lickthehilt

[lickthehilt]

dont go for it, shrimpy!!

et alia (eyestrain warning below the cut)

arent they lovelyy

[lickthehilt]

Study

[lickthehilt]

Sometime during the VDC training camp, when everyone on team Night Raven is sleeping over at Ramshackle Dorm:

Ramshackle Dorm has no shortage of spare rooms, but their condition is another story. You've managed to get enough of them decently clean. They're not as nice as your room, which has had far more time invested in it and is well lived in, but your groupmates should be able to spend a few days at the dorm without issue and are more than free to tidy up rooms as they please.

Yet on one of the first nights, you hear the door of your room creak open. It's dark and you can't see the intruder, though you know it's not one of the ghosts. The approaching footsteps aren't as heavy as Grim's, even after he's cleared out the entire fridge in one sitting. You're also pretty confident Grim is fast asleep beside you.

"Hello?" You groggily lift your head and call out to the intruder. If it's anything malicious, you hope the ensuing scuffle will cause enough noise to wake everyone else up.

A weight pushes the edge of your mattress down and there's a gentle touch at your shoulder. "Prefect, do you mind if I spend the rest of the night here?"

"Jamil?"

You almost don't recognize him in the dark with his hair down. You feel around for a bedside light. Grim groans in his sleep when it clicks on and turns over, shielding his eyes with tiny arms.

Jamil looks exhausted. "Please, I'd really appreciate if you could let me sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Maybe it's the sleep addling your brain or your trust in Jamil. You see no reason to turn down his request and didn't question why he was coming to you instead of Kalim. You nudge Grim over to make room for one more on the bed.

The vice housewarden does his best to fit in the cramped sleeping conditions, assuring "I'll pay you back for this. Thank you."

He's turned towards the wall, back touching your side so that he doesn't fall. You wait to make sure he's fully secure in bed before turning off the light. In the calm that follows, you notice he's almost imperceptibly shaking. Sure, the dorm is cold, but not that cold. Especially with three in one bed.

"Jamil, are you okay?" The longer you spend awake, the more concerning this whole situation feels.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Prefect." Jamil already has his eyes shut and seems adamant about not discussing things further.

"Okay... Goodnight."

You lay down and silence settles over the room once more. It's really warm between your two friends. Sleep is quick to catch up to you, you find yourself nodding off within minutes of your head touching the pillow.

Before you fully drift off, Jamil turns to face you. His hair drapes over the side of the bed and he places a hand on your pillow, lightly grazing your cheek.

"Thanks again," he whispers. "I feel a lot better with you here. Your room doesn't have bugs on the wall."

[lickthehilt]

Current WIP of my Skully boy 🎃

I fell for the guy... he took my kokoro and ran away with it.

[lickthehilt]

malleus in hat jazz hands

[lickthehilt]

concept with floyd leech. (expansion from the mafia universe, pre-NARC)

shit hits the fan frequently in floyd's life.

that is how it has always been. an accumulation of monkey doo-doo that is thrown into the fan blades that lead to things like cars exploding into fiery wrecks, new hues of purple bruises and red cuts on his skin, and tender cheek kisses from the grim reaper. he likes it like this. every day, he gets a little taste of death.

this time, he has taken too big of a bite.

he realizes it on the cusp of weaving in and out of death and life's doors. the epiphany settles in when the cut along the left side of his face is deep enough he can stick his tongue out of it. and, the truth of it is thrown in his face when his captors leave him -- floyd fucking leech -- in his four-walled prison with a gun, not to break himself out but rather 'if you truly won't tell us the information, here's this. we'll allow you the mercy of getting to kill yourself.'

they might as well just take out their cocks and piss on him. this is humiliating. this is beneath him. this is ... going to be the end of the line.

cheek on the grimy ground, he reflects upon that. at least every day, tasting the faint lipstick of the grim reaper under his teeth, he lived how he wanted to, did it his way as good old frank sinatra said.

floyd is humming to himself that jazz tune as he watches pinwheels of colors swirl in his vision and little fireworks of black pop in the skies of a blackout creeping up on him.

