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bakerstreet2019-07-09 08:48 pm
shonenjump) wrote in bakerstreet2019-07-09 08:48 pm
Entry tags:
[can i interest you in a (rusty af) inuyasha?]
[ he's practically made for this meme: once you put his terrible battle persona aside, he's a vampire that spent ~80 years being tortured in a basement, and after that, got no touches at all that weren't violent/fights. in canon he gets a single gentle touch from the queen and honestly it's the happiest he gets in the entire series.
give this nasty boy some gentle touches.
bonus: he has many hands to touch back with! ]
give this nasty boy some gentle touches.
bonus: he has many hands to touch back with! ]
Edited 2019-07-10 02:29 (UTC)
(Noncombatant angel who gives good hugs and is weirdly ok with hellbeasts of all kinds y/n?)
Ienzo | Kingdom Hearts 3 | (never say no 2 smutty things)
radiantlegacy
2019-07-10 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
[You'd think his hands would be beat all to hell. Just like ballerinas and their toes, Akihiko's knuckles are the main tool for everything in his life. It's how he fights, how he spends his free time, how he connects to his best-friend (though usually that's on the more painful side, catching a quick jab to the jaw, but even Shinjiro can admit he usually has it coming-) and he works them hard. Always moving forward and jamming his dumb fists into something, whether it's a heavy bag or a competitors guard or a shadow's goopy mass of being.
So you'd think they'd be gnarled and calloused: bumpy from metacarpal fractures from bad hits, rough and dry and chapped from working, working, working, always doing something because the man can't stand being idle, can't stand not making progress, always afraid of the looming specter of being too weak.
But maybe it's because of that fear that he takes such good care of them. He's passionate and precise, and those solid knuckles capable of launching someone to the floor are so much smoother than they should be. Not soft- Never that, it's not a word he could use to describe his friend in any capacity. But honed like fine steel, or a expertly crafted knife.
The fights over for the night, everyone's worn out and ready to rinse the stink of blood and sweat and despondence that seems to infiltrate everything during the dark hour off themselves-- and Shinjiro, for once, has agreed to help Akihiko look after his hands. (just like the others would sharpen a blade, or re-string a bow, or refill on ammo, in Aigis's case.)]
Guess I can't convince you to take it easy tomorrow, right? [He's rubbing some sort of salve the other man had onto cracked and split skin, thumbs rolling over the bumps of knuckle joints as he lends a hand (or two) to Akihiko's maintenance. His own fingerpads (dry, chapped, far more calloused and far less cared for-) roll over to the underside of the man's palm, looking to rub the excess off and smoothly gliding under the pad of flesh underneath his thumb, digging into the muscle there.]
In don't wanna put all this work in just for you to crack the skin open on some rookie's face tomorrow. [Because despite all responsibilities with, you know, saving the world, Akihiko is still captain of the school's team, still calls shots and ruins drills and shows those poor, dumb jocks what it really means to take a hit.]
So you'd think they'd be gnarled and calloused: bumpy from metacarpal fractures from bad hits, rough and dry and chapped from working, working, working, always doing something because the man can't stand being idle, can't stand not making progress, always afraid of the looming specter of being too weak.
But maybe it's because of that fear that he takes such good care of them. He's passionate and precise, and those solid knuckles capable of launching someone to the floor are so much smoother than they should be. Not soft- Never that, it's not a word he could use to describe his friend in any capacity. But honed like fine steel, or a expertly crafted knife.
The fights over for the night, everyone's worn out and ready to rinse the stink of blood and sweat and despondence that seems to infiltrate everything during the dark hour off themselves-- and Shinjiro, for once, has agreed to help Akihiko look after his hands. (just like the others would sharpen a blade, or re-string a bow, or refill on ammo, in Aigis's case.)]
Guess I can't convince you to take it easy tomorrow, right? [He's rubbing some sort of salve the other man had onto cracked and split skin, thumbs rolling over the bumps of knuckle joints as he lends a hand (or two) to Akihiko's maintenance. His own fingerpads (dry, chapped, far more calloused and far less cared for-) roll over to the underside of the man's palm, looking to rub the excess off and smoothly gliding under the pad of flesh underneath his thumb, digging into the muscle there.]
