. The same rock where the lifeless body and muffled faces and voices were.

“No. No, please. No, no, no.” You began to stammer.

“Wake up, my child.”

You screamed, jumping up from your sleep only to be taken into your mother's arms.

“Shh, my child.” Your mother soothes you, “They are only getting worse, which means it is near. You have the gift of a blessing and curse, my sweet child.”

“I do not want the gift.” You cried, “I know, but she has already chosen.” She rubs your back.

Your mother sat there and soothed you like you were a baby all over again, rocking you back and forth as she whispered prayers to you. She sat there with you until you calmed down, wiping your face full of tears for you.

“Now come, my child. Your father is about to make an announcement.” She wipes your face one last time before helping you out your hammock.

You walk out your pod to see the members of your clan gathering at where he usually holds all his meetings, you and your mother approached the crowd, making your way to stand by your father. Soon your siblings joined you, standing beside you confused on as to what was going on.

“I have a wonderful announcement to make.” Your father yells at the crowd, you knew what he was about to say but you couldn’t tell that he was genuinely happy, “My eldest daughter. Next powerful tsahìk! Is to be mated with Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan!”

Tsireya hugs your waist as Ao’nung looks at you, somewhat in disbelief but he saw it coming.

“That skxwang is family now.” You tease Ao’nung.

You looked in the crowd for him, his eyes were already on you when you found him, shooting you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Despite the good news, there are serious matters we must address.”

The smile dropped from your face, Tsireya’s grip loosened on you as she focused on what your father was saying.

“The sky people have killed one of our spirit sisters and her child!” Your father yells, “There is a war upon us, it is coming sooner than I thought. We will fight against the sky people!”

Your father went on, Jake soon joining him as the members of the clan chanted and yelled. Tsireya began to cry, head falling on her shoulder as you comforted her, sneaking in a few chants here and there.

“This is not the time to be scared, Tsireya. You have to be brave, strong.” You cuffed her face and she nods, tears still streaming down her face.

“You must go and prepare the healing pods.” Your mother approaches you and Tsireya, “Yes mother.” You comply, getting up quickly and running over towards the healing pod.

Once you entered the pod, you laid out a few mats and grabbed the medicine and ointment made out of herbs and set them up for easy use. A few minutes went by and as you were finishing setting up, you noticed commotion outside the tent. Yelling and bodies running back and forth, you jumped to your feet, rushing out the pod to see what was happening.

“Our kids are out there, we have to go. Now!” You heard Jake say before summoning a Ilu.

You heart began to pound out your chest as you ran to your pod, grabbing your spear and running to the water, calling for Eymei. You jumped on her and sped through the water, taking a different direction than everybody else was going. You quickly rode through the water, trying to locate your siblings. It didn’t take you long to find them, all of them except Kiri and Neteyam were tied to the boat.

“Come on, girl.” You spoke to Eymei, the two of you going deep underneath the water, getting as close to the boat as possible.

Up.

You and Eymei emerged from the surface, soaring up into the air. All eyes were on you as you yelled in midair, positioning your spear to kill. Your spear pierced right through the demon's chest as you landed, you pulled it out and threw it at the next one you saw. You spared nobody, killing each and every one who came in your sight. Once they were all gone, you put your spear back on your back in it’s holder and grab the knife from your thigh, running over to Tuk first, cutting her free. You proceeded down the line, cutting the material and pushing them to safety.

“Where is Kiri and Neteyam?” You yell at the group, “I have not seen them–” Lo’ak started.

The boys' sentence was cut short when the boat tilted in the opposite direction, causing all of you to slide. You grabbed ahold of Tuk, holding her tight in your arms. Your back crashed against something, taking most of the impact as the boat fell back into place. Just as you were about to get up and tell them to keep moving, they were being tied up again.

“Nice try.” A man says, snatching Tuk from you.

You jump to your feet, just to be restrained from behind. You struggled to free yourself as you notice the man getting rough with Ao’nung and Lo’ak.

“Do not fucking touch them!” You hissed, “You’re a feisty one, I see. This must be your brother, huh?” The man pulls his knife out.

You let out a horrifying scream, biting whoever restrained you.

“You bitch!” They had finally let go, you quickly stabbed them with the knife and made your way over towards the man, but he was on the ground within seconds, arrow in his head.

“Teyam!” Tuk yelled, looking at her brother who had just jumped up on the boat.

“Stealing my vocabulary,” He yells, looking over at you as he cut you guy’s siblings free, “I love it.”

“We have to leave, now!” You ignored Neteyam’s comment, gathering your siblings and Tuk.

“We have to save Spider, He’s in there.” Lo’ak yells, picking up the foreign weapon, “Lo’ak.” Neteyam sighs.

“We cannot leave him.”

Neteyam shakes his head and begins to walk with his brother.

“Neteyam!” You yelled from where you were about to exit, but he kept walking, “Neteyam! Do not!”

He whips around and runs towards you, the others were already in the water waiting for you to jump in.

“I will return, my love.” He assures you, “Please. Take our siblings to safely, I will meet you back on the island.”

“Neteyam, please.” You begged, and with that he pushes you off the boat, going to catch up with Lo’ak. He knew you’d try and stay and fight with him, and he didn’t want to risk anything.

You were furious with him as you plopped down into the water, but you snapped back to reality. You had a job to do, make sure your siblings and his were safe. You called for Eymei, as the rest called for more Ilu’s. You kept Tuk with you the whole time, leading the group.

As you continued to pass through, something blocked your way. Two of them. Some type of technology the sky people had created, you signal for the group to go over them, but they were quick, zooming at you. You made Tuk go with Ao’nung and Rotxo before taking your spear from its carrier, telling Eymei to move forward. You got as close as possible before throwing the spear through the shield that protected the demon, you pulled it out and looked for the other that had disappeared. You feel commotion behind you, quickly turning around to see the other quickly approaching you, shooting bullets in your direction.

Then blood. Not yours, not from the demon you were after. It came from below, your queue disconnected from Eymei’s as you began to sink lower into the water. The demon in front of you paused, studying your face and immediately became horrified from what he saw in front of him. You break the glass with your spear, aiming it right at his throat. Once the job was done, you look at the water below you, Eymei’s body slowly sinking down. You followed after her, trying any and everything to prevent the inevitable. She was already gone before you had even gotten to her, you let out a scream, bubbles forming all around you. Eymei has been with you since the beginning, she was the first you ever rode and now she was your last.

The hand on your back startled you for a moment, until Ao’nung appeared in front of you.

“Sister, we have to go.”

“Eymei.”

“I am sorry.” He looked down at Eymei then back to you, “But they have Tsireya, we have to leave.”

“What?!” You signed, looking in every direction for your little sister.

Rotxo handed you your spear and the four of you swam back to surface.

“You two, take Tuk! Get back to the island!” You yelled, “I cannot leave you out here!” Ao’nung argued.

“You will.”

Ao’nung wanted to argue with you on this one, he didn’t want to leave you out here alone, especially after what had just happened but the look you were giving him right now meant you weren’t having it with him.

“I see you, sister.” Ao’nung said, you were taken back for a short second, he hasn’t said it since you two were little, “I see you, Nung.” You shoot him a sad smile before turning the opposite way and diving under water.

You called for another Ilu, riding back towards the direction of where you came from. Eclipse was soon, and you began to panic, not only because you were about to lose your sight, but this is exactly how it went down in your occurring dream. You searched for any sign of anybody, it’s like you were stranded. You kept moving though, in hopes of finding your sister. Your journey was longer than you expected, and you feared you’d be too late by the time you finally reached her. Your mind was going in a million directions. Ao’nung, Rotxo and Tuk. Tsireya. Neteyam. You wish you all just stayed together during this whole thing, that you all went back after the incident on the boat. As much as it frustrated you, you have to push it down, and ignore it. For now. The only thing you needed to be worried about was finding Tsireya.

Eclipse had come, you were now under the water, swishing your way through. You felt useless at this point, slowing down because of the pain in your back. How were you supposed to protect when you cannot even find who you are supposed to be protecting? All you could do was ride, ride until you found something. And that’s what you did, though you weren’t expecting to find your brother, Rotxo and Tuk again, not after you told them to go back to the island. You jumped off the Ilu and swam down towards them, the three mesmerized by what was in front of them.

“I told you to go back.” You pull Ao’nung to look at you, “We found Kiri.” He signed back, pointing in front of you.

You were confused at first when you looked at the girl, trying to figure out exactly what she was doing. Then it hit you. Her gift. You knew she had one but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All the girl had to do was move her hands and those same machines from earlier were tangled in the large sea anemones, you watched as the demons floated into the water, about to step in until they were being pulled into the anemone as well. It didn’t stop with them, more plopping down into the water out of nowhere, way too many for her to handle.

You swam in her direction, pulling your spear from your back once again, you found it easier to get closer to them but that didn’t work this time. The machine clamping onto your leg and pulling you down, it almost felt like they were trying to rip it off. You struggled to get a good aim at what was pulling you, beginning to pull you in the opposite direction. Ao’nung tried to swim after you, but the machine was moving too fast, Kiri finally noticed what was happening, sending the machine crashing into the nearest rock. Your body jerked due to the sudden impact, but the grip on your leg finally loosened. Ao’nung was able to reach you, putting your arm over his shoulder as he pulled you up.

“Your leg.” He signed, “We have to get you back.”

You look down at your bruised leg, it even hurt to move it but you weren’t going back.

“I will go back when I find Tsireya and I know that the others are okay.”

Ao’nung shook his head in frustration, he thought he was the stubborn one. He pulled up you up to the surface, pulling you to go with him.

“I will not let you kill your self!” He yelled, “Ao’nung, I will not tell you again. Go. I do not know what I would do with myself if something happened you. Either of you.” You look in between him and Rotxo.

He was about to speak up but a loud explosion cut him off, a big fire appearing above the water.

“Go now.” You pushed him, before diving back under to Kiri and Tuk.

You told them the direction to go, slowly but surely following behind the two. Your leg was slowing you down, so was your back but you continued to swim. As you three approached the boat, ready to see whatever was going on, it collapsed. Somehow it managed to flip, multiple bodies falling into the water, soon being stuck underneath the boat.

Oh, great mother.

It was always something setting you back from doing the one thing you needed to do. You swam down to the glowing part of the water, grabbing the Txampaysye and attaching it to Tuk’s back to provide oxygen for her, Kiri took it upon herself to attach one to her back as you did the same. Just in case you ran into anybody who needed it more than you. You motioned for the two to come to you, but Kiri was too caught up in the little glowing fish.

“I think I can do something with them. Go, I will find you.”

Tuk stayed with Kiri as you made your way towards the boat, looking for an entrance. You were able to pull some things apart, breaking your way in. You swam, and swam, holding onto things trying to keep you going. More of the boat began to collapse, you noticed the water began to rise even more as the boat sunk.

You noticed a slender torso struggling to stay above the surface, legs kicking for a minute until they stopped completely. You pull yourself using the broken pieces of whatever, you didn’t have long. You were losing your strength. You reached the body, soon recognizing it to be Neytiri, the familiar beaded clothing catching your eye.

“Take this.” You emerged to the water, startling her a bit in the process, you take the Txampaysye and attached it to her back, “It will help you breathe under water.”

You grab her hand and pull her underneath the water, guiding her in the direction you had come from. Or at least where you thought you came from, your mind was beginning to scramble, your body becoming weaker and weaker every time you moved. Neytiri looked at you with concern, grabbing your shoulder to stop you from moving.

“I am okay.”

Your signing didn’t go through to her, she furrowed her eyebrows at you and shook her head. You shook it off, assuring her that you were fine as you continued to swim in the water, trying to find any way out. Just as you were about to give up your search, the same little glowing fish from earlier started to appear, Kiri and Tuk appearing behind them. You smiled, letting Neytiri go in front of you to reunite with her daughters. Though you smiled, you wished it could’ve been you. Reuniting with your sister, who’ve you yet to find.

You guys follow Kiri out of the sinking ship, going out to the clear where you could go back to the surface.

“Thank you.” Was the first thing Neytiri said to you, hand cupping your cheek as she looked at you, almost like she wanted to cry, “You need to head back now, you are hurt.”

Your eyes swelled with tears; you knew you couldn’t go on any longer. Your body was giving up on you, you ached terribly.

“I have to find my sister.”

“She is fine, with Lo’ak.” She nods, “Please, go.”

You felt a wave of relief over your body, knowing your sister was safe. You nodded at Neytiri, obeying her orders and you called for an Ilu. They helped you on, making sure you were fine before you began to ride off.

Dawn was approaching, your mind was so scrambled, it’s like time wasn’t real at the moment. Everything had happened so fast, it was starting to mash all together, leaving you in a dazed state. You began to slow down on the Ilu, leaning forward on it, trying to allow your body to rest. Your head was against it’s, floating through the water, eyes fluttering as you looked at the waves hit the rocks ahead of you.

You almost drifted into a slumber, it’s truly what your body needed but your eyes opened when you saw commotion on the rock ahead of you. You squinted your eyes, slowly moving forward to see what was going on. Golden loc’s, much shorter than yours, pulling the dream walker out the water. The same man that had started this great war, the demon had saved him. You weren’t close enough to hear what they were saying to each other, their conversation being cut short as the demon jumped into the water and the dream walker flying off on a Ikran.

You sunk down into the water, following stealthily behind the boy, who was swimming quite fast. You lazily pulled your spear from your back, easing up on the boy as he approached a rock. You hopped off the Ilu, swimming up to the rock, pulling yourself up with your spear still in your hand, ready to aim at the boy. Your actions faltered at the sight in front of you, dropping your spear as you slowly approached.

“Nete, no.”

This wasn’t real. You wished you were hallucinating, digging your fingernails into the palm of your hand, trying to wake yourself up. But you weren’t dreaming, this was all real. You dropped to your knees, not caring about adding on to the injures of your leg. You grabbed his cold hand, holding it as close to your heart as possible as you began to sob.

“Ma yawne, please.” You begged, grabbing his lifeless body in your arms, beginning to rock back and forth, “Neteyam!”

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to meet him back at the island, meet him back there and continue on with your lives together. He promised he would return to you, and he didn’t. So, this was it. This is what has been haunting your mind. You knew, and you still couldn’t prevent it from happening. Your sobs turned into incoherent screams, stammering the boys' name, looking into the boys golden eyes that weren’t glowing like they usually do. They were just there, soulless. You took it upon yourself to close them, squeezing your eyes shut as you continued to rock his body back and forth.

“I have failed you, ma Nete.” You whispered to him, “And I am so sorry.”

“Hey…” The foreign feeling on your shoulder made your blood turn cold, snapping your head around to see that the demon boy had his hand on your shoulder, “I’m s-”

You viscously hissed at the boy, your fangs on full display for him to see. He backed up with his hands up in defense, Jake stared at you confused as he welcomed the boy back in his arms.

“Sister.” Tsireya softly says from behind you, you felt terrible for not even acknowledging her, but you couldn’t seem to let go of Neteyam, you cradle the boy in one of your hands and use the free one to grab hers.

“It’s time to let go.” You hear Jake tell you and you pull your head up, shaking it in denial, “You’re bleeding.” He stated, thinking that would make you move quicker.

“Let me.” Was all you said.

You didn’t realize how bad it was, you didn’t see your bruised up body that was now bleeding terribly. You felt numb. Jake signaled for Neytiri to grab you, which she did, holding you in her arms as you cried because you didn’t want to let go. You placed a quick peck on his forehead before she pulled you up, trying to comfort and restrain you at the same time. She called for her Ikran, pulling you up with her as she began to fly back towards the Island, the last thing you see being your lover's body laying lifeless on the rock.

Your eyes fluttered opened, blinking a few times to adjust to the lighting. You lifted your head, looking around where you were at, the healing pod. You tried to lift yourself up but failed terribly.

“Do not try to get up by yourself.” You heard your mothers voice, “You must have someone to help you.”

Soon strong arms were helping you sit up, your father holding you close.

“You are brave, my daughter. You make me proud.” Your father says, rubbing your back that continue to ache, “And I ask extremely sorry that this has happened to you.”

“I am fine, father.” You were in complete denial, because in reality you were fine at all, “I want to see him.”

“Come then, you have woken up just in time.” Your mother grabs your arm, helping you up, “First, you must put this on.” She drapes a combination of net and seashells over your body, similar to hers.

She held you up as you limped out the pod, walking out onto the beach. Eclipse was almost here again; you had slept the entire day. You and your mother continue walking over towards their pod, you eventually removed your mothers' hand from you, but she was still close by, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself. You reached the front, peeking your head in at the family.

Neytiri noticed you first, quickly standing up to greet you, she stood in front of you, dipping her fingers into the white paint and smearing it across your face and down your neck.

“You are my family now; I am forever grateful for you.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, only sadly smiling at her. Your mother left you with the family, letting you participate in the ceremony. You walked out the pod with his siblings, you all call for Ilu’s as you got in the water. You rode with Kiri, her refusing to let you try and ride alone. Tuk rode with Lo’ak and the demon boy who made your blood boil every time you saw him, but you didn’t have the energy. Not right now.

You reached the cove of ancestors, memories flooding through your mind already. You tried to block them out, but that only made more come. Kiri helped you off the Ilu, being in the water helped you a little more, being able to keep yourself up. The members of the clan were already gathered behind you, torched tikis in their hands. Tears began to swell up in your eyes as you saw Neytiri and Jake making their way towards the cove, pulling Neteyam with them. You couldn’t even the bare the sight, your heart ached. You dropped your head to look at the water below you, Lo’ak noticed your state, something he’s never seen before from you. Vulnerability. You were always so strong, stern, mean, even scary at times. This was different. He grabbed your hand, squeezing it to let you know he was there for you. You began to squeeze his even tighter when his brother appeared in front of you, touching him one last time with your free hands before he slid off the leaf.

You shook your head, popping your head out the water, refusing to watch. You let go of Lo’ak’s hand, swimming over to your siblings who stood behind you. Ao’nung immediately pulled you into his arms, he hated to see you, his big sister, the second most fearless woman he knew in a state like this, you were never vulnerable. Not in public in front of all of the clan members at least. You grab Tsireya’s hand before you putting your head down, quietly sobbing as your little brother held onto you.