jade's gonna be pissed. azul's gonna bitch and bargain. mama's gonna cry. pop's gonna deny. you're gonna ...

you're probably gonna be fine. you and floyd don't know each other that well. you've only known each other for two months. most of that time has been spent going at it like rabbits. the pillow-talk is zilch. not really a relationship of substance where you would have any reason to grieve him.

if anything you're just gonna be sad that you're not getting your world rocked in bed ... floyd huffs a humorless laugh at that. at least the sex was great, mind-blowing chemistry from that first night and he has yet to grown bored.

floyd closes his eyes, cheek leaking an oil puddle of red, trying to conjure up a memory from over these previous two months. if he is going to finally bite the dust, he wants his thoughts to be filled with nothing but the euphoric memory of an orgasm as he bounces you on his cock. a good memory to blanket his dying mind with.

that is not what comes to floyd's mind. instead, he is remembering you sitting criss-cross in your panties, feeding your bunny oswald. floyd stands by your kitchen island, digging earwax out with his shower towel, dripping on your vinyl floor. he watches in the small visible space, bordered by your thigh and elbow, as oswald nibbles up piece after piece of kale. you don't talk to him, expecting him to leave soon.

dying on a warehouse's filthy floor, floyd watches you, entranced in his brain with this continuous motion of you handing piece after piece of kale to oswald. in his mind, the bowl never empties or loses its weight of fullness.

your back is pretty, your hair after sex is nice, your panties are a cute color, you're a real good person who deserves a boyfriend.

i kinda wanna know more about them ... the thought causes his eyes to pop open. all that he sees is a lime-green that bounces in watery waves. it surprises floyd greatly, that sudden thought that he's never had before.

he falls into the thought softly ... i wonder if they have hobbies ... when did they get a bunny ... i wonder i wonder i wonder ... he is still wondering when he puts a new piercing into his captor's chest. he wonders all the way home, wonders what’s your favorite food, do you hate a certain type of entertainment genre, are you a silver or gold jewerly-wearer? he wonders more and more questions — favorite sport; pet-peeves; any special talent like being double-jointed or tying knots in cherry stems, any stupid small things about you he yearns to learn — while azul's doctor (paid with generous hush money) stitches the hole in his face back up.

he holds all his questions until after a week later, after he has given you your second orgasm and him his first orgasm. he is pulling out, flopping on the right side of the mattress, closest to the exit like always.

you are not unnerved by this, panting and soaking in the moment, you barely even look at him.

you jump out of your skin when you feel a finger tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "what are you doing," you gasp, partly from exhaustion and partly from bewilderment.

"hey, shrimpy," your booty call starts slowly and sweetly, "ya got any hobbies?"

it is such a surprising question that you laugh ... until you realize, unnerved, that he is being serious. he is looking at you with round, puppy-dog eyes, waiting to soak in all the information you are going to give him.

you shouldn't tell him anything. information is valuable, you know that. but, there is something in his handsome face that makes you take the leap.

you can't help but be a little loose tongued as you shift onto your side, bare chest squishing on the mattress, a heartbeat pulse between your legs, and both hands sandwiched under your cheek.

"yeah, i do. i like to --"

and that's how it starts.

sometimes, you think you should have kept your mouth shut.

[lickthehilt]

the symptoms of being human.

jade leech x (gender neutral) reader note - being human comes with its fair share of very specific symptoms. or: jade has lived in saltwater his entire life. never has it leaked out of him before. // HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO MY BIRTHDAY BESTIE @heyyy11!!!!!! 🎉 many wonderful wishes of health, happiness, and good fortune for you!!!! :D it isn't a lot, but please enjoy this little gift i prepared in celebration!!!

But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.

A long time ago, a human penned that line in reference to merfolk and their inability to shed tears. A fact as intimate as that couldn’t have possibly been common knowledge amongst humans, or so Jade assumed every time the story was regurgitated at bedtime. He always did that: apply logic to areas where logic wasn’t needed. His teachers used to tell him, “Jade, sometimes you need to suspend your disbelief in order to immerse yourself in a fictional world.” He could try—and try he did—but he’d find himself lingering on that quote every time.

