#My taste is beyond nonsensical you just have to bear with me.

[raconteur-wanpi]

Doing a favorite character list and decided to draw the top 8, but then I realized I'm far, far too busy and tired to render or clean-up eight whole characters, so uuuuuuuuuh just sketches it is :(

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RPG Review: Misao Definitive Edition

Ah, Misao. A cornerstone of 2010s rpgmaker games. Horror, parody, a genuinely fun vibe that is so derivative yet so distinctive and memorable. A remastered edition was published on Steam in 2017, and I'm here to go over the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Note: I am reviewing the remastered edition, not the 2011 edition; however part of the review will be comparing the two.

The Good:

The graphics on this game were probably the biggest upgrade from the original. It is still recognizably Misao, but the quality is clearer, the characters are more detailed and look like video game characters instead of dolls, and the backgrounds are simultaneously less cluttered and more detailed where it counts. Beyond that, there are the items to collect. I am, admittedly, ambivalent on the change from body parts to personal items, but it does provide a greater cohesion with the story. There are other minor changes (such as Aki hiding in a bear suit instead of a corpse), but nothing that detracted from overall experience. In fact, the updated game is well worth it for the increased detail and streamlined concepts.

I really enjoyed the differences between male and female Aki. Female Aki is the 'true' game experience, but playing male Aki highlights how unhinged the female version is. Like seriously, if you play the female version first and then the male (which is the best order) you feel like you just woke up the day after the purge. Male Aki is so normal compared to female Aki and it really comes off well both as two distinctive versions and as a humorous comparison. I played male Aki after playing female Aki and felt like a 22 year old coming to grips with the homoerotic friendship I had in school that was detrimental to my mental health. I felt like I had finished reading a manga about toxic yuri. I felt like watching Jennifer's Body. Female Aki is psychotic.

The Bad:

After talking about how great the new graphic are comparatively, this is going to feel kind of nitpicky. I actually think the older graphic lend a certain atmosphere that the new graphics don't quite capture. Don't get me wrong, there are certain elements I much appreciate, such as the floor tiles not being so busy and the character sprites not looking so wooden or having doll proportions. The rooms (if not the halls) themselves just look better. It's just that, despite all the demons and blood and general 'spooky' nonsense, I don't feel like I'm in an underworld demon realm like I did with the old graphics. It was a charm reminiscent of crt tvs and atari games that is becoming increasingly rare in modern game graphics.

The Ugly:

I hate the extra endings. Not the bad and true endings, but the after-game ending where you go save everyone from hell and help them reincarnate. Some were good, some were ok, but the teacher's story put such a bad taste in my mouth. For one, I was genuinely uninterested in his story or what made him decide to be a predator on his students. For two, honestly, this is a game that largely rests on being the video game equivalent of a bad haunted house. The teacher's story is the one element that doesn't fit the vibe of the rest of the game well, and that makes it stick out like a sore thumb. Honestly, I get what they were going for, but its clunky at best. I liked the entire rest of the game until this part which made me almost not play the male run.

Summary:

This is a fun game! Its not perfect, and personal preference will decide which version of the game you like best, but it absolutely holds up as a remake and is just as silly to play through as the other versions. There's a ton of theorizing to be done between this game, the earlier versions, and Mad Father (another game by the same dev which is referenced a lot in Misao). If I ever feel like playing all of those games back to back I might make my own list, but its fun to find what you can and come up with your own theories! Personally, my favorite part was collecting all the different ways to die like I was filling out my pokemon index, haha

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He Says He Loves Me Pt.04

Dancing and Gossip

01/01/2022

Pairing: Loki x Reader          Word Count: 5,563

Warnings: angst, language, jealousy, implied infidelity, Heimdall looking fine as fuck

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! The awaited first meeting! Enjoy! Let me know what you liked. If you reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT copy or translate my stories on any other sites or blogs!!!!

No tag list for this story!

The breaths escaping the slight part in your lips are deafening. You can hear nothing else.

You've read about the world falling away in scandalous novels you’d sworn to Mim you’d never read, but it wasn’t something you thought actually happened.

You’re not even certain why this moment means so much. Perhaps it’s the fact that everyone’s eyes are on you? Despite the dancers mid-quadrille or the murmur of voices or even the music echoing off the walls, anyone who is free to look has their eyes on Loki as he crosses the floor to you.

There are whispers coming from every corner of the room as the guests are enraptured by the young Odinson Lord.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you notice the absolutely fuming Viscountess just beyond Loki’s shoulder.

She scoffs then with a fixed gaze disappears into the crowd to her left.

Loki reaches you, the gentlemen around you fixing him with their appraising gazes, recognizing him as a son of the Odinson household.

You realize after a moment of silence that the younger men are waiting for Loki to set the tone for this interaction. Heimdall beside you is waiting out of politeness.

The few seconds of silence that stretch on as Loki comes to a stop before you feel endless. They stretch on and on until your mind is buzzing and your mouth is so close to opening if only just to utter any nonsense to break the tension.

Seeing Loki here in front of so many people, meeting him officially for the first time makes a surprisingly significant difference to seeing him privately and secretly this morning.

His eyes are glued to you, unabashedly giving you a very quick head-to-toe reminiscent of his father’s upon his first time meeting you before he fixes Heimdall with a satisfied smirk.

“Heimdall, how good to see you,” Loki says, giving the baron a quick nod.

Heimdall gives him a customary bow at the waist, “It’s good to see you again, Loki.”

Loki redirects his green eyes back to you, that smug smile still in place only less pronounced and somehow more devious.

“Well now,” he begins, bringing his hands to rest behind his back as he looks at the young men around you then to Heimdall before smiling at you charmingly.

Your chest tightens and warms with excitement. The anticipation as to what he would say upon meeting you has almost been too much to bear. Especially here amongst his place and people.

He speaks, “To which gentleman here do you belong to?”

Your bewitching anticipation curdles in your belly. The implications of his words, as if he doesn't already know why you're here, summon up what little defenses you have.

Your eyes tighten, narrowing to slits for a moment with the offense, and any indication of a smile is wiped from your face at the clear objectification coming from his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

The gentlemen around you break into laughter, detached from the sudden and sour mood you've been plunged while you and Heimdall stand in stunned silence.

The sudden offense and rage that ices your chest catches you even more off guard than the nerves that he’d plucked from you at first sight.

“A jest,” Loki says, chuckling once with amusement. “Heimdall, you seem acquainted with the uh...young lady, will you not introduce us?”

That word, young. The way he says it doesn’t sound harmless. There’s an emphasis on it that brings your mind back to the morning and Loki’s gripes about your age.

It brings back the Viscountess’s queries about your experiences in courtship and it sours the taste of the port that coats your tongue.

The way he’s talking to you is casually disrespectful. Normally you would hardly care if anyone addressed you by your title or afforded you the behavior someone of your rank deserved, but again, there’s something about the way Loki is acting towards you that puts you off.

Shifting uncomfortably on your feet, you chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing away your urge to lash out.

You catch a servant you've never seen before moving just behind you and turn to deposit your half empty glass.

“Certainly,” Heimdall says, sounding just as confused as you feel. He also deposits his drink and the servant whisks them away.

He clears his throat lightly but before he can begin, the gentle taps of a woman's shoes move behind Loki and around to his left. Rowenna steps up beside him and places her arm around his elbow, all familiarity and audacity combined.

“There you are, my lord. The viscount and I were beginning to wonder if you would ever show,” she’s rubbing it in for your benefit, bringing up her other hand to cling onto his arm and makes a point of ignoring you.

“Ah, Rowenna. Lovely. As charming as ever,” Loki says, giving her red dress a long look. “Are you acquainted with-?”

Loki looks at you again, then Heimdall so that he might continue his introduction.

Heimdall clears his throat, “Loki this is Her Ladyship the Countess of Balmara. Your ladyship, this is the younger Lord Odinson, Loki.”

You reluctantly give Loki a curtsy and while he bows, you get the distinct feeling that he’s making fun of you in some way as he smirks up at you from his stooped over position.

“Pleasure,” he says.

Rowenna pulls on his arm, eager to pull his attention back onto her, “Have you danced yet, my lord?”

“I have not, Rowenna. I just arrived, as you well know. What about you, Countess? Have you been twirled about the floor yet? Or perhaps your governess did not instruct you on ballroom etiquette?" He turns to Rowenna and drops his voice to little more than a whisper that everyone around you can hear. "At what age do young ladies normally learn to dance?”

Another slight at your age, this time inviting others to join in as he poses the question to Rowenna who stifles a laugh behind her gloved hand, “My lord you are too much. You mustn’t tease her ladyship, she may misunderstand your playful nature. She doesn’t know you as I do.”

The comment is pointed and stings sharply, wounding your pride. Clearly the intent.

“I have danced, sir. Thank you for your concern,” you reply curtly, utterly thrown by this open hostility from both Loki and Rowenna.

Are they so in love that they would do this in front of strangers? People you’ve only just met tonight? They'd ridicule you and make you a joke simply to demonstrate their refusal to abide by the agreement which brought you here?

“It’s true, she has danced already,” Rowenna says. “But she hasn’t since she opened the ball. Are you not dancing anymore tonight, my lady?”

Your lips twitch, tempted to answer her and put an end to whatever game it is they're playing. You're saved the need by Loki’s interjection.

“Perhaps her ladyship doesn’t enjoy dancing? Too much of a grown-up passtime? Maybe she’d much prefer to occupy herself with a novel or even some dolls?" Then he turns to address you directly, seeing and only minutely reacting to the expression in your face. "Mother has quite an extensive collection she saved that once belonged to my sister Hela, your ladyship. I’m certain if your governess asks politely she’ll be given permission to bring them to you. Hela has so many dresses for them you might well be able to practice the skill of conversing with others at a ball.”

As Loki speaks, his voice grows slightly tighter in his throat as he fights the urge to laugh but near the end he fails in this endeavor and an errant laugh sneaks through his lips as Rowenna beside him sputters around her own guffaw, muddling the sound as best she can with her hand.

The gentlemen who’d come to stand around you also laugh, albeit uncomfortably and almost uncertain as to why Loki is teasing you. They fix you with sheepish and uncertain smiles. One of them doesn't laugh at all and simply stands gaping between you and Loki with his mouth open wide in shock.

You look around at them, as well as the others who’d edged their way closer to listen and now stand around whispering, and then Heimdall who stands looking stern and disapproving at the younger Lord Odinson.

You think he might say something but he knows his place too well.

Unfortunately, your anger only continues to grow and mingles with your embarrassment making your eyes sting and your gloved hands shake.

You ball them into fists and urge yourself not to break.

“I’m glad you find me so amusing, my lord. While I’m not sure exactly what it is I have done to cause you offense, please allow me to offer my apologies,” you manage, your chin trembling as you finish.

Heimdall suddenly steps closer to you, decreasing the already small gap to nothing as he holds up his left arm, bent at the elbow and waits for you to take it.

“Will you do me the honor of the next dance, your ladyship?” he asks.

You turn towards him, unwilling to look at Rowenna’s coldness or Loki’s suddenly startled face, and reach up to wrap your shaking hand around the luxurious tan fabric of Heimdall’s jacket.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Heimdall.” You look back at Loki, ignoring his confusion at both your reaction and Heimdalls ire.. "I will do you the favor of making myself scarce, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Heimdall sweeps you away without hesitation and the crowd parts as you wander to the opposite end of the room where he stands on the sidelines with you as the quadrille goes on and you wait for the next.

“It seems you were mistaken, Lord Heimdall,” you tell him quietly, still struggling to get a hold of your disappointment as more and more people around you mutter about what just happened so very publicly. “There are some things I lack that cannot be overlooked.”

“No, I was as right as I ever am,” Heimdall assures you. “It turns out Loki is indeed a simpleton and while I know advising you not to be troubled by his behavior is impossible, at least now you know where you stand.”

Heimdall is right.

At least now in the morning, you can go. You'll pack your trunks, wish the Odinson family well, and leave this stupid place forever.

As the dance comes to an end the music stops and a lull in activity stretches for a minute in which everyone looks around wondering why the next dance has not started.

From in front of the quartet, the conductor looks over the crowd to Odin and Frigga who you can see are glaring daggers at Loki and Rowenna.

The latter pair of which are now standing unlinked, Rowenna fuming as she stares at Loki while Loki is--watching you?!

You look away from the intense speculation on his face, heart giving a vivid clench as you tighten your hold in Heimdall’s arm.

Something must happen between Odin, Frigga, and the conductor because he nods and looks out towards the dancers.

"The Waltz," he announces and there's a frenzy of shocked gasps and excitement at the very idea that the Duke and Duchess will allow such an uncouth and wholly inappropriate dance be played at their ball.

Heimdall on the other hand wraps his hand around yours to secure it around his elbow and leads you to the center of the floor.

You glance at Odin and Frigga again and see their shocked faces. They'd no doubt allowed the dance in the hopes that Loki’s clearly rebellious nature would have been sated by the taboo of this particular dance. Preferably with you.

"Heimdall, I'm not sure that-"

"Trust me, my lady, just one dance," he whispers for you.

You meet his piercing gaze and he smiles at you, so handsome that the young ladies behind you gasp and giggle behind their fans.

Your partner sweeps you around suddenly drawing his hand down to the center of your back while he keeps your hand in the other, palms down, thumbs interlaced.

You swallow hard at the heat that seeps off of his skin, through your glove.

Heimdall is so very tall, and that fact is brought to your attention as the space between you is reduce to mere inches.

The murmurs of everyone watching only grows more pronounced the long ther silence goes on, though it's been only seconds.

Finally looking away, you find Loki and Rowenna where you left them. Rowenna tugging on Loki’s elbow as she urges him towards the dance floor but Loki’s got his eyes fixed upon you as he reaches over to sweep Rowenna’s hands away.

You can see his mouth moving as he turns to her finally, no sound can reach your ears but he clrarly says, "Will you desist?"

He's angry at her, green eyes cold as he turns back to look at you, brow furrowed in more confusion.

What has him stumped you aren't certain but as he walks forward to the edge of the dance floor, his face begins to soften. He abandons all anger, Rowenna still fuming behind him, and a strange curiosity takes its place.

You look away.

"Shall we, my lady?" Heimdall asks.

The music starts and with grace and ease, Heimdall leads you through the first steps.

As he spins you around the floor, his hand at your back supportive and demanding of your attention, you see a few other couples have joined the dance. Not many.

Some of the older women in the crowd are scandalized and are clutching at their throats, fanning themselves furiously but they don't dare make an audible judgement in case the Duke or Duchess might overhear.

Heimdall smiles down at you, his golden eyes flicking up over your head before locking with your own again.

"My lady, if you'll forgive me," he says then pulls you just a smidge closer.

You gasp, breath pulled from your lungs as the heat of his body wafts over yours.

He smirks, amused by something but then the whispers start.

You don't hear all of them but a few reach your ears as Heimdall spins you this way and that with his waltz.

"Was she not here for Lord Loki?"

"Didn't you hear? He's rejected her."

"Word is he is repulsed by her."

"Everyone knows his attachment to the Viscountess Gardner is long standing."

"She’s hardly been out in society, I can't blame Lord Loki for refusing her, whatever her title."

"Imagine taking such liberty at a ball in your honor."

"She should be ashamed to dance so close."

"I was told she came from the North. Scotland. Everyone knows how they are in regards to modesty."

"She might very well have been plucked already."

"Lord Odinson is wise to shun her. Even a married Viscountess is better."

"People were saying she was handsome. I see no beauty."

"If Lord Loki refuses her, there must be something distasteful in her demeanor. Lord Loki likes all ladies."

The laughter, while possibly not even directed at you, that echoes around the ballroom makes your head spin.

You clutch onto Heimdall’s hand a little tighter, holding your dress a little less carefully in the other.

You drop it and Heimdall stops, looking down at you quizzically because you won't meet his eye.

Standing there amongst the whispers that keep whisking past your ears both condemning you and praising Loki weigh you down.

"Your ladyship, are you unwell?" Heimdall checks, waving over a servant with a tray of drink.

Luckily you're sidestepped by the other dancers but once again all eyes are on you.

The whispers become louder, faster, and more frenzied at your stopping.

"I'm-" you gasp, breathless as the room with all its gossiping bodies starts to feel too close.

"My lady?" Heimdall worries, placing his hand on your shoulder but you pull back and bump into the servant bringing your drink.

You knock the tray out of his hand and it careens to the floor before falling with a loud crash of glass and the hum of metal on the marble floor.

The music dies, the people are silenced, and as they have been all night, all eyes are on you.

The bottom of your dress soaks up the red port now pooling on the floor and you lift the skirt a little, stumbling back in utter shock and dismay at the mess you've made and the ruined gown you wear.

"No," you lament quietly, then look up to meet Heimdall’s gentle gaze.

Even if he doesn't look at you in judgement, it's all you see.

Every other pair of eyes staring at you, stares in judgement.

Someone laughs. Rowenna, who is standing beside Loki again.

He stares at you and you aren't sure if the smirk on his lips is imagined or not. The Duke looks displeased but the Duchess steps forward a little, perhaps making to come to you?

The idea of being coddled by her after ruining the ball and the dress she so painstakingly had commissioned for you is too much.

"Forgive me," you whisper for Heimdall and gather your dress once more then turn and hasten from the room.

You're crying before you reach the door and by the time you're up the stairs, you're sobbing. The ache in your chest is unbearable. It's rejection and embarrassment and shame. It's eating you up and all you want to do is hide.

You feel sorry that you've failed in keeping to your father’s wishes.

All he'd wanted was for you to marry well. Marrying into a duchy even if it is to the youngest and untitled son is marrying well.

Crying so noisily you don’t notice the stomping of hurried footsteps behind you as you rush up the stairs. A cool hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you to a stop, prompting you to turn to look at your pursuer.

You’re expecting Heimdall but instead your heart gives a lurch silencing your sobs as shock overcomes you to find Loki standing two steps below you, one foot on the stair above as he pants lightly.

“Wait,” he begins, but you don’t want to hear it.

“What more can you want from me?” you ask him, demanding as best you can through the hitch in your voice. “You’ve made me the laughingstock of a ball held in m-my honor. You have made your point. Everyone in attendance is well aware of your dislike for me and your preference for the Viscountess Gardner. You cannot possibly have anything further to say, so I urge you to please let me go, sir.”