In don't wanna put all this work in just for you to crack the skin open on some rookie's face tomorrow. [Because despite all responsibilities with, you know, saving the world, Akihiko is still captain of the school's team, still calls shots and ruins drills and shows those poor, dumb jocks what it really means to take a hit.]
[[For those who don't know the game, those aren't tattoos on her body, they're patches of stained glass. I'm sure you can do the calculus on this.]]
Re: Miriam | Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night | ota
heavensmostwanted
2019-07-10 10:42 am (UTC)(link)
[Ooc: care for a half-demon with glowing tattoos?]
[War makes for some strange friends and stranger bedfellows. Niflheim grows more aggressive in its expansion every day, and that's a problem for everyone, but especially nations with a Crystal to protect. The Dominion of Rubrum and its Vermilion Bird Crystal are strong, thanks largely to their Crystal's generosity in choosing to bless many of its citizens with magic that's advanced their military leaps and bounds, but they're not blind to the empire's threat. Neither is the Kingdom of Lucis. Broaching an alliance to kick the empire on its magitek ass makes sense, even to those who'd rather Rubrum go it alone than show weakness by asking for help.
Better to win together than lose apart, in Jack's opinion, but he's not in politics so what does he know? Either way, he didn't think he'd live to see the day he visited Insomnia as part of the delegation to discuss a potential alliance.
Insomnia! The Crown City! Somehow it's bigger than he'd thought it'd be. On the way into the city limits, he and the other twelve cadets in Class Zero had pressed against the windows of their transport, gawking out like children at the sleek towers and busting streets. Their presence says Rubrum is serious. You don't bring your elite along to show off unless you are.
He can imagine how they must look: strange, foreign, young--most no older than Lucis' own prince despite their crimson capes and military dress. Red daemons. That's what they're called in whispers, as fierce as monsters in a fight and the only ones allowed to wear red, Rubrum's emblematic color. Where the Lucians have the Kingsglaive, Rubrans have Class Zero.
With no battles to wage or enemies to kill, this isn't exactly their usual scene. Their job here is merely to let the royal procession get an eyeful of them, show up and be professional, look sharp and set a good example for their country--
"And that's why you're not going anywhere near the king," scoffs Queen, turning away from the transport's window.
"Fine by me! He's probably not my type anyway," he pretends to grouse back. "I mean, they have an actual king here. Does that come with a throne? Who do you think's more high maintenance, kings or emperors? Oh my god, wait, does this mean we need a new new code name for King? What if their king thinks we're talking to him when we're really talking to--"
"Shut up, Jack."
"I kid, I kid!"
And he does, really. If he peppers the conversation with jokes about skirt-chasing cute Lucians, it's only because knows it bugs the sticklers among them and calms Cinque, who has a silly fear this visit is all an elaborate Niflheim plot to trap them on the wrong side of the Wall (which doesn't even make sense--but that's Cinque for you!). Posturing aside, he's been in the same boat as the others, no time for what Queen would dismissively term fraternizing. Training. Mission. Training. Mission. Doesn't leave much room for a personal life. Or much of a life outside Class Zero, period.
Actual skirt-chasing or otherwise? No, can't say there's been much of that, and he doesn't see that changing.
Therein lies the rub: he doesn't see it coming.
That first day, after introductions are made and formalities met through a whirlwind of new faces and sights, he finds of all the Lucian retinue, he likes the prince's blond companion the most. Call it the unexpected surprise of meeting someone not a total grim-faced drag as people at these events usually are. He'd been warned explicitly to stay out of the way and let the others do the talking, so imagine his relief when it was the blond on the prince's team who'd cracked the first joke. From the back, he'd barked a laugh from the sheer delight of not being the first to speak out of turn, quickly covered by his hand, but it was too late. The tension had broke, probably along with any image they're grim-faced professionals on their part.
