#Ruby is also a good little sister *spoken from a little sister's point of view* she's just goin thru it rn

[piratelil]

*Spoilers*

*AGAIN SPOILERS*

Ya’ll really need to watch Yang frame by frame after the whole Ruby thing because that poor girl is so shaken to her core that she’s barely processing what’s going on around her. 

I’m excited to see her next episode because I want to see exactly how Yang reacts to processing that she just lost her little sister to the unknown. 

[razorblade180]

Shackles 12: Protect your own

[part 11]

One thing leads to another. Pain brings grief, joy brings progress, day brings night; Jacquelyn knew simple truths like these, but she had really wished she could get her joy before night came. That didn’t seem to be the case. The tired woman sat on the Belladonna balcony. Her eyes scanned the stars that have kept her company for many years, bringing a sense of ease while her hands clasped a mug of warm tea. Blake’s mother, Kali, walked up from inside the house and poured more.

“Thank you.” Jacquelyn uttered softly. All day Kali hadn’t spoken a word to her. The older woman gave no expression, but her eyes said enough. They were upset, and mulling things over. “I’m-”

“If you’re going to apologize then don’t. There’s nothing you could say on his behalf.”

“Of..of course. I would never. I was going to apologize for myself. I’m…I involved your daughter in this. That one is on me.”

Kali looked over Jacquelyn. It just didn’t make sense to her. The girl before her sat solemnly waiting for a man who’s wracked sorrow to countless lives.

“If I wasn’t for Sun and Ilia, I would’ve denied you being here. I don’t want him near my home. He’s caused enough harm.”

“I understand. Still, I’m grateful. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Kali’s eyes the more Jacquelyn spoke to her. “Did you have a mother growing up?”

“…For a while. I lost her young.”

“I don’t know you, but I can tell she must’ve been caring; the kind of mother that would go to war for you.”

“Hehe, yeah, she was.” A tiny smile crept to her face, thinking back on the remarkable woman. “I owe her a lot in life.”

“A good mother’s only wish in life is to keep their kids safe and happy no matter what. So yeah, this isn’t easy. The thing I love the most in this world, my precious baby girl, you’ve helped invite back the very thing I failed to protect her from. I’m absolutely livid.So don’t tell me you understand. You’re not a mother.”

A lump formed in Jacquelyn’s throat. The little joy she had fizzled out. Kali’s words felt colder than Atlas winds and they had a right to be. However…a click at the door cut through all that.

“We’re home.” Blake said down stairs. Kali quickly ran downstairs. Jacquelyn put down the mug and ran too, but then, she stopped. A loud slurp came from behind her. She turned back around, gasping. Adam sat in her chair with her mug. His face was a bit pale and clothes were replaced with something a bit nostalgic.

“Hey, how you feeling? ” She said, smirking at his attempts to look cool.

“Dehydrated. Also a little stuffy.” He took off his old signature jacket. “Cannot believe this thing was still around. I guess evidence lockers really collect everything.”

“Did you climb up here?”

“Both Ghira, Blake and I all agreed that Kali is the absolute last person who should see me.” He walked towards her.

“Pfft yeah.” Jacquelyn did her best to chuckle but the smile she tried to force turned to a lip quiver while tears came automatically. Adam put her arms around her and she lost it. Her fingers clung to his shirt and wept, not caring who heard.

“Do you enjoy scaring me?”

“What did you think happened to me?”

“I don’t fucking know.” She sniffed, “so many things. I didn’t want to think you decided to up and leave but now I kinda wish that was the case. At least then I could be pissed at you for being an idiot. I held you Adam. You were so cold.”

“You off all people should know how close to death I can get. But I’ll admit it, I thought I was a goner. I’ll tell you about everything later, but first…” Adam let her go and stepped out of view from the balcony doors.

The entire Belladonna family came up stairs. Kali’s eyes were noticeably more red and her hand held Ghira’s. Blake’s eyes were also a bit puffy but much less.

Jacquelyn sighed as she wiped her own eyes. “Have we all been crying today?”

Blake chuckled halfheartedly “Looks like it. You okay?”

“Not really. I need a nap.”

Kali looked at the balcony. “…Adam, sincerity starts with eye contact.”

“Is that what you want from me?”

“No. Frankly I like not seeing you, but it’s rude to let this woman stand alone after waiting.” Kali wasn’t petty. She knew this wasn’t about her.

Adam walked into view slowly and stood beside Jacquelyn. He took Kali’s glare head on. It was actually nice to know one person in this room would definitely not hold back against him. He’s gotten used to that.

Blake looked at Jacquelyn and spoke. “Where’s Ilia and Sun? I thought they would’ve stayed.”

“Those two only stayed for about an hour. Ilia said she had to do something important and Sun tagged along with her. I have no idea where but they took an airship. They said they’d be back by sunrise.”

That was a little concerning. Blake had hoped to have everyone here for this. What in the world could possess them to leave?

“Guess this is everyone for now. Adam, we gotta do something with you. Even if you’re technically dead, things have to be different.”

“Lock me up.” He said bluntly. Everyone jumped a little from the suggestion.

“Lock you up!? Adam I made a case to keep you out of-”

“I wasn’t finished.” He interjected. “There’s already a collection of people here who know I’m alive. Those guards of yours in particular. Loyalty is easy to strain. If you just let me walk then they will resent you. Allowing them to put me behind bars covertly might give you a better chance to negotiate what to do with me later on.”

“Or you’re locked up forever without real protection. You might be at their mercy. I’m not allowing that.”

Jacquelyn nodded. “Neither am I. We didn’t get you out of one situation just to throw you back into the exact same one! Even if they work for Blake, she can’t watch over their every action.”

Ghira rubbed his beard. That was true. It wouldn’t be good for Blake to be visiting jail constantly anyways, still. “It wouldn’t be wise for Adam to go unpunished. I think for people’s peace of mind he must be detained for a while.”

“Dad! But…”

“Saber is a good man. He wouldn’t act out of line on a whim. Besides, I will volunteer personally to check on him daily.”

Kali looked at Blake’s shocked expression. “Sweetie, he is still a criminal.”

“I know, but���this doesn’t solve anything! How do you expect him to prove things are different behind a cell!?” Blake looked at Adam. “How can you be okay with it?”

“I’m not. If I see another pair of shackles again it would be too soon; but the public finding out about me is no short of a death sentence. However, I do have conditions for going along with this.”

Kali’s eyes narrowed. “Are you really in a position to discuss terms?”

“As long as this is a majority, then yes.” That wasn’t gonna score points with her but oh well Atonement or not, Adam refused to be walked all over. “First, Jackie’s home was blown up. I’d like her to stay here until it can be rebuilt. Second, I’d also want Sienna to be put in Jackie's care when she’s out of the hospital.”

Both Kali and Jacquelyn were highly confused. The maiden spoke up. “Ummm Sienna Khan?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. She’s this little girl that escaped the mineshaft with me.”

“White tiger ears? I remember a girl by you in the desert. Why me?”

“Unfortunately she’s not speaking much.” Ghira said. “Adam says you’re pretty good and patient with situations like these. Also, the child seems attached to Adam, so maybe she’ll be comfortable with the person around him.”

“Be careful though. She can get pretty defensive and violent.”

Jacquelyn squinted. “Giving me a way to focus while you’re gone, is that it? Hmph, like I’d say no regardless. Of course I’ll help her if I can.” She folded her arms. Guess she was getting single mother practice early.

“I’m glad. I do have one more condition.” He put his arm over the maiden’s shoulder and pulled her close. “I’ll go to jail, after I help Jacquelyn get through her pregnancy.”

The room went silent. Jacquelyn felt her face get hot and eyes water again. He knew. These terms weren’t for his benefit at all. They were all for her.

Ghira and Kali looked at each other, shocked by this revelation. A twinge of guilt hit Kali for the words she spoke early, but now she understood Jacquelyn’s feelings just a little bit more.

“You would send yourself to jail even knowing her condition?”

“I don’t make money and I don’t see any outcome where me being free makes it easier for Jacquelyn or those two kids. Anybody drawing the connections would be problematic to put it lightly. At least this way I’m not a complete dead beat. So, do we have an agreement?” He asked Ghira.

Blake bit her bottom lip. Right now she needs to look outside herself. She reminded herself of Yang’s parting words. “Slow down. I don’t need things done in a night. Sigh, besides, it’s not like I have a better plan.” Blake looked at her father. “It’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s not exactly the problem. I’d agree but even nine months of him being free is a lot to swallow. We simply don’t have the men to watch him or a place to keep him.”

“Yeah I don’t want him in my home of all places.” Kali added. “Now matter how you look at it, Adam is too dangerous for anyone to look after while he’s free. I can’t go on good faith where there isn’t any.”

“Mom he’s-”

“OH! OH! I’LL WATCH HIM!” Yelled a voice outside, brimming with energy.

A gust of wind blew in from the balcony bringing a glimmer of faith and dozens of rose petals. Blake’s jaw dropped. “Ruby!?”

The full fledged scythe wielding huntress grinned ear to ear. “Yo!” Ruby dashed in and stopped right in front of Blake, giving her a big hug and waving to her parents. “Busy day huh?”

Blake grabbed her leader by the shoulders. This had to be a fever dream. “Ruby, why are you here!?”

The reaper’s face went red as she started chuckling. “Hehe, so funny story…”

xxxx

“Ruby?!” Yang questioned, shouting over the edge of her ship at another ship passing by. Sure enough, her little sister turned around and gasped.

“Yang!? Why are you on a boat leaving Menagerie!?”

“Why are you on a boat docking to Menagerie is a better question!”

“I stopped by your house only to hear from Jaune that you went to see Blake for the first time in forever! You think I was gonna be calm about it? I took the first mission here I could find to have an excuse!”

Yang could not believe what she was hearing. “Rubes…but that..why!? Just why!?”

“You have a bad habit of saying things you don’t mean when you get emotional. If things went south then they might not get better.”

Moments like these made it really hard for Yang to believe she was the older sister; especially when Ruby is absolutely right. “Can you not call me out like that?”

“Why are you leaving? Don’t tell me things went up in flames?”

“N- Well they almost did, but it’s fine! We’re okay; more than okay. I had to cut things short because…I gotta do some stuff. So does she.” Ruby would have a cow if she learned Yang was pregnant. Yang wanted to tell her, but Jaune had to be first. Well…technically second, but first in her heart!”

Ruby could not believe she rushed over to Menagerie for nothing! Well at least her sister looked happy, so things must’ve gone okay. “Well, I’m happy for you! Sigh…I guess I’ll knock out this mission as fast as I can then-”

“Actually, Ruby, can you do your big sis a huge favor?”

xxxx

“And now I’m here.” Ruby rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment. “Would’ve gotten here sooner but a supply mission is a supply mission. I also checked in with Saber, was it? When I explained who I was he gave me a brief and vague update. Since I came here to mediate in the first place and Yang asked so nicely, I thought I’d lend a hand.”

“You were gonna do that favor or no favor.”

Ruby grinned. It was nice to be known so well. “Mr. and Mrs. Belladonna, I’ll watch Adam. That’s the main reason you turned the offer right?”

“Y…Yes but-” Ghira stuttered.

Kali sighed, “Do you really plan on sticking around for nine months?”

“Technically as long as he’s with me and out of sight then I wouldn’t have to stay here specially, but I can understand if you don’t want him too far away. If he’s genuine then having him help rebuild the blown up home should be no problem. I can stay in the house to watch everyone, or I’m happy to rent a place and keep them there. Ilia has a spot out of the way of people. We got options.”

Call her impulsive, but Ruby was persistent. A game changer everywhere she went and she knew it. The girl took a step back to be in the middle of the room. Her hands went on her hips. The next words she spoke were with pure confidence and sincerity.

“If you need good faith then look towards me. I love your daughter like family and I’ve always looked out for people, so believe me when I say this. Adam Taurus has nothing on me. I can take him.” Bold words but she meant them to the letter.

That confidence was felt by everyone. Even Adam felt challenged, though he had no intention of betraying anyone. His first time seeing Blake’s leader and the sister of a person he never thought would save his life, and she was trash talking him. Huh, I guess they really were related. The argument was strong, too strong for Kali and Ghira to deny. Both of them gave a look of uncertainty before nodding.

“I will cut everyone some slack and let them stay in this room tonight as long as you’re here too.” Kali said.

“Yes ma’am. I appreciate it.” Ruby gave a nod as the older woman left.

Ghira gave a smile to Ruby. “I’m glad Blake has family everywhere.” He left after his wife, leaving the rest of them to sort the rest out.

Ruby finger gunned Blake before turning around,

approaching Adam for the first time in her life. He was definitely tall. That’s for sure. “I don’t think we’ve officially met yet.”

“But I’m positive you know everything you need to know about me?”

“Eh, Blake’s not much of a talker. My sister said a few things but they weren’t exactly helpful, just nasty. You’ve done a lot to her, more than you probably know. Still, Yang fights her own battles and I guess recently she won a big one. We’ll only have a fight if you start one, deal?” Ruby extended her hand.

Adam couldn’t get a read on Ruby. She was open, yet guarded. Kinda Jacquelyn. He shook her hand. “Pretty bold to say you can beat someone you never met.”

“Really? I don’t think so. If my friends could do it years ago then me doing it now should be cake. I mean you even look like a ghost right now.” Her eyes shifted to Jacquelyn. “Congratulations by the way.”

“Thanks?” Jacquelyn grabbed Adam’s sleeve. “Can the two of us talk on the balcony in private?”

“Be my guest.” Ruby watched her new assignment get dragged away by….whatever that girl was to him. “So Blake, I know this isn’t the sweetest vis-eep!” A tight hug snuck up on her.

Blake squeezed tightly and let her stress fade

away. “That’s my incredible leader. Always coming to my rescue.”

“Awe, oh sweet hehe. Now I really know you’re stressed.” Ruby hugged back happily.

Outside, things were a little less warm and cozy. The cool breeze against Jacquelyn’s skin did little to cool her off as her hands tugged gently on the front of Adam’s shirt. Her eyes were glued to the floor while she felt his hand on her head.

“For the record, I’m not the biggest fan of all this.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s been preaching about being more than what I was? Salvation and all that?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t proud.” She lifted her for him to see her pouting. “So you knew I was pregnant all along? Gotta admit, that makes you getting kidnapped willingly and trying to go to jail makes you look really shitty.”

“Jackie-”

“I know I’m twisting your intentions but I can’t help but feel that way okay? I mean it’s fine. I’m just the gal who took pity on you and helped for her own therapeutic needs or salvation; whatever you wanna call it. Sure we slept around from time to time but that’s what happens when you have no one else. We had no labels. Circumstances made us glorified roommates at best. I mean yeah sure, on paper I guess I did what I set out to do. You’re changing.”

“And you’re trying not to cry.” He rubbed her cheek. Jackie wasted no time reaching to hold it in place. “You’ve spent a few years trying to get me to be more direct with myself. Think you can take your own advice right now.”

“……I fucked up. I should’ve just been helping you but I did more than that. I fell for you, and I can’t say with confidence I know how you feel back because we never talked about these things. A situation like this is what I used to imagine but along the line all I thought of was us, always together.”

“So you’re basically asking me what you are to me, is that it?”

“Stupid, right?” Jacquelyn started laughing at her own insecurities until Adam wrapped his arms around her and rested her head on his chest. The sound of his heart filled her senses and calmed her.

“I thought of you every day I was trapped. To tell you the truth, I don’t feel much different from the day you found me. If anything it’s only harder for me to deny how fucked I am.”

“Idiot, that’s a world of difference, and I’m not the only one who sees that.” Jacquelyn gave a soft smile. So much between was unsaid and uncertain, but that's fine for now. He thought of her, fought for her. She did the same. Those actions were worth a billion words. Roughly nine more months of actions before life changed forever. Best to not waste them. Jacquelyn tilted her head up and leaned in, kissing him gently. The joy she waited for was finally hers as he kissed her back.

Two sets of footsteps came back up the stairs. One pair was a very exhausted Ilia and the other was a slightly less tired Sun.

“Ilia! You’re back!” Blake yelled.

“Yeah I-” she spotted the intimacy happening on the balcony. “Hmm didn’t need to see that.”

“Be nice.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing this entire adventure. Also hey Ruby. Couldn’t resist a good drama?”

“As if! I came here to keep things drama free!”

Sun guided Ilia to the couch for her to plop on. Poor girl has been traveling nonstop for at least three days now. He was tired too, but a sudden rush of energy hit him in the form of Blake giving him a running hug and a quick passionate kiss that made him laugh.

“Haha, is that you saying sorry or thank you?”

“It’s me saying you’re amazing and I love you for rolling with this so effortlessly.”

“Oh there’s effort. You’re just worth it.” He smiled, kissing her again. “I’m just happy you’re safe, but you gotta-”

“Slow down. Yeah…I’ve been told.” Blake rested her head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong, like he always is. “Where did you two go?”

Sun looked at Ilia who immediately got up and left to bother the pair on the balcony, grabbing Ruby too. Sun let Blake go. The man let out a faux cough. “So umm this is probably a completely inappropriate time to ask this but…”

Blake saw him reach into his pocket and her face immediately felt like fire. “Wait!” She frantically grabbed his wrist before he could take his hand out. “I know I asked but you could’ve lied!”

“Hey! I was actually trying to get things prepared back in Vacou but people started getting abducted. I know I just talked about you slowing things down and this isn’t the first time we’ve discussed-”

“Yes!” Blake could see the goofy and confused smile Sun was forming. It only flustered her more. “Don’t be surprised. Listen, it was always gonna be a yes. I’m still going to say yes; especially with all that’s happened. Lately it feels like I’ve been putting off things in my life for things I want in my life, but…you are someone I always want. Even if I don’t say it all the time.”

“I know that. It’s okay. Equality is busy work. It is your dream.”

Blake blushed, “So is marrying you. When this situation gets sorted out and dealt with, can you ask me then? You’ve given all your attention through this. I want to give you all of mine when.”

Drat! How could that feel so bittersweet sweet and yet appropriate? Sun knew his face was red too. Blake didn’t reject him by any means but the moment of courage was dashed! Guess that was the point. Typical Blake. Nothing typical about her. Sun let go of the ring in his pocket and chose to hold Blake’s face, staring into her eyes. How could they be so determined one moment and bashful the next. Honestly…

“My future wife is so ridiculous sometimes.”

“I think that’s what my future husband likes about me.” Blake smirked, “I love you.”

The two shared a kiss, taking a moment for themselves.

Ruby smiled from outside and looked at the others. “Okay, I know there’s more of a reason for nabbing me, because that pretty moment was happening no matter how many were around.”

“I brought you out here because the four of us plus Sun are about to keep a secret.” Ilia put her back against the railing, her head looking towards the stars. “Sobek, I handled it.”

Jacquelyn went bug eyed. “What? H-How?”

“Talked to the victims here, Vacou, and Adam briefly. If I would’ve gone in with you all then I might’ve recognized him. He did work in Atlas after all. Anyways it’s dealt with and you don’t have to worry about any of those victims talking. They already wanted to forget the ordeal so adding funds was icing on the cake.” Ilia stared at Adam with soullessness

“I know, you didn’t do it for me.”

“Oh how I wish that were true. Let’s make things clear right now, I’m so pissed at you. If you weren’t injured then I’d throw down right now. Blake never told you this most likely, but near my house I gave you a grave. To me you deserved at least that much; you kept me alive and going for a time. As much as I now hate some of the things I know how to do, I was fortunate you taught me them because those skills help people.”

Adam watched as Ilia took her pointer finger and pressed it against his heart. He could feel her shaking.

“If you ever want my help again then you will keep me in the loop at all times. I was there before and after Blake worked beside us. I had every right to know about you being alive as much as she did.” Ilia would never admit it to anybody but as much as she was crushed when Blake fell for Adam, she couldn’t help but feel angry when both began undervaluing her contribution. Like they say, three is a crowd.

Adam removed Ilia’s finger and nodded. “Hehe, I can accept those rules.”

“What’s so funny huh? Ugh, you really know how to tick a person off.”

“Nothing. Just…everyone is mad at me for something different. Hard to keep track of it all. Guess being a leader was doomed after all. I don’t get any of you. I can’t help but laugh at myself.” He chuckled to himself.

The strange humor of it all caused Jacquelyn to join in quietly while Ilia rolled her eyes and let things be as they were. She said her peace. Ruby though, she couldn’t help but look at the three of them, Adam specifically. There he was, a person recently beaten to near death, laughing at his own past mistakes in a world that didn’t want him.

“Hmmm I don’t get it. What was scary about this guy?”

[for-peace-war]

No, really. Lovecraft Country sucks.

These are spoilers, but I also don’t give a shit because it’s a bad show and I hope you skim enough to fucking skip it.  I took a few days to decide if I hated it enough to write this and well, I do. 

I will try my best not to say “X is a bad actor,” but instead stick with the characters as they’re intended save for one particular issue.

The Story

It isn’t very Lovecraftian.  And don’t take this as me saying Lovecraft was some kind of master of his craft.  I think he was an absurd racist that used xenophobia as his guise for what truly horrified the sane mind. That being said, the element of the unknown is definitely the hallmark of his world and that in no way is represented in this show.  It could easily be called “Goosebumps: The Black Version” and it’d be just as authentic--if not more so, really.

The story deals with the Bible (?) and magic that comes from uh, knowing the names of things.  You speak a made up language and then you do some kind of confusing magic that has no real purpose or point.  I sound dismissive of this because I am, to be clear.  They could have just as easily had this language be something whites stole from Africans and then perverted into their own means of power (it’d be a pretty easy parralel to any number of imperialist issues left behind in Africa, huh.)

But anyway, it has a tentacle monster. I think we see a big scary octopus at one point.  But the monsters are often in your face and it’s probably less scary than Stranger Things S1.

Honestly, the characters repeat “autumnal equinox” so much that I felt I was going to have a fucking breakdown.  Just the writing is very empty and no one seems to really care about anyone else on the screen except for in a rare moment between the only two characters that make it far and matter. 

Characters

They aren’t very good.  There are tropes present, which isn’t bad at all, but the way the characters interact, speak, and in general move us through the story feels stilted, often nonsensical, and entirely reliant on the viewer assuming that the latest sentence spoken is the only one that matters.

Atticus “Tic” Freeman

A war criminal that derives his power from the white blood inside of him. Again, dismissive but true.  We see this man struggle to connect pieces to a puzzle and eventually he pays the price for it, but not in the way Lovecraft would have someone pay for endeavoring beyond their realm.  Rather, something about fate and a book. Look, honestly? Who gives a shit.  Tic murders a woman in coldblood and it’s never really touched on.  There’s a lot that could be said about militaries, oppression, etc, but we often see these characters enact violence and then the story skips merrily beyond it.  So yeah, he summarily executes a Korean woman and then is later shown torturing another, but it’s okay because he feels a little bad and fucks the Korean sex demon woman.  More on that later.   I felt nothing for him.  He didn’t have some deep animus over being a torturing war criminal.  He was just kind of moving through scenes and having confusing fights with his girlfriend/baby mama.