A slight amendment to that: merfolk can cry and they do suffer, but whether they suffer more is impossible to know without further study.

Jade operates under the notion that there are explanations for everything, even the wildest of lunacy. There is comfort in comprehension. He would spend hours holed up in his sleeping nook, poring over stories and texts on humans and beastfolk. He would compare and contrast them. Can a tearless cry indicate the amount of suffering per species, or is such an abstract concept even remotely quantifiable? Perhaps it is because merfolk cry silently that they suffer. Because there is no one who can hear their weeping in the deep sea. Because there is no physical proof.

It’s easier to recognize the physical signs of grief, for what happens within is shrouded in secrecy, veiled in the depths of the heart.

So when Jade comes onto land for the first time, human skin stretched over a skeleton altered with a potion, every inch awkward and aching, the sea leaks out of his pores. He feels like a pufferfish not yet expanded but on the verge of bloating, deflated and weak, salt still spilling. And he knows it’s salt because he swipes two fingers under his armpit and brings them to his mouth to taste. It’s saltwater.

He later learns, while sitting in Professor Crewel’s class and listening to him drone on about anatomy, that this is the phenomenon known as sweating. Jade sweats when he exerts himself, when his body temperature rises degrees over what’s internally comfortable and he needs to cool down, when he ingests something spicy, when he’s sick with a fever, when he’s stressed… It’s a fascinating facet of human biology he was previously unaware of.

Azul called these peculiarities “symptoms of being human,” and what intriguing symptoms they are! He hopes to experience even more as he completes his education on land, regardless of how troublesome they might be.

Having a symptom of something implies the affected is ill in some way—as if humanity itself is an illness and this human body serves as more of a hindrance than help. Jade will forever be an eel merman, and this body is just a clever cloak crafted to make his life on land habitable. Although there are moments where he thinks his original form would suit a certain task. Like swimming or any sport in the water, really. But he likes to struggle and fail, learning from every human mistake.

These symptoms are not terrible. Not to him, at least.

He meets you in the woods. You’re hunched over the ground, patting a compact lump of freshly disturbed soil. A burial, he thinks, but then he’s not certain. When you fashion a little marker out of sticks and ribbons, it occurs to him that he was right.

“Hello to you, too,” you say, turning to glance at him.

There’s something that stills in the air. A feeling catches and tugs at his heart. He can’t explain it—still can’t even to this day—but something trickles out of his eyes then. A droplet of water and then another and then more until silent streams are falling thick. He blinks until his once-blurry vision clears, only to find you’re looking at him fully now.

Jade gathers the wetness on his fingertips and licks curiously. Salt.

Horrifyingly, he’s sweating from his eyes.

He doesn’t panic. A grotesque part of him wants to know what else these eyes are capable of in this body. 

You draw in breath through your lips. A gasp. “Oh! Are you all right?”

He nods because even if his brain doesn’t understand it yet his heart does.

You are the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.

This isn’t fiction, and he doesn’t have to pretend to accept it as his temporary reality just to enjoy the story it promises. He knows. His heart—the eel-mer heart—knows. This salt is a symptom of being human, but a symptom of being a mer is that there is the strongest sixth sense for finding one’s other half.

“Are you sure?” you press, rising to your feet, digging through your bag for tissue. “You’re crying!”

He blinks back at you. I’m…crying.

He’s not sweating. He’s crying.

“Forgive me,” he says even though he knows there’s nothing to apologize for. “My eyes must not be working today.”

A sympathetic smile spreads on your face. “Did you come here with anyone?”

He shakes his head and explains rather simply that he’s come on account of club business. “I’m the only member in my club,” he elaborates unnecessarily, “and so I often come here to hike and forage. I suppose I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone on this route.”

“Club? You’re a student?” Before he has a chance to respond, you add, “No way! What school? I’m from Royal Sword.”

“Night Raven.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool. I’ve heard lots about that school. Oh, sorry, I’m totally chatting your ear off. If it’s not an issue, would you like to walk back together? Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m just worried about you.”