He likes Prince Noctis' casualness well enough, too, but it's Prompto's way of making everyone feel welcome with an easy smile and an equally easygoing quip that officially warms him to their visit. He'd expected to tolerate it, not like it. He could stand to be wrong.
As the higher-ups get their politicking on, he gravitates toward Prompto during the grand touring the next day and the next ("Idiot birds of a feather flock together," remarks Sice). He can appreciate a colleague in the field of good humor; it can take effort and not many give that the credit its due. It helps that he's a genuinely funny soul and easy to talk to. It relaxes a different kind of tension in Jack that he so often ignores.
Class Zero being tight-knit by nature and necessity, it's rare to gel with a stranger, but that just makes Prompto's infectious manner more disarming. He doesn't think too hard about why that is, or why he takes to it so quickly. He doesn't think about why he's much more interested on the days he knows Prompto's going to be there, or why his mood is lower when he's not. He isn't familiar with the word in relation to himself. Awareness is a slow and mildly alarming beast, built on dozens of small moments: making a point to sit beside him and pitching the cheesiest jokes about the X-rated definition of "foreign relations" just to catch his eye.
It comes gradually, the crowning moment when they're in the elevator and someone crowds in too far, distracted by Nine's intimidating scarred visage. Prompto is forced to step back to avoid being bumped, and Jack, standing slightly behind him, touches a hand to his shoulder to steady him.
He doesn't have to. There are a million polite and distant options when dealing with a foreign person in a strange country when there's an alliance in the works that could change the course of history. But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have gotten the flushing thrill of it, a relish that lives on in the conspiratorial curl to his smile.
Very quietly, for Prompto's ears only:]
I guess that proves we're not untouchable like some people think. You won't tell anyone, will you?
[There it is. The word: charmed. He might be somewhat, a little, a teensy bit charmed. Oh no.]
Better to win together than lose apart, in Jack's opinion, but he's not in politics so what does he know? Either way, he didn't think he'd live to see the day he visited Insomnia as part of the delegation to discuss a potential alliance.
Insomnia! The Crown City! Somehow it's bigger than he'd thought it'd be. On the way into the city limits, he and the other twelve cadets in Class Zero had pressed against the windows of their transport, gawking out like children at the sleek towers and busting streets. Their presence says Rubrum is serious. You don't bring your elite along to show off unless you are.
He can imagine how they must look: strange, foreign, young--most no older than Lucis' own prince despite their crimson capes and military dress. Red daemons. That's what they're called in whispers, as fierce as monsters in a fight and the only ones allowed to wear red, Rubrum's emblematic color. Where the Lucians have the Kingsglaive, Rubrans have Class Zero.
With no battles to wage or enemies to kill, this isn't exactly their usual scene. Their job here is merely to let the royal procession get an eyeful of them, show up and be professional, look sharp and set a good example for their country--
"And that's why you're not going anywhere near the king," scoffs Queen, turning away from the transport's window.
"Fine by me! He's probably not my type anyway," he pretends to grouse back. "I mean, they have an actual king here. Does that come with a throne? Who do you think's more high maintenance, kings or emperors? Oh my god, wait, does this mean we need a new new code name for King? What if their king thinks we're talking to him when we're really talking to--"
"Shut up, Jack."
"I kid, I kid!"
And he does, really. If he peppers the conversation with jokes about skirt-chasing cute Lucians, it's only because knows it bugs the sticklers among them and calms Cinque, who has a silly fear this visit is all an elaborate Niflheim plot to trap them on the wrong side of the Wall (which doesn't even make sense--but that's Cinque for you!). Posturing aside, he's been in the same boat as the others, no time for what Queen would dismissively term fraternizing. Training. Mission. Training. Mission. Doesn't leave much room for a personal life. Or much of a life outside Class Zero, period.
Actual skirt-chasing or otherwise? No, can't say there's been much of that, and he doesn't see that changing.
Therein lies the rub: he doesn't see it coming.