Loki blinks, confusion flitting across his pale face. It’s a softer expression than you’ve seen all night. Foreign. Almost kind. It’s out of place in the face of the man that just made certain you would never forget the trauma of this night.

He takes a step up towards you, drawing him closer to eye level but he doesn’t release your wrist.

“You take liberties with me, sir,” you insist, twisting your wrist in his grip but he doesn’t relent.

“Please, I didn’t mean it,” he shakes his head, his breathing evening out, mouth slightly parted. “I meant none of it. It was merely a…" he fumbles, trying to find just the right word. "...a jest.”

“So, you mock me in front of the hordes of nobility and England’s elite for a laugh?" You nod, growing angrier as you stand there with his sudden and somewhat charming shame. "I hope you have been sufficiently amused. Might I retire to my bedroom now?”

You give your arm another tug but he doesn’t release you.

“If you do not let me go, I will scream.”

There’s no lie in your threat and after another long moment of Loki’s contemplation, he releases you, lifting his hands up as if in surrender.

Downstairs, just one floor down you can hear the sounds of the ball resume. The music is playing again and people are laughing and back to regular ballroom activities.

There are a few you can see stealing glances up at you from the landing below, whispering to each other before laughing and filing back into the ballroom.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Loki’s voice is deep, smooth, and sincere.

“Am I supposed to be happy about your apology? Am I supposed to overlook everything that just happened?”

Loki just stares at you, guilt twisting his features a little but still it’s mostly that soft look.

For some reason, you can’t bring your feet to turn around to make your escape. Instead you and Loki just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

Loki cannot seem to find the words and you are so close to yelling that you urge yourself to remain silent.

Below there’s a loud female laugh, shrill and clearly aimed up at you.

This gives you the push you need. You don’t like being laughed at.

“I-I meant what I said. I am sorry to have offended you in whatever way that might have been. This meeting was not my idea either. My father wished for it and your parents have been kind and accommodating but I-I knew that you probably didn’t want this so I was prepared to go through the motions and leave having given your family a sense of us having made an effort.

“Seeing as you have made your dislike for me public, you’ve saved me the time I would have spent here pretending that we were making any sort of connection so, I will go up and pack my things. I will tell your mother once the ball is concluded that I will be leaving in the morning and that will be the end of things.

“You will never have to see me again and I can go back to my castle and never set foot in society again. As was clearly your plan.”

You turn to leave again but Loki grabs your wrist once more, pulling you to a stop.

“That’s not what I want. Please, forgive me, I was hasty in my behavior. I always have been. It’s a very, very bad habit of mine. You’re not what I was expecting,” he goes on.

This time you yank your hand out of his grip, “Take hold of me again without my permission, sir, and I will kick you down these steps.”

Loki’s face flashes with surprise but he laughs and takes a step back onto the lower stair.

“Good night, Lord Odinson. It was an eye opening experience to make your acquaintance. Please express my regrets to your mother’s guests but I am not feeling well.”

The pretense is shoddy and everyone knows it. Or will know it as soon as Loki tells them.

Luckily, he doesn’t stop you again and you make it back to your room easily. You’re not there five minutes before Anna comes bursting through your bedroom door, searching desperately for you.

She spots you, sitting at your vanity and you sigh, still in full dress just staring at your reflection, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Oh, my lady,” Anna laments and moves over to you quickly.

“It’s been a long night, Anna. I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed. Can you also have my trunks packed in the morning? I plan to be gone by noon. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome,” you go back to staring at yourself as Anna fusses with your hair removing the ribbon and several pins she’d placed to keep it all in place.

“Of course, your ladyship, but I’m certain Her Grace will want to speak with you before you make any decisions to go. Shall I fetch her now? I’m certain she’ll want to-” 

You’re saved the need of fetching the Duchess because a knock on your door followed by it opening silences Anna as she undoes the last of your hair.

As Frigga steps in, the music from downstairs floats in after her, abruptly cut off as she shuts the door behind her.

“Anna, might I have a moment alone with the Countess?” Frigga asks, though clearly it’s a dismissal.

“Your Grace,” Anna says with a curtsy before she turns to you. “I’ll bring some tea and the water for your bath.”

“Thank you, Anna.”

You’re so grateful for her kindness that you can’t help but smile, forgetting the streaks of dry tears on your cheeks.

As the door shuts again, Frigga waits in silence as you watch her stand there, hands clasped in front of her as she wrings them with worry.

“I saw my son follow you,” Frigga starts.

“He wanted to apologize,” you tell her, turning away from her to move to the small jewelry box that you’d brought with you and remove your ornaments.

It’s clear from the way you tell her that you didn’t accept his apology and Frigga sighs heavily, weary suddenly as she walks to your bed and sits on the end.

She holds onto the post, her other hand resting lightly on her lap as she smooths her golden dress.

“I tried my best to raise two sons who would think rationally before making life's biggest choices. I’m sad to say that while he does eventually come around to the correct way of thinking, his father’s firmer hand has led Loki to develop a bit of a rebellious streak. I think this was perhaps his way of punishing his father for something that is not your fault, my dear. Something removed wholly from the ball tonight and you in general.

“I’m certain he meant his apology.”

You think back to the look on Loki’s face. The guilt and the soft regret there.

“I’m certain he did too,” you admit. “That doesn’t change the fact that I was utterly humiliated and re…”

This is the bit that hurts the most. This is your biggest hill.

“Rejected for all to see. If he didn’t want to marry me, all he needed do was send word and I would have left without making a fuss.”

You cover your mouth, turning away from the Duchess as you feel the sting of new tears swell.

“This is not what I was hoping tonight would be,” Frigga admits. “But, sweet girl…”

Her hands are suddenly on your shoulders and she turns you slowly until you’re facing her.

“Oh, my dear,” she wipes the new tears retracing the tracks left from before. “I am so very sorry.”

Part of you wants to push her away. That stupid young part that Loki and the Viscountess seemed so stuck on would like nothing more than to throw a tantrum and push away the Duchess and tell her that you’re leaving and you don’t want her apologies or kindness.

A larger part of you has not felt the motherly comforts of a hug when you’re feeling down so you wrap your arms around her without thinking and she shushes you as you cry a bit more.

For a few minutes, you just feel the night and when you’re finished Frigga pushes you back to look at you.

Embarrassed, you look down at your feet and notice the stain on the beautiful white dress again, the green underneath the sheer muslin on top is also dark and ruined.

“The dress you had made for me,” you grieve.

“It’s of no matter. I can have it mended. Don’t you worry your sweet little head about it. Now, I know what you want to say. You want to leave, correct?” Frigga waits.

You nod.

“Mm, but running from this will not make you feel better.”

This time you just look down again, knowing that even if she’s kind to you, her priority will be in the best interest of her son. Keeping you here and finding a way to make Loki marry you is her main concern.

“You want me to stay?” you wonder, already knowing her answer.

“Actually, Loki wants you to stay. As I said, he’s very sorry. I caught him on the stairwell and it was he who sent me to bid you to stay.”

You’re a little surprised, blinking stupidly as you try to understand what she just said.

Only her own son could ever make her run errands.

“I don’t know if I can,” you tell her, fearful of what more rudeness from Loki might bring out in you.

Kicking him down a flight of stairs is probably not a good thing to contemplate, never mind that you’ve already threatened to do it.

“How about,” Frigga begins, moving you back to your vanity to sit you down. “You give us until the end of next week? Six more days. You’ll have spent a fortnight with us which is more than enough time to give my dolt of a son the chance to make up for tonight.”

Sure that sounds nice and all, but what about the consequences of tonight?

“Well, my dear?” She’s impatient. Reaffirming your belief that her interest lies with her son’s well-being and not your own. “What can you have to lose?”

Against your better judgement, you settle into your seat and your shoulders slump once again as you nod.

“Very well, six more days. But I request tomorrow for myself. After what everyone said about me down there, I’d really like to enjoy my own company for a bit.”

You don’t feel like it’s an unreasonable request and despite the slight purse of Frigga’s lips giving away her dislike of the request, she agrees.

There’s a small knock on the door of your room and both of you turn to look.

“Come in, Anna,” you call out, recognizing the quick pattern.

Anna pushes the door open, balancing in her arms a tray of tea, cake, chicken, and potatoes from the feast below.

Now that the worst of what you’re feeling is behind you, you’re grateful for the sustenance as you haven’t eaten anything tonight.

“I’ll leave you,” Frigga says and moves around Anna leaving the door open as she moves through your rooms.

You follow after her to be respectful and see her out.

“Thank you for coming,” you tell her. “And I’m so sorry that I left the ball.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear. You aren’t at fault for the way things transpired tonight. Trust me when I tell you that the guilty parties shall be dealt with accordingly.”

Frigga’s words are a promise and as she slips out of your sitting room and into the dimly lit hallway, a familiar head of dark hair passes by your door looking crestfallen and miffed.

“Oh, Rowenna,” Frigga begins, frowning at the woman as she stops when her name is called.

You quickly shut the door nearly all the way, not wanting to be seen in the state you’re in by one of the guilty parties responsible for your atrocious evening.

“Your Grace,” she curtsies.

“I think I gave you ample warning before about your involvement with my son,” Frigga says coldly yet gleefully, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “You are no longer welcome in this household. You and your husband are to pack your bags and leave in the morning. I don’t know what pretense you need make for him to explain your sudden need to go, but you’d best find one that will be acceptable or I will tell him exactly why your presence is no longer accepted.

“And make no mistake, Lady Gardner, now that I know the caliber of woman that you are, I will be more than happy to share that information with everyone in my acquaintance if I should ever even catch a whiff of you around Loki again. If you’ll excuse me, I must find the Viscount and let him know you’re looking for him.”

Frigga turns on her heel, leaving Rowenna in a half curtsy, head tilted as she takes in every last word the Duchess just said. She scoffs only once Frigga is gone and you quickly shut the door just as you feel Rowenna turning to look at your door.

You wait until you hear her leave before making your way back into your bedroom to Anna who gestures you over to her and has you sit to eat while she has several housemaids bring you hot water for a relaxing bath.

Chewing on your last bit of cake, you turn towards the windows of your bedroom as they shake and rattle almost violently as the cold winter wind picks up and a downright blizzard falls outside.

Even if you’d been able to deny Frigga her request to have you stay longer, you doubt you’d have been able to leave tomorrow with the heavy snowfall.

The fact that Rowenna will also be unable to leave because of the weather does not escape you and with yet another defeated crumble of your shoulders, you lean back in your chair and down the rest of your now lukewarm tea and hope that you can find the strength to deal with the Viscountess for what will probably be another few days.

[ddarker-dreams]

Saturnine. Yan Chrollo x Reader [SMUT]

Tags/warnings: Dubcon, oral sex, creampie, my brain melting, condescending ???, Chrollo always has smth to say Word count: 2.2k. Note: it is finally done .

When gazing into the mirror, it should be easy to recognize the reflection staring back as your own. It’s the sight you’ve seen your entire life. Maybe the light in your eyes is less noticeable and your smiles no longer appear genuine, but in the end, it still physically bears your image.

You shiver at the chilly air kissing your bare skin, goosebumps erupting at the lack of clothing. Thin fabric clings tightly around your body, sheer and intricate in its lace design, yet astonishingly soft to the touch. It accentuates the swell of your chest, the black as midnight fabric stopping just shy above your midriff. A matching thong connects to sheer thigh highs through a garter belt to complete the set. Never in your life can you recall wearing such a lascivious outfit. Nor did you think you’d ever wear one for him.

Covering your exposed cleavage with your arms, you lower your head, fingernails pressing so harshly against your skin that it hurts. The pain serves to ground you in reality, proof that this is happening and not a dream.

“Did I… do this right?” You murmur, not used to how Chrollo is wordlessly assessing your trembling figure. Normally the air is full of conversation, equal parts rigid and provocative, a verbal game you’ve been forced to navigate. You still prefer the mind games over this maddening silence. You’re convinced he can hear the way your heart pounds viciously as if it was attempting to free itself from your body altogether, the current stress it’s under too much to withstand.

Chrollo moves a step closer and you take a deep, shaky breath. Grey eyes rake over your body, like a predator monitoring its prey, inspecting every inch of you. He spreads his fingers against your stomach, coarse fingers gliding over your skin, gradually moving upwards.

“Mm. You did perfectly.��� His voice is rich and husky against your ear, spoken lowly so that only you may hear it. When his fingers reach their intended target, he cups your chest and lays his head on your shoulder. You watch his actions in the reflection of the mirror, glossy lips parting but no words managing to form on your tongue. Emotions swirl within you like an unrelenting vortex. Repulsion. Frustration. Shame. That it came to this, lowering yourself to a level you never wanted to be reduced to.

While you ruminate in your misery, Chrollo presses featherlight kisses from the crook of your neck to your jaw. His lips are soft and well taken care of, curling into a smile at how your pulse quickens. There are numerous mysterious surrounding Chrollo, but you do not doubt that he’s enjoying himself now. Your attention is brought back to his hands on your chest and how he kneads them. A blush ignites when you feel something hard press brush your ass, already guessing what it is.

“S-so you’re going to,” you struggle to get out, releasing a gasp when he suddenly pinches your nipple, “Keep… keep your promise, right?”

The clarification is for your peace of mind. An internal justification is necessary to continue with this illicit act, doubts plaguing your mind. You feel his chest rumble against your back, a deep chuckle leaving him. Regret comes swiftly, knowing that anytime you speak to Chrollo his responses sting deep, piercing your skin and festering.

One of his hands comes to your jaw, tilting your head back to look at him. The proximity has your eyes wide as a doe, his warm breath fanning against your face, dark tresses of hair tickling your face. His grip is tight but not painful. A not so subtle reminder of the Phantom Troupe leader’s innate strength, that goes beyond any measurement your mind could conjure up. Your squeeze your eyes shut when he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips.

“What if I don’t?” Chrollo’s question has you frowning, eyelids fluttering open so you can shoot him a glare. He stares back unfazed, amusement visible from his closed mouth smile and relaxed posture, clearly not feeling intimidated by your little show. You decide to give it some thought, knowing he’ll scrutinize your response if not chosen carefully. Though, it’s admittedly difficult to concentrate when your face is burning up and his hand is still groping your chest.

Swallowing thickly, you arrive at a half-decent comeback. “I’ll… I’ll hate you.”

It sounded far better in your head.

Chrollo raises an eyebrow at your rebuttal but decides to entertain it. “Don’t you already?”

“I’ll hate you even more,” comes your reply, stumbling out before you could think it over. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he doesn’t take visible offense. Instead, the bastard laughs again. Affectionately, Chrollo brushes his knuckles over your cheek, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Even more, huh,” he hums, your nonsensical ramblings sounding worse when repeated back. “If that’s the threat I’m contending with, then I’ll be sure to stick to my word.”

You’re not exactly reassured by this, but decide to leave it for now. Suddenly, Chrollo steps back, freeing you from his grip. Before you can ask about what he’s doing, his hands start loosening his belt. Ah. So the time for negotiating is over. His dress pants fall, revealing a prominent bulge pushing against his briefs.

“Now get on your knees for me.”

It wasn’t a request. You do as he says, hyper-aware of how he’s staring at you, the tile from your shared master bedroom cold against your shins. To save what little modesty you have remaining, you readjust your bra so your chest no longer threatens to spill out. Heartbeat picking up in pace, you lift a shaky hand, palming his crotch through the fabric. 

The muscles in his thighs tighten, yet every other aspect of him remains thoroughly composed. Playing with the waistband, you slowly pull it down, revealing Chrollo’s half-hard member. It’s long, around six inches when erect, with a prominent vein that you’ve learned is rather sensitive. Precum is already leaking from the head, a sight that worsens the blush on your face.

Chrollo runs his hands through your hair, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. You pick up on the unspoken encouragement to not keep him waiting. Readjusting yourself into a more comfortable position, you take his dick fully into your hands, giving it a tentative stroke to test the waters. No verbal response. He’s excellent at maintaining his composure, creepy as it may be. Pumping his cock from the base, you bow your head down, eyelids fluttering shut as you kiss and lick the tip. That earns you a sharp inhale and a tightened grip but nothing else. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you continue licking the tip while jerking him off, noting that his cum has a slight salty taste to it.

Now that your confidence has somewhat been built up, you part your lips to take more of him in, getting adjusted to his size. Chrollo lets out a shaky exhale, fingers curling deeper into your hair. It’s difficult to get into a solid rhythm as your anxiety is unrelenting. Being so vulnerable in front of a person whose hands, which are now intertwined with your hair, have slaughtered countless people. 

He could do the same to you at any time, you think, despite his insistence for not wanting to. Hollowing out your cheeks, you manage to take more of him in, stopping just shy as not to activate your gag reflex. It makes your stomach churn when he lovingly strokes your cheek, looking down at you with eyes glazed over with crazed lust. Of course, he wouldn’t make this easy on you and act different — he continues with the delusion that this is love.

“Eager, now are we?” Chrollo laughs breathlessly. You decide to ignore the comment, too focused on having him finish so you can move on with your night. The low groans and whispers of your name are starting to affect you, a factor that only adds to your shame.. Pangs of heat are building up in between your legs, which you subconsciously rub together in a feeble attempt to relieve yourself. Chrollo quietly groans, content at the sight, dick twitching in your mouth. You wish he hadn’t noticed just how turned on you’re growing — not that you’re surprised with how unfairly observant he is — fully prepared for more scathing comments.

“I’m glad you stopped being so stubborn,” he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, gripping your head tightly enough not to let you move away, “So I can finally have my way with you.”

You wince at how he forces his dick down your throat, tears stinging the corners of your eyes and lungs screaming for air. Chrollo drinks in the sight, shuddering, bucking his hips, and pulling your face as tight against him as he can. You figure his release is getting closer from how erratic his movements are growing. At least it’ll be over soon. This line of thought is interrupted as he pulls away, saliva and cum connecting your mouth to his dick in a thin line, which has you frowning. Relishing the opportunity to regain yourself, your lungs greedily gulp in air, and you cough from his previous actions.

