#AND YET ITS SO TEMPTING. ITS SO TEMPTING TO THE POINT OF OBSESSION. YEARNING FOR THE FLESH AND THE TOUCH OF ANOTHER MAN !!!!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blue-pastel-cat · 3 years ago

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Xiaobedo Fanfic Recommendation

Welcome to my personal “if you are new to xiaobedo peeps please read these” list. As said before this is my personal list so please feel free to reblog/comment/hit me for not including any gem here. I might miss a lot of them because I am drunk or blind. (mostly have them on my to read and then forgot as I am being assault by real life shit).

I would like to say first that so far there are 150+ Xiaobedo fics on Ao3. I can’t review all of them but I can say that I have read a majority of them. Most of them are just pure love and I would like nothing more than a thousands thank you for all the fic writers who spent their free time writting these gems for us to read for free. But these...these takes the cake as it finds a special landing spot in my heart that I would just thrust them into someone’s hand if they say “I am new to this ship can you recommend me?”

1. Orange dust by bobamilkteas (Wes)

In which Xiao learns to open himself up to the world a little more after the collapse of Rex lapis's contracts but it was not always easy for a soul doomed to eternal damnation. Meanwhile, Albedo liked to tempt fate where the extraordinary are concerned.

If only the traveler's comrades are made of saner bunch.

Comment: Long ago when I like both Albedo and Xiao as a character, I was wondering hmmm....will anyone actually even write about them lmao they never met each other. I am surprise to see this one as the 3rd fic in the whole 3 Xiaobedo fic on Ao3 (yeah back when there’s literally only 3 fic for this couple). I was like I’ll read it for the curiosity, I’ll probably won’t ship them. And that people is how I put my clown make up on my face upon finishing reading it. This ONE fic alone convert me into a devotee of Xiaobedo. Please consider joining me in this circus if you want to know what is Xiaobedo. I would put this as the first of my “Big 3″

Orange Dust also come with its compliation of short stories over the course of the game and a big sequel to it. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

2. Solar Wind by birdpriestess (Sparrow)

For the yaksha, his duty was his life, and his life was his duty. No human could ever hope to understand the eternal war he fought out of sight and in silence.

So why, then, did he feel that Albedo would understand?

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Finding himself at death's door once more, Xiao is saved by a surprising person, setting off the unlikeliest of adventures.

Comment: Do you like crying? Do you like the feeling of getting your heart ripped into pieces as the author destroy your emotions over the end of each chapter as the story picked up the climax? Yeah, this one is for you masochists. The action, the characterisation, the drama THE EMOTIONS OH WOW. I kid you not that it was so good I read this while workinng when I am not suppose to me. Also, this fic has my favourite characterisation of Gold ever. I love that dramatic queen Mad Alchemist. AND DAIN. I LOVE DAIN IN THIS FIC. Our dearest Sparrow manage to toy with our feelings like how I bully ruin guard for big numbers lmao. This is the secound of “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list.

Again, just like Orange Dust, Solar Wind comes with its own compliation of short stories of what came after that. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

3. Castle of Glass by AlchemicalStardust (Morgie)

A black shadow rises over Huaguang Stone Forest. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Albedo flees the shaking ground and the crash of boulders tumbling form the sky. As the dust settles, Albedo finds a young man – an Adeptus – amidst the carnage. Despite the karmic agony ripping his body from the inside, Xiao’s only question is “How?” How did a human survive after witnessing his battle?

Comment: The last of the “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list. And it is still on going! Castle of Glass? More like I AM IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS! Have you read a fic about 2 people yearning, longing, reaching out for each other so damn well that you just want to throw your phone in the air as they both had their impending doom coming down upon them? Yeah this is one of them. You will like want to be stuck in the moment they express how much they just yearn for each other’s love and care that you want to shake the author for what comes next. Like...everytime Morgie update I am expressing my gratitude at the end of the chapter by writing on Xiaobedo discord “MORGIE COME HERE AND LET ME BONK YOU WHY ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE”

trust me when you read you will def feel the same. With just Big 3 and their compliation alone that would give you like a LONG list of reading already LMAOOOOOOO

4. Find a place to call it home by yamajiroo

Our room, he said. Xiao’s brow twitches. Zhongli never said anything about this. But then again, perhaps he should anticipate this from the beginning...

Xiao looks over at Albedo, who is now tilting his head, his look as innocent as ever.

“Are you not okay with sharing a room?”

Comment: College AU for Xiaobedo! One thing that I love this is the slow burn and what made me LOVE LOVE LOVE this fic more is how cute Klee is in this fic. Their relationship in this one is very simple, but that simplicity highlight why their chemistry work. Xiao is someone who was just very gentle, who was largely misunderstood by his lonesome nature. Albedo was someone who like peace and quite in his introvert bubble. And how they respect that bubble that each other has actually made their relationship work. I love it when fic highlight this and this one captures it.

5. I Can't See Your Face From the Other Side of the Classroom by MissWeaver

When Albedo and Xiao unexpectedly start eating lunch together, they begin to find that they have more in common than anyone would have realized. They both struggle in their own ways with blossoming feelings, too many assignments, and annoying classmates as they navigate a relationship for the first time.

Comment: I’ll be honest, I usually hate high school au just because its so cliche. I don’t even watch and drama/anime surrounds high school student anymore LMAOOO (unless it’s very good). So if there’s an high school AU that I actually keep come back and read after a couple of chapters, it means that the cliche that I hate wasn’t there or barely was there at all. The pinning in this fic makes me want to bang their head together sometimes LMAOOO The tag wasn’t kidding when they said both Xiao and Albedo are bad at feelings. Also that’s a lot of heart broken caused by these two idiots XD

6. new world, same me, same bullshit by bobamilkteas (Wes)

At the belly of Dragonspine, Albedo lost control to the festering corruption that permeated his senses and watched, from the recesses of his mind, as his devoured body turned his allies into enemies. Before his rampage reached its climax, he is sealed in a crystalized confinement by the last hand of Reindottir, where he then reawakens centuries after, in a rebooted Teyvat.

Comment: Yeah I know it was list in Orange Dust but here me out. This sets out in an entirely different universe. And if you like Polyamory, this one has Zhongli joining the duo and I love it because I also love ZhongXiao with my life. Time Travel is my biggest kink. Especially when I am the person who love it when people explore Archon War era/ Alatus!Xiao. So this one hits double of my kink. Of course it is still on going and I will bully Wes whenever I can to see that new chapter. Albedo is a total fucking badass in this story and I completely agree from using him in Abyss so often. Everyone should write badass Albedo.

7. misplaced heart of mine by inkburn

“If you are ill, then you should be resting at home. In Mondstadt.” He emphasized Mondstadt with a pointed look in his direction.

“I assure you I won’t be troublesome, Adeptus Xiao,” Albedo said, “You’ll find I’m a rather low-maintenance traveler.”

“Travel,” Xiao scoffed, “without airstep?”

Albedo looked him up and down. “Are your legs just for decoration?”

(albedo is sent to liyue on mandatory vacation. xiao is his unfortunate bodyguard.)

Comment: Most of the time you will see Albedo and Xiao starting their relationship with one of them taking interest in another. But this one took another approach, they starting off by make them hating each other’s guts LMAOOOO and I live for every second of it. There’s only 1 chapter so far but wow it was SOOO GOOD. I am really really excited for next chapter and is waiting patiently ;w;

8. Blossom of Grace by birdpriestess

One day in Liyue Harbor, Albedo watches a street performance by an enigmatic dancer named Xiao. And he becomes completely obsessed.

Comment: Have you ever look at Xiao fight and thinking that he’s one of the most beautiful deadly thing ever? How it was like he was dancing around the battlefield? How about actual dancer Xiao being so absolutely beautiful and perfect and that slow burn of Albedo falling in love with that beauty with a touch of Modern AU and cute Ganyu as the Wing woman. Yes, Sparrow delivers yet again another beautiful slow burn and while it’s still ongoing it is worth the read.

9. i think we could make this work (could get used to this) by outspaced

“Xiao? What are you doing out here?”

“I—”

“It’s raining,” Albedo says, as if it isn’t obvious. “You could get struck by lightning.”

“What are you doing out here then?” Xiao does the only thing he knows how to do, he challenges Albedo. “It’s raining.”

Albedo just hums. “If I get struck by lightning, it’s for science.”

Comment: A short one-shot where I read the summary and went “This is it... this is their relationship.” I am sold immediately. Oh god Albedo why are you like this.

10. Ephemeral by criedprinz

“It’s not for your investigation, is it?” Aether asked mildly.

Albedo traced a finger around the sketchbook, considering the question. “No,” he admitted finally. “I... I just want to see them again.”

He opened the sketchbook to reveal the drawing he’d just finished. Aether nodded, clearly recognizing the sharp golden eyes.

“Xiao,” he said. “You were rescued by an adeptus.”

When a visit to Dragonspine goes horribly wrong, Albedo is rescued by an unknown stranger, wielding powers he's never heard of. Led on a search to find out who it is, he finds himself in the middle of an unforgettable encounter..

Comment: A really really well written one-shot that I love. The yearning oh godddd the yearning from Albedo side is just so so much that I have to put it here. (I think you can see the trend here lmao. I am a sucker for yearning). And the moment they get to meet each other again is just chef kiss. MWHAA

11. Idle Yaksha, Brilliant Yaksha by Pit0fTheEarth

Alatus didn’t have a lot of responsibilities to keep. He spent most of his days dancing across the sky and eating away all nightmares that plagued a person’s sleep.

But one fortunate encounter led to too many unfortunate ones, taking his carefree existence and plunging it in darkness. His wings, stripped from him. His gentle touch, replaced by an unforgiving grip of destruction.

There was a lot of blood on his hands. With each passing moment, it became harder for Alatus to recall the last time someone gently held him.

Comment: This is one of the ongoing fic where I am very very much excited on the take of Naberius. And the way the author portray Xiao when he’s still the innocent Alatus is just *clench fist*. Baby ;w; Baby why do you have to lose all that innocence. Also the fic has long LONG flashback to Xiao past and his relationship with Naberius. We are unwielding more what happened to both of them and why perhaps does this have to do with Albedo.

That’s it for now, might add more later! Thank you <3

#xiaobedo #tetsu likes to ramble #genshin impact

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edendaphne · 4 years ago

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“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 17

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

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CHAPTER 17: LULLABY

(Mood Music: Quiet Beauty - James Todd)

One Chilly Sunday Evening

Chat Noir laughed so hard he was practically gasping for air, and his heart thumped like a drum in his chest.

How many times had they done this? Was it five? A dozen? A hundred? Racing Ladybug across city rooftops felt so normal, so natural, as if he’d done it a million times across countless different lifetimes. Whatever the case, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I win!” he announced, breathless, as he landed on the solid ground of the Dupain-Cheng bakery’s balcony, promptly followed by his partner.

The light of the moon illuminated her graceful frame as she caught her breath, and it took all of Chat’s willpower not to gawk as a bead of sweat made its way from her temple to her cheek, then trailed down her jaw and onto her neck.

“Only because you cheated!” Ladybug chided, trying (yet failing) to hide an amused smile.

Chat put a hand on his hip, cheekily cocking it to the side as he caught his own breath. “I bet you could’ve won if you really wanted to. Were you trailing behind me on purpose to check out my assets? Or don’t tell me that you’ve never been tempted to take a peek?”

Ladybug raised a quizzical eyebrow, and a beat later replied with an impish smirk, “Well... I never said I haven’t.”

Chat’s eyes grew wide, his bright, chartreuse-green sclera becoming more visible than Ladybug had ever seen, their faint glow a stark contrast with the red color that bloomed on his cheeks.

Ladybug giggled (How dare she be so adorable yet still so attractive?!) and stepped towards him, placing her finger under his chin and closing his mouth with a small click. When had his jaw popped open??

“What’s the matter, Chaton? Can’t handle when somebody flirts back?” she teased, her face mere inches from his.