The affable conversation was so smooth Jade almost forgot he’s been leaking—crying—the entire time.

“Why would you be worried? I assure you there’s nothing in this forest that could harm me,” he says, holding a hand over his heart.

As if it isn’t the woods that might hurt him but, rather, the person standing in front of him. He has never felt any need to protect his heart, but now he thinks he must. If he’s to offer it to you in the future, he wants to do so when it is perfectly whole and packed full of happiness.

“Um… Well, I just don’t want you to do anything…harmful,” you say, stringing the words together awkwardly. “People care about you. They’d miss you.”

He glances past you at the burial. Just above, a nest of baby birds chirp noisily. He understands now.

“As it happens, I’m currently quite content.”

“You are?”

He tilts his head at you and smiles, teary-eyed and most likely red in the face.

“I am. Very much so. I’ve experienced another human symptom. I couldn’t be any happier.”

You exhale a quiet, semi-amused breath. “I’m glad.” Your hand is held out next. “I’m (Name). It’s nice to meet you.”

His webless, clawless hand closes around yours. “Jade Leech,” he greets.

— — —

“You look good,” Floyd compliments, watching Jade fuss over himself in the mirror. “Shrimpy’ll think so. And Mama. Pops, too.”

“So everyone,” he replies smartly, his hands shaking as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his suit. They reach for the jewelry strung around his neck. He’s wearing his mother’s pearls. Tradition and memory are twined throughout each one. For every hand that holds this chain, a new pearl will be added. It has been in his family for ages. After today, he’ll add his and the necklace will be a pearl longer.

He feels like he needs to pace up and down a mountain. Like he needs to strip this seaweed-esque suit off and jump into the ocean to feel free of constriction. Clothes are always so…unique. That’s the word he chooses to use. Another symptom, he’s certain, because clothes are to humans as colors are to merfolk. Humans attract each other with fashion styles just as mers flash colors and patterns at those they intend to charm.

“Everyone,” Floyd echoes, grinning to ease the tension. “C’mon. You know everything’s gonna be fine.”

Logically, Jade is aware of that. There were rehearsals and lists and triple-checks. Everything is in order. He’s ready. You’re ready. Illogically, he thinks he’s about to shake out of his skin from either excitement or anxiety or a combination of both.

Floyd’s hand comes down upon his shoulder. He relaxes beneath the squeeze. “You got this.”

“I do,” he whispers, turning away from the mirror with a smile.

He waits for you at the altar. A feeling he knows well enough claws at the back of his eyes. It’s been steadily encroaching since this morning, or perhaps it’s always been there ever since he first met you.

When he sees you, his world comes together and everything is warm and wonderful. There are tears on his face, tracking down his cheeks in hot streaks. It’s not embarrassing even though, somewhat flustered, he mouths to his parents that he’s simply sweating from the eyes. A symptom they’ll soon experience in their temporary human bodies.

Out of every human symptom he’s experienced, he thinks this one is his favorite.

You meet him at the front, and beneath an awning of the prettiest flowers you join hands.

“How do you feel?” you murmur, your thumbs running over his palms.

He’s going to say he feels like his world is brighter and wrapped in silk—like he’s looking love right in the face.

Through his tears, he smiles and says, “Like my eyes are working properly today.”

You giggle around a rising sob. Happy tears, he notes, much like the ones sticking to his face. “Weird. Because mine don’t seem to be working today.”

“A shame. You can’t see how beautiful you are.”

“I trust you.”

“I can’t promise mine won’t sweat halfway through the ceremony, but I appreciate your faith in me.”

“It’s fine. Mine are already doing that.”

And it’s everything to him—you, this union, the tears, these messy, complex symptoms of being human. Everything.

Jade thinks he’d like to rewrite that old quote from his childhood.

But a mermaid has no tears and so that may be true in storybook blue, but it is her heart that weeps for everything she has experienced, is experiencing, and will experience; the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.

