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pawsitivelymiraculous · 4 years

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Damian, the baby assassin, Dupain-Cheng (Part 5)

Hellooo everyone! I'm... somewhat alive. I'm so sorry this took so long to update. Welp, I can't believe that this is the end of the first arc. Thank you guys so much for your support.I wouldn't have been able to get this far without all of you. I´m so excited for whats to come. Also Tysm @beautiful-disasters-sunshine for beta reading this!

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Ao3 Masterlist

So, recap

Marinette kidnapped/adopted Damian after seeing him with Talia in the Miraculous Café. She gives him the choice between staying with her or a non assassin relative. He chooses to stay in hopes of stealing the miracle box, but since that didn’t work he lashed out and tried to kill Marinette and her friends repeatedly. This makes Marinette doubt in herself because she feels guilty about the whole situation. After hearing Marinette cry, Damian runs away confused at the whole situation, but he didn't get far before realizing that he was actually okay with the idea of Marinette becoming his mother. Marinette finds him and they go home.

After that, Damian began to feel more comfortable around Marinette.

Their dynamic changed. No longer was Damian desperately trying to escape, and now that the walls he had built had almost completely crumbled Marinette began to learn more about the boy she considered her son.

For example, she learned that he liked art.

The moment she found out she ran to her favorite craft store and bought all sorts of things ranging from paints and canvases to a couple of sketch books and a variety of pencils.

Damian, of course, tried to tell her how unnecessary it was.

But Marinette ignored him.

She cleared a corner of her studio where she kept all of her sewing machines and the commissions she was working on, and set up the new supplies.

The two could be found on most afternoons peacefully sketching and painting in that room while munching on the leftover pastries from the café.

Another regular activity was to go out to various places to get inspiration for said projects. Whether it was an outdoors market, or a quaint town bordering Paris, Marinette loved to show Damian all her favorite places to visit whenever she needed inspiration.

She loved to see how his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched. How he used his natural ability to pick up on little details and used it to make beautiful pieces of art.

And of course being the proud mom she was, Marinette hung up all the paintings all around the house, despite Damian's protests. She even taped some of his sketches on her side of the "Creative Room", as Marinette liked to call it, to use as inspiration for her designs.

Damian also continued to go to school. It took a lot of macarons and begging to let the principal of the school allow Damian to go back, and it only happened once they agreed to a reasonable punishment.

Marinette was rather relieved at how difficult it had been to convince them.

It was reassuring to know that the faculty in the school she chose was willing to address the issue instead of turning a blind eye to someone with enough money like they had done when she had been in school.

Also, there was a new addition to the family.

Since seeing Damian look at a flyer of the animal shelter with interest, Marinette suspected that he liked animals more than he was willing to admit.

This was confirmed when she arrived home and found Damian trying to lure a dog out from under his bed.

Marinette obviously allowed Damian to keep the dog and almost burst into tears when for the first time, Damian called her "mom"

Together, they managed to get the dog to come out from where he had been hiding. The poor thing looked so frightened, and kept shying away when they got too close.

Marinette sang a soft lullaby that her mother had taught her hoping that it would help the dog calm down, and it did.

Hesitantly, he walked closer to Damian and eventually let him pet him.

"You're a little survivor aren't you?" Marinette whispered. Looking at the dog who was now falling asleep in Damian's gentle embrace.

A small smile graced Damian's face. "Naji. We must name him Naji" He murmured, taking Marinette by surprise. "It means 'survivor' in arabic. Naji has experienced a lot of difficulties, but yet he survived them all and he has now found his home." He explained.

Marinette didn't think he was only referring to the dog.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette paced nervously around the living room as she waited for it to be time to pick Damian up from school.

The reason she was so nervous was because she was hoping to ask Damian if he was okay with being adopted by her.

She had to pull some strings but after waiting for a long time she had finally gotten the permission she needed to legally adopt Damian.

The only question was if he was going to accept.

Naji walked over to her and laid at her feet making Marinette stop dead in her tracks.

Despite being skittish around them, Naji had an uncanny ability to know when either Damian or Marinette was upset. He would usually try to sit near them and eventually he would allow one of them to pet him gently.

It was adorable if Marinette did say so herself.

Naturally, Marinette sat on the ground and patiently waited for Naji to approach her. Meanwhile, she closed her eyes and made herself relax.

It was all going to be okay. If Damian didn't like the idea then that would be fine. It wouldn't change her love for him and hopefully the proposal wouldn't make him draw back to himself.

Naji sat on her lap as she continued to calm herself down.

Finally, Marinette glanced at her watch and saw that it was time to pick Damian up. Giving Naji one final pat, she stood up and got her keys.

The pep talk she had just given herself had become a sort of mantra for her.

When Marinette arrived at Damian's school, she noticed that Damian was with another kid his age. Damian looked somewhat bored as the boy talked.

Nonetheless, Marinette could only feel pride as Damian continued to listen to the boy.

Taking notice of her, Damian excused himself and walked to the car.

"So, I see you made a new friend." Marinette said after exchanging greetings. She was unable to keep a teasing tone out of her voice.

Damian frowned, "I was merely tolerating his presence. I would hardly call that a friendship."

"Yeah, sure. Keep telling that to yourself honey." Marinette replied with a grin. "Anyways, how was school today?"

Marinette listened to him as he told her what he had done throughout the day. When he was done Damian noticed that they were going the wrong way. He told her as much.

"Your right mon petit oiseau" Marinette sighed as she pulled over. "Damian, I have something important to talk to you about."

Damian looked at her, a hint of worry seeped into his eyes. "Is there something wrong, Maman?"

Marinette's heart swelled at the name, it gave her the confidence she needed for what she was going to say next.

"Damian, I love you as my own son. That- that's what you are to me… my son." Damian's concern grew as tears started to roll down Marinette's cheeks. "And I don't care for technicalities or anything," she continued, grabbing Damian's hands between her own. "But… I would like to legally adopt you."

~♡~♡~♡~

Damian could only stare at Marinette in shock.

Being legally adopted by her was something he had never actually considered. He knew how complicated that would be, but if she was asking then… maybe it was possible?

He thought about what it would mean. Perhaps he could change his last name and leave behind his grandfather's legacy behind for once and for all.

Damian didn't think he would ever be able to escape the league. For most of his life he didn't even want to. But Marinette had cared for him more than his own family had.

It would be incredibly stupid not to accept. So with that in mind, Damian made up his mind.

"I… I am not opposed to this idea Maman." Relief flooded Marinette's features "Though I must ask how you managed to make it possible?"

Marinette choked out a small laugh. "Let's just say I'm very persuasive and I have friends in high places."

Yeah, that made sense.

Their time in the courthouse passed by in a blur. When they walked out Damian felt... lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off from his shoulders.

This was his new beginning. Damian felt relieved because he had no doubt that with Marinette's guidance he would be able to right the wrongs he had committed.

He no longer had to fend for his own because someone was going to be there for him. To protect him.

To love him.

And for the first time in his life Damian felt safe.

Past Damian would probably be ashamed of that, but now? Now only felt joy.

Because he was no longer Damian Al-ghul.

He was Damian Dupain-Cheng.

~♡~♡~♡~ TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~

@elmokingkong @anjuschiffer, @ii-fox-demon, @justcourttee, @tazanna-blythe, @lozzybowe, @idontfuking, @wannajointhecrabcult, @bakergirl13, @rosalineandrosemary, @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry, @our-preciousss, @consumeconstantly, @jiso-lee, @allthegooddaimenettenamesaregone, @justcourteesuportline, @finallyaniguana, @user00000003, @whydoexamsexist, @justafanwarrior, @violetfandomaddict, @smolplantmum, @fidget-eep, @cadenceh2o, @justarandomtumblerblog, @tomanyfandomsonmymind, @emmathedestroyer, @emotionalsupportginger, @insane-fangirl-of-everything.

#maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #mominette #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #my trash writing

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

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

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

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

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

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

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

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

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #reader request #meet ugly #boxer au

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Squido!

Commission: I haven't and don't really intend to. I don't want to take anyone's hard-earned money. Just ask me to draw things and there's a good chance I will.

Social Media: Tumblr: @sky-squido AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido/pseuds/sky_squido

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Call me Squido! I love to draw and write but I'm also super extraverted and I love interacting with humans so always feel free to chat with me! Aside from drawing and writing, I just love being outside and have a tumblr sideblog dedicated exclusively to nature photos I take. I love mountains, the ocean, the sky, and just about everything else in this beautiful world of ours! If you ever feel like having an internet stranger give you a thousand word rant, ask me why my favorite color is blue and you will not be disappointed!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember and can't seem to stop, though I take long breaks sometimes I always seem to come back to it again. I try not to have anything in mind when I draw, but to start sketching and let the drawing happen. Sometimes I find that what I'm trying to draw is not what my drawing wants to be (if that makes any sense) and change what I'm making halfway through. It makes drawing a really relaxing and carefree therapeutic experience! Writing is different. I've always enjoyed writing, but I didn't write much and never shared my writing with anyone because I thought it was super pretentious. It wasn't until entering High School and joining the literature club and making a deal with a friend that we'd share our writing with each other that I actually gained any sort of confidence in my ability and sought to improve it. Being in that club and sharing my pieces at the open mics was a really encouraging experience! I invite everyone to share their writing, even if it's with some random internet stranger (I'm open anytime!) if they're unsure of their abilities. A little encouragement goes a long way! Now that I'm on Discord, ao3, and tumblr, I receive so much more feedback than I ever have before! It's been super encouraging! What inspires me most is definitely nature. Even if my ideas aren't directly related to the outdoors, I get my best ideas there. Fandoms are also a great idea generator. The sheer volume of headcanons and prompts is enough to make me dizzy with ideas!

What's your creative process like?

I love sketching. My favorite thing about drawing digitally is that I can sketch as much as I like and never worry about wasting materials! Often times my sketches turn themselves into drawings without permission and other times they stubbornly remain sketches for all eternity. I always dive right in because I have no patience and the idea I started out with generally isn't that great but in the process of pursuing it, it spirals out of control and sometimes the idea gets better and sometimes it gets worse but I just kinda roll with it. Creating is a really chill process for me and while I regularly scream stuff like "I'M DRAWING ON THE WRONG LAYER NONONONONONO" or "NO HECK FRICK SHOOT IT SMUDGED HECK HECK GET THE ERASER QUICK," the creative process is a great way for me to unwind. I'm the same way about writing. I never plan or outline and just kind of roll with things. I mean I generally have the basic jist in mind, but I try to not have a plan so I can keep the story driven by the characters and not force them into acting the way I wanted them to in the outline I made hours or even days ago. Creating is my opportunity to break free so I don't really see what good a plan or outline does me. I'm a pretty spontaneous person!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I like to take pictures, but it's not really my main focus. I've been mostly digitally drawing—I use my iPad Pro and Procreate—but lately I've been pencil sketching with just your average everyday mechanical pencil (I'd forgotten how nice the texture of paper was! Clearly I spent too much time drawing on my iPad!). I have these Stabilio chalk pastels I love to pieces, but have also spent a great deal of time with watercolors. Digital is my primary medium currently, though.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"Sky’s golden scales are glowing with reflected light from the sun while beneath them, the same pulsing blue in her mane runs like a river as her very skin is alive with electricity. The sun’s beginning to dip, fading through the color wheel from yellow to deep orange to scarlet and the world is bathed in watercolor and hue shifted through the rainbow until all that was blue becomes red. This new alien world begins to darken as red fades to deep purple-pink, the clouds catching last vestiges of gold in their pillowy folds, yet Sky continues rippling with lighting, the bright blue flowing like blood through her veins and the gold shimmering in the eerie azure glow. We weave through the winds and zephyrs and I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my hair and when I reopen them, I’m standing back on the ground again in a world long since darkened by night. I place my hand over my beating heart where Sky is still laughing with joy and smile because once you’ve awakened your dragon, you don’t need wings to fly anymore."

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Every fanartist and fanfic writer that posts their stuff online is an inspiration to me. Even if their stuff isn't very good—especially if it isn't very good—it's a huge testament to the courage of the creator and their bravery in expressing themself! I sat on fanfic and fanart for years and never shared it and here were kids half my age putting out art that was their first experiment in a new medium and a little shaky but it was still out there and they were still being supported by the community and that really inspired me to reach out and stop lurking in fandom and actually get involved!

is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as a creator?

I feel like everyone has these periods where they were just gaining confidence in their artistic ability but suddenly everything they make is trash and they're not happy with any of it and they feel so down and worthless and "where did all of my hard-earned ability go? Will I ever get it back?" I think this is a pretty common experience and when I find myself there, I find it most helpful to share what I make anyway, even if I hate it, with someone who I know will give it to me straight because they'll point out the deeper problems—the root of the issue—that I hadn't even noticed and I can use that information to grow as an artist. Bad pieces are just as valuable as good ones. There was also a time where I had a lot of trouble developing a style. I did a lot of experimenting and never found anything I liked. What happened is I just kept drawing and whatever popped out eventually evolved into my style. I used to get frustrated that I couldn't draw anything without a reference, but after years and years of using references and drawing some of the same things over and over again, you won't need the references anymore. I mean, they're great and you should always feel free to use them, but over time, you won't need to look up a picture of every little thing you try to doodle.

What got you into writing or art?

My silly twitchy fingers can't ever seem to stop drawing! Same with writing. Words and ideas follow me around, little plot bunnies pestering me until they get written down somewhere. I was greatly inspired by the works of C.S. Lewis in my writing, especially his Cosmic Trilogy. My art style was aided by Hiromu Arakawa's Fullmetal Alchemist, which was a valuable stepping stone in developing my own style. Other than that, it was my own insatiable desire to MAKE THINGS that spurred me onwards. I don't think I could stop if I tried!

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

After you've got that first paragraph and you've found a flow and you've got a topic and you just GO. I get into the zone and the story starts happening on its own and I'm not an author anymore, I'm just a channel between the world of the piece and the page. That's my favorite. I love watching things take shape. I love shading a sketch for these same reasons. The whole drawing comes together and becomes A Thing and it's the most exciting time to be a creator. Something else inside you has taken over and you're just along for the ride. I have no idea if my experiences are common at all but this is what it's like for me!

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

EDITING. I HAVE ZERO PATIENCE. THE THING IS DONE. WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING AT IT. CAN I POST IT YET. This leaves me with a lot of holes in what I make and I can't do a very clean, super detailed drawing unless it's for an art class and I'm forced to keep working on it. I have a terrible habit of never proofreading my things!

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

AAH hard question! I love writing description and places where I can really let my inner 19th century romantic be unleashed but I also love a good emotional moment between two characters. Something tense. I like fight scenes, but I try to keep them brief and interesting. Sometimes I find scenes where I have no idea what's going on and I try to avoid that, but it's really hard sometimes.

What's the hardest for you to create?

I have so much trouble with endings. I can generally figure something out, but there's always a moment of panic before the end like "heck I wrote everything I wanted how do I wrap this up????" That's probably a byproduct of me planning nothing XD I sometimes have trouble with characterization and making sure everyone acts the way they actually would. The hardest part is continuing after you have an "oh heck what do I do now" moment that breaks you out of your zone and all of your ideas and plot threads turn invisible or evaporate or go wherever it is they go when you're looking for them.

What's your favorite genre to write?