Chat suppressed the urge to squirm under her touch. They’d flirted countless times before, but why did his chest feel so tight when they did so lately?

Trying to compose himself and insert as much confidence as he could into his voice, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very desirable bachelor in my day-to-day life! I happen to have more suitors than I can shake a stick at!”

He’d said it jokingly, expecting to get rebuffed; but Ladybug gave him an exaggerated pout, tapping her mouth with her fingers (a gesture he couldn’t help but follow closely with his gaze).

“Ohh, I see…. Should I be jealous?” she said as she looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “Do I have competition?”

Chat reached for her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips with a slight bow. “Never,” he replied, with a bit more conviction and candor than he’d intended. “Nobody could ever hold a candle to you, Milady. Your wit, kindness, and beauty surpasses them all. It is you alone who holds the key to my heart.”

Now it was Ladybug’s turn to get caught off guard. His words were theatrical and over-the-top, as usual; but there was sincerity behind them. There was something about the way he’d said them that made it feel… real. She couldn’t help but shyly look away, her cheeks a bright crimson hue, and she tucked some hair behind her ear as she always did whenever she was flustered or nervous.

“Flatterer,” she said timidly, attempting to deflect the compliment.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he replied with a wink.

Ladybug stared slack-jawed, and could only stutter out an ever so eloquent “I-I-I...” By this point, her entire face was as red as her suit, and she covered her face with both hands in embarrassment. “Chaaaaaaaat!” she cried helplessly in defeat.

Chat let out a hearty laugh, giving her a quick, comforting squeeze. He’d won this round of impromptu chicken. Deciding to have mercy and spare her from any further teasing, he changed the subject.

“Anyway, it’s too bad I can’t be the one to drop you off at your house, Bugaboo. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But alas, I’m lacking in the whole ‘majestic white steed’ department,” he remarked as he crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall.

She laughed lightly through her nose. “Well, we’re not exactly your average, run of the mill coupl– uh, partners. Plus, I already know where you live, so that’s easy to do.”

Chat ignored her slip of the tongue, since he didn’t dare to hope for more. At least... not yet.

“That’s for sure,” he replied with a small chuckle. “We’re a rather unique situation. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ladybug leaned next to him against the wall, pressing her back against the cool surface of the bricks as their shoulders bumped.

She hesitated for a few moments, seeming to gather her thoughts. He eyed her curiously, waiting for her to speak her mind.

“So…” she began, looking out into the dark autumn sky. “Which part is true? That you think I’m... beautiful, or that I hold the key to your... t-that I…”

A jolt of lightning traveled down his spine and he stared at her like a kid who’d just broken a window. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out– not even a flustered stammer.

He hadn’t meant to blurt out his feelings so casually a minute ago. In fact, he’d been working on an elaborate speech for when the time was right! It still needed lots of work; he was only on the seventh draft.

He paused to consider. Would it be so bad, though? If he were to confess to her right now?

It wasn’t how he’d planned it. There wasn’t an elegantly decorated rooftop full of roses and strings of lights, or soft romantic music, or any of the other things that would have made it perfect. He was supposed to carry her to a surprise location (bridal-style of course), her lithe arms wrapped around his neck, with a snugly placed blindfold around her eyes to amplify the mystery and anticipation.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d be impressed with his efforts enough to accept his feelings before she could realize that she was too good for him.

Truly his adoration for her knew no bounds. So much so, that he’d asked himself whether it was truly love, or if just an overblown obsession or infatuation.

And yet, he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew she wasn’t perfect. She didn’t need a pedestal. He’d placed her on one when they’d first become allies, but she pulled him up to her level, never allowing him to lower himself or place himself beneath her. She made sure that he always knew he was her equal, and not her subordinate. I mean, how could he not fall in love with her?

So, despite the fact that it wasn’t at all how he planned and he’d suddenly blanked out on his entire speech... he wanted to tell her. Now was as good a time as any.

Ladybug must have sensed the shift in his mood because she recoiled somewhat, jolting away from the brick wall.

She hastily began to backpedal, “N-nevermind, forget I said anything!! Um, anyway, have a good night!”

Chat shook himself out of his daze, then lunged forth to catch her arm as she reached for her yo-yo.

“M-milady, wait!”

She turned to face him, her face full of regret and embarrassment. “S-sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tease you. Well– I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just–”

“No! N-no, don’t worry, you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve been… wanting to tell you something. Something important.”

He felt her stiffen at his words, and her eyes grew wide with apprehension.

Crap. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” he tried to reassure her. “Or… at least, I don’t think it’s bad. I mean, I hope it isn’t. To you, that is. What I mean is…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a groan, then let out a nervous, shallow breath.

She quirked her head to the side, as she unknowingly did whenever she was feeling curious or inquisitive. He tried (in vain) to ignore how cute she looked so he could focus on the task at hand.

This is it. You can do it. Be brave like Marinette!! She’d believe in you!

The butterflies in his stomach multiplied tenfold; there was no going back.

And yet... how do you even begin to tell someone that you can’t imagine your life without them? That you’d sacrifice absolutely everything for their happiness; that you’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than to ever see them in pain? That the thought of losing them kept you awake at night more often than you’d like to admit?

How could he put into words that until she came along, he never imagined he’d be able to feel happiness again?

No; words could never suffice. There was nothing he wanted more than to grab his Lady by the waist and give her the most passionate kiss he could muster so that he could show her his love instead.

But he couldn’t. He had to know how she felt in return before he did something that rash, something that could potentially wreck their partnership if his actions were unwelcome.

He didn’t want to ruin anything. He was utterly terrified. And yet… he yearned for her to know.

He had to try. It might be selfish, but he had to tell her how he felt. Just in case she might maybe, possibly, someday, feel the same way.

Ladybug gently touched his forearm, her slender fingers skimming up and down the fabric of his gloves. “Kitty,” she began, concern written all over her face, her piercing sky blue eyes searching his own. “Is everything alright?”

Chat did his best to offer a reassuring smile, placing his opposite hand on top of hers. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I just have a bit of a confession to make.”

Ladybug’s face softened, and she returned a small smile as she waited for him to proceed, still unsure but relieved.

He swallowed thickly, and tried to steady his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long. Well, I mean– technically we’ve known each other for years– but what I mean is that we haven’t really gotten to know each other ‘til recently. Uhh, that is––”

Ladybug gave a small giggle. “It’s okay, Chat. I know what you mean.”

Chat smiled back. “Anyway, I want you to know that our friendship means absolutely everything to me. And I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that, not ever. With that said, I still need you to know that I�� that I...” he trailed off, looking away and biting his lip.

A few seconds passed, and he felt Ladybug’s soft hand touch his cheek, which gently turned his head to face her once again.

“Talk to me, Chat. You can tell me anything.”

Those eyes. Those big, gorgeous, absolutely amazing eyes. She was the sun and moon and stars all wrapped up in a tiny, polka-dotted package, and all he could offer her was himself. Was he enough? He silently prayed she hadn’t noticed how much his hands were trembling right now.

“I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know anything about your civilian self. Not really. Where you live, where you go to school, who your friends are. Whether you already have a special someone in your life. Or whether you–” he gulped “–whether you could ever feel the same way about me as I do about you.”

She stepped closer, sliding her hand down his arm and wrapping her fingers around his own (he’d never been as grateful that his suit had gloves as he was now, given how sweaty his palms were at the moment).

“And… how do you feel about me?” she asked, with a– dare he say– hopeful tone in her voice.

Her eyes bore into his own with such intensity and heat that he could no longer feel the chilly night air. He forced himself to hold her gaze, so she could be sure that his words were genuine.

“I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything or if it should wait until after we defeated Hawkmoth. I didn’t know if I was ready to… to open myself up and risk getting hurt in the process. Because I am so, so afraid of losing you.” He bit his lip, but continued, “But I don’t think I can wait that long. You have to know, because I might not get another chance...”

His posture straightened a bit, and he took both her hands into his. (Was it his hands that were still shaking, or hers?)

“I love you,” he finally uttered, his voice husky and low, as if it were a declaration far too sacred for others to hear. He heard her breath catch slightly. “I love you so much, My Lady.” Chat’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he let out a shaky sigh. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. When you’re with me, I can’t help but feel truly happy. Happy to be your teammate, happy to be your friend… happy to be alive. You make me want to become a better person, and I just needed you to know that.”

He shrunk into himself somewhat, taking an unsteady, quivering breath, having expended all his bravery with his proclamation of love.

He’d done it. He’d confessed.

...Now what?

A few moments passed in silence. He bit the inside of his cheek anxiously, unsure of how to continue.

Mayday. Mayday. The hairs in the back of his neck stood up on end; his mind nervous and uncertain.

“A-anyway, that’s all I wanted to say,” he blurted out. “I know it’s a lot to take in; you don’t have to say anything back.” He let go of her hands and crossed his arms, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I’d prefer if you said something back just so I know where we stand, but you definitely don’t have to,” he continued to ramble. “I don’t want it to be awkward or uncomfortable between us, so I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what you want. I’ll always respect your wishes and do what you think is best, ‘cause I have complete faith in you and I–”

His nervous ramblings were cut short by warm, delicate lips delivering a featherlight kiss to his cheek, and Chat let out a small gasp despite himself.

“Was that alright?” she asked, her voice breathy and soft.

Chat practically swooned in disbelief. “More than alright,” he exhaled. “S-so… does that mean that you like m–”

Ladybug stood on her tiptoes and surged forward to capture his lips, answering his question in a way he never would have imagined when he woke up that morning.

There was no way this was actually happening. Was he still breathing?? The girl he loved not only liked him back, but was doing something he’d only ever dreamed about.

He decided to take a chance. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to which Ladybug responded with a small, surprised moan, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. At some point, his hands had ended up on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, and he was sure she’d be able to feel his heart pounding.

Several blissful moments later, they separated to catch their breath but didn’t pull completely apart. Chat was sure that if he let go of her, he would surely melt into a puddle on the spot.

Ladybug panted lightly. “So… does that answer your question?” she asked, still smiling, her lips almost brushing against his.

Chat cleared his throat, then managed to stammer out in a raspy voice, “Uh, yeah, that works.”

He bent his neck forward so she wouldn’t have to stand on her tiptoes anymore, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes in contentment. Surely this was too good to be true, right?! Was he asleep??

But as always, the overthinker in him struck again and a thought came to him. He furrowed his brow in concern as he became acutely aware of the fact that just because she liked him back didn’t mean she wanted to become anything more than partners. Maybe the kiss was a one-time thing and she wanted to keep things professional? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Why can’t I just be satisfied with what I already have? This is more than I could ever ask for, so why press my luck?

Ladybug, perceptive as ever, noticed his unease.

“What are you thinking about, Chaton?” she whispered with a slight frown.

Deciding to be honest, he loosened his hold on her and stepped back, his jaw tensed. A few thoughtful seconds later, he tried to explain, “I just… What do you want me to be to you? I know we can’t exactly act like a ‘normal’ couple. It’s not like we can go to the movies or amusement parks together, and you can’t exactly take me to your house to meet your parents. So, umm… what happens next?”

Ladybug reached for his hand, squeezing lightly. “If you’re worried that I’m only interested in a fling or a friends-with-benefits type of relationship, I’m not. I don’t know how this is gonna work, and I do want to take things slow, but… you are so special to me, Chat. All I know is that I want you in my life. As more than teammates. Do you want that too?”

“Yes!” Chat exclaimed (a bit more emphatically than he’d intended) and nodded. “I want to make this work! I really do.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb, and he couldn’t help but lean into her caresses. “And, while I don’t think we really need a formal label for what we have, if giving it a name makes you feel better, then… What if we’re ‘dating’? What do you think? Sound good to you?”

