funandcutememes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
funandcutememes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2017-10-03 09:14 am
funandcutememes) wrote in bakerstreet2017-10-03 09:14 am
Entry tags:
Love doesn't discriminate
Interspecies Love Meme
Vampires and humans. Angels and demons. Ghosts and the living. The idea of "opposites attracting" is hardly a new one, but with the rise in popularity of supernatural creatures, aliens, and other sentient beings beyond our human understanding, the forbidden romance trope has been injected a shot of fresh blood- sometimes quite literally.
This meme does just that, taking the whole "not meant for each other" thing to it's most logical extreme. Of course, it's not always angst and depression. These days, mermaids and bird-people can have their relationships in peace to some degree.
Rules
- Comment with your character, putting any preferences you have (ie, "humanoid characters only," F/M, etc). Also, be sure to note your character's "species" for others to reference (Name | Character | OTA | Human, ghost, mutant, alien, vampire, god, zombie-catgirl hybrid, etc).
- Reply to others. If your characters aren't different species, feel free to AU or anything else like that.
- Use the rng to determine your prompt.
- Also I didn't think I needed to say this, but be excellent to each other. Dick comments and anon bullying are not on.
- Meeting: Did you know there were, I don't know, werewolves before this? Or maybe you thought all aliens were evil. Will this...thing change your perception?
- Falling in Love: You know you're not the same, but your feelings don't care.
- Self-Hate: Perhaps you're mad at the being you're in love with, yet you're more angry at yourself.
- Can't Be Together: Whether for self-inflicted reasons or societal rules, you can't be in love with who your heart has chosen and it's putting a strain on you.
- Pushing You Away: Things are getting too intense, and for both of your sake, you want to make friend/crush/lover hate you.
- Beauty & the Beast: One of you is beautiful, the other hideous. Maybe, though, the beautiful one is ugly in the eyes of society, depending on where you live. Whatever the case is, you don't look the same.
- Confession: Screw the rules, you're going to tell that sweet girl/guy/other how you feel! What can go wrong? Or this is something you've put a lot of thought into and you're scared, but you're going to do it.
- First Time...or Not: Finally, the two of you are taking the next step and getting physical. It may go off without a hitch, depending on your...you know, or- OH GOD, HOW IS THAT GOING TO GO IN HERE. Wait, you have a...?
- The Kinky Option: Hey, maybe being different will pay off. Think about it. A long tongue? Ghost powers? Sounds like it could be fun in the bedroom.
- Prejudice: "What are you doing with that dirty monster?" "You know we can't be involved with humans!" "We don't take kindly to your type around here." Why can't people just leave you two be?
- Facing Your Instinct: It's hard to be with someone when you want to suck their blood. Or eat their brains. Or possess them.
- Because of Me: Your lover has been dragged into your fight or hurt by others of your kind. Now they're in the crossfire.
- Standing Up For You: Hey, knock it off! I don't care what you think, he's perfect in my eyes.
- You Don't Know You're Beautiful: The fluffy option where you're trying to make your loved one see just how much you care and how they're beautiful to you, no matter what.
- Gifts: Show your affection with a gift from your culture.
- Starting a Family: Can you even reproduce? Is it something you want to consider? Perhaps it's new ground to tread, so you'll have to be the first to think about it.
- WILDCARD
Levy | OC | OTA
Gabriel Starling | OC | OTA
Werewolf McCree | Iverwatch | OTA 18+
No to 3 for him since he's a pretty proud fluffer but open to pretty much any of these prompts.
Claude Sterling | Vampire Kisses | m/m
Spock | Star Trek | OTA
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Sarek | Star Trek | OTA
Michael Corvin | Underworld | M/M
Scarecrow | Batman Arkham Knight | ota
The Dragonborn | Skyrim | M/M
Delia Battista | Star Trek OC | OTA
Briona | OC | F/M
Taneris | OC | OTA
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Dawn hasn’t quite broken when Amalthea lurches awake, as she so often does, wresting herself out of nightmare. The dreams are as familiar as the patchwork cloak she sleeps in, given to her by the magician too many seasons past. And like that musty threadbare garment, they both reassure and stifle. The dreams keep her from forgetting, but when they end in rust-hued flames, crackling between sickle horns and blind eyes, her terror overrides the rest.