Chrollo extends a hand out to you which you hesitantly accept. The more human side is starting to show, his skin sheening with sweat, bare chest heaving for air much like yours, and black tresses sticking to the sides of his face. Your lips part, intending to ask why he stopped. He places both his just hands below your ass, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing. Yelping, you struggle and cling to him as not to fall, eyes wide with confusion.

“W-what—”

“Wrap your legs around me,” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and you do as he says, scared that you’ll fall otherwise. “Mm. Good girl.”

Chrollo carries you over to the wall, your back pressing against the hard surface and feeling its coolness on your bare skin. After thinking about it for a moment, you understand what it is he intends to do next, tightening your grip around him. He positions the head of his cock against your opening, smiling at how wet you are. At least he’s too focused to comment on your current state. You look to the side, not wanting to see the pleased expression you know is on his face.

“I’ll take care of you after,” Chrollo promises, slowly pushing himself inside you. You take a deep breath, gripping his shoulders tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. At least he’s allowing you to adjust. You yelp when he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it so that you look him dead in the eye. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hm?”

A half-choked out moan leaves your lips as he fills you, feeling his sizeable length stretching you out.

“Y-yes,” You pant, carnal desire outweighing any solid reasoning at the moment. Chrollo continues to pound relentlessly into your cunt, burying his face in your neck. He’s coming undone, fucking you with a strength that has you breathless. You catch occasional guttural groans of your name and don’t want to admit how nice it sounds.

“I always knew you’d come around.” 

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed in with his grunts and your moans. Squeezing your ass, his thrusts grow erratic, before he finally stills. Chrollo releases deep inside you, pulling you down onto him, hot ropes of cum filling you and seeping out.

He grits his teeth, shuddering at his release. All is still for a moment aside from your heavy chests. Chrollo gathers himself before you do, slowly pulling himself out. You feel his cum as it drips out of you and bite your lip at the possible implications. Everything is so warm and your body feels terribly sore, having to clutch onto him for stability when he puts you back down. Chrollo doesn’t seem to mind this, laughing as he runs his hands through your mousled hair.

“How precious.”

You yelp when he picks you up, bridal style this time, your face pressing against his chest.

“It looks like you needed some help there, dear.” Chrollo hums, placing you down onto the bed with a gentleness you weren’t used to. There’s no way any normal human could be this collected already. Taking deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, not wanting to be completely undone before him. Chrollo watches with intrigue while you do so, his eyes piercing through your trembling body. When you finally manage to get your breathing steady, he gently pushes your shoulders down and spreads your legs.

“Now, about that promise of mine,” he presses open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your thighs, “I intend to keep it. We’ll keep going until you’re no longer able to stand.”

[supernaturalgirl20]

Prompt list #2

8. “I’ll take care of you.”

Prompt list # 1

6.Have you been taking care of yourself?”

For either Marcus or Pero. Please and thank you. So excited to read what comes out or your beautiful head. 😊💖🥰💕

Thank you for the prompts my dear I hope you enjoy 🥰 I went with Pero on this one. Love some soft (grumpy) Spaniard 😍

Warnings: fluff, small bit of angst, little bit of angry Pero, mention of sickness, poverty, mention of sex.

Pero has been gone longer than expected and your worried. What if something has happened to him. You would never know. When you married the grumpy Spaniard a year ago, you had asked him to stop selling his sword, that you wanted him home safe, wanted to start a family with him. Pero being the stubborn man that he is, agreed, but only if he could join William one last time. You we’re not happy but you compromised. He promised he would return before winter set in, that he would breed you, keep you in his bed until you were carrying his babe. Promises are worse than lies, that’s what your grandmother once said. You promise things to people, give them hope, when you know you may not be able to do it.

***

Winter was hard to prepare for, especially when you were alone. You had to ensure you had enough food to last in case you could not make it to the village, the animals needed extra care and the house had to be prepared to withstand any harsh winter conditions. You had most done, all that was left was to gather enough food supplies to see you through, making sure to get extra in case Pero returned. Although you we’re losing hope little by little each day that passed without him.

***

Going to the village was burden and a treat. A burden because of the long journey on foot, carrying heavy baskets, but also a treat as you got to catch up with some locals, who we’re always so friendly. You began to feel a chill in your bones, a pain behind your eyes. You knew it was the flu, having been outside in the wet and windy weather without the proper clothing. Something Pero would chastise you for if he were here. I must grab some medicine while I’m here. Your last stop was to Mrs. Smith the baker, she would always throw in some extra bread for you, she was a sweet old women.

“Y/N my child, come come you must sit please, you do not look well. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok it is just a cold or the winter flu, but thank you for your concern, I will take the usual if that is ok.”

“Where is that husband of yours to look after you? It is not right for a man to leave his wife for so long.”

“He should be home any day now.”

She gives you a look as if to say ‘do you even believe that’.

“Here take this tea home with you, it is my special blend, it will help.”

“Thank you so much your very kind.”

“Nonsense my dear, now you must make haste before night falls. I have given you some extra bits to see you through.”

“Thank you.”

You walk out into the street saying your final goodbye. The journey home was long and hard, the baskets weighing heavier thank usual. Making it home just before dark you prepare the drink that Mrs. Smith gave you. It tasted vile but if it helps you will bear it.

***

Sleep did not come, you were up all night coughing and with a fever. By morning you could barely move, your whole body ached. You dressed, unwillingly, but you had one more trip to make into town. How you longed for Pero to be home right now. You left early and were gone all day. You passed Mrs. Smith and she barely let you leave then village.

“Dios mio, my dear you can not walk home like this. You look like death.”

You laugh, well try to,through the coughing.

“I’m ok I promise, I’m heading home now and I promise I will rest.” She offered for you to use her horse and cart, but you politely refused, having never taken Pero up on his riding lessons. You struggled home, as you came over the slight hill, your home just beyond it, you began to feel dizzy. Swaying your vision beginning to go, you collapse on the road, baskets falling on you. You do not know how long you’ve been on the ground, coming in and out of consciousness, you think you hear the distant sound of a horse. A figure looks over you, this must be death.

“Mi esposa? Mi amor please wake up, wake up. No….no you canno be dead. Por qué la dejé?”

Everything is dark, your head feels heavy, but your body feels weightless, like your flying.

***

You wake startled to find you are in your home, in bed to be exact. How did I get here? You here a clatter in the kitchen and some muffled curses. Trying to get out of bed to see who is in your home, the door bursts open and you finally see him. It’s been too long and yet like he never left.

“Hermosa! What are you doing out of bed, you need to rest.”

He lifts you up and gently places you back in bed. He pushes some hair from your face, and he is staring at you with a strange look on his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have yes, it have been hard I won’t lie but..”

He puts a hand up indicating that he was not finished. “Clearly not, if I arrive home only to find my wife nearly dead on the road. You should not have been out in that weather, especially when you are no well!” You pull the covers over you, Pero has never been this angry before, not with you.

“I canno believe you were so reckless, I don’t know what I would do if you were gone.”

The anger in him dissipates and he moves towards you slowly, gently lifting your chin so you are looking directly at him.

“I am sorry mi esposa…kiss….mi vida…kiss….mi amor. I was just worried. I am home now I’ll take care of you.”

“Pero you should not be kissing me, you could get sick also.”

“Hmm I will kiss my wife if I want. I am built of strong stuff do not worry.”

He leans in to kiss you again, the warmth of him consuming you. You shiver slightly and he notices shedding himself of his armour, and with nothing on he slides in behind you pulling you close.

“I will keep you warm mi amor, and when you are over this we will start on that family no?”

It was good to have Pero home.

Tagging

@lunaserenade @day-off-inkyoto @asta-lily @anaaaispunk @librariantothejedi @maievdenoir @elinedjarin @kirsteng42 @loserrlauraa @dihra-vesa @seasonschange-butpeopledont @pascal-rascal424 @ikinmahlen @janelongxox @almaeunice @javierpinme @thorins-queen-of-erebor @dindjarinneedsahug @jediknight122 @stevie75

[theseshipsshallsail]

Chapter 1

The revelry from the bookstore leaves a heady buzz of la libertà flowing through their veins, and as the crescent moon climbs higher in a pin-pricked sky, Rome’s labyrinthine streets bear witness to the loss of their remaining inhibitions. Drunken kisses give way to drunken dancing - and unfortunate drunken vomiting - but the ancient cobbles are their compass on this ferragosto evening, steering them back to the complicit safety of their hotel. 

The stale scent of sex still lingers in the room, yet tempted as they are to add to it, the prospect of their imminent separation is a sobering force. Elio’s body is heavy with exhaustion. The oppressive tightness in his chest magnified by all that he’s trying to ignore. Their time is borrowed. Soon, all of this will be naught but memory. The man beside him nothing but a ghost. Haunting his every step with visions of a life denied. A future obfuscated by what-ifs and maybes.   

He refuses to sleep, however. Refuses to sacrifice a single minute to unconsciousness in spite of the grappa’s siren call. Absurd though it is, a part of him dreads waking up alone. That Oliver will disappear like a thief in the night - taking what’s left of his shattered heart with him. His guards are down - all his pretences stripped away - but here they are, stretched out on a too-small bed, solemn fingers caressing familiar skin. Worshipping each other by words, if not by the flesh. 

And it isn’t easy. Of course it isn’t. Elio’s an individuo reservato. A trait he’s uncomfortably aware of. But he can’t let that stop him from spilling his innermost thoughts. From divulging the things he wishes he’d done differently. Or not at all. In some aspects, he’s sure he’s repeating himself, but there’s just so much he needs Oliver to hear. Things he never dared tell him previously - never deemed vital - when the end of their summer idyll was a nebulous concept.  

Like how he’d leave the adjoining door open at night, hoping beyond hope that Oliver would walk through it. Or that afternoon at the tennis courts, when he’d recoiled from his massage for fear of leaning into the frisson of excitement. Needs him to understand his visceral reaction the morning after they first slept together. The crippling anxiety that twisted his intentions, necessitating a hasty - if short-lived - retreat. Wants to beg him not to forget. To remember everything. So that when next he tastes the salt-tang of the ocean upon his lips, the sweetness of apricot juice beneath a cloudless yonder, a piece of Elio - nevermind how fleeting - will slip into that parallel life, too.

All his secrets. 

All his worries. 

All he’s put off for later. 

A futile notion, admittedly, now that there is no later. 

No more chance for postponement. 

Thankfully, he isn’t the only one speaking, and Oliver lays his own regrets out like a hand of cards whenever he stumbles into a tongue-tied silence. His forearm is slung around his waist, their legs tangled at the knees, and Elio drowns in his eyes as he recalls the steely glares that once pierced him to the core, but which he now appreciates were a means of self-defence. An attempt to stave off the unavoidable.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers, twisting Oliver’s Star of David between his fingertips as he burrows into the sticky warmth of his neck. “When you said you’d been happy here?”

“How can you even ask me that?” 

“How can I not?” Elio replies, failing to control the tremor in his voice. “You tried to keep your distance when you arrived. It was me who sought you out. If I hadn’t pushed so hard -”

“I’d have probably spent ten more days kicking myself for my cowardice,” Oliver tells him, dropping kisses to his knuckles as though they’re something to be cherished. “Wearing holes in my espadrilles… trying to hide a semi each time you passed by in those swim trunks...”

Elio snorts. “The feeling’s mutual, mon ami.”

“So we’re both idiots, then?”

“Well… one of us was being purposefully difficult...”

“Goose,” Oliver growls, and Elio giggles despite himself when he’s tickled without mercy. “I’ll show you purposefully difficult.”

It soon devolves into a childish wrestling match, Elio’s wrists pinned above him as Oliver scrabbles along his sides, leaving him bow-taut and winded. “Tutto apposto! Enough!”

“You give?”

“I give,” he says, lungs heaving in his chest. “Dio… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Nonsense.” Oliver rolls to the side, tipping his chin up to better meet his eyes. ”This is new to us both. It’s only natural to have doubts.”

Elio huffs. “Doubt is the father of inventions.”

“And may I ask what you’re inventing?”

An awkward shrug. “Nothing,” Elio says, afraid his misgivings will lead them down a destructive path. “And everything. You know how my brain works.”

“I do, yes.” Oliver brushes a thumb over his bottom lip. “Though for my sins, I’ve yet to find cause for complaint.”

“Déviant.” 

“Takes one to know one.”

Elio nips at the tormenting digit, not quite ready to let the subject go. “I want to hear it,” he murmurs, teeth scraping the nail. “I think I need to hear it.”

“Elio…”

“Just tell me,” he insists, and sighing, Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” 

Impatience flares at the return of his evasiveness, and the remorse in Oliver’s gaze is immediate. “We never talked much about my family, did we?” he asks, and Elio shakes his head, shuffling closer as Oliver draws a shuddering breath. “My parents, they’re.... well. To describe them as traditional would be a kindness,” he continues. “Our relationship has been strained for years, but they have certain... expectations, I suppose. For my future, specifically. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Elio asks, stiffening as I'm sure I'll pay for it somehow echoed from the not so distant past. 

The implication is clear, and maybe there are razor blades in his expression, because Oliver’s own turns instantly apologetic. “I guess not,” he says, sliding a conciliatory hand to his hip. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Elio frowns. “In what way?”

“With your folks,” Oliver explains. “My father would cart me off to a correctional facility.” A beat. “He still might.” 

“Only if he finds out,” his traitorous mouth blurts before his alleged genius can catch up, and Elio’s heart sinks. “But he won’t, will he?”

It’s less a question, more a statement, and Oliver’s jaw clenches as he stares at him in silent concession. “I wish things could be different.”

“I know,” Elio says, the words braver than the sentiment behind them. “Me too.”  

But the universe isn’t that lenient. Like Icarus, they’ve flown too near to the sun, and the consequences of such defiance will see their wings clipped once they crash back down to earth. He’d cautioned himself on the journey south to prepare for the blow. Peered out the grimy window of the direttissimo, knowing that when he next stands on the platform he’ll be alone. That he’ll hate it. Those rehearsals, it seems, have done little to dull the pain of what’s to come, and latent superstition has left him fumbling in the dark, regardless.

“E’ la vita,” Elio says, resorting to self-preservation as he dredges up a smile - the over-bright, false one he’s perfected through years of dinner drudgery. “Why risk it all for a bit of fun, right?”

“Don’t do that.” Apparently Elio’s not the only one who can see through a facade. “You mean more to me than some fling, and you know it.”

“But -” 

“No. Hear me out.” Earnest, Oliver smooths the hair from Elio’s temple. “These past six weeks… I don’t know how to describe how important they were to me. The freedom. The acceptance.” His throat bobs in the grey strokes of dawn. “You.”

“Me?” 

“Us.” Oliver fidgets with a loose thread on Elio’s shirt. “I meant it,” he mutters at last, winding an errant curl around the index finger of his other hand. “I have been happy here. I’ve been happy with you.” He hesitates. A quick flash of indecision. “I’m not sure I was ever really happy before you.” 

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Per carità! That only makes it worse,” Elio says, whirling away to hide in Oliver’s collar. The sour musk of sweat is soaked into the material, and he inhales deeply, hoarding every piece of him while he still can. “You are the very best parts of me,” he confesses, lifting his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do when -”

“Hey…” Oliver’s grip tightens. “Didn’t we go over this? You’ll be -”

“Fine. You said.”

“Clearly it bears repeating.” 

Elio touches his face. Watches the ripples of emotion spread out like a pebble cast into the lake. “And you?” he returns, recollecting that night on the rock. His naivety in presuming Oliver’s ghost wouldn’t always be staring out at the horizon. Rodin’s Thinker clad in billowy cotton. “You’ll be okay?”

A breath. “I’ll be okay.”

Elio’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince, so he kisses him gently in lieu of examining it further, his stomach flipping when Oliver pulls back with an air of exquisite softness. “What time do we need to be at the airport?” he asks, seeking sanctuary in distraction. “You have your passport, sì?”

“I do,” Oliver says, studying him carefully. “The plane leaves at noon. But don’t feel you have to -” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You don’t have to see me off. Not if you don’t want -”

“I want.”

“Elio -”

“Non essere ridicolo. I’m coming,” he tells him, fighting a shiver as the cool breeze from the window brings goosebumps to his skin. “Of course I’m coming.” 

The relentless tick of the clock rings loud in the sudden silence, and Elio raises up on his elbow, only for Oliver to cup his cheek before he can turn towards the wall. 

“Don’t look,” he whispers, sounding choked as he double checks the time on his watch. “It’s ten minutes fast at any rate.”

“Ten minutes?” Elio laughs. Slightly unhinged. “What difference does that make? Ten? Twenty? You still have to leave.”

He detests the unspoken word that hovers between them. The entire phrase a sullen admission of weakness: you still have to leave me.

“Don’t think of it like that,” Oliver murmurs, one hand stroking the base of his spine. ”We have a few hours yet.” 

Elio sniffs. “Not like they’ll matter tomorrow.”

“Maybe not. But they matter right now.” Oliver nudges their foreheads together. “Every second, Elio.” 

“Every second, Elio,” he echoes numbly, if only to call him by his name one last time.

He’s shaking, he realises, though in all honesty he doesn’t care that his vulnerabilities are on display. That Oliver can see how lost in him he really is. That the situation is gutting him, and he’s unable to stop the bleeding. His chest feels concave. The space below his ribs too small to contain the sheer need and protectiveness that washes through him. He wants to shelter Oliver from the storm that lies ahead. To house him beneath his breast where the burdens of this world cannot touch him. Encapsulate everything Oliver is within the confines of himself, meagre as those confines might be.

But what can he do? Implore him to stay? Ask him to give up his doctorate? His career? His responsibilities? And for what? A life in the shadows? Always looking over their shoulders. Always that sense of shame.

He thinks of the pink and yellow lilies that bloom in the giardino back in B. The delicate petals that unfurl for such a brief period of time. There’s something recherché, he knows, in such transitory beauty, yet Elio’s never lacked for stubbornness. Oliver may believe his story is already written - that their destiny is forged in stone - but no one’s ever survived a freefall by continuing to spiral. 

For something so tragically temporary, their bond has left a permanent mark. And Elio? He wants to beat his fists against this odious ending until they’re bloodied and raw.