Chat grinned, lifting his hand to run it through her long, dark hair. “It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for,” he replied, completely elated. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

She stepped back into his space and wrapped her arms around him, letting her hands wander until they settled on the base of his back. And even though he was much larger than her, her hugs always somehow managed to completely envelop him in feelings of safety and comfort.

“You already make me happy, you dork.”

Chat shifted his body so he could make eye contact with his beloved once again. His hand wandered to her jawline, which caused her to shiver with what he hoped was pleasure and anticipation. He made his way down her jaw towards her chin, his movements slow and deliberate, relishing how absolutely beautiful yet adorably shy she appeared in this moment.

Tilting her chin upwards with his forefinger, Chat leaned down and Ladybug’s eyes fluttered shut, her blush still visible under the faint glow of the balcony lights. Chat shut his own eyes in preparation…

...Only to bolt upright in alarm. His ears twitched and he whipped his head around, searching. Without a word, he scooped up Ladybug and bounded up onto the rooftop, landing behind the balcony wall. Ladybug let out a less than dignified “EEP!!”, clinging to him as she was whisked away.

Upon landing, she was about to ask Chat what was going on but he gently placed his finger on her lips. Then he moved it to his own lips, shaking his head. Ladybug understood and nodded. Then they stood there, still as a statue, and waited.

Hinges creaked as the hatch door swung open, and the pair heard someone climb out onto the balcony. Said individual took a deep breath of the fresh evening air, then walked towards the railing to look out into the city.

A few minutes passed, and Chat finally realized the rather intimate position he and Ladybug had put themselves in during their hasty escape. There he stood, back pressed to the wall, with his partner essentially plastered up onto him, their limbs an intertwined mess, leaving not even a sliver of free space between their bodies. Ladybug seemed to realize this at about the same time, and they looked to each other with matching flustered grins, blushing furiously. She made to move away slightly and give him some space—

But her yo-yo had partially unraveled during their clamber onto the roof, and had wrapped around them, becoming tangled in both his cape and his tail. She giggled awkwardly, then began squirming— first lightly, then a bit more vigorously when it became clear that that was ineffective. Chat bit his lip almost painfully, trying very hard not to think about their current situation, lest he unwillingly embarrass himself in a more... somatic way.

A voice cut through the silence of the nighttime air, jolting them to a halt, and they ceased their struggles once again to listen in. Chat twisted his mouth, frowning. He wasn’t normally the type of person who enjoyed eavesdropping; but he didn’t exactly have a choice at the moment.

“What are you doing up here, Tom?” asked the voice of Sabine Dupain-Cheng as she climbed out onto the balcony.

“Oh, nothing. Just, uhh... getting some fresh air. No other reason,” Tom replied, with a tone that wasn’t entirely convincing.

Sabine made her way to stand next to her husband. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for a certain housecat to return from the akuma attack that happened earlier tonight, would you?” she asked knowingly.

Tom stammered, “N-no! No, of course not! I’m not waiting for anyone! And I’m certainly not worried! Nope, definitely not worried sick whatsoever; not at all.”

Sabine leaned into him with a playful giggle. “That’s what you say, dear. But I can tell you’re very fond of him.”

“I-I am not!” he sputtered. “I just… wanted to make sure he was going to show up at work tomorrow, that’s all. We have that big shipment of sugar coming in and—umm— my back is sore, so I’ll need the help! Yeah, that’s it. I’m just making sure he acts responsible.” He nodded solemnly, crossing his arms.

On the other side of the wall, Chat couldn’t help but crack a smile at Tom’s poorly-hidden concern. He’d never seen this side of him before, at least not as Chat Noir.

Sabine patted Tom on the back. “Well, you should come back inside. It’s pretty chilly tonight and we can’t have you catching a cold. He’ll be back soon. He’s probably just having some ‘alone time’ with Ladybug.”

Chat and Ladybug practically jumped at this statement, whipping their heads towards each other, then back down at their current predicament. Chat shrugged apologetically with a rather sheepish expression on his face, and it took all of Ladybug’s willpower not to laugh at how cute he looked.

“Hmph. You’re probably right,” they heard Tom say, and then footsteps as the married couple made their way back indoors.

“Come on, I’ll make us some tea.”

With that, the balcony hatch closed, and the pair remained still for a few moments to verify that Tom and Sabine wouldn’t come back, in case they’d left anything behind.

Chat was the first to break the silence. “So, uhhh… Now what?”

Ladybug did her best trying to find and figure out where the biggest tangles were, but the range of her movement was quite limited.

“It’s too dark, I can’t see anything,” she replied. “And even if I could, I can’t move my arms much.”

“Same, my arms are pinned down. What should we do?”

Ladybug scrunched her face, deep in thought. A few moments later, her brows raised as an idea came to her.

“Uh… I have an idea, but it’s a bit risky.”

Chat cocked his head to the side with curiosity, waiting for her to elaborate. “Go on.”

“Well, umm… don’t freak, just hear me out. What if we detransformed?”

Chat looked at her like she’d suggested that they throw themselves into an active volcano, and she quickly added, “W-with our eyes closed, that is! That way, we can re-transform and everything will be in its proper place.”

Chat pondered her words. It did seem like the simplest, easiest solution.

“Well… Okay,” he replied. “Let’s do it. I swear I won’t look.”

Ladybug grinned widely at him. “I know. I trust you.”

She leaned into him, placing her head against his chest.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah. Claws in.”

“Spots off.”

A flash of neon green and pink briefly illuminated the rooftop, and then it was dark again.

A detransformed Chat couldn’t help but let out a gasp. This was the very first time he’d ever touched Ladybug without the barriers of their near-indestructible suits. Her shirt was made out of some lightweight fabric, much too thin for this kind of weather, as if she’d been lounging at home when the akuma attack had begun earlier and she’d left her house in a hurry. He took the opportunity to savor this moment, wrapping his arms around his Lady’s shoulders, keeping her close and warm.

His fingers touched something silky and sleek, and he almost gasped again in awe. “Your hair is down,” he uttered, almost too quiet for Ladybug to hear.

He felt her smile against his chest. He took this opportunity to glide his bare hand down her long, thick locks, relishing the feel, knowing he wouldn’t be able to touch her like this again. At least, not for who knows how long. He wished with all his heart they could stay like this forever.

Her body shifted slightly, and a beat later he felt her fingers sneak into his own hair, massaging his scalp in a comical manner.

“If you get to touch my hair, I get to touch yours,” she stated, her voice impish and playful. “Good Lord, what shampoo do you use?! Your hair is so soft!!”

Chat let out a hearty laugh. “I bet we look ridiculous right now, just two people on a roof groping each other’s heads. Good thing it’s too dark to see anything.

Ladybug snickered as she lowered her hands, holding onto him to help keep her balance. The rooftop was relatively flat, but the physical contact made her feel safer regardless. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone could see us if they were to look out their windows; it’s a new moon tonight. But we should still keep our eyes closed, just in case.”

She laid back into him and they embraced in silence, enjoying the calm. His hand traced gentle patterns on her back, and she nuzzled even closer to keep warm.

“Your voice,” Ladybug said, cutting through the stillness.

Chat raised an eyebrow. “Hmm? What about it?”

“It sounds different somehow. Kinda… softer? I dunno,” she said, shrugging slightly.

“Now that you mention it, you sound kind of different too,” he agreed.

The glamour magic must be stronger when they’re transformed, he realized. The magic was still present while in their civilian forms, albeit weaker. Out of costume, Ladybug’s voice sounded more… familiar somehow? He tried not to think about that too much; this wasn’t the time or place.

“D-do you like it?” he added, his tone tentative.

“Yeah!” she blurted out. “I-it’s nice. Really nice. I like it.”

He made a pleased sound, then replied, “And yours is lovely. I can’t wait til I get to hear more of it in the future.”

“Same.” Ladybug let out a long, contented sigh. “We should probably get going. They’re waiting for you inside. But you heard Mr. Dupain-Cheng; he’s most definitely not concerned about you,” she said with a snicker.

Chat busted out laughing. “He’s pretty great. Just cautious, is all.” Then he added jokingly, “He probably doesn’t want to get too attached, just in case I suddenly decide to go on a feral murder spree one day.”

Ladybug blew a raspberry and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Noooooo, I am one hundred percent sure he does not think that! I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time!”

“I hope so,” he replied with a chuckle. He hesitated before speaking again. “Umm, Bugaboo… Before we transform back, would it be alright if… if I kissed you again?” Ladybug’s entire body twitched in surprise. “Just once, as our real selves.”

He felt her chest rise and fall as she let out some flustered noises. She managed to settle down a bit, and replied in a hushed voice, “Yeah. Th-that would be nice.”

He moved his hand, blindly feeling around until he found the side of her face. He cupped her cheek with a featherlight touch, his other arm snugly around her waist, keeping her steady. She placed both hands on his chest, craning her neck back, eagerly awaiting what was to come. He lowered his face slowly, to avoid bumping their heads together. Their breaths mingled, shallow and nervous. Their first kiss out of the masks… would it feel any different, he wondered?

Their noses touched, and then—

BONK!

They let out a simultaneous “Ow!” and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes closed in his confusion.

Ladybug reached up to feel his face, then gasped in disbelief.

“Chat! You… you wear glasses!”

He snickered at her surprised reaction. “Is that so shocking? Do you not like glasses?”

She sputtered, “N-no! I mean, yes! I mean, th-that’s not it. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all!”

Chat couldn’t help himself. “So would you say that you made a… spectacular discovery?” he said cheekily.

Ladybug let out a long, exaggerated groan at the pun as she plopped her head onto his chest, causing him to break into a barely-contained giggle fit.

“My soul just died a little from that terrible joke,” she croaked out.

“I apologize; that’s just how eye roll!”

Ladybug made an even more dismayed sound that resembled a deflating balloon, which only made Chat crack up even harder.

“You’re soooo awwwwfuuul,” she groaned, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Here,” he said, sliding his glasses off his nose and onto the top of his head, resting just above the hairline. “Now they’re out of the way.”

“Good,” Ladybug giggled. “Because I’d really like to try again.”

He chuckled, angling his head down. “Whatever My Lady desires,” he replied, more than happy to comply.

-----------

Marinette glided across her bedroom, half-dancing, half-skipping, humming along to the music coming from her computer while she brushed her teeth. She paused to pick up her mannequin, spinning it around as if dancing with an imaginary partner.

“Marinette, you probably shouldn’t do that with a toothbrush in your mouth,” Tikki advised, though an amused smile tugged at her mouth.

“Hnn-kay,” Marinette replied with a giggle, setting down the mannequin, then made her way to the sink to finish up her bedtime routine.

When she was done, she walked over to where Tikki was resting at the desk, in a little handmade bed that could pass for a stylish pin-cushion or phone rest.

“Ready for bed?” she asked in a chipper voice, scooping up the kwami into her hands then heading up to her loft bed.

Tikki snickered at her charge’s excitement. This was definitely one of her favorite parts of mentoring a Ladybug. “Today was a good day for you, wasn’t it, Marinette?”

“Gosh, you can say that again!” she replied, voice high and giddy. “I just can’t believe it, Tikki! It feels like things just keep getting better and better. Now I get to plan our dates, gifts, anniversary milestones–”

Tikki raised a brow. “Uhh… Marinette, what happened to ‘taking things slow’?”

The girl pouted. “I am taking it slow! It’s not like I’m planning our wedding or anything!” The kwami rolled her eyes fondly in response.

Marinette set Tikki down on the pillow next to hers and flopped down stomach first. She turned around, still holding the pillow, and screeched happily into it, kicking her legs into the air. Tikki couldn’t help but giggle.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep with all this excitement?” she asked.

Marinette turned off the lights and snuggled under her blankets, squeezing her giant cat plushie.

“Yep! Boy, am I beat! I’m totally gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

Tikki smiled warmly. “Great to hear. Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette let out a long yawn and rubbed the top of Tikki’s head with her finger. “G’night, Tikki.” ------

(Mood Music: The Lonely - Christina Perri)

This was most certainly not a good night. Marinette’s bleary eyes glanced over at the clock next to her bed.