Letitia “Leti” Lewis

This is what empowerment shouldn’t look like. It amuses me that the show claimed to subvert some kind of norms when the primary love interest (and ultimate heroine) remains the lightest skinned sister in the room.  She is able to maintain the appeal of the ingenue while at the same time having the understood attractiveness of her complexion. As far as Leti is concerned as a character, she too seems to be a pretty shitty person.  We hear that she has “transactional” friendships and she seems pretty much all about self-survival and rarely if ever puts up where others do.  She’s a heroine in the sense that the story makes her be heroic, but it never addresses how her flaws are ultimately all self-inflicted and unnecessary.  She could just not be a shitty person.

Hippolyta Freeman

Well. Hidden Figures was an excellent film, and I think that’s where Hippolyta came from.  In a more serious series, perhaps she and her daughter could have had a very touching arc that would deal with survival and exceptionalism in a world that maligns you for your very being.  Unfortunately, in reality she just comes off as a character that’s quirky in a world that’s also quirky and she doesn’t get to harness her power. There’s an entire episode dedicated to how she discovers who she is and the result is well, her hair turns blue and she makes robots?  I think the character TYPE is great, but they misused her here in all ways.

George Freeman

Well, well.  If the series had remained about George, Tic, and Leti adventuring through America and encountering sundown towns and monsters both human and otherwise, I think it’d have been okay.  The issue is, they wrote this series by the numbers so George is immediately thrown away.  He’s a wise and circumspect guy that has his own flaws (he has patrarchical notions built around protecting/babying his genius wife, clearly), but the flaws he has are understandable and well reasoned. George dies early on.  Then he sort of doesn’t, I guess? But the fact he did was really the nail in the coffin for this series.  The moment they did that, the rest just became empty strokes.  A story where George witnessed the others dying and going back to his wife and daughter would have had so much more heart to it, but well.  Uncle George is literally one of the few bright spots.

Ruby Baptise

Much like her sister, Leti, Ruby is a terrible attempt at showing empowerent on the one hand, and a masterwork on the other.  The bad first: she’s a rapist.  I’ve been called a nigger before and while it didn’t feel great, I don’t think I’d have been justified in just sodomizing the person that did it.  That entire sequence was weird and they tried to hype it as her reclaiming something, when really it spoke to a disgusting and gratuitous tendency toward Ruby: she’s always too much. Ruby, IMO, should have been Tic’s love interest.  In a sense.  First, because Wunmi Mosaku was a very attractive woman with impressive acting chops (she’s where I’ll break my moratirum, sorry), but also because it wouldn’t be what you’d see in every other show now: light-skinned pretty sister, dark-skinned sexual eikon.  And that’s the issue with Ruby there: she’s always too much.  She’s sexual by existing and that isn’t necessarily to her benefit since Leti, the good one, is an actual virgin before her sudden period sex. So the narrative has already spoken as to how it views sex. Yet, because they tried to give Ruby these strange strokes, she comes out as an interesting character.  She has feelings, aspirations, and dreams that she’s kept from and that’s very real. In a story about the absurd, a sense of realness is a familiar handhold to gather your wits.  She’s all that, really.  It’s why she has the best relationships in the show, which is AGAIN an issue, but well. I’ll say Ruby was never bad to have on screen though I was disgusted with how often her blackess (and Blackness in general!) became the source of grotesque horror.

Christina Braithewaite

This is where I get annoyed.  My issue with Christina is that she should have easily been the most hated character, but they overplayed their hand with not showing how nefarious she was.  In fact? Christina and Ruby’s relationship is the only meaningful, real, and understandable one in the entire series.  I felt no joy during her downfall, because I didn’t really get to see her doing anything bad? Just, consider what the show is.  It’s about Lovecraft’s lore, ostensibly, which treats all non (specific types of) white men like dogs.  So Christina comes at it from the “white” but “woman” perspective and you know, she has moments of duality that you can say is she more white or woman here.  But they don’t execute on how sinister she should be.  She’s a little rude at times? Yet she is the only person to treat Ruby like she should be treated and she’s the only person that seems to have a goal outside of “the quest.” It really bothered me that she came out so well done, because either they needed to have her for two seasons and make her far more nefarious after the first, or to just make her less a force for good.  She saves the characters more than a few times and pays for it by being killed when she’s at her lowest.  Yeah, it’s... a weird take.  

Ji-Ah

What can I say?  There are depictions of sex in the series, and they’re all negative: most of Ji-Ah’s scenes, Montrose’s angry self-loathing sex with his boyfriend, Ruby’s morphic horror scenes.  In the case of most of those, there’s something being said.  Ji-Ah is a monster, literally, that could be seen as Lovecraftian in the sense she’s an exotic Asian woman that kills men that sleep with her.  So, HBO was like “we’ll blow our tits and ass budget on her,” and she exists for a series of sex scenes and vague, inscrutable... shit, maybe SHE is the most Lovecraft of all the characters! Anyway at some point she joins the party after confusing drama with Leti because they both fucked Tic.  It’s okay though, because Ji-Ah isn’t here for any of that now.  She’s the one who had the best friend that had her teeth yanked out by Tic, and also who was there when he shot her other friend in cold blood, but they get over that and she’s now their friendly red panda pal or some shit.  It’s fucking trash.   Much like the Freemans (sans Tic), I think she’d have done great in another show. But they rushed her story and it felt less Ghost Nation (Westworld) and more Masturbation (Jordan Peele).

Diana Freeman

Confusing.  A stock character (quirky kid that does art, is impetuous, and won’t take no for an answer) that is given a lot of screen time.  When she sort of hijacks an episode when two ragamuffin girls chase her down and infest her or something because racist cops.  Well, the story veers to her direction.  What can I say?  If you like 11 from Stranger Things but wanted her to have Mike’s attitude, well.  Here you go.

Montrose Freeman

He could have been a good character, I guess. He seemed unnecessary and often was there purely for an x-factor of “uh?”  Like, his infamous scene where he slits a two-spirit Native American’s throat after we learn that this indigenous person had just been restored after being raped by bad guys.  So there’s that.  Also I guess he was self-loathing so he beat his son (that may not be his son???) and also liked fucking dudes, which was I think where we were supposed to care about him. It’s like someone saw Omar was a gun-wielding desperado of drug theft and decided, “Well what made him okay is he’s gay!”  But it didn’t add much.  I get he was angsty but other than Tic calling him a “faggot” (one of the few good scenes between them in terms of emotion), it all seemed empty and kind of meandering. At no point does Montrose seem a part of the team.  He just half-mumbles, gets angry, cries, and falls apart.

Captain Seamus Lancaster

He’s barely a character, but I need to include him for another point. He’s the “bad guy.”  I guess?  He uses the bodies of black men to stay alive, which is actually a really smart reference to black bodies fueling the American system, but it comes off as cheesy because it just never comes up.  He’s cartoonishly bad in a way that he’s less sinister than a meme.  Compare him to say,   Ridgeway from Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad. One’s a sinister representation of an oppressive system and the other’s well, a joke.

Racism

How could this not be a theme?  The issue, as was shown with Lancaster, is that it isn’t even remotely handled with seriousness.  The best scene of racism is in the first episode when Tic, George, and Leti are forced to leave a Sundown county before they’re lynched by the racist sheriff.  The anticipation and animosity lead to some serious anxiety and it was a nailbiter.

But after that?  White people say “nigger.”  Then they get, I don’t know, raped or spit on or who knows.  A lot of black people talk back to the cops anyway in the 50′s and that’s cool.

But the real monsters of the series are all black people.  Let’s go through it: 

Tic brutalized women in the Korean War.

Montrose killed the two-spirit person.

Ruby rapes the shop owner.

Diane crushes Christina’s throat.

Ruby literally sheds her flesh in repeatedly gratuitous acts of the grotesque.

Even Ji-Ah, who’s not black, is a monster in the literal sense.  We do see the doctor that experimented on black people, but that’s about 5 minutes at the end of an episode that has a baby’s head on a man’s body so I was too busy laughing at the absurdity to take any real meaning from it.

The truth is, in Lovecraft Country, white people always should do their best to kill or keep black people down.  It definitely doesn’t speak at all to any togetherness or what have you.  Just, well. Magical negroes doing bad stuff because nothing can stop them.

The show misses the chances to show real horror in race.  Hell, the Tulsa Riots are reduced to a backdrop for a confusing book scene.  But then again, Emmett Till becomes a kind of empty reference point that we then see a white woman act out... for some reason? 

Again, the only characters with any chemistry are Ruby and Christina, which is very unfortunate for any number of reasons. As far as a statement that racism is bad goes, I mean. I barely saw it.  If I was a racist I’d be like hell yeah, Lovecraft was right they are dangerous.

Even when people try to indicate the horrors of it like, “Oh, the Korean War scenes are bad because we see how men are forced into the military complex!”  We didn’t see a white officer say “Shoot her, boy,” it was just two black guys killing women with no care at all. And no compeuppance, so that’s cool.

The Music

Sucks.  Thanks Peaky Blinders for making modern music over gif sets a thing.

Conclusion

I sure as hell would never watch it again.  If I can get one other person not to, then maybe it’d be worth it. It’s not a good show.  It’s not “smart,” and there’s no secret subversion in it.  It’s just... bad.

I won’t post on it anymore.  Please, in true Lovecraft fashion, trust me when I say that this show is so bad it cannot be comprehended. 

[puckermanoah]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍.

[KELLI BERGLUND, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER] who’s that? oh it’s [NOAH PUCKERMAN]. i hear they’re [NINETEEN] and are known as [THE MIRRORBALL] around [NEW YORK]. they’re also a [FRESHMAN] at [COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY], have a voice like [ALICE KRISTENSEN] and are part of [BIOMEDICAL ENGINEERING SOCIETY & INTERFAITH COLLECTIVE]. they’re known to be [PRACTICAL & HONEST] and [STUBBORN & JEALOUS]. some people say they remind them of [CHUGGING COFFEE TO STAY UP PAST MIDNIGHT, COZY WINTER NIGHTS, & THE SCENT OF HAIR DYE ALWAYS LINGERING]. only one way to find out!

possible triggers: mentions of death and sex work

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: Noah Olivia Puckerman

nickname(s): Junior (her dad)

age: Seventeen

date of birth: December 26th

hometown: Lima, Ohio

current location: Lima, Ohio

orientation: Bisexual

religion: She practices both Judaism and Christianity (for the sake of both of her parents), but she believes in Judaism more.

political affiliation: Democrat

occupation: Student/Cam girl

living arrangements: Lives in a dorm on campus

language(s) spoken: English, Hebrew

FAMILY

father: Noah Puckerman (deceased)

mother: Quinn Fabray-Puckerman

sibling(s): Zoe Puckerman & Beth Corcoran

EXTRA

sun: Capricorn

moon: Taurus

rising: Gemini

likes: Billy Joel, science, classic rock, spontaneous road trips, horror films, hot chocolate, listening in on conversations in a coffee shop, cozy blankets

dislikes: long term relationships, getting too close, talking during movies, anything that isn’t tangible, creativity, ketchup, sports, warm weather

HEADCANONS

Noah Olivia Puckerman was thought to be a boy from the moment of her conception. With Zoe already in the mix, Quinn and Puck were hoping for one of each gender since Quinn had put her foot down in saying they would only have two children (not including Beth) and everything pointed to boy while Quinn was pregnant with their second. Old wives tales, early testing, even the doctor confirming their second child had a penis, but in a strange turn of events, Quinn gave birth to a healthy baby girl the day after Christmas which was a shock to everyone in the delivery room and from that point on Noah would continue to never shock her parents ever again.

Growing up with Quinn Fabray for a mother and Zoe Puckerman for a sister, Noah was quick to mimic everything about them. Zoe joined pageants to please Quinn, so Noah joined pageants to please Quinn and Zoe and the habit continued for the rest of her childhood and teen life. It wasn’t like Noah did it because she thought they wouldn’t love her, but she just wanted to feel included and she knew deep down, Quinn wanted her daughters to be the shining example of a lady in Lima, and all Noah cared about was keeping her parents and sister happy.

But Puck always encouraged what little Noah liked. Maybe it was because they shared a name, but he always seemed to see right through what Noah was doing and while he wouldn’t get in the way of Noah’s relationship with her mother and sister, he would just nudge the youngest Puckerman into what she cared about which turned out to be her love for science. It was no secret Noah excelled in all of her classes but she had always done much better in her science classes, no matter the field so with her spare time she joined the science club.

When her dad died, Noah didn’t take any of it well. None of her family did, and who would? It was a loss two teenage girls shouldn’t have had to go through but it shook Noah into a revelation. She didn’t know how many trips around the sun she had and she couldn’t spend the rest of her life acting like she had to please her mom and sister when they had never asked her to get into pageantry or cheerleading or even glee club, she did it on her own accord because she thought they would care about her more, but it was clear that all of the Puckerman girls only cared about each other’s happiness, and it was safe to say that Noah wasn’t happy being a peppy cheerleader.

During the rest of her high school years, Noah put all of her energy through her clubs and having fun in high school. She was still always studying and with tacking the Brainiacs on as an activity, Noah always had a full schedule but she began going out more. Going to parties. Hanging out at the view and it was good. She was really able to break out of her shell and become more than just “Zoe’s little sister”.

But she still had one more choice. College. Everyone was expecting Noah to go Ivy League and Noah herself was expecting that. She had worked her ass off in the four years she had at McKinley so she could be a clear choice for those schools, but with her mother going Ivy with her own alma mater, Noah knew it was clear that Quinn wanted her to go to Yale, but she didn’t know if that was her path. Instead, Noah opted to apply to every Ivy League school she could (and some backup schools). She got denied from many and accepted into some, but in reality there were two choices to her. Yale or Columbia. Both were close to her older sister, one would please her mother, and one was a school she knew one of her teammates went to. After a long and hard decision, Noah Puckerman once again sat her mother down and told her she would not be attending Yale in the fall, but Columbia and Quinn took the news pretty well, only wanting her daughter to be happy.

Noah really has been enjoying her college experience, she’s joined the Biomedical Engineering Society and an interfaith club, but she soon realized how expensive everything was. Luckily, she had scholarships and her mother was gracious enough to pay her tuition, any extra fees, and still put a few extra bucks in her bank account, but it still wasn’t enough to be able to shop in the square or go out to SoHo with friends. She needed a job, but it needed to be something quick and easy. She didn’t have time for a part time job, so on a night of research looking for “easy” jobs, she stumbled across a site for cam girls and pictures to sell scandalous photos. Immediately, Noah knew she couldn’t do it. She had a body count that was essentially nonexistent and she was never the “hot” sister. Plus seeing what happened to Ruby Zizes in high school should have scared her away from the website altogether, yet she found her hand moving her cursor to the “sign up” button on the right hand side.

She’s been at her whole “second life” job for a few months now and it’s bringing in a nice income. Only a handful of people know what she’s up to, but with more and more money entering her bank account, she’s not sure how much longer she can keep her secret as a secret. 

EXTRA LINKS

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[rorykillmore]

can you rank (loosely if u don't want to play exact favorites) villanelle's most important or influential denny relationships?

i’m just putting them roughly in the order she met/reunited with them on denny, for the record. and in case anyone was thinking of coming for me, this is just what i reckon are the most INFLUENTIAL, good and bad, not a complete list of her friends or family or important interactions

okay and this is just going underneath a cut because it got long as fuck

fox is villanelle’s best friend, her -- if we lived in the, like, idk, homestuck universe (not to immediately make this cursed.) where you can have a romantic soulmate AND a platonic soulmate, he’s her platonic soulmate. and in terms of influence, i want to emphasize how much of villanelle’s denny arc, like... could not have been possible without fox. fox was the first person who was ever kind to her despite having absolutely no reason to be, and he was also the person who challenged her in such an important way at such an important time. during the whole GRACE plot, HE came back for her, and HE’S the one who essentially said “look, you have a choice. you’re not just a tool for this organization. one way or another, you need to make a choice.” which. again. a huge first in her life!

i’m trying to keep these short and sweet since i have so many to talk about, but genuinely like... i cannot understate fox’s importance as a part of villanelle’s life. and for her to even be able to have a best friend, to begin with? that’s such a like, idk. cornerstone of things Normal People Get To Have, and every day i write her i am so so happy she found him. from an ooc perspective, they’ve like, been to hell and back together also, and there’s a fierce kind of joy as writer when you look at a relationship that’s over a year old and has evolved so much over that time and get to go “we made this together!!!”

konstantin meanwhile is... well, he’s the healthiest parental figure villanelle’s ever had. which. really isn’t a high bar! their relationship has always been so tempestuous because it is built on konstantin’s manipulation of villanelle, both to use her for his own gain and... y’know, for his own survival, being able to manage her as long as he did! but he also genuinely loves her, and has gone out of his way on a number of occasions to protect her or help her or take care of her whereas it’s quite likely that most of the twelve’s handlers... just wouldn’t give a shit! i highly doubt that the twelve are the kind of organization where you’re supposed to get actually attached to your agent. and for villanelle, konstantin’s affection for her makes things more confusing, because it’s hard for her to ever draw the line between what’s sincere affection and what’s manipulation. post-canon update, she kind of now aggressively thinks he’s full of shit and is rejecting him for her own well-being which i think! is an important boundary for villanelle to be able to learn to set for herself! and you and i have spoken about how we don’t want to reconcile that immediately, but i also think... she would very much miss him and that it would be very, very strange for her to be without him when she’s ALWAYS had him to fall back on on denny, and indeed in most of her adult life in general. she needs to learn to stand without him, but at the same time.... i’m super interested to see how they approach each other now from this more honest, fractured place.

and then we have ruby , which. i still think ruby and villanelle are one of the most delightfully unexpected panfandom dynamics i’ve ever helped form PERIOD. and it’s interesting because hunter and i have always talked about how you would never expect these two characters to connect on the surface -- and you wouldn’t! but in exploring the ways they’re different, we’ve also found these really jarring similarities between them, too? and i think in a way, they’ve kind of bled into each other on top of that. villanelle’s relationship with ruby is like, INCREDIBLY formative to her learning empathy and just how to... nurture a relationship and be there for other people, but she has also become someone who ruby looks up to, and i think she’s contributed to maybe. Darkening ruby a bit, in that way.  

i also think of all the girls, ruby is the one who villanelle has the most explicitly maternal relationship with. weiss too, but i’ll get into why i think that works a bit differently in weiss’ section. but anyway, WHEN you have that kind of relationship with someone, at least when you’re approaching it with earnesty and a determination to do it Right, it challenges you with a certain kind of responsibility that i think has been essential to villanelle’s development too. not only has it taught villanelle how you love someone in a comparatively selfless way from what she’s used to, but requires from her a certain kind of self-awareness and moral awareness (if she doesn’t care about doing the right thing In General, she cares about doing right by ruby) that has allowed her to mature a bit on denny. so yeah, ABSOLUTELY one of of villanelle’s most influential dynamics. 

she’s obviously also very close with weiss, and i would also call her feelings for weiss maternal, but compared to ruby/villanelle i think weiss and villanelle’s relationship tends to take on a more Sisterly overtone on the surface. and i think that’s maybe because weiss HAS a sister who is basically villanelle’s age, who is her other maternal figure, so for weiss that’s more just how these kinds of feelings tend to Manifest. idk. you know, not to speak for jay, that’s just my take on it. but while weiss and villanelle have never really clashed the way ruby and villanelle have and then had to work through resolving that, i think in a way weiss just holds villanelle more accountable on a more day to day basis? they’re always quite honest with each other, weiss has always been quick to call her out, and like -- post-graceplot, for instance, weiss was the one who was like “i believe you didn’t mean to hurt us but you still need to find a way to make this right.”

and not that weiss did this deliberately, but she’s also the person who REALLY tested the person villanelle has become on denny and how... committed she is to loving the people she loves, via everything that went down during the hunger games. the way villanelle feels about the sacrifice she made is still really complicated -- it’s not something she feels comfortable being commended for, but it’s also not something she regrets. she’s not one to put selfless sacrifice on a pedestal, especially not in a horrible situation like that where neither of them should have had to to begin with, but a part of her... does find a deep sense of relief in finding this validation that her love for weiss - and all the girls, really - is real, and that she proved it to herself. after the games, i think maybe villanelle can be open with weiss in a way that she can’t entirely be with the rest of the girls. it’s just one of those things where if you go through something like that together, the bond it forges is quite unique.

i wavered on whether to include blake because villanelle didn’t do quite as much active development with her or yang, but i’m throwing blake in here for a few reasons.  1) post-graceplot when villanelle was kind of avoiding everyone, blake was the person who was able to approach that from the most empathetic point of view since she had just recently been on a “running away from everyone” arc herself, and i think that ultimately helped villanelle a lot in easing into wanting to make things right.