The days had gone by, while everybody else’s have seemed to have gotten easier, yours have gotten worse. You haven’t returned to your pod in days, maybe even weeks. Your parents, siblings, everybody really worried for you. They knew you were somewhere close, not too worried about your safety. But you, yourself. This was not like you, you were not the type to isolate yourself from you people like this.

You spent day and night bouncing between the cove of ancestors and the spot you two had once shared. You asked the great mother every day, why? You refused to to believe that it was his time, that this was the plan she had made out for you two. Why did she bring you two together? Why had you waited for him. She drew you two together just to pull you apart. You sat in the same spot where you two had sat together only two days ago, thinking about the conversations you had shared. All the things you said you would do together, see together, experience together, would never happen. Just when you had found somebody, who understood you, cared for you, yearned for you as much as you yearned for them, he was gone. Just like that. And you couldn’t even wrap your head around it.

Maybe all the time alone is what was getting to you, instead of surrounding yourself by your family, you decided to isolate. You know that’s not what he would want you to do, he would want you to talk to somebody, in order for them to help you. One thing he was notorious for, urging you to talk so that you would get the help you needed. You stood from the spot, calling for the Ilu as you jumped into the water. You rode through the cove, usually you had avoided going the way you had last seen Neteyam, but you were finally able to, passing the glowing yellow anemones. There was barely anybody out when you reached the island, which was good for you because you didn’t want to answer any questions right now. You know it was wrong of you, but your feet went in the opposite direction of your family’s pod, instead you walked over to the people who are now a second family to you. They haven’t seen you since the ceremony, so you appearing at the front of their pod caught them off guard.

“Oh!” Neytiri gasped, making her way towards you, “Where have you been?! Your family is worried.” She brings you into a hug.

“Around.”

She brings you in the pod, looking over your body for any injuries and such. Kiri and Tuk came over to hug you, almost pulling you to the floor.

“You need to eat something.” Jake demanded, quickly fixing you something and pushing it towards you, “I am not hungry, I actually came here to ask if I could borrow Lo’ak for a moment.” You looked over at Lo’ak, who sat there confused.

Jake looks at the boy, and to Neytiri before looking back at you, “Don’t be out too late.”

You nodded, thanking the man before detaching yourself from the sisters and walking out the pod with Lo’ak, who was still confused on as to why you requested him. You didn’t speak, scared to tell him where you were leading him in fear that he would decline.

“When are you coming home?” He asked from behind you, “I am always home.” You replied, walking into the water.

“Tsireya misses you, and she worries.”

His words broke your heart even more, “I have been selfish, I know. I just needed time.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just following you on the Ilu he had summoned. When you two reached the Cove, Lo’ak knew exactly what you were here for.

“No, I d—”

“I cannot do this alone.” You turned and looked at him, “Please, Lo’ak.”

He lets out a deep sigh, nodding his head, “But I just want to see him, I can’t talk to him. Not yet.”

You nod your head at him, jumping off the Ilu and swimming down to the spirit tree. You were just here with him, now you are here to visit…You grabbed your queue, slowly bringing it up to the tree to intertwine with one another. You smile slightly, as your eyes fluttered shut.

You appeared on the path in the forest, of course. You followed it, slowly walking to the glowing pond. And there he was, sitting with his feet in the water.

“Nete?”

His head swung around, smile instantly spreading across his face, “It is about time you showed up.”

You smiled at the boy, sitting down next to him, his arm immediately wrapping around your body, pulling you into him. Oh, have you missed his touch. You just sat there, listening to him ramble, taking in the moment.

“Why are you so quiet?” He looked at you.

You shake your head, “I just—I do not have any words.” A tear fell from your eye.

“My love, why are you crying?” He pulls you out his embrace to see your face, “I have just missed you, that is all.” You try and stop yourself from crying.

“Do not act so deprived of me, you see me everyday.” He mocks you, wiping the tears from your face as you let out a laugh.

“You are right, idiot boy.”

And just like that, your eyes fluttered open, your queue disconnecting from the tree. You smiled, a big relief taking over you. Though this being your only form of communication with him, he was right, you do see him every day. He was always with you. You touched the single piece of your hair that had the two beads on it, blue and gold. Always together.

You and Lo’ak swam back to your island, not wanting him to get in trouble with his parents. You parted ways with him on the beach, walking to your pod, quietly opening the flap and sneaking in. You looked around at your family, who was fast asleep in their hammocks. You regretted leaving them for these past couple weeks, especially your siblings. You slipped into your hammock, going to pull it over you.

“I knew you would return soon.” Your mother’s voice spoke, startling you, “We have missed you, daughter.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” She shushes you, “You are to grieve however you may like, a process like this takes time.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me, my child. It is my job.” She says, “Now get your rest, I am sure your siblings will be happy to see you.”

You pulled your hammock over you, holding yourself in your arms as you attempted to get some rest.

A body crashing into yours woke you up out your sleep, the two of you flipping onto the hard floor of the pod. You were about to go into defense mode until you realized who was on top of you, Tsireya.

“Where have you been?!” She semi scolded you, “You had me worried, sister.”

You two stood, you ignored her question, pulling her into a tight hug.

“She is back now, that is all that matters.” Ao’nung’s voice said from behind you, wrapping his arms around you and Tsireya.

Your parents had already left to do their morning duties, so you and your siblings took it upon yourselves that it was only right to eat your breakfast on the beach. You all didn’t sit at your usual spot on the rocks, but in the sand, closer to everyone. Tsireya laid out the fruit as you all sat gathered together, catching each other up on the past weeks. You started to zone out when you saw the familiar face that you hated to see, following behind Kiri and Tuk in the distance.

The anger you felt when you saw those golden loc’s was almost scary, your mind was telling you no, but your body yearned for violence. Revenge.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Ao’nung waved his hand in front of your face, “Sorry. What were you saying, ‘Nung?”

“I met a girl! Ìnaha!” He began to get frustrated you, only because you weren’t listening to him.

“That is good.” You nodded, still looking at the demon ahead of you. You snapped out of it, bringing your attention back to Ao’nung, “How did you get a girl to fall for a skxwang like you?”

Ao’nung followed to where your eyes were then looked back at you, “Why do you keep looking over there?”

You dropped your head, looking at your hand as you played with the sand, scooping it up and pouring it back.

“What is on your mind, sister?” Tsireya’s hand met your knee.

“I want him gone or I will kill him.” You blankly say, dropping the sand once again. Tsireya removed her hand from you, taken back at what you had said.

“What? Who?!” Ao’nung couldn’t believe you had just said that so casually.

“That demon who our clan has wrongfully accepted.” You seethed.

“He has done nothing wrong! You were the who taught that we must accept others who are different from us!” Tsireya argued.

“He saved the demon that caused all of this, I watched him do it!” You slightly yelled, quickly regaining your composure. You weren’t mad at them, just the situation, “He is the reason Neteyam is gone, Neteyam went to save him. Now he is gone! If he does not leave soon I am going to kill him, and nobody will change my mind.”

tags: @afro-hispwriter @mashiromochi @neteyamforlife @fanboyluvr @pandoramyst @y2unagiz @thel0v3hashira143 @amortencjja @zeeader

#neteyam fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #neteyam #neteyam x reader #avatar #ao’nung #lo’ak x tsireya #metkayina reader #metkayina #neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam angst #Spotify

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sacredsnape · 1 year

Note

pretending there’s a yule ball every year at Hogwarts - could you do Sev at the yule ball in his seventh year? 😍 up to you whether he goes with Remus, Theo or reader 🥰 (or all three in a harem lol)

THEO AS IN MY OC THEODORA FROM MY FIC HANDLE WITH CARE?? I'M GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET (at least I hope you're talking about her 😭 regardless, this is a Severus and Theodora oneshot). Here's a link to Handle With Care, my story on AO3 about Sev adopting Harry immediately after James and Lily passed, and raising him with the love of his life, Theodora<3

Lovers Ŕock

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Inspired by Lovers Rock by TV Girl <3

Masterlist

Severus was tying and retying his tie as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror in his dorm. He was so nervous that he was shaking, his fingers fumbling with the green tie.

"Stupid piece of shit," he grumbled, yanking the tie from the collar of his dress shirt. He threw it onto his bed, frowning at his reflection in the mirror as he hastily patted down his hair.

"I thought you looked handsome with the tie."

Severus nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Theodora behind him. He spun around to see her standing in the entryway of the dorm, a wide smile on her face.

Severus felt his face heat up as he gazed at her, his eyes softening. She was wearing a pink ballgown that fluttered with real white butterflies. Her curly hair had been braided into small locs, her braids falling past her shoulders and onto her back. Her hazel eyes shone beautifully under dusty rose eyeshadow. Her lips were covered in a sheen lip gloss that made Severus breathless.

Theodora became flustered under his intense gaze, gracefully striding into the room. She carefully picked up the tie, grabbing Severus by the shoulders and turning him to face her.

"You're so beautiful," Severus breathed as Theodora looped the tie through his shirt's collar. Theodora blushed, her lips twisting into a coy smile. She'd been in love with Severus since their third year, and his compliments still gave her butterflies.

"And you're so handsome," Theodora beamed, looping his tie and then finishing it with a tight knot. She lifted her hands to his face, pushing his hair behind his ears. She loved doing that. It allowed her to get a better view of his pretty face, and Severus seemed to love it too by the way he giggled.

Severus's heart felt so full of love as he stared at Theodora. He had also been in love with her since their third year but was convinced that she didn't feel the same way. They'd been secretly pining over each other for years, insisting to everyone that they were just friends even though they often cuddled and went on little dates.

"It seriously baffles me how handsome you are, Sev," Theodora continued, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. Severus melted into her gentle touch, his heart skipping several beats. She was so close to him and smelled so good, like fresh flowers.

"Am I really so handsome?" Severus laughed nervously, dropping his hand to her waist out of habit. He held it, smiling bashfully at the feeling of her dress under his fingers.

"I'd never lie to you. You are very handsome. You're my handsome prince," Theodora mused, her thumb halting on his cheekbone as her eyes flicked down to his lips. She often daydreamed about kissing him, but never worked up the courage to because she was worried he didn't see her as more than a best friend.

Severus's breath hitched as he caught Theodora looking at his lips. His pupils dilated, squeezing her waist as he leaned in, his heart and soul overflowing with nothing but love for her.

Theodora's stomach gave a pleasant lurch as Severus bent down to meet her height (she was much shorter than he was), and his nose brushed against hers. Their lips were inches apart, so close to finally meeting, before Bruce Mulciber burst into the dorm.

"Sev- oh, have I interrupted something?" Bruce smirked as he watched Severus and Theodora jump apart. Theodora looked down at her heels, blushing profusely as Severus heavily replied, "No, you didn't."

Bruce gave Severus a certain look, one that screamed, "Just tell her how you feel already!" before he shrugged, brushing past them to grab his dress coat.

Severus checked his wristwatch, which was broken in a few places, but he managed to make out the time. "It's a quarter to seven. Shall we head down to the Great Hall now, Theo?" He extended his arm to her, a gentleman at heart.

Theodora looked up at him, her face glowing and her eyes twinkling with joy. She took his arm and nodded. "I'm ready, Sev."

---

Severus and Theodora loaded up on butterbeer and food ten minutes into the ball. They honestly forgot about dancing for a while, enjoying their treats and laughing together.

"Do you want to dance now?" Severus asked Theodora after finishing his third butterbeer. Theodora swallowed her mouthful of Bertie Bott's, cringing at the strange mix of flavors before replying, "Of course, prince."

Severus held out his hand, and she took it, pulling her to her feet. He led her to the crowded dance floor, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back.

Once they arrived at a less congested area of the dance floor, Severus instinctively pulled Theodora against his chest, causing her to giggle. A romantic song started playing; the timing was perfect.

Theodora wrapped her arms around Severus while he held her, resting his chin on the top of her head. They were so physically close together that it almost felt like their souls were molding into one, completing them.

"This is lovely. You're lovely," Severus hummed as he pulled his chin back, swaying Theodora in his arms. Theodora felt euphoric, her cheeks hurting from how hard she was grinning.

"Sev, you're my greatest blessing. I truly don't know what I'd do without you," she confessed, holding his face in her hands. Her hands were warm against his cold skin, and he placed one hand over hers, the other holding his hip.

Over Theodora's shoulder, Severus saw James slow dancing with Lily. James caught his eye and glared, but Severus simply flipped him off and smirked. All Severus had to worry about was Theodora.

"But if you're too drunk to drive and the music is right, she might let you stay, but just for the night," Severus softly sang along to the song playing, pulling Theodora closer until she was pressed flush against his chest.

"And if she grabs for your hand and drags you along," Theodora joined in, the sound of her dulcet voice making Severus grin, "she might want a kiss before the end of the song."

If they weren't in a room full of people, Severus would have kissed her on the lips right then and there. Theodora didn't take his hesitance personally, so she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, leaving behind a smear of her lip gloss on his skin.

Severus firmly pressed his lips to her forehead in return, and they dissolved into shy giggles. Everything was sheer perfection, just him and Theodora, dancing together with fondness and devotion for each other in their hearts.

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keen-li · 10 months

Text

IN YOUR MIND : JJK

Pt 2

~~~~~~

pt 1: here

Summary: jungkook is the man who is constantly on and in your mind.

Warnings: toxic family, , mental health, jungkook can quickly switch moods.

A/n: I love the concept of this story. Feed back is always appreciated.

If you're going through anything in your life, speak to somebody you trust and if you don't have anybody, dm me :)

______

"Urgh" you slam yourself against the couch.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm so tired. Had such a long day with classes and stuff"

He chuckles "my baby works so hard doesn't she"

You nod.

"Want me to cook you something? I'm cooking ramen"

"ramen?"

"I mean it's better than nothing"

"Why dont we order instead" you sit up picking up your phone.

"Whatever you want babe" he then joins you on the couch and immediately cuddles you.

"Okay it's ordered" you say as you look at him.

He sits there just looking at you with his doe eyes.

"Why you looking at me" you ask him as you blush.

"You're so beautiful you know"

You blush as his hands rub your thighs comfortingly. You run your hands through his long dark hair. You loved his hair being like this. You rub the back of his head his locs in between your fingers and your fingertips on his scalp.

"Mmm" he hums "i love when you do that" you smile, you loved making him happy just as much as he loved making you happy.

"So what do you wanna do before the food gets here?" He asks you, his hand lost in your shirt. You giggle from the ticklish feeling coming from his fingertips on your skin.

"I don't know, what do you have in mind?"

He smiles.

He leans his head close to yours and his lips meet yours. His lips feel cold but you love it, his hand goes to your neck as he pulls you closer to deepen the kiss.

You feel his tongue and you immediately melt, unlike his lips his tongue is warm and soothes any ache in your heart. Kissing him makes you forget all your thoughts. You have nothing in your mind when he touches you. Your hand goes up his shirt your other hand is still in his hair. You tug at his hair immediately drawing a moan out of him.

He disconnects your lips and you already miss the feeling.

His mouth instead trails open mouth kisses on your neck. He pulls your body closer to his, you can feel the heat radiating off of his body.He pulls back his hands going to his shirt to pull it over but the sound of a doorbell interrupts the both of you.

"Argh" he groans

"you want me to go get it?" you ask him still out of breath.

"It's okay I'll get it. Stay here" he walks towards the door trying to hide his crotch.

You lay back as he walks away and opens the door. The sound of another doorbell makes you lift your head.

"Jungkook aren't you getting the-" You realise Jungkook isn't there and the doorbell rings again. You quickly get up and walk to the door.

You open the door "I'm sorry...oh"

"Hey...you're not happy to see me?"

It's one of your friends,faye. She wasn't supposed to be here until later.

"Oh no I just thought you were...um...i-uh ordered food, so I thought you were the delivery person" you stummer.

"Sorry to disappoint you I'm not your favourite meal" She jokes.

You laugh "come in"

"Oh my goodness Y/N what the...?" She yells and you're confused until you notice the smoke coming from your stove, soon the smoke alarm goes off. Faye quickly rushes to the stove. And you follow after her.

She grabs a table cloth and grabs the pot dumping it in the sink.she opens the tap and let's the water run on the pot cooling it. You on the other hand sill kinda confused turn off the stove and try to clear the smoke.

Faye inspects the pot noticing the burnt attempt to making ramen.

"Were you trying to make ramen" She asks looking at you.

"Uhh ye-yeah I guess" you say quickly.

She looks at you worried "didn't you notice that it was burning"

"I didn't I guess I got carried away... my bad" you laugh nervously.

"Are you alright Y/N?"

"I'm great just been tired with school you get" you give her a reassuring smile which she returns.

"How careless of you babe how could you forget" jungkook laughs in your ear.

"I guess we'll have to continue our makeout session later... when we're alone" he kisses your neck and chuckles and you giggle aswell.

~~~~~~

"And I told him 'you think I gonna stay in this bs with you'" faye says as you laugh reminiscing on both your exes. The delivery guy came soon after and now your both eating and chatting.

"He really thought I was gonna be the one to pat him on the head and give him a gold medal for his bs"

"How about you? How's your ex"

Faye wouldn't know much about your exes cause you only met in collage.You never had many exes cause you never cared for dating. But you did have one. You wouldn't say he was your first love because you never really loved him. It was more of a I'm dating cause everyone is dating and I don't wanna feel left out kind of scenario. For you atleast.

"Let's just say never really cared" you say unsurely.

"What do you mean?" She laughs

"I never really cared if he left or not" you explain "but eventually I got tired of being his girlfriend and dumped him"

"You dumped him just like that and he didn't do anything wrong" she questions you "was he that bad" she leans in whispering.

"no he wasn't but at all"

" Oh my you're insane" She playfully slaps your shoulder.

" so if he came back trying to rekindle things, would you?" She lifts her brows.

You pause thinking about your answer. While thinking you feel jungkook by your ear

"Mustn't be that hard to answer Y/N" he says sounding slightly mad.

"Uhh" you say trying to build a sentence. You shift in your seat

"Okay if I think about. maybe I would say yes" as you say that you hear jungkook scoff as he walks away unto your shared bedroom.