[thatgoblin]

RE Crack Drabble 42 C

A/N: Because I can and because I need more Carlos smut in my life, here you go.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex [afab and amab receiving and giving], over stimulation, oral fixation.

Squirming in the cuffs, you grunted and glared at Carlos. "This isn't fair!" You cried.

"You brought a bear into the house," he laughed. "I don't think fair applies here."

"His name is Gary and he's a nice bear!" You snapped, trying to keep Carlos at bay with one of your feet. Not that it would work, but you were trying. Carlos just snickered as he grabbed your ankles and pushed them up towards your head. "Excuse me! Now is not the time for sex! I have a bear to save!"

"Darling, sweetie, light of my life, that bear is not going to get hurt by fellow bear Chris Redfield," he said, leaning in to kiss your pouting lips. "If anything it'll happily be lured out of the house and back into the woods with a full belly."

"Why can't I have things?" You groaned as Carlos settled onto his elbows above you, your legs hitched over his shoulders.

"Well, maybe a large predator is not an ideal pet. Maybe we get dog or a hedgehog instead?" Carlos suggested, humming as he kissed over your jaw and neck.

"What the hell is a hedgehog?" You asked with a frown. "Not the point. I found Gary though. He's a sweet boy, I think he's a boy at least, and he likes sandwich meat and crackers and belly rubs and hugs."

"Babe, you just described Nikolai. I don't think you need a bear," Carlos snickered.

"Nikolai is not a sweet boy. That man is menace to genitals everywhere," you snorted.

"You're not wrong, but you still can't have a bear. Pretty sure it's illegal and we don't need anyone coming here to find out we have illegal animals. Chris will have a stroke," he said, pulling back as he worked your shorts and underwear down your hips and legs to toss them to the side. The cool air hit your sex, making you squirm a bit in your vulnerable position. "Now, I'm supposed to be distracting you," he said, pulling your shirt and bra up off your chest. Leaving the shirt just over your nose and eyes, using your bra to pin it in place.

"Carlos," you whined, unable to see what he was doing as he moved back to let you squirm under his gaze. His weathered hands pushed on your soft, inner thighs to spread them as he leaned down to press hot kisses to your hips. Unable to see and only feel, you were getting wet from just how near his mouth was to that sensitive mound. His humming only made you throb as you started to wriggle against him.

Of all your partners, Carlos was the only one to make you so wet and hot so quickly. You weren't sure why, but there was just something about him that made you melt.

He nipped at the soft skin of your thighs before finally, FINALLY using that magic tongue of his to lick a broad stroke up your slit to that tender spot that had you gasping.

"Sir, please," you whimpered, shaking as he slowly pushed his tongue between your lower lips to slide up again.

"So it's Sir now, huh? What happened to you arguing with me and calling me Carlos?" He asked, pulling away as you cried out. His hands pinned your hips, keeping you still despite your want to thrash in protest.

"I'm sorry Sir," you said, licking your lips. "I'm sorry I argued with you."

"Good," he said, moving back down to continue giving you slow licks that only served to get you wet further, your mound swelling at the attention. You bit your lip as he pushed his tongue further into you, pulling your folds apart with the tips of his fingers to get at the more delicate parts of you.

"Sir," you grunted, struggling to keep yourself from bucking up. "Please, Sir. I-I'm close."

"I want you to come on my face like a good doll," he groaned against you. Gasping, you let out soft twittering noises as he began to suck on your clit, massaging it with the tip of his tongue. It was when he press two, thick fingers into you that you lost it. Letting out a guttural groan, you shook as you came hard on his face and finger.

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir," you whined as he kept moving. Carlos didn't let up, forcing another orgasm from you as he curled his fingers to rub against that sweet spot he always knew to hit. Your toes curled as you tried to shut your legs, tears pricking your eyes as he still kept going. His strong arms kept you open for him, coaxing another orgasm and then another. Sobbing, you were blubbering nonsense as you tried to plead for respite from that wicked tongue of his.

One more orgasm had you shaking harder than the first one as he lifted his face to show how covered in your slick he was. Not that you could see, but you could taste when he crawled up your body to kiss you hard, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Moaning softly, you relaxed at the pause your overworked sex was given. You were more than happy to make out with Carlos, letting him rut against your belly with his hard cock.

Part of you hoped he would ask to do anal or for you to suck him off just so you didn't go numb.

"You're so gorgeous when you're wrecked," he groaned between kisses. "It's not often I get to do this to you and have you all to myself. I should really take more time in the afternoons like this with you. I'm sure you would agree."

"Yes Sir," you moaned as he shifted his weight to his hands and feet before adjusting his body to straddle your chest. Groaning in anticipation, you open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out for him.

"I knew you would remember what to do," he said with a chuckle. You could feel him lean forward to tap his heavy cock against your tongue, groaning as he pushed the head past your lips. Wrapping them around him, you moaned as he moved forward, swirling your tongue around him as he let his hips drive his prick further into your mouth. When the soft head hit the back of your throat, you gagged, but Carlos kept going. He was long and thick and you always felt like you would choke to death on him, but what a fucking way to go.

"My best doll, always willing to suck me off," he grunted as he pressed till your nose was buried in his curls. Slowly, he pulled back, letting you breathe before repeating. Being unable to see his face, to witness the pure pleasure you were giving him was frustrating, but you knew his exact expression. It was your favorite one.

His hair hanging in his heavy lidded eyes with his face flushed and his lips either partially open or biting his bottom lip. Any time he looked at you and bit his lip, you were done for.

His rhythm didn't stay slow and steady, in fact he began to speed up after just a few thrusts till he was practically throat fucking you.

"Oh fuck," he moaned as he gripped your hair tightly. "Best mouth I've ever had." The praise was wonderful, going to your head even as you were being used. Easing off of you, he let you gasp for air as his cock bobbed and hit your chin. "You look so good like this. I love seeing you so thoroughly fucked."

"Thank you, Sir," you moaned as he shifted down your body. Pulling the shirt off your face, he unlocked the cuffs from your wrists as well, allowing you to push yourself onto his lap.

"Come on baby," he groaned before your lips collided in a hungry kiss. Breaking away, he moved you to your elbows and knees. Cock in hand, he ran it over your still slick entrance a few times then began to push into you.

Carlos was big and knew it, letting you stretch slowly as he entered you. Whimpering softly, you twitched around his girth as he took his time in bottoming out. Once he had, you couldn't help how your eyes crossed in pleasure at feeling so full. Biting your lip, you whined as he wrapped his hand around your throat as he began to thrust. Each one stole your breath as he slammed into you. It took everything not to scream as he sped up.

Sex with Carlos was always intense. It had been since the beginning and you loved it. Grunting, he held onto your throat with a firm grip and an even harder one on your hip as he began to pound into you.

Sobbing, tears running down your face, you could only take what he was giving you.

"So pretty when your so drunk on my cock," he growled as he kept his harsh pace up. Your next orgasm was getting close, but you couldn't get the words out as Carlos gave you no mercy. Pulling you up to your knees, he kept the hand on your throat, but wrapped his other arm around your wait to keep you up. It felt so much deeper and you swore you were seeing stars as you clung to him. His fingers went to your clit and began to rub it as he turned your head for a messy kiss, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him.

He swallowed your scream as you came hard around him, shaking and nearly blacking out out. Carlos was close behind you, growling into the kisses as he slammed into you with stuttering thrusts before painting your insides with his cum. Quivering and whimpering, you could only kiss him back as your body refused to do anything else. You were jelly in Carlos' arms and he knew it.

Carefully, he pulled out of you so that you could lay down next to him. You pressed close to him as you felt him already begin to leak from your sore mound, but you didn't care. Your brain was fucked silly, just like how he wanted.

"Let's get some rest," he said softly, pulling the blankets over your quickly cooling bodies in the air conditioned room. All you could do was hum as you laid your head on his chest to listen to his rapid heart beat slow down.

With heavy eyes, you mumbled an 'I love you,' earning a kiss to the head and a returned 'I love you, too.'

Sleep pulled at you, but a sound beyond the closed door brought you out of your exhaustion.

"What the hell? How does the bear know to knock on the door!?" Chris cried.

Master List of Drabbles

Tag List: @abysswhiskey11 @interviewedchicken @lonely-af-fangirl @girl-obsessed-with-things @mmmm----15 @depressedthebluefox @whimsywispsblog @singingsiren98 @parkerschurros @chrissyreid

[poptod]

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

+

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

The Halfling from the Mountains Cont’d

Hey all! So I wanted to write something for Fanfic Writers’ Day, and even though it’s coming in a bit late, I decided to write a small continuation of the Mulan AU. It is almost a year exactly since I posted this little drabble, and it’s by FAR the most popular drabble I have on tumblr. Also, I really needed Kili to ask Bilbo if he “would like to stay forever.”  😆 Please enjoy.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely hobbled their way to the base of the hill before they were swarmed by allies. Healers ushered them to one of the many tents being erected on the cleanest part of the battlefield. While Bilbo only had a few bumps and bruises of little concern, Thorin was all but thrown into a cot as they tended to his foot. Bilbo was able to get one more glance at the protesting king before he was shoved down on a makeshift bench with a bowl of stew in his hands.

“Eat up, laddie. I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet.” Oin instructed before leaving to tend to others.

Bilbo allowed himself the moment of peace as all the adrenaline seeped out with each bite of the bland, but very welcome food. Perhaps, truly this time, the worst was behind them.

“WHAT A MESS! WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE ARKENSTONE THIEF?”

Then again, perhaps not. Bilbo’s head whipped up to see a furious Dain stroll into the camp. He jumped to his feet, the stew regrettably spilling to the ground only to invite the irate dwarf’s attention. Dain immediately stalked into his direction, and for every step forward, Bilbo took one back until he bumped into someone behind him. He startled and turned to apologize only for the person to put a hand on his shoulder and gently push him behind them. Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Dwalin. Dain, on the other hand, was flummoxed.

“Stand aside.” Dain ordered. “That creature isn’t worth protecting.”

Bilbo flinched at the sheer acid in his tone. Before Dwalin could respond, his brother appeared on his other side completely blocking Bilbo from view now.

“He’s a hero.” Balin argued.

“He’s a Halfling and a thief.” Dain scoffed.

Bilbo’s jaw nearly dropped as he was suddenly surrounded by his entire company minus the Durins. Each of them with a hard glint in their eyes.

“Listen here you pompous windbag.” Bofur growled. It was the only time Bilbo ever recalled him truly angry. “I think we know our Burglar better than any here. You owe the life of your King to him.”

Dain looked about ready to spit fire as his face changed to match the color of his hair.

“HE BETRAYED MY KING AND ANY THAT DEFEND HIM ARE JUST AS BAD!”

Well that seemed to set everyone off as the Company started to yell loudly in defense of their honor, and Dain and his men continued to besmirch the hobbit’s name. Bilbo, having quite enough of such nonsense, was about ready to find some way to shut them all up when a strong voice broke through the clearing.

“SHARZA!”

Silence rang through the camp as all eyes be they man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit, turned to regard Thorin. The king’s foot was wrapped tightly yet blood still managed to seep through the bandages. Because of this, he was being supported by his two nephews, but all three managed to look regal and proud in their grimy states. Thorin’s cold eyes bore into Dain until the other dwarf dropped his head. At that point, Thorin regarded the Company and silently demanded they stand aside. Bilbo was once more exposed to the glares and curious stares of the surrounding crowd. He could kill Thorin.

“This is Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin announced in a clear voice that somehow seemed to ring for miles without being too loud.

“He was contracted by my Company of thirteen dwarves to leave his home in the Shire and burgle from a dragon. He thinks of nothing but creature comforts of good homes and good food. He was inexperienced with a blade prior to joining us, and knew nothing of how to survive in the wild and yet…”

Bilbo blinked in shock at the warm smile that split Thorin’s face.

“He has saved us all. As King, I pardon any and all crimes against his person. Master Baggins shall only ever be treated with respect on behalf of all Durin’s folk.”

If Bilbo was caught off-guard before, the sight of Thorin bowing to him nearly had him flat on his back. What made it worse was it started a domino effect as next the Company was bowing, then the rest of the dwarves, and finally the remainder of the entire Free People’s army. Even Dain, who looked like he tasted something foul, bowed in deference to his king. Bilbo wanted to scream that he wasn’t a hero! He was just a simple hobbit from the Shire, but faced with the truly humbling sight, he couldn’t find the words. Almost as if realizing his newfound conundrum, Thorin rose with a hidden twinkle in his eye before he turned to return to his tent using his sister sons as his crutch, satisfied that Bilbo would have no more difficulties. The Company patted his back or ruffled his hair. Dori even offered to stay with him if he felt unsafe, but Dain’s hasty retreat spoke volumes about any remaining troubles Bilbo would had. In a matter of seconds, he was alone once again.

“There’s seems to be an awful lot of excitement this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Almost alone. Bilbo looked up at Gandalf whose smirk somehow managed to reflect amusement and pride all at the same time.

“He didn’t have to do that.” Bilbo finally found his voice, regardless of how awe-filled it was.

“I would think Thorin has a differing opinion on the subject. You’ve done well, Bilbo. You can go home now knowing you have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo mused, not registering Gandalf’s words.

“Why back to the Shire! You do still plan to return to Bag End, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Bilbo snapped reflexively only to flinch at the harshness of his own words. “I mean, yes, I do...I just...”

“Well,” Gandalf offered. “We have a few days. Think about it, and let me know, whatever you decide.”

***

Bilbo thought about it, but he was no closer to an answer. He had to go back to Bag End. He was a Baggins after all, but the idea of leaving his dwarves. Leaving Thorin...it left a hole in his chest that refused to be closed. He finally decided it was just the freshness of leaving his friends. A few months back in the Shire, and the pain would leave him once he was back where he belonged. Therefore, despite how much it hurt, he told Gandalf he did still intend to go home.

His dwarves did not take the news well.

Bilbo ignored the pleading eyes of the Durin princes as he finished putting away his new clothes from Dori into his pack along with trinkets from the whole Company. Well, all but Thorin. Even Dain had come by to apologize for the way he had reacted after he got the full story and left Bilbo with a rather large and impractical shield. Remarkably, Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of the new King Under the Mountain since his declaration to return home. 

“You could build a new home here! You don’t have to go, Mister Boggins.” Kili pleaded.

Bilbo couldn’t help smirking as he patted the dwarf on the shoulder.

“As I have said before Kili, the Shire is where I belong."

“You also belong here.” Fili added, looking oddly serious and melancholy.

Bilbo’s smile fell as he turned his back to hide how effected he was by the prince’s words.

“Me? I’m just a silly hobbit. I no more belong in a mountain than an acorn in a window garden. Now, are you going to walk me to the gate or expect me to carry all of this myself?”

Fili and Kili had many more protests for him, but in the end gathered the ornate shield and the chest bearing his company’s treasures to be loaded on Bilbo’s pony. The rest of the Company, minus their king, was gathered just as somber as Bilbo’s companions. The wizard was ready to go, and waited for Bilbo to make his goodbyes.

“Well...” He started. “T-Thank you. Thank you all for...the most amazing adventure. If you’re ever in the Shire, tea is at four...don’t bother to knock.”

That earned a weak chuckle from his friends.

“And I suppose tell Thorin that...”

His throat closed, and Bilbo had to look down at his toes to gather his courage.

“Tell Thorin...”

“Yes?”

Bilbo’s head shot up as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Thorin!” He breathed in delight.

The king was looking much healthier if but for the dark circles under his eyes and the saddened expression.

“You’re here.” Bilbo remarked in awe.

Thorin ducked his head with a small smile. 

“I was getting your going-away gifts together.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo should have been delighted much like he was with the other Company members’ gifts. However, he had been hoping for...well, he wasn’t quite sure what. Without further ado, Thorin pulled out Bilbo’s small sword he had been rather fond of but sacrificed in desperation to rid them of the monster orc. Sting.

“I asked Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel to try and find it. They were more than happy to assist. I hope that it reminds you of all that you’ve done for Erebor.”

He presented it to Bilbo with a small bow, and Bilbo repeated the motion happy to place the blade back in the scabbard on his hip. Even with his limited experience, it certainly made him feel better having it on his person.

“Also,” Thorin added almost eagerly. “I want you to have this.”

Letting his braid flutter lose, Thorin tugged one of the hair beads from his own raven locks and presented it to Bilbo.

“So all of Arda will know what you have done for me, a grateful and indebted king.”

Bilbo was practically trembling.

“Thorin.” He croaked. “I-I can’t...”

“Please.” The king whispered as he carefully closed Bilbo’s fingers over the bead sitting innocently on his palm. “For me.”

It was too much. Thorin looking at him like that. His too large hands still softly cradling his hand. There was only so much a respectable hobbit like Bilbo could take. Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and surged up onto his tiptoes as he planted a kiss on the handsome king. It was quick and chaste and breath-taking all at once. Thorin seemed equally befuddled but hopeful. Bilbo tried his hardest to ignore the cheers of the Company and the heat in his own cheeks as he gave Thorin a single nod.

“Well then...good evening.”

He turned to saddle the pony when his actions seemed to catch up to him. What exactly was he doing?! He loved Thorin. How could he leave him now? His mind struggled to process the influx of emotional information while he remained halfway on his pony, staring into the setting sun.

“Perhaps...” Gandalf finally offered, far too amused. “We got too late a start.”

Thorin picking up on the cues rushed to Bilbo’s side.

“Would you...? Would you like to stay for dinner?” He blurted much to the annoyance of their friends.

“WHAT HE MEANS IS WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!” Kili corrected.

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh including Bilbo and Thorin. The hobbit finally returned to the present turning to Thorin with a large grin.

“I think dinner would be a lovely start.”

And Bilbo enjoyed dinner in Erebor for many years to come.

[azurevi]

3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)

This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]

the heart and its eternal weight

Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.

He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest. 

Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job. 

It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.

One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.

Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.

Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.

And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.

Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.

All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.

One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.

He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.

He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.

There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.

To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.

And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.

Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.

And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.

In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body. 

But it's enough.

A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.

Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life. 

He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse. 

"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"

So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.

It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them. 

On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.

And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.

So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit. 

You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying. 

"What have you done?" 

"What I can do to make a change,"

Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.

Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.

It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference. 