2) blake’s death during the games, and her not coming back afterwards, was a HUGE driving factor in how desperately angry villanelle became after the fact. it’s also maybe the most raw experience she’d had with grief up to that point, and it wasn’t something she was able to reconcile. that loss really helped to fuel her rage and also taught villanelle that even when you do your best to love someone else, things can still go wrong and you can still lose them, and that... wasn’t an easy thing for her to come to terms with.

and 3) she promised to fuck up adam for her if he ever showed up which, i think, should be the driving goal of the rest of villanelle’s life, 

sun and villanelle aka the single greatest example of “what if we jokingly shipped this oh god oh no wait i’m invested.” look they were always meant to be temporary but they were so goddamn sweet! while they lasted! i think planning temporary ships can give characters MOUNTAINS of development that endgame ships just can’t give you in the same way (not to say there’s not plenty of development that comes from endgame ships; i’m just saying there’s. a special kind of development that comes specifically from being brave enough to approach ending things with finality.) in villanelle’s case, that kind of stable, sweet relationship where she was tempering so much of herself deliberately could have never lasted, but it was good for her to get to experience that for a little while regardless? while i don’t think she was in love with sun, she did learn to just love him, and i think the clarity and simplicity sun approaches people in general with was something villanelle really benefited (and still benefits) from. most of all, it was significant for her to be able to see and understand that she wasn’t going to be able to be present and stable in that relationship in the way that sun deserved, and to make the decision to let him go. even if she was never OBSESSIVE about sun, villanelle still used to be a pretty selfish person who didn’t see any reason to let go of things if she enjoyed them, so i think. it can’t be underestimated, what sun taught her about love. 

emerald and villanelle have come SUCH a long way. first they were friends, then they were very bitter enemies, now they’re friends again approaching even a familial fondness. when villanelle was angry at emerald, it was never so much morally based as it was specifically based in the way emerald had hurt ruby, and penny, and had lied to villanelle herself. and although they started to resolve that after em didn’t take the chance to take advantage of villanelle during the memory glitch, i really think it was all the cinder stuff that allowed them to become close again. there are a lot of parallels between emerald and villanelle: both of them have coped by refusing to acknowledge the depths they’d sunken into over their heads with their respective organizations, both of them have been stuck in incredibly fucked up situations with older women. i think when villanelle acknowledges what emerald’s been through and is able to recognize that and feel compassion for her, she’s in a way learning to feel compassion for herself, and that’s very significant. i’d love to see how they evolve after villanelle’s canon update because i think now she’ll even have. More feelings about that. and i also think on some subconscious level as the new fall maiden she feels some kind of obligation to em, to be better than cinder was.

eve is, of course, a given on a list like this. she is such a powerful - the most powerful, in fact - influence on villanelle in any universe, and i think a lot about that in the context of villanelle having so many other people in her life now who she loves and who love her. as we’ve kind of seen on at least one occasion, if villanelle had to choose between eve and everything and everyone else she has... she would always choose eve. which isn’t something i’m trying to paint as sweepingly romantic (i love villaneve and i love how disastrous they are around one another, but i can still admit i’d be concerned for someone who would choose their partner over EVERY OTHER LOVED ONE THEY HAVE COMBINED,) but then again, it’s not even necessarily only for romantic reasons. it’s because eve is someone and something villanelle... craves, needs, finds time and time again that she simply cannot live without.

and them trying to make a relationship with one another work on denny has really provided its own unique set of challenges that’ve had an impact on both of them. eve and villanelle are deeply intrinsically connected, but that doesn’t necessarily equate to peaceful coexistence. any semblance of that, i think, is something that they’re always going to have fight for durations of, because their instinct is so much to consume one another instead! while its effect on villanelle of course can’t be described as wholly healthy - like i just mentioned above, she can be pushed into that place where she just sabotages everything else in her life for eve even still - that isn’t to say that there aren’t things about eve that haven’t changed villanelle for the better too! because to even have a romantic relationship with eve for an extended period of time like she has, villanelle has had to get better at certain things. she’s had to access a place of vulnerability and willingness to communicate that she hasn’t with anyone else, she’s had to accept eve’s own agency and individuality separate from their relationship (which is something she did on denny even before season 3 had her do it in canon!), she’s even had to do things like confront what her, say, killing bill actually meant and how it affected and continues to affect eve. it’s an absolutely explosive and constantly unstable dynamic, but there is of course GENUINE love between the two of them, and i really love all the ways in which villanelle’s been challenged to fight for that.

carolyn bears a mention because she’s undoubtedly been hugely influential  in the choices villanelle has made (and the ones which have been denied to her), especially lately. i don’t think villanelle ever particularly underestimated carolyn, but i think she was much too proud and too cocky to have imagined she’d have ever ended up under carolyn’s thumb the way she did. carolyn forced villanelle into the RID, and that was a situation villanelle was pretty complacent in for a while if only because it generally worked out for her. it took being backed into a corner to realize exactly how fucked she was, and interestingly enough i think that started to open villanelle’s eyes to the reality that she keeps ending up trapped by these higher powers, which is something that her canon update is going to heavily heavily emphasize. so. yeah, although while canon villanelle is mostly ambivalent to carolyn, denny villanelle absolutely HATES her. which. heh. may not end well. for at least one of them.

natasha is such a significant relationship for villanelle because i think, even with all the time she’s spent on denny and all the people she’s met? villanelle does not know... many people who are like her. most of her friends who know she’s an assassin either shy away from that part of her, or acknowledge it without really understanding what it means or what villanelle’s relationship is with killing and her own inner darkness. but natasha is such a PARALLEL to villanelle in so many ways, she was shaped into a weapon and told it’s the thing that defines her too, and even though she got out, she still has to grapple with that part of herself every single day. villanelle and natasha have their differences, sure, their variations in character and how their individual stories play out, but they also share a very specific understanding with one another that i don’t think either of them can really get anywhere else at the moment. and that’s a huge part of why nat has been such a significant influence on villanelle. when nat shows villanelle compassion, it comes from a deep, unfiltered place of empathy, something that could never be mistaken as Pity because they both understand what an insult that would be. when nat shows kindness and affection towards villanelle, it always seems to come from a place of “i understand the place you’re in completely, and you deserve to be treated like a human being anyway” which i think is so tragically ironic considering the self-loathing nat still carries around with her.

and i think there’s a part of villanelle that... while on denny she’s never expressed outward interest in completely changing her lifestyle or anything like that, i think there’s a part of her that looks at nat and admires how far she’s dug herself out of the hole she was in and, in some small quiet way, hopes to be like her someday.

pyrrha is pretty unique among the ruby girls in that like, rather than bonding with her gradually, villanelle kind of latched onto her immediately in a very “THIS IS TEAM RWBY’S DEAD LOVED ONE I MUST PROTECT HER” sort of way. which is interesting in its own way, because villanelle is rarely that protective of other people, and i think it goes beyond the physical (because she knows pyrrha can take care of herself) and more into the emotional. which villanelle does not especially consider herself well-equipped to handle, but hey, she’s gotta make sure pyrrha values herself beyond just what she can give or sacrifice to others!!!

on the subject, in terms of influence i have to mention that pyrrha gave her life for villanelle during the games, which is something that no one has ever done for her before, and an event which directly compelled villanelle to do the same for weiss. i don’t think villanelle knows how to even... address that, really, and can’t fully process the scope of it even though she made a similar decision in the end. in simplified terms, she feels like she owes pyrrha a debt, and one she hasn’t yet fathomed a way to repay.

elizabeth really just started out as a minor infatuation, a lil crush like villanelle gets on any pretty woman who intrigues her for more than 5 minutes. her flirtations with elizabeth were all in line with that, and i don’t think villanelle really realized how much she was encouraging elizabeth’s feelings for an attachment to her, particularly because her own feelings were not particularly intense for the first stretch of their friendship! in a way, villanelle’s relationship with elizabeth is a good examination and challenge of something i haven’t really done before with villanelle, which is that, like. it’s not her fault that she doesn’t bond or attach the way other people do (or at least, is much slower to), but she also has virtually no self-awareness of the way she engages and sometimes leads people on as a result. a lot could have been averted if she’d just... had the sense to set boundaries or had found a way to be more honest about the person she is.

but a lot’s happened since then, and now villanelle has to contend with the fact that she DOES love elizabeth, but at a time when their relationship has already just become too strained and impossible for the time being. additionally, villanelle really has no reference at all for being IN love with someone (or approaching that, anyway) in a way that’s non-obsessive and more quiet and gradual and just... very different from the way she loves eve, so she has a real hard time distinguishing this grey area between platonic and romantic feelings. because villanelle is still very literal in the interpretation of her emotions, so her reference for being in love with someone is “eve”, and she doesn’t know how to recognize anything on such a different part of the spectrum (particularly because villanelle is probably physically attracted to like, many of her platonic adult friends,)!  SO elizabeth and villanelle’s relationship is very influential in the sense that it really pushes villanelle into exploring parts of herself and emotional experiences that she hasn’t really yet.

do i need to put cinder here? she wasn’t in villanelle’s life for very long, but technically she is the reason villanelle has maiden powers, which changed her life entirely, so,

and then i’ll also toss in jigsaw (and technically also handsome jack), who will be INCREDIBLY pleased to know that his trap had a lasting effect one way or the other. don’t get me wrong, she was pissed as hell about it and would go on the WARPATH if she ever caught so much as a whiff of their involvement, but i mean. aside from the fact that lasting trauma definitely counts as an influence, i think it is one of the events that definitely brought villanelle closer to and more attached to eve, if perhaps in a. somewhat codependent and overprotective way. still can’t believe they caught villanelle saying she would give up everything else in her life and die for her gf ON TAPE,

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Of Rubies and Emeralds (1/?)

AO3 Version | Chapter Tag Here

Relationship: Khalja Kahkol (OC)/ Tango (OC)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Khalja is a wandering Xaela warrior loyal to but two things in his life: the Kahkol tribe who took him in as a teenager, and his two younger twin sisters, whom themselves live among the Mol tribe. Though he holds many grievances of his past, Khalja chooses to look towards the future instead, to grow closer to his sisters and feel more comfortable among his found-family of the Kahkol. 

With an upcoming wedding for both of his sisters and their chosen partners, the wanderer decides to buy the finest silk from Kugane as a wedding present. But it is also there that he meets a mysterious Miqo'te courtesan who makes his heart dance in ways he never knew it could, leaving Khalja to wonder if there is but one more object of loyalty that he has been yearning for--could he have finally found his own mate?

Note: This is an ongoing adaptation/formatted version of an RP I have been writing with my fiance (@blood–hunter) putting together our OCs Khalja (@khaljakahkol) and Tango (@tangowithtango). Let me know if you spot any formatting errors!

Tango has always liked the hot springs. The view of the ocean, the soft towels, the wine that the owner ran through the crystal waters that made it smell divine. Not only that, but it was warm (obviously) and it always helped soothe the ache in his arm. All of this, combined with excellent prospective clientele, made it Tango's favorite place to relax during his afternoons before his "work" really took off. He practically purrs, leaning back into the waters luxuriously, as if he were on his own throne and had not a care in the world. His arm gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun and he couldn't be bothered to try and cover up how the reflection danced in the water.

He cracks open an eye. Most of the other people in the spring were minding their own business. Only one dared to make eye contact with him. That was a mistake on his part. With a smirk on his lips and a purr in his chest he slowly stands, slinking his way over to the Xaela. There weren't many of them who dared to come to Kugane, and even then they didn't stay long. Not long enough to enjoy the springs at least.

"Well," He says, letting leisure and grace settle into his tones, the responsibilities of a courtesan settling onto his shoulders as easily a robe, "I don't see many men like you around here."

In truth, Khalja hadn't realized he'd been staring at the man. Though he had grown familiar enough with some of the larger settlements outside of the Azim Steppe, he had yet to be familiar enough so that Kugane did not leave him gawking like a newborn child every time he so much as saw a flash of bright lights or fanciful people. So it was true he had been staring upon the Miqo'te, whose race alone was already uncommon in the area. It isn't as if they didn't exist at all in these lands, but the few that Khalja had met or seen in the rare instance within Doma or Kugane did not have such a lavish visage--and not a single one of them had an arm looking as if made of pure gold.

"I-" he starts, suddenly feeling a bit taken back that his lingering and rude gaze had been caught, leaving him to come up with either excuse or apology. Neither of which Khalja had ever been all that good with forming. "I suppose you don't."

For a good heavy few seconds, the Xaela said nothing else. He sat as still as ice in the scathing hot water, mind rolling like a storm before he finally finds words to speak again.

"I may say the same to you; the last Miqo'te I have spoken to was far into the mountains of Doma--and never once have I met one with quite a...embellished look about them."

Tango can't keep the laugh from his voice as he moves to settle himself next to the Xaela. He was tall. Of course, most Xaela were tall, but he towered over Tango even when he sat at the same level as him. For a moment he plays with that thought, it would be nice to be serviced by a man who could actually handle him for a change, instead of having to play the slutty top for some pretty rich boy. Not that he complained when they started tossing money his way. 

"I doubt that any Miqo'te looks quite like me." He lifts his arm as if by example, twisting it so that it gleamed in the reflection of the water, sending lights dancing. His tail thumps idly behind him, and he does his best to stretch in the most attractive way possible. The Xaela's voice was thick with the accent of the Steppe. So, that must be where he calls home, not some sort of wanderer like so many of the Raen have become.

Tango flutters his lashes at him, "So," He says, shifting closer to the man. "What's your name? And what brings you here, stranger?"

Khalja's eyes narrow for only a moment, a flash of caution that lay like bedrock in the back of his mind. He has seen a number of odd folk and their ploys, and even had been a victim of them the first couple visits to Kugane in his younger years. Though the past experiences leave the man tight-lipped for a few moments, they do not hinder his interest in at least continuing the conversation--it would be a lie to say that the Xaela isn't interested at all in the man beside him, for as outlandishly lavish as his appearance may be compared to what most looked like in the unforgiving lands of the Steppe.

"Khalja of the Kahkol tribe," the man finally answers, having weighed his thoughts and finished in favor of amusing himself in the conversation, as he sensed little else to worry about with the smaller Miqo'te. "I come to Kugane seeking out a gift for my sisters; they are to be wed with their suitors in two moons and deserve something proper to wear for their ceremony."

"So you seek silks?" Tango says, tilting his head and letting his ears flicker slightly, "I dare say you'll find none better than the ones here in Kugane." He says, giving him a pleasant smile, leaning closer to him. "Then again, you seem a smart man. That's probably why you're here in the first place." He purrs, giving the Xaela a wink. 

Two sisters? It must have been nice to have family. Tango can feel the jealousy, the spitefulness, well up in his chest. He pushes it down. This man had done nothing to him but have something that he did not. It was taken from him. But Khalja was not the one who had done it. He lets his gaze travel over his body, a sort of distraction from his more dark thoughts. 

The Au Ra was fit, though then again, he lived on the Steppe and probably had to be by nature. Tango's body was more lithe and elegant, something he was proud of and worked hard on. His clients had certainly appreciated it too--often paid well for it.

"I surmised as such, from the tales I've been told and the few Doman visitors in the Azim Steppe," Khalja says, his voice naturally soft and low, something of a low purr or even the rumble of a distant river. His eyes, glowing even in the bright daylight rays that filter past the rocks and into the hot springs, glance down to the Miqo'te beside him. He doesn't tend to stare at people--he has learned that some do not care for the eye contact common among his people, though Xaela traditionally respect being able to see someone's eyes when they speak of trade or battle. Some even consider them haunting with their black sclera, though it only makes seeing easier on the bright days across the relatively flat grasslands of the Steppe.

"Will you give me the same honor of your name?" The Xaela says at last, finally remembering to drop his eyes towards the water, to look at how his hands sit in his lap beneath surface.

Tango hums, daring to press a gentle hand to Khalja's cheek, urging him to look at him. It was easier when someone made eye contact with him. Red and gold met black and green. What pretty eyes, truly, he was almost jealous. Almost. If his form weren't as perfect as it was. 

"You can call me Tango," the man hums, settling closer, now side to side with Khalja. Tango swings his tail around, letting it curl over the other man's lap, resting lightly there. "And it need not be an honor, unless you want it to be." He smiles, fluttering his lashes again. In truth, a truth he would never reveal to anyone who didn't truly know him, he didn't remember his real name. 

"To know one's name is an honor in itself," Khalja says, trying not to fight the touch of a hand as it pulls his eyes back. If anything, the man strived not to offend or intimidate, especially while among a culture he knew so little about. He felt a soft stutter to his breath as he knew not at first what to do, but caught it quickly when his eyes lay upon the almost crystalline color of Tango's own. "...and if that is what you asked to be called, then that is who you will be to me."

It's already apparent that Tango was not merely some random Kugane citizen who took an interest in Khalja, but it had taken him some time to realize just what sort of ploy was being played between the two of them, intent hidden behind words and glances and subtle motions even he could barely detect. Lavish and prim to the point of excess, it finally dawned on the Xaela male that he was sitting beside a man of entertainment. 

Though he knew there were many within the bustling city, he had never once been confronted or propositioned so shamelessly--and certainly not in such an open area. He blinked, unsure of how to proceed, not in that he had no money to spend or that he saw less of the man beside him, but simply in that he had no intentions of indulging in such acts when on a mission devoted to his sisters alone.

Tango can't help the chuckle that leaves his chest, nor can he stop the purr that bubbles up after it. 

"So sweet," the Seeker says, because it's true. Usually the ones that weren't interested told him to piss off by now. Or worse, they'd done so with their fists. Unfortunately, Tango couldn't tell if he was interested, or just too polite to say no. Xaela and their culture were foreign to him but Tango needed the coin and Khalja could probably pay decently. "I don't think anyone's treated me more than a sack of meat or a nuisance in a long time." It would be foolish of Tango to think he hadn't caught on by now. And if he hadn't, Well.... 

He purrs, moving to sit in the large man's lap, batting his eyes at him as he curls both his arms over Khalja's shoulders... He certainly knew now. "Would you be interested in getting to know each other a little better?"  

Khalja stiffened in an instant the moment he felt the other man move to sit astride his hips, arms wind their way loosely around the back of the Xaela's neck. Like but a small sheep caught in the light of a shepard's torch, the man stay still for several short breaths, doing his best to keep the ample temptation of thoughts from blooming up in the back of his mind. The man was not oblivious to the appeal of the man in his lap--of his soft curves and coy smile--but such carnal yearnings were not to be indulged in yet. He had saved up but a small mountain of money that merchants in Kugane would take, yes, but he had little knowledge of how much he would need to purchase the gifts that had brought him to the city to begin with.

He would walk home with shame in his heart if he wouldn't have enough to purchase the fineries his young sisters deserved--though the heat between his thighs and the churning of his stomach make it a momentous task to ignore.

"I...would get to know you, Tango," The man began, his words chosen carefully so as not to offend, but to offer an explanation. "Though I must confess my priorities--I know not the cost of the silks I'm looking to purchase, and I would not stand to offer you a paltry sum for your....company, if I still had worry for such a purchase in the back of my mind."

Tango's smile falls and he can't keep the sigh that leaves his lips. An honorable man. He had to give him that. And one that at least understood that his services would actually cost something and to not just fly in the face of fancy. 

"That's ... acceptable..." He finally says, though part of him thinks that he should give him a blow job free of charge and see how far that got him. No. That wouldn't work. If anything Khalja was smart enough to see through it and refuse it. He slowly gets off his lap, ignoring the strange looks they get as he moves to sit beside him. "So you need help in getting your silks?" He tilts his head, this way and that, "I know of some good traders who are reputable and shouldn't stiff you too much." He hums, "My own dancing outfit is made from such things, and they can get it in the best colors. Though, I'll admit, it might take longer than you think. They like to make their skeins of silk to order."

Khalja hums, considering the offer with a tilt of his own head. His eyes draw away from the man for but a few moments, mind filled with thought, before he finally turns with a firm look of curious conviction settled within that striking emerald gaze. 

"If you would join me to at least order the silk that you speak of, and allow me to first pay for the order, then...." It takes a moment as the Xaela takes a breath, only briefly glancing around to the others surrounding them. There were few, most of them so far that they'd naught hear the hushed rumble of the Au Ra man even if they wanted to. He couldn't be sure if such activities were normally so openly offered, or if Tango was simply his own oddity--Khalja unfortunately knew too little to make a judgement, and he didn't have the care to warrant taking aside the man somewhere else when he himself already offered his services so brazenly. 

"...once I know the cost of what I came here to purchase, then I will offer you whatever I have left. You may then decide how deserving the sum is for your company."

The Seeker can't keep the smile off his face. That was a generous offer, but he forces himself to act coy, "Hmmm," He says, tapping a finger against his own chin, "I could consider that offer. Depending on how much you'll give me..." He hums, eyeing him before letting a small smirk slip onto his lips and a wink to be sent the Xaela's way. "I can guide you to the silk merchant. He isn't far from here, and I'm sure he'll be able to find you what you'll need." He stands, unashamed at his half dressed state, "Follow me. We can dry off and then seek our your precious silks."

Though subtle, there is a light that catches in Tango's eyes even as he speaks, his words saying one thing as his face says quite another--it's something rather fascinating about him, Khalja notes. An energy, tantalizing, burns somewhere behind the man's bright eyes. It reminds him of how the Oronir are when it comes to battle--prideful to a fault, bolstering of their strength and skill and always willing their quarry ever closer. Though Khalja knows little of this man's battle prowess, he certainly seems to know that he does not lack for physical appeal--and that in itself is quite a weapon to wield.

Though the Xaela looks as if he's about to speak, he is utterly caught off-guard by the sudden rise of the man, his standing putting hips at level with Khalja's eyes. Oh. He is clothed in but a thin strip that can barely be called clothing, asymmetrical in a way that looks as if someone had dragged claws over his hips and left the garment in tatters. Of course, that would seem to have been the point, because already the Au Ra can feel the heat forming in his cheeks at the precarious stature of how Tango's hips so very neatly rest at level with his face.

So instead of trying to form a broken response, Khalja merely steels himself, presses his lips together, and nods in agreement to the offer before moving to stand and step out of the water.

Tango smirks again, at this rate it would be stuck on his face. It was obvious that the Xaela was attracted to him, with how his eyes seemed to stay on his body, but it was also obvious that he didn't want to admit it to himself. It's easy for Tango to guide the way to the towels. They find themselves in a small room just off to the side of the springs where a few men dawdle, not quite ready to get dressed and leave yet. 

He should know, as he'd "entertained" enough clients in this room to know all the nooks and crannies where one might spend time in peace. Tango dries off, making sure to pat down every inch of his lithe body before grabbing his clothes. Well. His dress and jewelry. He slips the dress on first, and then his earrings, and then the bits he puts on his tail, before finally slipping the cuffs and bangles onto his ankles. He turns, smirking at Khalja. 

"Dressed yet?" He asks, letting his eyes wander over him.

Khalja had never been to the hot springs of that particular inn before, so he was grateful for someone to show him around and back to the room where he had left his clothes and gear. Still safely tucked away was it all, not a single thing out of place--though he had left his most prized objects in the inn room. Though he had done well to be courteous, the Au Ra could not help but steal a glance or two as the curious Miqo'te dressed himself, and what he wore did not lack for the same lavish nature that his personality already exhibited at-length. Bright silk and brighter gold adorning him from  head to toe; if Khalja had seen the man in such dress at first, he feared that he would have stared all the harder upon him--there were few people who dressed so brightly as he.

When Tango asked his question, Khalja himself was but halfway dressed himself; he already had on his pants and boots, the latter of which still with the knife strapped to the outside of his thigh though he had feared it may be stolen. He was in the middle of unfolding his undershirt to pull over his shoulders when bright green eyes turned and looked at the Miqo'te with soft attention.

"I apologize if I am slower," he says gently, tugging the hempen undershirt over his chest, then slowly pulling on his poncho. "Though Kugane is blessed with mild weather, my home is much less forgiving--layers are the way of many a tribe's standard wear."

Tango can't help but blink, folding his arms as he watches him. The tribes were foreign concept to him, but he had heard tales of them here and there.  

"Your tribe?" He asks, slinking up to him as a cat would a particularly interesting bird. He presses against him, gazing up at green and black. He had to admit, the poncho he rested against was soft. Very soft. "Which one are you from? I know that there are many tribes who wander the Steppe but I do not know their names or their meanings." 

He flickers his ears, a small breeze fluttering his dress and making his bangles jingle against his fur. Surely there was more to learn about Khalja, and he would appreciate knowing more about his client, even if this was a business transaction. He seemed a sweet man, and likely that he would treat Tango better than most of his clients.

"It is because few travelers bother to make the journey into the Azim Steppe or the lands beyond," Khalja says, a little smile playing against the corners of his mouth. It's not so often to meet someone curious enough to ask about the Xaela--many don't hold the interest long enough to ask, and some still simply don't care. "Our trade center, Reunion, is oft the only place I see non-Xaela, but it yet rare that they venture farther into the land--some tribes do not take kindly to strangers and I cannot either party for it."

He sighs, slowly, almost languidly wrapping the cloth strips of woven Karakul yarn around his wrists and hands--though they offered no reasonable protection in Kugane as they did in the Steppe's harsh, sometimes sand-driven winds, it was still a thing of habit to be the last part of his clothing ritual.

"My tribe, however..." The Au Ra continued, pursing his lips together for a moment. "I am of the Kahkol tribe. They are small in number and are a peaceful sort, who had taken me in when I was young and foolish.."

In response, Tango cannot help the way his head tilts his curiosity. So many strange words and yet Khalja is able to make sense of them rather easily. Tango finds himself fascinated in how they work. They all share one land and yet they are all their own individual tribes? How strange. And yet. Many people in Kugane did much the same. It was made of family units living amongst other family units. "You are not of the Kahkol originally?" He asks, letting a hand trace over the other man's chest as he was so used to doing with other men. "Then which tribe do you originate from? Or is that offensive to ask?" Tango looks up, brow furrowing in confusion.

Khalja thought about the question, but thought far more about the answer. Though he quickly noticed the subtle pressure of Tango's hand pressing delicately over his chest, he did not bring attention to it with anything other than a flick of his eyes as if to affirm that's what it was.