You know he's mad.

~~~~~~

It's night time. Faye left a while ago you ate your dinner and took a shower getting ready for bed. All this time you tried to talk to jungkook but he ignored you. He's being childish in your opinion.

You're now sat in bed on your phone while jungkook takes a shower.

Jungkook walks out of the bathroom. His wearing his sweats as he dries his skin with a towel.

"So you're just gonna keep ignoring me?" You ask "you're being childish" you scoff and he still doesn't speak.

You watch him grab his hoodie and jacket.

"I'm not sleeping here tonight" he says as he sits down on the bed to put on his socks.

You watch the back of his head, his hair is still damp, and wonder why all of a sudden he doesn't want to stay here tonight.

This would be the first since you guys have been together.

You get up from the bed and stand in front of him.

"What? What do you mean you aren't sleeping here tonight" your voice in slight panic.

"What does it sound like Y/N" he mostly called you by your name when he's upset with you.

"You can't just leave. What did I do?" He stands and walks by you coldly and grabs his car keys.

You watch his every move starting to get frustrated by his lack of response.

" is it because of what I said earlier about my ex" he just stares at you. "come on babe don't be so childish."

He walks to you his body so close to you, but you don't feel any love from this closeness.

" do you even understand the meaningof whatyou said? " his getting upset.

"You're basically saying that if any guy came and ever gave you the time of day, you'd leave me for them" his voice is loud but you really aren't scared of him, just afraid to lose him.

"I mean what do you want me to do. Give up my whole love life for you" your voice is loud aswell.

"Y/N what are you even saying" he sighs voice "are you crazy" he chuckles running a hand through his hair "I am your love life, i am your love, I am yours and you're mine." his voice is still loud.

You hear the genuineness in his words, his voice.your mind is spiralling and there's an immense pressure on your chest, it feels like you've been tied down and an anchor has been placed on your chest. You feel the tears fill your eyes.

"YOU'RE NOT REAL JUNGKOOK!!" you unintentionally yell at him, you can't explain the emotions you're feeling. The tears fall down your face.

"Im not real to you Y/N?, what we have isn't real to you Y/N? Huh?" His questions press deeply into your mind.

Each time he says your name it feels like the anchor is pressed deeper into your chest. You really can't tell what this is. You know he's not real, but everything he says and does feels so real.

Everytime he touched you, everytime he kissed you, everytime he held you, everytime you talked and everytime he told you he loved you and you told it back to him. It all felt so real. You didn't know what to think.

"Huh?, Y/N am I not real to you?" His voice is gentle but his words still press so deep into you.

You grip your hair "j-jungkook please" the tears fall and you plead.

"Am I not real?" he touches you and chills run all over your body.

This gesture makes you doubt reality even more.

"I-i-i I don't know" you sob and you can feel his body heat on you

"jungkook I really don't know" you cry.

Jungkook sighs "I also dont know Y/N" he says giving up. He walks towards the door.

You sob turning to the door "please don't go, don't leave me."

Your eyes are shut and when you open them he's not there no sign of the door being touched or anyone being in the room with you

"They always leave. Why do they always leave."

"But can you blame him he was never there."

#jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungguk #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fic #fanfic #in your mind #IYM

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 1 year

Text

'Special'

In the summer months I had been enjoying myself at the river, cleansing myself and becoming one with it all. I had become a different me at this time, and the world had become a whole new universe. Basking in the sweet waters and enjoying the fresh air I had seen this guy from the other side of the water. He seemed handsome far away but I hadn't had a clue at the time.

One day he was tubing in the water and I got to see him up close, however I was nervous back then and didnt want to look him too deep in the eye. There was a moment where I left a bunch of my crystals at the river because I knew someone else could use them on their journey. When its time to let go, I let them go.

A few days later I come back and notice that there is now a tent on one of rocks where people normally come to chill.

I say to myself 'who out here camping'? I hadn't seen a face so I paid it no mind.

A week goes by and I come back on the days most people aren't around to enjoy the river, my favorite time. No one is really around because of the duties of life, and I was still granted more free time before my journey was to be elsewhere. I see the tent is fully built from tree branches and wood. Whoever made it did a fabulous job.

Im enjoying the water falling on my face, its like a baptism. I keep in mind im going through so many changes at the time and I was reluctantly on meeting someone new, even though I had been asking the universe for a good one this time around.

This smooth looking guy with long locs comes walking by with a catfish hanging from his fish hook. He came up to me and told me I was beautiful, I said thank you.

'You come here often?' he said to me.

'I do.'

'You come by yourself?' he asks.

'Yes I do, all the time.'

He goes to say that he likes that I enjoy the water and he loves how natural I am. I had my hair out, normally I wear braids. or maybe even a wig depending on how im feeling.

'I see you went fishing, you caught a big one.'

'Yes I love to fish my love.' He sits the cat fish down.

'I've seen you here a few times I believe, you've gone tubbing down the river and I seen you chill on the rocks.'

'Yeah that me, I love di nature'. he says smiling.

The more I hear him talk, the more I notice an accent.

'Are you from here? I hear an accent my boy.'

'Nah nah, im not from here. Im from Jamaica'.

He gets a little excited in his voice. I noticed he loved me noticing his voice and his natural accent.

'Aren't you the girl with the crystals?'

Me?

'yeah you, you left them over here. I remember because you normally stay at this spot yea.' he pulls them out for me to see.

I had left a clear quartz, and aura quartz, a few tumbled stones, and a necklace.

'Oh wow, so it was you who took em! I was wondering who did.'

He tries to hand em back to me.

'No, no.' I say. 'You can keep em, I left them here for anyone to have em. My time with them is finished.'

'Ah okay. I keep.' What you do round' here?'He asks.

'Well like you I just enjoy my time here. I love the water. its my happy place.'

'Ah you a nature girl, I like that yea'. He smiles.

I laugh. Yeah im a nature girl at heart. Born like this.

'Not a lot of women like to be in nature, you different.' He tells me.

'I see'. I look and point at the catfish. 'What you bout to do with that big ole fish?'

'I got a tent back over there and I'm gonna go cook it, would you like to have a bite for lunch?'

I looked shocked. 'Wait hol up, thats all you over there? You made that tent?'

'Yeah that me, I know how to build. Imma construction worker.'

I smile with surprise. 'Wow thats cool as fuck, you did so good on the tent omg. What made you want to camp out here?'

'Im doing 30 days out here, im getting close to nature so I can be close to God.' He says with assurance.

'Wow, I love the sound of that. Im glad you're out there doing it. The weather is lovely for it now. I always wanted to go camping.' I tell him.

'You can camp at anytime.' He laughs. 'Just being out here in nature by the river is considered camping.'

'Oh really?' I say with a smirk.

'Yes way, I would do so all the time back in Jamaica.' he smiles.

'Ah. I see.'

'Would you like to come back with me to the tent , I would love for you to try my cooking. I am also a chef.'

'ahhhh a chef, I see you. You a jack of all trades type of guy. I see you!' I say with laughter.

'Yea, yea.' He laughs. 'I don't want to bother you and let you enjoy your time in the water. If you want, you can come chill as I cook the fish. I would like to get to know you more.' He says to me.

'Hmmm, ill have to check and see if I have time. But I would love to.' Im lying, I had no where else to be but I couldn't be so up and ready to go with him. In fact, I really did want to spend more time in the water. I had to get some me time.

'Ok, I'll be over there. I let you be. It was nice talking to you.' He waves goodbye and he heads down to the other side of the river where he goes to prepare the fish.

I enjoy and relax in the water for a while but eventually I decide to go over there. He hadn't finished prepping the fish yet. So I was just in time when I got over there to see him in action.

#storytime #my life #poetry #storytelling #writer #wow im really doing this lol #journal #mystories #my love

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madammayh3m · 1 year

Text

Day 6: Thais’ Sword Gets Stolen (Also She Remembers Her Husband)

Oh boy! It’s Thais’ turn to have things happen to her! I’m in danger! I have so much I’d like to say about this shit and the two weeks I spent hyperfixating on Thais and her boo, but this ain’t the post for it. Curse of Strahd stuff happening as per uzh.

Thais awakens to find the Sunsword missing. Ferrin uses her familiar powers to look through Lucy’s eyes and they discover Arrigal snuck into the room late last night to steal the Sunsword and debated killing Thais in her sleep but ultimately decided against it. The two decide to go to the main tent again for breakfast and to see if they can figure out where he got to. They notice one of the horses is missing, and that Arrigal is nowhere to be seen. Luvash, when questioned, states that he doesn’t know where Arrigal has gone, but Ferrin suspects he may be half-lying. They also ask him why the man on the lake tried to kill Araebelle and he reveals that, while Barovians are hateful to the Vistani for their alliance with Strahd - which is what allows them to leave Barovia - they also think the Vistani are lucky, and that certain ‘rituals’ can pass that luck along.

While speaking to them, Luvash makes note of a peculiar manner of speaking that Ferrin shares with someone in Vallaki – another outsider, and a healer, who could be useful for us to speak to. Thais has a memory of this man – he’s been her best friend since childhood. The two eat breakfast before setting out to track Arrigal.

They manage to track Arrigal down the road and past Vallaki, where they are ambushed by two berserkers, who they discover were paid off recently with gold from outside of Barovia - which the Vistani have in spades. While they do prevail, Thais is badly injured, but she agrees to press on another hour along the road after healing a little. They discover the gates into the heart of Barovia, which open on their own, and they go through, discovering an empty horse-drawn carriage. The doors open upon their approach, and the women get the distinct feeling that if they go through, it will take them to Strahd. The two decide to return to Vallaki with the remaining daylight, saving the Strahd invite for another time. The gates they passed through hesitate to let them leave, but they do open and the two make their way back along the road.

Upon passing through the gates of Vallaki, Thais ‘unlocks’ all of her memories of the town, because it’s the place where she grew up. She leads them to the Blue Water Inn to spend the night. While there, Urwin Martikov comes out and makes conversation with them, clearly curious about the two outsiders. He notes that Thais is injured and recommends they speak to Yeska, who should be showing up to the inn shortly. More memories flood back and Thais remembers that he is the love of her life, but they were unable to be married because her parents refused. Thais, for the second time, removes her mask and Urwin, upon seeing her face, goes pale. She pleads with him not to tell anyone about her and he quickly puts up a mask of his own, asking the two to come speak with him at their convenience before hastily returning to the kitchen. Thais gives Ferrin a short description of Yeska - an older black man with locs, round glasses, and clothes that don’t tend to match the ‘style’ in Barovia - and asks her to keep an eye out for him arriving.

He asks for his meal and a couple others to go – one for Father Lucien, and one for the Abbot. Ferrin notes that there is a scar over one of his eyes that Thais didn’t mention, and that he’s missing his hat. Ferrin and Thais decide to beat a hasty retreat up to their rooms for the night to regroup and discuss what their plan is going to be since the Abbot is in town, likely looking for them. As they’re walking up the stairs, two men walk in – Nikolai and Karl Wachter, shitheel brothers who spend a good deal of time drinking. They send out a parting shot at Yeska, and he pauses for the briefest of seconds before leaving. Thais also pauses, and considers going back down there to beat their asses, but when she hears Yeska leave, she continues up the stairs.

Ferrin has noticed the reaction that Thais had to Yeska’s presence and asks her if she’s willing to talk about it. Thais answers that she doesn’t know, and the two talk logistically about what they’re going to do next. Thais makes it clear to Ferrin that she’s not going to let anyone else in town aside from Urwin know who she is. They go to sleep.

#things are getting dicey #curse of strahd #glorious goth girl adventures #GGGA Recap #ocs #Thais Vennoa #Ferrin Bonemarrow #I'm going to say this again - GGGA Yeska is NOT the same as canon Yeska #GGGA Yeska is Thais' best friend since childhood and they're both almost 40 #GGGA Yeska is essentially a character concept the DM has had for a while and she found an opportunity to plug him in here #I mean if you're writing shit about vampires you gotta put a cowboy in there somewhere #bram stoker did it #our DM told us afterwards that they were absolutely expecting me to start a bar fight over what the two assholes said to Yeska #(which was along the lines of cracking wise about Thais dying and him being bad luck as an outsider)#and I was like 'oh yeah Thais was fully considering just straight up killing both of them'#ultimately she decided against it when she heard Yeska leave but if he had so much as indicated he was going to start something with them #she would have totally had his back #but that is not his way so... damn no bar fights for me this time :(#GOD I HAVE SO MUCH TO FUCKING SAY ABOUT THIS #and I have a fanfiction to post about this moment

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eyes-of-mischief · 1 year

Text

weekly fic recs | 33

prompt: bureaucracy/office au

fandoms: bnha, dc, hq, mdzs

bnha

Heroics: Not Just Punching People Into Buildings, Apparently by stifledlaughter

"In today's practical test, you all will grapple with one of the worst aspects of being a hero," announced Present Mic to class 1-A. "Paperwork!"

---

Sometimes, hero work isn't about capturing villains. It's about trying not to cry on the phone to the insurance agent after being on hold for an hour when they tell you that their company only accepts faxed forms.

He's Our Most Important Member by autumnconcept

As a member of the quirkless side of society, Izuku has long given up his dream of being a hero.

Remind him how he ended up in charge of an entire agency?

Executive Assistant to the Batman by heartslogos

“So what’s someone like you doing working for someone like Wayne?”

“We’re star-crossed,” Tim answers, because clearly this job has only improved his ability to mouth off with a complete and total lack of self-regard.

(Rewrite of my old Assistant!verse)

on my desk by monday by calamityjade

(explicit)

Dick Grayson was tired of living hidden in his father's shadow. He desperately needs to find a space where he can thrive as just himself, and figures seeking out a simple job might be a good start; but being Jason Todd's assistant gives him so much more than he expected to gain. (No capes AU. Jason Todd is a lawyer and Dick is hired as his assistant)

haikyuu

hyogo melon code of conduct by goldplate

(mature)

“You misunderstand me, Miya-san. We’re not here to discuss the legality of your… melons."

Osamu's home garden gets the attention of the municipality's building and lot code compliance office.

the right path by norio

"What do you expect from our company?" the interviewer asked.

A job. A straightforward path, the only concerns about the budget for printer toners. A solitary lifestyle in a cubicle. But Akaashi curled his fingers around his resume and thought wryly that if he truly wanted all that, he wouldn't be applying to an anime company.

mdzs

Best man for the job; a detailed treatise on Chief Cultivation by Aerlalaith

“Just these?” He had thought, perhaps, given Jin Guangyao’s notorious organizational skills, there might be a few more, but it does not overly trouble him.

“Oh no, Chief Cultivator,” Jin Guangtian says. “This is just the index.”

(The peerless Hanguang-Jun faces his greatest challenge yet: bureaucracy).

The Roots Grow Riotous by hansbekhart

(explicit)

Sometimes Lan Zhan doesn’t work through lunch. Sometimes he makes conversation with coworkers in the halls. Sometimes he goes home instead of spending the last hour trawling through Grindr. But mostly, that’s exactly what he does. The sameness is comforting. His life spools out in easily measured increments: capsule collections, yards of hand dyed textiles, ninety day lead times, sell through figures, cost of goods sold.

Every date in manufacturing can be calculated backwards and forward from a single horizon point: the date that the goods must arrive into the country where they'll be sold. Other than that, nothing else really matters.

Always Be Closing by betts

(explicit)

Wei Ying’s thumb hovered over Lan Zhan’s number. It would be a brief phone conversation. Not even a minute. He would tell Lan Zhan what needed to be done, and Lan Zhan would say “mn” a bunch of times, and Wei Ying would spiral all day about how much Mr. Hot and Perfect All the Time probably hated his guts, and it would be fine. Emotionally, no different than any other Tuesday.

Fine, sue him, he was a coward. He pulled up a new text and typed, My son is sick today. Going to doctor. Can you do smoothie hut call? 500m CRE + 250m LOC

He sent the text. The ellipses rose. He waited.

Or: During a long overdue divorce and messy custody battle, Wei Ying gets demoted to small business finance. There, he's partnered with a new closer who clearly hates him, until he finds out Lan Zhan is far more verbose—and dare he say flirtatious?—in writing than in speaking

But to be loved like a song you remember Even when you've changed by enbysaurus_rex

The manual was long, but it all boiled down to the same thing-- assess, capture, banish, assess, repeat. Keep the affected area to a minimum. Be proactive in protecting any device that can access the internet. Physical storage areas with names had to be up to standard (file boxes were allowed, so long as the lid was reinforced and could stand up to the particular talisman used), but anything else usually required paperwork and approval, even if it was retroactive. Wangji hoped everything was in file boxes this time, even though he knew it was in vain. None of his storage solutions had ever been declined, but it was a tremendous amount of paperwork, picture taking, and documentation for what was usually a relatively small collection. In this case, it was less likely to be true, and the documentation was likely to be equal to the names warded and sealed. He appreciated that.

#office aus have a special place in my heart #its something about the absolute soul-destroying imagery of corporate bullshit that gets to me #bnha fic recs #bnha #dc fic recs #dc #mdzs fic recs #mdzs #hq fic recs #hq #prompt #bureaucracy #office au #weekly fic recs

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whirlybirbs · 2 years

Note

Birbs I ate that Silco shit up like it was my last meal on earth. Licked the plate clean and waiting for seconds mmmmmmmmm DELICIOUS

4/4 | HOBBYISTS & FINER THINGS. ; SILCO / READER

summary: dinner is planned, then cancelled. you’re angry with silco, but business is business. as it turns out, distance does makes the heart grow fonder.

rating: 18+ / this chapter includes a mention of physical violence against a sex worker and features canon typical violence when rectifying said instance. this work contains smut.

word count: 9k teehee

pairing: silco / f!reader

a/n: with permission, the header from this chapter is art done by the lovely @/harlot_of_zaun over on twitter! i really encourage you to head on over and show them some love. their silco art is stunning. this piece made me go WOOOO. a special shoutout to them for being kind enough to lend me their art as a chapter header!

but, here we are! end of the road. there may always be more, but for now, i hope you enjoy a nice little ending to this small story — the reception was really wonderful and thank you so much to everyone who’s read, commented, liked, breathed in its direction... you know how it goes. i love you all!

< previous chapter | read me on ao3

You’ve been trying to ignore the buzz of anxiety in your chest for the last three days.