[lickthehilt]

High res. Gargoyle Studies Club Malleus base card

[lickthehilt]

I'm warming up to the idea of Skully being a ramshackle ghost that followed Yuu and Grim to the book fair. There's not much evidence for it, but we know that he attended NRC in the past and eventually died after graduation. As he was able to be dragged in by the book, he had to have been lingering in the area. The idea is that he, like Idia, was transported with them unbeknownst to the group. When he's inside the book, he's given a younger body back as it makes the most sense for someone surrounded by students. Maybe that's why he was such a gentleman, catching and holding Yuu until they woke up. The ghosts consider themselves a unit with Yuu and Grim, something akin to a dorm, even as non-students. Although he was polite to everyone in their group, I like to think that his fondness for them was him subconsciously recognizing them as housemates. Maybe the kisses were him excited, reacting to having a physical body again and wanting to use it lol.

[lickthehilt]

some tweels I drew before reading the bday story!

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Relaxing in room Jade and Floyd Leech full live2d

[lickthehilt]

THE HAIR CLIP

[lickthehilt]

── IT'S BEEN A LONG, LONG NIGHT

silver vanrouge. when silver wakes up from a dream, you are the first thing he searches for.

Silver finds you in the aftermath.

Amidst the wreckage of it all, even in this world that possesses so much grandeur of magic, you are a vision that he has only ever seen in his most darling dreams; bloody and exhausted, the tips of your fingers stained black with blot─ the same colour as Malleus's hair, the same colour that the beloved Draconic Prince bleeds now as Divus fusses over him. But his brother is a Fae of the greatest breeding, a dragon's son born from acrid flame and green lightning; his skin would stitch itself back together, and he would be whole again.

Silver cannot yet say the same for himself.

He is exhausted. The sweet arms of Morpheus beckon to him, the home of his magic calling him back to that dreaded sleep. Or perhaps it is just the strain of it all, the force of his Unique Magic being stretched over so many dreams in so many hours. His boots scuff over the gravel and debris as he drags himself towards you, step by step.

"Silver?" Somewhere through the fog that clouds his eyes and the ringin in his ears, he registers the uncharacteristic softness of Sebek's voice. Silver lifts his foot to take another step, but finds the weight of his own muscle too much, and he stumbles. Sebek startles, and Silver feels him grasp his arm. "Silver! Don't─"

"I─I'm fine," Silver croaks, his voice hoarse. His eyes blur, but still you cut a figure at the center of it all, haloed by the light of the rising sun and the darkness of his brother's blood. His Sleeping Beauty, your head raising as you hear the commotion. There are more people clamouring to aid Silver, but there is only you in the reflection of his irises; your expression as your brows furrow, eyes widening as you stumble to your feet.

"Silver?" you call his name, oh-so-soft despite the distance that stands between the two of you. Silver is reminded again of that vision you in his dreams, welcoming him home in that soft voice and sweet smile. He takes another step, his body protesting.

You're a dream.

"What are you...?" Lilia croaks as he sees the beaten human passing, but his son only rests his palm over his shoulder, squeezing the small frame of his father. Silver stumbles forward as if he held the burden of a hundred heavy stones. A beat passes, and Lilia realises what he wants.

He does not stop him from reaching for it.

You had stood by now, your own exhaustion forgotten as you realise where Silver is headed. He must be a sight for sore eyes, battle-beaten and exhausted beyond all measure. And still, he has to get to you─

You're still there.

Silver recognises that you are nothing like the visage in his dreams. You had been sweeter then, softened around the edges and holding none of that bitterness you cradled to yourself in your time in Night Raven College. No overblots, no slacking headmasters─ just that little cottage and the garden in your backyard, your lover's boots tracking mud and soil over the carpet. And still he wanted─ he longed.

After that long, endless night, all he wanted was you again.

"Silver!" you gasp as you reach him, and Silver allows himself to hold you. His arms, bruised and weak as they are, wrap around your waist, holding onto you with the strength that he had lacked just earlier. "Oh, Great Seven, are you─"

"You're here," he exhales breathlessly, pressing his forehead to yours. His arms shift, the scratched surface of his palms pressing to your cheeks, and he hears your breath hitch.