For long months there were none to observe her violent waking, save perhaps an occasional bewildered hare. She would leap to her feet, arms splayed as though her fingertips could lash out and split bone, head lowered for a pinpoint strike this hapless body had no hope of delivering. She’d stamp and pace without care for drawing attention, despite how prudent such cares might be, given her status as a lone mortal on the road. She would race until the light of sunrise bled from the sky, near convinced she had gone mad, relishing the strength of her legs while ruing the utter wrongness of their number.
But Amalthea is no longer alone, and she remembers it, even with the nightmare’s shreds still clinging. She checks herself before surging all the way upright, freezing half-crouched by the remnants of campfire, facing fogbound trees and not her companion – a fact for which she is instantly grateful. Whatever track this particular dream left on her, she does not wish him to follow it, even in the predawn gloom.
Taneris. The name comes effortlessly, though in recent days she has doubted her memory of others. No motion betrays him, but she knows he is close by, not two arms’ length across their makeshift camp. The weeks of traveling together have not dampened her wariness in his presence, yet her curiosity about him thrives in keeping. One moment he makes her long to bolt, outrunning both his breath and the wind against her flanks. And the next she wants to hold her ground, meeting his gaze with starlight balanced on her brow.
Of course she is only human, this morning, and one who is as keenly aware of Taneris’ proximity as the fact that he appears to have let her oversleep. It seems she won’t be fleeing or facing anyone to such grand effect.
“You should have woken me.” This is offered over her shoulder, without any attempt to glance his way, and punctuated by the snap of her skirts as she shakes out the leaves. Her voice is low, oddly resonant for its apparent youth, with some undefinable rawness at the edges.
“You said we’d need to move before dawn.”
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But it's different with two. It's two mouths to feed, yes, but it's also two sets of eyes on watch. Two ears to hear intruders. And when getting up to get moving is a prospect of rousing two people now, instead of one, he's more inclined to relax and take his time.
"You looked comfortable," he offers back. He mills throughout the camp, gathering things into piles that can be quickly packed up with ease.
He doesn't comment on the apparent restlessness of her sleep. Waking her would have shown he was aware of it, and it does not seem Amalthea is keen to show that sort of vulnerability to him.
He can't blame her. They both keep things from the other, so far, and he isn't inclined to be the first to breach the line. She has secrets just like him.
Lifting a hand, he gestures off to the west, where their camp overlooks a winding road in the distance. "No one's come down the road since before first light. This valley's less-traveled than I remember it."
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These routine tasks of survival never fail to underscore Amalthea’s inexperience. While her wanderings between one village and the next have forced her to acquire some rudimentary skills, it’s luck more than anything that’s brought her thus far. In the company of practiced travelers she knows she must seem, as men say, the fifth wheel; and Taneris’ company is certainly no exception.
Her own belongings are scant, so there’s little of them to collect, at least. Besides the magician’s cloak she has only the clothes she wears (all of them ill-fitting, gifts from obliging rag piles and kindly folk on the road) and her pack with its few useful odds and ends.
At the comfortable she can’t help casting him a look, eyes wide-set and well water dark under the incongruous white hair. It’s a piercing glance, as all her glances tend to be, but without pique. She is letting go the self-consciousness over her manner of waking, but that doesn’t render his words any easier for her to read.
After a moment she follows his hand. She’s told him why she is heading westward, in search of her lost kin, which is truth albeit with staggering omissions. But she never expected him to share the direction this far.
“Fewer people means less work, for you.” Her tone is even, though she well knows his work is bound up in bloodshed. And while she’s never yet pried into his mercenary tendencies, much less his past as a whole, today something spurs her to question.
“Is that how you know this country? From fighting in it?”
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"Less work. But less complication. I'm not hurting for coin right now anyway." He tightens up the drawstring of one of his bags, then stuffs it into his larger traveling pack. All except for a pan, two handpies, and Amalthea's few things, everything is ready to move.
He sits down by the fire and sets the pan in the coals to warm the pies, stoking the ashes with a stick to stir up a little more heat.
"Parts of it," he answers. "I've traveled through more than I've fought here. The work's better in the cities up north, but there's bandits on the roads. Someone will always pay for a safe escort."