On the fourth day, you’d finally let the electric storm get the better of you. It’s late, nearly two in the morning, and Lizbeth is with you in your office; she’s crouched by the hearth, feeding in pieces of useless requisition receipts Yeleni left behind. The paper makes good kindling, and the stack beside her is tall.

The work has slowed for the night. Only three rooms are open; they see a slow trickle. By three, most of Zaun will be asleep. Four in the morning herald’s the end of the day for the workers of the Lilac Lounge.

Lizbeth finished her shift an hour ago. She’s fresh from the bath, with rose oil still clinging to her skin.

You’ve known Lizbeth for the better part of your life — she’s a handful of years younger with warm, dark skin. You catch her scoff at a piece of receipt paper (a laundry list, complete with Yeleni’s fur at the top of the order) before tossing it into the fire with a flourished shake of her head.

You’re chewing your lip when she tosses you a look over her shoulder. She does a double-take.

“...You look like you’re about two seconds away from flinging yourself into the fire. What’s wrong?”

“I feel like it,” you rush out, eyes stuck on the dancing flame as you stand there with your hands on your hips; unprompted, you let the secret loose.

“I’m having dinner with Silco tomorrow evening.”

Lizbeth’s attention snaps back around.

There’s silence then — the crushing sort.

Finally, you pull your eyes from the hearth and offer a sheepish look. Her brown eyes are pulled wide in shock.

Lizbeth is... well, hell above. Sure, she’s surprised, but everyone knew something was going on between the Madam of the Lilac Lounge and Silco. Be it his boys who gaurd the door every night, Sevika — lovely, lovely Sevika, or anyone on the street. Of course the courtesans knew, but they knew better than to ask. After all, it was your personal business... Reliable protection and expensive paintings be damned.

“Dinner?” Lizebth asks, albeit in a rushed whisper.

Your face is flooded with anxiety as you nod, parroting her. “Dinner.”

“Oh — oh?” she’s standing now, pulling her robe closer as she serves you an incredulous look and rushes forward, “Like... Like a proper dinner—?” “Like a romantic, proper dinner,” as you ramble, your exasperation catches up to you, “So we can discuss our ‘endearments’,” you quote.

Lizbeth’s whole face goes wide with a surprised look. She pushes a thick loc behind her ear and leans forward as her jaw falls open. Once more, she’s nodding, parroting your words as if to try and parse them. “Endearments.”

Less of a question. More like she’s trying to understand, and you nod. Up and down and up and down — and then pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Lizbeth asks, brows knotted up, “You don’t want to go?”

“No — I do,” you whine as you drop your shoulders and rub the curve of your temple, “Perhaps a bit too much.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly,” you offer up, moving to lean against your desk. You fiddle with the wine-colored cuff of your sleeve and tug the shoulder up and back into place. The loose blouse billows as you throw your hands in the air, “Who am I? Some lovesick little girl—?”

“Calm down,” Lizbeth says, tilting her head and leaning to pop a hip, “You’re being dramatic. It’s alright to be excited — I mean, when’s the last time you went out to dinner with a nice man?”

Your glare is flat. You narrow your lashes. “Paid or unpaid.”

Lizbeth matches your look, however, is significantly less amused. “Be nice.”

“I’m serious,” you say as you push off the desk and move to toss a few more papers into the fire; you’re desperate to burn away this feeling. You mutter, “Also I think, catagorically, Silco would take offense at being considered a ‘nice man’—”

“But he is nice — to us, to you,” Lizbeth supplants kindly.

...It’s a good point.

Your shoulders sag as you squat before the fire. Your fingers trace the edge of a grocery list — complete with Yeleni’s own scrawled notes on a handful of worker’s favorite meals. Some of them no longer work at the Lounge. You decide, last minute, to spare this little note a firey death.

“Why don’t you get some rest, huh?” Lizbeth says as she bows her head to the side and moves to place a delicate hand on your shoulder, “It will be nice — to get out of here, if only for a night...”

She has a point.

When morning comes, you find as though you feel as if you’ve barely slept at all — and the warmth of your bed anchors you to a half-there, half-here state. Morning is more of a subjective term for the hour you and the rest of the Lounge usually rise... It’s nearly noon now, and the heavy curtains in your bedroom do little to keep out the glaring gray of the day.

However, it isn’t the sunlight that rouses you, today. Nor is it a cramped neck or an arm fast asleep or a hot huff when the comforter becomes too smothering. No, it’s a rapid knock on your door — seven, eight, nine, ten times.

“Madam!” comes a rushed voice, “There’s a call! For you!”

What...?

Your eyes are still half-closed when you tumble from bed; the thin chemise clinging to your shoulders hangs low as you yank the door open and blink blearily. It’s Gwen, the young receptionist. She’s flanked by nearly a dozen expectant faces.

It’s clear the trill BRING-RING-RING-A-BRING of the mounted landline in the front lobby had roused nearly half the house.

You’re fast to rub your eyes, sniffling as you step into the upstairs hall.

The whole of the house is watching — heads peeking from doorways, half-dressed workers lining the halls, some even pausing their morning powdering to get a glimpse of their Madam.

“Who is it?” your voice is hoarse as you move down the hall, rounding the corner to the stairwell.

“Mr. Silco, madam.”

There’s a bit of a pause in your step. The faded wallpaper is where you root your gaze — and from the bated breaths of the entire parlor, you suddenly become keenly aware that the little secret you slipped loose to Lizbeth has now become the whole of the establishment’s knowledge.

You cast Gwen a look over your shoulder; expectant and shy. Suddenly, the teenager is taken aback by your out-of-characteristically girlish look.

“What did he say?” you nearly whisper.

She winces. “Only asked for you, ma’am. Nothin’ else.”

Well, that does nothing to quell the rush of a raging fire in your chest. Lovely.

Seems there’s a crowd gathered to watch, too.

You’re fast to fly down the stairs into the lilac parlor room; your chemise’s hem is gripped tightly in your hand the whole way. Slept-on hair does little to paint you calm in any way of the word. When you reach the front desk where the intricately adorned box sits, you find the receiver placed delicately atop the dark wood. Suddenly, there’s a rush of hisses — barks from the older courtesans to be quiet!

You inhale, then reach to wrap your hand around the cool, smooth, obsidian handle.

“Hello?”

Across town, Silco is leaned over the callbox.

It’s outside one of the docking warehouses, a building more commonly used now by his people to load up shimmer shipments for Piltover. It’s just beyond the main dock, and Silco can see the entire harbor as he waits on the line.

It’s a cold morning. Gray as ever. It will snow later, he knows. He can feel it in his knees — in the aches of his palms. In a life long ago, he would venture into the mines on mornings like this and emerge to a world of off-white powder. It was beautiful, a sliver of promise. But even in Zaun, the snow was never as white as it was in Piltover. The smog promised that.

The harbor water sways.

Behind him, Sevika delivers a harsh blow to the face of a man already bound on his knees.

When your voice comes over the static crackle of the telephone, Silco finds his posture easing a bit. He pushes a gloves hand through his hair, tosses a look over his shoulder, and clears his throat.

“Madame?”

“Hello, Silco.”

Perhaps it’s comical.

The fact Silco is here, mid-interrogation. Having just learned a handful of Chem-Barons intended on making their arrival known tonight? All of this riding on the high news that three of his men had effectively disappeared with a month’s worth of shimmer shipment? He had growled so sharp in irritation, the man before him was shocked when Silco stepped back and lowered his knife. Sevika slipped him a knowing look, then. His other men, too, had dawning guilt written all over their faces.

Of course, they knew his plans.

He’d reserved the entire upper balcony of The Last Drop for you and himself tonight. He’d been dealing with a rather jealous little Jinx, and the nervousness that comes with a romantic dalliance after years of settling on avoiding them entirely.

I believe I have to make a call, Silco had said.

Better now than any later. His guilt will eat him alive. But such is the way of a Kingpin. He tries to stomach it.

It’s difficult when your voice on the other end is sweet enough to bring a wry smile to his face.

He lifts his eyes to the gray sky.

“I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“You did,” you say slowly, leaned fully on the desk now, “It’s rather nice, actually.”

The gathered courtesans seem to fly into silent hysterics at the very clear flirtation — you can see the wide smiles and slapped hands as they clamor to gather closer, to listen in, to hear the Kingpin of Zaun’s response. You sway a bit, bouncing on the ball of your foot.

The response earned is a rough, low laugh.

Somewhere in the background, a scream begins — and then it’s smothered by the wide palm of Sevika. Silco tosses a sharp look back at the group, and Sevika roughly tells the bloodied man to shut up, he’s on the phone, can’t you see?

"Well, I admit I wish I wasn’t having to call—”

Your gut sinks.

“Oh?”

“I’m not going to be able to make dinner, it seems,” he says slowly, almost tentatively, and you try to ignore the sudden rush of sheer disappointment that floods your figure. Though you can hear his apology on the other line, it does little to blunt the impact.

The gathered faces who are close enough to hear the exchange suddenly recoil. Their expressions are a mixture of angry, of confused, of bitterly rejected. A bit of how you feel, honestly. Suddenly, there’s a rush of questions being passed silently between the parlor; Lizbeth, looking on in front of you, shakes her head in confusion.

Ask why, she mouthes.

“Is... Is everything alright?” is the best you can manage. Your own thoughts are running a mile a minute.

“I’m sending extra security tonight,” comes his response; it’s thoughtful. Warm, almost. His voice dips a little lower as he leans his palm against the wall and toes his boot against the sea-worn floor of the warehouse, “Chem-Barons have called a meeting, and sadly I’m required to be in attendance.”

“Oh.”

Silco’s heart pangs. Your tone is distant — hurt, clearly. He leans back, posture slouching. From across the warehouse, Sevika can see her boss’ distress. A gloved hand reaches to rub the spot between his brows. He leans a little closer over the receiver. His voice is low. Quiet. Only for the two of you.

Unbeknownst to Silco, the entirely of The Lilac Lounge is eagerly attempting the eavesdrop of the modern era.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I... ” he clears his throat, suddenly realizing how much he had been looking forward to a quiet evening with you. Silco rubs his jaw. “I—”

He’s about to suggest tomorrow night. Hells alive, the sad little quiver in your voice has the Kingpin feeling like he ought to be the one on the receiving end of Sevika’s fists.

But, it seems as though business has caught up to him again.

Suddenly, a scream cuts through the other end of the line and you blinks down at the receiver.

The anger at the interruption ripples through Silco like a rogue wave. He’s decided immediately Rocco will die for that as if his other mistakes weren’t worth that same weightier sentence. His head snaps around, and one void-black eye pins the man in place. The ring of his eclipsed pupil swivels, all burning rage condensed into a single look.

“Silco—?” you call, voice retreating as the receiver slips from his ear for a moment long enough to gesture with deft, gloved hands for his people to haul Rocco up, get the chains ready. He’s going for a swim.

The realization dawns on the once-loyal man as he begins a string of begging — no, no, no and please, please, I promise I don’t know anything!

“I’ve got to go, Madame,” he turns back, with a stoney expression; and you can hear it over the line, “My sincerest apologies.”

Then, the line clicks dead.

And you’re left in the parlor holding a silent, droning line.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

A week.

You hear nothing for a whole week.

The good news is that a week is apparently plenty of time to work yourself up, calm yourself down, then grow bitter, then sad, then enraged and so-on and so-forth — you know, the usual cycle of heartache that comes with an apparent rejection.

You wonder if maybe that’s the curse of expectations — that being excited over new and exciting possibilities inherently spoil the entire rouse.

Admittedly, Silco’s little stand-up (could you even call it that? He had, after all, let you know he was unable to make dinner...? Are you putting too much weight on this? Do you deserve to be upset? ...Hm. You shoo that thought away. Yes, of course, you deserve to be upset) fueled enough of your hermit-like coping mechanisms to hole you up in Yeleni’s office for three days straight.

More good news: it was feeling less like Yeleni’s and more like yours. Clean. Cozy.

The worst news of all: the beautiful, attention-absorbing Friedlingmer was now the sorest spot of woe in all of Zaun, so much so that you’re genuinely considering throwing a bedsheet over it. Seriously. You could just hop up and be done with it. Cover it up! Then, you won’t be thinking about Silco every damn time you walk into your office.

You huff.

That would be cruel. A true disservice to Friedlingmer’s residency in Piltover. All over a heartache? No. No, no, no — fucking hell, Yeleni is probably rolling over in her grave right now. If she knew the current state of you, she’d laugh. And not a nice, cheer-up kind of laugh. No, the mean sort. The sort that tells you to pull up your britches and hike your tits up with a single wheezy, shimmer-lined cough.

So, right. A week.

Granted, on the seventh day, it isn’t as if he finally gives you a callback — he doesn’t soothe your burning anxiety that he lost interest, or found someone better, or finished playing...

No, it’s business that brings you to Silco.

The Chem Baron’s seemed to extend their stay in the Lanes — in turn, Silco had wordlessly extended his promise of upped security around The Lilac Lounge. That much you were appreciative of, but the new faces made you uneasy. Not just you, but the other businesses in the Lanes under his word.

The Chem Barons arrive on a metaphorical litter, dragging along henchmen and staff that support their endeavors. Be it chemists, be it enforcers, be it family. The Lanes are fraught with distinguished members of various affiliations.

Silco’s security is a double-edged sword. It protects his assets and reminds everyone who owns the Black Lanes.

You’re in your office when the commotion begins. It’s nearly midnight. The Lilac Lounge is busy.

“You can’t just go barging in—”

That’s Sevika’s voice.

Someone is arguing with her — which is enough of a shock to get you up out of your chair and away from ruminating on the Friedlingmer.

It's one of Babette's girls. She's a lithe little thing that nearly springs through your office door. You'd heard her shouts, all breathless and wild-eyed, as she barreled through the velvet hallways of The Lilac Lounge.

The prick of instinct has you bristling when she nearly beats your door down. You pull it open sharply, face met with the smoke-filled air of the brothel's back corridor. Beneath the Friedlingmer, a candle snuffs itself out.

"It's Mira — a-and one of Silco's boys," she's rushing out, hardly breathing and hardly making much of any sense as she stumbles over herself and her words; but you can sew together enough from her panic and her fear, "Babette's called for you—"

Mira. She used to work under Yeleni. You knew her. Only briefly. She was younger than you. Sweet. She preferred Babette’s management style to Yeleni’s. You can’t say you blame her.

There are faces, masked and painted-on, that have begun to poke from their lavishly curtained rooms. The haze of lilac smoke makes the air taste sweet. Eyes hang on your tensed figure.

Sevika, at the end of the hall, goes still.

You realize they’re suddenly looking to you — for strength, for an example, for leadership. All of it. All at once.

It wasn’t often that house-calls of this sort came and went. You remember Yeleni, though, when a fearful call for help came. She would waddle on, pulling up her jacket and promising she will be back. Be it Babette’s or Sygyn’s or any of the other working houses in the Lanes... you all worked together. A habitat of coexisting lives and work. You owed it to one another. You keep one another safe. No negotiating.

Eyes blink when you disappear from the view of the doorway. You return with a long, wool coat that's swathed with fur, and begin the arduous task of lacerating your meticulous hairstyle with long, dagger-like hairpins.

Yeleni’s.

They’re cool, smooth, matte metal. Sharp. She’d left them in a pearl case that snapped shut onto your finger like a lobster claw the first time you’d opened it.

The small charms that hang from them on delicate chains swing as you button your coat and pull on your gloves. Your strides are long.

Those expectant, worried faces follow you silently.

"Is Babette with her?" you ask calmly, leading her through the winding hallways that have grown silent.

The girl swallows; her voice is hoarse. She can hardly be any older than eighteen. She looks about Gwen’s age. "Yes."

"Is she alright?"

"Shaken up," she offers as she follows you through the hall. The Lilac Lounge hangs on the anticipation of your first enforcement. These were the expectations of Madams. Handle the business, protect the workers of the Lanes.

You admit you thought you might not be ready for this sort of confrontation. But, as you enter the stillness of the parlor, you realize that Yeleni had prepared you for this.

After all, she taught you everything you know.

She taught you how to be everything she wasn't, too.

In the parlor, you finish pinning your hair. Sevika stands beside you; her eyes are pulled across your face in a snap of tension.

You like Sevika. She’s... She’s an intricate soul with mean left hook. In the last week, you’ve noticed she’s been on door duty consistently. Not that anyone is complaining. Almost the entire brothel clamors to offer her a nightcap at the end of her shift.

“Who was it?” she asks tightly. Her voice is rough.

“I’m going to find out,” you say flatly.

Sevika tightens her jaw, then nods.

“You need me?”

You straighten your posture. You consider it, then inhale. “No. From the sounds of it, it might be best let Silco know he may be getting a visit from me tonight.”

Her nod is terse.

You push onward.

It’s snowing out. Your breath curls around you as the girl leads the way to Babette’s. You blink up at the grey plods of snow falling from the sky.

The snow is always whiter in Piltover.

Babette's brothel is a block down, almost directly adjacent The Lilac Lounge on Zaun's main bazaar. Here the smog carries the light so well you might confuse it for day — the hazy, pink glow of light-polluted signage has your eyes adjusting as you near. Dilated pupils swing around the street.

Seems as though someone let word slip there was trouble.

Your arrival outside on the main strip of the Black Lanes has heads turning, and whispers following every staccato step of your heels. Eyes follow you and the young girl as you step up to Babette's brothel. As quickly as you came, you disappear and leave the onlookers to their gossip.

The yordle is waiting for you inside.

"Is she alright?" is the first thing out of your mouth.

When Babette nods, you ask your next question.

“Who did it?”

"No idea," she heaves; you can see the weight of the evening beginning to wear on her, "I just know he was one a’ Silco’s. Figured you’d be able to help. Come on. Maybe you can talk to her. Poor thing is a wreck."

Babette isn't exaggerating — Mira is sitting on a couch holding a pack of ice to her nose. There are a handful of workers around her, cradled close, but it seems as if the worse of her wailing has calmed down. You can see, though, the creep of purple along her eyes. The bruising has started.

Your fingers twitch.

She seems to soften at your arrival. She recognizes you. Her eyes, big and green, widen as she scrambles to move towards the end of the sofa. Her friends hold onto her as you near, dropping to kneel before her with a sad look.

There is a bond shared between those of you in this line of work.

...You’ve been here — cradling friends after the darker dangers of this life creep in. You know this fear, this uncertainty. You know it well. You can count on two hands the number of times you’ve looked back and been astounded at how close you might’ve come with being snuffed out like candlelight.

You have to look out for one another.

Her fingers are bloodied. You hold them.

“He didn’t want to pay,” she explains angrily.

"Who was it?” is all you ask.

And you get your answer.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

The Last Drop is busy.