And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.

a melancholy specimen

To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.

Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!

You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.

You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.

But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.

"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"

Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.

The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world. 

But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.

"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"

Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.

He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave. 

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"

You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.

Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.

He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.

Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.

lifeless silhouette in the dark night

You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.

Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.

He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.

You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.

The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.

You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.

"It's almost as if you belong here,"

Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.

Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.

But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.

The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.

"Vil? What are-"

His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.

"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"

His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice. 

It's another sleepless night.

To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.

"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."

He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.

Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.

He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.

 Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans. 

There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.

You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.

And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.

But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.

"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"

Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.

And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Punishment (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

A/N: Let’s not talk about it, okay. Just...enjoy the fruits of my labor. ...I think I need a long, cold shower... Word Count: 1585 slutty, slutty words.  Rating: E -  SMUT, oral, multiple orgasms, kinky shit?, swearing Now cross-posted to AO3: here

“Klaus…” you whined, wrists straining against your binds as his lips trailed down your stomach, facial hair tickling against skin made extra-sensitive with desire.

He answered with a “hmm” as he continued to plant kisses everywhere but where you wanted him, smirking against you.

“Y/N,” he purred. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Oh really?” you teased back, “and how did I do that?” You knew exactly what you had done to set off this unusual dominant streak in him, but you planned to rile him further, in the hopes that he would finally cave and give you what you wanted.

He growled, sliding down further, fingers gripping harshly on the curve of your ass as he lifted your lower half onto his lap.

“Wearing that dress,” he muttered, bending down but not yet touching you.

“Showing off those legs.” His fingers trailed down the back of them as his breath ghosted over your inner thighs.

“Teasing me with that hemline,” he nipped at the flesh, causing you to yelp. He only smirked and did it again, loving the range of sounds he could draw from you.

“And then you ran off and kept me from having what I needed,” he said, a pout on his face that you desperately wanted to kiss (or maybe slap) away.

“So you have to be punished.”

“Tying me up here so I can’t play and touch you while you fuck my senses out isn’t punishment enough?” you huffed, flopping in another hopeless attempt to escape the ropes holding you to the headboard.

“No,” he drawled, lazily tracing circles over your hip with one hand while the other maintained its bruising grip on your thigh. “That’s just to keep you from escaping.”

“Why the hell would I want to escape?”

He flashed you a wicked grin. And then suddenly his lips were fixed around your clit as he sucked hard on it, and you cried out. You felt him smirk, continuing to work at the sensitive bud and his hands roamed up and down your body teasingly. You writhed beneath his touch, mind foggy and unsure whether you wanted to press yourself closer or pull away from the fire he was lighting within you. Apparently unsatisfied with your reaction, he began to use his tongue to trace patterns against you, each pass drawing out a moan which only made him increase the speed and pressure.

“Klaus…please…” you panted, begging desperately.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” he asked, lips still brushing the overworked spot as he drew back just slightly. “Are you going to come for me gorgeous?”

“Yes,” you cried as he resumed his attention. “Oh god, yes!”

Your vision flashed white as he dragged you over the edge of your climax and beyond it, not even pausing. Slowly, his lips continued further down, tasting you with a groan and then lapping at your folds.

“Fuck,” you gasped out, trying desperately to reach down and bury your fingers in his curls as you normally would when he did this.

“Hmm?” he purred against you, vibrations driving another spike of pleasure through you, the coil at your core already tightening once more.

“Klaus, please. I’m sorry for teasing you baby.”

He pulled away to look up at you, making a sinfully delightful picture framed between your legs with his lips glistening.

“You know, I want to believe you,” he mocked. “But I’m just not convinced you’ve learned your lesson.”

His fingers danced across your skin, drawing closer to your center, feather-light touches raising goose-bumps wherever they passed. He leaned upward, the long, muscular plane of him pressing down against you, trapping you even more effectively than the ropes. With frustrating slowness, he kissed you, probing his tongue into your mouth and exploring, and you groaned, tasting yourself on him. You were so lost in the almost tender gesture and the soft sighs he made, breath puffing against your too-hot face, that you didn’t notice his still-wandering hands until he deftly slipped two fingers into you, curling them immediately to brush against that perfect spot.

You moaned and he answered you with the same sound, each swallowing the other’s as he began to work at you and you clenched around his hand.

“Christ, you feel amazing,” he said, trailing kisses down your neck until he came to the base of your throat. He bit gently there, drawing blood rushing upward into the skin, and laved his tongue soothingly across it, slow pattern at odds with the way his fingers pumped. All too quickly, you felt yourself cresting once more, shattering beneath him with a cry.

But he did not yield, instead increasing his pace.

“That’s it baby,” he murmured, kisses moving along your flushed chest until he could fix his mouth around your nipple, sucking and teasing it.

His free hand came up to play with the other breast, flicking and pulling, kneading the flesh until you couldn’t keep track of the sensations against you, dazed and overwhelmed as you chased yet another high in him.

Unsatisfied with the constant soft whimpers and mewls you were making, he bit down on the bud in his mouth and you screamed, coming with an intensity unlike anything you had ever felt before, stars dancing across your vision as you arched violently, shoulders wrenching as you pulled against the restraints. He whispered soothing nonsense against your skin as he guided you through it before slowly withdrawing.

Rising to hover over you, his emerald eyes were soft as they danced across your face in concern, searching for any sign of discomfort, even the tiniest hint that you were not okay.

“Y/N?” he asked, voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine Klaus,” you assured breathlessly. “Better than fine. Fuck…that was…fuck.”

He smirked, kissing your cheek and lowering himself. His skin felt cool in comparison and you sighed at the relieving sensation. And then you felt his hard, weeping cock pressing against your hip and quirked an eyebrow at him.

Unabashedly, he returned your expression with a taunting smirk. “Are you spent, babe, or do you have one more for me? Do you want to come with me inside you?”

You bit your lip and looked up at him coquettishly. “Fuck me properly, darling.”

He groaned at your words, twisting to the side to pull a condom from the bedside table. Eagerly he rolled it on and returned to his position above you, running himself through your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“God yes,” you sighed, nodding and hooking an ankle around his waist to try and pull him in.

Groaning, he pressed inward, slowly sliding further until he was seated fully. The feel of you stretched and clenching around him was almost too much to bear and he bit his own lip to hold himself back, not wanting to waste all that work by coming so quickly. He stilled there, letting you both adjust to the feeling before he slowly rocked his hips, pulling almost completely out before bottoming out once more. He continued the motion as you whimpered and rutted your own hips upward.

“I swear to god Klaus, if you don’t move faster, I’m going to scream,” you panted desperately.

“Screaming is exactly what I want you to do, Y/N,” he said, nipping at the lobe of your ear.

Still, he sped up, thrusting hard into you as he planted another passionate kiss against your lips. The two of you battled for dominance as you found a rhythm of movement, rocking in sync, the speed and angle of his thrusts and your counterthrusts causing each shift to bring a new spike of pleasure shooting through you that you felt all the way into your fingers and toes.

You felt the hot coil winding its way again, threatening to snap, just as Klaus’s hips began to stutter. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer before turning into a wordless cry as he released, the feeling and sound enough to drive you to your own peak, one so incredible and intense that for a second, you couldn’t breathe. Your bones turned to jelly and your whole body slacked, sated and exhausted beyond explaining.

As you both came down from your mutual high, he rested against your chest. You felt the ghosting of air across your skin from his pants start to even out and cleared your throat.

“Do you think you could untie me before you fall asleep?” you murmured, almost reluctant to disturb him, despite the lack of feeling in your extremities.

“Oh!” he cried, pulling out of you with one last groan, discarding the used protection and rising up on his knees to work at the knots holding you.

Once your wrists were free, he took first one and then the other between his hands, massaging blood flow back into them and kissing the raw, red marks that your pulling had caused.

“Y/N, precious Y/N,” he whispered, voice barely registering through your sleepy haze. “That was so amazing. You are so amazing. Too good for me.”

You hummed in satisfaction. “So amazing,” you agreed blearily.

“Are you alright?” he asked concern again filling him that he had pushed you too far.

“Couldn’t be better. Unless you come cuddle me. Then I’d be perfect.” Your voice was slurred and he chuckled, releasing your arms to slide down and curl around you, pulling you securely against his solid chest.

“I love you,” he muttered into your hair and you smiled, settling in for a long sleep.

[commander-orca]

Wait for me  —  children of the whales fanfiction

Tags: Rochalizo x Suoh, Suoh x Rochalizo, Parrot Soul, Princeshipping, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, jealousy, repressed desires, forbidden relationship, healthy dynamics, look at them they love each other so much, mention of friends to lovers, lovers to established

Walking away from the plight of the heavy sun to go through the dark, pleasantly quiet corridor felt, as Suoh went down the plainly carved stone stairs, much like a tranquil descent to a new, underground world. A world which for a few moments did not belong to the Mud Whale and made who he was slip his mind, freed of roles and of everything. Almost an indistinguishable relief alongside the long passageway of adjacent dwellings, the door to their little house had been left ajar. Only this door invoked in him feelings of calmness; which was new, as it had not always been the case with his coming home late at night, his muscles sore, head still full of the daily tasks and no joyous inconvenience to come and stop those thoughts from running. He was glad that had come to change. No, he thought to himself, eyes catching the loveliest sight of the day, he felt beyond grateful. Peeking through the small gap, he could see the small silhouette of a boy who sat on the one-sized bed, his back turned. He lay there quietly, slightly bent forwar and so focused, Suoh imagined fondly he was reading.

His hair hung forward loose, nonchalantly and his tight black long-sleeved shirt had lifted up to his backbone, baring his lumbars. This was also hard to spot but he could make out, in the dim bistre light of the bedroom which reflected the muffled clarity escaping the window through the thin brown curtains, the streak of sand which stuck to the upper half of his high baggy pants. Suoh kept watching for a little while more, almost upset that he would have to disturb this scene of utter domestical delight. He wanted to stay forever and watch him just be, breathing unawarely and enjoying his peace, his defensive walls low and no one to impress nor to fight against. He couldn’t figure exactly what it was about this monotonous sight which was so touching and made his heart throb a little in his chest, but it was at times like these where he acknowledged his luck the most and contemplated how the past hardships and terrors had in the end been worth paying the price. Trailing eyes a last time on Rochalizo’s precious back, he announced himself by pushing the door open and uttering a single:

“Hello!”

Before he even talked, Rochalizo turned around swiftly, mildly panicked. It seemed Suoh had assumed wrong as a pen dropped from his hand and he rushed to cover a piece of paper.

“You- You’re back already!”, he blurted out in embarrassement, cheeks red.

Suoh, who had already moved to the entrance’s cupboard and was hanging his apron on a hanger, stopped in track, returning a curious look.

“Were you busy...? Do you want me to come back later?”

“No no, I wasn’t, I wasn’t”, protested the other, a bit awkwardly as he shoved the piece of paper and pen in his large pants’ pockets.

Rochalizo looped around on the bed until he was facing him. Suoh noticed he had little ink spots on his face, just under the two loveable moles.

“Are you dumb?”, said the other, still a bit bewildered, “This is your house, I can’t throw you out. Nonsense, Suoh!”

The young chief chuckled, removing his coat on hanging it on another hanger. The door craked as he closed it and creaked again as he locked it, so that it wouldn’t reopen on itself.

“I know! I just think it’s nice to enjoy some intimacy alone. From time to time, even our own spaces don’t feel like the ideal place and there are too few in my opinion to only allow people to be themselves in those same spaces”.

Rochalizo didn’t reply immediately, reflecting on the words. Then, he sighed, shrugging as he lay back on the bed headboard. Cracking a match, he lit up a few candles.

“You don’t have to give a deep meaning to everything, y’know. Anyway, how was it? We didn’t meet at all today”.

Smiling all the while, Suoh arranged the flower pots he had brought back from the infirmary, kneeled to pick up the water can stocked in the corner of the room and proceeded to water the plants. The heat had been barely tolerable for humans, as it had been for them; the plants drank the entirety of the container until their thirst reached satietion. He was finding it hard to reply; the words were snarling in his mind and his limp mouth hardly followed.

“I am exhausted”, Suoh admitted, gratting his fingers on the desk, his back facing Rochalizo. 

He felt often uneasy avowing to his tiredness. His efforts didn’t have much of an impact and he systematically came back with the feeling he could have done more.

“What about you? I thought you were helping with the festivities tonight?”

“Yes, I was supposed to, however...”

His face took on another few shades of red and he struggled a moment to find his words, in vain, which led him to renounce.

“Although you say you are exhausted, you’re still up on your feet”, bluntly remarked Rochalizo, but he added then, in a softer tone, patting the empty space on the bed besides him, “Come here. Let me take care of you”.

The moment these words were uttered, the young chief felt a wave of relief and relaxation travel through his body. He turned around and smiled. He didn’t need much to wind down and ease his hurting body and mind. And despite his personal motto which consisted of enjoying the present moment as much as possible, he had found himself awaiting for this moment all day. Carefully settling on the bed, Suoh watched as he started putting weight on the mattress and caused Rochalizo to slip a little closer to him. Comfortably sat, he peered at the short distance between them. 

The thought of placing his head on his shoulder crossed his mind, and as they had often done so these days, it wasn’t much of a bold thing anymore. The candlelights flickered, illuminating the nearest objects in a halo and left all other places in the almost darkness. Being still in the dark made Suoh feel like he wanted to be closer and so, he was about to act on his wish, but Rochalizo was faster. He suddenly felt this warm and most welcomed load on his shoulder. It wasn’t him uniquely pressing his cheek, it was him falling back with his cheek and jawline and upper neck and with such good faith, trusting Suoh enough to bear the heaviness. 

Suoh’s heart jumped happily and kept pounding fast nonetheless a long while afterwards. In this position, he earned a closeup of the Prince’s thick blond and ginger eyelashes which tremulated faintly as he breathed. Suoh’s head fell on top of Rochalizo’s, his nose buried in the thin mass of hair. His scalp felt warm and soft and seemed like an inevitable invitation to sound sleep. Grasping gently Rochalizo’s opposite hand in his, he brought it about a few inches down his own opposite shoulder, making the Prince turn from the side until the top of his chest was touching half of his. Rochalizo warpped his arms around him tightly and emitted a small sound. In this atmosphere, the troubles of the day melted away. It was only them, entangled into each other’s embrace and breathing the soft scent of their hairs.

These displays of affection were in no way inherently romantic, as they were merely relying on each other to regain the lost energy throughtout the day. But somehow, Suoh wished that they were and were that only. Romantic. Rochalizo’s friendship was eternally precious to him and in no way he desired risking altering it in any fashion. He would not bear to lose it for the sake of love and attraction. But that was straying far from the point, for there was little need to worry about this; that love was reciprocated.

He had known from the day they were, just them two, studying maps in the deserted meeting room, which ambiance that night, felt close to the one they were in right now; candles on desks, tables and on the floor surrounding them, an almost complete obscurity. But what made tonight different was the special guest which had added on this special night: wine. A full jar of wine disposed between the two as they faced each other. Suoh’s first time drinking it. The first sips had tasted bitter and too rich, but despite being in good company, the matters at hand could get tiresome as well as convoluted and so, he had drank more each passing minute, accompanying the Prince in the premices of drunken eloquence and joy. Spread out on the pavement, the space between them had grown thinr and thiner, until even the wine jar had been tossed aside and they were chatting about everything but maps, in drunken silliness.

Those were the days Suoh remembered thinking highly of the Prince, admitting easily that he was a really pretty person and whose odd temper quick to anger, his straightforward words and kindness he hid behind pretend-mercy were traits he actually appreciated or found amusing. And amusing Rochalizo was too, which had led them to get closer, regardless of their numerous interactions due to both their political positions. Because they simply liked being around each other and because Suoh lacked opportunities to laugh and that meant he had felt good in his presence.

And so, from then, everything had speeded up. The wine, the jokes and how they leaned in into each other to laugh, the playful teasings, the brave compliments which made you feel warm in your body and that physical promiscuity which had you gazing at their lips or noticing eyes looking a little too low on your face, everything had guided to the foreseeable unfolding of them kissing. The important percentage of alcohol they were under had prevented things from going any further and had certainly collapsed at some point since it was how they had woken up. 

But Suoh had had to tell the cruel truth; he couldn’t be Rochalizo’s lover. The law which conducted the leader of the Mud Whale’s personal life were strict. The dire incidents which had occured in the distant past had been caused by a few determined factors: a lack of monitoring of the chief’s powers and left unchecked, their strong temper and arrogance, bonds too close with their family and finally, the disturbance of a lover who had come between the leader and its responsabilities.

The kiss they had shared had not meant nothing and Suoh had been made well aware of that as he had looked into Rochalizo’s eyes, accidentally - according to the Prince - filled with tears. The view had brought Suoh close to crying too. This, as he had realised had been the first time he had wished something deeply for himself and the more he had looked, the more he had felt his previous convictions on the verge of crumbling down. He had never really questioned the laws, thinking the perennity of their people came first. Each reconsidering of the laws hurt. For a moment, he had forgotten who he was and to whom his loyalty went. His desire to go against the rules had clashed so hard with his desire to protect his people his mind hurt as if both feelings fought with nails and teeth. 

Rochalizo’s pride hadn’t allowed him to be shedding tears, therefore anger had taken over. He had shouted at Suoh, bared his fists at him, insulted him. In those terrible words, he had said Suoh had been playing him and ultimately had fulfilled his desire to mock and ridicule him, along with the rest of that cursed ship. Suoh had seen through his anger; it was obvious, they were both in pain and striving to find a way to cope with the sadness. They had calmed down and apologised but the emptiness remained. Eventually, Suoh had told him:

“We are not a cursed boat. We are only wary of the mistakes of our kin. But since the Empire’s attacks, our rules have softened or have changed. A new era has come for the Mud Whale and when we’ll settle in new lands, I will pass the title of leader to Ohni. I don’t think I’ll be suited anymore”.

“I thought you weren’t serious”, had replied Rochalizo, afraid to hope.

Suoh hadn’t answered that question but the look in his eyes was so solemn, the Prince understood it was futile to mistrust those words. He had shaken and Suoh had reached out to take both his hands in his.

“Wait for me”, he had said.

And that had been the last of their talk.