"It depends on who you ask," the Au Ra finally says, weighing his words carefully in knowledge that the man, the one practically laying against him, was little more than a pleasant stranger. Though Khalja was a trusting soul, he could not even begin to wonder the sorts of things this man had heard, the information he has collected from minds addled equally by lust and drink. Khalja did not feel that Tango would bring harm to anyone with information, but neither was he willing to offer it so easily. "I am not one offended by the question, but that is not information I am willing to talk about."

Tango lets a breath out through his nose. A touchy subject then. He couldn't blame him. It wasn't like Tango went around advertising his past and he wasn't about to make the Xaela do the same for him. 

"I understand," He says at last, patting his chest playfully before standing to his full height once more. "But we should find you your silks, yes?" The silk merchant would be near the markets, as he always was. Hopefully Khalja could find what he needed. Tango points a thumb towards the door, "Just follow me. We'll go to the markets." He moves, leading the man towards the door, making sure to swing his hips as alluringly as possible.

Khalja's eyes were naturally drawn to the man as he walked. It wasn't hard to show oneself as a courtesan--or at least, the principles of it seemed as simple as the carnal act in which they oft offered, though Khalja could never recall if such a similar role was filled in the world of the Xaela tribes he grew up in. Regardless, he felt that it wasn't hard to take coin for a night of intimacy with a stranger, but there was something about Tango that demanded attention; moreso, it demanded respect. The Au Ra could not say truly what went into the profession--nor would he ever claim to--but he was observant enough to know that a man such as the Miqo'te knew plenty well of his own appeal to others. Everything from the silks he wore to the coyish tilt of his smile seemed finely-tuned, a skill he seemed to have perfected as any merchant may learn to sell their wares.

....Suffice to say, the curves of his backside were not ones to be easily ignored, and Khalja was a terribly, horribly weak man.

"Do...you often purchase from this merchant?" The Xaela finally asks, if only to keep conversation in the air between them, to make his staring not as obvious or, in his mind at least, a little less rude.

Tango spins on his toes, shooting a grin Khalja's way. "Oh yes. All the time." He says, taking the bottom of his dress in hand and stretching it, as if the display the silk it was made of. "This very dress is made of his wares. Nothing but the best for me. I would offer you to touch it, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to do that..." he winks at him, sticking his tongue out before turning back around to lead the two of them into a densely packed marketplace. Tango should have known that there would be many people here. He huffs as he spots the crowd, reaching behind him to take Khalja's hand into his own. "Don't go losing me now. Wouldn't want to be split up."

Khalja's eyes remain averted for as long as they can be from the moment he seems caught in the act, heat as if stuck over his cheeks. Tango's words ring out at the same moment that his hand finds Khalja's own, their fingers interlaced in a manner that is almost intimate if the two of them had known eachother for more than the last hour. Even though the words were laced with a gentle teasing, the Au Ra couldn't help but find a sense of logic in the Miqo'te's words, as he could have easily fallen into the thick crowd that bustled around the busy marketplace.

"Given fellow company," Khalja says, his eyes glancing round and finding only the occasional other Au Ra among a sea of others. "I would not be too difficult to find should you decide to play a game of cat and mouse." After another moment, a brief instance of brave amusement finds its way into his chest, his hand gently squeezing the far smaller one within it "...Is this how you entrance all of your potential clientele?"

Tango lets out a slight laugh, sending a smile over his shoulder. "No. But I must admit that you are playing hard to catch. Most of my clients are falling over themselves within the first minute or two. The other ones have already cum in their trousers before I can get a single word out. It's refreshing, if anything else."

He flutters his lashes at him, before he stops abruptly in front of a stall. There is an elderly Raen there and he tends to cart as if he hasn't noticed the two of them standing there. 

"Here we are," the Seeker says, flashing yet another grin, "Now, you'll have to haggle with him. I'll warn you. He's very good at it."

For some reason, the words and interest that Tango seems to have for Khalja--whether true or faked--bring forth a feeling of excitement simmering somewhere in the Au Ra's heart. It's not to say that he has never felt the interest of another's eyes upon him before, many a times has he danced around the concept of lust and longing, but never before had he felt like the other had danced in equal interest. It was...exciting, in a way, like a child discovering a new game or a teenager a new crush. Nevertheless, priorities pushed the man to step forwards to the stall--he could see the many rolls of colorful silk, some still as if yet dyed. There were some outfits hanging behind the owner, one similar to the outfit that Tango wore but with two full sleeves and a fuller bottom skirt. Interesting.

Khalja could not fool himself nor the owner, an old Raen man, that he knew little about the qualities and cost of silk. He haggled for as long as he dared, citing cultural significance and care for quality as best he could to appeal but to the man's heart--and though it did give him a warm smile and a bit of a chuckle, there was little for him to be wormed down from his stated price. Eventually they came to an agreement on something that seemed reasonable, or at least it had been far less of a sum than what Khalja had brought with him, leaving plenty to be discussed over for Tango should the man still be interested--Khalja doubted that it was common practice to bring a courtesan with you to the markets before partaking in their services, for did a man as lavish and cloying as Tango not have but a line of other men and women alike to share a bed with him?

Tango himself watches with some amusement. The silk maker was well known in these parts and his prices were more than fair for what he offered. But Khalja tried, and perhaps it was that they were both AuRa that led him to bring his prices down, if only a little. As soon as they were done, and a price was agreed upon, Tango can't help but smile, moving to settle against Khalja's side once again. "Did you get what you need?" He asks, tail swaying behind him as he hooks his arm with the Xaela's. He guides him easily through the crowd, towards his quarters located in Shirogane. He had moved out of the brothel long ago, taking his earnings to work "freelance." He would be called a common whore, if it weren't for his lavish clothes and sometime even more lavish clientele. He only welcomed who he wanted into his bed, and sometimes that made all the difference.

Khalja nodded. "I did. I did not expect the transaction to be quite as easy as it was--perhaps I am simply more versed in the haggling of my homeland; some of our merchants are as stubborn as an ornery sheep and I...did not expect to have so much of my coin left over from it."

He tries not to seem to awed as the other man leads him through the city. He had never the reason to visit the residential district of Kugane for never had he a home there nor knew someone who did. Despite his attempts not to seem overly interested, he could not help but feel at peace with it. The houses lay but near the ocean, some tucked right against it, and others yet were carefully pressed to the small hills that dotted the land. Khalja could certainly see the appeal to some who may yearn to live there, as every home looked bright and fanciful, decorated and welcoming, and the walkways peaceful as can be in comparison to the market.

Tango hums, taking the long path in order to have an easy stroll to towards his home. It was a small place, but it was more than most courtesans had, and that was enough for him. He smiles pleasantly, fluttering his lashes at Khalja. 

"I've never seen that man lower his prices for anyone, you must be quite skilled with your tongue." Tango can't help the teasing smirk that quirked his lips, a wink helping to curve the joke. The cherry blossoms threaten to bloom around them, sea air sweeps in with each wave. 

Yes. He loved his home. Love Kugane. He wondered idly if the Steppes had a view of the ocean, or were they just long plains of grass and sand? That brought about another thought. "It will take several days for your order to be complete, do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I had planned to remain in the inn we had met at until the order was finished," Khalja says, his eyes glancing across the landscape before finally returning to Tango and, only then, did his mind catch up with the other's former words. Oh. Well. He shouldn't have expected any less sultry wit from someone as obviously well-off and demanding of respect as the Miqo'te but standing beside with their arms linked together. "Their rates were respectable, and I had heard of it from a traveler the last time I had come to Kugane--he guided me well, as it would seem, though I did not expect to meet someone quite like you while staying there."

It would have been easy to misread the words that fell from Khalja's lips if it weren't for his firm, genuine tone, a gentle rumble that filled each word.

Tango works hard not to blush, after years in this line of work he should be used to such bold compliments, but something about Khalja makes it seem sincere. He liked that about him. He likes a lot of things about the Au Ra that he couldn't quite name on his own. "Ah, keep saying things like that, and you'll get a lot more than you bargained for." He murmurs, holding a hand to his lips in a coy smile. His home is, thankfully, not far. It's a simple homestead, in a complimentary Doman style. The yard was clean save for several trees that lined the path and an aether stone to make travel for those more prone to magic, easier. 

"Do you want to come inside?" the Seeker asks, tilting his head lightly with a knowing look in his eyes. "Or were you just being a gentleman, and walking me home?"

The Xaela cannot help but be at least mildly engrossed in the home, decorated with more finery than even some tribes are able to for their huts, though it is likely due to how little use such fanciful items have when one moves around the Steppe so very often. The Mol, the tribe that his sisters were apart of, do not have such connection to material fancies, but they neither shun the adoration of goods and decorations, much is the reason that Khalja had set himself upon the journey to purchase his sisters fine silk to begin with.

"Can I not be both?" Khalja  finally asks, his turn to be a touch coy as his lips quirk into a smile as he steps into the yard of the small home. "I see them not separate things--a gentleman and a gentle man, unless there is something of intimate evenings that I am yet unaware of--or if you are the type who does not prefer a gentle lover."

Tango hums a laugh, purring as he opens the door. "I suppose we'll fine out?" He says, letting the Xeala into his home. It was well decorated, with traditional Doman art decorating the wall and the furniture reflecting his unique heritage. Not only that, but the wood beneath their feet was shined to a glossy finish and practically reflected back at them. A fire burned in the hearth against the wall but Tango is quick to be in Khalja's space, easing his hands over his chest and leaning up, up, up, threatening to kiss him with how close he is. "I'll let you decide what you want. After all, this is your little ... excursion isn't it?" He purrs, tail winding around the other man's thigh. "Just tell me how you want me and I'll do it. We can discuss fees later, hm?"

Khalja surprises himself with how calm he is able to remain in the face of such temptation, for that is truly what Tango was. A Miqo'te with eyes as bright as jewels and skin as if painted with gold--he all but dripped of grace and beauty, an exotic sort that not once could Khalja recall seeing in the Steppe--at least, certainly not from the Kahkol. They were a gentle people with conservative traditions, and while the Xaela had taken himself a lover or two in evenings of passion, never did one quite had the same energy or feverish curiosity about them that Tango carried with him like another set of jewelry. 

So the man blinked, his mind caught in between the thoughts of how to answer him, as even then he could not bring himself to be selfish even if coin were exchanged for such pleasures. 

"Tell me, what is it that your clients often ask of you?" Khalja tilts his head in curiosity, his voice so even that it surprised himself. "Is there something common among their requests?"

 Tango can't help but blink, raising a brow as he he looks over Khalja. "Well..." He says, moving off the tips of his toes to stand flat. "... Most of them want me to fuck them..." He murmurs, scratching behind one ear, "I don't mind doing it for the coin but ... I'm definitely a bottom..." He blinks up at Khalja. "But if you want that I can do it!" 

Tango briefly waves his hands in front of him, before he's quickly putting back on his flirty charade, "Or we could play a little game ... I always like doing that..." He purrs, sidling up to him again. "Lets see how many times I make you cum. If you let me make you cum five times this night I'll halve the price." He purrs.

Khalja tilts his head to the side, unperturbed by the shift of tone in Tango's voice; he had got the answer he wanted all the same and thensome, to the deeper question yet tantalizing in the back of his head. 

Though he oft gave credit to the upbringing of the Kahkol, it was truely the his often closeness to Reunion that gave the man such a care for the fine art of observation. There was so much to gain of a person by queues outside of the spoken word, messages hidden among a façade that some clung harder to than others--in such a way, Khalja respected those of the Qestir, whom lay such importance on truth and honesty that they never spoke a single word from birth until death, relying solely in queues physical and material to prove intentions. 

"Though I greatly respect such a gracious offer-" Khalja says, speaking low enough that the sound of his voice is but a rumble of noise. He takes in one breath and, in a solid motion, slips one arm beneath the back of the Seeker's knees and lifts him up into his arms. "I believe I would very much like to make you cum five times instead."

Tango's face goes red, daring almost to match the color of his eyes as he lets out a short gasp. The Xaela is tall. Much taller than he is used to, so he clings to the front of his poncho for balance. 

"M-Me?” the Seeker gasps, much like a child having a tantrum--but his voice is softer, more surprised than hurt. “B-but I’m the one doing the serving around here!” 

His tail curls around Khalja's arm, a loose loop that he doesn't know what to do with. This man has significantly taken him out of his own game. He'd severely underestimated him, thinking that he would be inexperienced with the ways of a courtesan just because he was from the Steppe. 

A mistake on his part.

"Did you not ask what I wanted? To decide? Well, I have made my decision." Khalja speaks plain, his tone as calm and genuine as if he were simply reading from a book or telling the time. Though amused by the Miqo'te's surprise, he found it more endearing; had not a single client yearned to see such a beautiful man pleasured himself? Though he is won't to reject if a lover wanted to fuck him, Khalja would not deny that he cared more for the pleasure of his partner than that of himself. If anything, it's truly what determined a starlit tryst, as he could never think highly of himself if he had left his lover wanting in any way. 

"Have you ever been with an Au Ra man before?" The Xaela asked in equal earnestness. "You are about the size of an average woman of my peoples, but I dare not assumed you are as aptly equipped to handle our size as easily--but I dare not assume what I obviously do not know of you; also, where is your bedroom?"

Tango coughs, looking away from Khalja. "No ... No one's thought to ... do that..." He murmurs. Was he really the size of an Au Ra female? He hadn't met that many, not even as a courtesan had he seen many outside their tribes or homes. He points a golden finger towards the door on the other side of the room. "It's ... downstairs and through the partition door. Don't mind the ... other things. Unless you want to use any of them ... that is..." He says, finally looking at him, lashes low over his eyes.

So talented was Tango that, for a time, Khalja wasn't sure if the softness to the man's voice was genuine or but a show--and then beyond that, Khalja wasn't sure if it mattered or not as long as the two of them were but enjoying the carnal pleasures of eachother's company and Tango himself offered consent. 

Khalja didn't give it too much thought of course, as he was quick to follow the given directions through the door and down the stairs, his eyes taking a sweeping look across the room when he came into the space.

"I am only as willing to do something as you are," the man says, tone simple and honest even as he feels taut pleasure twist in the pit of his stomach, a hardness between his thighs. "Though I will admit I am not as familiar with things of pleasure outside the experimentation of hands and mouths."

"Trust me," Tango says, slowly building back up his flirty exterior, "If you really wish to earn your ... discount I'm sure you'll find interest in something..." He hums, pointing at the bath in the corner, "Even if it is just a small jaunt in the tub." He pats Khalja on the chest, then lets his gaze shift, towards the other side of the room. "But the bedroom is just beyond the door and I'm sure you're eager to see me unclothed once more? Don't think that I didn't catch you staring in the hot springs. I'm sure you'll enjoy more about me than just my ass, yes?" He chuckles, a purr sounding from his chest as he takes out his hair tie, letting his long indigo locks fall down his back.

It was a game of cat and mouse, though Khalja yet wasn't sure who filled which role, only that it was a back and forth between the two. He enjoyed whatever persona that Tango felt most comfortable with, though he couldn't deny the clench of his belly at but the flicker of vulnerability he had seen but moments before, when he had taken the man into his arms. His eyes glance towards the bathtub, mind ticking away at a thought, before he finally allowed Tango on his feet again.

"How much do you care for the clothes you currently wear?" The Au Ra asks suddenly, seemingly an inconsequential question relating to but nothing the two were toying at. "Is it terribly expensive or personal to you?"

With a look of confusion coloring his expression, Tango tilts his head, "I have many dresses like this, why?" 

The man moves to take off his earrings and set them on the counter of the bar, as well as all his bangles. He would not have them get rusted, as he valued them more than his own dress. He tilts his head at Khalja, giving him a small smirk, "Do you wish to use some of the things in here?" He asks, tone light and innocent as he presses closer, "Or did you want a show?"

A moment passes, but then a smile finally breaks through the Xaela's otherwise impassive expression. It is about the only warning that Tango is able to get before hands are suddenly on his hips. Within barely a blink of time he is lifted from the ground off of his feet, pressed back until he is against the wall and manhandled until his legs are dangling uselessly over Khalja's broad shoulders.

"Those are all wonderful options, thank you for the offer," The man says at last, his hands still laying on the man's hips, fingers and claws curling around the stupidly thin, erring on inappropriate undergarments that lay beneath the silken red of his outfit.  "But you are quite accurate in your assumptions--there is more of you that I am eager to enjoy beyond your ass. It has been too long since I've had a man's cock in my mouth--for how long will you last  with someone like me?"

And with that, rather unceremoniously, Khalja rips the underwear from Tango's hips, allowing the tattered remains to fall to the floor.

Tango gasps, barely gets a word out before his underwear are snatched from him. "Ah!" He gasps, fingers forced to find purchase on the nearest surface. The nearest surface being Khalja's own horns. The Seeker’s chest heaves, from where he is pressed against the wall and his mouth hangs open. He can't help it, the way his cock twitches to life at the mere thought. He hadn't been sucked off in a long time and the man so very easily handled him as if he were a mere doll. 

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't into it. 

And he'd be lying if he said he didn't move his dress out of the way for his lover, letting the thin piece of fabric fall to the side to show off what little of his body the other man hadn't seen. His dick wasn't plastered in gold, he wasn't that stupid, but the small amount of hair he had down there was indigo in hue, the same as the hair upon his head.

Tango bites his bottom lip, not saying anything as his cheeks heat.

Ah, there it was again--that vulnerable look, the heat in his cheeks. There's such a genuineness to it upon Tango's face, a peek behind the charade he must have so-often played with men and women who didn't care to try and see past it. It certainly wasn't as if Tango was being mistreated, it's obvious he chose who to proposition, but the idea of being able to see something rare upon this man was about as lovely and exotic as the man was himself--like a jewel you could only see but never touch, a precious thing of beauty. 

It excited Khalja in much the same way he looked upon a grand thunderstorm when it overtook the whole of the Azim Steppe: both were equally as sublime.

Khalja presses his tongue out from between his lips, letting it curl around the tip of the man's hard cock--it was small enough, or Khalja's tongue long enough--that wrapping it fully around the girth was not an issue. The man enjoyed the warm, intimate taste, the smell of lust and arousal thick in the air around him that he already knew he would be drunk upon it by evening's end.

Tango lets his head toss back, a groan leaving his chest as his legs tense. Pleasure courses up his spine and he can't help but let out a soft moan. "Y-You'll have to work harder than that." He says. His tongue was so long ... were all Xaela tongues the same? The Miqo’te wonders what else it can do. 

Where else it can go. 

He bites back his pleasure, biting his lower lip to keep words from spilling out. If Khalja was truly as experienced as he acted, then Tango would be lust drunk within the hour. But he wouldn't mind it. No. He wouldn't mind this Au Ra man wrecking him for the whole night. Maybe the whole week if he could make him stay long enough. He could make allowances for someone who made him feel like this. 

Respected. Wanted. Love-drunk.

Khalja couldn't help the muted chuckle that worked from his throat at the goading, but halfway through the sentence before the words began to break on Tango's throat. The mask was breaking, and if there was one thing that tempted the man like little else: a challenge. 

It was his vice, a flaw, but he could not consider things well enough when he is but given a challenge to overcome--he oft assumed it to be the lingering stubbornness of the Dotharl coursing through his blood, something he could never truly separate himself from. And here is, given but a beautiful partner for the evening with eyes that shine like jewels and skin painted of gold--a man who wears a mask and, behind it, the tantalizing promise of someone so yearning to be broken, to be taken, to be lavished over.

Khalja but plays the tip of his tongue against the head of Tango's dick, pressed against the slit, before he carefully nuzzls his face close. 

Truly a vice of his, the one thing he felt ashamed about, but he was hardly to ignore such a tantalizing problem set before him. So Khalja allowed Tango but a moment to breathe as he pulled his face back, eyes gauging the girth and length of the Miqote's cock--but before he allowed too much time to think, Khalja parted his lips and slid the member into his mouth, pressing down with ease until he came to the root where the tip of his nose brushed against finely-groomed indigo hair.

Tango nearly screams, his head slamming against the wall behind him as he moans. Gods above. The twelve. The spirits. Whatever he believes in. 

"Yes!" he coos, squeezing the Au Ra’s horns in his hands and threaten to pull him closer. Khalja had taken him to the root. Such a tight, wet, heat. Tango almost sees starts with the sheer force of it. His chest heaves and he can already feel sweat forming on him. Claws threaten to scar the perfectly black horns upon his lover, the sheer force of the pleasure rushing through him and the promise of more to come making him pant wildly. If Tango wasn't such an educated man he would think he was in heat, but no, he was merely withering and whimpering before a Xaela whose very mouth had talent that threatened to make him cum within moments.

"G-Gods." the smaller man whines, writhing against the wall, his voice creaking with each moan wrung from him like water from a cloth. No client had done this. No client had dreamed of doing this before, to give so forcefully like the man between his shaking legs. 

With every sound, Khalja couldn't help but feel it in his chest--the satisfaction welling up within him until he was full-to-bursting with it. It was as tantalizing as arousal, such pride, to know he was leaving his partner with barely enough sense about them to speak. He knew not the reason behind it nor why he had such a pleasure that it was almost nearly an addiction in it's worst times, but he knew enough that in the moment he felt proud and aroused and eager like nothing else to wreck every little noise from the smaller man's mouth.

It didn't take very long for him to find a pace, pulling his face so far back that the tip of Tango's dick barely pressed against the roof of his mouth and then slamming him back to the root. 

Over. And over. And over. 

There is a little discomfort in it, admittedly, though not nearly as much as if Khalja were to take in the mouth of a larger partner--and he has before. If anything it is nice to be able to swallow the man down so easily, needing not to allow his throat to accommodate for Tango’s size nor length--from the sounds of things, the Seeker much appreciated it as well. 

Khalja purrs, feeling hands grabbing and scratching at his horns, the sensation light but enough for him to notice. It flows in tandem with the sound of his heartbeat, so easily heard as his horns pressed against the supple flesh of the man's inner thighs, the noise echoing into his senses and all but edging the man onward in his lust for Tango's noises.

Tango cusses and moans, eyes welling up at the feeling. He wasn't crying, no, but he was quickly being overwhelmed with sensation. His cock aching in Khalja's mouth. 

He lets out a hiss of pleasure as the feeling spiking into his chest gives way to a great cry, cock spilling in the man's mouth. Instantly Tango feels his cheeks heat and his gaze tears away; a courtesan should be used to such pleasures, and yet he'd cum within minutes of the other man putting him in his mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asks quickly, resting a hand in the Xaela's hair, eyes yet averted. "I ... I meant to warn you I..."

Khalja but hums in response, his mouth still full with the man's cock. He doesn't seem to mind--doesn't even seem to be surprised. No, Khalja allows himself the simple pleasure of drinking the man's spend down, eyes slipping shut as he swallows, tongue still working over the sensitive flesh until he can't taste the other's seed. 

Only then does he finally lift his face and pull his mouth from Tango's cock, glancing up at him with a calm expression only ruined by the quirk at the corners of his lips. His tongue eked between them, licking up the last smeared remnants of the other's climax without once breaking the eye contact.

"You have nothing to apologize for," the man says at last, still holding his smaller lover up upon his shoulders, face almost nuzzling against one of his inner thighs. A chuckle works from the Xaela's throat. "...Though I am far more used to dealing with more than one swallow."

At the words, Tango feels his face burn all the brighter brighter. He had to admit, he didn't know much of Au Ra anatomy. In fact, he knew nothing. 