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST. Wellll... scratch that. I love something adventure-y and plot driven with a lot of really meaningful character interactions. I've always had trouble putting my writing into genres, but I guess that kind of speaks for itself in a way.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

Linked Universe is the fandom I have created and posted the most for by a LONG SHOT. I found LU shortly after making my tumblr and I joined the Discord shortly thereafter. Since then, it has been nonstop inspiration and creativity for me! I tend to get sucked into one fandom and it consumes me for a few months before I silently drift out of it and never think about it again. LU is the fandom I've been the most active in EVER though—and it's still going—so there's a good chance I'm never getting off this ride.

What's the work you are most proud of?

AAAAAAAAAAH MY BABIES. okay um here's the first and only fanfic I've ever posted anywhere but I'm really happy with: https://sky-squido.tumblr.com/post/618964544219463680/turn-back-time-a-linked-universe-fanfic I have a lot of other pieces kicking about, but they're not fandom so I haven't shared them yet. I probably will after I touch them up a bit.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Not really? I don't really know where my ideas come from to be honest!

Where do you post your finished works?

my tumblr. I tag stuff #squido writes and #squido draws so you can find them easily. I also put them on the discord but they get lost in the stream of other works pretty quickly so stick to my tumblr. I also have an ao3 now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Turn Back Time was actually live written in the Discord, but entirely unplanned and in the #angst channel! It was just a headcanon but then I started describing it and like 2 hours and 5k words later I'm sitting in the Discord like "what just happened??"

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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thissimplefeelingzine · 3 years

Note

regarding your inexperienced w zines mod team- do u at least have somebody handling finances that has experience w a completed zine? that’s SUPER important, especially now, and I would urge you to reach out if not and find somebody to handle that positon. looking forward to this zine!

Hello anon,

I am Mod Dogfeathers*, and while posting directly to our socials is somewhat rare for me, I am This Simple Feeling's current Finance Mod, and so I thought it very important that I address your concerns directly, myself. I am very shy, I am neurodivergent, and I have severe social anxiety, and so most of the work I've done for This Simple Feeling thusfar has been infrastructural and supportive, somewhat away from wider visibility. However, I am extremely aware of the awesome responsibility that falls squarely on my shoulders as finance mod, and that the community around our zine– from my fellow mods and our potential contributors to the fans who will be cheering us on and reading issue 6 next year– must be able to depend on me to manage our finances through every stage of This Simple Feeling's production. The success of our project requires the community's collective confidence in me, and I am extremely keen to build that trust.

So, first, I want to apologize for the length of time that you've had to wait for this reply, and assure you we've been taking your concerns very seriously. Much of this time has been spent in deliberative reflection as to whether or not I should remain in this role. I love this project, and I have invested a prodigious amount of time and effort and affection into it since Head Mod @menecio approached me in early November 2020; I desperately want it to succeed. I have never wavered that I want to remain in this role, and my fellow staff have not wavered in their conviction that I should remain here, too. That said, I am aware that the success of our zine does not particularly care about what I want or what feels good, and so I took some time to seriously assess my own capabilities, to strenuously question my resolve, and to seek advice from people with zine experience who I trust. We have determined that I shall remain Finance Mod, but I want to stress that this was neither an easy nor an immediate decision– I did not let it be an easy or immediate decision, because what has always mattered to me is what's best for the zine. In the end, that determination was made based on the work that I've already done and the trust that my team has in my abilities.

Nevertheless, we want to emphasize that we continue to take your concerns seriously; we recognize that my lack of zine experience is both significant and reasonable cause for concern. We are taking additional measures to address that lack, beyond those that I insisted upon when I accepted this role. I will shortly lay out some of my relevant experience, but in recognition that it is limited and that it may not be sufficient to assuage your concerns, I want to make clear one of the additional measures that I requested during this period of consideration.

My husband and my partner of ten years, Tom, is a trained accountant, and he will now be supervising my work for this project directly. He had already agreed to assist me informally, and had– with supreme patience– already conducted a few intense, 6 hour long sessions to explain the ways that double-entry bookkeeping and Microsoft Access can be used to manage a project of this nature. He will continue to do that, but he will also be keeping an eye on my work and checking up that work periodically. I will still be managing our accounts, my name will still be on our books, and this will still be my job, but Tom will be actively present to confirm that I am doing this correctly. He does not have zine experience, he is not involved in fandom, and he does not have fandom-relevant socials– he has no specific pull towards fandom participation, the way I do– but he has worked for several years as one of two accountants for the library of one of the USA's top 40 public research universities, managing the extremely complex and surprisingly variable needs of such a massive nonprofit, and has been responsible for controlling several million dollars of public acquisitions spending in that capacity. (His way of describing this: "Each year we spent about the same amount as the budget for 10 Things I Hate About You, and I was in charge of a little over half of it.")

As part of this supervisory role, Tom is also going to maintain a presence in our server. He is not a mod and plays no part in decision making beyond occasionally giving us financial advice when asked, but he has appropriate server roles to provide direct access to mod discussions, so that he can be present to pay attention when I bring financial data to the team, and to answer our collective financial questions, should any arise that are beyond my personal capacity. When his schedule permits, he is also available to our contributors and mods to answer their questions directly in server.

What follows is a non-comprehensive, but hopefully thorough, summary of my relevant experience.

By training and professionally, I am a studio artist with an MFA, the terminal degree in my field. I manage my own studio practice. This is a complicated, variable job that requires a great deal of flexibility, responsiveness, and skill– most of which does not actually involve the hand-skills necessary to create the literal artwork the studio practice ostensibly produces. As an artist, I am a sole proprietor, and my studio is my business, but with very specific needs not necessarily found in other businesses, and I run it without assistants. I maintain my inventory and my supplies, I purchase and manage equipment necessary to create work, I manage my work through various states of creation and exhibition and– sometimes– publication, I take on clients for commission, I apply to shows (for which there is always a fee), I work with gallerists and curators, I research and make connections with different platforms and specialist logistics businesses (PayPal/money handlers, banks, streaming platforms, printers, data storage). All of those affect my studio's finances, and so they must be managed carefully, in addition to sales of prints and original artwork (thusfar handled privately, as is fairly normal– we are often encouraged not to maintain digital storefronts, because it can dissuade potential gallerists from representing us; I am in the process of threading that needle.) In this capacity, I have no employer: I am responsible for taxes– both knowing what they are and paying them– and fees, I am responsible for my costs, and I am responsible to my business partners. There is no external buffer– if I fail any of this, I am the only party responsible for making it right.

Because I believe in the transformative power of art (and, for that matter, fandom), I try to work with local arts organizations and nonprofits when possible, particularly when it comes to showing my work and engaging in community arts efforts. I prefer to support group projects that elevate multiple artists, and/or organizations that serve diverse communities. Prior to COVID, I was doing a volunteer-intensive residency with local community arts nonprofit whose mission is to bring art and heritage craft skills to communities that would not otherwise be able to access such training; COVID has necessitated a change in my ability to serve them, but I do still work for them in a more limited capacity, usually grantwriting.

Though I prioritize nonprofits, I have also worked as an assistant/intern for urban galleries using for-profit and co-op funding structures, which involved both basic work associated with gallery assistantship (manning desks, running errands, calling support businesses, promotion, show installation, etc), and sometimes work on specific projects that required knowledge of the institution's fiscal state and available funds (from contacting local businesses about the replacement of a gallery's floor and helping to plan the launching of a new residency, to more routine tasks, such as contacting local bakeries about catering or hosting satellite shows, and ordering promotional material from printers.) All galleries run on extremely tight budgets, and having been exposed to a variety different gallery funding structures (with concomitantly different priorities and audiences) gives me an awareness of the work and the precision required to achieve ambitious goals with extremely limited finances. They are why I price things out on three levels: the ideal, the nearly-ideal, and the most affordable that still meets our high bar for quality.

I have experience writing grants, both for myself and (more notably) for the nonprofit at which I am an AIR (artist in residence). The most ambitious of these grants has reached the second stage of consideration, which is notable both because the granting organization is not arts specific, the deciding board is composed mostly of bankers with deep fiscal expertise, and we were asking for funds significantly in excess of what that grant usually offers. That decision is expected in June of next year. Grant-writing is less of an abstraction on the skills necessary for a zine than it might initially seem: both involve my operation as an agent representing the organization for which I requesting money; art grants are usually for very specific projects with very specific constraints; they usually require that our funding comes from multiple sources that are then pooled to enact the project; the projects have a specific lifespan and a schedule on which key stages must be completed; they require extremely precise budgeting; we are directly accountable for both the project and the precise management and tracking of said funding; and we must be ready to provide statements and proof of the project's progress and funding at every stage of the project's active lifespan, as well as a summary report at the end.

I have curatorial experience with local and regional art shows, usually organized by a small independent team working closely with a local, preferably-nonprofit gallery who is lending us their space; those roles are very analogous to the XO/logistical role I am currently fulfilling for This Simple Feeling. Though we worked with local galleries, and could sometimes make use of some of their equipment (such as hammers and nails and– if we were very lucky– leftover paint), we were responsible for every aspect of the actual hosting of the show and associated costs. This included equipment rental, installation costs, costs to repair & repaint to walls from the normal damage of installation, catering, sometimes utilities and space rental, etc. All of those costs were additional to the cost of recruiting artists, hosting calls, managing the artists and their work, managing sales of the work throughout the duration of the show, managing the sales of any prints the artists or merch the artists wanted to offer alongside the work, and organizing any publications or promotional materials released for the shows. Each show had different financial needs, but they all required budgets prior to their beginning, modified when necessary as the project came closer to realization and new constraints presented themselves. The businesses we solicited quotes from and our cost-reduction strategies varied from show to show, but all of the teams I worked with were semi-formal groups of friends and collaborators, similar to the teams that design zines, and so we did not have a pool of institutional capital to use for funding– we had to generate or barter for all of that ourselves. We did it because we loved it and we believed in it, not because it was potentially lucrative (community art shows almost never are, even less than zines; the point is celebration of our community.)

And that, honestly, is one of the most relevant bits of experience I've accumulated to date, tangential but applicable to a project like this: the awareness that this kind of project is done for love, not money. Issue 6 is being produced for charity, but even wildly successful for-profit zines will almost never be able to make enough profit to adequately compensate the cost of the staff's time, which would be upwards of $20k, if you paid them $10/hr, which is below the cost of living in most parts of my country. The cost to hire freelance writers is, at minimum, $.10 a word. The artwork in zines would cost in the hundreds– and, more realistically, thousands– of dollars, in a professional illustrative or fine art context. The writers and artists who contribute to zines absolutely make work that reaches (and exceeds) the professional standards required to participate in those industries. Our contributors have trained for years to hone their skills, and they put those skills towards making work for us, for free; our staff similarly donate their time to accomplish very complex tasks to support that creative work; that time could be spent producing work for those professional contexts, but instead they give it to us, and they do that because they believe in us and our community, and they want to celebrate a fandom and a ship– Star Trek and K/S– that have brought us together, and (with Trek and K/S specifically) have supported fandom engagement for over five decades. They give that work to us, and the only thing they ask is for us to make a zine out of it. I am an artist and a writer, I have formal training in both disciplines, and I understand these costs: I cannot express how seriously I take the gift of their time and energy, and how profoundly I am humbled to be trusted with it.

If I sound zealous, it's because I am, and because I am excruciatingly aware that from the moment our staff begins working on this project and our contributors start making their works, the financial responsibility for taking all that gifted energy and skill and effort becomes solely my own. If I fail as finance mod, I do not fail only myself, as would be the case in my studio practice– I also fail my fellow mods and every single one of my contributors, and I fail the community responsible for the generation of work that has provided me solace for decades. If I fuck up as finance mod, it is solely my responsibility to make it right.

As I said before, your concerns are absolutely reasonable– I share many of them– and all of this experience is tangential, and zines are different projects to those that I've worked on before, with different constraints and needs. I have thus taken action and structured my own work as a mod to assuage these concerns in myself, in ways that I hope will concomitantly assuage some of your concerns as well. I am paying attention to my own inexperience, I am preventing myself from functioning on auto-pilot, I am taking nothing for granted, and I am being actively vigilant for the inevitable gaps in my own expertise.

That's easy to say, but what does it look like? Thusfar, it takes the form of huge amounts of research, and the connection to a extant network of experienced zinesters, both of which are repositories of information with which I am trying to plug some of my gaps. I know well, as an academic who also practices disciplines (art and writing) that are precarious by their nature, that there is a big difference between external research and experience– but if everyone starts somewhere, then I have gone to great lengths to map out the place where I'm starting as thoroughly as possible. I have read (and often annotated) literally every resource on the production and staffing of fandom zines that I could find. When I have a question, I check these sources and I also look for examples of whatever I'm curious about 'in the wild'. To determine the likely price of our zine, for example, I looked through seven pages of tags on popular hub/promotion blogs on Tumblr, and generated a comprehensive Excel sheet from one such session that allowed me to compare prices against the number of pages and the kinds of merch offered alongside the zines in question. To balance the holes in that mode of data collection, I have also sought contacts and tried to build a relationship with communities around zine production: i have close friends who work on zines (and who initially got me interested in this kind of project– you know who you are, and my thanks is infinite for your patience and your willingness to act as resource), and I regularly make a pest of myself by asking strange questions to folks in Discord servers dedicated to the topic (I am also grateful to these communities, in similar terms). When possible, or if the question is specific enough, I try to go directly to the source: when I was uncertain what, specifically, could be used to verify a PayPal account, and found conflicting answers in their documentation, I spent three days talking to various help desk personnel until I found a solid answer on which to proceed. All of this is basic, and deserves no accolades.

If I am anything in my personal art practice, it is a colorist, and so I already had fairly deep knowledge of color theory prior to my involvement here– however, because color accuracy is so important to printed artwork, and depends so much on printer technology, the capacity and setup of individual print shops, and digital color spaces, I have spent time researching this too. I have requested printing samples from 7 different printers, and I have peppered the ones that meet the zine's standards with esoteric questions about what kind of printing presses they use and what ICC profiles their digital presses are set up to handle. I have done this because when it comes time (very shortly) for our Art Mod (@i-drive-a-nii-san) and myself to make some final determinations on which printers we want to use, it is important to me personally that we have the most comprehensive data available with which to make that decision. The zine that we publish needs to be pragmatically affordable– but within the scope of that pragmatism, I want the best quality possible, so as to do justice to the contributions that will live on its pages.

I am aware that all of my experience is tangential, and that the direct relevance that it has on this situation is limited. I am aware that there are gaps in my knowledge. I am aware of the awesome responsibilities I have as finance mod, and that I am a potential bottleneck upon which this project either breaks and fails or through which it passes and succeeds. I am aware of the gift inherent in every work we receive and every moment of staff working time, and the legacies at play with K/S specifically. I am aware that all the book-learning in the world has limited bearing on the actual experience of doing something on the ground. I find my experience lacking, and for that reason, I very seriously considered stepping down. I am humbled by the responsibility required by this position; I decided to stay because the trust my team expressed in me was also humbling.