( He had held you like this, once upon a dream. It is only now that Silver realised how much more tender it felt in reality. )

"…Silver?"

"You're here," he whispers again, almost as if he can say nothing else. A weak laugh bubbles at his throat. "I found you."

For that single moment suspended in time, you say nothing. But then Silver feels your arms wind around his torso, reciprocating his embrace.

"You found me," you murmur, squeezing him lightly. Silver wonders, as your nails dig into his back through the fabric and leather of his uniform, if you are subconsciously trying to assure yourself that he is not a dream.

"Did you have a bad dream?" you ask him.

It takes a moment for Silver to realise you are attempting something of a joke, perhaps to ease the tension and the horror of what had just transpired and ended moments before. Another laugh bubbles at his throat, one of disbelief and such tender fondness.

"No," Silver admits honestly, pulling away. His hands cup your cheeks still, ever so gentle. "No, I didn't."

You laugh then, equal parts fond and puzzled. Silver leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours; his nose nudges against yours, his breath warm and airy and real. You shudder, clutching onto him tighter.

"What's gotten into you?" you ask with another breathless laugh, even though you are now the one clutching to him like a lifeline.

Silver lets out a slow, shuddering breath, brushing the traces of blood that still bled from a cut at your cheekbone. This close, he can count the little marks upon your skin and pinpoint the exact colour of your irises. He imagine you again in his dreamscape, domestic and sweet and oh so lovely.

"You're a dream," he says softly.

You stare at him like a deer caught in the headlight, doe eyes unblinking. Someone, perhaps his father or Sebek, chokes on their spit somewhere close by. Silver does not notice. A moment passes, then another, and then your eyes crinkle into these lovely crescent moons, and you begin to laugh.

"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up into that soft smile that Silver oh so longs to kiss. "What's the occasion?"

He is suddenly struck with a sense of deja vu, like he had heard your words before. His heart stutters, and suddenly, he finds himself speaking, the words not properly registering in his mind before they come tumbling out of his mouth.

"I'm no prince," Silver confesses. The sun had begun its ascent in the horizon, casting a new dawn upon this land of dreams come true, but all he can see was you in the daylight, the sunbeams illuminating your lovely expression of shock. He goes on before he can stop himself. "Perhaps I could have been, once. Not anymore. I am the brother of an heir, the son of a general─ but I have neither title nor fortune to offer you."

"Silver," you say softly, breathless. Your eyes are soft, almost pitying as he seems to put himself down.

"The man who loved the woman who bore me was no different. All we have is the iron of our blade and the promise of a knight's devotion. And yet─" Silver swallows. "And yet─ And yet, I long for more with you. More than the sworn oath from a knight to his monarch─"

Sebek makes a noise of protest, only to be cut off by the swift jab of Lilia's elbow against his ribs.

"─more than a promise of a friend to be by your side."

You laugh weakly, almost unsure as you glanced around. "Silver, are we doing this here─?"

"I dreamt I was back home again," Silver goes on, cutting you off─ not too unkindly, he hopes. He understands that it is most improper to cut someone off as they are speaking, but he needs to speak first, he needed you to know all the things he did not dare to confess to you before─ "Lili─ My father, he─ he has a lovely cottage in the forest, far in the outskirts of Briar Valley. There's a garden out in the back where we grow our fruit and vegetables, and the trees in the forest bear fruit sweeter than anything you've tastes and I─ I─"

He falters then at the look in your eyes, the soft and knowing curve of your lips as he stumbles over his words. Silver looks down at the scuffed toes of his boots, swallowing once more before he speaks again.

"I─ I love─ I love you," he breathed out shakily, almost pleading for you to acknowledge the truth. You had kissed and he had held you in his arms before, but such an admission... Silver feels as though he is teetering at the edge of a cliff. "I have nothing to offer you except an oath that I will hold these affections for you dearly till the end of time and that cottage where I learned how to love and hate and live all the same─"

"Silver─"

"But just a word from you, and I will be silent forever─"

"Silver!" you raise your voice to be heard over his rambling. It is so uncharacteristic, almost odd to see this boy that had only shown his affection to you through lovely and subtle gestures and whispers rather than the bold declaration of those three certain words, awoken from his cursed sleep as a rambling, flustered mess.