Your arrival draws attention — no doubt Sevika had returned and made it clear that they should be expecting your appearance. Security parts, offering no resistance. Maybe it's Mira, who has her chin held high. Her hand is in yours. Maybe it’s the icey look on your face. Perhaps it’s the few of Sygyn’s girls that escort you to the doors, drawn in from the street, who chatter promises to Mira that good Madams sorts this business out. Babette follows.

Eyes falter. Screamed gossip slips past to the melodic thrum of the bar's music.

You're gestured upstairs by a man in a suit that has a whiskey stain on the sleeve.

You can feel the bass in your ribs, rattling your heart around. The haze of shimmer makes your head swim. The air tastes sweet. Better than the grimy sting of smog that the Lanes bring. No, in here? It's sex and sweat and shimmer. Not all that different from The Lilac Lounge. Less gentle though, more fists-to-mouth. Somewhere, a fight begins over a spilled drink. You're high above the dance floor when it ends with a stool coming down over a skull.

The VIP section of The Last Drop is quieter — more light, too, though it's as artificial as everything in Zaun. You recognize that there are Chem Barons here in attendance. Sardonically, you scoff at the fact they’ll be getting dinner and a show. A reminder of how business is done in the Lanes. In Silco’s Lanes.

At the back of the mezzanine, there's a booth swathed in security. Sevika stands to the right, hands clasped before her. Inside the plush, crimson booth there are two men there.

One with white hair. Tattoos. Twitchy.

Then, Silco.

It hurts to see him.

He's leaned back, attention focused on a burning cigar in long fingers. Those knuckles are kissed with scars. His collar is high, starched and sharp like all of him. He looks as if he’s ready to snap. The longer you look, the more you wonder if a kiss would draw blood.

You’re so angry you hardly have time to acknowledge the heartache burning your throat.

He’s put himself together meticulously tonight. His face is turned, speaking to the one you're here to deal with — and a curl of smoke passes around his head like a crown.

Ever the handsome leader.

He��s clearly irritated.

Babette makes a small sound of concern beside you.

Sevika meets your eyes.

Your fingers twitch. Mira, sets her jaw. You pause. Your entourage heels. You turn to Mira, cheek grazing the furs of your collar, and speak softly.

"Beside Sevika, is that him?"

You see the hatred snap in her eyes.

"Yes."

You reach. You brush her knuckles with your thumb.

"We’re almost done, Mira," you whisper, "You've done good."

Then, your eyes connect with Silco's and it's like a match to gasoline.

He knows why you're here.

Of course he does. And he knows, too, why your look burns so hot he nearly flinches. Suddenly, his tenseness thaws. You’re disarming — as always — but tonight you look every bit as powerful as freshly sharpened dagger. You look as if you want to hold it to his throat.

Perhaps he deserves that.

You watch the way he leans back a bit father and crosses his long legs. Gilded toe tips flash in the light. He is dripping in enough power to make most salivate. One eye as hot as ember and the other as cool as a placid lake. They both flick to man beside him.

His brows raise, and he gestures minutely with his cigar.

He's offering him up a platter.

Go on.

As if you needed his permission.

Sevika decides then to step aside. A perfectly timed shift in the guard, allowing you the room to press on and move forward,

The silence creates a divide. The entire balcony seems to suddenly be aware of what is playing out. They’re hanging on the tension, afraid the snap will ripple through the whole of the bar.

You step up.

Your heart is vibrating. Ready.

Mira had said the man’s name was something just as twitchy as him. Zam. It fit him nicely, actually. You wonder if that’s really his name, or if maybe something like Harold or Roger was unbecoming of someone in Silco’s ranks. Too plain, too normal, too easy. No, Zam was just right.

Zam moves to stand at your sudden appearance — too stimmed to really grasp what's going on. He looks like he’s ready to square up. You can see it in the hued ring around his irises. It's Sevika that urges him back down with a single rough push.

"Hey—" Zam cuts out, eyes bouncing between Silco and Sevika in protest.

"Sit down," you roll your words off your tongue slowly as you peel your jacket off and unceremoniously toss it on the table; it comes out steadier than you thought it would. Over your shoulder, Babette sticks close to Mira.

You offer Zam a level look; beneath it is white-hot rage. Your tone is hemlock-licked and enough to kill, "I believe we have business to settle, don't we, Zam?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, lady—" and another attempt to stand up, to weasel away.

Your hand roots itself with the spot where his collar meets. The grasp is sharp and fast, and you slam him back against the booth hard enough to startle him into really paying attention to you.

Zam stills.

You’re leaned in close. You snarl. “I said sit down.”

Silco is watching. There’s a stab of discomfort under his skin. He knows this isn’t in your nature but he also knows better than to assume you aren’t capable. There is a reason Yeleni left The Lilac Lounge to you. You’re doing fine. Making a point. Helping establish control for Babette who has long since relied on Yeleni for things of this sort.

Establishing who you really are.

A week’s worth of longing rushes up to meet him. You're a beautiful thing, and he can see the burn of Zaun in your eyes. It's the pride, the anger, the well-kept facade of luxury.

Your eyes connect with the Kingpin's once more as you speak.

"Mira?" you call, as your eyes bore into Silco's, "How many times did he hit you?"

Mira's voice is as hot as smelted iron. "Twice."

"Twice," you reiterate, "Right."

"Hey, listen lady, I dunno what sort of bullshit she’s been spinnin’—”

Then, with viper-like precision, a hairpin is pulled from your wound-up style and is plunged straight through Zam's hand into the table. The scream that cuts through the mezzanine is silenced when you dislodge the long hairpin with a scowl and, with the metal pin wrapped in your fist, strike him across the face.

As Zam teeters backward in the booth, gripping his mouth, and muttering a half-aware curse, you catch him by the hair. With one swift motion, you bring his face down against the table. The crunch is violent and wet.

Two hits. One more for good measure.

Faces flinch across the sea of onlookers.

Silco's breath is caught in his throat. He holds it there. Then, he lets it loose. Long and slow. Smoke curls from his nose.

Right.

You straighten yourself up and exhale.

Zam has crumpled in the booth, groaning and bleeding, and you mind only the pin in your hands when he falls to the ground. The bar's floor rises up to greet him, whiskey and grime clinging to him desperately as blood from his broken nose begin to run underfoot.

You begin the meticulous task of cleaning the pin on your sleeve.

Your voice is icy.

“I think we’re done here.”

You are. If the point hasn’t been made, then you’re not sure this job is for you. With any luck, this will be the most you’ll have to display for the next coming months. This sort of violence doesn’t suit you. Silco is right about that much.

"A word, madam,” comes Silco’s slow drawl.

Your look is stern as you pause. Silco leans to sip his whiskey.

For a moment, bodyguards led by Sevika pass through the bitter stare you land on him. They’re quick, hauling away the crying mess that’s become of Zam on the bar floor. No doubt he’ll be tossed to the back alley. Left to figure out how to fix his fuck-up on his own.

“I thank you for your time, Silco,” calls Babette, “And you Madam, for helping sort this out.”

She casts you a slow look. Mira frowns. Her voice is soft. “Thank you, madam.”

Mira's thanks are uttered into a kiss of your cheek — her fingers wind around your neck as she cradles you close. The warmth is genuine. Kind. She looks a little less afraid now.

"Go on," you bite, "I’m sure Silco won't keep me long."

He rolls his jaw. His reply is stoic. "Only as long as you'll let me."

There's something awfully romantic about that, isn't there?

...Fuck him.

Silco snuffs his cigar in the intricate, little ashtray on the table.

When he stands, you're reminded of just how tall is he. Waif-like and sharp — he smooths down the front of his vest with long fingers and clears his throat. He smells like smoke and velvet and something cuttingly masculine. Perhaps it's his aftershave or the salve he uses to keep his hair meticulously in place. You're not sure, but you do know that you like it.

You really do.

His hand falls along your lower back as you place your pin back in place. It feels mean now — to cast you aside for so long after a promise of endearments. And now, here he is. Touching you.

Silco gathers your coat from the table.

To others, it must look as though you’re both slipping away to discuss business, to rehash agreements over examples such as this.

The others in The Last Drop don’t hear Silco’s low, careful question posed to you as he leads you to his office.

"I take it you're angry with me, then?"

You dislike that he’s able to read you so well.

He leads you along, towards a back hall. It’s darker here, and you feel his hand flatten entirely against your spine, as if to hold you. You know why that sets you off, but you’re not entirely ready to admit it. The good news is that you’re far enough from prying eyes — you turn sharply and catch him mid-step, sending him backwards against the narrow hall wall. He backs up against it with an oof.

There’s a moment’s pause between you. Silco looks surprised. The music is far away now, crescendoing somewhere to sex and sweat and shimmer.

You find suddenly that... well, the hundred things you’d been rehearsing to let loose on the Kingpin suddenly won’t come out. The adrenaline rush of confrontation has sent your fingers into a wobble — and you try your best not to look as if you’re pouting.

“Yes,” is all you manage as you tilt your head to the side and inhale sharply, “Yes, I’m angry with you.”

The darkness of the hall is a bit suffocating – not that Silco minds.

He’s missed you.

He’s spent the last week wishing the Chem Barons would take their fucking leave from his Lanes so he could spare a moment away — he hardly even had enough time to spend with Jinx.

His good eyes relaxes. His expression morphs into something like acceptance.

Yes. He knew it. If given the reverse, he would be just as bitter. A canceled dinner? And then not a single call nor visit nor word since?

You try to hold his gaze. You do.

"You have every right to be.”

The honest admission has you blinking at the floor.

You turn your head sharply back down the hall and consider walking out then and there. After all, you’re not keen on letting Silco see just how upset you are. It makes you feel childish. Like a lovesick teen.

“Could we...” a slow question, punctuated by a lean into your field over vision, “Discuss the matter? Over sherry, maybe?”

“What is there to even discuss—?”

“Endearments, my lovely,” he breathes, “I assure you mine have not wavered, despite... how busy I’ve been. I owe you an apology.”

It’s low. Soft. Coaxing.

He can see you wavering — and for a moment, Silco’s heartstrings wind themselves so tight he’s sure he will be drowning his thoughts alone tonight. Just him and that expensive bottle of Sherry he bought just for his discussion.

“...Do you mean that?”

“Every word.”

You...—well, you hadn’t anticipated this.

No, no, no, not the relief? The promise of an apology? The softening of his smile in the dim light of the hallway? No, no — you were mentally prepared to skewer him on a hairpin. Just a minute ago the thought had crossed your mind. You could have, probably. Who would have stopped you?

Not Sevika, that much is sure.

Silco would welcome it.

You’re pouting. Truly, genuinely, pouting when you gesture finally to his office door and step back from him.

Silco blinks. Then, curtly, he steps across the gap in the hall with long legs and opens his office door.

You slink in behind him, arms crossed and eyes pulled narrow.

Silco’s office is in a more desperate state of disarray than you’ve ever seen it — not that you frequent it much. But still you remember, the first time you’d come here, how meticulous everything had been. Now, papers are strewn about. You catch a glimpse of the title of one. A territory agreement.

...Now you feel bad.

You’d been so angry and — ugh. Here he’s been, clearly trying to manage the unplanned upending of his usual business by the moguls and sharks that were praying for a single slip.

"You handled that well.”

His voice is warm — it floats into your hearing from the corner of the room. Back by the little cart with all his various spirits and whiskies. It’s looking sparse. You cast a long look at him over your shoulder and note that he’d taken your jacket and settled it over the shoulders of his desk chair. Lovingly, almost.

“I know it wasn’t easy.”

No. It wasn’t. But, the shake in your hands has all but subsided. The center of focus for your anxiety to feast upon is now Silco. Wholely him.

You are suddenly struck with how different this moment in his office is from the first.

You fiddle with your blouse’s sleeves. “It had to be done.”

“That much we agree on,” he rasps out; he turns and has procured to decently poured glasses of sherry in each hand, “Though I’m sorry it ever even had to come to that.”

“Should serve as a reminder,” you mumble, “I remember working after things like that. Was always a bit safer the months following a Madam making an example of someone. It sets a standard. Necessary violence. A means to an end. Whatever it takes to protect my workers.”

“Put quite eloquently for a woman who just skewered a grown man’s hand. Either way, he’ll no longer have a place in my rank and file. That shimmer habit was becoming a spot of bother anyways,” the Kingpin explains as he slowly crosses the dim office; the warm light from the lamp on the corner makes the sharp contours of his face look softer than usual, “You have my honest apologies, madame.”

He hands you the sherry.

Your mouth quirks. You’re quiet long enough to pass the glass between fingers and hesitate to sip. Before you so, you speak coyly.

“Is that really what you’re sorry for?” you tilt your head and then, sip the sherry, “Now that we’re in private, you can speak your piece... you know, about endearments.”

Silco clears his throat. He hesitates to sip his own drink. He finds himself looking you over, critically paying attention to the curve on your lips. You’re playing with him. Toying the apology out of the big bad Kingpin.

The rings along his fingers glint in the warm light. His posture against the desk is relaxed. One hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other raising the glass to his lips for another drink.

You watch, and you catch the smirk there.

“I need not be in private to speak about my endearments for you,” Silco leads with as he straightens up and stalks closer, “You should know as much.”

“Should I?” you ask honestly; for a moment, a clear indication of just how hurt you’d been slips out. You lift your face and flick your eyes across his face, and Silco sees the quiet wound in the light of his office, “I don’t enjoy playing games like this.”

His words dry up.

No, no, he doesn’t either. He sees that — the look of hurt. For a moment there’s a shred of panic that bubbles in his throat at the knowledge that feelings are a fickle thing. If this is to be the future between you, Silco will have to understand that seeing this hurt will not be the last. That’s the thing about love. It’s not always calm. Sometimes, it stings like the water in the harbors of Zaun.

“I should have come to you—”

You shut it down quickly. “Silco.”

He takes another step forward, and his brows are pulled tightly together. “I hurt your feelings, my lovely. It wasn’t my intention. With the Chem Barons in town—”

“—You were busy.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

More than you know — more than you need to know. Betrayal and recruitment and territory disputes and in the midst of it, sweet little Jinx had come down with a head cold that sent him into a spiral of worry deep enough not even Sevika could drag him out of it.

The aforementioned blue-haired terror is one floor up, fast asleep. Feeling better, too. Thank the lights alive.

Silco swallows.

“...I haven’t been completely transparent with you.”

You recoil slightly.

You blink.

“...You’re not married, are you?” you prod lowly, with a comedic hint of concern.

Silco’s worry splits for a moment, long enough for him to roll his eyes. “No—”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Try a father,” he says curtly, bracing for the inevitable reaction.

All he gets is a quirk of your brow.

In truth, you’re pleasantly surprised at this little confession. This wasn’t exactly common knowledge — and it’s clear that Silco has gone out of his way to keep the aforementioned child out of the Zaun spotlight. Probably for the best. Zaun will burn you up quickly if you aren’t careful.

“Stop looking like I’m about to run,” you say with a slow smirk; you sip your sherry and move to lean back against his desk, “Really, that’s... charming.”

“Charming?” he says with a sudden escalation of amusement; you catch him scoffing, “Yes, the constant turmoil of a fifteen-year-old girl in the height of puberty is very charming—”

You laugh.

Fifteen. You remember that age. All fun and games and anger and frustration and loneliness and excitement. All of it, all at once. A whirlwind of everything, all of the time. Suddenly, you find your heart clenching at the thought of Silco trying his hardest to parent through this seemingly alone.

He absently toes your boot with the gilded tip of his shoe.

“...Were you really that worried about how I’d react?” you ask softly.

Silco swallows. “I wasn’t sure. Still, I... she’s not my blood but she’s every bit my daughter. I try to... keep her out of business.”

Business.

You tilt your head.

Your voice is as soft as velvet; Silco is drawn in by it.

“Am I business?”

He lifts his eyes. Standing before you, he looms. He can see the pass of vulnerability in your gaze when the question leaves your lips. Silco leans. As he speaks, a cool hand passes along your cheek. His thumb traces the round curve of your cheekbone. Your bottom lashes kiss the pad of his finger as he marvels in the warmth of your skin, the beauty of it.

“No,” he asserts warmly, “Far from it.”

Oh.

He drops the glass of sherry to the other side of your hip. He leans, bending to brace a hand on the desk and effectively trap you against the desk. The action itself is enough to suddenly stoke something horribly hot and hungry in your gut. You inhale, lip parted, and take the moment to admire him closely. It’s the expression laced in his good eye that leaves you to melt into the affectionate touch of his hand on your cheek.

“I care about you,” he speaks plainly in a whisper, “Very much.”

“Enough to kiss me?”

Silco’s smile is slow.

He — well, he’s thought about this moment for a long time now. In truth, it’s gotten him through the better half of this month, let alone the length of time he’s known you. If he’s being completely honest, he never imagined it would be here in his office, with his other hand landing along the curve of your thigh beneath your skirt’s cool fabric. He follows the plush, giving curve of your thigh, hand landing just above your hip.

“Plenty.”

His nose brushes yours as he speaks, and you’re left to stare at the way his mouth quirks. Charismatic. Charming. Like the man Babette had chortled about in his younger years. A smooth-talking man with a taste for good whiskey and cigars. Could talk a damned, starved dog off a meat wagon.

He puts his mouth to good use.

The kiss is slow — chaste, almost — to start.

Well earned. Tender. Deliberate and welcome.

Embarrassingly enough, it has you reaching to lace your fingers in his vest’s lapel and tug the Kingpin a bit closer. You hike yourself up, propped up on the desk, and happily sigh into the kiss when he steps between your legs and looms closer.

That little dance is enough to give him the permission to deepen the kiss.

It’s hardly his waltz to lead.

You nip eagerly at his bottom lip as you become half-pliant in his hands. One hand cradles the back of your neck while the other firmly plants itself to the curve of your hip. You lean backwards, just enough to have him leaning to chase you, and let him drag you back upwards toward him.

You taste like sherry and sugar. Silco’s lips are smeared red when he pulls away long enough to catch his breath. The disregard for the painted rouge on your lips is alarmingly attractive; it steals your breath right out from your lungs at the sight of it.

He catches you looking and reaches to swipe his thumb lazily across his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded.

“Oops.”

You’re smirking when he crashes down for another kiss, this time holding your jaw in his hand as he does. That other hand has moves to pull your hips closer to his own. He pull rips a small hum from your throat — enough of a pretty sound to have Silco huffing as he breaks to kiss a line across your jaw.

He mutters against your skin, though he isn’t even believing a single word he’s saying, “This is hardly the place for this—”