My experience may be tangential, but there is a final element that I strongly suspect is applicable to my role as finance mod (and mod generally): in a project like a zine, done for love and for community, there are a myriad ways in which trust matters, small enough to overlook but overwhelming in their accumulation. The trust of the external fandom/zinester community matters, and for that reason I am being as honest as possible, and almost ceded my position to someone with greater experience; the trust of one's fellow staff and collaborators also matters in significant ways. An administrative team that trusts each other– that has confidence in each others' abilities and convictions, that understands each others' outlooks and that communicates well, and that deeply believes that that they will mutually have each other's backs– that kind of administrative team is an awesome thing, and their confidence is often perceptible to the contributors in very real ways, who then trust the administrative team to have their backs and to support them as necessary. Collaborators and administrators who have established that trust with each other tend to work together more effectively, and produce stronger work as a result, especially in a creative capacity. Good work requires creative risk-taking, which in turn requires the certainty that administration can support the necessary risk-taking and facilitate its success. The establishment of such trust is not automatic– we must work for it, actively– but the team involved in issue 6 of This Simple Feeling has that trust in each other, and the willingness to build it with both our collaborators and the wider community around our zine.

My confidence in the rest of my team is unshakeable. They have, in turn, expressed their confidence in me, that I am able to do the tasks and handle the responsibility involved with being finance mod on a project as specific and complex as a fandom zine for charity; I will trust them, and I will continue to work to earn their trust. I will also trust the broad community of zinesters around me, and solicit their expertise to help me navigate unfamiliar waters, and I will trust the professional expertise of my partner, who I have asked to donate his time. I will not lie, and so I make no promise that I won't fuck up in this role– but I will absolutely promise that if I do, I will make it right, and I will do everything in my power to prevent such fuckups from occurring in the first place.

I encourage you or anyone else to contact me if you have further questions; I can be reached through the contact forms on my personal Carrds– both linked on This Simple Feeling's staff bio on the Carrd– or alternatively you can request my Discord handle via DM on This Simple Feeling’s Tumblr or Twitter.

- Mod Dogfeathers/42/booleanWildcard/NAB

* I write fanfiction under the name booleanWildcard, and I am known socially as 42 or */asterisk. I post drawings as Dogmachine. I sign my visual work as NAB, my initials.

* We are using Microsoft Access instead of Excel, because Access is more flexible and comprehensive with its ability to cross-reference multiple fields. We will use it to generate reports for release, including possibly ones that can be plugged into Excel/Google Sheets

#tsfzine #ask #mod team

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creative-type · 4 years

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wake from death (and return to life) chapter ii

AO3 Previous Chapter AN: Huge shout out to @codedredalert for doing art for this chapter. We Kuina stans gotta stick together, and she did a fantastic job. Please consider giving her a commission, I promise it’ll be money well spent

Kuina walked into Ipponmatsu’s shop sopping wet and chilled to her very bones. At the entranceway she shook herself like a dog, spraying drops of water all over the store. It was a childlike indulgence, something she never would have considered just that morning. But at that moment nothing seemed to matter. Not the shop, not her manners, nothing.

She heard Ipponmatsu before she saw him hurl a towel in her direction. Kuina caught it one handed, keeping the other clenched tightly around her sword. It was still nameless after all these years. It didn’t seem right to bestow it with such an honor when her birthright was still at Shimotsuki Village.

Except Wado wasn’t with her father. Zoro wore it at his waist, because... why? Had he taken it? Had Father given it to him?

Kuina dried her face and hair before turning to face Ipponmatsu properly. The commotion had drawn his wife from the storeroom, Ipponume standing by his side with an arm wrapped protectively around his waist. Twin looks of concern broke through Kuina’s distracted thoughts. She blinked once. Twice.

“I’m leaving.”

What would have been a grand pronouncement moments ago came out strained and creaking. She was leaving the people she’d come to love as family, possibly forever. Kuina’s vision went fuzzy, and even though she’d just dried her face she could still feel the wetness on her cheeks.

Kuina wiped them with the back of her hand. She hated crying, had ever since she was a little girl.

“Kuina, what’s going on?” Ipponmatsu said. “I saw the pirates in the square, and then you come running in here like the devil himself was on your heels before running back out again! They’re saying on the den-den mushi that Smoker’s put the whole city on lockdown!”

Smoker . Somehow, Kuina had forgotten about him. She put her mask on hurriedly, not that it’d do much good now that Tashigi knew who she was. “Sorry, I don’t have time to explain.”

Not waiting for their reply she hurried to her room and began shoving clothes into a pack as fast as she could. It was the same one her father had sent her with years ago. The material was faded and worn, but it suited her, sturdy enough to fit her needs without drawing attention to itself.

“You can’t leave now!” Ipponume exclaimed. “Even without Smoker’s crackdown there’s not a ship on the island that’ll sail in this kind of weather!”

“I’ll worry about that later.” Kuina dug her small bundle of savings out from under her mattress. She’d offered to hand over her earnings as a bounty hunter for rent, but neither Ipponmatsu nor his wife ever allowed it. In exchange, Kuina didn’t let them pay her for the work she did for the store. She supposed it more or less balanced out in the end, except she owed them so much more than money. Kuina had to blink back more tears, which had been joined by an uncomfortable tightness in her throat.

“If anyone asks, you never saw me,” she said, willing her voice not to waver. “You didn’t know about my mask, and I was just some village kid you picked up on a whim. I’m...I’m sorry if I get you into trouble.”

Kuina got back to her feet, and without looking at either Ipponmatsu or Ipponume bowed deeply at the waist, deeper than she ever had for anyone she didn’t call Father. “I know words alone cannot convey the gratitude I owe you, but thank you. Thank you for opening your door to me that night.”

Still bowed, Kuina heard Ipponmatsu turn sharply on his heel and march out of her room. Surprised and hurt, she rose jerkily and stilted. Even if there was anything else to say, Kuina didn’t trust herself to speak. Turning her back so she didn’t have to see Ipponume’s reaction, Kuina resumed her packing, willing her facial features into a stoic expression more befitting of a swordsman.

Suddenly, her nose was assailed with the smell of Ipponume’s cooking. Kuina stiffened at the sound of Ipponmatsu’s wooden geta clacking softly against the hardwood floors. Against her better judgement she turned to see Ipponmatsu tying a plastic sack around a box of bento. He handed it over to Kuina, an eyebrow raised. “I suppose this is about that green-haired swordsman?”

"Zoro? You met him?”

“Met him?” Ipponmatsu snorted. “Girl, I gave him two swords free of charge.”

Kuina accepted the offered bento, too shocked to say anything else.

“He’s the second person I ever met whose luck matched Sandai Kitetsu’s curse.” A faraway, awed look came over him. “Bet an arm on it, in fact.”

“You gave him Yubashiri, too,” Kuina said, remembering the other sword she’d seen hanging at his waist. She’d been too focused on Wado to even wonder about it. She looked up at Ipponmatsu’s face, searching. “Why?”

It wasn’t because of any connection to Kuina. She’d made a point not to talk about her past before Loguetown, preferring to make as fresh a start as possible. It was easier, in some ways, not to reminisce.

“Because I saw something in him. He’s the real deal, a true swordsman.”

“Oh, honey, please,” Ipponume said. “What does this have to do about—”

“And I see that same look in you, Kuina,” Ipponmatsu interrupted forcibly. He crossed his arms across his chest and tilted his chin, looking like a rooster that had just finished his morning preen. Kuina knew him well enough to know when he was bluffing, and to her astonishment...he wasn’t.

“We knew we couldn’t keep you here forever,” he continued. “A cage as small as this isn’t near enough for you to spread your wings. I look forward to seeing how high you can go.”

Ipponmatsu lifted the blue oni mask from Kuina’s face, pinching her cheek like he used to when she was young, knowing how much it annoyed her. He offered a grin that couldn’t quite hide the extra shine in his eyes.

“Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

Kuina managed a wobbly smile of her own. “The marines will be here any second. Remember, you had no idea. About any of this!”

She tried to bow again, but with the single most derisive snort Kuina had ever heard in her life, Ipponume wrapped her in a hug strong enough to crush a bear. “I have no idea what’s gotten into you all. Swordsmen .”

But Kuina heard the pride in her voice, and she fixed it into her mind, hoping to remember it forever. Pausing only to grab an oiled cloak, Kuina plunged herself back into the streets of Loguetown for the final time.

If there was one ship stupid enough to leave port in the middle of a raging storm against the orders of Captain Smoker, it was Zoro’s. Kuina didn’t hold out any hope that he would still be on the island by the time she made it back to the coast, and even if it did, her pride rankled at the idea of riding his coattails to the Grand Line. She’d always imagined them setting out together. As equals . But that was before knowing that he’d spent the better part of a decade thinking she was dead, before learning he’d become a pirate, and before Kuina threw away nine years of secrecy to attack one of the few marines who knew who she really was.

So much had changed since just that morning, and in it all Zoro had found his way. Now it was up to Kuina to find hers.

It was a sentiment that was much easier said than done. Kuina stayed close to the alleys and side streets she knew like the back of her hand, having to duck back into the shadows more than once as clusters of marines ran down the rainy streets. The usual crowds had vanished, and despite the rain and the thunder, the absence of the human element made Loguetown feel like a ghost town.

Kuina guessed by the direction the marines were running that they were still busy at the square. Buggy the Clown had snuck an incredible amount of pirates into the city under Smoker’s very nose, and that wasn’t something he would take lightly.

With their paint and their ruffles, Buggy’s troupe stuck out like a sore thumb, and at the moment, so did she. For the first time Kuina wasn’t sure whether or not to wear her mask. It didn’t seem right to be seen with her sword without it. The two had always gone hand in hand, the familiar weight on her face a comfort that protected her more than any shield. Without the demon mask Kuina felt a little like she was going out to battle naked; there was no rule saying she couldn’t fight without it, but she had absolutely no desire to do so.

If she stuck to the shadows the dark of the storm should be enough to keep her hidden. All Kuina had to do was make it to the docks and stow away on a ship, and if not stow away use her reputation as the Demon of Loguetown to get what she wanted, hopefully before the marines put out a warrant for her arrest.

It was a risk. The mask was conspicuous, and in the past Kuina had always gone out with her chest bound. She knew—she knew —that everyone and their dog assumed the Demon was a man. In a pinch she might be able to bully her way onto a ship, the shapeless silhouette of her cloak enough to disguise her gender, but she didn’t feel confident enough in her acting ability to pretend to be a man for however long it took to reach the Grand Line. Without the duplicity she could easily see a ship’s captain brushing her aside as an imposter or kicking up a fuss. Or both, if she was especially unlucky.

A crack of thunder broke through her jumbled thoughts, and Kuina bit back a curse. Time . She was running out of time, each wasted second dwindling her already-limited options . There was no point trying to figure out what would happen out at sea if she couldn’t get off the damn island.

Father always said a true swordsman would never allow themselves to be swayed by emotion or sentimentality, and logic dictated that stowing away was the safest option, assuming she could find a ship setting sail at all. And stowing away meant stealth, and stealth meant not walking around dressed up as one of Loguetown’s most feared bounty hunters.

Gritting her teeth, Kuina slid the mask off her face and stuffed it into her pack, irritation burying like ants under her skin. Now the only thing conspicuous about her was her sword, and that wasn’t so easily hidden even within the bulky confines of her cloak. A thousand warnings echoed in her mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her father’s.

She stuffed that down as well and resumed her journey. With Captain Smoker effectively shutting the city down, there was a chance it could be days before she could actually make her escape. Smoker’s control over Loguetown was too tight for anything to escape his grasp, his men too well trained to let anybody slip through once they set up a perimeter.

Unless, of course, she hitched her ride to freedom someplace other than Loguetown.

Kuina came to an abrupt halt, suppressing the urge to smack herself upside the head for not thinking of it sooner. There was a cove just outside the city favored by pirates, smugglers, and merchants too cheap to pay the docking fee in town. Every couple months Smoker and his men went on expeditions to clear the place out, but as it turned out scum was an infinitely renewable resource, and the criminal population that called Canary Cove home always came back twice as strong as before.

Kuina herself had ventured to the cove on occasion to collect bounties. A shantytown sprung up from the mire, grown around every sort of illicit trade like a tumor. And like a tumor, it sucked life and resources from Loguetown proper. Cleverly nestled at the base of a shallow cliff, it was close enough to Loguetown for easy access, but almost impossible to find unless you knew what you were looking for. Any ships that dropped anchor were hidden from view by the sheltering arms of the cove.

She would be safe from the marines, but it would be a trick and a half to convince someone to let her aboard one of their ships, let alone to get to the Grand Line. The people who lived at Canary Cove were damnably insular, with lookouts posted every hour of every day and a dozen bolt holes hidden in the cliffside for people to scatter through once an alarm was sounded. Kuina always hated when a hunt took her here. For every trick and secret she discovered it seemed like there were a dozen she didn’t know about, and anyone found ratting out an accepted member of the community would quickly find themselves with a knife in the back for their troubles.

An exception was made for those who could afford it, the exchange of money for goods and services a universal language understood by both lawmen and the lawless. Maybe she wouldn’t need to stow away at all. With enough coin in the right hands Kuina could buy her way into the Grand Line.

That was an awful lot of maybes , but she was at the point where a bad plan was better than no plan at all. Kuina was confident about her ability to go up against any of Smoker’s men, but his Devil Fruit was another story entirely. It was best to avoid any chance of a confrontation, and to that end Canary Cove was her best bet.

By the time Kuina snuck out of the city and made it to the bluffs, the sky had faded from dark grey to pitch, starless black. Wind howled, and without anything to cut its teeth, Kuina bore the full brunt of the storm’s ire. Guided by sporadic flashes of lightning and the unpleasant memory of previous excursions, she carefully picked her way down the rocky slope. There wasn’t a proper trail as much as a zigzagging path that looked like it had been intended for a group of particularly athletic goats. The footing was loose and slick, and Kuina was forced to use her katana like a walking stick just to keep from tumbling into the sea below.

About halfway down Kuina slipped on a patch of crumbling stone. Her feet slid from under her, jagged edges of limestone tearing holes in her cloak. She didn’t have time to scream as she plummeted down…

down…

Reflex alone made her keep her hold on her katana, and when a jutting edge of rock sent Kuina airborne she was able to regather her senses enough to twist her body, stabbing her blade into the cliffside and praying she could hold on long enough to arrest her momentum even as her shoulder threatened to wrench out of socket. She slammed back against the cliff, stars flashing across her vision brighter than lightning, but somehow Kuina was able to maintain her grip.

Kuina slowed herself enough not to snap her ankles in half at the base of the bluffs. She tumbled into a boneless heap, gasping for air and not entirely sure she was still alive. Chunks of wet sand clung to her cheek, stinging as it grated against an abrasion that ran from temple to jaw. Kuina felt blood trickle down her leg, a dozen other aches and pains vying for the rest of her attention.

So much for her glorious entrance to the Grand Line.

With a grunt of effort Kuina forced herself upright, shaking as the surge of adrenaline left her as suddenly as it had come. Another bolt of lightning revealed that her sword was still stuck in the slide of the cliff. With as much dignity as she could muster, Kuina retrieved it before leaning back against the rockface.

Ow.

It was the only coherent thought she could manage at that moment. Sinking back to the ground, Kuina decided that finding a ship could wait the five minutes it took for her to catch her breath.

At least she was out of the wind. The storm had only grown stronger in the time it took for her to reach the cove. Each raindrop was an icy needle that penetrated her now-useless cloak. Kuina wiped strands of wet hair from her eyes, ignoring the blood and the grime on her face as she peered out into the darkness. The torches that usually illuminated the shantytown had fizzled out, leaving only a few specks of lantern light to show the blocky outline of shacks made of rough wooden planks, held together with bits of twine and waterproofed with oakum and tar. The town jutted over the edge of the water, standing on stilts that swayed haphazard with the waves and the wind. To Kuina’s surprise, two great warships were anchored just offshore. More lightning revealed that one bore the mark of Buggy the Clown, while the other didn’t have a flag at all.