Never mind that in this case, he seems to have done it for free.
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There is no trade for which Amalthea seems remotely well-suited, though she’s found that some fellow travelers offer coin for stories – and, surprisingly, that she possesses a talent for story-telling. Of course the tales are never truly hers, but dredged up from another form’s countless lifetimes of listening. Still, her recitation tends to make an impact, and it’s carried her from tavern to tent, caravan to camp.
“I was told there would be more outlaws, the way I am going.” She moves closer to his side of the fire, though her eyes are on the distant road.
“But this land doesn’t feel as though it cares for anyone’s laws. It feels… drained. Like a morass long gone dry, sealed over with the dust of bones it once sucked. Nothing is meant to linger here, hunted or hunting.” And without pause to consider any effect of this dire pronouncement, Amalthea returns her focus to the fire.
“What is in them?” She’s looking at the pies, now, and her voice carries a dubious note. She doesn’t mean to be thankless, but even hungry she can’t relish meat, a compunction she is aware he will not share.
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And quite the poet as well. He's endlessly fascinated when she slips into those little snatches of poetry. Prophecy? With how suddenly they take her, he wouldn't be surprised. Amalthea could tell him she was a prophetess, an enchantress, a goddess, anything of the sort and Taneris would believe her.
All he knows is that she's no ordinary woman. She stirs the Blood in him the way no human does, a soft, unique note in a cacaphony. That's why he goes with her, he keeps telling himself. Such a note would be easily silenced on these roads.
It isn't as though he has anything better to do with his time.
"Carrot and parsnip," he answers, with another of those smirks. "I remember you didn't care for the steak and potato."
Hermione Granger | Harry Potter | F/M
gamora | mcu
Dr. Angela 'Mercy' Ziegler ⛨ Overwatch ⛨ F/M
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The role of chosen hero had, right from day one, had not sit well with Rex. Heroism had always seemed to be, frankly, stupid to him. The fact his mother was a born hero, the sort of people everyone had relied on had cost her life. Life in a small scavenger community where he was unfairly scorned for failing to replace her when they so sorely needed a hero had soured him further on the topic.
All the same he had succeeded, from the shadows, in protecting a few towns on his mysterious journey to the East. Where the world's monsters seemed to be converging. It was against his natural instincts to head towards danger. Huddled in a long abandoned shrine deep in an eerily quiet wood, Rex held the all important Hero Medal in his hands. Not for the first time, he simply sat in silent contemplation of how the world's fate could possibly revolve around such a small thing. Not for the first time, he asked to no one-
"Can I really do this?"
Usually, the young man did not get an answer. The heavens didn't usually speak to anyone, not these days. So lost in thought, he couldn't have possibly imagined that he'd be receiving a second divine boon. He shouldn't have been that surprised. Most of the Heroes did, at some point or another. He just needed his to be there to poke him awake.
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The Olympic like home of Heroes and Gods among men was her home after her mortal life had been spent. Though she doesn't remember most of her Human life she has kept infatuation with humans, the biology, and the ever changing medical word they had. God-health was forever reviving and kept her youthful but the feathers on her wings were considered sort of magic, having the same healing properties as a potion.
She was sent to help a budding hero when he seemed down the most but she wasn't the best choice, probably. There were larger heroes, more experienced or ruthless to help someone achieve their goals quickly. Instead, she was just a support who would help when the lowest of the lows came.
"Of course you can." She said quietly from being in the shrine for a few minutes to just watch him. Humans were always so curious and she had long forgotten what it was like to be among them. "Then again all the heroes go through a small bout of self doubt. No real hero is that confident at the start of their journey."
There was a flutter of her pristine white feathers as she came down from the rafters of the shrine and landed with a soft pap. Dressed in white with wreath around her head and golden like wings along the curves of her face, she smiled gently and tucked a strand of golden hair that was curled. "So you're the budding hero."
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When Rex was playing by his rules, or more accurately breaking other peoples, he was a formidable force. A well formulated plan had him ruling like someone with a name that meant king should. On the other hand, when he was unsure of himself or worse surprised, he was a bit of a mess. Just one of the many areas he had to learn to overcome to fulfil his destiny.