The few Au Ra that came around slept with other Au Ra, and not once could he recall one indulging him beyond a quick, rather anonymous blowjob. Was it a cultural thing? Or was it something more. 

"More than one ... swallow?" 

Tango tilts his head some. If he didn't know better he would think that the Au Ra came more than once. But no. That couldn't be it. No ... there was something more to this. The sheer thought of something ... extra about an Au Ra made his already spent cock twitch in excitement.

"Well..." he says eventually, turning his eyes from Khalja. "...I seems that you have one down." He purrs, his eyes flickering back to him with a warm gaze. “...four more to go?”

"Of course," Khalja says warmly, slowly allowing the man to stand once more on his own two feet--though he kept a hand on Tango's hip, just in case he could not hold himself up in the moment that he gathered back his strength. Only when he seemed stable did Khalja adjust himself up and onto his feet, his height looming but body pressed close against Tango's own. He was not yet crowded against the wall in which he already found his first climax, but it was close enough to accentuate the difference in size between them, how so easily Khalja stood but at least two or three heads higher than the Miqo'te. "...you look very cute when you find your finish."

Tango purrs, he's a bit wobbly on his own two feet so he allows himself to grab a firm hold of Khalja's poncho. He was still ... fully clothed. He hadn't even managed to remove a single article of clothing from the other man. Of course. 

A huff rolls past his lips, and Tango puffs his cheeks out as his gaze turns to his Xaela lover; he has to crane his neck when he's this close.

"O-of course I am! Would you expect anything less?" He asks, feeling himself blush more. It is then that he coughs awkwardly looking away. "The very least you could do is undress..." he murmurs, looking up at him through his lashes. "I haven't seen what you have to ... offer..."

The constant bounce from vulnerable to coyish mask is amusing. Khalja can't help but find himself more and more enthralled with it, the game that Tango knows not that he is so deeply apart of. 

Regardless, he can't find reason to keep himself dressed, especially not when he has already but ripped the clothes from his partner's body; it seemed but a fair thing to point out. So Khalja nods, his expression almost unreadable in it's calmness, and so he begins to undress himself with all the same care that he had given when he undressed to prepare for the hot springs--off with the poncho, the undershirt, the wrappings on his hands--and then his boots, pants, and finally the thin wrapping of cloth that covered the last bit of his dignity--

And then, just as that, Khalja is left bare, his clothes in a heap beside him, skin dark save for a freckles of white across his face and cheeks. He could feel the tension of arousal in the pit of his stomach, but it had not grown enough for his cocks to peak from the safe clutch of their sheath. To an unaided viewer who knew nothing of Au Ra anatomy, the sight might have almost looked as if Khalja was a born woman, if only in respect of genitals alone, with the curve of his crotch smooth save for a patch of scales that seemed to outline something unseen.

Tango can't help his curiosity. The Au Ra's body looked so very much like his own but different in many ways. He was taller, thicker, and seemed to be a female but ... was that truly the case? Khalja had made it seem that he could cum like someone with a dick could. So ... could he? Or was it a Xaela expression? He purrs, moving closer to inspect him with interest regardless. His hand sweeps over Khalja's chest, pressing against the soft skin there. 

"Aren’t you a big boy?..." He purrs, his hand dancing lower, only stopping above his pubic mound. Did he want Tango to touch him? He certainly didn't want to force things, then again, the other man had lifted him into the air like a sack of feathers. Instead, he opts to slowly slide off his dress, undoing the fastenings to let it slide to the floor. Not that his appearance was particularly shocking to him, as he'd seen him close to naked just a few hours ago.

Khalja's eyes can't help but follow the fluid motions, not sure whether he is more entranced by how the silken dress falls to the floor, or the way the vibrant red fabric reveals pliant, naked flesh, his curiosity only barely sated by taking the other man into his mouth and hearing his most delightful of noises in the genuine moments of pleasure. 

He took a step closer to the other man, emerald eyes as curious as his hands, letting them brush over Tango's shoulders, down his sides, finally coming to the delicate but beautiful curves of the Seeker’s hips where which they could rest upon him.

"You may touch me in kind, if you so like," Khalja but murmurs, balancing precariously on the line between where his desires and Tango's met, not wanting the two of them to fall far into one side or the other. Though he understood plenty of the man's role in offering pleasure for coin, it was Khalja's genuine desire to see Tango as equally satisfied by their companionship as he himself was. "If you are curious about me, you are more than allowed to explore my body."

Tango hums, his hands beginning to fall down, down, down Khalja's chest. "I don't mind if I do..." He purrs, letting agile fingers sweet over the plains of muscle. He was much more firm that Tango who was all lithe and soft, especially around his hips and rear. He draws his fingers down further, towards the V that cut across the Au Ra's pelvis and further down still until his palm was pressing firmly against his mound. It was strange. The vaginas he had touched never felt like this. They were soft and wet, but this felt like there was something hard beneath it, a shape behind hard muscle.

Tango tilts his head, curious now as he looks back up at his lover. "Now, what exactly do we have here?" He wonders aloud.

Khalja's breathing is slow. Restrained. There's a level of control in each rise of his chest as his lungs take in the cool air--a contrast to the heat that fills him, twisting his stomach into knots and settles in the apex of his thighs where Tango's hand rests against the yet-unsheathed slit.

"I forget you've seen naught of a male Au Ra," Khalja says lowly, his mind returning to him but enough to realize his brief idiocy. "We do not have...such parts externally." He can't help but press his hips forward, just a little bit, feeling the heat and pressure of the other man's palm. It's not enough to spark more than a dull, delicious ache of pleasure. "Just as it takes arousal to bring you to hardness, so too does it to unsheathe myself from within my pouch."

"Ah," Tango nods. Like a...lizard? But he's not stupid enough to say it aloud. Instead he makes an interested hum, curling one leg around Khalja's own. It was a hard position to be in, but it was one that he'd practice on numerous clients, and they always seemed to like it. "So you need a bit of help?" He asks, letting his ears flicker as he moves up, kissing at the gentle curve of his new lover’s collarbone. "I think I can help with that..." 

The words are a murmur against his skin as he gently nips just under a group of scales. The scales would be fun. Where else did he have scales though? He glances down. They sure did get close to a few things but... He lets the question fade, instead focusing on pressing his body firmly against Khalja's, the goal of getting him aroused enough to emerge from his slit firmly in his mind.

"I'm certain that you can," Khalja agrees, his expression gentle, but his hands gentler still when he moves to rest them on the curves of Tango's hips. "If you angle your hips like this, you can-ah, yes..."

The Xaela can recall a number of times where he had done something similar with another of his tribe, though it was a little easier for their cock to shift and press between the sensitive folds of his slit. Tango is neither tapered nor naturally slick, but when Khalja gently assists him, when the shaft of his cock finally slips between the folds of his now-dripping slit, he can't help but let out a deep rumble of pleasure. 

He would have enough natural slickness for the two of them, especially as Tango seems much smaller than he--there is even a brief moment where Khalja wonders if the other man might even be able to slip inside of his folds, his pouch where cocks were safely sheathed from sight and danger. 

Could he?

Tango gasps in surprise and pleasure both. Xalea were able to do this? Now he understood why Au Ra had always found others of their kind to please each other, if they were so unique in sexual anatomy. 

It took some moving on his part, and he is nearly standing on the tips of his toes to do it, but he manages to thrust some into Khalja. Oh, that felt nice. Very nice. Incredible really. He moans, biting at his own bottom lip in order to stop the sounds that try to escape him. 

"You'll have to ... forgive me. I don't wish to hurt you. Tell me what to do?" Tango says more than he asks. Clients were usually a lot more fickle with their wishes, but Khalja seemed as if he wanted Tango to decide, and it had been a long time since he'd done that. 

"If you want," Khalja finally says, no, growls into the cool air around their warm bodies. "You can go inside--just don't press too hard. It is not nearly as forgiving as a woman's heat."

Once Khalja is able to take in a breath, able to let his mind come back to itself, his expression turns curious, his words dangerous.

"Is there a comfortable spot to lay down--you said the bedroom was over there?"

"Yes," Tango says, wondering what would happen if he did slip inside the Au Ra, would it be offensive? To fuck a Au Ra male's pouch? Is that what Khalja had called it? 

Tango nods his head towards the doors at the back of the room. "Just inside there. Trust me, I've made it as comfortable as possible." He says, slowly pulling away from the Au Ra so that he can stand on his own two feet, even if it does take considerable will not to try and fuck him in the midst of his entertainment area right then and there. 

The Seeker rubs up against the Xaela’s side as he moves past Khalja, purring as he opens the door and looks back at him, fluttering his lashes one more time as he moves towards the large, plush bed, filled with pillows and silken sheets.

Khalja's eyes watch every movement, something akin to a predator that may eye up an errant sheep away from the herd. Each shift of Tango's body, every tilt of his hips, the flicker of his eyes as they all but call the man closer still--it makes Khalja wonder if he has been breathing in something, an aphrodisiac or pheromone. He can't recall a time where he had wanted to fuck his lover with as much raw passion, to unbind himself from restraint to the point that they are sobbing beneath him.

So he follows Tango at last, glancing around the room but once to get a sense of what lay within. Satisfied, he finally turns to the bed, watching the Miqo'te with that same hard look. It takes not a breath before the Au Ra finally moves, reaching both Tango and the bed itself is but a few long strides; it takes even less time for his hands to find the other's hips, to pull his body up and into his arms and then, in one smooth, almost practiced motion, to splay the man over the bed enough that Khalja is able to put one of his thighs over Tango's hips, sitting astride the other with the shaft of Tango's cock once more slipped between the hot, now messily wet folds of Khalja's slit.

"Do you want to fuck me in such a way?" The man asks, tone dangerous and low, emerald eyes but gleaming. "To wet your cock in my pouch?"

Tango can't help the way he shivers, the way he splays himself over the sheets in a decadence he has not had in a long while. Usually his clients were messy and pressed into the sheets themselves, howling in pleasure by the time they had gotten this far. Then there was an exchange of gil and he either did or didn't see them again. But this was ... different. Very different. 

Tango’s heart was pounding in his chest and he was purring, loud and long from his position before Khalja. "I think I would ... very much like that..." He murmurs, looking up at him through his lashes. He presses his hips forwards, rocking him slightly. Already Khalja was so wet and hot. How would it feel to be inside him? To cum inside him?

It takes some practiced restraint to keep his expression still, but Khalja does allow a soft moan to slip from his lips as he feels the wet slide of hot flesh against him. A weakness of his, perhaps, but moreso is the look that lay so openly upon the Miqo'te's face as he realizes what he has been given allowance to do. The way that ruby gaze looks up at him, eyes wide with mirth and arousal, heavy in the same way that his cock sits against Khalja's slit.

"Good," Khalja finally murmurs, his hips shifting, slowly, until he feels the tip of Tango's cock press gently against against the tight entrance to his pouch, the muscles already twitching at the foreign sensation. "I've heard that it feels equally as good to those who are able to fit....inside..."

He allows himself to drop, but only slightly, just enough for the first inch to press past the untrained muscles and slip inside the wet heat of one of his most intimate orifices. 

Only twice had Khalja ever tried such a nontraditional pleasure, but only then it had been but fingers--and brief ones at that. But even from but that first inch, that barest pressure, the man can't help but arch his back and let out a growl of need.

It’s so good already.

Tango whimpers. Perhaps it was because of his earlier arousal, but he whimpers when Khalja growls. His eyes nearly fall closed with the way the Au Ra’s pouch enraptures him. It's warm. So warm. Warmer than any vagina he'd had. 

It's also wet, which is something Tango isn't quite prepared for. But it's good regardless. So good that he finds himself moaning from only the first inch, head of his cock snug within a vice grip of velvet and silk. 

The Seekers fingers fist into the sheets below him, wringing the fine silks like washcloths. His legs fall open further and he can't help the shuddering moan that leaves him. He dare not move, not yet, not when Khalja is slowly impaling himself on him.

Khalja can't help but gaze upon Tango with mirth and lust settled heavily within it. Even as he slips the cock deeper within his most intimate heat, Tango knows well enough not to move--or either, he waits for the permission of it. It arouses the Au Ra plenty regardless, to have such a control over the man beneath him even as he is the one getting fucked, getting so sweetly impaled on the other’s throbbing dick. 

Khalja’s hips press lower and lower still, careful to still when he feels the head of Tango's cock nudge against the back of his pouch, where his cocks still lay inside--restrained enough from slipping out, from denying him this sweet pleasure so rarely enjoyed.

It takes a breath, two breaths--several minutes of care and slow caution, but eventually Khalja finally finds himself practically sitting atop the Miqo'te's hips, cock fully enveloped by the tight, sloppy-wet heat of his pouch. The Xaela can't help but let out a soft whine at how full he feels in such an unfamiliar way, feeling the slick drip down his legs to accommodate the new shape pressed within him.

"Oh," he finally murmurs, one hand finally skimming down his chest, his stomach, then finally resting on the soft curve that is the only proof otherwise of Tango's dick inside of him. "You should feel honored--I've never fathomed  being able to take in a partner so deep. How does it feel to be within me like this?"

The Miqo’te whines, eyes glassy with lust and want. Tango's claws threatening to rip the sheets beneath him. Scarlet has not only enveloped his cheeks, but has fallen to his chest as well. He watches Khalja with a soft sort of fascination, the kind that you have when you're completely entangled in something both physical and mental. He has to hold himself back, back from just fucking up into Khalja and taking him as he would some slutty client needing a quick fuck. 

But Khalja isn't just a client now. No. He's a lover. A partner. Someone that Tango isn't just going to treat like a paycheck. 

And Khalja's right. He does feel honored. Like he's one of the rare few to be allowed to do this, to wet his dick upon a heat so intimate that the act in itself is almost as ceremonial as it is debauched. 

"I love it," Tango finally pants, red eyes unable to move from the pouch that is pressed so snug around him, as if he were meant to be there. "I love your pouch around me. I want to make a mess of it. I want to make a mess of you. Or you make a mess of me. I don't care. I just want more."

A second passes, and then another--the air is cold when it kisses against such heated skin. Khalja looks down at Tango with his eyes all aglow, as bright as the speckles of white that decorate his dark skin. And then, in that third moment, he smiles. Wide and without restraint, flashing the sharpness of his teeth and for a moment his calm demeanor looks utterly dangerous. A true predator, eager to drink down every moan and whimper pulled from his partner's mouth.

"Good," he says at last, tongue slipping out from between his lips and licking across the sharp line of his teeth, his hips lifting up enough until but the very tip of the other's cock is left within the tight grip. "Take your pleasure of me, Tango--fuck my pouch, leave me dripping and your cock wet with my slickness. Let me feel your need--I want to see it all, I want to hear you beg for it."

Tango whimpers, his hands shooting out, catching Khalja by his hips and trying to urge him back down into his lap. The warmth of his pouch is gone and Tango feels as if he can't live without it. Such a tight wet heat. Such deliciousness. He can't help but whine in need, staring up at the predatory eyes like a rabbit caught in a trap. But oh. What a beautiful trap to be in. 

"I want to fuck you." He admits, trying to cant his hips up, but all he manages is to dip the head of his aching cock into that sweet, tight heat, tantalizing him to no end, "I want to fill you up with me and watch it drip. I want to scream your name as I cum inside you. Please," He begs, lips full round, wet, "Please. Let me fuck you, Khalja of the Kahkol and then fuck me into until I can't think."

Khalja often enjoys the feeling of being fucked by a partner--he cannot deny the joy of being spread open, of a cock, a finger, a tongue pressing inside of him and sparking pleasure through his body. With such a pleasure, however, comes the occasional partner who assumes that it means he wants to be at the mercy of another. That by wanting such pleasure he also yearns to be controlled, to be dominated, to be held down and made to beg and whimper for his pleasure as a reward. Though he had little issue with indulging in such a moment when a fancy hit him, Khalja was not a man who thought highly of those who entwined such concepts into one thing.

He couldn't think of any better pleasure than to watch Tango's face twist with need as he tried, desperately, to thrust back up into the heat of his pouch. Emerald eyes gleam with an almost sadistic glee as the Miqo'te is left panting by barely a taste of such euphoria, as needy as a rabbit and several times more desperate than he had given the man credit to be. Oh, he was beautiful like that, flushed with red and cock throbbing, eager to plunge inside the tight heat of Khalja and paint him inside with seed. 

"Your words sing so sweetly to me," the man finally says, equally unable to restrain himself from the pleasure as much as he thinks it merciful. It is only then that he lowers his hips, enough that Tango can reach with his hips, can fuck himself back into that sweet, cloying heat he has already addicted to. "Take your pleasure and leave not a drop of your spend wasted--I want to feel it drip down my thighs."

Tango gasps, finally able to plunge himself back into the sweet heat that was Khalja. Tango's spine arches as he begins to fuck into him, hips snapping up. His mouth opens as a moan leaves him with each embrace of wet heat around his cock. 

"I won't. I promise." the Miqo’te whimpers, red eyes unable to pull themselves away from the sinful display of his cock pumping into the man above him. "I'll fill you up and watch it drip, I promise." 

He’s brought to little more than a babbling mess at this point, mouth barely able to form the words with the way each delicious sound leaves him. It was almost too much, the heat, the wetness, the way that Khalja watched him like a hawk from on high. He was a predator and Tango was just a rabbit in the field, ready to be picked up in his strong talons and carried away. 

And oh was he getting carried away. 

Tango's tail lashes beneath him, curling and uncurling as the pleasure seeps into his very bones. He would need to take more Au Ra lovers, if this is what it was like each time. Or was it just Khalja? Yes. It was Khalja. Just Khalja. He would have no better than him.

The feeling of Tango's cock slipping inside of him, fucking him--Khalja could think of no better pleasure in the world. To feel himself open up around the intrusion inside of his tight pouch, so much thicker than mere fingers and yet not so much that it's painful, he cannot help himself from letting out several sweet gasps of pleasure. And then there was the look all but painted across the small Miqo'te's face; tension and need, pure and carnal enough that he seems lost in a sea of pleasure. As if his only goal in the world is to fill Khalja's pouch up with his seed, his words but a babbling mantra that was as cute as it was arousing to hear.

"Good boy," Khalja praises, his tail near-thrashing behind himself, body shaking more with each and every wet slide of Tango's dick. "Oh, you're filling me up so wonderfully--I doubt I would be able to keep any of your seed inside me. I yearn to feel it drip from me, to feel it paint my slit. Can you find your release for me, dear Tango? I want you to cum, I want to hear you cum, every last beg and whimper to fall from your sweet lips."

The man beneath him almost can't bear it. The sweet words that drip from Khalja's lips are almost as arousing as the pouch that coaxes Tango’s cock deeper and deeper into his new lover. Tango gasps sweetly, whining and writhing under him. He plunges himself up, deeper into the Au Ra above, cock twitching with the mere thought of pumping his seed into Khalja. 

It’s beautiful. The tensing of his muscles and the plunging of his hips as he fucks into the other male. Hips snap up, once, twice, three times and then Tango is moaning in earnest now. His fingers cling to Khalja's hips, having moved from the sheets in a flash. They grasp there, almost bruising as he cries out. 

"Khalja!" He gasps, head lolling back. His cock throbs as it begins to pump his seed into his pouch, filling the tight space until it spills over, white liquid running down Tango's cock. "F-Fuck..." He murmurs, body shaking, eyes rolling in ecstasy.

There's a deliciousness in the feeling that wells up between the two men. A heat, a pleasure, a raw desperation that leaves Khalja with but a taste and wanting for more. If the thrill of a challenge was but the man's vice, then the sweet pleasures and highs of sex is surely his addiction, if only one so carefully indulged in as deeply as he does now. He can't be sure anymore what is mask and what is real of Tango, for it seems that it all has swirled together until want and need are the only words he can think with any sort of cohesion. 

But he feels it, so clearly, as hot seed fills up what precious little space there is in his tight, gripping sheath, of his slit stretched wide and obscene around that delicious cock with muscles unused to the intrusion of a lover and tender to the pleasure. He can feel the wet mess of slick and seed dripping down his thighs, making a mess of already sweat-slicked skin and the flesh around where they are joined. 

Khalja takes in a breath, feeling no orgasm but savoring the satisfaction, and reaches a hand down to swipe his fingers through the mess, to spread the lips of his slit open--though he is hardly able to pull them wider, wrapped so tight already around the other man's softening dick.

"Good to know that Miqo'te can seek climax more than once," Khalja nearly purrs. "I haven't had this much fun with another in many moons."

The Seeker lets out a long sigh, body shivering with a strange mix of pleasure and pain in his overstimulation. His cum seeps down Khalja's thighs and he can't help but lick his lips at the spectacle. What a beautiful sight. He sits up, sweat slicked hair sticking to his forehead. Unkempt as he is, he still manages an alluring smile, fluttering his lashes at the Au Ra again. 

"Oh, trust me, I can surprise you in a lot of ways." Tango teases, trying to catch his breath after his rather quick climax. So, perhaps he wouldn't last long with his new lover, but that didn't matter if they were going to have so many rounds. He presses away and then up, slithering up the expanse of Khalja's chest until he is able to kiss his lips. He presses a hand to the slit he had just fucked, one finger seeking out the seed that still dribbles from the other man, fingering it lightly. "Now, what else do you want, big guy? Because I can't think of anything else but you cumming into me after I just came in you."

Khalja can't help but allow himself a soft rumble of delight at how Tango's soft fingers play against his oversensitive slit even as he shifts, the entrance loose and dripping a mixture of slick and seed. After but only a moment, however, emerald eyes open to seek out the ruby glow of his partner's gaze; Khalja's hands move to rest on the other's hips, so large that he is nearly able to curl his fingers into the soft flesh of his ass.

"I think you not yet realize my goal in this coupling," Khalja says at last, head tilting to the side. "If it is not an activity of mutual desire, then I yearn for no part in it--so if it is to have me inside of you that you want most..." Another purr rolls from his lips, deep and without filter. He can feel the tip of his cocks begin to slip from his pouch, no longer restrained, as the tips of the tapered but engorged set of organs meet with Tango's fingers still against his slit. A breath, two breaths, it takes some time before they slip outside of him fully, meet the cold air with a hiss from between the man's teeth. 

"...I will be more than pleased to oblige you with as much of my seed that I can fill your belly with."

Oh.

Tango moans at words and the vision, loud and full. Khalja isn't even truly touching him but he has to admit that his cocks against his hand are an alluring feeling. Big, round, and sopping from their earlier excursion and doubled. Did all Au Ra have two of them?

The Miqo’te purrs at the question and the way it makes him feel, kissing Khalja's lips one more time before he is nearly tumbling over the side of the bed to retrieve his box of toys. There are many things, both big and small, in the small wooden crate but the items he is looking for are near the bottom. 

"Here," He says, passing the condoms and lube to him, "I want you to use the lube, of course, but condoms are a choice of your own. I don't mind a mess..." The smaller man puts the crate back under his night stand before moving once more, this time to gather luxurious pillows before him, before laying down on his belly, his hips in the air before Khalja. 

Oh, it had been too long since he'd been taken this way, and Tango always did love a good mounting, even if he never got to enjoy the feeling of being on the bottom. His tail swings out behind him, daring to curl around the Au Ra's thigh, his plush rump swaying invitingly.