3:00 AM, it said.

She groaned inwardly. She’d woken up about an hour ago and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, despite being completely bushed.

Something just felt… off. Her stomach was churning and her skin felt like pins and needles. Should she check to make sure the front door is locked? Did she forget to do any homework? Was there a test tomorrow in one of her classes? She just couldn’t think of anything that would require her attention. Why was she feeling so stressed?? Frustration had set in, and she dreaded having to go to school tomorrow (or rather, later today, in a few hours’ time).

Maybe she just needed some water to calm down her nerves. Because that’s clearly what it was, right? Just some subconscious anxiety, maybe about the future, or getting into a good university, or having to defeat Hawkmoth.

Well… when put in that way, she supposed there were a few rather stressful things happening in her life. But even still! She hardly ever had a hard time sleeping before, because she was always exhausted!

She slowly scooted out of the bed, careful not to wake Tikki, and climbed down from her loft. Letting out a lengthy yawn, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Maybe that would help settle her stomach.

And yet somehow, now that she was here, the uneasy feeling intensified.

What the hell?!

The last time she'd felt this kind of unexplained restlessness and malaise was when…

...When she’d found Chat in that alley after his confrontation with Hawkmoth.

Panic sunk into her gut and she bolted towards Chat’s bedroom. She reached the door and was about to burst inside, but she paused. Maybe stampeding into someone’s room uninvited while they were asleep was a bad idea. Not wanting to wake him up, but not willing to leave until she was sure of his safety, she instead crouched and placed her ear against the door.

Expecting to hear nothing except maybe some light snoring, Marinette’s eyes widened when instead she heard whimpering and sobbing. Needing no further invitation, she entered the room.

Chat was curled up in a fetal position facing away from the door, shaking and crying. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could tell he wasn’t transformed.

Is he upset? Is he sick??

She called his name with a small voice, “Chat Noir?”

The panting and sobbing continued, getting stronger and stronger with each second that passed.

“Chat, what’s the matter?” She sat on the bed and placed her hand on his back. The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin; his body was drenched in sweat.

Again, there was no response. By this point he began to toss and turn, almost thrashing in distress and terror.

He’s still asleep, Marinette realized.

“Chat, wake up!” she cried, shaking him vigorously, trying to rouse him from his nightmare. “Kitty, please! Wake up!”

He turned towards her, hair covering his face and sticking to the damp skin, and she had to force herself to not look at him directly to keep his identity a secret.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he surged forward, seizing her by the upper arms, his grip tight as a vise, and Marinette cried out in surprise.

His head hung down, and he sobbed as he squeezed even harder, “No! I won’t do it! I won’t hurt them! You can’t force me!”

She ignored the pain in her arms and called, “Chat! Please wake up! It’s me, Marinette!”

“No!! I’ll never hurt Marinette! Not ever!” he cried in a quivering, desperate voice; then he groaned and hissed in pain, in a way she could only describe as the sound of someone being tortured.

“I’m here, Chat! Marinette is here! You’re safe at home! You’re having a nightmare! Open your eyes!”

He seemed to respond slightly, his hold on her slackening somewhat, and she took this chance to slip completely out of his grip. She threw her arms around his shoulders and he seemed to go limp. She whispered into his ear, “Shhh… It’s just me… You’re okay… you’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine. I’m here to help. Don’t be afraid...” She began to rub his back, making long strokes up and down his torso, hoping that touch would help to awaken him.

Her calm reassurances and rubbing of his back continued until Chat’s hyperventilating stopped, and he slowly seemed to come to. He let out a shocked gasp and threw his arms around her.

“M-Marinette?! Marinette!! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, and she felt fresh tears drip onto her sleeve.

She cradled the back of his head. “Chat! Why in the world are you apologizing?!”

“For everything. For being so weak. For being nothing but trouble for you ever since I came into your life. I never meant for all this to happen. It would’ve been easier for you if you’d left me in that alley that first night. It would’ve been easier for you if you hated me, just like everyone else.”

“Minou, I could never hate you,” she reaffirmed fervently, which only made him sniffle harder. “No matter what you’ve done or what mistakes you’ve made, you are deserving of love. You’re a good person, and more people love you than you might think. Things will get better. I promise.”

She held him as he continued to cry quietly, the pair still wrapped in each others’ arms in the otherwise silent darkness.

After a while, she dared to ask, “You don’t have to tell me what it was about, but… How often do you have these kinds of dreams?”

She felt him hesitate, unsure of whether he should divulge this information; but a few seconds later, he relented, and answered in a small voice, “I’ve had vivid nightmares every night for as long as I can remember, ever since I became Chat Noir. But I haven’t had one this bad since before I moved in with you guys. And… I’ve always been able to wake up on my own.”

“Oh, Minou…” she lamented, then kissed the top of his head.

He sniffled a little, rubbing her arm up and down gently in silent apology. “Marinette, I’m sorry to ask, but… c-could you stay? Just for a little longer? I-I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, Minou. I can stay.”

“Oh, Mari… I was so scared,” he cried. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

She closed her eyes so she could lower her head and kiss his forehead, barely able to contain her affection for him; immensely relieved that he’d finally calmed down. They situated themselves in the bed, arranging themselves into a position that would be comfortable for them both, and she was careful to avoid looking directly at him. He nuzzled into her, hugging her waist, and thanked her quietly. She ran her fingers through his still slightly damp hair, hoping to help him get as relaxed as possible.

Before long, she noted that his breathing had finally slowed, and she was content to watch his torso rise and fall in a tranquil rhythm until, eventually, she too was lulled into a restful slumber.

Meanwhile, outside the slightly ajar guest bedroom door, a certain baker pursed his lips in dismay... and regret.

------

Discordant Sonata Music Youtube Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcYhk0HianmrUJWi61Hkbux08qc9oCTdB

#Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Marichat #Chat Noir #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Ladybug #Enemies AU #fanfiction #Discordant Sonata #Eden writes #aged up #ML AU

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mycatisthecutest · 5 years ago

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Drarry fic

Hey

Sooooo I just found this old fic from 2 years ago. I wrote it for the Drarropoloy fest but I actually never posted it. I´m quite sure that was because I wasn´t feeling good, got frustrated that I couldn´t meet the word count and I was just unhappy. Then mental health happened and I just couldn´t post it.

Anwyway, thanks to the lovely, amazing, supportive, beautiful, intelligent, kind, and absolutely amazing @lethaljinx I finally decided to post it. The task was to rewrite any scene from from any of the books, and I hope everyone enjoys it.

"Harry Potter is death"

And with that, Draco's whole world came crushing down. Harry was lying limb and vulnerable in Hagrid's arms, tears falling down on him. It was too much for Draco. He wanted to scream, punch Voldemort in the face, curse him and all his rotten Death Eaters. Yet he didn't. Instead he turned around and run. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't see it any longer. He knew what was about to happen. Having been Voldemort's favorite instrument he knew how cruel he was. Draco was shaking uncontrollably. He didn't want to go back. But he was expected to be there. He still was a Death Eater, he should be celebrating with them. He couldn't hide any longer or they would get suspicious. But he couldn't. He was sick of it. Sick of hurting, torturing and kill people, sick of being hurt, tortured and almost killed himself. His only hope had been Harry, he had been so sure that Harry with his unruly hair and stupid grin would save the day. Harry saved everyone, no matter if they wanted to be saved.

Draco was still running blindly through Hogwarts, so it wasn't a surprise when he stumbled over some rubble and fell. He didn't hurt himself, but something was stabbing in his back. He put his hands under his robes to check if something was hurt and was met with the cold, smooth surface of a gun. His gun. He couldn't believe that he forgot about it. Having it bought from some shady muggle dealer back in sixth year, pretending he'd use it for Dumbledore. Truth was he had bought it for himself. He had intended to use it in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom many times, but he couldn't. Every time he tried he saw his mother's face in front of him. She was the reason he always stopped, he couldn't leave her. And then there had been Harry. That fateful day when Harry had followed him into the bathroom. Draco had been beyond exhausted, he couldn't carry on and wanted to end it. Harry came and almost killed him. In the moments of almost dying he realized that he didn't want to die. He wanted to live. Ever since then he never took the gun in his hands, no matter how tempting it was. He carried it around nevertheless, its heaviness calming him. Holding it now he got the urge to kill Voldemort with the very thing he hated. Draco started running back to where he came, wanting revenge for Harry. He heard the noise before he saw what was happening. Spells were being shouted and thrown around. Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville were all simultaneously fighting Voldemort, McGonagall was finishing off three Death Eaters and to Draco's surprise he could see his mother fighting Bellatrix. He had to take care not being hit by a spell. Soon the inevitable happened. Voldemort saw him. Without a word Draco pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger. The noise was deafening and everyone stopped in their tracks. Voldemort had a surprised look on his face before he felt down. He was death.

Draco stirred awake with a jolt. Every muscle in his body ached, having slept in an uncomfortable chair. He knew it was stupid and weird, but he couldn't have left Harry all alone. After the battle was finished it was decided that Harry would be laid in an empty classroom on his own so that everyone could say goodbye. At first Draco didn't want to come, but he saw that something had slipped out of Harry's pockets and he picked it up to return it. Upon closer observation he discovered it was an invisibility cloak. Yearning quiet and time on his own he decided to put it on and stay with Harry. His friends had much to do and couldn't stay. But now it was in the middle of the night and they had time to visit him. Ron and Hermione were crying and talking with Harry. Draco wanted to leave, giving them some privacy. But he couldn't leave without making a noise and he didn't want anyone to know he was there. Soon enough he was saved by McGonagall entering and telling them that they were needed. Upon seeing Harry she started crying and immediately left. Ron and Hermione stood up and got out. On the door Hermione turned around and Draco felt like she was looking right into his eyes. It was unnerving. Then she said "Harry looks so peaceful, like Snow White in her glass coffin. I just wish he would've had a happy ending like her." And then they left. Draco froze. Hermione couldn't know that he was there, or that he had been obsessed with muggle fairy tales when he was younger. But why did she say it? Looking at Harry now he had to admit she was right. He looked so peaceful and young, almost like sleeping. Snow White had been one of his favorite fairies. He had always hoped to one day find his Knight in shining armour. Upon meeting Harry he knew he was the one, but Harry could never ever feel the same. Nevertheless, Draco had to try it. With trembling hands he bend over Harry and softly kissed his lips. Reading the tale he always imagined this scene to be the most romantic thing ever. But it felt weird and invasive kissing Harry's cold, unmoving lips. So he pulled away and watched Harry for a few seconds. Nothing. He was about to go when he heard the tiniest cough. He spun around. Harry's eyelids started to flutter. No this couldn't be. But it happened. Harry woke up. He opened his eyes. He was disoriented at first but then he saw Draco and smiled. And for the first time in a while Draco smiled back.

#Harry Potter #harry x draco #Draco Malfoy #drarry #drabble #drarropoly 2018 #my #My writing

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natural-and-just · 3 years ago

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I just now wrote another post about Dex in Blue by Amy Lane, a book which I've read several times. I said something shitty and couldn't make myself make the post public. This blog is supposed to be my journal and all, but sometimes, if I want this to actually be therapeutic like it's supposed to, I need to let myself be horrid on paper/the screen without feeling endangered in any way. I can still feel that helpful urge to explain things properly if I save the decision to post privately after I've actually written the damn post, or when I've come to a tipping point in writing it and I just have to give in and be a cunt in private for the sake of feeling clean again.

I love the book by the way. I just have a couple hang ups. Anyway.