Curious.

What was more curious were the dots of light clustered by the wharf nearest the second ship. The dim light was just enough to see a cluster of people hurrying up and down the gangplank. Kuina grinned. Maybe someone was crazy enough to depart tonight after all.

“Oi, who goes there?”

A vague mass of humanity emerged from the darkness. Kuina struggled to her feet, shrugging her pack higher on her back and keeping a hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword. One of the figures lifted a lantern, illuminating a hard-faced woman flanked by two bulky men with swords. Underneath their raincoats they wore the mismatched, ragged clothing typical of the people who called Canary Cove home. Lookouts, most likely, who’d seen or heard her tumble down the cliff and come out to investigate.

Kuina didn’t relax her stance. “I don’t mean any trouble. I’m just looking to hitch a ride, and it looks like you’ve got the only ships setting sail.”

The woman peered at her suspiciously. “Who are you—”

Her eyes widened in recognition before ever finishing the question. An unholy shriek pierced over the whipping wind, and she screamed, “Marines! The marines are coming!”

“What, no!”

Kuina barely had time to draw her sword before one of the thugs was on top of her, the clash of blades sending sparks into the night sky. She shoved him aside and met the second man before he could decapitate her, the weight of his strike making Kuina’s injured leg buckle.

The woman continued to shout the alarm, waving her lantern high above her head. Kuina let out a string of curses as she batted the second man’s blade out of his hands before smashing the hilt of her sword against his temple. He crumpled instantly, and Kuina prayed that she hadn’t killed him.

“Listen, this is a big misunderstanding. I’m not a marine!” Kuina shouted as men and women poured out of Canary Cove like wasps from a kicked over nest. Most fled for the cliffs, but enough came charging at her for Kuina to know she was in trouble.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize the face of the bitch who killed my boy?” the woman snarled. “I’ve seen you yipping at the heels of that dog Smoker often enough, praying for the day I’d do to you what you Government bastards did to him!”

From the depths of her robes the woman pulled a gun, but Kuina was already moving. The first shot went wide right, and Kuina rammed her shoulder into her abdomen before she could get off another. The woman screamed as she fell, firing wildly into the growing throng of people.

Kuina felt the bullet whizz by her ear, and the person in front of her doubled over clutching their ribs. She dove between two others and somersaulted back to her feet before they could turn around. This time she didn’t waste time using the back of her blade. Two quick strokes and they were down, her sword slick with their blood.

“It’s just one girl! Don’t let her get away!”

“For fuck’s sake , ” Kuina muttered irritably. “I’m not a marine!”

It didn’t matter, and Kuina couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of her current situation. She ran toward the shantytown, dodging bullets and ducking under swords. The crowded housing and narrow walkways lessened the advantage of numbers, and she was still determined to force her way onto the unmarked ship. Sand shifted to rickety planks of wood underfoot, the docks made entirely of salvage and held together with little more than some rope and a prayer.

Kuina’s grin widened. Hardly breaking stride, she swung her sword behind her, the keen blade cutting through the half-rotted wood like warm butter. She ducked behind a house and listened for the screams of those following her to fall through to the sea below.

Amateurs.

Wood creaked overhead. Kuina looked up in time to see a teenage girl standing on the top of the house to hurl a rock at her head, dodging to the side before it hit the walkway.

“Missed!” Kuina yelled.

But the girl had already thrown herself off the other side of the roof. Puzzled, Kuina glanced back and saw that the girl hadn’t thrown a rock at all.

“Oh shit—” Kuina flung herself backward as the bomb exploded. Her heel caught on a post, and she fell into the water. Brilliant light flashed, the blast tearing the dock to pieces. Slivers of wood longer than her hand shot through the water, any one of them enough to pierce her through at close distance. Kuina swam as far and as fast as she could, until her lungs burned for lack of air. In the confusion she couldn’t remember which way was up, the weight of her clothes and sword making it hard to fight against the pull of the water.

Turning wildly, Kuina panicked until she saw the orange glow of fire through the murky water. Blackness ate at the edges of her vision as she used the last of her strength to breach the surface, gasping for air.

“There she is!”

Swallowing a curse and a lungful of air, Kuina dove back under the water, pistol fire flashing like fireflies in the dark of the storm. With her bearings it was easier to swim back to the docks, diving deep enough to avoid being shot.

She came up directly under their feet. The swell was rising every minute, and Kuina had scant inches of air between the sea and the rickety slats they stood on. She willed her heartbeat to slow, ignored the sting of salt in her wounds. Her hands searched until they found a bit of wire latching two planks together. Fingers numb with cold held on with whatever strength she had left.

She was in trouble if they had explosives that could detonate underwater. She was in trouble anyway, injured and fighting and a dozen enemies that she could hardly see. But now that she could think, Kuina refused to panic. Each breath came out slow and steady as she weighed her options. Overhead, the people of Canary Cove began to argue.

“She’s dead. Ain’t no one that could survive a barrage like that.”

“Do you see a body? ‘Cause I’m not gonna rest easy until I see a fucking body.”

“I can’t see shit . C’mon, guys, I’m going home.”

“I would, except one of you idiots blew it to smithereens!”

Someone stomped their foot, sending drops of water through a crack nearly an inch wide onto Kuina’s face. Slowly, carefully, she adjusted her hold on the wire, positioning herself more squarely under the squabble. The people paid less and less attention to the water as they argued, yelling about the fire and the supposed marine attack. Kuina felt the rumbling of bootsteps up and down the length of the dock, but couldn’t tell if that meant people were leaving or if more were joining the fight.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a new voice exclaimed. “What’s going on here?”

“This doesn't concern you, stranger,” the man who’d complained about his house said. “If you were smart, you’d walk back to that fancy boat of yours and get on your merry way. Ten to one says it was you people who brought the marines here in the first place.”

“Marines? Here? But our intelligence says—”

“Well you can take your intelligence and shove it up your—”

Using the wire for leverage, Kuina thrust her sword through the crack. The man screamed as he tried unsuccessfully to jerk his foot off her katana. There was a sickening squelch as Kuina pulled free, immediately stabbing a second time.

This time she missed the opening between the planks, but it hardly mattered. There were more screams as people hurled themselves away from her sword, many falling into the sea. The few that kept their wits fired back, thrusting swords and shooting blindly to the space Kuina had occupied just moments before.

They were too slow. After her second thrust she bit down on the hilt of her sword and swam to the other side of the docks, cutting through the water as if she herself was a blade. Kuina pulled herself out of the sea while they were distracted, their backs turned.

Kuina’s grin turned razor sharp as she raised her sword. She hadn’t wanted this fight, but she would gladly finish it. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her muscles coiling. All it would take is one strike…

A hand clasped around her wrist and squeezed. Kuina suppressed a yelp as the bones of her wrist ground against each other, pain shooting up her arm. She fought against the hold, but the more she struggled the tighter the grip became until Kuina had no choice but to drop her katana.

Anger boiled over into fury. Without thinking, Kuina twisted her body to its breaking point and caught her sword with her off hand before it could hit the ground. Her grip was awkward, but she didn’t care, slashing wildly at the person who held her.

Her arm made it about halfway through its swing before it jolted to a stop, as if Kuina had hit some invisible metal wall. She barely had time to register what had happened before she was thrown backward, slamming into the back of one of the men who had been trying to kill her.

The blow knocked all the wind out of her, and the man staggered into the person next to him before falling. People began to shout as that man then fell on top of Kuina , burying her in a pile of thrashing limbs and blades.

There was so much noise and so much confusion that she almost didn’t hear the telltale crack of wood beneath her, and before Kuina knew what was going on she was plunged back into the cold, dark, unforgiving sea.

By the time Kuina woke the rain had eased from a torrential downpour to a mere thunderstorm. Every inch of her ached, and for as heavy as her limbs felt she wouldn’t have been surprised if her blood had been replaced with rivers of lead.

Blinking grit and salt from her eyes, Kuina struggled to sit up. In a brief moment of panic she realized that her scabbard was no longer at her hip, only to find that it, and her sword, had been laid out beside her.

“She lives!”

“G’wah?”

A cloaked figure squatted down beside her. Smaller, Kuina realized, than the person who’d knocked her out cold. And a woman. A woman with one of the deepest voices Kuina had ever heard, but a woman nonetheless.

“Who’re...who’re you?” Kuina asked, her words slurring together like she were drunk. Her head pounded as she tried to sit up once more.

“I was wondering the same thing.” The woman paused to light a cigarette, the hood of her cloak protecting it from the rain. Kuina squinted to see her better, the ember of the cigarette illuminating a pleasant round face, dark eyes, and lips that had been painted the color of fresh blood.

The woman exhaled, the smell of smoke briefly cutting through the ocean brine. “How did you find us, little marine?”

“‘m not a marine,” Kuina mumbled.

“Folk around here seem to think you are.”

Kuina told her in anatomically-improbable detail just what she thought of Canary Cove’s opinions.

The woman laughed, took another drag and said, “You have to admit the resemblance is rather striking. If the boss hadn’t seen you two together I might not have believed it. In fact, I still have my doubts.”

She reached beneath her cloak and pulled out Kuina’s mask. “I mean, who would have thought that the good Captain’s right-hand man would have a doppelganger moonlighting as Loguetown’s most feared monster. There are operas with more convincing plotlines than that.”

“Give it back,” Kuina said through gritted teeth. “It’s mine .”

“Oh ho, so you admit to being the Demon of Loguetown?”

Kuina clenched her jaw and didn’t answer.

“Thought so.” The woman flipped Kuina’s mask in the air like it was a frisbee, catching it again before it could hit the ground. “So what brings a bounty hunter here, and on today of all days? Hmn? Was there a hunt you couldn’t refuse? Did someone tell you about a certain ship coming into port?”

She tossed the mask again, but this time Kuina was ready. Quick as a snake she plucked it out of the air, bringing her katana up in the same motion. Kuina was so close she could feel the heat from the woman’s cigarette, the edge of her blade against her neck.

“I said. Give it back .”

From within the depths of her hood, Kuina could see the woman’s eyebrows raise, red lips curling in an amused smile. She was completely relaxed, and that gave Kuina pause.

“I’m a firm believer in letting people do things for themselves,” she said. Without seeming the least bit threatened, she arching her head back, turning her attention somewhere behind her. “Well, boss, what do you think? Should I kill her?”

A second figure emerged from the gloom, and it was a testament to how out of sorts Kuina was that she hadn’t noticed his hulking figure until the moment he decided to reveal himself. It took her confused mind precious moments to recognize him as the man who grabbed her. Kuina scrambled backward, but the woman only laughed, pushing aside her sword with one hand and giving Kuina a hard shove with the other, knocking her flat on the ground.

“That wasn’t necessary,” the man grumbled in a low voice that rumbled like thunder.

His massive shadow fell over Kuina. She knew she should be afraid, but all she could feel within her was anger. She stared into the impenetrable depths of his hood, defiant even in weakness. If they wanted to kill her, the future greatest swordsman in the world, then they were in for a fight.

“Who are you?” Kuina demanded just as a bolt of lightning flashed overhead, as bright and bold as the one that had taken out the execution tower. For that brief moment she could see the face of the man strong enough to throw her like a ragdoll, a man so strong her blade failed to even reach him.

Kuina saw his long, beaky nose, the mass of black hair that fell down past his shoulders and the piercing eyes that seemed to bypass all her defenses. But most of all she noticed the red tattoos criss-crossed down the left side of his face, instantly recognizable even to someone who refused to read the paper.

“ Dragon ,” Kuina said dumbly. “You’re...I don’t...What’s the Revolution doing here? ”

The woman got to her feet to stand by Dragon’s side. “You mean you didn’t know? Then what are you doing stirring up trouble on a night like this? Don’t tell me you were looking for that buffoon with the red nose.”

“ You were the ones who attacked me, ” Kuina said. She pushed herself upright, using her sword clamber to her feet. The motion made the world spin for a moment or two, or maybe that was just her mind trying to catch up with the momentous revelation she just learned.

“That’s not what it looked like from where I stood,” the woman said. She flicked the remnants of her cigarette behind her in disgust. “You would have killed—”

“Betty.”

That one word was enough to stop her rant dead. Dragon took another step forward, and Kuina had to force herself not to step back to accommodate him. Before he could say any more, she pointed out to sea.

“Is that your ship?”

Dragon, the leader of the Revolutionary Army and the most wanted man in the world, tilted his head. It was a strangely human gesture for someone most were convinced was some kind of monster. A real one, not a girl who dressed the part while she was out working.

“Why do you ask?”

Kuina jutted her chin out defiantly. “You do most your business out on the Grand Line, right? I need a ride.”

Betty laughed to her face, but Dragon merely nodded. “All right.”

“I can’t very well ask the idiots here after the fight they started, and Smoker’s got all of Loguetown locked tight. You owe me–wait.” Kuina startled as his words sank in. “You’re serious? I can go with you?”

“The Army doesn’t owe you anything ,” Betty snapped, before imploring her boss, “I know you saw her with that marine girl, but I don’t trust her. She’s a bounty hunter , for god’s sake. It’s bad enough she saw our faces, think of the breach in security—”

“The World Government nearly cut me in half because of you,” Kuina said coldly. “You probably don’t remember, but nine years ago my father gave you aid. I hope it was worth it, because the Government decided to punish us for your crimes.” Her gaze never wavered from his, daring him to try and contradict what she knew to be true. “So before you get all uppity about me ending a fight I didn’t even start, maybe you should ask yourself how much innocent blood you’ve got on your hands first.”

Betty fell silent while Dragon continued to peer down at her. Kuina’s cheeks flushed as years of pent-up resentment and anger and helplessness bubbled to the surface, and no amount of swordsmen training was able to push it back down again. The Revolution was just as bad as the Government as far as she was concerned, fighting in an endless war that hurt more than it helped.

She didn’t care about any of it. She’d spent countless nights wondering what would have happened if her father had just left well enough alone, what it would have looked like if a simple moment of altruism hadn’t torn her life and family apart.

All that mattered now was her ambition. And if Kuina was ever going to become the greatest swordsman in the world she needed to get to the Grand Line, and if she was ever to get to the Grand Line she needed a boat. It didn’t matter to her where that boat came from, as long as she was on it.

Ignoring her long itinerary of aches and pains, Kuina sheathed her sword and picked her tattered backpack off of the ground. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

Dragon inclined his head, and without any further deliberation started walking to his ship, Kuina limping closely behind.

#one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #kuina #wake from death (and return to life)

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indig0tea · 3 years

Text

Final 2020 Update: 2021 Goals!!

Cross posting from my devART

Also links to all my alts and shit will be at the end of the post if you need them!

So some of these may be unrealistic due to my struggles with ADHD/Depression Combo but. I wanted to get these down somewhere so you guys can see them and be aware..

Please note, my executive functioning abilities are absolutely Butchered on the regular by my ADHD alone, and the various stressors of 2020 have absolutely taken anything else I might have had in that department and tossed it out the window.