Had they not been on the brink of finding a new home, lands which would reshape the whole system they had adhered to until now, the young leader would have yielded to despair. However, they were moving at a fast space, navigating towards unhabited islands. This was why he was wiling to wait. This was how he was able to wake up in the morning and hope and greet Rochalizo naturally. Of course, he got excited, imagining the life of his people in the new lands and prayed that for their sake, they would all arrive very soon. But he had never had a personal hope to look forward to and the perspective was exhilarating. 

Frank with himself, because at some point of another you needed to be, Suoh felt at times like he wasn’t in position to complain about his situation. His people loved him and he loved them and asking for more could be seen as borderline selfish and greedy, at least, how he saw it. Also, Rochalizo and him and known each other for several months, a period of time which was little compared to the separation or impossibilties for certain lovers to be together.

It was surely only puppy love, and teenagers’ hearts changed so fast and yearned for many others in a short timeframe. And yet to dismiss it so rationaly and harshly would have bee wrong; Suoh couldn’t help advocating in favour of this idea. The idea that, in spite of this love being “puppy love”, as some liked to call it, it couldn’t be reduced to to this only. It could never encompass the variety of feelings and affections he felt. And even so, if it really was just that, - because who knows, there too few chances of this being last and true love (considering the right and true kind of love could be found in only one person) - couldn’t he also get the chance to experience love, as silly and as immature as it could turn out to be?

He deemed this as a just judgement. However if the day they landed never came, there was no knowing as to how he would act... He preferred to avoid that thought for the time being. 

And as for now... They were still waiting.

Rochalizo’s faint voice crept up to his ear, warm and meek.

“Your skin smells good...”

Suoh’s grin lightened up his entire face and he positioned more comfortably against the pillows, laying down a little more backwards, bringing the Prince along.

“You too... You smell like clementines and honey”.

He could feel him smile against his skin which made Suoh even happier. Silence fell back on the room again and they stayed in each other’s arms, eyes closed, content. After some time, his neck a bit sore from the position, Suoh lowered his head away from the Prince and crashed on the pillow. Rochalizo shifted and replaced his head on Suoh’s chest as Suoh’s arms wrapped gently but narrowly around his middle. A few minutes later, they shifted again, Rochalizo climbing up the other’s body and as he moved, Suoh stared at him longingly.

To be this beautiful... That couldn’t possibly be a human sight.

Next thing, he was leaning in and peppering a few kisses on his cheeks. Rochalizo jumped a bit, but did not retreat; his cheeks aflamed, lowered down his face, allowing a wider access. The Prince bit his lips, probably thinking that if “this” felt pleasurable, so much more could feel heavenly. Could... A snarky smile carved his lips.

“Say Suoh, kissing like this, that’s a weird way to be friends, don’t you think?”

That comment earned a giggle from the young chief. His fingers brushed against a strand of a ginger strand of hair behind his ear.

“That would be okay, since I already do those things with a lot of other friends”, he said, half teasing, half stating, leaving his remark open for interpretation.

“Take that back!”, vociferated Rochalizo, obviously taking this as teasing and he rushed to give him kicks in the stomach with his knee. 

Wailing in pain, Suoh raised his own as well as his hands in an attempt to protect his assailed stomach.

“Ouch... Ah... Please stop, I take it back... I take it back!”

Rochalizo grined and, making sure he hadn’t really hurt Suoh - he was right to check in, he could be pretty sensitive - he lay down again to give him a hug. Suoh’s hand found his way to his hair and began stroking it slowly. Curling the hair through his fingers, he was reminded of the times he thought his hair was naturally this curly. Arosing again, Rochalizo’s voice sounded suddenly a lot more troubled.

“I know you already do all this with the others but... There’s a difference... Isn’t it? We do those things with another kind of intent... Don’t we?”

“Undeniably”, assured Suoh, holding him a bit more tighter.

He knew that was a topic that had often been brought on the table, for they had different perspectives on what it meant to be friends and where to draw the line between those and lovers. Suoh’s upfront affections resulted in his borders being looser than Rochalizo’s whereas the latter preferably saved most of his gentle touches for lovers, enforcing a clear division. This rarely manifested in fights, but rather in the form of jealousy. Not much could be done to counteract it, except giving reassurance and affection.

“It IS different. I am crazy about you. And tired of waiting too for the simple joy of kissing you in public”, he confessed.

The covers were clenched around them as Rochalizo hid his face under them, overwhelmed by embarrassement. A muffled sound emerged which sounded much like “how can you say things like that that easily”. Suoh smiled, but he rapidly added, more gravely.

“I’m sorry, it would’ve been best for you if I had been born in Amonlogia”.

Emerging from the sheets, the scarlet red face of the Prince, crushed between his cerulean fingers looked as though he was about to go a little bonkers. The long soft groan he was uttering was enough proof. Moving his head up to the ceiling as his fingers squashed their way down his face, he sighed, trying to regain his composure, stil trying to recover from the tenderness of this small speech.

“L-Look, I think you should be just a tiny bit ashamed of what you gab about sometimes, alright? In- In any case, I... What are you saying? I wouldn’t want you to be from Amonlogia! At all!”

Kneeling next to Suoh’s head and forcing their eye contact, he grasped the tip of the other’s chin and locked eyes with him. The threat in his gaze was subtle, it blended together with strong feelings of love, fear and sadness. Suoh’s breath hitched.

“It is because you are not from this damned place that I like you”

They had uttered those words before, but never as passionately as the context in this moment implied they were. Suoh’s gaze filled with immediate steadfast affection. Rochalizo’s voice trembled.

“Who knows who you could have turned out to be, in this country of mine? Your morals, your kindness, I... Everything... You must not wish to be someone else or to have been from elsewhere. This island and you... You and this island, you feed on each other’s benevolence, blossom when you can exchange acts of charity. I understand that both of you are tied to each other and that I can’t enjoy the sight of one without thanking the other. It is because you are from here, that you have lived peacefully here... That you are... Well... I think you are fine that way”.

Suoh did not know when he had began to smile but he could not stop. Rochalizo was right. The character of unfairness that was of the rules was a heavy burden to bear, but if it meant they had found each other and lived according to healthy values, it could not be so bad. However, he didn’t quite understand anymore if the point of his rhetoric was to alleviate the pain of the Mud Whale’s regulation or if he was simply praising him. He was too tired to ponder either way and not able to keep the conversation going but, went through the care of signifying how powerfully he felt the same with a look.

As the young chief was gradually dozing off, Rochalizo’s voice filled the silence once again at some point.

“You know I believe in what I just said, but on the other hand... Isn’t it hilarious how I’m the biggest danger to your people now?”

The mention of danger combined with the topic of his people was enough to get Suoh to focus a little more.

“I’m a bit proud of that, if I must say”, carried on Rochalizo’s voice, helding palavers arrogantly, “I’m immensely powerful. Just us walking as lovers could apparently turn you mad and, done in a snap, you’d mess up the whole political system and forget your people even exist! Just because of me!”

The other shook his head, a small laugh coming out of his sigh. Such senselessness and a joke a bit too dark for his taste. But nonetheless, he didn’t reproached it to the other. And how it had been described was a bit entertaining.

“I know... That rule isn’t right, it’s only bound to make leaders transgress it... But...”, he added, “I’m glad you’re my little chaos enabler!”

Rochalizo’s expression turned even more presumptuous.

“Chaos enabler will suffice”.

“But you still are a bit small”.

The Prince growled, offended. His hands slipped to Suoh’s belly in order to tickle him to death.

“Not as small as your monkey-brain!”, he exclaimed, as an evilly satisfied smile stretched his lips, hearing Suoh begging for him to stop between bits of laughter.

Getting his steady breathing back, the young chief hid his face an instant behind the back of his hand, relaxing a moment, burrowed into the thick pillow up to his ears. Through the fabric, he heard Rochalizo’s voice keep the conversation. 

“Don’t you think it’s strange though, this sort of abstinence they make you and made the previous mayors go through?”

While Suoh loved Rochalizo’s talks and thought he often made very good points, he still hoped to get some rest somehow. Perhaps a few more chats and he would ask for him to let him sleep, albeit he could not pretend not to be interested. Especially since those matters affected them as a pair. Furthermore, yes, undoubtedly most of these were jokes, however he knew the Prince find it difficult to speak plainly and instead, was far likelier to turn to backdoor policies.

“It is similar to those stories of people being restrained by forbidden love... The issue about this is that they are made total strangers to themselves by society and hate what they are supposed to love while also fearing it. And they can’t talk about it. It becomes a taboo and it kills them from the inside. They even get scared touching others, as if they’d become incontrollable”.

Suoh nodded, approving with virulence.

“I don’t like those stories. Keeping things silent doesn’t solve anything - if it doesn’t exacerbate the issue in the first place. Don’t fret, we are still going to talk about it. And we can still touch. I’m not afraid of any of us...”

Rochalizo simply smiled, although he now looked all the most embarrassed after spending just a few seconds deep in thoughts.

“B-by abstinence what I meant was... U-um, not just... Intercourse. I was including many other things! I’d just like to kiss and... Have others know”.

“Of course, but that would be okay, we are teenagers after all,”, Suoh replied, chuckling.

-Do you think they know?

-It’s hard to keep a secret here, but...

-Oh I know, you all are filthy town-gossipers...

-They possibly have light suspicions, but I don’t suppose so”, mumbled the other, as he couldn’t refrain a huge yawn.

They spent another few minutes not talking. Rochalizo now lay back on top of Suoh’s chest. Apart from the candles, whose flames had devoured a fairly good portion of the wax, there wasn’t a single other light outside. Nightime encompassed the Mud Whale, pitch black and not a single star visible through the mass of dark clouds. But most shocking was this silence, so defeaningly profound. To Rochalizo’s heart, it felt quite lonely and unconsciously omnious, accustomed as he was to the noise and the traffic flow of his urban hometown. But it was also in a sense, soothingly liberating, as this worry of avoiding intrusive eyes dissipated. In this moment, they could have been the only citizens of this island. The only people in the world.

“I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to this place”, he said, in a low voice, nostalgic for something he couldn’t understand, “We would usually hear people. Tonight, they’re all on the opposite side on the ship, busy with party preparations. Wanna go, Suoh?”

Getting no answer, the Prince shifted until his eyes fell on the sight of Suoh sleeping soundly. Feeling tenderly amused, he extended his arm to brush away the little strands of hair fallen of the beautiful face.

“Look at us! I talk inapropriately too much, and you couldn’t tell me you’d soon collapse...”

He carefully got out of bed, landing on his tiptoes. Getting close again, on the white, momentarily non-frowning forehead, he lay a soft hand. Only displays of affection which could also be those of friends for the time being, they had said and agreed to. As time moved slowly, it also grew short on his patience, but, gazing at the sight of his lovely flame, all thoughts of frustration evaporated into thin air and all he could feel was pride. Love. And the hopeful certitude that waiting was, in spite of his disastrous existence being filled with lifelong ruinous choices, the best choice he had ever made.

                                                      OoOoO

When Suoh woke up, the calm he had come home to could no longer be found. Rubbing his eyes lazily and wiping up the little drool on his lip, he approached the window and pulled the dusty curtains open. A cold breeze blowed in his face and he breathed in long and slow, charging his lungs in fresh air again. Having leaned onto both his elbows on the edge of the window, he could hear and see more of the gleeful turmoil which was bubbling in the streets. The alleys overflowed with flower ornaments and white ivy, golden sparkles and confettis had been scattered on the ground, stomped by children who ran by, laughing. If he squinted, he could make out the hot lights of a huge bonfire, he assumed, as the rest was hidden by another few houses, trailing rays of lights along some facades. Screams of joy and general excitement stirred up from that peculiar spot of the island. But, as a smile crept up to Suoh’s mouth, a loud boom made him jump and almost had him falling out the window. Grasping the ledge fearfully, his eyes followed a trail of red light rise high in the sky and explode. Upon that sight, Suoh automatically crouched under the window, securing himself behind the wall. As no immediate threat nor any screams followed, he got up on his feet again to look outside, searching for the bits of whatever had just blown up before his eyes.

“What the hell?!?!?!”, exclaimed a loud, authoritative voice below him.

A voice he only knew too well. Suoh bent forward at the window, looking for him, his heart compressed in his chest. If he had been hurt, if even the slightiest thing had happened to him he-

“What the hell, seriously! I told them to wait! The bastards!”

The young chief’s eyes finally found Rochalizo. He stood in a nearby garden discussing vehemently with Kuchiba. He did not seem hurt, nor did Kuchiba and the scenery around them did not show signs of damage. Another trail of light rose up in a sizzling sound this time, and Suoh followed it, less afraid now but nonetheless crouching a bit, only keeping his eye at the right level to witness the explosion. As it did, the trail parted in several other golden petals, looking much like a rose. The remains silently fell back on the village, fading out into the air.

“I’m gonna kill them! I’m gonna kill them!”

Suoh repositioned on the edge, looking down at him, not comprehending in the least what was going on. The Prince finally took notice of him and covered his mouth in shocked guilt.

“I’m so sorry Suoh”, he cried from afar, “Did I wake you up? Well, I guess you can’t sleep with all this racket!”

The other nodded awkwardly, waving his hand vaguely.

“What was that?!”, he shouted in response.

Rochalizo looked angry again. He swelled his cheeks, as if trying his best not to start cursing.

“That was... Well... I... I told them to wait until you woke up to light them up. But hopefully or not, you woke up just in time!”

Kuchiba shook his head in major disaprovement and folded his arms. Rochalizo smiled pretentiously at him, then redirected his attention on Suoh:

“I was coming to wake you up and bring you along, but it seems”, he winced through another smile, “I was outstripped and I no longer have to deal with the moral dilemma about letting you sleep or not.

-But what are them?

-Come down quickly! I’m meeting with you halfway from here! If we don’t hurry those idiots will run through the last of my stock!”

                                                       OoOoO

They ran through the sparkly streets, shining of the hot lights of torches on wood staffs. Rochalizo’s hair fluttered before his eyes in a fiery haze and his hand which held Suoh’s tightly, not letting go, was warm and spongy. The young chief’s breath ran short, despite them having ran just a few dozens of meters, but he didn’t want to stop running, ever. In this instant, his heart beat fast and running through the night with the one he wished most to be with made him ecstatic, the lights bordering the path as though they were casting their blessing upon their wild adventure.

“Look Suoh!”, screamed Rochalizo, as they were reaching the central place in which gathered the general crowd. 

He pointed at something Suoh missed but he then caught sight of the shimmering explosion of another of those sparkly fires, An emerald one, shaped in the form of a palm tree.

“I don’t understand, but that’s beautiful”, Suoh said, huddling against Rochalizo’s arm.

“They’re fireworks. I found them in my stuff and your people went mad with excitement. And... I wanted you to see them...”

Rochalizo gazed at him silently, his tender eyes expressing a childlike excitement as well as admirative affection, lots of it. Suoh returned the gaze. They walked together hand in hand to the central place, tacking between the people who drank festive beverages, ate, sang along with those playing local instruments, talked with spice and joy. Pointing at a spot lifted up above the crowd, Suoh guided towards the edge of an old passageway which stairs had broke. They sat there, nestling against each other, watching the festivities for a moment. To the left, a group of people danced to a contry dance song, some on their own or with friends, bouncing their heads and arms to the rythm, some of them, much closer to where they had settled, danced in pairs with lovers, exchanging when the tempo slowed down, a few hugs and kisses. Rochalizo’s eyes were fixed on them, insistant. When the other asked him what he was thinking of, he gave that answer:

“Oh... Sorry, I’ve spaced out”, he said, seeking to look more cheerful, but Suoh had grasped the envy and jealousy in his eyes and those feelings somewhat stuck to his face, even as he put in some good-will.

Suoh gave him a little nudge, not buying that excuse. He knew him too well.

“Do you want to dance?”, he inquired, offering his hand.

Uneasy, the Prince shifted a bit awkwardly. But it didn’t take long for him to make up his mind and he accepted timidly. Walking through the crowd anew, they took place for the following dance, one of Rochalizo’s hand on Suoh’s shoulder and one of Suoh’s around his waist. Starting to dance, the young chief realised his partner wouldn’t know how to follow the rythm of this one and because it was swift and vigorous, they were rapidly lost and were giggling at each other’s bad synchronisation and clumsiness, trying many times but ending up failing and shouting a few “we suck!” and “this is so hard!” at each other through the loud music. The next dance played slower than the previous ones, calmer, which in consequence had many single people leaving. Rochalizo’s hands had come to rest around Suoh’s neck up to his elbows and Suoh’s hands had slipped around his hips. They stood so close to each other it had become hard to breathe and to even pay attention to the music. And how could they?, when the other’s face reflected the lights of the bonfire and was flushed from the exercise and stamina.

However, as he looked outside of their carefree bubble, Suoh could feel his stomach form knots, being under the most unpleasant impression that all eyes were upon them, silently judging or wondering. And he noticed that Rochalizo felt it too, as his hands clutched slightly at his white tunic. Their bodies seemed suddenly heavy and not much moveable to keep up with the music, as relaxed as it was.

“Rochalizo, I...

-Yeah...

-Do you want to go get a drink instead? I’m sorry.

-No, no, of course. Don’t apologise”, the Prince shrugged, wincing awkwardly but with resignation.

But even hearing those words hurt Suoh. It was sad that they couldn’t dance and have a good time like the others did, but he feared on top of that Rochalizo’s feelings. He never wanted him to believe he was ashamed of him, he thought, as the other dragged him to the drinks stalls. They bought fizzy drinks and moved to a place more hidden from the public eye. Suoh opened his mouth to apologise again, but Rochalizo silenced him with a look.

“Don’t, it’s not necessary. Can I... Can I show you something?”

Suoh blinked a few times and nodded, smiling in wait. The Prince searched for something in his pockets, going through both of them. His face took on a scary air when he thought he had lost whatever he was looking for, but he found it, as he checked twice. His entire face blushed, even his ears - and Suoh didn’t know that was possible - as he handed him a small piece of paper. The paper he had been writing on earlier. Suoh unfolded it slowly, watching Rochalizo as he turned his head away. On the sheet, there were only few small words, but reading them, it made his heart burst with joy. A joy so strong he did not know how to exteriorise it.