I know that I'm supposed to want to imagine good things. Pleasant things. Pretty things. Fuzzy and warm things. I know this. But I'd rather imagine being owned instead. It's not like my fantasies are particularly rabid (or at least the majority aren't). It's just that ever since that one recording of Abraham Hicks, where she (very gently) told the lady off for wanted to feel "bonding" with her partner, I can't let myself indulge in those... I want to say "darker" fantasies, but they're hardly dark. They're just... I mean, when she--Abraham--took issue with the way the lady worded her desires, I felt like what she was really saying was, These more base, primal desires you are experiencing are not in fact cosmically preferable desires in terms of their worthiness to be desires in the first place. If that makes sense. Basically, I interpreted her speech as saying, You should be hoping for loftier, more wholesome things--which I understand doesn't make strict sense, given that Abraham isn't about telling someone they shouldn't want, for example, hot sex. But, for me, sex can't be hot if there aren't certain primal, base (I'm tempted to say debased) principles underlying the act. Ownership. God, when I first read--every time I read--Greg and Fiona's first book, I feel understood. That scene where they meet in the hallway, and talk about ownership. I get so hot, and it's a mixture of regular old arousal but also a longing that... well, it's actually fairly...innocent? Whatever its objective qualities, it's deeply rooted. Maybe after having lived more years on this earth I'll have matured out of it, like I've already matured out of some of my old wishes for romantic relationships thanks to [redacted]. But for right now, it's an honest to god yearning, just pure and simple.

And besides it's not like I have I have a lot of choice. I can't exorcize this want. I don't necessarily want to, except that I imagine Abraham wouldn't approve because of its earthly, material nature. But it's the unspiritual about it that makes it so captivating to me. I'm interested. There is no interest in a fantasy without some element of suspence. They are like snapshots of story midway through, in that sense.

Abraham (just... keep in mind, these interpretations are all filtered through my own steadfast self-doubt and self-denial) keeps making me think I should only want the unambiguously good, that I should only want to resolution to the story, when there is incredible... satisfaction? More like satiation-- to be had in fantasies that aren't all sunshine and rainbows (I get that Abraham would be absolutely fine with fantasies that were rather thoroughly divorced from sunshine and rainbows--sex, for example. The sunshine and rainbows I'm talking about would include things like sex, but that sex would be completely devoid of any sense of dependency. There would be no tightness in the chest, tears, longing, missing, aching, or bittersweet farewells. All would be comfortable, easy, unencumbered by any obstacle that obstructs the path to full contentment). There is an itch I cannot scratch unless I am presently longing for something, presently wishing, hoping, making my chest ache with the anticipation of the thing desired. Not the thing already obtained. Fantasies of a lover safe and warm in my arms, with all the time in the world to lounge in bed and make lazy love, do not appeal to me. Fantasies of a lover anticipated to arrive the next day, or even later that evening after months of absence, me waiting impatiently for their arrival at the baggage claim, seeing them for the first time and being overcome with emotions of his vitalness to me. Of his necessity. Of his power and ownership over my heart and body. Of my own helplessness... God. I want him angry and jealous. I want him mindless and depraved in his love for me as well as sane and sweet. I want him to be disrespectful. Because then I know he knows I'm his. I want...I just want. So badly.

Maybe it's because I haven't missed anyone in my life who wasn't my own mother. Maybe it's my own shelteredness, my own childishness. Maybe I read too many dirty novels. But... alright so I understand that if I every admitted to reading those sorts of books, I'd get the side eye, but... I feel like in reading them I'm feeding a very young part of myself. I don't feel dirty. Reading them feels like being naked under the sun but also shielded from anyone's gaze at the same time.

It's not the right word, Young. I didn't feel like this before I figured out sex and sexuality, obviously. It's just a very... very little part of me, in the BDSM sense of the word, and yet thoroughly cave-womanly. It's vulnerable and its essential nature is rooted in a base, womanly appreciation for the salt and sweat and simplicity and earth-bound-ness of masculinity. I'm obsessed with being earthbound. Not beings of spirituality, ultimately, but beings of mineral rich soil, dark caves, animals in heat.

I don't want to be free. I want to be tied up. And I can't help that. Fantasies of contentment and the kind of wholesome joy it would be appropriate for any ten year old to experience, feel essentially boring. I need stimulation. I need indulgence. God please I want to be indulged. Give me the grace to allow myself indulgence.

Goodnight.

--Dot

#journal #journaling #journal entry #diary #diary entry #dark #confession #confessions #longing #indulgence #self indulgent #introspection

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shinsousbedroom · 4 years ago

Text

Replay

It’s a particular kind of agony that leaves Kazuya tied up naked to a chair in the middle of his living room, staring at himself playing baseball on TV while he’s sitting on a vibrator.

The agonizing part isn’t the rope or the vibes. It’s seeing his own face.

Or; Kazuya and Eijun stumble into a brand new kink in the middle of trying out another.

On AO3.

Kazuya doesn’t know how long it’s been when Eijun slips into the living room, pausing behind him with a considering hum. Eijun rakes his nails lightly across his bare shoulders, letting his fingers twine into the top of Kazuya’s hair, then jerks it back with a yearning grip.

“How’s it going, captain?” Eijun asks with a sarcasm he’s borrowed from Kazuya, eyes meeting his upside down.

The space around them is pristine and well-decorated—family photos on display, the tables and floors all dusted and clean, an outrageously nice TV mounted to the wall. There’s even a color scheme to the room, nothing like the mishmash Eijun originally wanted based on their teams’ colors. Soft, homey, and contemporary; the kind of classic place that gets featured in magazines about the lofty tastes of the rich and famous.

And then there’s Kazuya, sitting in the middle of it all, naked and tied up in pretty purple ropes to an office chair. Anomalous decor waiting patiently for Eijun’s ruin.

Kazuya can’t quite remember how they tripped into toys, then restraint, then BDSM. Something to do with him stumbling into Eijun’s poorly hidden box of dildos in university, back before they started dating. A near decade before they got married.

The neglect bit of it is relatively new, though. Kazuya has been trying very, very hard not to read into how much he likes the odd taste of an Eijun who putters around the house ignoring him, as if he could ever have zero desire to chase after Kazuya. Just the thought of it makes him desperate for Eijun’s attention and hands and dick, goddammit.

Kazuya knows he shouldn’t psychoanalyze it, some things in life don’t have reasons, but does it anyway.

But because Eijun knows he thinks like that, Eijun can’t help but undermine the actual neglect part out of concern. The minute he’s meant to check in on Kazuya’s isolation to tease him more, his earnest concern in making sure Kazuya is still enjoying himself blares out like a foghorn cutting through Kazuya’s goal of reaching his perfect, spacey sex haze.

Eijun tugs again, a mild reprimand for a wandering mind. There’s a smear of some sort of grease at the edge of Eijun’s eyebrow, but the rope catches Kazuya’s wrist when he tries to lift a hand to rub it off with his thumb. Somehow, he’s forgotten his hands are tied together at the small of his back, both too present in his own body and a world away from it. From the impish grin on his face, Eijun catches the failure.

“Is it time for you to fuck me yet?” Kazuya asks, trying to press his head further into the grip Eijun still has in his hair.

Instead of answering, Eijun lets go and kneels behind the chair, running a gentle finger over the area where the rope digs into his wrists, then kissing each fingertip. He catches a scratch of stubble on Eijun’s chin as he pulls away, crawling around the chair to sit in front of him cross-legged.

“No,” Eijun responds point blank, massaging Kazuya’s calves and checking the rope around his ankles. “And you call me impatient. Don’t I always have to wait on you to catch for me?”

“In case it’s escaped your attention, we’re not exactly playing baseball right now.”

Eijun rests his cheek against the inside of Kazuya’s thigh. His blinks are slow and lazy as he looks up with a disappointed frown, molten irises shining bright. As if he really could spend forever winding Kazuya up and dragging him back down from a high.

“That is not what I meant, Miyuki Kazuya. You’re being unreasonable.” Eijun nips at the thin skin of his knee. Kazuya barely keeps his knee from bashing into Eijun’s nose from a shock of desire. His entire body feels hypersensitive, attuned to every change in temperature and airflow while he has nothing else to do but feel. With every movement, his skin drags a stutter against the leather of the chair, sweat and lube mixed unevenly across his thighs and back, so as to catch and glide in turn.

“You’re unreasonable. You haven’t used the vibrator once, so far. It’s there, in my ass, ready for you,” Kazuya says, voice hoarse.

“So demanding,” Eijun grumbles into his skin, then picks himself up with a heave. “I know because I put it there, so I’ll use it exactly when I want to and not a second sooner.”

Eijun’s sudden distance is cold despite the heat in their house cranked up to keep them warm and drowsy. Whatever he’s been up to to keep from checking in on Kazuya too soon is working. Their last few attempts at denial had been wrecked by someone’s enthusiasm. But in front of Kazuya, it’s still too easy to see the sheen across Eijun’s brow, the way he can’t stop biting and licking his own lips. One of his heels is bouncing on the floor, the only way he can release all the energy keyed up inside of him right now.

“But you do want to.” Kazuya feels so powerful right now, pitching forward in the chair as much as the rope will let him. It’s not just the blood pounding rabbit-quick through his body that’s making him hot, but the way Eijun is struggling to maintain his cool against Kazuya’s own bratty, undermining hand. From the tempting flush of Kazuya’s cheeks to his cock filling out against his stomach, legs spread wide in invitation, getting to see his unrestrained want even as he’s tied tight just for Eijun—Kazuya must be a beautiful sight.

…So maybe Kazuya’s grasp on willpower is also nonexistent in the face of Sawamura Eijun. He literally asked for Eijun to make him wait. They are both really bad at sticking to a theme.

Eijun crosses his arms over his chest, and Kazuya loses a moment to admiring his biceps, out and armed in his casual tank top and grey sweats. “You are being way too snarky. You’re supposed to be unthinking mush for me now. Mush! If your brain is stuck running 24/7, at least set it on showing your husband gratitude. Completely unacceptable!”

He steps over to a little side table where the vibrator’s remote sits next to the TV’s. He stares at the two for a second before grabbing the latter, much to Kazuya’s relieved disappointment.

"Eijun.”

“Nope! If the silence is keying you up instead of blissing you out, you can empty your head with whatever’s on TV. Call me when you’ve learned your lesson and you’re ready to behave.” He flicks on a random channel, safe in the knowledge Kazuya hates watching TV and will only fidget more from the stimulation, then leaves before Kazuya gathers his thoughts enough to protest.

It does its job, for a while. Kazuya’s eyes go glassy at the colors and sounds, but he’s already overwhelmed by his own body when he closes his eyes to shut it out.

The commercials clear past a blur of cars, snacks, and local lawyers. And the programming starts back up again. Cutting through the silence of the room is a rowdy crowd and a set of announcers saying his name.

It’s baseball. Of course it would be goddamn baseball, in this household.

And then, with the sinking horror of watching a disaster unfold, there Kazuya is, front and center on the TV in his last game of the season.

He hates watching himself on the diamond. He can easily do it to analyze his baseball, but when he’s not focused on his form or a call or whatever the hell that throw was to third, it’s agonizing to see how obsessive the cameras are about following him between each play. He cringes at all the speculation about his future. And he sure as hell hates every time the cameras pan out to his fans holding signs asking him to marry them or—heaven forbid—something raunchier that gets blurred out when it airs.

Kazuya huffs, falling slowly out of the headspace he was just reaching, the heavy weight returning to his limbs the more his mind latches onto his own face splashed across the screen.

“And he’s out! Miyuki tags the runner in the nick of time—”

“Eijun!” he calls out, resigned at derailing the very nice night they’ve been having so far.

After a mildly concerning metallic crash, Eijun comes skidding around the corner from the kitchen. “That was fast. What’s wrong?”

Kazuya turns towards the TV with a pout.

Eijun takes a moment to parse out the fact that Kazuya’s old game is running despite it being postseason and there are plenty of other games to air with more relevancy right now, and laughs at the putout expression on Kazuya’s face. “Is that all?”

“It’s annoying.” He’s fidgety now, self-conscious in a way that’s turned his blush more towards embarrassment than lust. He can suddenly feel the rope, the bite of it distracting instead of just a soothing pressure, his chair creaking as he shifts.