Something something something, financial stressors outside of my control sends me into shut down mode and I can't do anything productive or even fun until it's handled, but because I'm not doing anything productive, I'm not making any money, and the stressors gets worse and worse and it just ends up in a horrible cycle where I constantly want to die because I'm not able to create anything to relieve the stress! Which is why you've all seen... pretty much a standstill on my productivity save one or two pieces a month if I'm lucky

That said, I'm going to start trying (hopefully with some outside help/accountability to keep me on track while I'm unmedicated) to put a system in place that doesn't make me constantly want to die while like. maybe actually getting stuff done! So I'm making some optimistic goals for 2021 regarding both my art and ability to make money, so here goes!

I'm breaking this down into 3 parts:

Changes to expect regarding my social media, commissions in general, posting, etc;

Overall Goals for 2021;

and Goals for January specifically.

Changes to expect going forward from here:

I'm going to be making some changes regarding my social media accounts, including this one, mostly concerning when, where, and how I'm posting.

I am also going to be making some changes to my commission policies, prices, and payments in the coming year, namely:

Lastly, I will be making some changes to my art discord server!

Moving forward, I am going to be MOST active on my twitter and tumblr accounts. They're just easier for me to maintain in general, and although I hate twitter's formatting, it's just easier and faster, and frankly after deviantART and Instagram fucked with their websites/algorithms, it just makes the most sense for me as an artist.

I'm also going to be making an effort to make scheduled cross-posts on all my accounts. In the past, I've been really irregular about when and where I post things (most things got posted to my old tumblr account but never here, i rarely remember to post to instagram, etc).

This is going to include commission slots, finished piece dumps, etc.

I will also be making an effort to semi-regularly post sketch dumps, both digitial and traditional. I am also considering at this time offering a monthly digital download of my sketch collections, though I am undecided as I'm not really sure how many people would be interested.

Increasing commissions prices to reflect time spent working on specific commission types, as well as my personal cost of living.

Planning and announcing commission slots in advance.

Taking and finishing regular commissions to cover living expenses on a monthly basis

Payments will be exclusively through paypal invoice, and will be broken up in halves: first half will be taken up front after I have started and given proof of start (base sketch), the second half will be paid after completion, with WIPS given between first and second payment. Fully completed art will be given after receipt of second half. This is both for my personal protection as an artist, as well as for the comfort of the commissioner as my completion time can sometimes be long due to my ADHD/executive dysfunction.

Moving forward into 2020, my discord will be SFW, but 18+ only. This is a personal comfort thing. I'm 25 years old now, and just really don't want to spend time hanging out with teenagers.

I'm also going to start trying to schedule art streams again! Since this is the only place I can live stream due to my art computer's limitations, it just makes sense to like. Schedule them so more people are able to attend. I haven't decided exactly how that's going to look, but once I have I'm going to make an announcement and formatting guide somewhere for people to see so they can make an informed decision about joining the server.

I will also be regularly posting in the server again. This may or may not be cross posts from twitter and such, we'll see, but I DO plan on being more active there since it's been kind of dead.

I may also reformat the whole server again. We'll see!

Goals for 2021

Regular Adopt Sets -- 2-3 per month. Size, price, and number in set will be decided on case by case basis.

I'll be doing a monthly prompt for myself as well. This is just to get me back in the habit of creating things I like for myself to just feel... less bad about my art in general, and about making art. Also it'll be good for my artistic development i think?

Keeping a monthly sketchbook for warm-ups and in-between pieces. May be offered as a paid download at the end of the month, we'll see.

Might start a patreon? This is EXTREMELY dependent on what my userbase looks like. Tiers and rewards to be decided at a later date

Regular traditional sketches + scan and upload of said sketches. May also be offered in the monthly sketchbook.

Draw more self portraits & self-expression pieces! I don't know if any of yall realize how repressed I've been in the last year without therapy, and I did't either until I forced myself to pursue a vent piece earlier this month, and then felt immensely better afterward so. Going to start doing that! Maybe I'll feel better weee

Regular posting to social media! (see changes above)

Drawing less fantrolls bc I'm just bleh about them lately, drawing more original content!

Drawing fancontent that ISN'T homestuck? We'll see but I'd like to. I don't usually draw fan art bc like. Idk in my mind I don't feel like my interpretation of things is important or cool and I think thats a confidence thing and I'd like to change that so! I'm gonna start making more fan content.

Draw more full illustrations & backgrounds in general because I actually enjoy doing them it turns out?

Practice painting more !! Both traditionally and digitally....

Goals for January 2021

Finish at LEAST 1/4 of my art queue. I'm shooting for half, really, because fully completing it might actually kill me but! We'll see! Maybe I'll surprise myself. But I'm setting the goal low to keep my mental health problems in mind.

Finish and release the base set i've been working on, on and off. It's an homage to the old pixel doll days of 2009-2012, and the full sheet will be free to use (with stipulations, as I have some people blocked that I don't want using it). BUT! There will also be a mix and match .psd that will be pay to use (it'll be pay to use a, bc it'll be huge, and b, bc the edits to make it mix and match results in like 6 seperate bases in general so.... yeah. pay to use)

Finish the pay-to-use base pack i started in june (i may scrap and restart though, we'll see)

Possibly release all old p2u bases of mine in one pack on gumroad? price tbd but it will include old iterations as well as unreleased remakes.

Making some dainty-specific bases! One will be f2u, one will be p2u.

I have a whole dainty YCH set for january! I just have to finish the example... (:

Perhaps I'll be announcing a collaborative project later in the month! It depends on where each of us are at, at the time! We'll see! (: You should be excited though! It'll be a ton of fun!

EXTERNAL LINKS

Instagram

Twitter

Tumblr

deviantART

Discord server

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altissiavibritannia · 4 years

Text

Áilleahariko is my new art/fanart sideblog only

Heyaz everyone,

I’ve found out the problem to why my art isn’t getting any attention. It’s more rp than art on this account. So I’ve decided to make a sideblog, dedicated to my art and fanart to this account alone. The other one is for art and story commissions. I’m also am thinking about making a sideblog for my fanfics only as well. One for my Ao3 fics. This one is getting cluttered by random ass shit. So if anyone wants to support me as an artist, then please follow me on @ailleahariko. It’ll mean a lot to me!

I’ll also accept art requests too now. Cuz I want to make people smile and/or brighten up their day as possible to my ability as I can. I know how times can be tough nowadays thankx to a certain lockdown. I’ll only accept certain things though, since somethings I hate things that others might like. But you must acknowledge me as a person as I do you. Just remember the phrase “Treat others the way you want to be treated.” it’s that simple. So no need to bully anyone, including me. Be yourself as I’ll be my own self.

I also accept art and story commissions. If you wish to have one or the other or both, then please follow and pm me at @sinderella-stargaze. If interested in having an adoptable, I’ll have them on that sideblog account as well. Some are free of charge while others might end up as auctions or fixed prices. I’ll make all sorts of adoptables if possible. But I’ll do my best either way. I also said that I wouldn’t trace anything, but when I tried to draw Kabus one out of two of my twin apprentices for The Arcana fandom. I kind of lost my confidence on drawing the rest of their upper body.

So I’ll be tracing and editing still for people and sonas alike for now. I’ll trace ponies or edit bases of them for adoptables or whenever I can’t think of a pose for my pony art for now. So far I”m getting good with not tracing anything for my pony art, but it’s the coloring that’s the problem for it. I’m trying to figure out what kind of new drawing style I would like to have for now for a bit. I’m still a beginner with art itself, so no bashing please. I want to explore my talent as best I can and whenever I can. As much as I know, I might go with The Arcana drawing style for a bit if I can do it with Paint Tool Sai though. Just remember, I don’t have a drawing tablet to use anymore.

I need money to save up for a new wacom tablet. I’m using my wireless PC mouse. So I can’t draw anything without tracing and editing, since my lines are super wobbly as is without the curve tool. So most of my adopts would have a fixed price on them, so I can start saving up money for my new wacom tablet or a different brand for a drawing tablet. Sure enough that my PC is a touchscreen desktop, but I don’t like all the fingerprints and dirty that ends up on it everyday. I don’t feel like cleaning this thing 24/7 from all of the fingerprints and smudges from my fingers or thingamabobs (I don’t know what they’re called and I don’t have one of them sadly) that are used for iPads and cell phones and the sort. I started out with traditional art when growing up and I still do it, so digital art is still brand spanking new to me.

I’ll also do my darnest to draw all of my art mascots. I’m still am trying to figure out which one to be my main mascot. So for now my art mascots are Emperor Mystic Nightmare (MLP), Áilleahariko (fursona/multiverse oc), and Nightcrawler (my newest imaginary friend). I might end up making them as mascots for each of my sideblogs if I felt like it. But for now, I’ll just stick with these three babies for now. Yes I know what you’re possibly thinking. Why is a 22 year old genderfluid person such as myself making themself a imaginary friend for? Well to be honest, I have nobody else to turn to when upset or have suicidal sharks swimming in my head. So I’ve made myself a imaginary friend to share my ideals and such with and only I can see him. I know that Nightcrawler is a superhero from the Marvel comics (wish I can read them, love him and Angel), but I’ve looked up to Angel and Nightcrawler ever since childhood. When we had the X-Men movies and right when Angel and Nightcrawler showed up in the second movie of the trilogy.

I loved their designs and superpowers. I even pretended to be (don’t hate me on this, I like MPreg for many reasons and such) I pretended to be their secret lovechild. I even came up with a goofy hero name too (Flightcrawler) and pretended to have wings but blackish blue in color and have the same skin color as Nightcrawler but a bit lighter. Doing goofy stunts and some lead to nearly snapping my neck at times, but I’m still here at least. Pretended to fly and turn into a puff of smoke whenever I needed to, fought crime (stuffed animals and dolls) and had a few colleges (stuffed animals and dolls). I even had dreams of possibly meeting my two favorite heroes. Storm is a third favorite as Wolverine is like a 11th favorite. So that’s why I’m made an imaginary friend named after my number one superhero of all time, Nightcrawler. Though he may be different in ways but also similar. I just hope that Nightcrawler doesn’t collide with my body like how some of the other imaginary friends I’ve made/had while growing up, hence the multipersonal a bit. But anyways I’ll be using those two accounts mainly for art! Thankx everyone for supporting me up until now!

Lots of love,

Altissia Vi Britannia

#update status #status #journal #thanks for the support #new account #side blog

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fyrapartnersearch · 4 years

Text

Howdy there! How are you?

Self

My name is James Home. I’m a 23 year old trans male from Olympia WA. In time zones that’s PST (Pacific standard time) am a visual artist, graphic designer, and storyteller. My Briggs acronym ENFJ. In saying so I’m a huge talker and communicator, physically and literally! Personal interests of mine include BOTW, FFXV, and Hanibal atm. I have a lovely and incredible wife named Isabella. We both additionally like DND (were even painting our minis), collecting Halloween decorations, and watching Avatar the last air bender with our roommate. Though I do have a history in plenty of other fandoms as well and always on the lookout for recommendations.

Preference

So for myself I love to take care of my Rp partners in all accommodations possible.

Meaning if your heart has been craving fluff, rough smut, or a plain ol hug. IM GAME! If none, no biggie let’s make a plot spot!

Roles I usually fall under are but not limited too….

-DOM , Vers, Power bottom

-caretaker, guardian, teacher

-father, handler, knight

-beefcakes, robots, selfless leaders

And so much more!

The roles I lean towards are

-caretaker, strong and silent-ish type, and flamboyant entertainers.

-male roles, trans male roles, open to trying a female role?, non binary, pangender role.

- I do enjoy topping, some aspects of BDSM, and some hard kinks.

-fallen leader, relearning about a loving world, hopeful in a dark world.

-not taking their role as important as they should have or are, “I’ve been doing this for years. But this is new”, and “I brought you your favorite drink wanna cuddle, I’ll provide the sugar?” Types

And so much more!

As far as story things themes are

-highly complex kingdoms

-High pace fantasy

-society by the ocean

-abandon green houses

-heavily dense forests

-fae and fiend worlds

-AUs of pre-existing universes from shows

-magic incorporated

-supernatural

Worlds we design collectively.

My HARD NOs are…

NO MINORS ROLEPLAYING WITH ME, 19 AND UNDER DO NOT APPLY

-abuse in active Rp (can be used from background and really has to depend on circumstance)

-harm of any children

-harm of expected mother

-any form of r*pe play

-blood play, degrading play, hard impact play

-crying kinks, humiliation kink, and electric play

-no smoking kinks either or character usage of substances.

Writing

I’m not too big on proper grammar or sentence structure as long as there was an idea getting across. I’m ok with role playing as many people as you’d like to actively work on, so doubles, and even triples are okay. Plus working two different stories is fun! I do prefer paragraphing and we all know the feeling of one word responses. This is a hobby and creative outlet from myself so that’s why I have no big stressors about punctuation or spelling.

Storytelling

Here are some story concepts I’ve come up with. Yet if you’d like to imply your own let’s talk about it!

Counterpart pathways

A magical filled fantasy realm where all is possible including the bad. One summer day a incubus/demon hybrid named Jona, father of three, learns someone has kidnapped all three of his boys! He's on the hunt for clues and finding them at all costs. Gathering the best crew possible of Moof the best wolf bounty hunter in all the realm, Bell the boys spider caretaker shapeshifter, and Glover the bull/bison hybrid the green alchemist, set off to find the children. Along the way by gathering clues they encounter obstacles and trials of skill and pursuit! Will they ever find the three octopus babies ? Will Jona have closure and put on a shirt? Will Bell ever stop stealing everything shiny? Will Moof grow more confident in his teammates? Will Glover not stop shaking and being such a wuss? Who will help this odd 4 on their epic abnormal quest?!

Puddles

A time traveler that gets stuck in between dimensions due to their powers temporarily weakened from the extensive work they've been doing end up meeting a stranger who takes them in. Not used to the timeline they shows up in, they have to knowledge of normal behavior. They must figure out a way to recharge their abilities but has not of the slightly clue as to what it causing them to have lost them in the first place. Is the person that's helping them good or evil? Who's side are they on? How will they figure them out? Why do they find the stranger oddly familiar?

When men become mortal

An alien/robot/human species that survives by using different masks/chips for various occasions. It's like buying different clothes but they adapt or transform the hoist for a month or less of another body/form/identity. The main character experiences a technical difficulty where their head socket cannot adapt to a new face for long and has to get it repaired. Though along the way he seems to find that not wearing a false identity they actually enjoy seeing the outside world with no expectation of appearance. The other is a identity artist, the one whom develops different faces and identity. He spends hours tweaking details of bodies and faces. He always has the nicest things because of his work and from important commissions and work for certain clients.They meet at a gallery that the artist is hoisting at a museum. The individuals there are decorated like some of the model pieces and others artist curators-part sellers. The faceless one decides to go to the museum to see what's or who's being showcased and since he has a little bit of extra money he saved up for the occasion. Everyone finds him interesting since he doesn't have an appearance, they think he's a model. Thus they send him to meet with the artist for the show. The artist doesn't know him at all. They find eachother very different but most parts similar. From their meeting the artist gets inspired by his original face. Coming to realize that even himself that he has given into the world he never wanted to.The two of them hit it off. Both dwelling into the matters of the "perfect" vessel. Asking the serious questions such as what makes a body, a face, a soul attractive? They go on for hours and it starts to inspire the artists work into his new resorted craftsmanship. The faceless impressed by the purposed questions and also work. The two of them grow closer resulted from talking so much about bodies and meaning. All the while testing out the new creations, body parts, and vessels capabilities. Not all though is good while the two develop this hoist. There's a villain at hand who one of the artist's main clients that goes unsuspected. They want to use the designs to create a vessel for the bad and wealth. Only to include to kill off all humans.The two of them hit it off. Both dwelling into the matters of the "perfect" vessel. Asking the serious questions such as what makes a body, a face, a soul attractive? They go on for hours and it starts to inspire the artists work into his new resorted craftsmanship. The faceless impressed by the purposed questions and also work. The two of them grow closer resulted from talking so much about bodies and meaning. All the while testing out the new creations, body parts, and vessels capabilities. Not all though is good while the two develop this hoist. There's a villain at hand who one of the artist's main clients that goes unsuspected. They want to use the designs to create a vessel for the bad and wealth. Only to include to kill off all humans. Thus forces the artist to reveal his true identity. A human being. Not a hologram. Plus he's not just an artist but a ex-con scientist from the labs that have bloomed into a internalized war. Faceless becomes confused and also hurt that the artist to mention this. Only for the two of them being followed. The artist informs the robot that the hybrids (the children of the robot-species, generations of offspring) are the real threat to society. The one who hoists and is in charge of the power sorce is human and machine. The first of its kind, and also the previous mentor of the artist/ex-scientist. Who will get to the power source first. Our main dynamic couple or the robotic uprising that believe all humans should cease to exist once and for all?