So even her quiet voice startled him and he let out a shocked bark of surprise. Behind his mask, his mouth was agape and he licked his lips, but his dark eyes couldn't be hidden. Wavering, taking in the sight of her when she descended into his view.
An actual angel. Somehow, though he had seen countless monsters and one demon, he'd kind of doubted angels really existed. They seemed too good to be true. That sentiment doubled when he saw her- nothing real could possibly be so... perfect.
Slowly, he pulled off the mask he wore more out of habit than any other reason, look up at her with a mixture of awe and confusion.
"...That's what they tell me." It was the weakest response possible, maybe. But it was the only one he could think of looking at her. Part of him wanted to reach for his weapon, in case it was a trick. Another, underused part of his mind, had faith. "Unless you're hear to tell me the wrong person picked this up?"
He raised the Hero Medal in one hand, the item that had made the declaration. He's the chosen one, alright. Though not even the heavens are privy to the selection process the medal uses to choose its heroes.
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His startle, in return, startled her and she fell back against one of the pillar beams, supporting herself with her wings slightly ruffling and opening to help brace her. Maybe she shouldn't have just surprised him out of nowhere in the dark. It wasn't exactly the smartest way to approach someone, from the dark.
She gripped her staff, the flame upon it casting a faint light but doesn't seem to emit heat. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."
Once he pulled off the mask she could clearly see him and glanced him over. His response earned a faint laugh behind her hand. "No, not at all." She walked over and gently touched the back of his hand hat held on to the medal.
"It's meant for you and only you."
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It was a mixed feeling to have it confirmed for him that yes, the medal was his. Part of him had always wanted it to be some sort of mistake, so he could pass it to the rightful owner and go home and be safe. Another part, quieter but more vital part perhaps, had recognised that if he had stayed in the same rut for much longer he would have been driven mad. That life wouldn't have been worth living if he didn't have something in it to give himself purpose. There was relief, his tense muscles relaxing right before her eyes. He wasn't a mistake.
"Do you... know me? They always say the heavens are watching." His eyes turned up to the small hole in the roof, where night stars looked down at them. He'd heard someone say that back before humanity's downfall, city lights had drowned them out. "I can't imagine there was a lot to watch for a long time."
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When his eyes cast forward, Angela stole a glance towards him. The same with most heroes, he was attractive looking without the mask. After a moment she gazed upwards towards the skies, noticing how bright they looked down here as much as they did where she came from.
"I'm afraid I don't. Just that you're a hero and I was sent to watch over you and help." She was possibly low on the tier of fighter angels but what she lacked with her fighting ability, she made up for with her healing.
"I'm...not a fighter." She continued and glanced back at him. "I can heal you and give you a sort of...boost when you feel drained of energy." Carefully, she took one of the small down feathers from an outstretched wing and presented it to him.
"Here, hold this." She instructed before giving a small bend forward to blow a soft exhale on his palm and the feather that begun to glow a soft but vivid yellow to white before it curled around his hand and left any ailments or pain completely gone with a washed over feeling of a textbook 'good night's rest'.
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He took a deep, shocked breath as the wonderful wind wound around his slim fingers. He watched until it faded completely, his open palm slowly curling into a determined fist. Even his magic suited his gloomy aura. Dark, heavy smoke-like energy that dripped from between his fingers. Falling in drops that dispersed upon splashing on the floor. Sinister in appearance, power hidden beneath a dark surface. Just like him.
"I don't need a fighter." His grim eyes raised to meet hers, though a smile curled his lips up ever so slightly. Not especially pleasant- he may have had his own sort of good looks suitable for the heroes of old, but his smile hardly fit the part. But his words were warmer. Possibilities ran through his mind, as did gratitude. He stood a little straighter, his muscles a little less limp. "I need you."
It was true. The blanks he struggled to fill in his plans were being covered knowing he could push harder, worry about protecting his own hide less. Be more bold.
"Rex Arany." His hand, the same one that wafted his dark mystical energies that nevertheless had no malicious feeling, was extended to shake hers.
Wilbur Whateley / Dunwich Horror (novel-'verse) / OTA
Samus Aran | Metroid (Prime) | OTA
Treize Khushrenada | Gundam Wing
Jyn Erso | Rogue One | OTA
Rey | SW: TFA | OTA