Khalja watches the man move like a hawk, caring little how intimidating his eyes might seem as his gaze falls heavy over the other man's languid, naked form. Eyes of emerald can't help but want to take the vision, drink it down and commit it to memory; he cannot remember the last time that a lover had presented themselves to him so openly, ass up as if in heat, body yearning to be mounted and screwed into the surface below. 

Khalja only barely turns his attention to the condoms and lube, caring more for the latter item since Tango seemed more than merely uncaring if he is left full and dripping with spend--and the Au Ra yearned to see what he would look like with his ass painted and dribbling with white.

"I will only ask once of your opinion on leaving marks," he finally rumbles, glancing at the tube of lubricant for a moment before understanding its use--there was little reason for such items on the Steppe, but Khalja wasn't so ignorant as to see the novelty of excess slickness, whether it's made of one's body or through chemical means. "Because if you offer me your body, I will have it--you will feel me for days both inside and out."

He purrs, peeking at him over his shoulder. If Tango didn't know better, he'd think Khalja a monster come to eat him. And it was true; the Xaela was a monster in a fashion, but only while in bed. Idly,Tango even wondered if the man had taken a mate, though such a thing seemed unlikely, given how honorable a sort that Khalja seemed. The sort that would never cheat. 

Somehow the thought eases Tango’s emotions as he lets his tail swing freely behind him. "Oh, I don't mind marks, dear." He says, fluttering his lashes at him, "In fact, I think you should mark me up good. At least that way I'll have something to remember you by after this little trip of yours." He'd probably return to the Steppe after this, never to be seen again. That brings a small frown to Tango's lips, but he's quick to cover it up with a flirtatious smirk.

Green eyes narrow for a moment, though the hard look is balanced out as a quirk of dangerous amusement is brought to Khalja's lips. He can't help the chuckle that rolls from deep within his chest, or the way he tilts his head to the side in genuine interest. Oh, it's as if the man can read his very thoughts--Khalja could not recall the last time he had taken a lover with such a unique energy about them, as equally playful as they were shy. He can feel his cocks throb at the thought of burying himself to the hilt within the smaller man--but first, to ensure Tango could even take Khalja's sizable girth.

"Do you not often take such types of bedmates?" Khalja can't help but ask, feeling the cold slick drip over his fingers. "Do they not too yearn to leave you painted with the evidence of such companionship?" 

He blinked at the odd sensation, rubbing the slick gel between his fingers to find that it did not dissipate or sink into his skin--but it does slowly come to temperature after a little bit. Only when he was satisfied that it was warm enough, Khalja shifted his body close, holding Tango's hip with one hand as the other presses between his plush cheeks and seeks out the tight furl of hot muscles.

Tango moans at the sensation, body wiggling in delight.

"I hate to tell you this," the Seeker murmurs, wiggling his hips some against Khalja's fingers, "But being a courtesan is a lot like being an actor. I take on whatever role someone wants me to play. However, I've been cast as one part for so long, few can see me as any other." He shrugs, rolling the blades of his shoulders languidly as he sinks deeper into the pillows. "I'm usually a top for women, men, and everyone in between. I think it's because I use confidence to attract my clients. Or maybe they just like to see how I sparkle when I fuck them." He chuckles after a few seconds, flicking his tail as if to emphasize how much gold seems to adorn his skin.

"I can at least see why they might," Khalja all but chuckles, pressing the first digit of his lube-slicked hand until soft muscles gave and opened up around the intrusion. He pressed until it could go no deeper, muscles clenching tight around but one finger--and so Khalja added a second one, feeling how Tango slowly opened up. "Does it not grow exhausting to work to appeal to another so very much? I cannot imagine the level of energy one must have to put on a mask in even the most intimate moments of coupling."

Tango whines; the fingers felt so good. Almost too good. 

He couldn't remember the last time that a partner had done this for him. It had been years, at least, since it was someone other than him who had fucked his ass. "Oh," he says, voice light and airy, "It's not so bad. I get to cum a few times. I get paid for it. They get to feel good for an hour or two. I half to act like I'm a top but ... it's a job? Is it not?" he hums, fingers pressing into the pillows below him. "Just like you acted as if you didn't want to hammer into me at the springs, we all put on a different face in public, do we not?" He chuckles, winking over his shoulder at him.

Khalja tries not to let the look of embarrassment break his expression, though even he cannot suppress the heat that fills his cheeks when his mind is forced to recall how easily lust had stirred within his belly at the mere closeness of Tango's body against his own. He shook his head after a moment, ignoring the slight skip of his heart, and instead pressed in but a third finger past the rim of Tango's entrance, which already seemed stretched with only his fingers. Khalja is careful to drip more slick down the curve of the other's ass, working it slowly over pliant, hot skin and into the warmer-still channel of his body.

"Goes to show that you are the professional in this instance where I am not," The Au Ra finally murmurs, spreading his fingers apart to gently open the other man up further--if he was to take Khalja's full girth without pain or discomfort, he would need to be carefully opened up--his body did not seem to be as pliant as what Khalja was used to in Au Ra women. "But I cannot understand how one would ever leave a lover wanting.

Tango shivers, but it is the shivering of a man who is finally getting what he wants. The shivering of a man who is relaxing, falling apart so slowly that he is becoming a puddle of indulgence. 

"They do so very easily," the man murmurs at last, letting his tail curl up Khalja's arm, "And they feel no remorse for it. But I have ways of stimulating myself. It's not so bad." 

He purrs, pressing himself back onto the hand that was slowly opening him up. Oh yes. This would be wonderful. He was already feeling so very empty. He looks at him again, over his shoulder, giving him a small wink. "And the next time you want to fuck a man in the springs, you only need but say the word. I know of quite a few places that are ... out of the way..." he teases.

There is a soft shiver of delight that works its way down Khalja's spine at the simple thought of having Tango in a secluded corner of the world, feeling the heat of the hot springs and the clutch of legs around his waist, hands scratching beautiful marks down the curves of his hips and--

"I will have to keep the offer well in mind," he finally growls, teeth clenched tight through the mask of restraint. "But until then, I will not be a name among such dishonorable bedmates."

His cocks twitch in interest, feeling heavy and engorged and yearning to be deep inside the slick heat of a willing lover. He can feel himself lust and want, his desire twisting tighter with every moment that he is not inside this beautiful Miqo'te. With a twist of his wrist and a careful fold of his hand, Khalja is able to slip a fourth finger past the rim of Tango's ass--with the angle, he cannot press deep, but he works to stretch the muscle as best as he can, if only to avoid as much needless abuse--he does not want to hurt the smaller man.

A breathy moan rumbles through Tango’s chest as his body remains pliant under Khalja's hands. He's like clay, ready to contort to whatever his lover wants. He hums in interest, the fingers inside of him striking his sweet spot and his muscles tensing with the sudden jolt of pleasure. It's good, almost too good, and his dick twitches in interest, wanting more. 

"Ah, fuck..." the man cusses gently under his breath, "... trust me..." a purr leaks from between his lips as Tango allows his head drop forward and his ass press up more. "...you're already a memorable bed mate..." 

He lets his eyes close as he gets used to the sensation of being so full. So full. And soon he'd be even fuller, breached and stuffed with not just one, but two throbbing, slick cocks. The mere thought sends a shiver up his spine. His tail twitches against his lovers arm almost incessantly, always such a betraying tell for Tango’s pleasure. His blasted tail. But it’s an honest tell, both in his pleasure and desire for more than Khalja’s mere fingers.

"Now c'mon," Tango purrs into the pillow he's made of his arms, "I know you must be rock hard by now. Take me, Khalja, take me like only a true man of the Steppe can." 

There is no immediate response from Khalja. His body merely stiffens and, after but a breath, he finally pulls his fingers free from the warm, inviting clutch of heat, leaving Tango's ass looking loose and obscene--it takes momentous restraint not to slide himself inside of the man right then and there, to mount him like a beast in heat and stretch his ass wide around Khalja's throbbing cocks. 

No, instead, the Au Ra merely lets out a breath, slow, and leans his body down so that his lips play into the back of Tango's hair; his hands have since found purchase to the curve of hips, cock nestled comfortably against the other's ass and spreading sticky slickness over the beautifully abused rim.

"You speak dangerous words, Tango of Kugane," Khalja breathes, the title teasing against his lips. "I will have you as like a warrior would take his mate in heat--leaving you keening sweetness and begging for more of me."

He did not give the other man much of a chance to respond; as soon as the words left the Xaela's lips, he was already plunging himself deep within Tango's gloriously tight, hot ass--so deep, in fact, that the Miqo'te was not only able to take his thickest cock, but the second one as well, all the way to the root, until his rim was stretched and wrapped so tight around Khalja that he couldn't stop himself from letting out a snarl of pleasure.

Tangao himself opens his mouth to respond, but all that leaves him is a long, whimpering moan. The fingers that had graced his entrance were nothing compared to the cocks that filled him so completely now. Khalja's fingers were big, but his cocks were massive in comparison. Even his biggest toy could not compare to this. 

This slick heat that pumped into him, that promised to fuck him into the deepest corners of his mind. Oh, he was going to have a wonderful time. The tail that had curled around Khalja's arm now curls around his waist, urging him closer. 

"Yessss..." He hisses between locked tight teeth. 

It's what he'd wanted. What he'd been waiting for. If he were being dramatic, which he was, what he'd been born for. To take this man's cocks and nothing else. To be filled full of his seed. If he could, he would carry his children. His claws twist into the pillows beneath him, the sound of tearing filling the air as they sink into the feathery insides.

It is but a combination of things that Khalja loves most in terms of sex--though there is something to be said about the direct pleasure of feeling a hot body wrapped around his cocks, milking him, squeezing him tight, there is equally something to love about everything else that comes just as beautifully with mating someone. To see the way their eyes flutter, to feel their body grow tense with that first, glorious thrust, to intimately learn all the small tells and notes of their pleasure in ways that few people else might ever get to learn. Khalja can't help but selfishly enjoy himself in that glorious moment, simply feeling himself be taken all the way to the root.

"How someone cannot yearn to fill your needy ass with their cock is a mystery that yet eludes me-" Khalja growls, his hands holding tight to Tango's hips as he pulls back only to thrust forward, testing the waters for how much the man can take. "-when you are as beautiful as this. How can onenot yearn to ravish you? They are truly a fool."

Tango pants, the blush on his cheeks slowly traveling over the blades of his shoulders. He turns his head enough to speak, eyes dark with want and pupils dilated. His whole body moves with the thrust, as if he'd been bucked by a horse. 

"Ah," he moans, mouth open wide, eyes fluttering with the feeling. It was like he was being squeezed from the inside out. So full. So nice. When Khalja came it was going to fill him up so much that he might burst. "May-Maybe it's a good thing that they don't..." he murmurs, eyes rolling in his head. His prostate was constantly being butted against, the tapered ends of Khalja's cocks pressing against it perfectly when he even so much as breathed. "... otherwise, you might not get to open my ass like this. With your thick cocks. And I might not be as tight for you. They might have ruined me..." Tango purrs and wiggles with each thrust, the hot throbbing girth sliding inside him perfectly with each thrust, "But I'm glad it's you. You who's fucking my asshole open and ruining it for anyone else. Mating me like the whore I am." 

"Is that what you want to be to me right now?" Khalja finds himself asking, his breath hot against the skin between Tango's shoulder blades as his fingers dig in harder to his hips. Another thrust, then another, the pace starting to pick up until the bed begins to shake with each hard motion, each press of his cocks back within the smaller man's body. "Do you want to be but a whore beneath me? A toy for my pleasure, a sleeve for my cocks to be sated upon?" He growls and nips at Tango's shoulder. "Does my cocks loosen your filthy lips to such desires, or were such things already there when you saw them? You fucked my pouch so good, I could not keep myself from throbbing so, yearning to ruin this ass of yours."

Oh.

The Seeker moans, clutching onto the pillows beneath him for dear life. Oh. It was perfect. He was perfect. His lips loosen with each thrust, moans loud and keening, wanting, almost as much as he wanted Khalja himself. Tango’s hair sticks to the back of his neck. 

He had no doubts that, by now, he looked ruined and opened. Sweat dripped from his temples and over his back. He was messy. Ruined. Unattractive. Perfect. He always had to look presentable for clients but Khalja was making a mess of him, fucking him into such debauchery that he wouldn't walk right for a week. He moves, arching his back and raising his ass into the air, his arm presses up, up until he can grab some of Khalja's hair, bringing him down to his level, twisted in a fashion so that their lips can hover close. 

Tango tries to press a kiss to Khalja’s lips as best he can in his current position. He moans against the other’s mouth, letting his body jar with each slap of hips. "What I want is for you to stay with me. To keep me as your personal whore or as your pet, I don't care. If I could have your children I would do so proudly. Just don't leave me. Just don't stop." He groans against his lips, humping himself against the pillows, mind gone. "Don't stop!"

 If there was something that could ignite the fire ever hotter within Khalja's belly, the words sang to him like sweet sparks of flint and steel. He growled as he felt Tango's fingers entangle themselves in his hair, pull him down so that they could meet in a messy, sloppy kiss that made his neck ache at the angle in which they had to turn--but it was worth it. To catch those sweet lips against his, to swallow down such filthy words of pleasure and honesty in the heat of euphoric pleasure--it was nothing short of a blessing, a gift, a dream in which Khalja could not be bothered to wake from. 

He had never heard such delicious obscenity spill from a lovers mouth before, and certainly never before did it make his body quake and his hips shoot forward of their own instinctual accord to mate, claim, fuck, mount.  Though he but knew this man for scarcely a few hours, the flickering images behind Khalja's eyes of the smaller man rounded with child, belly full and ass yet leaking with his seed--it did more things to him than he cared to admit.

"Mine," Khalja finally snarls against Tango's lips, kisses turning rough and possessive as he even begins to nip sharp teeth until those lips are red and swollen. "All mine. My little pet, my little whore, my little fuck toy--My little Tango."

Khalja was mating him, and some primal part of Tango found that amazing. He gasps, sharp and hot against his mouth, eyes fluttering as Khalja beings to take him. Really take him. If he had been holding back before, he definitely wasn't now.

"Take me," He shudders out between moans, the fleshy sound of their hips filling the air. The bed creaked dangerously under them. The room was filled with the scent of lust. "Make me yours. Fuck me until I can't think. Mate me Khalja. Mate with me. Fuck a baby into me..." 

The man can only babble useless little words while grasping the sheets, pillows, clawing at anything he can get his hands on. He'd never felt so full. So good with anyone before. His breaths come out in high pitched moans, in filthy utterings of Khalja's name. He praises him until white shines behind his eyes, until he cums across the pillows beneath him. Until he's shuddering around Khalja. Even then he doesn't stop, his mouth agape as he pushes himself back against Kahlja's cocks, staring at him over his shoulder, eyes blown wide. 

"More."

Khalja can feel it when Tango cums around him, his body uselessly trying to tighten, to milk the Au Ra’s thick cocks despite how wide he's already spread the Miqo’te’s ass open. It's still a pleasure regardless, to feel the man clench, to feel his body stiffen, his hips thrust uselessly as seed but spills from his cock and dribbles down onto the bed. Khalja can't help but let out a broken, low noise of pleasure, catching sight of the other's eyes and blissed expression with no shortage of pride and lust. 

More, he hears Tango beg. A sweet plea on sweeter lips, body as taut as a bowstring.

Though Tango is sensitive and spent, though his body is already pushed to the limits and back again, Khalja can't help but fuck him all the harder, so much that the bed begins to squeak and shake and the mattress but argues against the pace of their feverish fucking. 

To mate him, to fuck him, to mount him and spill his seed so deep and thick and endless that his body had no choice but to take with child--the thoughts were a whirlwind of debauchery that only spurred on Khalja's pleasure, filled him up with heat and tension until he could not take it any longer. He snapped with an outright snarl and pressed his lips to the back of Tango's neck. Without warning he bit down, sinking sharp fangs into such soft flesh, and keeping his grip on the nape of skin as orgasm finally crashed into Khalja's form. 

Truly like but a beast in heat the Xaela presses his lover down with the pressure of his entire body, teeth still in his skin and hands still clutched to his curved hips, forcing him to take every last inch of his cocks as they finally spill what feels like gallons of seed inside of his sensitive, quivering channel.

Tango feels his world bend and spin, feels it go inside and upside down. Most importantly, feels Kahlja on top of him, feels the way he watches him cum. Like he's watching a master piece unfold. It's good, to be a piece of art for him, to have him watch him so. His body is exhausted but his mind still reels. Still wants more still wants to be mated properly by the strange new man in his life. His. Mine. It's all that matters.

He expects it. His body has been begging for it since he met the Xaela at the Hot Springs. He knows that now. He's been wanting to be mated by this man since their eyes first met. He was a slut but he wasn't a fool. He knew a good mate when he saw one. And Khalja was the perfect mate. So when his mouth slips over his neck so perfectly, when he bites down and cums inside of him, Tango can't help but cum again too. It's too euphoric not to. Too perfect Khalja was amazing. This was amazing. 

He sobs a moan before he is screaming and crashing to an end that had already happened moments before. Stuffed full. Full of cock. Full of seed. If he had died he would have been happy. So very happy. But not happier than he was now. Completely spent with a mating mark on the back of his neck. "Khalja..." He moans, eyes half open and brain fucked out.

 For a time, the world is white-hot and pleasant. Even as it begins to fade, even when the world comes to once more and Khalja finds himself atop Tango's exhausted form, he can't help but let out a pleasant purr. Only then does he release the grip of his teeth on soft flesh, tongue slipping out to lap at the blood dripping from the wound, as if an unspoken apology to the pain that lingers past the moment of pleasure and lust that caused it. 

When Khalja stops tasting iron, he finally shifts, turning their bodies so that both of them can lay on their sides--Khalja quickly with an arm dropping lazily around Tango's thin waist.

"I can feel my seed already leaking around me," he hums, tone as if he is proud of the fact. "But how easily it may be to keep myself stuffed inside you for a few minutes longer, as one might keep a newly-bred maiden." Khalja's lips kiss the mark upon Tango's neck as his free hand gently shifts, reaching down to gently squeeze out the last droplets of seed that drool from the other man's very spent, softening dick. "Do you think I might even be able to wreck one more sweet orgasm from you, my little whore?"

Tango’s eyes can only roll back into his head, his body limp against the warmth of Khalja's chest. He can feel his body twitching, even now. 

Mated. He'd been mated. 

Did the Au Ra even know what that meant? He hums, acting like he's thinking even when his mind had left him long ago. The dicks are still in him, still tight, still burning like an inferno, still waiting to fill him up one more time. 

"Am I not your breeding bitch now? The mate who will bear your children?" the Miqo’te feels a purr roll through his chest, and he presses his cheek against Khalja's chin in a gesture of soft intimacy. "Do with me what you want. I'm your slut now. Your mate. Don't I deserve to be filled back up?" The words slip from him so easily. His hand moves, gently sliding up the arm that his mate uses to pump him dry. "I will admit, I'm spent, but if you want to use my ass more, then you can." His purr rings so loud that seeps through his entire body. "Just don't leave me. Never leave me."

"If this is yet another of your masks," Khalja murmurs, moving his hand from Tango's soft cock to his knee, finally urging the man's leg to lift so that he can press himself deep once more, to the root of his still-throbbing length. "-then you are putting on quite the convincing show. With making you spill but twice in a row, I would think I have left you with naught a single ounce of energy to continue with your acting."

Khalja allows himself another purr, another shift of his hips and a twitch of his cock as he seems to find no end of pleasure in merely resting within the other man's tight, perfect heat. Even with his partner all but spent, there is a certain pleasure of still being inside of him, feeling each shift of his cock squeeze out a drool of seed from his tight rim and down one of his thighs, to make the bed a mess to clean later.

Tango hums, turning his head enough to look at him from the corner of his eye. He fixes him with a look, a shaky hand coming up to press through Khalja's hair. "Ah, is that what you think this is? An act? Me wishing myself to be your mate and wanting to keep you close? Darling, no one is able to act that." He murmurs, soothing a hand over his lover's cheek. "If I could have you seated in me every day, filling me with your seed, mating with me as you did just now. I would be a happy man. That is the truth. Not an act." 

It was true that he was out of energy. It was true that he was basically putty in the other man’s hands. But acting? Acting hadn't happened since Khalja had fucked his twin dicks into him. 

Tango lets his head rest against the Xaela's chest, exhaustion finally slipping past his well-tuned expression. He pants. His body shivering against the stimulation of his lover's cocks still seated in him. It felt good. It felt bad. He loved it.

"Forgive me then," The Xaela murmurs, back to gently lapping his tongue over the mark left upon Tango's neck in between each breath. "I have taken few lovers in your profession, and have learned it improper to assume too much if all your partner yearns for is the pleasure of a swift union of bodies." 

The Au Ra purrs when a soft, but defined orgasm shivers through his body. Seed spills from his dicks again, though not nearly as much as his first orgasm, and even the soft twitch of Khalja's hips leaves enough space that a fresh, thick drip of spend spills from Tango's body.  It's perfect, and warm, and lovely. It leaves Khalja feeling almost possessive of the man in his arms, still seated upon his dick as if needing to be knotted so that his body cannot waist but a drop of the Xaela's seed. "Though, if you appreciate our coupling this much, I cannot imagine how may think of encountering an Au Ra man going through his seasonal rutting." 

"I can't imagine," Tango murmurs, eyes heavy as he presses himself firmly against Khalja. "Perhaps I'll get to see it now, hm?" He shivers as his legs spread wide for Khalja's orgasm, accepting the seed and feeling the warm, sticky liquid fall down his thighs. A smile curls loosely upon his lips, body feeling so warm, sensitive and full. "I guess you know just as much about Keeper culture as I know about Xaela culture. Almost nothing?" A traces a hand over Khalja's side, pressing over his hip and up his ribs. 

A moment passes, warm but thoughtful, before a question slips from Tango’s lips. 

"Does the biting mean anything to you and yours?" 

Despite himself, Khalja cannot help the little noise that spills from his mouth as he feels soft, cherished hands skim so sweetly over his skin. In the wake of such rough, needing pleasure, the stark difference in sensation is enough to leave the Xaela all but purring almost in kind as Tango does--though the sound is loud and deep, it comes with all the same sense of soft satisfaction, and he is certainly happy to allow Tango to touch him as softly as he likes.

"There is significance in some tribes, though not of the one I am of." Khalja can feel as though there's a weight to it, suddenly, if only by the question asked. Though he cannot reach it, he satisfies the need with laying his lips over Tango's forehead, feeling the soft tickle of his ear against the underside of his chin. "What is the significance of the mark I have left upon you?"

Tango closes his eyes. So Khalja didn't understand what he had done. But he probably felt it. The pheromones that pumped through both of their systems was hard to deny. 

The Seeker eventually sighs, looking up at him with a small, sad smile as the cold realization of the world comes back over his thoughts. The lie is easy as it works up to his lips,

"It does not mean that much. I had feared it meant we were to be wed in your culture." 

He lies. Oh he lies so pretty too, pushes his hips back against Khalja in order to distract him for his ugly little mouth. He moves up, kissing him, kissing the lie into his mouth, onto his tongue. "Do you feel your seed flowing out of me? You've filled me so full..."  

For but a thread Khalja thinks to say something, to ask something, but so quickly is that thought gone, pressed from his mind as a weak trickle of pleasure makes everything else seem small and senseless in comparison. The man lets his fingers press into the soft flesh of Tango's thigh, keeping his leg lifted high enough that it's almost a shame he can't see the way their joining looks from where he lay--his emerald eyes can't take in how Tango's ass is so snug around him, how seed drips from their connection, how his cocks still twitch with every breath and shiver.