Eijun leans over the back, arms smoothing down Kazuya’s chest to link together on his stomach, and presses a kiss to his hairline. The pressure of his body settles him. Eijun settles him. “You call me annoying twice a day. Get over yourself, you giant baby.” Tinny cheering hollers from the TV as someone steals a base. Above him, an impish grin lights up Eijun’s face. “What if I tell you what I see?”

Kazuya closes his eyes, relaxing into Eijun’s presence. “What do you mean?”

Eijun breaks away abruptly, Kazuya’s head dipping for a moment before he catches himself. By then, Eijun’s swung around to his front, looming over him larger than life as ever with a knee placed between Kazuya’s thighs, leaning in to cage in Kazuya’s chest and face. The chair is literally shaking from Eijun’s anticipation.

“I wanna tell you exactly what I see on screen when I see you.” Eijun’s voice dips low, mouth brushing Kazuya’s without a real kiss and building a fire back in his gut. “I’ll take you out of the rope—but I want you to stay in this chair like a good husband while I describe every detail to you and make that vibrator earn its worth. Think you can do that? Be patient a little longer? It’s always rewarding when I am for you. Let me show you now.”

Kazuya knows he could say no and Eijun wouldn’t be disappointed. If anything, he’d be ecstatic about healthy communication, it’s very important, Miyuki Kazuya! I love that you trust me like that, always, you make me so proud!

But that’s not the trust he wants to indulge in tonight. His dick is still hard and his husband’s really hot, okay? Just seeing him in all his lean muscle and eagerness is an argument that wins over Kazuya’s libido 90% of the time. It’s not a drive he wants to fight against, most days.

“Go on,” Kazuya says, surging up to steal a quick kiss.

The breaking joy on Eijun’s face already makes his impending agony worth it as he shoots off behind him to untie the rope, massaging out his arms again as he places each one onto the rests. “Stay,” he tells each hand as he carefully curls every finger around the handles.

He kneels down and flicks a glance back to the screen to catch a close up of Kazuya crouched behind home plate.

“Your thighs are so beautiful,” he says kneeling down between them, tugging the rope free. Eijun looks up, raking his nails up Kazuya’s thighs until his arms are laying down twin heavy lines of heat, pressing gingerly into the tender flesh of his waist. He leans forward so he can bat his eyelashes while his mouth is right there next to his dick, the fucker. “The way your uniform stretches across them when you’re crouched behind the plate—I don’t know how anyone can focus on the pitch when you’re right there.” Kazuya’s eyes flutter as Eijun presses a gentle kiss to the head of his cock, refusing to give him anything more than a tease. “I should tell you that more, how obsessed I am with your thighs.”

“If you love them so much, why don’t you marry them?” Kazuya bites out. It’s not the most inspired. Kazuya is distracted.

Eijun takes the question seriously, because of course he does. “I’ll marry you as many times as you’ll let me.”

“You’ll get a divorce instead if you don’t do something with that vibrator soon.”

Eijin narrows his eyes, then stomps over to the remote, swipes it off the table, and turns the vibrator on high , sending a shockwave through his body. When Kazuya’s vision clears from the flood, it’s settled down to a low, comfortable rumble, keeping him from relaxing while also making him boneless.

“You asked for mean Eijun, and mean Eijun has arrived!”

His dick is beginning to leak, especially at seeing how Eijun’s pants are tenting, too. “I’m noticing,” Kazuya says dryly.

Eijun looks down at the little remote in his hand and without a second thought, changes the pattern.

The switch drags a whine out of Kazuya, limbs spasming in response to the unexpected buzz inside of him. It’s a rhythm that steadily builds to a high intensity before dropping off abruptly, just when satisfaction might have been found. Eijun knows the way this particularly winds him up, which either bodes very, very well for Kazuya, or very, very poorly.

“It’s hard to focus on baseball, sometimes, when you radiate that stupid smug aura from striking out a batter. You make that same face in bed, y’know. In the sex chair, too,” he says, stepping forward enough to poke a divot into the chair’s leather padding by Kazuya’s shoulder. It spins lightly. Eijun swings him back around, jolting the vibrator inside of him. “But back to your thighs. They’re just right there. Constantly.”

“What do you expect, I can’t just take them off,” Kazuya says through reedy breaths.

Eijun mercilessly notches the dial up a few levels stronger.

He yelps at the wave of pressure that sweeps through his bones, only to recede with no final push towards a break. When his vision clears and he can feel the vibrator settle back onto a low hum, he glares up at Eijun’s shit-eating grin.

“Wait your turn, Miyuki Kazuya. This is still my night to monologue.” He pulls back and casually rests his arm against the back of the chair. The remote is dangling in his hand, right next to Kazuya’s face. “You could stand to be more patient, y’know.”

“That’s rich, coming from—“

Eijun grabs a fistful of hair at the back of his head and yanks hard. “What did I just tell you?”

“Tell me again,” he gasps.

“What is with this bratty behavior!” Eijun releases his grip and runs a soothing hand over Kazuya’s hair, then cups Kazuya’s jawline, moving aside to direct their attentions back to the screen.

Kazuya cringes at the camera lingering on him in the dugout, face burning. He’s just drinking an Aquarius. There are so many other people they could be showing, players actually on the field.

Eijun presses a hand to the base of Kazuya’s neck. When he swallows, Kazuya feels the hint of a promise in the pressure of each fingertip. “It’s stupid, the way you think the camera should be focused on the game. You think they’d waste time focusing on you if that wasn’t exactly what everyone watching on TV wanted to see? You’re the draw, Kazuya.

“No one else gets to think about you the way I do, though. They can look at you chugging your water or unbuckling your chest plate and fantasize, but I can watch and make a promise. Next time I see you with a water bottle, it’ll take everything I’ve got not to rip it out of your hands and feed my fingers into your mouth instead. If you think you get dirty sliding home, wait until I shove you onto the floor of the dugout. I’m gonna drag that annoying sly look off your face until you can’t even think of back talking, just stuck with overwhelming pleasure because of me.”

Eijun’s voice is raspy, crackling with fire as his nose brushes Kazuya’s ear, nibbling tiny bites to the shell between his words. “And shit, all the baseball gear? It drives me mad, how it’s your own kind of wall against anyone getting to you. You look so distant swamped in it all during a game. I wanna strip it off piece by piece and lavish each part of you below it like you deserve. I’ll start with that helmet. It’s a shame how it blocks your pretty face, but everytime it comes off, god, I wanna grab your hair and wipe every bead of sweat off your face and replace it all with come—

“That’s why I love watching your games, over and over again. Every time you show up on screen, it’s a reminder of what we get to do later.”

Eijun’s eyes flip between the screen and Kazuya, who is very, very still. And very, very quiet.

“And that’s a home run, right there! What a season for his RBI already—”

“You like me watching you like this,” Eijun says, wonder in his voice. He walks up to the TV, crossing his arms, letting a leg kick out as he tilts his head at the screen.

Kazuya drinks in the pose. The flickering lights of the screen make a hazy glow around his silhouette, the wild hair and comfy sweats, arms bare for him. He wants Eijun to turn around, to see the calculation in his head as he parses through the puzzle in front of him until he can take on the entire challenge of it with ease.

There’s something special about his observations to Kazuya, the way he pulls apart tape. Knowing the analysis doesn’t come naturally and that he learned it for the game—learned it from him. That skill was earned. And then it kickstarted a surprisingly adept analytic side of Eijun that’s opened up a world of possibility.

Like now.

Eijun spins on his heels, pacing towards Kazuya, pinching at his own lips. Eijun could stand to let Kazuya have a taste. He doesn’t care if it's of his fingers or his mouth, Kazuya is parched for anything and everything. His hisses out from between his teeth, the sweep of his eyes following Eijun’s hands, a desperate plea for Eijun to bend down just to touch.

Eijun hovers above Kazuya, refusing just that, not saying a word. His shallow breaths match Kazuya’s own, drinking his husband in. Kazuya does not reach out. It is the hardest thing he’s ever done, he swears, but he just clutches the armrests harder until his knuckles are white.

“Hey, Kazuya,” he finally says, low and gravelly. On any other night, Kazuya would shove Eijun down to his knees and feed him his cock the minute he heard that tone, balanced on the edge of breaking. He would ruin Eijun’s throat, fucking it until his voice was gone and every spoken word after served as a reminder of Eijun sucking so prettily on Kazuya’s cock.

But that’s for later. Kazuya’s being good for his husband right now.

Well, sort of.

Eijun trails a single finger down and around Kazuya’s brow, pulling down past his neck and chest, flicking his nipple on the way to his stomach. “Kazuya, if you like me watching you play baseball on TV, what do you think you’d do if I recorded you like this for me?” he says, golden eyes meeting Kazuya’s squarely. He turns off the vibrator, and the feeling of silence hollows Kazuya into a creature of pure need.

Oh, fuck.

Eijun’s pupils are blown, a maniacal grin settling onto his face at Kazuya’s frozen form. Eijun pokes Kazuya’s side and he takes a sharp breath in, having momentarily forgotten how. “I’ll sit you in front of the TV and let it play, so you can see how desperate you get for me. You can see the way your face goes soft just for me, so pliant when I touch you. You don’t believe you can be like this, can you? Always have a retort for everything, such a needling terror. But you’re so good to me, Kazuya. You open up just for me.”

And finally, finally Eijun perches a knee again on the seat between his legs, sinking his fingers into the base of Kazuya’s abs, a single brush against his cock lightning through his bones. He kneads the soft skin there, covered in wiry hair, not bothering to avoid the random touches against his cock as precome dribbles from the tip.

“I think I’d like to see you like this, too, on the screen,” he says, excitement bubbling free. “I love watching you no matter what, but I could break you down in a completely new way like this. The calls you make with your whimpers. Your form, head thrown back and gagging for me. God, and your thighs, spread out for me and not just teasing from behind the plate.” His hand moves lower, scraping a line down the inside of Kazuya’s thigh as he speaks.

“Think you'd wanna review that tape with me sometime?” He clicks a button on the remote Kazuya had forgotten about. Kazuya keels forward.

His head hits Eijun’s chest. His hands are wrapped in his tank top with a grip he can’t release. He can’t tell what the pattern or the pulse is, but whatever it is is good. There’s a clatter to the ground as Eijun drops the remote to steady his husband and maneuver him out of the chair.

Eijun reverses their places, Kazuya sitting on his lap in the chair, legs folded around Eijun’s thighs, eyes squeezing tight as he presses as much of his body into Eijun as he can. He basks in the soft cotton of his husband’s sweatpants, the ribbed lines of his tank scratching against his wired skin.

“Do you want the video to show our whole bodies in frame so you can see how you jerk with pleasure while I’m huddled between your legs and desperate to make you come?” Eijun skims a hand back to the vibrator and presses against it, then pries it out slowly, but not completely. The slide of it is agonizing. Eijun brushes it in circles, each pass knocking him higher and higher. Eijun wraps his other arm around Kazuya’s back, a firm hold keeping them close, their damp skin sliding against each other.

“Or maybe you want a closer shot, to remember the details. How slick your skin gets from the sweat and the spit. See my swollen mouth running up and down your bruising thighs, leaving my marks across your body. My fingers sinking into you, my cock splitting you wide.”

Eijun picks them both up just enough to draw down his sweats and free his dick. He slathers on a lube from the pump they keep duct taped to the back of the chair, and wraps a hand around them both. Even slicked up, his calluses scrape a fever deeper into Kazuya. “Or maybe it’s the recording more than the watching that’ll get you. You wanna put on a show for me?”

Distantly, Kazuya can hear himself keen into Eijun’s neck and spill over them, covering Eijun’s hand.

“Keep going, keep going,” Kazuya chants when Eijun falters, about to take back his hand. His voice is so weak, but it’s right in Eijun’s ear. His husband shudders—Kazuya has taken advantage of how sensitive those ears are more than a time or two—and double downs on his dirty talk and his twisting wrist.