That first day, after introductions are made and formalities met through a whirlwind of new faces and sights, he finds of all the Lucian retinue, he likes the prince's blond companion the most. Call it the unexpected surprise of meeting someone not a total grim-faced drag as people at these events usually are. He'd been warned explicitly to stay out of the way and let the others do the talking, so imagine his relief when it was the blond on the prince's team who'd cracked the first joke. From the back, he'd barked a laugh from the sheer delight of not being the first to speak out of turn, quickly covered by his hand, but it was too late. The tension had broke, probably along with any image they're grim-faced professionals on their part.
He likes Prince Noctis' casualness well enough, too, but it's Prompto's way of making everyone feel welcome with an easy smile and an equally easygoing quip that officially warms him to their visit. He'd expected to tolerate it, not like it. He could stand to be wrong.
As the higher-ups get their politicking on, he gravitates toward Prompto during the grand touring the next day and the next ("Idiot birds of a feather flock together," remarks Sice). He can appreciate a colleague in the field of good humor; it can take effort and not many give that the credit its due. It helps that he's a genuinely funny soul and easy to talk to. It relaxes a different kind of tension in Jack that he so often ignores.
Class Zero being tight-knit by nature and necessity, it's rare to gel with a stranger, but that just makes Prompto's infectious manner more disarming. He doesn't think too hard about why that is, or why he takes to it so quickly. He doesn't think about why he's much more interested on the days he knows Prompto's going to be there, or why his mood is lower when he's not. He isn't familiar with the word in relation to himself. Awareness is a slow and mildly alarming beast, built on dozens of small moments: making a point to sit beside him and pitching the cheesiest jokes about the X-rated definition of "foreign relations" just to catch his eye.
It comes gradually, the crowning moment when they're in the elevator and someone crowds in too far, distracted by Nine's intimidating scarred visage. Prompto is forced to step back to avoid being bumped, and Jack, standing slightly behind him, touches a hand to his shoulder to steady him.
He doesn't have to. There are a million polite and distant options when dealing with a foreign person in a strange country when there's an alliance in the works that could change the course of history. But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have gotten the flushing thrill of it, a relish that lives on in the conspiratorial curl to his smile.
Very quietly, for Prompto's ears only:]
I guess that proves we're not untouchable like some people think. You won't tell anyone, will you?
[There it is. The word: charmed. He might be somewhat, a little, a teensy bit charmed. Oh no.]
[ All of the emotional touching is good too. ]
[ Would prefer to keep things emotional rather than smutty. ]
"It's an important tradition!"
Maybe Aziraphale should have been grateful that Crowley agreed to go with him all the way to Mexico for a Day of the Dead celebration and just left it at that, but they couldn't possibly march in the parade without all the lovely face makeup! Aziraphale had a full set of little paintbrushes and a whole array of brightly colored pots already laid out on the table in their hotel. Why was Crowley being such a spoil-sport?
"You can't just miracle it on. It won't look right."
Maybe Aziraphale should have been grateful that Crowley agreed to go with him all the way to Mexico for a Day of the Dead celebration and just left it at that, but they couldn't possibly march in the parade without all the lovely face makeup! Aziraphale had a full set of little paintbrushes and a whole array of brightly colored pots already laid out on the table in their hotel. Why was Crowley being such a spoil-sport?
"You can't just miracle it on. It won't look right."
I'm sorry I have no idea when my grip on past tense will return from the war
sainsburys_plant_mister
- 2019-07-12 23:00 (UTC) - ExpandI now write only in a nonsensical creole of past and present tense and try to fix it after.
fomenting_peace
- 2019-07-12 23:22 (UTC) - Expandyou have no idea how tempted I am to try and draw this...
sainsburys_plant_mister
- 2019-07-17 01:16 (UTC) - ExpandNever hesitate to add something delightful to the world, no matter how inexpertly!
fomenting_peace
- 2019-07-18 16:44 (UTC) - Expand[Got a 27/Embrace. Meme, that's already them...
Any setting/timeline preferences?]
Any setting/timeline preferences?]
( do you have any preferences for scenario? )
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