Gay Cryptids

Themes

Active night life

Next to the ocean, sea, body of water.

Beach city/lost boys/Mad max?/punk/ regal?/neon lights/old mascots/vapor wave af

Carnival / festivals

Dark market authenticity

Biker gang(s)

Aquatic features, art, incorporated in surroundings

Lifestyles like fish importing, dock workers, sushi shops, fancy diners

Common foods are all fish and sea foods

The city was a work in process for a resort city, and a major violent storm came too early taking out some of the fancier parts of the island. Most of the higher end houses and mansions were believed to be damaged in the outer edges of the island. There had been a castle built as a main part of the hotel/resort. Old costumes, sets, mascots were left to rot by the seas breeze. Barnacles, ivy, and vines with exotic flora and fauna growing wildly cover the buildings. Possibly even growing in the mansion and other houses. The main part of the biker gang is in a abandoned church next to the sea caves is where the biker gang mostly resides and work primarily as hit men and women. The island would be decided by the two head family of vampires one powerful family versus the other in over control if the current situation of resort in the actual tourist location.A rambunctious gang of young cryptics disguise themselves as human during the daytime but during the night it's quite the time to be alive and young. Various story arcs of love and lust between the group members figuring out their own sexualities and forming adulthood. Though most of it is all of them just fucking around.A rambunctious gang of young cryptics disguise themselves as human during the daytime but during the night it's quite the time to be alive and young. Various story arcs of love and lust between the group members figuring out their own sexualities and forming adulthood. Though most of it is all of them just fucking around.

Plausible locations

Old mill

Carnival / freakshow

Rides and amusement

Abandoned Church

Greenhouse

Garden

Boat house

Log cabins

CAMP grounds

Old schools

Warehouses

The Docks or Port

Boat houses

Boat docks

Abandoned Hotel

Studios

Bike store

Surf or like diving store

Knickknack shack

Ma and Pa restaurants

Antique stores

Downtown

Library

Hospital or infirmary excotic masion

I have story plots for days SONNNN so these are at skim level for plot.

If you’d like to contact me the best ways are

Discord at

Agodnamedhome#4202

[email protected]

I work from 11:30 to 4 Monday-Friday

But available before, and after for sure.

Thursday’s at 5 are my therapist appointments

Weekends are 100% free atm

Looking for a long term, short term, a friend!

#long term rp #oc rp #mulitfandom rp #email #discord #writting #hobby #rp #roleplay #looking for an online friend #pacfic northwest #orginal content #submission

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agodnamedhome · 4 years

Text

Howdy there! How are you?

Self

Preference

So for myself I love to take care of my Rp partners in all accommodations possible.

Meaning if your heart has been craving fluff, rough smut, or a plain ol hug. IM GAME! If none, no biggie let’s make a plot spot!

Roles I usually fall under are but not limited too….

-DOM , Vers, Power bottom

-caretaker, guardian, teacher

-father, handler, knight

-beefcakes, robots, selfless leaders

And so much more!

The roles I lean towards are

-caretaker, strong and silent-ish type, and flamboyant entertainers.

-male roles, trans male roles, open to trying a female role?, non binary, pangender role.

- I do enjoy topping, some aspects of BDSM, and some hard kinks.

-fallen leader, relearning about a loving world, hopeful in a dark world.

And so much more!

As far as story things themes are

-highly complex kingdoms

-High pace fantasy

-society by the ocean

-abandon green houses

-heavily dense forests

-fae and fiend worlds

-AUs of pre-existing universes from shows

-magic incorporated

-supernatural

Worlds we design collectively.

My HARD NOs are…

NO MINORS ROLEPLAYING WITH ME, 19 AND UNDER DO NOT APPLY

-abuse in active Rp (can be used from background and really has to depend on circumstance)

-harm of any children

-harm of expected mother

-any form of r*pe play

-blood play, degrading play, hard impact play

-crying kinks, humiliation kink, and electric play

-no smoking kinks either or character usage of substances.

Writing

Storytelling

Here are some story concepts I’ve come up with. Yet if you’d like to imply your own let’s talk about it!

Counterpart pathways

Puddles

When men become mortal

An alien/robot/human species that survives by using different masks/chips for various occasions.

It's like buying different clothes but they adapt or transform the hoist for a month or less of another body/form/identity.

The main character experiences a technical difficulty where their head socket cannot adapt to a new face for long and has to get it repaired. Though along the way he seems to find that not wearing a false identity they actually enjoy seeing the outside world with no expectation of appearance.

The other is a identity artist, the one whom develops different faces and identity. He spends hours tweaking details of bodies and faces. He always has the nicest things because of his work and from important commissions and work for certain clients.

They meet at a gallery that the artist is hoisting at a museum. The individuals there are decorated like some of the model pieces and others artist curators-part sellers.

The faceless one decides to go to the museum to see what's or who's being showcased and since he has a little bit of extra money he saved up for the occasion. Everyone finds him interesting since he doesn't have an appearance, they think he's a model. Thus they send him to meet with the artist for the show.

The artist doesn't know him at all. They find eachother very different but most parts similar. From their meeting the artist gets inspired by his original face. Coming to realize that even himself that he has given into the world he never wanted to.

The two of them hit it off. Both dwelling into the matters of the "perfect" vessel. Asking the serious questions such as what makes a body, a face, a soul attractive? They go on for hours and it starts to inspire the artists work into his new resorted craftsmanship. The faceless impressed by the purposed questions and also work. The two of them grow closer resulted from talking so much about bodies and meaning. All the while testing out the new creations, body parts, and vessels capabilities.

Not all though is good while the two develop this hoist. There's a villain at hand who one of the artist's main clients that goes unsuspected. They want to use the designs to create a vessel for the bad and wealth. Only to include to kill off all humans.

Thus forces the artist to reveal his true identity. A human being. Not a hologram. Plus he's not just an artist but a ex-con scientist from the labs that have bloomed into a internalized war. Faceless becomes confused and also hurt that the artist to mention this. Only for the two of them being followed.

The artist informs the robot that the hybrids (the children of the robot-species, generations of offspring) are the real threat to society. The one who hoists and is in charge of the power sorce is human and machine. The first of its kind, and also the previous mentor of the artist/ex-scientist.

Who will get to the power source first. Our main dynamic couple or the robotic uprising that believe all humans should cease to exist once and for all?

Gay Cryptids

Themes

Active night life

Next to the ocean, sea, body of water.

Beach city/lost boys/Mad max?/punk/ regal?/neon lights/old mascots/vapor wave af

Carnival / festivals

Dark market authenticity

Biker gang(s)

Aquatic features, art, incorporated in surroundings

Lifestyles like fish importing, dock workers, sushi shops, fancy diners

Common foods are all fish and sea foods

A rambunctious gang of young cryptics disguise themselves as human during the daytime but during the night it's quite the time to be alive and young.

Various story arcs of love and lust between the group members figuring out their own sexualities and forming adulthood. Though most of it is all of them just fucking around.

A rambunctious gang of young cryptics disguise themselves as human during the daytime but during the night it's quite the time to be alive and young.

Various story arcs of love and lust between the group members figuring out their own sexualities and forming adulthood. Though most of it is all of them just fucking around.

Plausible locations

Old mill

Carnival / freakshow

Rides and amusement

Abandoned Church

Greenhouse

Garden

Boat house

Log cabins

CAMP grounds

Old schools

Warehouses

The Docks or Port

Boat houses

Boat docks

Abandoned Hotel

Studios

Bike store

Surf or like diving store

Knickknack shack

Ma and Pa restaurants

Antique stores

Downtown

Library

Hospital or infirmary excotic masion

I have story plots for days SONNNN so these are at skim level for plot.

If you’d like to contact me the best ways are

Discord at

Agodnamedhome#4202

[email protected]

I work from 11:30 to 4 Monday-Friday

But available before, and after for sure.

Thursday’s at 5 are my therapist appointments

Weekends are 100% free atm

Looking for a long term, short term, a friend!

#rp #rp partner search #rp search #oc rp #orginal content #writting #fantasy #smut #fun #art #self promte

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devnny · 5 years

Text

CHAPTER TWELVE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER!!!!! it’s 6k fucking words too, jeezus lord. at least its cute, and sad, and cute.

the events of my old ass drabble TOUCH. is mentioned briefly in this chapter too, should you have not read that and would care to :]c ANYWAY, ENJOY

[Dear Diary,

I had another dream about killing Devi.

They’ve become too vivid… I’m growing more and more worried that my mind will blur fantasy with reality, and I’ll attack her thinking it’s a dream. I don’t know why I would do that… I don’t want to attack her. I don’t want to hurt her, ever.

So, as a precaution, I’ve decided that I won’t be sleeping anymore. Staying awake is all that I can do combat these shitty nightmares.]

Johnny scratched the final letter of his latest diary entry firmly into the paper’s face, then closed the cover quietly. He tucked the book under his chair, careful to not alert Devi, who was painting a few feet away, that he was making any unusual movements.

He felt badly to keep these dreams a secret from her, since he was confident that Meat was interfering with his sleep somehow, but he buried those prickly feelings of guilt to the best of his ability. The only other reason for these reoccurring nightmares would be that he, in fact, was thinking them up all on his own, which was even worse as far as Johnny was concerned. Either way, he was terrified that if he mentioned it to Devi that she would again grow suspicious of him.

After regaining so much of her trust, it would kill him inside to see her hesitate to accept his company, or linger on her words or her decisions in what she allowed him to do with her, all because he wasn’t in control of his subconscience. Very few people were able to control their unconscious mind, but Johnny still felt immensely paranoid that Devi wouldn’t be understanding, regardless of if it would be because of actual resentment, or simply out of fear, even though she would still want to trust him. That might sting even worse, actually.

They had built such a comforting routine in her home; working away on creative endeavors together at all hours, and enjoying each other’s company over shared meals and television in their downtime. It was so soothing, bidding her ‘goodnight’ and ‘good morning’ each day. Devi’s sleep schedule had returned to its atrociously inconsistent cycle since he moved in with her, so sometimes he would be saying ‘goodnight’ at 5PM, and other times saying ‘good morning’ at 5PM, but it was gratifying all the same. He didn’t know, after he was ‘better’ and was supposed to return to his own house, how he would go through each day without being able to offer her such daily pleasantries. Maybe he would be able to do so over the phone, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the same.

His eyes lifted from the scantily-worked-on page that was fastened to his drafting table and settled on Devi’s kneeling figure a short distance away. Johnny smiled to see the small smirk on her face while she blotted color across her canvas. She had been toiling away on this commissioned work for almost a week now, and she always seemed to enter some kind of frenzied state whenever she was nearing a piece’s completion. It was a large project, she had told him, and would offer her a very hefty paycheck once it was finished. Maybe it was the thought of money that pushed her into such an energetic fit of creation – Johnny could only speculate. She grinned and rubbed a bit of paint from her cheek as she stepped back to review her efforts.

His lips pursed into a longer smile; how could he even consider sullying her mood by bringing up useless things like night terrors? He couldn’t. He would handle this himself, and leave Devi to her work.

DAYS LATER:

Devi beamed, squiggling her brush down her canvas to the rhythm of the song she currently had blasting from the speakers of her art room. Nothing was more satisfying than going to the bank and depositing a nice, big, fucking check, and she could only express her delight by jumping right into a personal project as soon as she and Johnny had returned home. It felt so good to have enough money, for the time being, to indulge in painting what she wanted to for more than an hour.

“Hey!” Johnny’s voice piped up over the music, and Devi turned to see him pull his headphones off of one of his ears. His headphones were his only defense against her deafening taste in music, so it must be important. Devi searched the floor for the dinky little remote that controlled the speakers, and lowered the volume to a reasonable level.

“Yeah?” She grinned at him, and he met her smile with one of his own.

“Can you hold your arm out like ‘this’ for me?” Johnny stuck his arm out and twisted it downwards in a fist to give her an example. Devi scoffed, used to him asking her to pose for reference by now, and tried to mimic what he had requested.

“Like that?”

“Ummm, no, down a little more. Ehhh—” He wiggled his fist in her direction. “—put your shoulder up more, maybe? Give me… ‘intimidating’.”

Devi laughed.

“Shut the Hell up.” She huffed a few chuckles and brought her shoulder up as instructed.

“YES. HOLD THAT.” Johnny exclaimed and hurriedly resumed his sketching. Devi’s smile remained while she watched him work.

She had to admit she was proud of how far he had come since this whole thing started – he hardly ever devolved into a crying mess when his drawings weren’t progressing to his liking anymore. The last time Devi remembered him throwing a fit was shortly after the ‘leash and collar’ situation began, and she figured that that was more out of pent up frustration for that small bit of humiliation, and not so much because he was a creative loose-cannon.

The way his tongue poked out while he drew was a little more endearing suddenly, but Devi dismissed the thought, chalking it up to the current carefree feeling in the air. The evening was set to be lighthearted the moment she had gotten paid; the plan was to have whatever the fuck she wanted for dinner, and then binge-watch the entire movie series of The Beast What Licked Me, which was the main trilogy and all of its subsequent, horrible spinoff movies by less-than-admirable production studios. Devi smiled at the idea of having fun for once.

“You know, the lofty smile doesn’t really give me that ‘intimidating’ vibe.” Johnny spoke with a teasing laugh, earning a dismissive, blithe scoff from his model.

“Shut your mouth—aren’t you hungry yet?” Devi snorted, wriggling her shoulder to rib at him further. He stuck the end of his pencil into his lip curiously.

“Are you?”

“Sure, and I think my hand’s had enough painting for one day.” She straightened her posture with a widening grin. “You done?”

“Well, I am for now, if that’s alright with my, er, mentor…” Johnny replied with the question in his stare, and Devi snickered again.

“You are excused for the evening. Now, let’s order Chinese, for delivery. I don’t feel like leaving the house again today.” Devi mused while she walked out of the room. Johnny smiled giddily at the comment – one trip outside was enough for one day, he’d agree wholeheartedly!

FIFTEEN-MINUTES-OR-LESS LATER:

Johnny threw the wad of cash that Devi had so-entrusted him with directly into the delivery boy’s face, knocking him over with the force of the impact as he snatched the take-out bag from him. He slammed the door shut callously, and hummed in approval at the now familiar smell of Devi’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

He strode to the kitchen with it, and began laying out the bag’s drippy contents onto the counter. He jumped when he felt something jab into his side, but hardly had to turn his head before he recognized Devi’s head peeking into his peripheral. She gave him a cheeky grin, and he smiled back shyly.