“It would wind me up seeing you on tape when you're gone for your away games and I’m not. I could cry just thinking about how frustrated I’d feel watching you stroke yourself on camera for me where I can’t help.” Kazuya is shaking from overstimulation, world narrowed down to his dick and Eijun’s voice and hand wrapping around him. “Sinking down on a dildo when I’m not around to satisfy you, don’t even have you on the phone to help you through it. Jealous of myself holding you, a different me running my hands all over you and driving my cock into you—”

Eijun squeezes hard, coming with a groan. He lets go and grabs at Kazuya’s waist as they pant into each other. Kazuya’s fingers claw into Eijun’s shoulder and he urgently begs, “Eijun, Eijun.”

“Shit,” Eijun mutters, scrambling to pull out the vibrator, still buzzing a madness into Kazuya. Eijun’s hand is coated with come, lube and sweat still smeared thick across Kazuya’s ass. His fingers keep slipping against the vibrator, driving it back in until Kazuya’s whole body feels like static and his limbs lose their strength. It’s all he can do to keep his mind working at all, honeyed thoughts oozing through a numb haze.

Kazuya blinks and they’re on the couch. He’s laying facedown into Eijun’s chest, half on him, half under the back cushion. The vibrator is out of him, and Kazuya toys with the idea of making Eijun get him some sort of plug instead to soothe the weird emptiness.

Eh. He’d rather Eijun hold him like this, right now.

The TV is still on.

“What a comeback for the Giants,” the two announcers say, lively in their recap, “knocking the Swallows off their perch there at the end. After spending most of that game firmly in the lead, not even the catching and hitting talents of Miyuki Kazuya kept the Swallows ahead of the flock—”

The screen blinks off, and suddenly the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing.

Eijun shoves one arm beneath Kazuya and wraps the other over him, leaning him forward into his chest, “That was a surprise.”

“We might need to revisit that character sheet you made. Make a new one,” Kazuya mumbled into Eijun’s shoulder.

“Gonna have to make a new one anyway. Kuramochi ripped it up, remember?”

Kazuya snorts, recalling the horrified face Kuramochi had made when he accidentally found Eijun’s notes and research on trying to figure out how to pretend to sexually ignore his husband. For the things Eijun tries just for Kazuya, he always makes a character in his head and on an honest to god sheet of paper to play out, though half of them get tossed out pretty quickly. Honestly, it’s a miracle Eijun gets asked to do as many commercial sponsorships as he does. He’s a riot trying to act, even if he’s just acting as himself.

“I’m not the only one completely failing to play their role, here, Kazuya.”

Kazuya snorts. Somewhere between the immediate stench of sex, and whatever it is about Eijun that signals home to his animal brain, he finally realizes the house smells good. Like something’s baking.

He sniffs the air twice, trying to place it.

Eijun looks on, bashful and arrogant at once. “I made dessert.”

“That’s what kept you occupied earlier. What kind?” he asks suspiciously.

“Lemon bars. Extra sour. No sugar on top,” he said, nose wrinkling in judgement.

Kazuya lets his head slap back down into Eijun with a smirk. “I don’t think those will smear as easily across my nipples as the dark chocolate pudding did.”

Eijun pinches his waist. “That is not why I made them. These are meant to go in our mouths.”

“Technically so was the pudding. And it did. Eventually.”

Eijun sputtered and ducked his head to press his own face into the crook of Kazuya’s neck. “It’s annoying how much I love you.”

Kazuya can feel the smile pressed into his skin. “I love you, too, Eijun.”

#daiya no a #daiya no ace fanfic #lolo's fic writing tag

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msclaritea · 8 years ago

Text

~By the Pricking of my Thumbs~

...Something Wicked This Way Comes...

(apologies for the length. There was a lot to share)

“There was only one thing sure. Two lines of Shakespeare said it. He should write them in the middle of the clock of books, to fix the heart of his apprehension:

So vague, yet so immense.

He did not want to live with it.

Yet he knew that, during this night, unless he lived with it very well, he might have to live with it all the rest of his life.

Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)

The youthful experiences that made Bradbury into a writer preoccupied him throughout his life. Bradbury’s much-beloved novel Dandelion Wine is a thinly veiled fictionalization of many of his sweeter reminiscences — but even these could take an odd turn. “I loved to watch my grandmother eviscerate the turkey,” he once said, a memory that sums up his most characteristic literary trait: taking homey Americana and bending it in a violent or grotesque direction. His most seminal stories wrung terror out of common occurrences, such as going into a ravine that ran through the residential section of his native Waukegan, Illinois at nighttime. In the story “The Night,” an eight-year-old boy — the author’s alter-ego — simply scares himself. There is no ghost or criminal lurking, only the panic that wells up in all of us when we get lost in a dark, damp place and know we are alone in the universe, in the “vast swelling loneliness,” feeling the presence of “an ogre called Death.”

“Ray Bradbury spent his childhood goosing his imagination with the outlandish. Whenever mundane Waukegan was visited by the strange or the offbeat, young Ray was on hand...He read heavily in Charles Dickens, George Bernard Shaw, Edgar Allan Poe, H. G. Wells, Arthur Conan Doyle, L. Frank Baum, and Edgar Rice Burroughs; the latter’s inspirational and romantic children’s adventure tales earned him Bradbury’s hyperbolic designation as “probably the most influential writer in the entire history of the world.” Bradbury...loved carnivals, magicians, mind readers, and skeletons.

“First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.” This was the quote given by Mark Gatiss upon the death of Ray Bradbury. That comes from Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962). “Much of the novel centers on a carousel that changes the rider’s age, giving youth to the old and age to the young. At best, those who take the ride end up miserable outcasts. At worst, they become soulless monsters. If eternal youth is no blessing, neither is a return to what has been outgrown, or an impatient leap to what has not yet been grown into. Time is precious. Mr. Halloway is the person through which Bradbury expresses his philosophy concerning good and evil. The theme that emerges in this novel, as well as in several of Bradbury's other works, is that light is good and dark is evil. Bradbury's carnival is the epitome of this darkness. It is the "something wicked" that "this way comes. Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show.”

William "Will" Halloway, born one minute before midnight, October 30. Will is described as having done "only six years of staring." (He is described as having white-blonde hair with eyes "as clear as summer rain".) Will is naturally obedient and wary of getting involved in difficult situations; nonetheless, he takes on an active role in fighting the carnival's evil power. James "Jim" Nightshade, born one minute after midnight on October 31. Jim is brooding and brash, acting as a foil for Will's cautiousness and practicality. (He is described as having wild and tangled chestnut brown hair and eyes the color of green grass.) Jim yearns to become older, which makes him vulnerable to the carnival's temptations, but he is ultimately saved by his friendship with Will. Jim represents good that is always on the verge of giving into temptation, while Will, though he has crises and doubts, is the part of us that resists giving in.

Charles Halloway, the father, is older and filled with regrets, spending all of his time in the library, where he is cornered by Mr. Dark, throwing around his lightening, and taking his life, page by page.

“I know who you are,” Holloway challenges. “You are the Autumn People. Where do you come from? The dust. Where do you go? The grave.”

MORIARTY Did you know that dust is largely composed of human skin? Doesn’t taste the same, though. You want your skin fresh .. ... just a little crispy. That’s all people really are, you know: dust waiting to be distributed. And it gets everywhere ... in every breath you take, dancing in every sunbeam, all used-up people.

“Yes, we are the Hungry Ones,” Dark concurs. “Your torment calls us like dogs in the night. ...(Redbeard?)

And we do feed and feed well. To stuff yourselves on other people's nightmares. And butter our plain bread with delicious pain

Funerals, bad marriages. lost loves, lonely beds. That is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We search for more, always.

“But no man's a hero to himself.” Charles Holloway

They set their clocks by deathwatch beetles, and thrive the centuries.

“Today we honor the deathwatch beetle that is the doom of our society and—in time, one feels certain—our entire species. But, anyway, let’s talk about John.”SH

They whispered to Caesar that he was mortal, then sold daggers at half-price in the grand March sale. Some must have been lazing clowns, foot props for emperors, princes, and epileptic popes. Then out on the road, Gypsies in time, their populations grew as the world grew, spread, and there was more delicious variety of pain to thrive on. The train put wheels under them and here they run down the log road out of the Gothic and baroque; look at their wagons and coaches, the carving like medieval shrines, all of it stuff once drawn by horses, mules, or, maybe, men.”SW

“The roads we walk have demons beneath, and yours have been waiting for a very long time.”

“You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you'd slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot!” SW

“God, how we get our fingers in each other's clay. That's friendship, each playing the potter to see what shapes we can make of each other.”SW

“A stranger is shot in the street, you hardly move to help. But if, half an hour before, you spent just ten minutes with the fellow and knew a little about him and his family, you might just jump in front of his killer and try to stop it. Really knowing is good. Not knowing, or refusing to know is bad, or amoral, at least. You can’t act if you don’t know.” SW

John: Why did they try and kill me? IF they knew you were on to them, why go after me? Put me in the bonfire?

Sherlock: I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.

Pam Grier, playing the Dust Witch, A blind soothsayer, usually in her Black tweeds, at one point changes into a ghost Bride( Salome) to tempt a man. However, her increased sensitivity to the presence and emotions of other people makes her vulnerable to positive feelings.The Dust Witch even comes in her balloon to find Jim and Will, but they outsmart her.

Then we come to the Mirror Maze.

This Mirror Maze is one of the major temptations that the carnival offers its customers since it capitalizes on an almost universal weakness, man's dissatisfaction with himself. Bradbury describes the experience inside this particular Mirror Maze through the use of water imagery. When someone enters the maze, he experiences an "ocean" of mirrors silently rushing in upon him. These mirror oceans can be quite dangerous. Will characterizes this danger by saying that someone can never tell just what might be swimming in the water, and there is even the possibility that a person might find himself in a watery, bottomless sea.

Dark kidnaps the children, taking them to the Mirror Maze. Charles Halloway must overcome his fears to get them out. Laughter proves to be a powerful weapon against the inherent wickedness of the Carnival. At the sound of Mr. Halloway's laughter, the freaks outside freeze from fear and the Mirror Maze crashes to the ground "in domino fashion."

So...Love & Courage. The themes are woven throughout all of Sherlock and especially the new episodes. It’s been called Amo, it’s at the 20 Minutes mark of every episode. it’s through Thomas Gray "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.”Gray is not promoting ignorance, but is reflecting with nostalgia on a time when he was allowed to be ignorant, his youth...all of the mirrors found surrounding Sherlock are increasing x. Even Beethoven's Symphony No. 9, played in The Lying Detective, is about brotherhood & unity. From through-a-glass-darkly:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. …And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love. But the greatest of these is Love."

Something Wicked This Way Comes has served as a direct influence on several fantasy and horror authors, including Neil Gaiman and Stephen King. Gaiman paid tribute to Bradbury's influence on him and many of his peers in a 2012 The Guardian article following Bradbury's death and here. British TV comedy series The League of Gentlemen features the Pandemonium Carnival of Papa Lazarou. The Man Who Forgot Ray Bradbury

he who grew up reading sherlock holmes by harlan ellison

@gosherlocked @may-shepard @tjlcisthenewsexy @isitandwonder @multivariate-madness @delurkingdetective @skulls-and-tea @dmellieon @yan-yae @sherlocks-dimples @zadiest @longsnowsmoon5 @shag-me-senseless-watson @1895-doyle-and-bronte-obsessed @ebaeschnbliah

Hey @johnlocklover221 Just saw your vid. Awesome. Thought you might enjoy this.

source source source source source source

#Something Wicked This Way Comes #Ray Bradbury #bbc sherlock #literary legacies #Mark Gatiss #neil gaiman #steve king

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cathygeha · 6 years ago

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“She intended to be the mistress of her own fate. And there was one thing she knew with absolute certainty from observing the ways of the world: one did not get that kind of power by marrying it.”