"I have," The larger man purrs, nuzzling his face instead into Tango's soft hair. "It is nice to have a lover that enjoys such a simple pleasure for once."

Soft, sweet, loving. Tango can't help it. He hums, pressing kiss after kiss to his chin. Can't help but hide with sweetness the sadness his heart sings as reality settles back into his heart. 

"You're so lovely," He murmurs, eyes heavy now, body shaking as he tries to rut his hips back into him. "I've never had a partner quite as lovely as you." 

Tango can’t help but wiggle, trying hard to work himself on Khalja's cocks. They felt so good. He wanted to stay like this. To stay with him. For Khalja to stay. But he remembers why he came here in the first place. Why they even met. He had a family. A tribe. A home. A life to go back to. He couldn't spend the rest of his days in Tango's arms, even if he begged him to.

"The feeling is mutual," Khalja murmurs, oblivious to the pain seeped deep within Tango's heart. "And though I have not had likely the share of bedmates as you, I have still had my share; you are more lovely than all of them." He could not tell a lie, for he truly had never met anyone quite like the Miqo'te who lay beside him. His energy. His quirks. His smile. That's nothing to say of the most shallow of things as well--how his ass clutches tight around Khalja's cocks, how the smaller man's dick but dribbles with white when he is pushed past the second orgasm, how he speaks sweet filth that it riles up things deep in the Xaela's heart he never knew were there.

"Would you find issue if we slept? I can't help but fear you're about to do so in my arms regardless."

"You're right," Tango murmurs in reply, eyes nearly closed as they are. He finds himself purring, rubbing his cheek against the chest that is centered behind him. He makes no move to pull himself off of the twin dicks that are seated so deep inside him, instead simply letting his eyes slowly close and his breath even out. His dick still stirs, dribbling white liquid with each breath that he takes. His body shivering every time one of Khalja's dicks stirs inside of him.

"Then sleep," The Xaela murmurs, nuzzling his face against the top of Tango's head, as if to help will the man into but a fucked-out slumber. "I will not leave while you do. Too comfortable have I become, in fact, where I am right now." He kisses the other man's hair several times more before he gently lays Tango's leg back down, if only so his arm can curl around the man's waist and drag their bodies flush against one another again. "So sleep, Tango, I will still be here when you wake."

"Khalja..." He murmurs before he lets sleep finally take him into dreamless bliss.

Tango finally wakes in the morning, or what he assumes is morning. The bed is sticky below him but Khalja is still behind him. He had grown used to his warmth during the night, it was pleasant to have such a large bed mate and Khalja was the largest he'd had in a long time. Something else was also in the same place as last night. 

The Au Ra had not drawn his cocks from him, and Tango was almost curious enough to do it himself. Would a flood of seed come out? Part of him wanted it to, if only to leave him messied and feeling even more debauched than usual--and he is a courtesan. Such a feeling should have been familiar, though Khalja had in one night managed to change what he thought about a lot of things.

His hand comes up, feeling the bite that Khalja had left upon his skin. The Xaela had been right. He would remember him for quite some time, given how deep it felt. It was hard to break a Seeker bond, but it was certainly still possible, if a fair bit aggravating. With time and care. 

Perhaps the bite did not affect Au Ra like it did Seekers, for Khalja's sake Tango hoped so. He sighed, letting his head hang forwards. He shouldn't have let it happen--he should have been firm in his normal rules of leaving no marks on his neck, but Tango had wanted it. Wanted it more than anything in his life, and he would deal with the emotional repercussions like an adult.

Behind the smaller man, Khalja's face was pressed into his hair, his chest rumbling pleasantly and but the occasional soft snore breaking up the silence of the air between them. It isn't until Tango begins to shift, until his body moves and nudges against Khalja, that the man begins to stir from slumber himself. He clutches tighter to Tango and nuzzles his face against the back of his hair, as if unconsciously trying to push the man's hand away from the mark until he could press his lips to it instead.

"I assume you are awake?" The man finally grumbles before a yawn muffles away any words after that. He stretches as best he can without having to relinquish his hold upon the Miqo'te. "Are you sore at all? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Tango can't help the way his eyes shut, can't help the shiver that runs down his spine, can't help the thoughts that run through his skull. Mate. His mate. Mine. He purrs, lifting his head enough to look at him through the corner of his eye. 

"No, nothing hurt." He lies, "I'll be sore. But nothing a bath can't fix." He moves his hips a bit, testing the twin cocks that are still seated inside him. "I didn't want to be rude, but I guess I've been keeping more than a few things warm." 

Tango almost didn't want Khalja to remove himself from him. He knew that ... if he did .... then that would be the end, wouldn't it? "I believe it would be strange to discuss payment with your cocks still pumping me full, wouldn't it?"

Khalja mulled the words over in his mind for a few moments, though even he couldn't help but chuckle at the humor of the moment as his attention is brought to the point where their bodies are still joined together.

"I suppose that it would," he murmurs. "But I have the faintest feeling that you are not a man to complain about something like that." 

Nevertheless, there was only so long that he could partake in such a pleasure--Khalja was rather surprised that he had not awoke to his cocks drawn back within his pouch, as he had expected and experienced with many a past partner. He shifted his body carefully, tugging himself out from Tango with no shortage of care, and trying desperately not to do more than purr when he felt the unsurprising trickle of seed that all but spilled from the man's now loose, abused hole.

Tango shivers, feels the spark of pleasure light up his spine. His blood still runs with the pheromones. That's what he tells himself. It wasn't the raw attraction that he had to Khalja. No. And it wasn't the way his body loved how full he still was, even now, even hours after he'd been fucked. He can feel the seed dribble from him and forces himself not to stick a finger within his greedy hole to keep it all in. Instead, he presses himself onto his back so that he can stare up at Khalja, batting thick eyelashes at him. 

"Now," He purrs, sliding a hand up his chest as he thinks, "About the fee..."

He tilts his head, this way and that. The Miqo'te even makes a show of counting his fingers. "For the hours we spent together, including the trip to the market, and all the services I performed..." He cracks open an eye, an easy smile sliding over his lips and a twinkle of mischief in his ruby eyes. "20 Gil."

Khalja stares at him with an expression that is unreadable. Rather, it is readable only in that he narrows his eyes and presses his lips together, the air silent for only a few moments before he calls the jest for exactly what he knows it to be.

"Bullshit," he finally says, his tone curt and simple. "I'm not foolish enough to believe that is enough for your time and attention. Nay, to spare even a glance at me in the hot springs would cost more than a paltry 20 gil." 

Still, when the moment passes, Khalja finds that amusement quickly replaces the momentary flare of his annoyance--mostly to whomever would think to pay so little for an experience that Khalja dare describe as ethereal. "Dare I be a man of pride to think you enjoyed the feeling of my cocks stuffing you up enough to charge me but the cost of a drink?"

Tango laughs lightly. Oh, if only Khalja knew. If only. "I'm charging you only for the panties you ripped," The Seeker smiles, patting his cheek affectionately. "I'll have to buy myself a new pair. Might as well charge the damages to your account, yes?" He grins up at him, "And perhaps you are right. Who is to say?" He hums, resting his cheek against Khalja's chest. "I asked for what I asked for. 20 Gil please. Not a coin more." 

Tango winks up at him, secretly enjoying the heartbeat that rang through the Au Ra's chest like a drum. Khalja was a man of honor, Tango would be a fool not to see it. If he knew the truth then he would stay. Tango wanted more than anything but Khalja wouldn't see his sister get married. Would never see his tribe again. And that was something the Miquo'te couldn't allow. 

After all, if he had charged the man nothing, then Khalja may have caught on. If he had charged him the full price, then Khalja would have been too poor to find travel home. A small sum like this made it seem like a joke between the two of them, a reward for a job well done and, perhaps, a fond little memory somewhere in the back of Tango’s mind.

Khalja mulled the reason over in his mind, too stubborn to find a way to reply without suddenly feeling a bit silly to himself. The words made him feel something tight in his belly--the feeling wasn't bad, persay, but he could not accurately place it. It was not far from the way his stomach twisted in nervousness, but it also felt akin to the soft, genuine appeal he had held when his eyes first laid upon Tango in the hot springs--and yet still he knew that, somewhere, the man decided not to charge him but anything at all. 

He could not find the logic for it anywhere, and he dare not question it either, fearful to offend the man if he chose to ask it in the wrong way--Khalja was not a man who knew much of Kugane or the city's ways.

"...I suppose I am without the position to argue your terms," the man says at last, lacking the restraint to keep himself from kissing the top of Tango's head before he finally pulls himself away, getting to his feet and stretching his body out with a grumble. "Where do you keep your washing cloths? Let me at least clean the mess I made upon you."

Tango smiles sitting up to sit on the edge of the best, on leg curling over the other. 

"They're by the tub, out the door," He says. That was nice of Khalja. Nice of his mate- 

No. Stop thinking that way. Stop thinking that he'll stay. 

Tango lets his eyes trace over Khalja. Trace over what could be. What he could have. He can already feel it prickling. The greed. The selfishness. The want. No ... the need for him. Tango knows now why some Seekers go crazed when their mate dies. 

"You don't have to," he says at last, resting his cheek against his own shoulder and blinking up at the Au Ra with scarlet eyes, "I know that you have many things to do."

"And those things include cleaning up my own messes."

Khalja tosses the Miqo'te a glance, his eyes once more firm and his expression unyielding as he speaks. He steps out of the room for only a minute, long enough to locate one of the soft pieces of fabric that Tango had indicated right where he had said they'd be. He returns with it in one hand, wet but not soaking with warm water. He steps towards the smaller man and gently presses a knee into the bed, just so he can reach him properly. 

"Spread your legs for me," the Xaela commands with a gentle purr, emerald eyes meeting ruby. "I'll try to be gentle, but I am sorry if you are sore in places."

Tango can't help but nods, swallowing thickly as he spreads his legs. His cock twitches in interest but he looks away, cheeks reddening in hue. "I should be the one doing this for you, you are paying me you know that, right?" He glances at him from the corner of his eye. Such a gentleman. Such a good mate- 

No. Stop. Stop thinking about that. 

"You made quite the mess of me last night, don't tell me you want to do it all over again."

Tango’s voice is teasing upon the surface, though his tail almost thrashes behind him. Nervous.

Khalja does his best to be clinical and careful, pulling the soft, wet cloth over bruised flesh. There is so much to clean up, the Xaela almost feels embarrassed by it all. But he can't bring himself to feel ashamed or guilty, especially not when he catches such a soft hue of red against Tango's soft cheeks. 

Khalja tries to offer the man but a soft, comforting smile.

"It is unwise to tempt me so," he purrs, though the tone is soft. Gentle. Without too much weight. "If you are pleased as much, then I dare say you should bed more Au Ra men--If I was any farther into my season, I would have left far more of a mess upon and inside you. I believe it has something to do with the anatomy of our women, but I cannot say for certain."

Tango can't help the amused breath that leaves his lips. "I don't think I'll be taking any Au Ra men on for a while. I wouldn't want to ruin the memory of our night together."

There’s a small smile on his lips. Sadness in his eyes. No one was ever going to be as good, were they? He moves at last, placing a hand on Khalja's shoulder, then uses the tips of his fingers to tilt his chin up, making him look Tango in the eye. 

"Khalja," He murmurs, bringing him into a soft, chaste kiss. It doesn't last long, but Tango tells himself it's enough. "I think it's time for you to leave." 

He doesn't say anything else. Tango simply lets go of Khalja’s chin and stands upon his two feet, and while a little wobbly in motion, he begins the annoying chore of stripping down the bed to wash the sheets.

Khalja is about to say something with a smile when he is stopped by the soft touch of Tango's fingers on his chin. With an almost obedient quickness he stops himself from speaking--though the kiss would have certainly done it for him. It lasts for but a moment, too short, and leaves the Xaela's heartbeat faster than it had been a moment before. 

Before Khalja is able to say anything else, however, Tango's words feel as if he had been dumped with a bucket of chilled water. 

Ah. 

The mood of the room changes suddenly and it leaves Khalja wondering if he had said something wrong or, worse, overstepped a aboundary. For a moment he wonders if he should say something, but so quickly does he stop himself--he was quickly drawn into the wondrous pleasures of this courtesan's touch, he forgot himself. That they were but a couple found only by chance and the exchange of gil--there was no obligation keeping Tango to kindness or mirth if he did not will it, and so Khalja remembered why he had felt caution to accept the man's offer in the first place.

He left the room with no further words, dressing in silence and then making his way back to the front door.

He lingered there for a moment, letting thoughts roll around his head before he sighs, hopes that his assumptions of gil and payments are accurate to what he would have otherwise been charged if Tango had not been such a soft, playful soul.

In a small envelope, 10,020 gil exactly lay on the closest surface to the door, signed only with Khalja's name in crude Doman script.

Tango goes about his task quietly, as he had so many times before. There is no singing. No happy sighs. No ease of his heart as everything is cleaned up and tucked away as it should be. 

Instead he is left empty. Sad. Alone. He would be this way for the rest of his life? For the rest of his days? The one man he truly felt a connection with, a bond over, he lets leave without so much as a goodbye? Of course he does. Because Tango values his independence. His freedom. That's why he was a courtesan, right? No strings attached. Just a few flowery words and he was paid. 

It takes him most of the day to peel himself from the bed, and even then it is to make sure that Khalja didn't leave anything behind. No articles of clothing. Nothing with his scent on it his touch his-

Except for ... the little envelope by the door. He was a fool to think that someone as honorable as Khalja would not pay him his due. A fool. But here it was. The full sum of his service and a little extra, though Tango had not once given him a number for how much he would cost to anyone else.

Anyone but the sweet Au Ra who came into and left his life in the span of one beautiful, blissful evening.

"Oh, Khalja," He murmurs into the open air of his living room, letting his tears slip down his cheeks and onto the envelope in his hands.

It is the only thing left of his mate that Tango has. He puts it on top of his dresser, Khalja's name visible against the stark white of the paper.

He does not leave his home. Not that day. Or the next. Or the next.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 4)

This chapter went so much better. Probably because my computer didn’t implode this time.

Sokka grumbled to himself. He had screwed up big time and now he was going to have to start all over. He ran his hands through his hair, in his frustration the motion was a tad to rough and had him wincing when he’d managed to pluck a few strands from his head.

Hair.

The source of all of his pain and woes that morning.

 It was hair that had started his day all wrong. The hair wasn’t real of course, it was…or would have been a painted replica of it. He looked at the figure on the canvas, just as he had left it a few days ago. He was embarrassed to say that he hadn’t yet come up with a work around. He cursed himself for painting the background black, knowing very well that Azula had locks of the same color. His blunder had an upside though, in trying to work around this mistake Sokka’s mind was very far from Suki and the collection of demons that came with thinking about her. Yes, he decided, he had made a good choice in trying to paint the fire princess. Now if only he could figure out how to fix the hair situation.

 “You seem stuck.” Katara looked up from her book.

 “Why would you think that?” Sokka asked.

 “I don’t think I’ve seen you add a drop of paint since you finished layer two.”

 “Yeah well, I want her hair to be black…” he quickly added, “since she’s going to be a firebender.” He tapped the stick end of his brush on the canvas. “But I kind of already painted the whole background black.”

 “That’s an easy fix Sokka, you’re over thinking it.” Katara laughed. “Just add a hint of brown to the black paint.”

 “What is with you and adding brown?” Sokka threw his hands up.

 “Brown is a useful color.” She shrugged.

 “I guess.” He replied. Truth be told he was a little disappointed. He wanted her hair to be a glossy jet black, but he supposed adding a touch of brown—again—would have to do. He supposed it was just as well, at least if he was discovered, the brown hue to her hair would be another deceitful indicator that he wasn’t painting Azula. “Anyways,” he made a point of shuffling back in front of his painting, so to obscure it from Katara’s view. “I’m gonna get back to it.”

 “Why so secretive?”  Katara chuckled.

 “Well I don’t want anyone to see it if it looks awful.” Sokka lied.

 Katara rolled her eyes. “Okay, I can take a hint.” She stood up and collected her book. “I suppose I should see how Aang is doing.

 Sokka was hit with an immediate sense of guilt. He hadn’t meant to drive her away…

Okay so that had been the goal. But he truly hadn’t minded the company. Despite the light-hearted nature of his sister’s departure he was left with a bitter aftertaste. Was he already becoming the cranky hermit artist he always used to joke about.  Rather, was he falling back into that pattern. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, he’d already been there once…

 With a new thing to rid his mind of, he put his focus back on the painting with more intensity than ever.

 .oOo.

 Azula could barely get out of bed, she was shaky all over and with a dull drumming behind her eyes. She let herself flop back onto her mattress. With a feeling of dread tickling her belly, she realized that she couldn’t even remember actually climbing back into bed. With all of her soul, she pleaded with the spirits that it was she who’d done it on her own. And that she hadn’t been found twitching and screaming by one of the palace guards—or worse, her mother—and carried to bed. Considering no one was pounding at her door nor looming in the corner awaiting for her to achieve full alertness, she felt rather safe in saying she’d managed to get herself to bed.

 Her mouth was terribly dry and calling for her to attain water. She had every intention of listening, but as her hand reached for the glass she hadn’t finished the night before—opting to drink more cactus juice instead—she spied the small pouch. And she was staring at it again, that reddish hued dust. There was a lot she didn’t know about it; its origins, how Chan had gotten ahold of it, how much she could take in one sitting without risking too much, the plant in which it was derived from, and if it came from a plant at all. For all she knew she could be inhaling residue from one of the many war factories. The list of uncertainties went on and on. She knew very well that it was unwise to fight in uncharted territory and to tread carefully if she decided to do so anyhow. She supposed that her newly obtained powder was much the same. The only thing she knew of it was that Chan called it, Dragon’s Breath or sometimes Dragon Dust to throw people off. If he really wanted to muddy the trail he would call it Ruby Tears. All of which were very enticing, pretty names for something so risky. If it were up to Azula she’d refer to it as Dragon’s Eye, she certainly felt like she had been given a new sight—a sight that was to powerful for her body, which now seemed so small, at that.

 She also assessed that it must be a potent drug. Must be? She revaluated, no it was clearly potent, that was for sure. She’d only taken a pinch last night and it had sent her into what may as well have been the dimension over. She was lucky she’d only taken a tester for her first time.

 Azula closed her eyes, trying to remember just what she’d done the night before. Her cheeks flushed as the memories filtered in. She dropped back down onto the mattress and draped an arm over her eyes. No doubt, she’d made an idiot of herself and was thankful that she had been mistaken for a little boy—as degrading as that was. Not that she deserved anything else, she had and was planning on continuing to put herself in a lowly place.

 She sat back up and tossed the pouch from one hand to the other, pondering whether or not she truly wanted to give it a second go. The answer was obvious, of course she didn’t want to; it would be foolish and self-destructive. But Agni, her body, was already yearning for it. And she cursed it for its weakness. But then, her mind was growing meek too and seemed to crave it just as much.

Reluctantly, as if to justify to herself what she was about to do, she deduced that the only reason her trip had been so awful was because she’d downed a good portion of cactus juice to go with it.

 Indeed, she was demeaning herself. As far as she was concerned abuse of this nature was reserved for the peasant class, those who needed an extra kick to get by since they had nothing else. She’d never seen a royal nor noble hooked on what she was. Then again, she hadn’t known another person of high birth to have little as she. She hadn’t known a royal to have all the pieces in place for them and still fail as splendidly as she did.

 Without any further thought, and in a burst of anger, she tore the pouch open and dumped a larger portion onto her dresser. Agni, what a sight she was; hair a mess, robe undone, and hunched over her dresser sniffing up the powder like her life depended on it. She was horrible, truly horrible.

 .oOo.

 Sokka beamed from ear to ear. It was going much better than he expected. Despite the dash of brown, she still looked very much like how he’d seen her at the window. In fact, he thought it made more sense. After all, he had told Katara that his painting was set during sundown. It only made sense that the sun would cast a lighter hue on her hair. For once, something he was doing just seemed to have come together for him! Of course, black still probably wasn’t an optimal choice for the background of a room during sunset. But this was a good day so he would cut himself some slack, he was still a beginner, these things would come to him in due time.

 As was becoming a habit, neglected to wash his hand before wiping a bead of sweat off of his cheek. In its place he left a healthy smear of brown. He still hadn’t gotten to painting her face yet… nor her clothing for that matter, which was even more awkward now that he had her hair on there. She was looking more like Azula, but with less clothes. His face grew hot at the thought, he shook his head. He would not think about Azula like that, he could practically feel her reaching through the canvas to slap him.

 He looked towards her window, wondering what the real Azula was up to. Probably something more entertaining and important than some silly painting. He shrugged to himself, at least he had a hobby now. A few months ago he couldn’t even bring himself to pretend to enjoy things like hunting and talking with friends. He smiled wider know that just a few days ago he nearly found himself back there, and prided himself on turning it around this time. With a new spark of energy he decided that he would finish painting her face.

 Invested so heavily in his work he didn’t realize just how long it had been. “Hey, I thought you’d like to join us for dinner.” Zuko invited.

 Sokka started, nearly dropping his paint brush. He whistled out a relieved breath, “you’re lucky I had the brush away from the canvas!”

 “Sounds like you’re the lucky one.” Zuko laughed.

 “Which means you are too, I would have smeared all of this paint,” he motioned to his palette, “on you if you caused me to mess my painting up.”

 “Spoken like a true uppity artisan.” Zuko joked. “That looks nice so far, btw.”

 Sokka jolted again, another bought of pink coming to his cheeks. He really had to start being more careful especially this far into his work. He would invest in a more private area painting spot the next day, he was painting from memory anyhow, since his subject still hadn’t made another appearance.

 “Wow, Katara’s right, you really are defensive of your art. I don’t know why, it looks great.” He repeated.

 At first Sokka couldn’t place where the sinking feeling had come from. He considered for the first time, that Zuko didn’t know about Azula’s haircut. That was probably the only thing that saved him from getting busted. And for the first time, he considered just how lonely Azula might be. If Zuko didn’t know what she was up to, did anyone? It sent pangs through his heart.

He eyed the portrait with a new emotion. He had painted Azula with a gaze as sharp as the woman he’d known long ago and accompanied that stare with a more neutral curve to her lips—firm and serious. He had considered that the real woman might be wearing a look of distress or despair.

 “Thanks.” Sokka said at last.

 He wasn’t particularly listening to what Zuko said after and he may have cut the fire lord off in asking, “hey, how has your sister been, anyways?” He hoped it sounded as nonchalant and unsuspecting as he intended.

 The sudden widening of his eyes, indicated that Sokka had caught him off guard. “Well…she…I’m not quite sure…” he trailed off, confirming Sokka’s suspicions that his friend had no idea. “She’s…”

 “Lonely?” Sokka filled in.

 “Maybe, I guess.” Zuko replied. “I figured that if she wanted to talk to us, she would come and do it. So I just leave her alone, it’s better to keep your distance with her. She doesn’t seem to like the company when we give it to her.”

 You didn’t either, Sokka almost said, but we gave it to you anyways. Instead he replied. “Maybe she’s just bad at asking for it.”