“I believe I’m owed my apology, at the very least,” you manage to sigh out as your head drops back and Silco nips a lovely little bite into the column of your throat. His hand is settled against your ribs now, effectively holding you still enough that he can dare nose farther down to your décolletage.

Oh.

Silco’s laugh is quiet. Knowing.

“An endearment and an apology,” he says as his hand ventures a bit higher, to ghost the swell of your breast, “If we’re keeping tally.”

“Right,” you mutter highly as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth; his hair is a mess, settling to hang in his eyes as he lifts his gaze. He’s amused. Smirking, “I mean after ignoring me for an entire week—”

He laughs. It’s rough. Low. Lovely.

“Let me make it up to you.”

So, that’s how you find yourself here, now — with one leg crooked and up on his desk, black chiffon skirt hiked up your waist and blouse torn open. Silco’s weight is pressed to your back, a calloused palm passing over your breast and the other hand gripping your hip tight enough you’re sure you’ll bruise. You brace yourself up on your hands, back arching just enough that you’re gasping the second Silco’s cock settles into you.

“Sh—shit.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex like this – good sex. Sex where a man spends time learning how to touch you, and how to speak to you, and how to work you up and open. No, it must have been years now.

Silco had certainly done just that. With teeth and tongue and hand. You’re littered with little bruises, delicious little reminders of the way you’d arched off his desk with he’d loops your legs around his shoulders and purred into your soaked core.

All for him.

The cool metal of his belt brushes the curve of your ass as you whimper; Silco’s pace is slow, and steady, and he’s truly trying his hardest to keep himself calm enough to remember how to breathe. You’re tight. Warm. Perfect in every way. The most beautiful Madam in all of Zaun, here. His.

He’s sure that invoking his endearments was just as good as signing his death certificate when you lean back and grab his tie; the action brings him over you, spurs him forward. And when you crane your neck to kiss him feverishly with lipstick smeared across your face, Silco swears this is heaven.

He curses quietly, lips parted. You mimic his expression.

Fucking hell, you can’t believe you ever mad with him.

You wrap the tie around your fist a bit tighter, yanking him down for another kiss.

“Go on, then, Silco.”

...This is dangerous. Dangerous and lovely and he’s glad he locked the office door so he can take his time bowing to your wishes — so he can hear your gasp out his name a hundred more times like you just did when he rolled his hips up into yours.

You’re happy for the tie — because when the slow and steady bace yields to a more rough, steady, frenzied one it’s really your only grip on Silco himself. His hold has wound itself around your hips to maintain the very angle that’s making your toes curl, and to occasionally spread your leg a bit wider so that he can see the pretty sight of you bent over his desk.

His mouth slips to your neck and he almost shudders when you angle your hips back just enough to hit the spot that makes you tighten wonderfully around him. You immediately gasp, and Silco takes it as a cue to not slow down, to keep this sustained pace up — and he’s rewarded for it in a desperate kiss as you crane to smother a series of embarrassing sounds as your chest bounces.

Really, this might arguably be the best sex you’ve ever had.

Maybe it’s the setting, but you settle quickly that it’s mostly the man. Powerful and intimidating and Silco — cigar smoke and gilded edges and a glass of sherry knocked to the floor in the fray. Either way, you’re positive that you’re not angry with him anymore. How could you be? You’re going to be sore for days. You know that much.

The best kind of sore.

He says your name so desperately you’re rushing to fix your grip on the desk. He breaths hotly into your neck when you manage a prideful laugh — it’s enough to have him tighten both hands on your hips and press onwards with a touch more fervor.

It’s just enough to send you right over the edge.

It takes you by surprise.

The edge of your pleasure rushes up to greet you so fast you aren’t even sure what’s up or down — all you know is that you’re slapping a hand down to catch yourself on the desk as your thighs quake and your knee nearly gives out. All you can do and writhe and gasp and screw your eyes tight shut as Silco promises the orgasm with a continued pace.

It’s when you say his name, sweet and pleading, that he follows you down the cliff-side in a less-than-graceful tumble of hand and mouth. All gasps and messy, sloppy stutters and forehead-pressed-to-shoulder. Warm. Sticky. A right mess.

You can’t say you mind it.

Son of a bitch.

Silco has to take a second — just enough to blink himself back to Zaun and try to remember the sight. He exhales tightly as he pushes off from you, tucking himself away and buttoning his belt sluggishly; the entire time, he’s watching you with a sex-buzzed smirk.

You’re indisposed at the moment. Looking rather beautiful the entire time as a bit of him runs down the inside of your thigh.

Silco, in all his years, never considered how attractive the sight could be. And now, here he is, trying to ignore the pull to have a go at it all again.

When you finally do lift your head, you blink tiredly at the painting staring directly at you from across the office.

With a smirk, you toss a look over your shoulder as you stand up and straighten your skirt.

“Have I ever told you how much I like that painting?”

He laughs out loud.

When you turn, Silco is kissing you, hands working to easily dress your blouse to its correct state before he laughs. Your legs wobble a bit as you lean from boot to boot. Lazily you tilt your head.

“You can have it,” he mutters into your cheek, “After dinner, we’ll hang it in your office.”

“Dinner?” you ask, perking slightly.

Silco hums. He moves to snatch up your coat.

“I’ve worked up quite an appetite, it seems,” he smirks, “Care to join me?”

“How could I ever say no?”

So, perhaps coming into ownership of The Lilac Lounge was hardly as horrible as it seems. That’s all you can really consider as Silco helps you slip on your coat. A family, a business, a few Friedlingmer’s... Silco and his endearments.

Yes, this was quite alright.

Yeleni would be proud.

#hobbyists & finer things #silco x reader #silco/reader #silco reader insert #silco x y/n #silco x f!reader #silco x female reader #silco imagine #arcane imagine #lol arcane imagine #silco arcane #WELL THAT'S ALL FOLKS #this was a fun little series and i loved writing it

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boytouya · 3 years

Text

like real people do

pairing ★ dabi x male reader

genre ★ fluff, angst, fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff...

warnings ★ manga spoilers, blood (crying)

w.count ★ 1440

request ★ “I nearly sent an ask to Slutouya thinking it was you for the 4th time💀 I want request headcanons of bath times with Dabi where he lets you take care of him, wash and baby him.” -anon

a/n: why did i realize that you said headcanons after i wrote it- i’m so sorry!! taglist in the reblogs <3

A single droplet of red makes way to cool water, swirling in different directions until it relaxes into a pale shade of baby pink. Touya’s back rests against the cool, porcelain surface of your bathtub, his cold staples pressing into his shoulder blades. Grooves of torn skin, rotten and purple, carry flashes of pain across his torso, his neck, his arms, his jaw. But with you, it feels numb. The gentle caress of water on his skin is almost heaven, soothing to his broken skin as he presses his head against your hands. Touya doesn’t complain, not when you fill a cup with water and pour it over his white locs of hair. Not when your fingers massage his scalp so tenderly, not when you hum to him.

His eyes, squeezed painfully shut with stress he didn’t know was building behind his skull, open slowly. You. You were his boy, his everything. The reason why he watched the sun rise, the reason why his touches across your skin would linger. The reason why he looked forward to the next morning. Even if it was filled with pain. You’d be there. You made life worth living. Maybe he cared too much, maybe there wasn’t really someone there for him, maybe he was making it all up. Maybe one day you’d disappear into thin air, leaving him with a wreckage of his own body and soul. And maybe it wasn’t genuine. Maybe it was a facade. Maybe you weren’t his boy, and he was yours. But he hoped, and he pleaded to anything, anyone that you were. He knew he was yours. And he hoped to God you were his. He loved you. Tenderly, tragically. He loved you.

Tonight, he’d stare at the cool water rippling in your bathtub and ponder. About you, about himself. A gentle shade of pink, the same as the limited space of healthy skin on his face when you said something to get back at him. Tonight, he’d let blood red tears trail down his face while he loses himself in the sound of your voice. Your humming, your laughter, your positive affirmations. Tonight, he’d listen. No arguing, no awkward jokes after you compliment him. He‘ll give in, just this once, for you. Maybe even for himself. A gentle kiss on his shoulder pulls him back to reality, Dabi’s eyes shifting upwards through his eyelashes to stare up at you. A bit silly from his angle, but everything he’s always wanted nonetheless. ‘Tense’ is the word your lips form, and he can feel his eyebrows press together in confusion. Your hand, steady against his quivering shoulder, presses down gently and- oh. His shoulders are tense.

It’s a shame he cant bathe for too long, not with skin grafts. But he enjoys it anyway, shifting his weight against the bathtub so he can face you, even with suds of soap ruining his hair. He can tell you pushed it back just to kiss his forehead, and there he goes...turning just as pink as the bloodstained water. Just about everything he knew was bloodstained these days. Soaked and overflowing, spilling over the edge until he’s drowning in it. It’s thick and merciless, creeping through his staples and stitches and-

You flick water at him in his direction, a sweet smile on your face. It reaches your eyes, high on the apples of your cheeks. So perfect. You’re so perfect. A pretty boy with pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty skin. He lifts his hands, mimicking Frankenstein for a moment (which he deems as ironic, considering he was the embodiment of such a thing) before wiggling his fingers. Droplets of water land on your face, resting on your cheeks as your hands shoot in front of yourself. The sound you make is ebullient and loud against the tiles of the bathroom. He wished he could bottle it up, keep it safe around his neck and open it whenever he needed a mood boost. All to himself, something to get drunk on over and over.

Touya can’t quite place the sound of his laugh. Airy and tarnished, completely vacant of the bright boy he used to be. But he laughs anyway. He lets it float into the air, even if it falls on his thrawn ears, anomalous to even himself. You seem to never care, your eyes glazing over with something luminous whenever you hear it. He’d never admit it out loud, but it hurts his chest. The catch lights of your eyes reflect the dim lighting of your bathroom, and he can see himself in their reflection. Through your eyes, there’s nothing distorted. Nothing wrong with him, nothing out of place. Through your eyes, he carries the secrets to the universe. Beneath the sleeve of scars is something magical, enchanted and special. But Dabi remains stubborn— slow with handing you his heart. But you knew, and he knew. The best of him belonged to you.

Your warm hands cup his cheeks, just as he’d done with you several times. Sure, a bit of soap had smeared across his face, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Touya can feel his heart do somersaults in his chest, beating against his ribcage as his heart begs him to say something. Give himself to you, offer his hands to sit atop yours, to engulf your own in his kindling flame.

Though the water had cooled long ago, the air against Dabi’s skin burns. Sets his skin on fire, surrounded by shades of blue, the same as his flames, the same as the blue chrysanthemums he gave to his mother in the hospital. It isn’t unfamiliar, Dabi is adjusted to the feeling of burning. Searing through his skin, tearing apart his grafts and leaving him weak. Weaker than before, on doe legs that can’t seem to keep him up. But that’s when he’d turn to you. He’d lean on you. He never uttered a word, not when it counted. Not about you, not about his feelings towards you, but his brain would sing about it all day. All night.

“What're you thinking about?” Dabi whispers into your palms, his eyes fluttering closed. Droplets of water rest on his long eyelashes, collecting at the tip of each strand until he blinks them away. You could only conclude that it was therapeutic for him, and it felt a bit intrusive to watch him relax in your hands. He was yours to hold, to collect the remains of his shattered bones and put back together. Something so raw, so disgusting, but so completely, utterly, undeniably Dabi.

“Just you,” You sigh longingly, dipping the discarded cup back under the water to pour it over Touya’s head. He can feel your movements against the undulation of the water occupying the tub, tilting his head back upon instink. He bares his neck to you, in its full vulnerability, no longer wrapped in bandages that were stuffed with mangled gauze. He lets your feathering touches linger, the corners of his lips blooming into a small smile when his ears pick up the sound of a twinkle in your voice. It’s small, but it’s beaming. Shining against the edge of the tub, illuminating his face. You pinch the skin on his cheek ever so gently, admiration bubbling inside your core when he swats at your hand. “What're you thinking about, Stitches?”

Dabi’s face scrunches up, his nostrils flaring as his staples pull at his skin. The nickname, though a bit unoriginal, was in homage to that cute patchwork bear in Animal Crossing. He didn’t quite understand why you thought of him, seeing as the character was cute and cuddly, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Because he did.

“This tub is big enough for two people.” He says instead, pulling your hands away from his scalp, though the rhythmic circles against his skull were good enough to lull him into a peaceful sleep. He only ever got those when he was with you. He knew you couldn’t join him, he was probably sitting in the bath for far too long anyways. But there would always be a next time, and next time he’d do the same for you. Whisper sweet words into your skin when you thought he wasn’t listening, cup your cheeks with his large hands, press his palms against the softness of your skin when you get tense. But for now, he’d relish in your familiarity. You were his sanction.

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wornoutmouse · 3 years

Note

Ayo... DOM! Deku with a choking and overstim kink. Like the baku AND DekuSquad both thinks that the reader leads the relationship and is top in bed cuz the difference in personalities and PDA. But the reader just goes along with it cuz she knows that it’s the exact opposite and she wanna get fucked fucked. So in the end the next school day they see the reader limping to school and Deku smiling cheeky. Bro Deku makes me😩 May you do a request to that? It’s ok if you won’t 😊

Question of the Day: What nicknames do y'all find not cringy during a steamy moment?

Cursing, squirting

It wasn’t your fault that people viewed you as the one in charge when it came to the sexual side of you and Izuku’s relationship. You were naturally more energetic and rivaled Bakugou in the terms of attitude and prowess, meanwhile, Deku was one of softer energy. Always smiling awkwardly and blushing at every little joke and jab. Very few people have seen Deku in his prime when he is focused on a goal and will do anything to get there. This attitude graciously carried over to his love life, something you were faithfully reminded of on one faithful day.

As usual, You, and the usual majority of class 1-A sat around each other during lunch. Deku being the nerd he was, sat leaning against you while writing something in his notebook, dusting it every so often when the wind blew flowers off the tree above you. An ethical argument between Mineta and Denki is what started the whole ordeal.

“What do you mean, Mineta?! Deku is totally the submissive one in his and Y/n’s relationship, no doubt about it!” Mineta shook his head adamantly. “I’m telling you, dude, it’s the super nice ones you have to worry about.” Denki gasped, offended, “I can’t believe you are saying this right now, have you no shame!”

Jirou rolled her eyes as she had no choice but to listen to the boy’s stupid conversation. “You do know Y/n is sitting right here right?” Based on the wide look on both of their eyes, they did not in fact realize that. Quickly looking at each other with narrowed features they dig in their pockets in order to retrieve their wallets. “20 bucks that say Y/n is topping Deku.” Mineta scoffed, “40 says you’re wrong.” they both shake on it before scooting closer to you. “So Y/n, which one of us is right.”

Looking between the two boys you open your mouth to answer the truth until you feel Deku shift his weight. He was looking at you, everyone was looking at you, all eager to hear who was right. A hand placed subtly on your back makes your smile widen, for a different reason than everyone else would guess. “Well, I can’t exactly say Denki is wrong, but I can’t say that he’s right.”

The blond whines in annoyance, “Oh come on what does that even mean!?!” While his attention is distracted, Mineta snatches the money from his hands, “That means you’re wrong now pay up.” Denki snaps out of his stupor in order to chase after his smaller classmate, “No the hell it doesn’t!” Now, with everyone’s attention being distracted to the slapstick comedy the two ensue, you realize that the hand you previously felt is gone. Deku is back to scribbling away in his notebook, giving you a false sense of relief.

“Man, Snipe is so aggressive when it comes to history!” Kirishima slouches in his chair knocking Bakugou’s hand as he eats out of a Yogurt cup. “Watch it shitty hair!” is the usual response, as the class congregates together. Asui calls you over to show you something but Deku steps in front of you before you fully stand. “Y/n since we have free time right now, I was hoping you could come and help me with something real quick.” He scratched the back of his head and looked over your head.

On the outside, it was just Deku being shy Deku, nothing suspicious about the ever-present blush he always sported was in full bloom. But from your point of view, it was obvious there was a different intent behind those eyes. “We’ll be back guys.” Deku mutters a hand settled comfortably on your waist as you walk out the door. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jirou watching the two of you leave with an eyebrow raised.

Deku guided you down the school halls, thumb rubbing shapes into your side. He said nothing as you walked, only waving and making small conversation with any familiar face you two passed by. After a long time, you two reach an unfamiliar classroom that Deku curiously peeks inside of. “So what are we doing?” “You’ll see.” Deku ushers the two of you inside before closing and locking the door shut. The mood seems to shift almost immediately.

Deku has a lazy smile on his face as he tugs on his school tie, “So what was that conversation you and Kaminari were having earlier?” Your arms tingle with goosebumps, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” While Izuku talked, his uniform coat is placed neatly on a nearby desk table, the sleeve of his collared shirt was rolled up and out of the way. “Yeah, I figured you would say that, that’s why I wrote it down to help refresh your memory.”

Deku sits down on a desk, motioning you over to him with a twitch of his fingers. A small notebook you hadn’t noticed till now was pulled from his back pocket before being flipped through. When you stood in front of him, his hand resumed its place on your waist so he could pull you much closer. “According to my notes, Kaminari and Mineta were debating on who was in charge of our relationship.” The more he spoke, the more aware you became of his fingers tapping randomly on your back, each touch tickled your spine, “And in response, you encouraged Kaminari’s theory that you were the one in charge.” Deku snapped the notebook closed with one hand before placing it on the other side of your waist forcing you to face him. “Is that right?”

You are silent when Deku’s scarred hands undo your shirt buttons from the bottom up. “I just thought it was interesting that your answer was different from what my memory recalls.” Izuku sucks in a breath when he sees your black lace bra. The fabric covering your chest conveniently hid the faded hickeys he knew he left 3 weeks ago. “Take this off for me?” The soft tone took you off guard making you pause confused as Deku gently tugged off your shirt and tie. He stands up folding your clothes as you fiddle with your bra straps. “I’m done?” You turn around to hand him your bra but squeak out in surprise when his hand grips your neck.