THE DUKE I TEMPTED by Scarlett Peckham is out this July!

About THE DUKE I TEMPTED

Having overcome financial ruin and redeemed his family name to become the most legendary investor in London, the Duke of Westmead needs to secure his holdings by producing an heir. Which means he must find a wife who won’t discover his secret craving to spend his nights on his knees—or make demands on his long scarred-over heart.

Poppy Cavendish is not that type of woman. An ambitious self-taught botanist designing the garden ballroom in which Westmead plans to woo a bride, Poppy has struggled against convention all her life to secure her hard-won independence. She wants the capital to expand her exotic nursery business—not a husband.

But there is something so compelling about Westmead, with his starchy bearing and impossibly kind eyes—that when an accidental scandal makes marriage to the duke the only means to save her nursery, Poppy worries she wants more than the title he is offering. The arrangement is meant to be just business. A greenhouse for an heir. But Poppy yearns to unravel her husband’s secrets—and to tempt the duke to risk his heart.

On Sale in Digital: July 31, 2018

Pre-Order this title at these online retailers:

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | Google Books

Add THE DUKE I TEMPTED to your TBR pile on Goodreads!

Check out the book trailer for THE DUKE I TEMPTED!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__XlVV0KVUA&feature=youtu.be

CELEBRATE THE FIRST LOOK WITH THE GIVEAWAY!

Grand Prize: $25 Amazon Gift Card

Here is the direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29532/?

Read an exclusive excerpt from THE DUKE I TEMPTED:

The Duke of Westmead cleared his throat. “Given I rebuked you for your lack of transparency, Miss Cavendish, honor obliges I disclose to you that I became rather dismayed when I learned you were betrothed. I suppose I thought, how dare she? How dare she squander her gifts on so middling a creature as Mr. Raridan? Or, more to the point, on anyone?”

Poppy didn’t speak. She couldn’t, because her breath was caught. She had never heard herself described in such terms by anyone. How could she, when the local gentry who had known her all her life told a different story about her? One of an eccentric spinster who coarsened herself with commercial enterprise. An arrogant, unlikeable woman, unhealthily obsessed with plants.

“Thank you,” she said, hoping her voice did not convey how deeply what he said affected her. It would not do to seem overly moved.

He shrugged, as though his words were unremarkable. As though such assessments of her worth were lobbed at her all day.

The carriage she had been waiting for at long last appeared through the stable gates and rolled up to the bottom of the steps.

“Miss Cavendish, in light of my lapse of judgment, I fully understand if you do not wish to return to Westhaven. But if my sister believes me guilty of ruining her plans I shall have to live with her mortal disapproval. I don’t suppose I could prevail on you to reconsider finishing your work? I assure you that I will not attempt to intercede in so much as the placement of a vase.”

The contours of his face should not have a say in her decision and yet she could not help but admire them, as the fading light danced across the planes that made him sometimes handsome, sometimes fierce.

Or perhaps it was only the way that he looked at her. As if her respect meant something to him. As if she did.

“Very well,” she said. “I shall return in the morning. For Lady Constance’s sake.”

After just a beat too long, he nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. For Lady Constance’s sake.”

And then he smiled.

Boyishly and quick and warm, like the sun darting out from a bank of clouds. It was so unexpected and disarming that without thinking, she craned her face towards his to get a better view of it. Their eyes met, and a chill ran down her spine. Because for just a moment, she thought he might lean in, close the distance, and kiss her.

No. Not thought he might. Wanted him to.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Instead, he folded his mouth back into its usual grim line, bent in a deep bow and offered her his hand to help her into the carriage.

But it did not escape her notice that he held her fingers just a beat too long as he said: “Be well, Miss Cavendish.”

Author Bio:

Scarlett Peckham fell in love with romance novels as a child, sneaking paperbacks from the stash in her grandmother's closet. By the time she came of age she had exhausted her library's supply and begun to dream of writing one of her own.

Scarlett studied English at Columbia University and built a career in communications, but in her free hours always returned to her earliest obsession: those delicious, big-hearted books you devour in the dark and can never bear to put down. Her steamy historical romances about alpha heroines have been finalists for the Golden Heart® Award four times. Her debut book, THE DUKE I TEMPTED, will be out July 31, 2018.

Scarlett splits her time between London and Los Angeles. When not reading or writing romance she enjoys pretending to know about wine, discussing The Real Housewives, and cooking enormous pots of soup.

Scarlett is represented by Sarah Younger at the Nancy Yost Literary Agency, and spends far too much time on Instagram and Twitter.

http://www.barclaypublicity.com/

#Scarlett Peckham #Barclay Publicity #Historical Romance

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gregorduddydesigncontexts · 8 years ago

Text

Presentation Script

Originally written and performed on 30/01/17

The Path

Two weeks ago, this class took debate on a persistent argument that has polarised game-related discussion since the inception of its industry. Are video games an artform?

Be it esteemed film critics decrying its simple incomparability to more matured and understood forms of media, to industry veterans coming to its defence in celebration of its continual growth through the half-century of its existence.

The reason this question has stood for so long, is because it’s one that refuses to be answered unequivocally. Sure, an array of titles released over the past few years have turned the heads of sceptics, but none have given that one push towards the irrefutable evidence that the industry yearns for.

The primary question is this; is The Path a game that gives that evidence?

My answer, is....

On the topic of polarising discussion, I read up on the reviews and critiques on The Path prior to downloading it. The 2009 psychological-horror title produced by artists-turned-game developers, Tale of Tales, seems to differ interest in some journalists

One such journalist gave the game a perfect ten, praising its defiance of conventional game design and its courageous efforts to release a game that goes beyond its mechanical traditions during a time where AAA gaming rules all.

Whereas another wrote a hatred-fuelled scathing of the game; amongst the other colourful word choice, described it as the worst game he ever played.

Even in the developer’s lengthy post mortem on The Path, they admitted that the project was subject to “mean-spirited criticism or over-the-top adoration and not much in between”. I’m going to have to defy that presumption, and say I swing solidly in the middle of it all.

Trying to figure out the story is a graft in itself, but here’s what I think's going on.

The game begins in a red apartment hall with six sisters all of whom are at different ages with different personality traits. The player selects one to go on the adventure of delivering errands to their grandmother’s house. Once the game begins, the player is given two tasks.

Go to grandmother's house and stay on the path.

But games are never as simple as that, as the player defies the instructions and ventures out to the forest where they encounter new, enigmatic characters and perhaps even find a wolf.

Of course, this holds much in common with the Little Red Riding Hood fairy tale. It’s easy to first think ‘Oh great, a darker and more mature take on the fairy tale that echoes the original vision of the Brothers Grimm, sounds good’, But in terms of overall themes, the developers took a different path.

The game’s central theme is “Waldeinsamkeit”, a German word for the emotion of being lost in the woods. It’s a horror game that doesn’t rely on jump scares to give the player little bursts of adrenaline, but rather invokes a constant feeling of unrest and discomfort. You, much like the character, experience vertigo when attempting to navigate the forest. The lack of a real map and the mechanic of the path disappearing behind you when you’re in the forest too long amplifies this emotion. When you venture off into the woods, you’re stuck there.

It’s only when you’re in the woods that any semblance of conventional game takes place. It becomes a sort of collect-a-thon with context-sensitive artefacts that only specific characters can interact with. The reward being an insight into the character's inner-monologue where their individual personality traits are identified.

During gameplay, we realise that disorientation is a game mechanic in more subtle ways than others. The pause menu for example. Notice how there is no uniform to the options, why is ‘continue’ at the bottom instead of the top? Why is ‘quit’ third from the bottom instead of the bottom?

This is taken further in the sprint mechanic of the game. The Path is a very, very slow game, yet this is the only game I have ever seen to discourage sprinting.

As you see here, the longer you sprint, the more aerial your perspective becomes until you can no longer see in front of you. The quickening heartbeat also creates tension before that character runs out of breath and goes back to walking. Perhaps this is a 4th-wall breaking parody of how common the “sprinting” mechanic is, and how the player is always in a rush for their instant gratification rather than taking their time to admire the scenery.

It wouldn’t surprise me, as there are other 4th-wall breaks scattered around the game, including here where the character looks at you whenever you have the camera on her.

So, what’s the point of it all? To collect all the items and make it your grandmother's house for a happy ending? Not quite. As I said once you’re on the path you’re kind of stuck there. It’s only when you encounter “The Wolf” that an endgame comes along.

Now these aren’t wolves in the tradition of the fairy tale, but rather an individual figment that epitomises the characteristics of each of the sisters, who by the way are all named after a shade of red, be it who they are, or what they fear.

Ginger for example is described by developers as “The tomboy” of the siblings. We learn through her inner-monologue that she feels disconnected and frustrated by her sisters because of it. Thus, the wolf she encounters is a young woman, an allegory of her feminine side.

Ruby, described as “The Goth” is at her most excruciating stage of adolescence where she hasn’t exactly found herself and is fascinated with death and decay. Her wolf is an older man who pressures her into smoking. By this, he is a metaphor for Ruby’s grim obsession and rebellious side.

Robin is the youngest who’s wolf is the only one that is an actual wolf, or at least werewolf. As she is young and naive and loves animals she is not afraid of the wolf and sees it as a “big cuddly thing” rather than a dangerous animal so she takes a ride on it.

The only thing that the six wolves have in common is that after the encounter, the screen goes black and the screen flashes with quickly edited frightening imagery paired with distorted, screeching sounds until it goes black again.

When it comes to, your character is lying down on the path. She groggily stands up and very slowly makes her way the gran's house. Sluggish, and wounded. And that’s pretty much where it ends.

What happened?

My only interpretation is this; in the earliest stories of little red riding hood, the wolf asked the girl if she would take the “path of needles or the path of pins” This path the fable referred to is symbolic of a rite of passage, an event that changes somebody to begin their next stage of adulthood.

As such, I believe that The Path’s ending represents growing up. Every one of the sisters endures a traumatic experience and from that point on, their perspective and life have changed. This interpretation is validated when you get inside the grandmother’s house, and it becomes a sort of psychedelic, other-worldly rail shooter game. What was once safe and secure is now foreign to them.

Perhaps Robin was attacked or hurt by the wolf in some way while she played with it, confounding her trusting expectations of animals, and now she realises that the world isn’t as innocent as she thinks and there is real danger out there. Maybe Ruby has realised her desire for rebellion and acceptance has led her to being part of the bad crowd, which has left her prone to peer-pressure and toxic relationships.

The interpretations go on and on, and if there’s one thing that the developers agree on these connotations, is this haunting revelation. That the player could have prevented this from happening, by just going to the grandmother’s house and leaving it at that. Bringing into question our own responsibility as a player in the worlds we toy with.

Here’s the issue with that.

The first time I played the game, I stayed steadfast to the games wishes. Walking on the path at a snail’s pace over a gruelling six-minute timespan. I got to the house, sat beside the grandmother, and the game faded to black to signify a happy ending.

And then, this appeared.

The game gives you a literal report card, failing you for following its instructions and prompting you to try again.

I feel as though this betrays the developer’s intent on pinning all the responsibility and guilt on you for the fate of these girls. At no point when I walked the path was I tempted by some sort of forbidden fruit or curiosity to go the forest. At the risk of sounding cynical, I didn’t venture off the path as a rebellious act of player agency, as some way to get back at the designers for giving me such a definable objective. I did it to get my money’s worth. To see what the game had in store.

The Path is not really a game, nor is it without its faults, and I believe it to be far from exemplary when it comes to game as an artform. However, it is an experience and a work of art in a subjective manner that’s full of potential in its dealings with risky, taboo subjects., and without designers like these taking risks and liberties at every turn, we’d still be stuck in the age of pong and space invaders. The Path is not yet a showpiece to show games as an artform. It is however, a rigid stepping stone.

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