“You’re already finished showering?”

“Yeah, heh, just needed to rinse off that outside-world smell.” She crossed her arms over one of his shoulders as she leaned to see what he was doing. “…Why’d you bother bringing the food in here?”

Johnny gesticulated his hands loosely around the counterspace as he attempted to explain, but it was difficult with Devi touching him.

“WELL, it’s—” Another swat of his hands. “…greasy!”

Devi snortled and slid off of his shoulder, giving his back an additional plap with her palm before moving to inspect tonight’s dinner. She popped open one of the containers and couldn’t help but jam a pair of chopsticks into it right away, scooping a pile of noodles into her mouth happily.

She exhaled contently through her nose while she chewed, then turned a curious eye to Johnny, who was picking at the fabric of his shirt where she had just been pressed against him. It was only for a second, but it was enough to take notice of before he tilted to look through the boxes and find which one was his entrée. Devi swallowed, and watched his thin fingers play with the lids while she thought.

When had she gotten so comfortable with touching him? It had been a long time since physical contact with anyone had been so nonchalant for her. If she could guess, it was probably due to the whole ‘close proximity of the leash’ thing, or maybe the whole ‘living together’ thing, but either way it was bizarre that she hadn’t realized how casual things had become until she noticed Johnny’s slight change in demeanor in response to it.

One wouldn’t have to ask Johnny ‘when’ the touching started; he could tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that it was the night that they went to pick up a few groceries from a nearby 24/7. Devi had approached him, and set a hand on his arm for an undiscernible amount of seconds while she spoke to him – undiscernible because his brain had just about exploded from the direct contact. He had returned the casual touching with a modest hand on her shoulder, and she hadn’t killed him for it. Johnny would probably remember that night for the rest of his existence.

But Devi was left to ponder at what point she had regrown enough trust for him to poke and prod at him without wanting to carve her own skin off afterward. He was a lot less horrible now, and she enjoyed his company again, so she supposed that said something, at least. She shrugged it off and stuffed a piece of chicken in her mouth.

“You ready to get this hideous marathon underway?” Devi asked while she chewed. Johnny carefully lifted the top off of the horrendously spicy dish he’d ordered.

“Yes!” He beamed at her eagerly, brandishing a spork as though it was a beacon for his well-equipped-ness for the evening.

FIVE MOVIES IN:

“Oouughh…” Devi vocalized her agony with her fingers pressed to her sore eyes.

“Yeah, that FX make-up is garbage. Worse than the one in Spawn of The Beast What Licked Me.” Johnny replied lazily from his side of the couch, half-melted into the cushion. Though his corneas burned just as badly, the pain didn’t register with him the same way.

“No,” Devi griped. “my eyes are killing me…”

A yawn punctuated her complaint, and Johnny lifted his head attentively. She was tired. He’d come to learn the signs of her exhaustion quite well, and despite his current feelings about sleep, rest appeared to do Devi some good.

“Are you going to go to bed?” He asked and reset his head onto the back cushion of the couch comfortably. Devi peeked at him from the armrest on the opposite side, where she had devolved into a lumpy ball as the night wore on. Her ear pressed into the cushy fabric, and she slanted her mouth in discontent.

She didn’t particularly want to go to sleep. There was only one more movie to go, and it felt weak as Hell to give up now when she was so close to the end of a movie binge. Devi lulled her head in the direction of the TV, and winced away in regret when the flashing light burned her eyes.

“Ugh.” She grunted in defeat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We can finish these last two tomorrow.” Johnny offered to ease her frustration, and Devi smirked through her exhaustion.

“Yeah, okay.” She agreed and rolled into a seated position. She struggled to stand with her tired legs, but managed to force herself up.

One of her hands came down to point at Johnny as she passed him, her finger hovering just out of reach of his nose.

“—And don’t you dare watch ahead.” Devi smiled despite her threatening tone. “You turn that shit off, you don’t get to watch without me.”

Johnny grinned uneasily, half of him delighted at how she joked with him.

“Yes, of course.” He assured her, and Devi nodded appreciatively before hobbling off to bed. Johnny watched her door click shut, then searched for the remote and turned the TV off.

His body slumped against the couch, the satisfied feeling in his torso weighing him down into its pillows. He debated what he could do for the rest of the night with his lazy, fried brain. The dull feeling in his arms made drawing seem impossible, and he didn’t want to turn on the TV again until he was sure Devi was soundly asleep. So he laid on the couch and thought to pass the time.

It didn’t take long for his thoughts to turn to Devi, and he smiled comfortably as he reviewed the day’s events. Johnny laced his fingers over his chest and contemplated if their relationship would progress further than this, or if it had reached it’s peak at her not hating him and offering him passing physical contact. He was perfectly happy with how things were now, but he would have said the same thing about her begrudgingly tolerating his company two months ago. Now he couldn’t imagine going back to that time and being satisfied without her smile, or laughter, or rib jabbing.

A sigh slipped past his lips as he smooshed further into the couch at the memory of her forearms crossed over his shoulders early this evening. It was so nice. Everything was so nice now; he felt like he could exist like this forever. The impermanence of his situation was lost from his mind for the time being, and he nestled his brow into the cushion while he let his tender thoughts carry his brain away.

Without realizing, his eyes slowly began to settle closed, and he drifted into an impromptu nap.

Johnny reaffixed his grip on the handle of his knife, the tendons there further visible under the gaunt skin of his hand. He would usually wear gloves for something like this – it was so messy – but a kill such as this one, that was so personal and passionate in nature, had no room for measures of tidiness.

She deserved this so much; she was so mean. Cruel. She never treated him like this before, when they had their nice, engaging conversations at the bookstore. Everything was so pleasant then. He could still imagine her, with her short black hair and uniform apron, and her dark, painted lips that made his heart go berserk when they tilted up into a smile for him. Him, bringing a smile to someone else’s face. How abnormal.

His own mouth twitched upwards more, making his grin look more unhinged than it already did. The little spatters of blood on his cheeks and nose smeared under the creases it brought.

Devi lay below him – on the floor, if he wasn’t mistaken – looking up at him in fear. He’d only stabbed her a few times so far, but Johnny could tell by the terror in her eyes that she knew those wouldn’t be the only ones. He crouched over her form, as he had over so many others, and held her shoulder with his left hand while the right started its habitual swinging.

The blade plunged into her chest again, marring her shirt with another bloody hole. Then another, and another. He could feel the flexible bones of her ribcage bend under the base of his palm, compressed by the weight of his blows.

It felt so GOOD. She earned all of these! All of her stabbing, painful comments – she should have expected this outcome. This new, purple-haired, pigtailed Devi was not the one he cared so much for; she was a demon! A bastardized version of his Devi; one that smirked coolly at him as though she owned him; one that barraged him with pointless tests and berated him with cutting words when he failed.

“You deserve this!” Johnny breathed, digging the knife into her torso again. Devi did little to stop him, as she had so far, and only looked at him painfully. YES! She deserved this pain!

“You deserve this – you deserve this—!” He ranted, continuing to repeat the phrase over and over as he stabbed her. He watched her eyes – those pretty, green eyes – filled with hurt.

But it wasn’t the hurt that he had originally thought.

It wasn’t like the looks his other victims gave him, eyes filled with tears from the physical agony they were in. It wasn’t even the same as the horror he’d seen on her face before, when he had lunged at her in his home. Johnny’s smile slowly began to drop, seeing the unusual emotion in Devi’s eyes. She looked at him with so much betrayal – almost longingly, as if to ask “Why?”, or to say, “How could you?”.

Why wasn’t she fighting him? She should be able to get away. She’s always gotten away from him – always refused to be a victim to him. Why was she just LAYING there, letting him kill her?

That’s what he was doing. He was KILLING HER.

Devi seemed to acknowledge her impending death at the same time he had, and her expression grew wearier. Johnny felt anxiety rapidly mounting inside him, and only removed his fixation away from her face when he felt her hand gingerly grip at his fist. He looked down and watched her fingers, matted with blood, trying as best as they could to grasp onto him. He also realized that he was still holding the knife firmly in her sternum.

With a jolt of fear, he yanked the knife away, and Devi cried out for the first time that he could remember. It made him drop his weapon, and settle both hands onto her shoulders.

He yelped her name, as if that would do any good. What had he done? He had killed her – she was dying. He didn’t want to believe it, and the sound of her labored breathing brought him to tears. This shouldn’t be happening – Devi had helped him. She offered him so much of her; her time, her support, her home – and he had reduced her into a gored mass on her bedroom floor.

No, no, no. This wasn’t right. He wanted to scream and sob, but that would do nothing to fix this.

A sticky sensation on his cheek brought him out of his panic, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s hand, wet from her own blood. Despite the slippery, unpleasant feeling of the blood, Johnny was drawn to the delicate touch of her fingers, and tried to lean into them despite the weakness in her digits. He wanted her palm – he wanted it to cradle his cheek, and indulge in the forbade softness from her that he himself had ruined his chances of.

Johnny didn’t get what he wanted, of course. Devi’s hand slowly dropped away from his face, lingering until all the strength left her limbs, and her arm fell to her bloodied stomach. Johnny refused to take his eyes off of hers, and the anxiety he felt previously worked into a massive ball of dread as he saw the glint in Devi’s eyes begin to dull.

No, no, no, no—

Johnny almost gagged from the abrupt force of the gasp that brought him back to consciousness. His leg kicked out, knocking over some empty containers and cans that had been left on the coffee table, and he scampered away from the sound with startled fear. A hand came up to palm away the wet lines that streaked down his cheekbones, but cold tears were the least of his concerns with his lungs beating air out of him faster than he could bring it in. Johnny tried to gather himself and calm his breathing down, but his heart wouldn’t allow it, and continued pounding against the walls of its boney prison like a furious captive.

His eyes shook with anxiety as his pupils flashed from side to side, trying to use some amount of logic amongst his hysteria to convince himself everything was fine, and that his panic was just the result of another Godawful nightmare. Johnny noted the dark living room, the messy table, the quiet television set; nothing amiss or broken, nothing to indicate that anything in the apartment was any different from any other night, besides his quaking form bundled up on the sofa.

He turned his attention to Devi’s bedroom door, and his haggard breaths immediately stopped. Her door was ajar. He had never seen her door open when she was sleeping, ever.

A shaky inhale sucked down his throat, and he started shivering from his shoulders down his arms and to his stomach. There was a sudden, paralyzing feeling of nausea woven through his guts, and it was almost painful to make his knees lift him into a standing position, like forcing a rusted bolt to twist. He couldn’t get his back to straighten fully as he stood, so he crept with a nervous hunch in his shoulders toward Devi’s bedroom.

Johnny swallowed past the dry flesh of his mouth as he reached the threshold of the doorway. His breath trembled again; he was terrified that upon pushing open the door fully, he would find Devi’s lifeless body on the floor, right where he had ‘dreamed’ it was. He couldn’t bear the thought that his worst fear had come to fruition – that his crappy, broken mind failed to recognize reality from fantasy, and either it, or Meat, had tricked him into murdering Devi with a rage that he didn’t even have for her.

Despite his paralyzing fear, his hand settled onto the front of the door, and he creaked it open slowly. Johnny shakingly took a step inside, and even with the only light in the room being the dim reflection of a billboard outside, he could tell that there was nothing on the floor besides the usual scattered belongings. Certainly no bodies, and definitely not the one that belonged to Devi.

He brought his attention up to her bed, and his lips wibbled fearfully at the unidentifiable shape under the purple covers. He could see what would be assumed to be Devi’s head poking out of the lump, resting on a pillow, but that was all. Johnny gulped quietly again. His paranoia couldn’t let him leave it at that – he had to make sure that she was well, instead of just assuming she was sleeping peacefully.

He hurried to the side of the bed, and stared down with wide, fearful eyes at her neutral face that was tucked so snugly behind her curled hand. She wasn’t making any sounds, and he couldn’t tell with his own body shaking the way it was, if she was breathing or not. He continued staring, trying with all his might to determine if her body was rising and falling with lifegiving breath, and only grew more and more panicked the longer he couldn’t stop trembling and focus enough to confirm it.

With a renewed burst of anxiety, Johnny shot forward, jabbing a knee into the fluff of her comforter. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake with terrified urgency, unable to think of any other way to quell his fears fast enough. Devi’s eyes opened right away, rattling around in her aching head with confused alarm until she heard Johnny’s wailing.

“DEVI! DEVI, DEVI—!” His face pinched miserably as he saw her irises flicker into view and focus squarely on him. His fingers tightened onto her shoulders further as his began to shake again, and he drooped like a dejected, wilted flower against her collar. He continued calling her name, but his voice garbled as he deteriorated into sobs.

It took Devi a moment to register what the Hell was going on, but her shocked expression melted into a tired, exasperated one as she realized Johnny was just having a fit about something, again.

“Nny—Nny!” She tried to urge him out of his crying with a few shoves on the arm, but Johnny only continued blubbering. He was trying desperately to explain himself, Devi could gather that much, but he was completely incoherent. She sighed in exhaustion, desperate to calm him and go the fuck back to bed.

“Johnny,” She set a hand on his head, lazily leading it to lay flat on her mattress. “relax, please. Relax.”

Johnny, whose figure had been half-collapsed on her bed already, buckled from his distress, and he laid loosely at her side like a ragdoll.

“—you were dead, you were dead—!” He managed to blather out, and Devi sighed again. She assumed that this was the result of another nightmare he had, and papped his hair with as much sympathy as she was willing to muster in her fatigued state.

“I’m not dead, Nny. I’m fine… see…?” She mumbled with her eyes closed. Johnny stifled his crying as he tried to accept what she was telling him, but even with the affirmation that she was alive and well, he couldn’t stop his body’s pitiful reaction to fear. He hadn’t been so terrified in a long while – he couldn’t even remember what he would do to ease the feeling before.

A sudden sensation against his hairline startled him out of his grim thoughts, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s thumb idly brushing against his skin and into his hair. He stared at the sheets in surprise, unable to do much else besides focus on the strange scratching at his skull. Slowly, his eyelids lowered, but his somber expression remained. Johnny brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, hoping the pressure would help him relax.

Devi’s fingers stilled after a minute, and he felt her wrist settle loosely on his temple, then eventually slip lower until her forearm rested across the side of his neck. He sniffed, and bent his head down more, but instead of his forehead settling onto his kneecaps, it was obstructed by something warm and flat.

Johnny tilted his head up at an angle, and was surprised to see that what he’d bumped into was Devi’s collar – or rather, the area right below her collar. Her sternum; the bone that he had so viciously impaled with a knife several times in his newest dream. Guilt demanded that he pull his head away from where it rested, but as he turned his head, his ear pressed against her and he felt the light thumping of her heart tickle at his skin. Johnny froze, and his stillness offered him the full, uninterrupted rhythm of Devi’s heartbeat.

Even with his own heart pumping erratically, the sound of Devi’s heart was so audible and loud to the ear that was currently resting against her chest. It was just like any heartbeat, he supposed, but it was so calm and steady, much in contrast to his own which was still wild from coming down off of terror-induced adrenaline. The stable rhythm slowly began to calm him, and he took deep solace in the fact that as long as he could hear that drumming in his ear, it meant that she was alive. He curled further into himself, making sure that his temple was still pressed firmly against her collar.