He keeps his hand there as he backs you up, forcing you to sit on the desk he was previously on. “I’m curious….” Deku trails off in his speech, using the time to kiss you deeply, hand never leaving your neck. “Since you are always the one in charge, I figure that maybe I should finally put in the work and make you feel good?” Deku pulls the chair from underneath the desk and sits down, legs spread. “Well, what are you waiting for, come here?” Your stomach flips as you slide off the table, the stale cool air of the classroom makes your skin prickle with goosebumps as Deku faces you the opposite way in order for you to sit comfortably in his lap.

“Deku what if we get caught?” You nervously glance at the classroom door, the lack of a peeking window putting you somewhat at ease. You were the only one exposed and if someone were to come through that door, they would see your half-naked body in all its glory. A hovering hand grabs the ends of your faux locs to pull your head back so he could whisper in your ear. “I’m sure they’ll understand that I’m just trying to pay you back for all my laziness.”

You bite your lips coyly. He was annoyed, you could definitely hear it now from his sarcastic remarks. But that didn’t make you regret your earlier choice, not one bit, and Deku knew that. The real excitement came from seeing how long it would last.

The gentleness returned when he grabbed your chest, massaging and pulling at them for his own enjoyment before releasing them in order to slide down your stomach. As expected he pinches the skin hard between his fingers and then releases before you even have enough time to complain.

“Just relax okay?” Deku places each of your thighs atop of his, successfully spreading your legs apart. You suppressed laughter whenever his fingers grazed your skin just lightly enough that it tickled, there was no need to give him a reason to be more upset. “Wearing briefs again today?”

Your pussy is palmed without restriction as deft fingers rub at the soft cotton protecting it. “Now how am I supposed to get to you now huh?” You knew the unspoken answer, and Deku knew you hated it as he clenched his fingers into the fabric until it ripped, “Oops.” You shook your head pouting at the unfair treatment, “Why do you always have to do that, now I have to be extra careful of my skirt!”

Strike one was raising your voice.

The touch was quick but still ever so stinging. Deku slapped your pussy in response before using his other hand to hold your neck, firmly tipping it up to the ceiling. “If you would have stopped wearing underwear entirely we wouldn’t be having this conversation, you know I like easy access.” The lack of visible reaction meant nothing since you could almost feel the blood rushed to your face. Deku kisses your neck determined to add marks that you could never hide. Your dark skin peppered with purple bruises while Izuku simultaneously rolled your skirt up to your waist.

You were already wet, the small nibbles here and there were enough for your clit to twitch excitedly as Izuku’s fingers danced around it. “Please touch me!” A warm chuckle vibrated from his chest at your desperate plea, “Calm down and relax Princess. I’ll get you where you need to be.” Deku continues to ignore your clit. His fingers, ever precise, slide between your folds in order to collect your arousal. The feeling adds some pleasure but only enough to make you more desperate. “Look at you.”

Deku observed your hips buck every whenever he got close to your clit. The small nerve swelling with blood and begging to be touched, and who would he be to deny that. It was heaven on earth when he finally put pressure on it. “Mhm!” His fingers combined with your wetness as extra lubrication provided the most pleasurable feeling. You wanted to clamp your legs shut and trap him there, but his much thicker thighs kept you wide open and on display.

Deku was never one to do anything half-assed, so while his fingers flicked and pulled at your clit, his other hand got to work. However, your twitching made you clench down whenever his finger barely pushed inside, “You gotta calm down baby, how else am I going to make you cum?” Soft soothing words made you just enough for him to push his index finger inside. Your cunt was tight, warm, and irresistible. The steady pump of his fingers has you closing your eyes as you relax against him like jelly.

Deku knew your pussy like the back of his hand at this point, every ripple, nook, and cranny he knew how to touch in order to make your toes curl. He adds another finger to the mixture, then another, and a fourth one until you are gushing around his digits and onto the floor. You were a slutty mess and no intelligible words could leave your mouth but “please” and “thank you”.

And while exhibitionism was one thing he had no problem with, Deku respected the fact that you would probably not be too keen to it. “You’re being too loud puppy.” Deku retracts his hand in favor of shoving his fingers in your mouth. You could taste yourself as he pushed them in further, rubbing it along your tongue as drool rolled down his forearm.

The sound of his finger fucking your pussy was wet and sticky, It took a large effort on his part to hold you against him every time your back arched away. “I’m cumming!” Your stomach contorted beautifully against his estranged wrist. “There you go.” Izuku kissed on the shell of your ear as you adjusted past your orgasms. “Are you done?”

You turn your head to kiss him, “Yeah..” He nodded, patting your cheek, “That’s good.” Izuku helps you stand up, helping you when you wobbled ever so slightly. You look at him unsure of the constant smile adorning his face, “Now what?” Izuku slouched a little bit more, “Now you get on your knees of course!”

You only have a moment to ponder what he said before a hand on your shoulder is forcing you down to your knees. It was quick enough for you not to feel the pain of your knees slamming down, but not quick enough to see the smirk crossing your initially sweet lover.

He was already hard as a rock when you pulled him out, cockhead with a steady stream of pre coming out the tip. You admired it with a small kitten lick around the edge, pleased when it bobs from your ministrations. “You are taking too long now put it in your fucking mouth.” Your head is pressed down less than gracefully and you are forced to open your mouth less his dick be smeared against your face.

Your mouth spreads as best it could while Deku sheathed all the way down to the base. He pulls out once again as if testing the waters before letting you up for a quick breath. “For someone in charge, you aren’t very good at this.” Deku uses a patronizing finger to wipe stray saliva off your chin before gripping your chin. “Maybe this will help you learn.” Using one hand Deku uses his cock to tap your mouth expectantly. Your mouth opens on reflex and his cock is pushed back in. Deku sighs with satisfaction, “Fuck, your mouth has always been good for this.” The tempo isn’t as bruising as it was in the beginning but it was still harsh.

Tears collected in your eyes ruining the mascara Momo had put on your eyes. Your throat burned from the constant friction and lack of air. “You hear that? This was what you should have said when they had asked you who was in charge.” Deku looked at you, his curly green hair covering his eyes as shook from his arm movement. “Look at those pretty lips.” Deku flinched after you swiped your tongue on the underside of his cock.

His voice sped up in the momentum and pitched in tone, “Y-You tryna make me cum fast huh!?” You bobbed your head faster despite the tight grip on your scalp trying to pull you away, “F-Fuck Y/n stop it!” Izuku’s voice caved and his hips jerked against your chin as he emptied his balls. You wipe your face with a large grin, brown eyes daring green ones. Izuku laughed, “You wanted this huh?” You don’t respond, skin tingling in the thought of what would come next. Deku stared at you, hands gripping his knees as his dick continued to spurt cum. “Fine.”

Deku stands up before dropping to his knees in front of you. Your calves are grabbed and raised until they are placed on his left shoulder. He slides inside of you with little to no resistance and you both groan at the intrusion. “I try to be nice to you.” Your neck is grabbed again with much familiarity, “But you always test my patience.” Deku leans over you to make sure you are listening. His eyes were a light green as sunlight cast itself inside of the classroom. The sound of your hips meeting is sloppy but neither of you are bothered by it.

You moaned as his abdomen rubbed against your clit the faster he went. “Deku!” Your voice is ragged and you’re practically wheezing at this point from the tight grip he has on every inch of your body. “Shut up.” He releases your neck and spreads your legs apart resting each on its respective shoulder. With entranced eyes Izuku watches you suck him in, sneering at how unintentionally greedy you were. The sound of spit startles you as it hits Deku’s cock before being pushed inside you.

You spasm at a particularly hard thrust, you didn’t know what it hit but your spine lit to flames each time it was grazed. “D-Deku!” You reach a hand out near any piece of skin you could reach, switching from his hands to his stomach. It was too much, the feeling of pleasure made it damn near impossible to think. Deku didn’t want you to think. Every time you seemed to think, you always caused him trouble. “I told you to be quiet.” Your mouth is covered almost completely by his hand only giving you the grace of air between his index and middle finger. You cum and you cum hard, so hard that Deku slips out and almost slips into your opposite hole.

Your leg is dragged back and Deku enters you again, this time only focused on himself. You feel him piston in and out of your cunt grunting obscenities as he closed his eyes with bliss. “Come on, I want one more like that. I need you to break for me.” In the distance, you hear the hour bell ring and the sound of students leaving their classroom. You have no energy to warn Deku, not that it would have mattered. Based on the pleasured look on his face and the heightened sound of his whines, the idea of getting caught only made him feel better. “I’m gonna, o-h fuck I’m gonna fucking cum.”

You let out a scream when a thumb finds your clit and your weak hands could do nothing to keep him from forcing another orgasm from you. “Don’t fucking run from it, cum for me puppy, oh god!” He covers your mouth to stifle your noises and that’s when the sensation begins.

The sensation is strange, it starts in your lungs like air before trickling down to your loins. The feeling of holding it back is painful but you still do it for only a moment of sanity. When it releases, it gushes like a waterfall, and for a moment you wonder if you had peed. When Deku feels it, he too is unable to hold back and finally cums inside of you with a reserved grunt when he realizes the danger of discovery.

Wasting no time and feeling no fatigue, Deku moves fast to find his own pants and shirt taking barely any time to pull your skirt down before giving you 4 minutes tops to learn how to breathe again. “Stand up.” You huff as you prop yourself up on your elbow, “You could at least help a girl out after fucking me an inch of my life.” Deku shrugs, “Logically speaking you did this to yourself.” “Logically speaking I should shove my foot up your ass.”

On the way back to class, Deku took pleasure in watching you walk bowlegged. You of course didn’t share the sediment as you did your best to hold in any cum Deku graciously left behind. He opens the door for you and you walk in doing your best to walk right but the limp was clear and true. Bakugou looked bored, the rest had blushes on their faces as you struggled to sit down properly. Denki, of course, was heartbroken as he handed Mineta back his part of the bet. “I told you, dude, it’s always the silent ones.”

From the back of the class, Asui and Jirou shoot each other an impressed look as they eyes the dark lovebites traveling below your shirt collar.

#deku smut #deku x black reader #mha x black reader #mha smut #bnha x poc!reader #bnha smut

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mimicofmodes · 3 years

Text

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.”

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves

Pelerines

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

#history #women's history #writing #embroidery #19th century #18th century #17th century #victorian #georgian #regency

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xsugarysweetsx · 3 years

Note

congratulations on 2k, sweetheart! you truly deserve with your amazing works!

i was wondering if you can do a pair your life with kojiro from sk8🥺 i’m a sucker for domestic bliss. especially during the honeymoon period 😌 he would be a goofball for a husband and smother you with love in the morning (after he basically smothered you in your sleep. he’s a big man)

you can put smut or just make it pure fluff if you want!

again! congratulations on 2k sweetheart!

A/N: Thank you so much, I’ll put in both ;) I hope I’ve captured the right idea here!

Warnings; smut; riding; language; slight dirty talk (?); just for a scene but everything else is fluff; all characters are over 18+

Please enjoy~🍰

*******************************************************

“Morning sugar~“ you hear whispers in your ear in the early morning. Only you were practically under a boulder of a man, other known as your husband. You both have recently gotten married about a month ago. You honeymoon was a week long on this beautiful resort. You both were still a bit in the honeymoon, especially Kojiro. Although in his words he says

“Have to have a full balanced meal every morning and night.“ and that went for both you and him.

“Mmmm what time is it?“ you asked stretching out your limbs from their stiff positions.

“Uhh, 6:30 am“ he said, you wanted to sleep more but he was basically fully awake now. You sat up and yawned your sleep away, you turn to him and smile sleepily. His large arms come to wrap around you to bring you to straddle his hips “mmmm so pretty” he said with lidded eyes

You play with his seaweed bangs while his hands skim your thighs. You were in your panties and his t shirt, his favorite thing on you. Last night was one of those long but lustful ones.

“You know,“ he said catching your attention “We still have time until the shop opens up“ he raised a brow. Yes, you both worked at his restaurant, you were a waitress and he cooked of course. Some customers have tried to pick you up only for Kojiro to come out and kiss your cheek. Just a little something to get the message across.

“Mhm, what are you thinking?” you tease

“Well,” without effort he pulls your panties to the side and smiles “I need a little energy boost before I start the day, don’t you think?” he had that look in is eyes

“I’m still tired tho..” you whine in protest just to see where he goes with it

“Don’t sweat it sugar, I’ll do the all work” and truth be told he actually liked doing it too. Sure you liked to treat him every now and then but he was the dominant type. Moving his boxers down slightly his cock springs up, intertwining his fingers with yours you bring your hips up. Aligning yourselves you lower down slowly. As said before, he’s a big man, and somethings were just bigger than most people.

“You good there?“ he asks

“Mhm“ you nod as you start to rock your hips “mmm“ you sigh rolling your head. Maybe this was a good way to wake up in the morning. Looking down at your husband you sometimes think of all the women that crowd and fling themselves to him. Ugh, you loath how they did it even when you were there. However, it was moment like these that reminded you, he was yours.

He was your husband

He came home to you

He was the one who made love to you.

No one else, and that fact made you smile as pride filled your chest. He knew that look and smirked as he made a buck with his hips. His large hands grip your hips as he bucks upward. The bed creaking bellow your combined weight

“Mmmm Jiro~“ you call his nickname “right there! Fuck! Harder!“ your brows knit together as you could feel your high coming soon

“Yeah baby? Need a harder pounding?“ just as promised he held on to you and bucked you into the stars. After a short but passionate session you both get into the shower. You just adored how he washed and massaged your scalp. He’d leave little kisses here and there while he washed and rinsed your back. You both actually love to dress each other, Kojiro does this silly thing where he narrates everything

“And now she slips on her blouse to button them up. If only she could leave about 2 open for me to see.“

“Kojiro!“ you gently punch him.

At around 8 am you both were ready, fed and off to work. Some of the other store owners called you two, the perfect couple. Married at a good age, work together and you two were just so cute together. You’d open up the shop and start prepping the foods. One of his favorite sights was you in his element. He was an amazing chef and one of his favorite things was when you cooked with him. For whatever reason the meal just tasted better when you helped him.

He actually met you here, you had ordered something and he honestly couldn’t stop looking at you. In fact he almost burned the food daydreaming, which rarely happens. By the time you finished with you meal he gave you your receipt with his number and a note

“Paid for! Enjoy your day beautiful“ you rolled your eyes at first. Just another flirtatious guy you suppose. However you flip it over and see a longer note

“I genuinely think you’re stunning and would love to take you out on a nice date“ followed by his phone number at the bottom. You ended up texting him and the rest was history. Now you were married, worked together and your life with him was happy. While you were dicing up some veggies and other ingredients he started on things such as soups and breads that can be served as small sides.

“’Scuse me my wife“ he said coming behind you to reach into a high cupboard pushing himself against your ass. He thought he was slick

“I know what you’re doing Jiro” you giggle pushing him back with you butt

“I have no idea what you’re implying my lady“ he teasing booping your nose with his finger moving back to his spot. The jiggle of the bells from your front door went off. Meaning it the was the first customer of the day

“That’s my cue.“ you grabbed your small notebook and pen and off you went. Meanwhile he stayed to cook sighing as he watched you leave. Listen thing may be all fun and games with you both but he really did love and cherish you with every fiber of his being. After a year of dating he knew he wanted you by his side until his dying breath. Of course like every couple you’ve had your rough patches along with your good ones. At one beef some girl wouldn’t get off him no matter how many times she was told.

You had told him “I’m not going to fight for you if you’re not willing to fight for us.”

He almost lost you that night, luckily he had caught up to you. Ironically it was raining and he stopped you in the middle of the road. You each pour your heart out and he slipped the proposal along the lines of

“I don’t want anyone else but you!“ he still upset that he wasn’t as strong back then but it was in the past. Looking over his shoulder he saw you greeting a family. The woman who had changed him and his life, you were smart, funny, gorgeous, dedicated and just down right perfect for him.

This entire day was all he wanted in life. To wake up to you everyday, make love to you and even start a family with you. Of course you and him still go to beefs together only this time he wore his ring proudly on his necklace. At the end of the day he loved to just relax on the couch with your feet in his lap. He massaged the sore soles of your feet while a cheesy rom-com played on the tv.

“Kojiro..” you called his attention making him look your way

“Yeah?”

You hum “mm nothing...just love you is all” you smile. Letting go of your feet he crawls between you legs to rest his head on your chest. His arms encircling your waste as he resting comfortably. Your fingers caress his locs as you smile softly. This was bliss, just here in this moment with him

“mm your heart sounds nice“ he sighed snuggling into you “can we just stay here? Forever?“

“Forever? What about cooking and skating?“

“I love those things but“ he looked up at you “you’re much better. Better for kisses and cuddling..and other things“

“Oh god“ you chuckle

“What? I was going to say company“ he scrunched his nose at you with a smile

“Oh Jiro, never change please.“

“Only if you don’t, my perfect wife~“

*******************************************************

I hope this was okay!❤️

#nanjo kojiro x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #sk8 joe #sk8 joe x reader #sk8 the infinity #Joe x reader #nanjo kojiro #anime #anime x reader #domestic life #anime fanfiction #fanfiction

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mx-misty-eyed · 3 years

Text

A bunch of SAI livestream observations

I literally just copied and pasted the notes I took so I'm sorry if they make no sense.

Chronological notes:

-livestream starts by showing a birds-eye view of Dema and playing Good Day

-Tyler looks really depressed

-bishops (Sally/Sacarver and Dan/Lisden) introduce TOP as “the popular band, Twenty One Pilots” - trying to portray them as popular and likable to get more people to listen

-Sacarver says the dragon (Trash) is “kinda dark” - implies that Trash is good

-Tyler’s hair is “number 16 cotton candy” - further shows how Dema controls/catalogs everything