Suoh’s hands gave small wrinkles to it, trembling in excitement, but took care as not to tear it. Biting his lips, he closed the piece of paper, replaying the moment he had read it for the first time again and again. Those words, “I love you”. Rochalizo hid his head in his palms, still looking away, talking fast and a lot as if trying to fill the silence which overwhelmed him with uneasiness.

“I’m so sorry, this isn’t fancy of anything and I... I could’ve done something much better. I didn’t want to leave behind something big that could expose you and... I just... I just wanted to say it now and not wait a long time again, but I couldn’t make myself say it... I...-

He was suddenly cut by the weight of someone throwing himself in his arms. Arms strongly wrapping around him and a small face, buried into his shoulder, and then, he felt something wet rolling down his shoulder. Suoh moved back, eyelashes filled with tears and his cheeks wet. The glee in his eyes was so dizzying Rochalizo got almost knocked down. It was an otherwordly vision.

“I love you! I love you”, exclaimed Suoh, sniffing and pressing his hands to his beloved’s upper arms.

Suoh smiled through the tears. In this situation, he felt the need to touch him and he did, cupping his cheeks into his hands and pressing their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him for hours and cherish him, maybe even biting those lips. Rochalizo’s eyes were also on his mouth. 

Suoh sighed, this could not go on like this. It hurt both of them. An end must be put to this, but yet, there were still no close in landing to new lands... On a whim, Suoh, took hold of Rochalizo’s hand and dragged him back to the crowd, where people still danced and partied and sang. 

“What are you doing?”, the other said, squeezing his hand, puzzled.

“I told you to wait for me and you have...”, he began, searching for his words in the middle of a sea of people and lights, feeling strongly unrational.

“But I’m afraid”, Suoh continued, shaking his head slowly, “I’ve come to realise it is cruel of me to ask you that and by the way... I cannot wait for you any longer...”

Rochalizo’s eyes flickered, unsure of what this meant and if he should be bracing himself for a heartache too great for him to handle. Suoh’s eyes were still sad and gave away some clues, he had made a decision and he didn’t like what he had just decided on, his hair flapping around him miserably. 

“What are you trying to say...?”

His chest tightened all the more and suddenly he didn’t want an answer although he had just asked. He wanted to stay in the miserable state of doubt because nothing would hurt more if Suoh chose to leave him.

But once again, unexpectedly, Suoh crashed into his arms, scooting closer and they made eyecontact in a fuzzy mess of feelings of love mixed with excrutiating uncertainty. Suoh’s face leaned towards Rochalizo until they were a few inches apart of each other, their noses brushing and they breathed the same air. Rochalizo’s rested both his hands on the other’s cheeks. Suoh could feel them this time, more than a sole impression, he was certain everyone had stopped to watch them, because he was hearing every sound of the island slowly fade away into inaudibleness, one by one, until he could not hear anything else but the buzzing sound in his own ears. The stress was building in his chest but mightier was the adrenaline he experienced for being this close to Rochalizo and on top of that, where everyone could see them, proudly unhidden. He had had enough and he had enough. They had showed many times they cared about each other, but at the same time, had never really dared. It was high time he caught up with time and that they loved, loved each other in any way they could imagine and put to into acts. 

Rochalizo’s lips came closer tentatively, glinting in saliva and swollen, as his hands clutched at Suoh’s hair, almost desperate for affection. Suoh looked at them, probing how much he had desired to kiss him and have everyone know and how many times he had resisted. No more of that. Closing the gap between them, he met with Rochalizo’s mouth and kissed his lips passionately, pouring all his love into the ways he moved against him. And almost simultaneously, the other kissed back with an unmatched urgence and fever. Their mouths were sealed for a long time and for the Gods knew how long, they could not part from each other. It was when the sound of a glass shattering to the ground reached their ears that they both came to stop, both looking in the same direction, meeting the crowd’s eyes.

From the many people which composed it, every face expressed either shock, disapprouval or happiness. They endured the silence, not moving, waiting for whatever punishment would be ordered. But then a voice rose up from the crowd, loud and clear, overjoyed.

“Hell yeah! You go, Suoh!”

Followed by one, then ten, fifty and finally, perhaps half the crowd, hundreds of cries of joy elevated, cheering for them. People clapped, shouted in support, jumped in excitement for them, threw fists in the air, looked all “I knew it”. Some just stood where they were, smiling warmly at them in silent approbation. Oh, there were others, way less supportive but it did not matter now. It was truly something to be acclaimed by hundreds of souls, almost an entire island for what you were, to be declared defensible and worthy of acceptance. Suoh found himself lost in the cries of the crowd, submerged by overall what you could call love, the love of a family who didn’t delude itself and embraced what he chose at core and made him feel alive. Turning to Rochalizo, he gave him a long loving look which the prince reciprocated, grabbing and holding his hand in his. It would be fine in the end.

[theglguidetowebcomics]

Full review: Girly

What’s Pink, insane, NSFW, hilarious, and somehow heartwarming at points? This comic is a ride and a half, and I’m genuinely surprised more people haven’t heard of this one… I’ve been wanting to talk about this one for a WHILE. 

So let’s talk about the elephant in this room… Because I think it just ate someone’s couch. 

Slightly NSFW review with spoilers below.

Girly, by Jackie Lesnick was a webcomic that ran between 2003 and 2010, (and really has some of those early webcomic hallmarks). Its monochromatic pink, vertical, with a poppy early cartoon feel. It’s also listed as a romantic comedy, which is… correct, but cuts a whole lot of what makes this comic good, short. 

This review was always going to be one of the 4 I really struggled with. And not just because I lost it the first time without a back up in a code glitch, got distracted by a pandemic, then procrastinated my way to finally making a second version in my new backup folder… No, well also yes but no. This was a comic I read when I was younger (and should NOT have read  when I was younger), and have always had a soft spot for. I’ll admit as much as this comic has its flaws or weird moments or just weirdness in general, its one of the few comics I’ve found myself rereading in its entirety more than once. And no matter how much I know it's coming, find myself sobbing, uncontrollably, at the final panel. There’s surprisingly a lot of heart in this comic, and a whole lot of honesty in just the direction the author took this weird little thing. But, first let me take of those rose tinted glasses as much as I can… (actually that might not work too well with a pink comic seriously whats with all these early 2000s lesbian comics being PINK?). And give this old comic a look and a bit of a dust. but , first...

Sex.

Getting to the point - page 3 of “Girly”

Girly is a NSFW comic. It’s not shy about it either. It hits the audience (and the main character) over the head with it literally in the first pages. It has sex positive characters, a sex positive world, some characters with… sex powers almost, and Dildos, a whole lot of dildos. Some even with smiley faces on them. It’s a pretty unavoidable part of the comic that makes up a large core of it’s humour and is baked into its wacky world. So if that’s not your thing, and it’s not really skippable in this case, you won’t like this comic.

But, if you’re alright with that part of it this might just be a hidden gem. Moving on.

Art

Artwork is always interesting in webcomics. They’re usually one man shows, have a weird niche / strong influences, and or usually go on massive journeys as the art improves. Girly is no different here. 

Girly starts out rough. Some poses are wonky and its a bit scratchy. Technically speaking it has a few issues, which is fine. Its a free webcomic, from the 2000s that didn't copy and paste faces. (Won’t name names, you know who you are). You can’t be too harsh on a free comic, though.

However, what the art style does, even early on is set the style and feel of the comic. Anime inspired faces, bold outlines, and blocky silhouettes that were really popular with 90’s and 2000s cartoons. It has a newspaper, manga comedy strip vertical style, too. It fits the style of story well as a poppy wacky story. It's the perfect art style it could take.

Its rough in the beginning, but moves on from its scratchy days, to loose pen brush, to finally a polished free hand poppy style. It gets more technically advanced as it goes along, but it keeps its core style throughout. It’s fun, a little unhinged, and just pares perfectly.

The one issue I have with the art is it comes off as a bit cramped. It certainly matches the energy of the story, but it also feels like it doesn't let the characters have any breathing room in the frame. It comes off as squashed, and can make some character poses hard to read. That’s the only complaint I can find though. The issue even fixes itself later in the story, but just very very close to the end. It looks great there, but the majority of the comic is a little cramped. Still that’s just a small complaint.

Nitpicking here but some panels need a lil more room

This a humour comic foremost. It's the biggest part of what makes Girly specifically Girly.

Humour

The humour is mostly wacky nonsense, playing off its insane characters, physics defying world, everything being dialed up to 11. It also works a lot like satire, poking at what influences it, and playing with cinematic expectations. The first page has Otra shooting someone into space on a rocket because they annoyed them, the first “adventure” the character’s go on is stealing everyone’s pants because they couldn’t find anything else to do. Then there’s the kidnapping adventures, knight trials, and slice of life shenanigans that happen. All of it as wacky as the last. I haven’t really found any other lesbian comics like it. Its not everyone’s tastes, but it is certainly unique.

If you’re into a willy wonka tunnel of over the top characters and plots, you’ll like Girly.

Characters

Girl is a LONG comic, it ran for 7 years. The art evolved, the story writing, jokes, and themes along with it. It was originally meant to run for only 50 strips... and it ended up with 764. 

so, there’s a lot to unpack.

Firstly, the premise of the story is somewhat simple. It focuses on Otra. The kinda straight man to the entire universe. She starts out almost depressed, out of place, and bored of the wacky inhabitants of her world. Until one of those wacky residents smacks her over the head with a giant dildo and won’t leave her alone for the next 7 years of run time. 

What follows is the sullen Otra being pulled around by the always cheery and zany nonsensical Winter as the sidekick for bizarre adventures. Otra’s depressive grounded view keeps the bizarreness funny, while Winter cuts through her negative attitude and causes a lot of the over the top plot. Leaving Otra to warm up to the world, and Winter to get less reckless as they balance eachother out. It’s a fun dynamic, and works as an emotional core of the story. No matter how weird the plot and rules of the world are, their relationship keeps the story somewhat focused and rewarding to see develop.

An example of bold wacky character designs from even early on

The comic isn’t just about them, though. As an ensemble comic there's plenty of side characters that go through arcs and beats as well. From el chubacabre, the man that woman find so irresistible that they sleep with him as soon as they see him; detective Clapjaw the street wise detective who is very bad at his job; Officer Hipbone and police guy from the cute P D; captain fist the ever popular bad at his job superhero who gets all the credit; the news reporter obsessed with captain fist; the woman with babies; Steak;  the elephants that just… appear and eat buildings; among many many others. A lot of whom also have nicely written character arcs and depth in later chapters. Many of the character however are simple and remain simple, which isn’t a bad thing. For such a large cast, having a diverse range of strange characters with strong identities and looks even if a bit simple stops it from getting bogged down. It strikes a good balance. Plus there’s plenty enough of characters with more depth later on. 

 All the character’s are insane, and over the top in a way that really sets up the world they live in and how it works... as dysfunctional as it is. There’s something very Cartoon Network about all the characters, but with some wider influences. something about  dumb characters, with very specific goals and quirks that work on their own physics to feed into the high energy insanity of the world. Its entertaining to read, and leads to a weirdly charming feel of the comic. 

Story and plot

For the bit people actually want to know about. What is it about?

Just a little bit of influences...

For the style itself the comic comes off as a mix between early 2000s slice of life-y anime, 2000s cartoon Network, and a dose of 2000s webcomic sarcastic action/adventure flare. It definitely has one of the most pronounced styles that I’ve seen, and even if it's very much a webcomic of it’s time it also goes a bit beyond that into something that feels personal to the author and honest. Its a batshit comic. But, it wears its influences on it’s sleeve and really plays with tropes and ideas the author found engaging at the time. It somehow comes off as refreshing in just how willing it is to go weird or niche for no other reason but because it wants to. It's what I appreciate most about the comic. It’s honest.

The overarching story of the comic is without a doubt about Otra and winter growing together as people. But with a comic that’s run for 7 years a little bit more happens in the journey, at least you hope it would. Girly runs on chapters, 15 in total (with 15 having sub chapters due to being the story’s climax), and each one of those chapters follows a different plot or adventure with Otra’s and Winter’s developing relationship gluing them together. 

The plots themselves are wild and vary a bit in quality. But for a long comic that’s understandable and expected. They go from solving elephant problems, super villains, body swapping, fantasy parodies, and all sorts of strange things. Sometimes a few plots drag and a few character arcs feel a bit bland. It still manages to be entertaining all the way through though. The plots themselves work to get the character’s to play off each other and explore the strange world it takes place in. Exploring evil teddy bears, or an entire town devoted to cheap gags. No matter what, all the plots work in fleshing out the world and pushing character’s out of their comfort zone or forcing them to change. There are some that are less fun than others, but none of them manage to be boring or useless. Which for a long comic such as this, is quite an achievement.

Conclusion

Girly is a hidden gem, Its an insane sex positive comic. A loose style and even looser physics. It’s bold and unabashedly itself. But, at its core it's about the love story of Winter, the wacky insane woman needing to slow down and open up, and Otra, a sullen woman who’s deemed herself only worthy of being on the outskirts of society. It’s two people growing together in a world that’s up to its ears in care bears, sentient dildos, earth shattering cloning, and jabs at 2000’s paste it comics. And somehow it all sticks together.

The characters resonated, at least with me, which may be the nostalgia talking. But by the end of the comic I can’t help but  think back on how long it took them to get there. The bits that made me laugh (a lot of them), the stupid parts, and the character’s arcs, as over the top they could be at times.  It may not everyone’s cup of tea. But it has a lot of heart at its core. (If you get past all the dildos). 

For all it’s flaws and weird bits. I still find myself going back to Girly. 

Maybe now, some more people will too.

[ssatoritendou]

Last Minute Valentines

Tendou Satori 

Pairing: tendou/reader

Word Count: 1.3k

+ summary: it’s Valentine’s Day and Satori forgot to get you a gift

Genre: Fluff

"Tendou what did you get Y/n for Valentine's Day?" Wakatoshi asked the red-headed middle blocker while eating lunch. "I didn't get her anything. Should I have? She's not really a girly-girl I didn't think she would be into that sort of stuff." Tendou responded. "Tendou that's stupid," Goshiki commented while stuffing his face. "Yeah whether Y/n is a girly-girl or not she is still a girl. Plus Y/n has to put up with your annoying ass you should at least get her something." Semi said. "You're right. I gotta go." Tendou said running off from the table. Reon looked at Wakatoshi questionably, "Why did you ask Tendou that question Waka?" "I knew he didn't get her anything and she planned a nice dinner for him."

"Hey Y/n!" You looked outside your classroom and saw Satori in the hallway waving at you to come out. You asked to be excused and walked out into the hallway. "Is everything ok Satori?" "Uh yeah...I was just wondering if we are doing anything tonight?" "Satori you could have just texted me." You giggled at him. "I also wanted to see my beautiful girlfriend." He smiled and started to smother you in a hug. "Satori I can't breathe." He was laughing and pulled away. "I'm sorry beautiful. But are we doing anything tonight? I need to know so I can sneak away from volleyball practice." "Yeah, right you can sneak away." "I'm stealthy like a ninja." He said. "Sure you are Sweetie. Yes, we are having dinner tonight it is Valentine's Day." You smiled. "Oh yeah, right I forgot." He laughed nervously while looking at you to gauge your reaction. "That's...ok Satori. Just come to my dorm around 6:00." You leaned up and he bent down a little bit and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you later Satori." As soon as you walked away his smile faded, "I'm so screwed."

You weren't mad or even upset with Tendou for forgetting Valentine's Day. To be honest it didn't surprise you. It was just in his character to forget a holiday like Valentine's Day. It's not like he forgot your birthday or Christmas. Valentine's Day didn't matter to you because it was one of those holidays that felt like it was made by the greeting cards people. You just wanted to do a small thing with Satori like a real couple. "Where did you go?" Yuna your best friend asked. "Uh, Tendou wanted to talk to me." "Oooh." She smirked. "How is the Guess Monster?" "Same as always. Incredibly weird just the way I like him. He forgot today's Valentine's Day." "Oh no. So that means he forgot to get you a present." "It's whatever it's not a big deal. As long as I can spend some time with him tonight that is what matters." You smiled at the girl. "You are seriously the best girlfriend. Damn if I were a guy..." "You are so weird sometimes. Weirder than Tendou." The two of you laughed.

Tendou was able to convince Semi to cover for him for practice to the coach. He promised Wakatoshi that he would practice harder during the weekend. He left campus and went to a flower shop and a convenience store. "Gift for Y/n...gift...a gift for the love of my life." He whispered to himself. "Hey, kid." The florist said to him. "What are you looking for?" "Something that says I love you so much. That you are perfect and amazing. And I'm sorry I forgot Valentine's Day. Got any roses?" "Sadly son we ran out of those today. A lot of people forgot that today is Valentine's Day." The man laughed. "You know red tulips represent true love and purple represent royalty." "Oh yes, those will do." Tendou smiled. The florist made a small pretty arrangement. He then went to the convenience store. He was able to find a giant box of chocolates and found a teddy bear that smelled like chocolate too. He was happy with his purchases and hope that you would love them too.

You had cleaned up your room and decorated it a little bit with some fairy lights. You ordered take out from Tendou's favorite place and made his favorite homemade chocolate ice cream. You also had a pretty great gift as well for him. You dressed nicely even though it was a night in date. You planned to wear the sweater he got you for Christmas and a pair of jeans. You waited patiently for him to open the door and announce himself like he usually does. But this time you heard really loud knocking. "Hi, baby!" He cheered with 4 presents in hand. "Satori what's all this?" "Well my dear, this is our first Valentine's together and I wanted to make it really cheesy. So a heart-shaped box filled with chocolates. A chocolate smelling bear. But they were out of roses, so I got you tulips. Because I love your two lips." He smirked tapping your lips before diving in and giving a long kiss. "Also red tulips mean true love and purple represent royalty. Which is both how I feel about you and you truest are my ones and only queen." "You are so corny. But I love you anyway and this is above and beyond. It's so sweet. But what's in the box?" "Nuh-uh ah. Not until after we have dinner." You took his hand and sat down on the blanket you laid out with two table tops with food on them with your laptop out. Set to watch an animal documentary series you and Tendou started last weekend.