Johnny chastised himself for a moment, trying to argue through his emotional exhaustion that this was, to some extent, inappropriate, and that now that he knew Devi was safe, he should leave her to rest. But he couldn’t resist the lure of Devi’s soft skin on his cheek, or her arm that was draped over his head, that made him feel oh-so cozy and secure. His eyes settled shut, and with a few lingering post-sobbing sniffs, slipped back into sleep.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING:

Devi mumbled in the back of her throat as she roused from slumber. There was still a dull ache in her brain, and she wasn’t currently at all fond of the idea of opening her eyes or waking up. Her lip twitched at a weird texture flittering against it, and she snorted to encourage whatever it was to fuck off. Her breathing started to slow again, but after a moment, the tickling feeling moved up to her nose, making it curl and huff in annoyance.

She brushed the unknown irritant away with her hand, and opened her eyes bitterly as she accepted that going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen now. She stretched her back out with a groaning sigh, and brought the same hand up to rub her face clear of any grogginess. As she did, the tuft of annoying, plumy things that had woken her up settled back against her mouth. Devi glared out at nothing in aggravation, then flicked her eyes down to finally see what it was.

Her eyes widened in confusion to be greeted with a pile of twisted, black hair. The confusion was short-lived as she realized that the hair was attached to Johnny, who was curled up in a ball beside her within the small space that her bent legs allowed, his head tucked comfortably under her chin. She blanched, and her cheeks quickly grew red from embarrassment and disoriented, shocked anger.

With a jolt of ego-preserving violence, she shoved him away and off of the bed, leaving only his skinny legs splayed in awkward angles atop the mattress. Devi sat up and glared at his boots.

“Johnny, what the Hell!” She huffed, her cheeks still tinged with color. Johnny rebounded from the initial shock of hitting the floor rather quickly, scampering up into a kneel at the side of her bed.

“OH, UH, I—” His own face blushed in shame, and he looked up to Devi’s glowering face, hoping that she wouldn’t be too angry with him. “I uh, I guess I… I fell asleep, after, um…”

His fingers drummed awkwardly against the sheets as he looked around the room noncommittally. Devi’s expression dropped as she remembered, foggily, Johnny coming into her room during the night in absolute hysterics. She grunted and scowled with some acceptance that he’d ended up passing out beside her.

“You moron.” Was all she could say. Johnny raised his eyes to look at her dejectedly, and she scoffed. She threw her legs off the other side of the bed, and walked around it, and Johnny, to reach her bathroom.

Johnny’s lip stuck out curiously. He wondered if that was going to be the extent of his punishment for unwanted physical contact, but dared not ask. Instead, he pulled himself up to sit on the corner of her bed and waited patiently for her to return. He hoped she didn’t come back with anything to hit him with, like the good, old-fashioned, ‘bar of soap in a sock’ flail.

Devi only washed her face, then reentered her room to frown at him. She crossed her arms at the sight of him sitting on her bed, and Johnny held his hands between his knees, timidly avoiding what he assumed was a bitter glare from her. Devi rolled her eyes as she sighed, and joined him on the edge of her mattress.

“Another nightmare, Nny?” She asked. Johnny’s head lowered from the annoyance in her voice.

“Yes…” He mumbled, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He heard Devi scoff again, and he felt further guilt that she was unaware of the seriousness behind his night terrors. After her unintentionally warm comforting the night previous, he felt compelled to tell her the truth.

“Devi, uh, I actually… there’s something I must confess.” Johnny looked to her, and Devi’s mouth flattened in surprise. She hoped silently that this wasn’t something romantic, given the already ridiculous start to her day. Johnny swung his legs absentmindedly.

“Well, you see…” A sigh. “I’ve been having these… “nightmares”, for months.”

“All of them have been about, well, killing you.” Johnny grimaced as he said it, and Devi’s expression shifted to a different kind of surprise. Johnny continued. “Each time I fall asleep, they get worse; more vivid, more violent. Last night’s was the worst one to date. It was so real, Devi, I—I swore that I’d killed you. I was so certain…”

His hands gripped at the fabric of his pants nervously.

“…I think Meat’s behind it.” He said finally, and Devi took new, startled interest in his admission. They were quiet a moment before Devi replied.

“You really think the dreams are his doing?”

“I do.” He affirmed. “He doesn’t speak to me very often now that I live here, but I’m sure it’s him. I… I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I’m sure that he’s influencing them to be so gory and… awful… and you-related.”

Devi pondered this new development with a healthy amount of bitter suspicion. As far as she knew, Reverend Meat wanted Johnny to live, and had yet to try and influence him to kill anyone. What he wanted Johnny to do was engage in normal human-y things, and lose himself to his emotions, to his feelings. His feelings for her, in this case specifically. She slid her attention back to him with her suspicions hidden, as to not inadvertently express it to Johnny, and Meat, by extension.

“Did you have a nightmare after you fell asleep in my bed?” She asked.

Johnny blinked, having not bothered to even think about that until she mentioned it.

“Oh… no, I didn’t.” He replied. Devi pursed her mouth, convinced she knew the reason for Meat’s meddling this time.

He was trying to drive Johnny directly into her arms, like a bovine herder whacking his cattle with an electric rod. It boiled her blood to think of that shitty little parasite being so crafty. It would be easy for Meat to convince Johnny, without words, that he was urging him to commit violent acts, like Johnny’s previous voices, when in actuality, he was still just pushing this ‘physical longing’ crap.

“I’m sorry Devi…” Johnny’s head hung pathetically. “I know I should have told you. I was just so afraid… Afraid that you wouldn’t… trust me, again.”

He lifted his head.

“So much has changed since we, uh, ‘reunited’, if you’d want to call it that.” He mumbled. “I was scared that everything would regress back to the way it used to be. Everything is so nice now, I didn’t want to disturb it if I didn’t have to.”

Devi frowned at him in disbelief. She was still unused to any kind of heartfelt comments from anyone, especially him. For a moment, she debated whether or not to inform Johnny of the conclusion she’d just come to.

It could be beneficial to let him know, even if that would let Meat know as well, but then Johnny would probably go out of his way to avoid any touching, and maybe even hide his emotions more, just as a precaution to keep any and all feelings for her in check and not vulnerable to the Reverend, as futile as that would be. Devi hated to admit that she… didn’t want that. She liked bothering him, and it was nice to have such a casual friendship with someone after all these years of crappy people and self-made solitude.

She let her shoulders sag in defeat to her own wretched feelings.

“Yeah, things are nice now.” She smiled at him. Johnny was surprised that she would agree with him, and grinned shyly back at her.

“You still should have told me though, idiot.” Devi added with a meaner smirk, and Johnny shrugged in reply with a laugh. Devi pushed his shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you if you make me breakfast.” She offered, and Johnny jumped at the opportunity.

“Okay!” His smile grew wider, and he began slinking off toward the kitchen, lingering as though he was urging her to follow him.

Devi snorted a laugh and got up to join him. She would just keep these nightmares under close observation for now, until she was sure that she was correct about Meat’s intentions.

NEXT.

#this ones also gory so like.... keep that in mind #im so happy to have gotten this over with!!! it was so long kill me #jthm #jtrm #mine #devnny #gore/#chapter

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dannymillerfansite · 5 years

Text

EMMERDALE SPOILERS: AARON’S HEARTBROKEN SAYS ACTOR DANNY MILLER

Aaron Dingle takes on ‘cousin’ Mandy when she takes advantage of the Dingle clan. With Robron coming to an emotional end, Emmerdale actor Danny Miller talks about his new feud and filming Robron’s final scenes…

You’d think with all the turmoil going on in Robron’s lives at the moment the last thing Aaron Dingle would want to do is get embroiled in someone else’s drama – think again! His new nemesis is none other than Mandy Dingle!

Since arriving back in the village, Mandy has been sponging off Aaron’s nearest and dearest – Chas and Paddy, Marlon and Uncle Zak. But when Chas discovers a bag full of stolen casino chips, Aaron steps in. Actor Danny Miller explains more…

“Aaron takes an instant disliking to Mandy when she comes back,” Danny says. “When he finds out from Chas that she’s nicked this bag of casino chips, he wants to knock her down a peg or two, because she’s been asking Paddy, Marlon and Zak for money and the whole time, she has this money in her pocket. Aaron decides to give her a taste of her own medicine, taking the chips off her and takes them to a friend who works in a casino to cash in the chips.”

“Aaron is trying to have as much as fun as he can with Robert. They enjoy having some money in their pocket, especially as they don’t have long left together…”

Given the troubled times ahead for Aaron and Robert, could Aaron be adding to their worries by making an enemy of Mandy. Will she break the Dingle code and retaliate?

“Aaron doesn’t really care that Mandy is experienced in these kind of situation, or if she knows the right people in these situations,” adds Danny. “If anything he’s testing how far he can push her. He doesn’t like his family being mugged off and for that reason he decides to teach her a lesson.

“The pub is closed so Chas is struggling for money, Zak needs a few quid, so in his head the logic is he’s going to nick it, give Mandy a share, pay everyone else in the family, and keep some for him and Robert. He knows she can’t go to the police about it because she’d be dobbing herself in.”

Meeting at the scrapyard, Aaron gives Mandy a dressing down for how she’s treated the family. When he reveals that he’s taking a commission, Mandy goes berserk. A heated argument leads to Aaron ‘accidentally’ dropping the bag of money into the fire pit. Mandy and Vinny are distraught, but is all as it seems? Who has Mandy stolen the money from and will that in turn bring trouble to the Dingle’s door?

“As you can imagine £18,000 cash going in the fire, nobody is going to be best pleased,” quips Danny. “But she’s fuming because she needs the money for something unbeknown to Aaron.

“Aaron just thinks she’s ripping off his family, even though she is family, and he wants to knock her down a peg or two. You can’t come back to the village and think you run this family. he really gives it to her.

“As far as the Dingles are concerned its just the casino that’s out of pocket – but then again I don’t know who owns the casino…”

For Danny, this is the first time he’s got to work with Lisa Riley, who plays Mandy and it seems the two have plenty in common.

“She’s brilliant,” he enthuses. “Someone said she’s the female version of Danny Miller. We got off on the right foot from the start and it bodes well for the future because I love working with her and her character. Aaron and Mandy seem to play off each other really well. I’m a big fan of Lisa’s. Thought she was brilliant in Three Girls and when I went over to Scott and Bailey, the production team sent me her episode to get a feel for the show, and she was brilliant in that.

“I feel very blessed I get to work with Lisa Riley. Her enthusiasm and joy for the job is amazing. I can’t believe I’m getting to work with her. She won’t thank me for saying this but I used to watch her as a kid on You’ve Been Framed, and now we’re actually friends!”

With Robert Sugden’s departure hurtling towards us and the end of the #Robron era, does this mean we’ll see more of Aaron with other members of the Dingle clan?

“Definitely,” Danny exclaims. “Often, because of Robert and Aaron’s partnership, they seem to be inseparable on screen and in their stories which is great for me and Ryan, but we also like to spread your wings and do other things and have our own sense of individuality on the show. I don’t know what’s coming up for the Dingles but I’ll be back working with Jeff Hordley again. Cain and Aaron have always worked really well together, there’s a hidden love there for each other, so working with Jeff again will be incredible. I’m looking forward to him having a bit of rebellion and seeing how Aaron’s life unfold a bit now that he’s lost his one true love.

So how is Aaron feeling in general with Robert’s potential prison sentence looming? Is he is as worst state as the Robron fans?

“He’s heartbroken,” Danny sympathises. “He knows the core of his family will just be ripped away from him. It’s almost inevitable that Robert’s going to prison but we don’t know how long it will be for at this point. He knows he’s going to lose the love of his life but he’s also going to lose him to the worse possible way, which is behind bars.

“Aaron’s been there and done that and we all saw how terribly wrong that went, the mistakes that he made and the impact it had on his family. He’s worried Robert may go down that same route and what it might mean for the relationship. Does he wait for Robert; does Robert wait for him. He’s confused and desperate to cling on to as much love and happiness as he can whilst he’s here.

“In a nutshell, he’s utterly devastated but he’s putting on the bravest of faces to try and not show Robert he’s going to struggle while he’s inside. He’s grabbing every minute with Robert while he can.”

The Robron fandom is a powerful force, with many friendships formed, fundraising for charity, brilliant fan art, fan fiction, etc so the news of the end of an era was always going to be hard. So what’s Danny made of the fan reaction since Ryan’s departure was announced?

“I’d honestly say that for the first time, it’s split down the middle 50/50,” Danny says. “People are angry and upset that the couple are coming to an end and they don’t understand that it’s a decision that every actor should take at some point – to go out there and spread their wings and unfortunately with that you lose the character. And then other people are excited to see what Ryan gets up to and thanking the couple for the stories they’ve told over the past four or five years. That’s the most important thing to the fans, the representation of the couple and the representation of them being two best mates who just happen to be madly in love with each other. As the old saying goes ‘love is love’ and it doesn’t matter who it is with.

“They’ve had some great stories together – breaking up, getting back together, doing stupid things, one night stands, and all that kind of stuff and I think people will miss that and I’ll miss that because I’m also losing a friend as well as my co-star. It’s quite a sad time really but I’m excited for Ryan. I think he’ll do really well and he might be back in a couple of years or that might be it for Ryan at Emmerdale and he’ll go off and do amazing things. Time will tell but all we can do now is tell a story to the best of our abilities to keep a little bit of a surprise even though people know he’s leaving.

Most fans are already dreading the inevitable final scene but imagine being Ryan and Danny! Will those final Robron scenes be weird to film?

“We’ve done a lot of the goodbye, upset ones, and there was real raw emotion in there for both Ryan and myself,” admits Danny. “There was a very emotional scene when I speak to him for the first time when he’s in prison, and at that point I realised it was real and this is actually happening and there were some genuine tears. We’ve been very close Ryan and I over the past four years. It won’t be the same without him but the show goes on and we’ll have to wait and see what happens to Aaron…

After losing Kelvin Fletcher (Andy Sugden), Adam Thomas (Adam Barton), and now Ryan Hawley, Danny’s yet to find a new bromance but its his on-screen sister who he is closest to now.

He explains: “I’m very close to Isobel Steele (Liv Flaherty) and her family and vice versa. I’m often round at her house, we’ve got a really solid friendship there.

When I saw Isobel in the audition I instantly knew she’s going to be a superstar, and we need her, we have to have her here before she gets older and goes off to do more amazing things. Kate Oates, then producer, was in total agreement. Kate said: ‘You need to guide Isobel in the right way and help her out.’ But, I would never tell her what to do but just say this is my advice from my experience and this is what I did wrong. This girl’s got the head and shoulders of an older woman, she’s very clever and talented. All I ever wanted to do is push her on and give her the confidence to express herself and show how good she really is. Now, she’s not afraid to suggest extra little lines or ways to develop a scene. If I’ve had anything to do with it I’m very proud of her, but she’s done it herself, she’s very switched on.

“Also, Lucy Pargeter and Dominic Brunt are my go-to’s – Jeff Hordley and Mark Charnock as well. Those I work the most and closest with. I came in to Emmerdale when I was a kid and every one of them looked after me and mentored and nurtured me in to the business and in to the job. I can’t thank them enough for it.”

Interview by The Emmerdaily

#emmerdale #Robron #danny miller #Aaron Dingle #spoilers

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