-“there’s not twenty one pilots, there’s only two guys!” - maybe it doesn’t mean anything but that phrase is *the* phrase that will piss off almost any clikkie

-bishops ask where Josh is and if he’s hiding, Sacarver says “come here, you little moron” - Josh isn’t with Dema because they don’t know where he is, plus they wouldn’t call him a moron if he was on their side

-Sacarver wants Tyler to play Stressed Out because she’s always stressed (due to working with Lisden) and because “it’s my favorite” - Stressed Out is the song that made TOP popular, she may be stressed due to working with Lisden because she’s the one that seems to want to escape Dema more, while he seems to buy into the message/concept of Dema more

-Tyler tunes out bishops and then starts singing Choker

-Bishops grab Tyler after Choker and force him onto another set, where Stressed Out plays. Bishops stay onstage during Stressed Out - again, Stressed Out made TOP popular, which is what the bishops want

(okay i know the bishops are bad but that last image would make a badass computer wallpaper)

-Stressed Out fades into Migraine

-“thank God it’s Friday/because Fridays will always be better than Sundays” - probably doesn’t mean anything, but the livestream was on a Friday

-Josh counted for Tyler on “depressssssing”, but not verbally like in the studio version

-Migraine background has the psi symbol

-Migraine transitions into Morph, with a video of a crowd from the Trench era (Tyler interacts with the ‘crowd’ with a call and answer)

-Tyler doesn’t say “Josh Dun” in Morph

-Morph turns into Holding on to You (“entertain my faith” part) with a rain/lightning effect

-right before “lean with it rock with it”, there’s static and it cuts to the bishops who advertise SAI on the second set (blue/pink/yellow rainbow)

-“they just don’t play hits like this on the radio these days” - “this song will never be played on the radio” from Fairly Local

-after, a ‘commercial’ plays

-the first commercial has the black slipcase on the right and the blue slipcase on the left. In the back, from left to right: cassette, three cd’s stacked on top of each other (white on top, pink in the middle, blue on the bottom), blue box (limited edition box set sold on their website), lyric booklet

-“Dema is bringing you this music collection that is vibrant with saturation” - the Twitter banner was slowly desaturated while in the process of announcing the album, ads for SAI said “feel the saturation!”

-Shy Away, Choker, and Mulberry Street are mentioned during the first ad - two out of three singles released before the album dropped and the most propaganda-like song

-After commercial, Tyler plays Mulberry Street - Lisden said it was his favorite (likely b/c it’s propaganda)

-Mulberry Street starts inside but Tyler goes outside to a street (Mulberry St.) with extras that are ‘frozen’ in place

-Mulberry Street was the whole song (or almost the whole song), while most songs played were only a small segment - again, it’s Dema’s propaganda, so they want it to go on longer than older songs

-after Mulberry Street, the intro to Lane Boy plays (“why do I kneel to these concepts? Tempted by control, controlled by temptation. Stay low, they say, stay low”)

-Lane Boy has people with gas masks in the background

-“Don’t trust a perfect person and don’t trust a song that’s flawless” is repeated several times - later, Sacarver calls the album “perfect”

-Lane Boy transitions into Redecorate

-Chlorine plays next, background has barrels like in music video

-“Running for my…” (Tyler himself doesn’t say the word “life”)

-After Chlorine, Shy Away plays with obviously fake snow/mountainous background. Chandeliers are hanging and a fancy dining table is set

-Bishop commercial after Shy Away (“break the cycle in half”) plays, bishops have nosebleeds

-Sacarver says “nothing is missing from this collection”, yet SAI has 11 tracks while past albums have 14

-cd’s in front are swapped (black on left and blue on right), and the three cd’s are in a different order (pink on top, blue in the middle, white on the bottom)

-“But remember, you should-” *static* - bishops are likely being controlled by someone else, as it’s unlikely that the Banditos would have the power to cut them off

-Cuts to Mulberry St. set but darker (dusk/nighttime)

-The Outside plays next with Josh wearing skeleton hoodie - The Outside was mentioned in the commercial

-when water is poured on the street after The Outside, it forms a footprint

-Tyler sits in a boat named “Oh” with a lamp and an artificial night sky

-Plays Heathens with a ukulele (no frog croaks)

-transitions into Trees, which is normally the last song

-during Trees, the stars start to blur together (it looks like a timelapse of the North Star)

-Josh in Bandito clothing with a torch is shown (torch looks slightly different than in music vids), then it cuts to Jumpsuit

-Jumpsuit background is a valley like in the music video but it looks greener and more manufactured

-After, Heavydirtysoul plays with a flaming car on set (kinda like in the mv)

-Tyler looks upwards during “can you save my heavydirtysoul?”, looks like he’s pleading (sorry the last pic is so blurry(face))

-background is a road similar to the one in the music video

-Josh keeps crossing his drumsticks during HDS

-Commercial break with hosts (bloody and Sacarver has overexaggerated makeup, plus they have yellow eyes)

-“Now that you’ve heard some of this collection, you must be just like us”

-”Sometimes I close my eyes to try to escape, I just can’t believe how unbelievably perfect this collection is!” “You know you can’t escape, Sally.” “Yes, I know.”

-”We’ve come for you”, “We got people on the way, no chances” - “We come for you, no chances”, “We got people on the way” (lyrics from No Chances (which they didn’t play))

-Commercial zooms out to show that it’s on a TV with Tyler, Josh, and others watching - we don’t believe what’s on TV

-Saturday plays, during Jenna dialogue, Jenna has a pink streak in her hair and her top is half-blue, half-white

-Jenna has a yellow phone (Trench) while Tyler has a red one (Dema)

-stutter/pause between “might get” and “loud” happened twice, not just once

-after, they dance onto another set and play Level of Concern

-LOC background looked kind of like Josh’s in the music video (glow in the dark stars against a dark background)

-“In a world where this is as good as it gets, and we miss you, we really do”

-Fades into Ride, background is pink scales and what looks like sideways palm trees?

-Car Radio plays, Josh and Tyler are wearing black masks instead of white ones

-pause after “I liked it better when my car had sound”

-right after Car Radio, an alarm sounds and red lights flash, people run around in the background as Tyler walks onto Mulberry St. set

-Never Take It plays, Tyler comes up close to the camera (almost like in LOC music vid)

-Heavydirtysoul car is on fire to the right of the set

-Trash figurine is on the ground, it looks larger than usual

-Tyler walks back to first set and sits between bishops, who are frozen, and sings “I know it’s over/I was born a choker/nobody’s coming for me” from Choker

-fades out and cuts to bird’s-eye view of the set with crew members clapping and cheering, although even that feels subdued and fake

-shows Josh and Tyler with bishops in background, then credits roll

Various observations:

-Josh’s drumsticks are yellow - furthers concept that he’s against Dema

-SAI songs were generally played longer than older songs

-Bishops call it a “collection”, not an “album”

-Guitarists/trumpet player have one of Tyler’s tattoos on shirt

-Tyler has a pink ring and a blue ring on his left ring and index fingers, respectively (Shy Away music vid)

-various easter eggs on Mulberry St. set (sorry for the quality/size of the pictures)

(says “Rosie’s lounge)

-The door numbers on the Mulberry St. set coincide with the dmaorg.info error message numbers (at the bottom of the message)

-Josh’s bandito mask looks different (has a design on it that looks like a lion?) (unless I’m dumb and it was always like that)

-FPE: the Few the Proud the Emotional (Blurryface), Failed Perimeter Escape (Trench), now Food Petrol Etc (SAI)

-Tyler looks less energetic when singing SAI songs (because it’s Dema propaganda)

-after the show, instrumental versions of The Hype, We Don’t Believe What’s on TV, and Doubt were played. WDBWOTV is obvious, The Hype has the lyric “just don’t believe the hype”, and Doubt has the lyric “gnawing on the bishops”

-in the Q&A, they said Josh would backflip off the piano, but he didn’t. They also didn’t do the deathdrop (thing where Tyler just kinda falls backwards)

-Stream was exactly one hour long (started at 8 PM EST, ended at 9 PM EST)

-The livestream ad doesn’t have a crossed O in the only of “one night only”

Josh’s drum set designs:

Trash:

Alien:

Psi symbol 1:

Psi symbol 2:

FULL SONG LIST:

[song number]. [song title] - [album] ([design on Josh’s drum]): [additional notes]

Asterisks indicate songs that transition into each other smoothly

Good Day - SAI (Josh not present): not sang by Tyler (live, that is)

*Choker - SAI (Trash)

Stressed Out - Blurryface (alien)

Migraine - Vessel (alien)

Morph - Trench (alien)

Holding on to You - RATB/Vessel (alien)*

[Dema commercial 1]

Mulberry Street - SAI (Trash)

*Lane Boy - Blurryface (alien)

Redecorate - SAI (alien)

Chlorine - Trench (alien)*

Shy Away - SAI (Psi Symbol 1)

[Dema commercial 2]

The Outside - SAI (Trash)

*Heathens - Suicide Squad soundtrack (Josh not present)

Trees - RATB/Vessel (Josh not present): usually played at end of concert)

[Josh as a Bandito]

*Jumpsuit - Trench (alien)

Heavydirtysoul - Blurryface (alien)*

[Dema commercial 3]

Saturday - SAI (Psi Symbol 2)

*Level of Concern - single (alien)

Ride - Blurryface (alien)

Car Radio - RATB/Vessel (alien)*

[alarm sounds]

Never Take It - SAI (Trash)

Anyways, thats all I have for now but if I missed anything, let me know and I’ll add it! (I’ll be sure to credit you ofc)

-Admin Crow

#sai #scaled and icy #sai theory #scaled and icy theory #twenty one pilots #twenty øne piløts #top theory #what the hell is going on

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mack3030 · 3 years

Text

Types of Paywall Abuse --- A post...

I think it’s time to tackle a topic that might make a few simmers uncomfortable, but we need to talk about it, because in addition to seeing a lot of people complain about it in general, I’ve also been getting some anons in my inbox talking about it. So let’s discuss this.

Now, first of all, I would like to clarify a couple of things:

When I speak of PAYWALLS here, I am talking about custom content that can ONLY be accessed by paying, or viewing an ad through a virus filled ad shortener link (which is just as bad). Pure early access content, where you pay for it and get it earlier than everyone else who gets it for free IS NOT PAYWALLED CONTENT.

This is why it is called a pay “WALL” because the wall portion indicates that you cannot access it without paying a fee/toll.

Second of all, I would like to remind the public at large that this is not hate, it is a critical commentary. I am not going to go for these creators personally, nor do I want to. I, as a member of the community who plays the sims 4, and downloads/uses CC, would like to simply hold some of these creators accountable for actions that are unethical and unsatisfactory to the community in which they serve. That is it. No more, no less. I simply believe they CAN do better and BE better than this.

Now, let’s get into the meat of this.

The main type of abuse that I have focused on has been what I call Permapaywalls.

Permapaywalls:

Content that cannot be accessed ANY other way than either paying a certain amount via patreon or another service, OR viewing a link through a virus-filled ad that puts your computer at risk.

There are many creators who are well known permapaywall creators, with at least 80% or more of their content being locked behind these permapaywalls. Sometimes they may release a few items for free, but this is very similar to being allowed to test drive a car before buying it. It’s to entice the user/viewer into liking the brand, and then buying in.

I’m not going to delve into this too much because I’ve already expounded on this topic a bit. So let’s go further.

The next type of abuse is what I like to call “Exclusive Loopholes”.

Exclusive Loopholes: Creators who try to “get around” EA’s early access policy by offering a majority of their content as early access, but holding back certain items only to those who “subscribe” to their “patreon exclusive” content.

There are some who are okay with this, thinking of this as a neat “bonus” for those who subscribe and support. However, the sims team made it clear:

Folks who have a Patreon page are welcome to provide folks with "early access" incentives for their content but it should be made available to the general public within 2-3 weeks of it being given to folks early.

- Simguru Drake, The Sims Forum

Notice nowhere in this answer does it say anything about BONUS CC incentives. Nowhere. This is just a method that certain creators try to use to keep people from decrying them as “big bad paywall creators”. This way they can say “oh look, we do early access, we’re following EA’s rules~!” while still holding content hostage.

If you want to offer your patreons some exclusives, here’s some ideas: * Share pictures of your process, or work in progress content coming up. * Allow them to have input into your process via polls and questions. * Have an exclusive discord community just for your patreons where they can talk to you easier and share excitement and input about your content with you and each other. * Have exclusive streams where only you and your patreons have the link to see you go live making content. * Host a workshop on how to make CC using your process. (I see all of you who steal meshes from other sites sweating over this. ;D) * Pause billing for a month and say “you know what, since you guys have been loyal and supported me, have a month of patreon on me!” * Anything that honestly doesn’t involve only giving those patreons CC and not releasing it to the public.

Let’s talk about another type, and oh my lanta, this type has had some anons messaging me ALL up in arms. I like to call this type “The Donation Disaster”.

Donation Disaster: Someone who CONSTANTLY uses the “downs” in the up/downs of life as excuses to not release content on time, or delay it while still collecting payment from patreons. Bonus “you’re a jerk” points if they then try to use those misfortunate circumstances to beg for even more money from their patreons on multiple occasions.

Look, we all have junk that goes on in our lives. But when that junk is used as an excuse for you continually delaying content while still charging your patreons (and not using the pause feature), it makes them feel cheated. In addition, when you then ask for donations to help you during your difficult time, and turn to your patreons instead of the support networks that are around you (ex: friends, family, religious communities, etc.), that can be VERY off-putting. You might be able to get away with it once, maybe twice, without a large chunk of your community turning against you. But the more regular it becomes, and the more they hear about how strapped for cash you are and how you’re asking them to give more than their pledge, and you’ll soon find yourself being called a scammer. Regardless of your intent, or if your problems are reality, you’ll find people’s empathy for your situation will be lacking.

I’ve had a few anons in my inbox talking about different patreon creators that always seem to have an excuse for why updates aren’t coming just yet, or why x is broken, and with their excuse comes a plea for help with bills, and a link to a paypal or venmo.

Everyone has junk, don’t get me wrong. And it sucks to go through the junk we have in life, but if you’re reaching out to random people on the internet as your first method of support, you might need to be looking someplace else for support first before you come to the people who are already paying you for content you make. A one time “hey I’m in a bind, I need some help” donation thing might not be a bad thing, but when it becomes a constant pattern on your patreon....people aren’t going to take it well...at all.

And last, but not least, I’d like to talk about the last kind of patreon abuse, which frankly, is really upsetting to me. I don’t even really have a name for it, because it’s literally so much of a “what?” thing in my head. I don’t even understand why it goes on. Now, this practice involves the black/POC community, and frankly, as a white girl, I don’t feel I should be speaking over the community and what they have to say. Thankfully @xmiramira spoke on it, all the way back in 2019. Here’s an excerpt from her fantastic POST:

Even new creators who JUST joined the community sliding up in TBS with locs and braids talking about Patreon only. GTFOH. I’m not okay with creators doing Patreon only CC PERIOD, but my main discussion is focused on NON BLACK simmers making CC catered to US, and making it PATREON EXCLUSIVE IN AN ATTEMPT TO FORCE US TO PLEDGE, and how people are ASSUMING that I’m OKAY WITH THIS, and ASSUMING that I’m letting it FLY in my community. Just because I don’t go off about shit as frequent as I used to doesn’t mean I cannot see and I am not doing what I can to keep the fuckery OUT.“Oh but your friend has a Patreon” I don’t have an issue with what @ebonixsims is doing because it’s all early release. It gets released to the public a few weeks later. It’s not being kept behind Patreon, forcing people to pledge to her. Despite this, she’s still doing really good with it. So don’t get it twisted, I’m not on social media arguing with folks so people just assumed I’m okay with this shit, I’m really not. I’m actually two seconds off dropping Patreon share folders. (That also have my shit in it) Supporting people is one thing, but a lot of these motherfuckers are becoming extremely exploitive, and it’s aggravating. It’s like you goofy motherfuckers sit in DMs like “yeah let’s make some CC for the negros and put it on Patreon” Fuck outta here. And it’s not even just hair, it’s skins and even CLOTHING STYLES. Y’all are really wilding the hell out. African necklaces, black girl magic chains, Juicy Couture sweatsuits. Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling? IM TIRED! Next time someone asks me where I got something and it’s Patreon exclusive I’m dropping a SFS link. FUCK OUTTA HERE!

Here’s the deal. The black community has been fighting for a while to be able to feel represented in this game. Here’s two articles (ONE, TWO) talking about this issue. But the thing that has me upset is the fact that SO many creators of content that is AIMED at Black/POC simmers are locking that content (or a good majority of it) behind paywalls. And what’s even more shameful is some of those creators are POC themselves! They understand what it’s like to feel that they cannot make themselves or have sims that look like them in this game, yet they still lock their content away and expect people not just in the SIMS community, but in the POC community to pay through the nose for it. The fact that this is STILL going on, two freaking years after she made this post, and that both NON POC creators and POC creators are engaging in this behavior is honestly disappointing and shameful. I believe black/POC creators should be supported, BUT they should be supported without depriving their OWN community of representation and access. And frankly, if you’re a NON POC creator and you’re specifically targeting this group to make money off of them with paywalls, I have only one thing to say to you:

I’d speak on it more, but frankly, I’d rather let the people who are actually in the black/POC community speak on it, so if any of you want to let loose in the comments about this problem, go wild. I’m happy to sit back and listen, and I suggest others do the same.

#nopaywalls #sims4 #sims4mm #sims4alpha #support early access creators #stop being a jerk #patreon abuse

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

Text

📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand.

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite.

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself.

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over.

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered.

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you...

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth.

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed.

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed.

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest.

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much.

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it.

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him.

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits.

Lastly, Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks.

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was.

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder.

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder.

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious.

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err.

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!” He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

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