After dinner, you pulled out the ice cream. "Now it's homemade ice cream. I don't know if it's going to be any good." "Nonsense you made it with love in mind so it will taste great." He took a spoon and made a weird face. Your heart sank a little thinking you messed up one of his gifts. "I'm just kidding with you. It tasted really good. You should have seen your face. I just wanted to kiss it all over to make you stop pouting." "Tendou Satori that was really mean. I don't know if you deserve your next present." You turned away from him. "Oh, Baby come on I was only playing." "Ok fine. I really like this present I got you. So my dad knows this guy that works for drum roll please..." Tendou started tapping his lap. "At Shonen Jump. So I talked to him and he gave us a pass to come in and we can get a tour of the place where they make them." Tendou was speechless. He didn't know what to say or how to react. "I know it might sound boring-" "Boring no! Y/n this is like the best gift ever. You are the only person I can really talk about Shonen with. You are so awesome. It makes my last present fail in comparison to what this means to me." "I'll be the judge of that." He handed you the box. You unwrapped it to reveal his volleyball sweatshirt. "It's my back up jacket but I wanted you to have it to wear to the games so everyone knows that you're mine and you look really cute in it as well." He smiled happily and had a little bit of blush on his cheeks. When he opened his eyes from smiling he looked down at you and saw little tears in your eyes. "Did I upset-" You tackled him to the ground and kissed his face all over. "It's perfect Satori! I love you." "I love you too, Y/n." "Best Valentine's Day ever." You sighed as he held you.

[kiara-carrera]

leah and jj + hugging while walking for the touches ask game?

season 2 spoilers for everything up to the bonfire episode (where this it set)! this is both canon and not canon because i will in fact adjust all of my ideas at least seventy-four times whoops ... we’re also gonna ignore the fact that the hug while walking lasts exactly one line, a true blink and you miss it kind of nonsense. is this well written? no, but that’s not my strong suit anyways.

18. hugging while walking: leah + jj

“I’m just saying — I don’t trust her. And I really don’t think we should be leaving John B alone right now, especially with her.”

Around them, the annual bonfire was in full swing. Music was blaring, drinks sloshing out of solo cups and dripping down the arms of kids too slow on a shotgunned can, bodies clustered in the middle as friends danced and chatted the night away. The bonfire was like a Boneyard party — neutral ground where Pogues and Kooks could (mostly) coexist for a night of getting shit faced and making terrible decisions.

Instead of being up in the mix, Leah found herself off to the side, a frown on her face as she watched John B get yanked into a conversation with a girl from their school — Yvonne, a junior like them, and also someone John B had gotten fairly familiar with the previous year, before dads began disappearing at sea, gold cropped up in wells, and mysteries and murder landed on their doorsteps.

Even if the relationship (marriage?) between John B and Sarah hadn’t just fucking exploded — okay, wait, maybe that wasn’t the right word to use all things considered. Either way, she would have been having the exact same reaction. Because like most of the people John B and JJ had gotten involved with over the years, Leah couldn’t fucking stand the sight of her.

JJ snorted from beside her, watching on as Leah glared across the party where John B had all but been wrangled into a conversation with Yvonne. “Remind me what your problem with her is again?”

Her head snapped towards him, finally breaking her one-sided glare session, regarding JJ as if he’d suddenly grown another five heads. “You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember how fucking exhausting she was when John B was doing ... whatever the fuck that thing he had with her last year was?”

“He was banging her,” JJ said bluntly, laughing when Leah wrinkled her nose. “And no, I don’t.”

“Figures, because you’d always run off with Pope and leave me alone with them. Like, she was fine at first until she started getting super weird and territorial over him with me, which was fucking weird because they weren’t even dating and also newsflash — I was so not trying to steal John B from her. It’s John B. I’d rather eat a bar of soap.”

“John B can handle himself,” JJ told her, taking a sip from his drink. He’d already had half a beer that he’d failed to shotgun and had scored a solo cup from some kid in their year. “He’s probably going to be bitching about missing Sarah to her the whole time anyways, and I know I’m not spending my night babysitting him with you.”

Leah raised an eyebrow at him, reaching out to snatch his drink from his hand. She grinned when he made a noise of protest when she took a small sip. Grimacing at the taste, she told him, “This tastes like lighter fluid, first of all. And who said you had to hang out with me tonight?”

Another grin broke out on her lips, watching as his eyebrows knitted in confusion at her words. There was just the tiniest hint of a frown that she might have missed if she hadn’t been watching him as closely as she was or if the flickering lights of the bonfire hadn’t casted a decent amount of light to where they were standing.

She wasn’t expecting him to turn it around on her though. 

His confusion disappeared at the drop of a hat, a somewhat cocky expression tugging at the corner of his lips as he replied, “Figured you wouldn’t be complaining about that.”

Embarrassed heat crawled up her neck at his words, eyes narrowing at him. Leah wasn’t sure why she expected JJ to not be a teasing dick about everything — perhaps it was the way he’d been far to eager to put his mouth on hers the other day that made her think they were on the same page.

Apparently not.

Everything was just weird. Between the kiss the night Rafe and Barry crashed John B and Sarah’s welcome home party and everything that had happened between then and now it was just ... it was like her world had been thrown off-kilter. They’d barely talked about it. Every conversation either got ruined, interrupted, or ended in a kiss. She wasn’t complaining about the third one, but it felt entirely too vulnerable to not know where she stood.

Did she like JJ? Yes. Did JJ like her? ...Wildly undetermined. On the one hand, he definitely liked the physicality of it all. But there was still that horrid little voice in the back of her mind that worried. Worried because he’d never actually been in a serious relationship, had never looked for one. Worried that she’d divulged too much too soon and that he was trying simply for the sake of their friendship.

She’d already seen the way Kiara and Pope had fractured. She didn’t exactly want to be the star of the sequel.

It was already hard enough accepting that her feelings for JJ were far beyond anything platonic. It was hard having to go around knowing what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, his hand tangled in her hair as she tasted weed and Natural Light on his lips. It was hard enough to know that there was something there, but not knowing what that something was.

He’d told her to stop putting words in his mouth, to stop jumping to conclusions about how he was feeling, but what the fuck was she supposed to do when it seemed like this was all just some weird way to pass time?

It was just her luck that she was shit at feelings like this and that she just had to go fall for her friend who was quite possibly worse than her.

And now he was fucking teasing her. Yup, saying shit to him was starting to look more and more like a colossal fucking mistake.

“You’re a dick,” she muttered to him, cheeks burning as she turned to go find Kie or Pope.

Leah made it all but two feet before two familiar arms wrapped around her waist, JJ doing his best to prevent her from going any further.

“Lee Lee,” he whined in her ear. “C’mon, it was a joke.”

“Must have forgot to laugh,” she replied, beer sloshing around the cup in her hands as she tried to keep moving. But his arms were wrapped around her in a bear hug, his boots shuffling in the dirt behind her converse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, finally tugging her to a complete halt, groaning in annoyance a little as she refused to turn around to face him. But she’d stopped trying to move forward, still wearing a frown as he released her and circled around her to be face to face once again. “Done pouting now?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I’m gonna shove you into the bonfire.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not really into that, but thanks.”

Another flush of heat, this more out of annoyance than anything else, rose to her cheeks. “Can you be serious for like five seconds and stop making it your night’s goal to annoy me?”

The seriousness of her tone made his smile falter just a little bit. “Oh, c’mon, it was a joke. I wanna hang with you tonight, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t see me standing around anyone else, do you?” He glanced around, as if trying to prove his rhetorical point.

The tiniest, most traitorous of a laugh escaped her, but she quickly doubled back with a semi forced frown. “Too late, your friendship privileges have been provoked for the night.”

“What about macking privileges?”

The frown? Gone. Eyes? A little wide. Heart? Well, she was lucky her ribcage was there to keep it from popping out of her chest like a fucking cartoon.

A little flustered, she told him, “Funny, JJ, should consider being a comedian.”

“Not joking.” His tone was as serious as his words, more serious than he tended to be, especially at a party which surprised her, but it was the next thing he did that really caught her attention.

Leah knew that JJ was annoying when it came to getting what he wanted, but nothing really could have prepared her for the way his hands pulled on her arms, tugging her close to him, closer than she had any right to be as his friend.

Leah knew that no one at the bonfire around them was playing a lick of attention to them — the Pogues had been a hot commodity for all of two minutes when they’d arrived, a bit of attention of the newly freed John B, but that spectacle had gone stale all too quickly. And yet, her heart didn’t seem to care because there was something daunting, exciting about him treating her like this in public.

She knew from experience that JJ was nonchalant about PDA, making out and dancing with people at parties before with not a care in the world. His standing close to her and tugging him into her like he was some fictional pretty boy starring in a cheesy teen rom com shouldn’t have made her feel as special as it did but this was just different.

It was him and it was her and there were so many things about this situation that seemed like they’d only ever exist in vague daydreams. It seemed like there shouldn’t have been a universe where he’d look at her like the way he was right now, with anything more than friendship.

“We can even ditch,” JJ told her with a grin, eyes sparkling just a bit in the firelight. His hands slipped from her arms to her hips smoothly, like being nonchalant about this kind of shit came all too naturally to him. “Me, you, and the lighter fluid.”

She was certain that he could see her sour mood diminish embarrassingly quick as she asked, “Oh really? To do what, exactly?”

“That all depends on how you wanna spend your time tonight,” JJ answered, giving her one of his easy, mischievous smiles, that fucking smile that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

Leah wasn’t sure how long she’d cared for him like this. Maybe it had only been a few days, maybe since Midsummers, or hell, maybe it had been forever, her subconscious just waiting for that perfect moment for it to click that her joking I hate you’s were laced with something else, something more.

“Know a good place, too,” he added, gesturing his head towards the tree line past the wall, into the woods where most people only vacated to for hookups, which definitely didn’t go over her head.

“If you’re taking me to where you take all your bonfire party hook ups to, I’ll pass,” Leah remarked dryly. She didn’t intend the words to come out slightly bitter, and she thought she passed them off as joking as she could, but she couldn’t ignore the twist in her chest at the thought.

Before all of this, she wouldn’t have even batted an eye at JJ possibly having secret bonfire hookup spots, but now? Now the thought made a ball of lead form in her stomach.

“I mean I took Pope there once when I didn’t want to share my good weed with anyone.”

This time, she didn’t try to hide the laughter that bubbled over her lips. “Oh, perfect, I get to see where you wander off with Pope, wonderful.”

“So you’re in?”

She pretended to ponder it for a moment, but it was clear to just about anyone — especially JJ who knew her better than anyone in the world — that she’d had the answer sitting on her tongue. “I guess I could spare you a few minutes.”

JJ grinned at her, once again shooting her that fucking smile and she wasn’t sure if it was that or the way he replied with, “That’s my girl!” made her feel like she could fucking conquer the fucking world, off-kilter or not.

[litwitlady]

Cosmic Clowns, Part Seven

Read the first six parts on AO3.

Liz picks Alex up the next morning so that he can leave his car at home. She keeps looking over and grinning at him the whole way to work. Once even reaching over to squeeze his knee in excitement.

‘I’m so happy for you and Maria. Even if you are both dating my ex’s siblings.’ Alex laughs. ‘What kind of friends let me date a cop? Anyway, keep Max Evans far away from me, Alex. Do you understand?’ She pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine. ‘I never want to see that vanilla frat boy face again.’

Inside Maria is already clacking away at her keyboard. ‘I’m here early so I can leave early. Getting my nails done for tonight.’ She wiggles her fingers at them, then frowns. ‘Why the crutches, Alex? Feeling okay?’

‘Oh, yeah. The prosthetic is down in Liz’s car. I don’t want to wear out my leg before tonight. So, crutches it is.’ Alex leaves the two of them to their happy laughter and shuts his office door for a little peace and quiet. He’s nervous – more nervous than he’s willing to admit.

But he doesn’t have much time to wallow in his anxiety before a client calls him and occupies his mind for the next two hours. And then another client and another until four o’clock rolls around and Liz is bringing him his prosthetic. She wishes him luck and leaves – Maria already long gone.

Alex changes in his office, walking into his small bathroom to give himself a once over in the mirror. The outfit is simple – his favorite pair of jeans with the knees worn out and a thin, black sweater in case the night grows chilly. He tries to swoosh his hands through his hair enough to make it look fluffy and freshly tousled. To complete the look, he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a tiny gold hoop and pushes it through his still pierced ear.

Michael texts that he’s downstairs. Alex takes several deep breaths and stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. He quickly puts on extra deodorant and heads out of his office.

He swings the building doors open and finds Michael leaning against the passenger side of his truck, one leg kicked back onto the fender and grinning at the sight of him. Alex grins too. And they stand like that for an excessive amount of time – beaming at each other like clowns. Clowns who are beyond a shadow of a doubt falling head over heels, ass backwards in love.

‘Well, you look good enough to eat.’ Michael stalks towards him, eyes focusing on the earring in his left ear. And then over to his mouth. Alex blushes but does his own once over. At Michael’s tight jeans, the copper belt buckle – his white tank top covered by an unbuttoned black shirt with roses stitched into the chest pockets. And the way he smells so, so good.

Michael asks for a hug by raising his arms and crooking all his fingers at Alex. He complies, nearly tripping over himself to wrap his arms around Michael. ‘I’m really excited about tonight.’ He pulls back and smiles softly. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Trust me, Alex. The pleasure is all mine.’ He opens the truck’s door for Alex to slide inside. And then, they are off into the night.

Dinner goes really well. They share all the details of their troubled childhoods, the dreams they dreamed as kids, and Michael tells several obscene stories about his first terrible sexual experiences. Mostly, they laugh. Laugh and eat and enjoy each other’s company. Even their silences, comfortable and relaxed.

When they pull into the fairgrounds, Maria and Isobel are already waiting for them. They exchange hellos and Isobel grabs her girlfriend’s hand – winks at Michael and Alex – and starts walking backwards. ‘We’ll leave you boys alone. Give you two some personal time. Meet you at the Ferris wheel in an hour.’

‘So, what do you want to do first?’ They pay the entrance free and get their hands stamped. ‘I think the funhouse has great potential. But the Gravitron is always a hit – or I could win you a giant purple teddy bear.’

Alex laughs and shakes his head. ‘No teddy bears. But the funhouse sounds like a plan.’ He gathers his courage and holds his hand out to Michael. He likes the way making the first move feels. And when Michael threads their fingers together, he decides that whatever risks await him within this relationship – the rewards are bound to be so, so good. And that’s a chance he’s finally ready to take.

They get quite a workout – walking up and down the fairway stopping at each and every attraction. Forty-five minutes pass in a blur as they head towards the cotton candy stand. Michael declaring that no carnival experience is ever complete without the proper carnival diet.

Michael gets in line behind a couple of other people. But Alex hangs back, wanting to spend a moment taking in his surroundings. He’s felt like such a recluse these past several months, and he’s not sure why. But being outside in the crisp spring air has him feeling energized and full of life.

The fairway stretches before him for what feels like miles, disappearing into the dark horizon. Flashing lights blink all around, the heat from the bulbs creating a smokey, surreal atmosphere that transports him to some other time and place. The laughter of small children and the soothing voices of their parents fill his ears alongside the eerie funhouse music echoing behind him. The whoosh of mechanical rides splitting the air and the whirl of the crowd crushing in close disorients him in a delightful way. He smells roasting turkey legs drenched in tangy barbecue sauce and buttery popcorn. Salt-crusted pretzels and the sickly-sweet scent of lollipops and caramel coated apples. A gentle breeze rustles the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck, sending little shivers dancing up and down his spine.

All his senses are lit on fire. Exploding with the carnival’s chaos – the overwhelming cacophony of teenagers gossiping, flags whipping in the air, hot dogs roasting on rotating oven racks, and the syrupy hint of strawberry slushies on the tip of his tongue. The world tilts, slanting into a spin. Alex closes his eyes and lets himself go. Allowing the thrill of the fair to sweep him away.

And when he reopens his eyes, Michael is directly in front of him. Close enough that his body heat creeps slowly into Alex’s skin. The evening’s sights and sounds still so oppressive and pulsating, pushing him forward with no hesitation because all his fear and worry and anxiety is buried beneath the too much of it all. And before he can even breathe, his arms are hugging tight around Michael’s neck – their bodies touching at every point from chest to hips to thighs and tangled feet.

And their lips – their mouths – their teeth – their tongues.

Pressing together as Alex licks Michael’s pink candy-dusted lips asking – no begging – for entry. And Michael complies – going pliant beneath Alex’s insistent tongue. Abandoning his cotton candy to the fairway detritus of those who came before. Michael’s hands don’t know where to begin, starting on the slight curve of Alex’s hips and sliding upwards across his firm chest and taut nipples – landing eventually in his thick, soft hair. And the first time the tip of Alex’s tongue glances against his own, Michael involuntarily bucks his hips and moans into Alex’s mouth.

They are still standing in front of the vendor stall and patrons are beginning to complain. Someone pushes at Michael’s shoulder roughly, yelling at them to get a room. Too love-drunk to break away, Michael tightens his arms around Alex’s waist and lifts him – blindly walking them backwards to the side of the makeshift shed housing the food stall. When his shoulders slap against the fake paneled wood, he spins them around and presses Alex against the wall. Never once disconnecting their mouths. He shoves his knee aggressively between Alex’s thighs, loving the vulgar way Alex starts to pump his already hard cock against his own denim-clad thigh.

But Alex – Alex is lost in a dream. Utterly undone and trembling with pleasure. He wants nothing more than to strip them down here and now. Let Michael fuck into him while everyone watches them rut against this shaky unstable shack. It’s been so long – too long since someone has touched him like this. Maybe no one has ever touched him like this. And he never wants him to stop. Michael’s hands reach down, palming his ass and Alex sucks at his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. The carnival slowly begins to fade away. The noises hushed by the beating of his own heart, the sights dimmed under his heavy-lidded eyes, the smells drowned out by the clean scent of Michael’s shampoo. And the tastes – my god, the tastes – melted away on Michael’s bruising lips and filthy, wet tongue.

Take all that carnival nonsense away and what’s left is them – just Michael and Alex. And the best kiss of both their lives.