#proditeur

﹙ ✷ ﹚𖥨 ´  random text message prompts for @proditeur

[ to regulus dupois, at 23:17 ] : you are so cruelly unfair

[ to regulus dupois, at 23:17 ] : i won’t lie to you, i don’t want to

[ to regulus dupois, at 23:18 ] : my words have no malice, that i feel my skin shiver by the absence of you in bed is simply my reality

  the words fundraising gala were an oxymoron, didn't belong together. in john's opinion, if they had the funds for a gala, they certainly didn't need to raise them -- not with an auction on top of the several-hundred quid ticket price. not that john paid it, of course; he'd slipped in through the kitchen door, propped open for the cooks to come and go from their smoke breaks.

as a matter of fact, he's only stopping by for that charity auction ( and the open bar, but that's really just a detour on the way ), although he's certainly not about to pay the going rate for some dusty old antiques. his target - an old oil painting, cursed beyond belief - has already been paid for and sits in a back storage room with the rest of the collection, waiting to be boxed up and shipped off to its new home.

john's goal is simply to keep it from doing exactly that.

it's unfortunate, then, to find himself interrupted in the middle of scribbling in chalk a series of intricate runes directly on the canvas' rough surface, looking for all the world like a petty vandal rather than an expert trying to put an end ( rather forcibly ) to a haunted artifact's long and bloody history.

" i'm sure you've 'eard it before, " john's drawing may have slowed down when he heard the man enter, but it only stops once he tucks the chalk back into his pocket and fishes out a lighter instead. " but it's really not what it looks like. "

regulus offers quiet dick company instead of advice.

if there was one thing that never failed to make dick bored out of his mind, it was charity events and galas. though he was simply just here in support of bruce, dick wished he was anywhere but here. at least the people here didn't seem extra touchy, so he'll take a win where he could get one. everyone seemed more interested in @proditeur, seeing what the man would do with his family's company. dick has the distinct feeling bruce was here just for the goal of meeting with regulus. well, that was of no consequence to him. he takes the lull of the party and people finally not talking to him to slip out onto a little patio, thankful for the break and some fresh air.

the moment doesn't last long until the man of the hour comes out, and dick glances at regulus, expecting him to start talking or offer some useless advice dick didn't need. instead of any of that, regulus just takes a seat next to him, silent. huh, odd. maybe he needed a break too. the extrovert in his wants to kick up a conversation immediately, but even he had to admit that he was tired from the event. so he lets the silence stretch, simple enjoying the quiet before breaking it some minutes later.

❝ not that i'm not enjoying the silence, but i'm sort of surprised the host had to take a break from his own party. ❞

[15.] feeling the shape of their body through their clothes.

❝ reg, wait— ❞

a hand flies to clamp over his mouth to stop whatever embarrassing sound was going to slip through, chocolate hues widening almost comically large before looking away hurriedly, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as @proditeur's hands smooth over his shoulders. oh fuck, holy fuck ! concentrate, pete. not exactly successful self talk considering how hard it was to think with regulus' hands gliding over his body like he was trading a path he was already familiar with. it had all started with an astute observation and an incredulous question, the assumption that peter was working out to gain regulus' attention. and since he couldn't tell regulus the actual truth ( while omitting the fact that did want reg to notice him but for an entirely different reason ), peter naturally had to fumble his way through some other reason. didn't do a good job at that though, considering the position he was in. granted, he could easily push regulus off him and pretend this never happened, but . . .

if you don't want people to look you shouldn't look so hot.

❝ i . . . i don't want people to look at me. ❞ no one besides you, that is.

he gulps when nimble hands sneak around his waist, clenching at the fabric and pulling his shirt taunt around his torso, exposing enough of his build to reveal that it wasn't one gotten from allegedly hitting the gym once in a while. inhaling a shaky breath, he tries to calm his heartbeat, an act that fails once more when the other's free hand creeps up to his chest. he's certain regulus can feel the rabbit pace of it beneath the thin layers of fabric and skin, how it responds just for him.

summoning some courage, brown hues flick back to stormy grays, gaze still wide but determined. ❝ i just want you to look at me. ❞

The irony of Aizawa losing his own power is hilarious.

Shota's feelings about his powers are complex and we see this kind of zero to hero storyline with him. In Vigilantes, we meet a teenage Shota with a lack of self-confidence and he is exceptionally hard on himself. He even verbalizes that his power isn't enough to be a hero.

During an attack on Aizawa's students, Tomura Shigaraki even tells Eraser that his quirk really isn't all that impressive and he's 'as weak as a quirkless child'. But he does recognize that it's Shota's resilience and tenacity is what makes him so 'cool'. Therefore, Shota doesn't put as much faith in his quirk as he does his technique. He scores a 6/5 for it within the Ultra Archive, and 6/6 on the Ultra Analysis scale.

We even see Shota teaching his students work arounds of having their quirks disabled. During an exam, Shota specifically picked himself to be the opponent to two of his students who rely heavily on the strength of their quirks. He wanted to make sure they could hold their own even with their abilities being temporarily stripped from them.

✦  HE'S SURE HE'S BEING TEASED,  but there's a profound disgust attached to the word seaweed that makes his beautiful face pull into a grimace. he thinks, ew, and his traitorous parietal lobe conjures phantom sensations to torment him with — being drooled on by a stranger, yuck, stepping into something soggy and viscous while wearing socks, yuck, the thrilling SPLAT! of a seagull high-speed shitting in a spot he had just vacated — fucking yuck! all this, for the somatic horror of kelp on his foot. teddy has suffered most bastardly throughout his life, clearly.

“and the whole world wonders about your inner machinations,” he says, still wearing an expression of terminal distaste, “you know i die waiting for these nuggets of your darkest fears,” then, before it can sting dupois' high and taut pride: “no, i would not love you if you were seaweed, because you would not get turned into seaweed in the first place. you're too smart for that.”

get to know aqssaaaaaa !!

YES. YES. YES. YES.

YES.

most of time i place adella aboveshore or not super perisiy to accommodate for the fact that most characters aren't water maids/folk but... it really doesn't give me full opportunity to show you every side of her that much. that's why i made a whole regency verse for ppl to fully be able to live in the undersea world and interact with weird creatures and fancy things !! pls interact with my worrrrrld. and you reallyyyy don't have to overthink it. you know ponyo? when, at the end, all the humans were able to be under the sea for a bit bc they were in a bubble? and there was grass and everything -- they just got to float around ?? it rly is that easssyyyyyyy. pls pls pls write me in that verse and be open to non-human settings !! i can take the reigns and drive it before you get comfy i don't mind !! i'll expand on this more in other ways in similar asks but LET ADELLA BE FERALLLLL. LET HER BE A CREATURAAAA. let's go under seaaa or the feywilds or listen to her sing you know ??? more truly embracing the water fantasy of it all plsss.