Silver raises his head, helpless as you laugh sweetly at him, and he loathes to think of a world where he had never woken up and heard the true melody with his own ears again. He wants to fulfill his oath, to give you all the love he possesses in this wretched body of his, and then some.

Your fingers come to card through the matted strands of his hair, moonshine under all the dust and dirt. When your hand comes to cup his face again, tilting his head to meet your gaze, your eyes are just as lovely as he remembers in his dream.

"I love you too."

And Silver's heart sings to have its song reciprocated once again, to be loved by you as he was once upon a dream. You laugh again at the expression on his face, that sweet melody that he wants to hear for the rest of his life. He has no ring to give you now, but Lilia hollers something at him, and Silver's mind is so dazed by the smile on your face that he does not realise it until you take his face in your palms and kiss him hard.

"Come home with me?" he whispers hoarsely when you pull away, and his mouth still seeks to touch your cheek, your nose, the space between your brows. Silver loathes to part from you again. Perhaps he never will.

"Yes," you giggle, lips meeting his once again. "A thousand times, yes."

© trappolia 2024

[lickthehilt]

HIS DOGS WERE OUT

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tweel doodle dump, because I'm just so normal, you know!! (Ilike to think jade sleeps with one eye open)

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Ramble piece but it’s really poorly written because it’s 3am

Edit: adjusted and corrected some things 🗣️

You can’t imagine being left behind. Having no one look for you while you stumble in the dark, hands held limply ahead of your torso. Imagine being a fish deep in the abyss floating by specks of white before seeing the flickering swaying in the distance — but it’s always far, always moving, never winking back at you. Like two shooting stars, always one behind the other and never side by side. Come back my star, you would say.

Ramshackle is cold; not in appearance, but in temperature. You’ve been able to make a home out of someone else’s abandoned building. Although, you don’t like to use the word abandoned — the connotations are terrible: that someone loved and decided one day that they no longer did so. That this space was okay until it wasn’t and they left. You like to imagine that the wallpapers meant something. That because someone put the effort to decorate the barren walls, there was love behind that too.

Peeling wallpaper is love. The cobwebs are love too, from the spiders who had cherished the sharp corners and high ceiling. Charred bricks is love. Curled rugs is love. Sheer curtains is love.

Portraits.

How did you feel? When you travelled the world, it must’ve been…

Crowley had said that this man had a particular fondness for spreading his experience of Halloween. Give, give, give. How wonderful it is to teach, to share your passions and travel. But how lonely. To sleep alone and wake up alone.

It’s like being the only one not assigned a tutu in a group performance — having to stand on the stage behind a girl who does have one and hoping you remain her shadow. Or maybe it’s like being the only one to wear casual business when everyone else is wearing business casual to the interview. Like being the first person to flip over the test paper amongst the silent exam hall.

So yeah, lonely.

But his smile is so mischievous, creeping up his cheeks and accented by his bright eyes peering past his sunglasses. So maybe the loneliness doesn’t bother him? But. But, everyone feels lonely sometimes. Connections are not rare — relationships of all kinds (platonic or not) form where there’s a spark. A positive or negative one, who cares, there is now a dynamic.

So imagine leaving after established that dynamic. I’m sorry, I don’t know when I’ll see you again. But how wonderful this dance was. I won’t be able to kiss or touch you anymore. You won’t be able to follow me, you have a life here. Autumn won’t be the same without you but now, every time I see orange leaves and sunlight peeking through interwoven tree branches, I’ll feel you. Right here.

After the Halloween event on campus, Crowley (under easy influence) allowed you to ferry the portrait back into Ramshackle. Holding the portrait allows you to really admire it. There’s a crackle of paint decorating his lips and his hand flexes in great visual harmony to the rest of his body. And now the same man peers back at you above your fire place.

You hope that it’s warm enough.

[lickthehilt]

So no one wanted to tell me that pulling on the JP server was a completely different experience