 A sullenness came over him. “Maybe.” Something told Sokka that Zuko, as good hearted as he was, wouldn’t be reaching out any time soon. Not that Sokka could hold it against him; Azula wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. In fact, Sokka was willing to bet that she was one of the hardest.

 She had caused him so much pain before, yet painting her had given him a much needed breath of life. It was strange how the woman who had once been the source of all of his woes, was the one helping to build him back up. Unbeknownst to her, of course. And perhaps that’s why he made a mental note to take a break from his painting and pay her a visit.

 Not that he knew it, but, the woman sobbing and shaking in the corner of her room could use the visit.

[sankta-arya]

Prince Dour-Face (2)

King Eddard knows he’s spoiled his daughter and he’s always been unable to refuse her anything. He’s never found it in his heart to remarry after her mother’s death and now the time has come to choose a husband for his daughter, so she can continue the line and produce an heir for the throne.

Princess Sansa is having none of that. She has always known what she wanted. She wants to be like a lady in a song, marrying a prince who will not only be a hero, but also her true love. She’ll know it’s him the moment she sees him.

So when her father organizes a feast for her name day, at first she’s thrilled, until she realizes he’s gathered a room full of suitors for her. She’s determined to refuse all of them, even the handsome one she’s sure she’s met before.

Many years later, only a couple of moons before her sixteenth name day, the Princess Sansa was visiting her mother's family in Riverrun.

Meanwhile, Prince Aegon, who was nearing his eighteenth nameday, had been sent on a progress throughout the realm by his father to learn about the lands and the people he would one day reign over.

As it came to happen, the prince was walking in a forest one day, where the princess had taken to bathing in a small stream that flowed into the Trident several miles down.

He halted when he heard someone singing. Her voice was so pure it touched his heart and the prince forgot to breathe. His feet started leading him to the source of the sound.

He happened upon a small clearing and the fairest maid he'd ever seen: long auburn curls floating on the surface of the water and large blue eyes in the loveliest face possible. He quickly looked away, tempted as he was to keep staring and catching more than a glimpse of that creamy skin.

He stumbled back, causing a ruckus in the shrubbery that hid him from her view, leaves rustling and twigs snapping.

The princess gasped,  throwing her arms over her front to cover the couple of inches of skin not submerged in the water. "Who goes there?" she demanded. "My Father the King will have your head if you don't reveal yourself!"

The prince stepped out of the bushes, carefully covering his eyes, while trying not to trip over anything on the forest floor.

"Come closer!"

"I can't, My Lady. You're bathing, that would be improper!"

"Ha!" the princess scoffed. "Then wouldn't you deem secretly spying on me while I'm bathing even more improper, Ser?"

"I wasn't spying," the prince insisted. "I didn't know you were bathing. I heard you singing."

She tilted her head, looking at the man standing fifteen feet away from her. Despite the rather ridiculous position of his arms, thrown over his face, he looked lean and graceful, while not particularly tall. Dark curls hung down to his shoulders and under his large hands, she could see a pair of full lips framed by a neat beard and moustache.

"The song is called Florian and Jonquil," she told him. "It's my favourite."

"It's a lovely song. I-"

"Lady Sansa!" a stern voice suddenly called.

"That's Septa Mordane! I need to get dressed. Turn around! Go, before she sees you!"

The prince obeyed immediately, softly whispering her name to himself. "Sansa... Such a pretty name."

"Lady Sansa, I swear..." he heard the same voice mutter as he knelt in the bushes. "You're a good girl, but you're so willful about this. It's not proper! And dangerous!"

"I'm half a Tully," the princess answered defiantly. "Father says the Tullys draw their strength from the rivers."

"And you're also a Stark! Does that mean you're planning to take in a wolf as a pet?"

"That's a marvellous idea, Septa. I'll ask Father. I could brush its hair with a silver brush and give it a collar studded with rubies. I'd ask the cooks to make roast chicken every day."

The prince bit his lip to stifle a chuckle as he heard the Septa sigh in exasperation.

***

Once returned to the capital, it didn't take long for the prince to discover who exactly his Lady Sansa was. Finding out she was not only beautiful and headstrong, but also his cousin, made him even more determined to see her again.

He couldn't forget his Father's oath, however. I never swore that oath, he tried to tell himself, and if I don't tell Father, he doesn't need to share my guilt. Sansa's voice resounded in his head. "I'm half a Tully."  And he was half a Stark, surely his Uncle wouldn't kill him for wanting to meet his family.

He didn't tell anyone of his plans, not his Mother, nor Aunt Dany or the members of the King's Guard. He simply planned to prepare a satchel with a set of clothes, some food and a bit of gold and sneak off during a hunt in the Kingswood.

There was one person he couldn't hope to fool though, his sister Visenya, or as he and Mother always called her: Arya.

One evening she caught him stuffing a loaf of bread under his doublet before the servants could clear the table. She followed him to his chambers, silent as a shadow, and almost scared him to death asking: "What are you doing, Jon?"

He tried, but he knew it was no use.

"Where are you going?"

"North," he finally relented.

"North where?" she pried.

He sighed, clenching his fist and confessing: "The North."

"Have you lost your mind?" she exclaimed, mouth falling open. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

His sister appeared shocked, but the prince knew her well enough to recognize the tone of awe in her voice and the glint of excitement in her eyes. Still he chose to ignore those. "What are you going to do about it, little sister? Tell Mother?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at him in a murderous glare. She'd never betray him like that. "You're an idiot," she finally told him, "but your secret is safe with me, brother."

He gave her a curt nod and smirked. "I knew I could count on you. Come here, I have something for you."

***

Only a sennight later, the prince was well on his way when he was suddenly startled by the soft patter of small feet in the shrubbery.

"Reveal yourself!" he roared, drawing his sword.

Out of the bushes stepped a familiar figure, tiny and skinny, dressed in breeches and leathers. When she drew back her hood, ruffling her short hair, his sister scowled at him, chewing her lip.

"What are you doing here? I thought you said going North was too dangerous." The prince bit his tongue, aware he'd spoken the words that were least likely to discourage his sister.

"That's exactly why I'm coming with you! You're on a dangerous mission and since we've already established you're not exactly clever, you can use all the protection I can offer!"

At that, the prince guffawed. "All the protection you can offer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She crossed her arms. "Did you give me a sword so I could stab my dolls?"

"No," he admitted, "but you're my sister, I'm supposed to protect you, my lady!"

"Don't call me that! I'm not a lady, I'm going to be a knight!"

"There are no lady knights!" he scoffed.

"You'll be king one day," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes. "If you decide there can be lady knights, who's going to say otherwise?"

"Alright," the prince grumbled. "You can come along, little sister." He mussed her hair. "Sure those short legs of yours can keep up?"

"Are you going to walk all the way North?"

"Of course not, I'm taking a ship to White Harbour in Maidenpool!"

"Well, let's go then!" she laughed, racing past him.

[cookieswriting]

Something More Than Love Pt. 5 (SSC/Rosvolio)

Some slightly adult content at the very end, nothing crazy though

As she approached the very same cell Benvolio had occupied just days before, Rosaline shuddered and had to remind herself that he was safe back at House Montague.  He no longer awaited execution...he’d been cleared of all accusations leveled against him.  She’d seen him back to his home...his villa now, though the transfer of title and power had not yet been formally made...before excusing herself under the guise of seeing her sister.  She would see Livia...after making this brief stop first.

Damiano Montague looked up as the guard led her to him. The same guard, she noted, that she’d bribed to allow her to see his nephew.  “L-Lady Rosaline!  Thank the Lord you have come, perhaps you will be able to speak sense to Benvolio!  The Prince will surely execute me if he does not rescind his accusations!”

Fury burned her cheeks, and Rosaline took a calming breath before speaking.  “Your nephew is a good and honorable man, Signor Montague.”  He flinched at the informal title...one small victory.  “Despite his upbringing, he grew into a kind and gentle soul...seeking to love and be loved above all else.  He would far sooner offer his hand to help someone up than raise it to harm even an enemy.  He is the best man I know...despite you.”  The man, staring at her dumbfounded, opened his mouth to speak, but Rosaline silenced him with a glare.  “I will never hope to understand how you could have deprived a hurting boy affection, security...love.  I cannot fathom how you justified to yourself abusing him day after day.  I am sure I will never know the true extent of what you did to him...and yet.”  An affectionate smile curled her lips.  “And yet, he would not see you dead.  Your nephew requested that the Prince stay your execution...that he allow you to live out your days in this prison.  In spite of all the grief you brought to him, he refuses to see the last of his blood killed.  Make no mistake, though, Damiano.”  She stepped closer to his cell, all pretense of nicety gone in an instant.  “So long as there is breath in my body, I will do whatever it takes to ensure he does not suffer another moment by your doing.  You failed in every attempt to break him; instead, he became the Lord your House truly deserves...he became the man I imagine his father would have raised him to be.”  Her proud smirk left Damiano withering before her.  “I suppose that means you have failed in every way...even the murder of your brother could not hinder his influence on his rightful heir.  And where his blood failed him day after day, I will honor your nephew with the love and devotion he so desperately deserves.  He will have the family you tried to take from him, and he will lead House Montague to a greatness that you could never have hoped to achieve.  Goodbye, Singor.  You shall not see either of us again.  May God have mercy on your soul.”

Before Damiano could gather his wits to form a reply, Rosaline turned and left the dungeon without a second glance.  She knew there was a chance that Benvolio would be displeased with her visit to his uncle, but she could not bring herself to care; if anyone deserved a champion, it was him, and Rosaline would fill that role for the rest of her life.  Every word she’d spoken was true, though he would never speak most of them on his own behalf.  

By the time Rosaline made it out of the dungeon and to House Capulet, Livia had gone off in search of her sister, to House Montague according to their uncle’s new steward. With an affectionate grin, Rosaline directed the carriage to follow after Livia and hoped that her loved ones would not panic upon realizing that she did not make it to her destination.

“Mauricio, is my sister here?”

The Montague steward bowed to her respectfully, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.  “Yes, milady.  One of the men stationed at the Prince’s dungeon reported that you had stopped there before returning to House Capulet...he arrived moments before Lady Livia, so she chose to wait here for your return.”

Rosaline chuckled softly.  “Well, it is better that they know I am alive, I suppose….thank you, Mauricio.  Is he where I left him?”  The steward nodded, and bowed to her again as she excused herself.  The Capulet made her way to the library...one he’d told her had been off-limits to him while his uncle ran the House, but one that had the best lighting for his sketchwork.  She’d been unspeakably proud of him for claiming the space for the passion his uncle had tried so hard to smother, and secretly hoped that someday they might share quiet moments together there.  As she approached the room, the voices of the two most important people in her life drifted to her, and Rosaline could not help but hesitate and listen.

“I cannot help but feel like a fool for trusting him,” Livia murmured bitterly.  Oh, what Rosaline wouldn’t give for her sister to return to the innocence she’d known before Paris fell into her life.

“For all his crimes and faults, milady...Count Paris truly loved you to the best of his ability.  He meant to keep you safe...and to give you the life of a Princess...because he cherished the light and love in your heart. I pray that you may find some comfort in that; and I pray that you might forgive me for taking his life.”

“F-forgive you?  My lord, you saved Verona...you brought us peace!”

“I also made you a widow, milady...my actions caused you great pain,” Benvolio pointed out.  Tears filled Rosaline’s eyes at the grief in his voice, and she could bear it no longer.  As she stepped into the doorway, though, she watched Livia wrap her arms around his neck.  The shock was clear on his face, but he only hesitated for a moment before returning the embrace whole-heartedly.  A single tear slid down his cheek, and Benvolio squeezed his eyes shut

“You have done more for my sister and me than we shall ever be capable of repaying.  Whether he loved me or not, Paris was not a good man...you freed me from what I am sure would have been a truly difficult life.”

“It is what true family does,” Rosaline whispered as she stepped into the room.  Benvolio’s eyes turned to her in surprise, exasperation warring with relief in their depths. “It warms my heart to see you bonding...truly.  In light of all that has happened, I feared it would influence your views of one another.”

“My wayward sister returns!” Livia exclaimed with exaggerated surprise as she drew away from Benvolio.  

“I was not wayward, Livia, I was-”

“Making an unannounced visit to the dungeon, yes...it has been a habit of yours of late.”  The smirk that he was failing to conceal gave her reassurance that he was not angry with her.

“One that I have no intention of repeating, my lord, so you would do well to keep yourself out of trouble for awhile, hmm?”

Benvolio’s withering look brought a smile to Rosaline’s face, and she stepped further into the room to hug her sister.  “I shall do my best, beloved, though you and I know all too well how little that tends to matter in this city.”

“Beloved?” Livia echoed, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.  Rosaline felt her cheeks warm and bit her lip.  As she stepped around her sister, peace settled her heart.  Benvolio canted his head, and she knew without a doubt she’d made the right choice.  The tenderness and affection staring back at her promised that he would follow her lead.  The gentle touch at her waist assured that he would stay by her side, come what may.  She settled against his side comfortably, facing Livia with a confidence that could only come from the man holding her.

“Aye...beloved.  Livia-”

“You need not explain anything to me, sweet sister...I can see all that I need to know.” She smiled to both of them and ducked gracefully out of the room.  Rosaline couldn’t help but giggle, turning and pressing her face into Benvolio’s neck.  His own chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his smile pressed into her hair.

“It feels so strange,” she whispered against his skin, earning her a shudder in response.

“What is that?” he murmured, twirling a curl around his finger with a lazy smile on his face.  Rosaline reached up and traced it, empowered in the knowledge that she was the cause of the most relaxed, contented smile she’d ever seen grace his handsome face.

“To truly mean it when I call you beloved.  To tell my sister that you are my beloved.”  Her hand settled over his cheek and drew his face closer to hers.

“And if I were to truly mean it when I call you fiancee?” She drew back just enough to meet his eyes.  His lazy smile had transformed into his most charming, hopeful grin, and she knew she was lost for him.  With the hand that had been in her hair, Benvolio reached into his doublet and pulled out a beautiful ruby ring.  “This belonged to my mother...so what do you say, Capulet? Will you willingly bind yourself to a Montague?”

“Not a Montague, Montague…” Question flickered in his eyes for an instant, before understanding dawned in his eyes and then he was beaming at her. The hand on his jaw slid into his hair, and drew him down once more until her lips barely brushed against his.  “You.”  

This kiss was far different from the ones they’d shared in the past.  All reservation vanished, and Benvolio was possessing her very soul.  His fingers dug into her flesh, his tongue stroked into her mouth and left her weak-kneed.  Carefully, Benvolio eased her backwards until her thighs pressed into something...a desk, she realized, when she reached out to feel the surface.  With a smirk, she broke the kiss so that she could sit atop it and watch him through her lashes.  He surprised her by drawing her left hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the ring finger.  Blue eyes held her entranced as he slid his mother’s ring over her knuckle.  

“My beloved...my fiancee.”  Benvolio guided her hand back to the desk, and did the same with her other hand.  Strong, sure fingers carded through her curls and guided her head back.  Rosaline wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she was pliant to his touch; not even Escalus had garnered such unconditional trust, and she couldn’t help the thrill of excitement knowing they would not be interrupted this time.  Her breath escaped her in an airy sigh when he latched onto her throat and sucked gently.  The wet heat of his tongue followed, and Rosaline reached up to cradle the back of his head.

“Ah ah,” he chastised against her skin, the puff of breath across her damp skin making her shiver.  Teeth nipped at her skin and drew a whine, but he didn’t relent.  Benvolio pressed her hand against the desk once more and only withdrew when he was sure that she would leave it there.  “Please, my love...no touching.”  The nod she gave may have seemed somewhat desperate, but she could not bring herself to care; particularly when he resumed his work. The further down her neck he moved, the closer to her chest, the farther back Rosaline leaned.  Benvolio chuckled when she adjusted her hands and in turn arched her chest towards him, and he hesitated when his lips found her pulse.  “You are exquisite, Capulet...when we kissed in the dungeon, I dared not hope that it was anything more than goodbye.  Yet here we are, our lives truly our own for the first time.  When we were first bound by the Prince’s decree, I could not have dreamed that you would give yourself to me, that I would do the same...that I would be the cause for your racing heartbeat.  I love you, Rosaline.”

“And I you, Benvolio...but if you would, milord…” He distracted her for a moment, nuzzling his nose against hers affectionately.  “I would rather make the most of this time without words, if we-” He swallowed her giggles in a possessive kiss, fingers tightening in her hair and drawing a low moan that had him grinning wickedly.  

“Of course, milady...as you wish.”  Rosaline raised a curious brow at him as his hands moved down her body, bold and steady as they moved along the skirt of her dress over her hips, only stopping once they reached her knees.  Despite the confidence he exuded, Benvolio’s eyes searched hers, waiting for permission.  Warmth and affection bloomed in her chest, and she nodded.  His gaze snapped to her mouth when her teeth sank into her bottom lip, and his fingers fisted in her dress.  

With considerable visible effort to rein in his enthusiasm, Benvolio drew her skirt up inch by torturous inch.  When Rosaline clenched her own fists in frustration and dropped her head back, he took the opportunity to return his attention to the heated skin of her chest and shoulders.  Once her skirts were over her knees, featherlight touches ignited fire along her thighs and left her gasping for breath.  She curled against him, pressing her temple against his jaw. “Ben…”

“What was it you said about words, sweet Rosaline?” His touch became more sure, and suddenly she didn’t know which way was up.  She could only follow his guidance as he nudged her knees open with his own, could only comply when his hands took hold of her hips and scooted her closer to the edge of the desk...could only hiss a breath through her teeth when the movement brought them flush against one another.  Without the layers of her dress acting as a barrier, the new, intense friction threatened to drown her.  Desperate for a moment to reorient herself, Rosaline squeezed Benvolio’s bicep, and was grateful when he understood what she needed immediately.  “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and then rolled her eyes at the smug pride that glinted in his eyes.  “I was simply...caught off guard.”

“Mmm,” Benvolio hummed, arrogance melting into affection as his hands came up to frame her face.  He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, cheeks and nose before returning to her lips.  “It can certainly be overwhelming when you experience it for the first time.  Would you like to stop?”  Where she expected teasing, Rosaline only read genuine concern, and all of her hesitation dissipated.

Rather than responding, she released his arm to brace herself on the desk again.  Benvolio canted his head, a slow grin brightening his handsome features with a look that she could only describe as awe, as she curled her legs around his hips and hooked her ankles together.  This time, when his hands dropped to her hips once more and took firm hold, he pulled her against him slowly, intentionally, easing the friction to something deliciously sweet.  Warmth pooled between her legs, a smoldering ember stoked with each touch. His lips found the slope of her shoulder, and a moan vibrated against her skin.

Despite their difference in experience, Rosaline felt somehow empowered by the knowledge that he was just as affected as her.  Leaning her weight into her arms, Rosaline allowed her body to move with his; as in learning a new dance, she closed her eyes and awaited his lead, responding to the give and take, push and pull of his hands and his hips. When she found the rhythm of his movements and arched up into him in perfect time, an arm locked around her waist and teeth bit down into her shoulder, and Rosaline gave a soft cry of surprise.

Benvolio’s weight pressed against her chest, and he pressed kisses against her reddened skin as if in apology, but still he did not let her go.  He took a step backwards, out of the cage of her legs and creating space between them that Rosaline ached to erase, but his arm remained firmly around her.  “Forgive me, my love...if we do not stop now…”

“And yet I find myself terribly tempted to plead we continue,” Rosaline confessed breathlessly.  His eyes closed and his jaw clenched at her words, and she immediately reached out to stroke his face.  “You are a far better man than you believe yourself to be.”  One hand moved down to his side, lifting his shirt to check the bandages there.  “I thank God for returning you to me, for protecting you through all of this, and for bringing us together despite ourselves.  How do you feel?”

“Well enough to marry my beautiful bride as soon as the Prince will allow,” he growled in her ear, stoking the embers inside her once more.  She giggled and pressed him back far enough to see his face.  “I mean it, Rosaline...if he agrees, I will marry you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is so dreadfully far away, milord…”

Benvolio bit his lip with an affectionate grin and brushed a stray curl from her face.  “Would you have me fetch him now?  Say the word, milady, and I shall.”

Rosaline giggled, and wrapped her arms around his neck.  Benvolio’s own arms held her around her back, and he turned to ease her off of the desk and onto her feet.  In that moment she felt safer than she could ever remember.  His warmth, his strength, his scent all wrapped around her like a blanket, and the world around them fell away.  “Tomorrow,” she breathed contentedly.  “For today, my love, simply hold me.”

[ceruleanhail]

Letter 18: That Person That You Wish you Could Be

Dear Godmum,

It is odd to write this letter to you in a language we’d never spoken with each other. I would have started with an apology, but I remember that you do know English! Hah! Nevertheless, irregardless of your language mastery, I would hope that afterlife would have allowed you to transcend past language barriers.

It is strange, godmum. Often when I write this letter challenge, my heart is usually filled with doubts, conflicts and even a bit of self-hatred. And yet, this time, I feel a sense of calmness, of tranquillity.

The reason I am writing this letter is to encapsulate fond memories I have with you. If there is one thing I discovered while exploring my past written works and old ideas, it’s that I feel thankful of the notes I made, short happy entries that I’d written, and immortalisation of past events. And this time, while my memory is fresh, I want to remember you.

Your presence has always been a pleasant one. Even during the final days, every encounter was a heartwarming one. 

I remember the day you asked me to be your goddaughter. I remember how over-the-top and dramatic it was, so totally my favourite style:

You looked at me in a (softly) stern manner, gripped my hands and asked (in Mandarin) if it was true that I didn’t mind being your goddaughter.

I’d solemnly agreed (in Mandarin) that, yes, it was true.

Then you declared us godmum and goddaughter. You even confidently said that, being a goddaughter is receiving the luck of a godmother, and that you are confident you could bring happiness into my life.

(At that point, you probably had no idea that I was actually in a rather gloomy place myself, trapping in a self-made cage of dark thoughts.

At that point, I did not even know I would get more than I bargained for.)

As a symbol of our bond, you mentioned that you would give me an accessory (which turned out to be a pair of ruby earrings). As a symbol of our bond, I bent to my knees and offered you Dong Cong Cao as substitute to the tea ceremony.

(Mother agreed to this whole god-relationship fiasco just to make your final days happy, perhaps to create a distance to protect me from being hurt when we know that your days were numbered. It didn’t work; I knew you were serious, and I could only reciprocate that seriousness with all I have, cancer be damned.)

For an elderly woman with two sons, wanting to have a daughter is not a surprising notion. But what truly baffles me is that: out of all the wonderful other women out there, you would pick me. From you, I could feel that you’re not picking me just for the sake of getting a daughter, but you are picking me for... being me. And that is all that matters.

Every visitations, you often told me how it was worth it to have a goddaughter like me. And every visitations, somehow miraculously, you gave back bits and pieces of my lost self:

a) the interest to cook again, as evident on the chawanmushi I cooked on our final weekend. I... actually wanted to make pudding for you too, knowing that you loved the Tau Foo Fa that we bought. Perhaps I will make pudding, (quietly) in your memory.

b) the betterment of self. I was losing direction in this matter, but being by your side, your presence makes me want to strive harder to be a good person like you.

c) some form of self confidence, just by accepting who I am and making me comfortable to be myself. 

d) my lost writing soul. It’s an odd case, I remember starting to write again on the night before your demise, it was like overcoming a tough hurdle, and then writing just became easier (it wasn’t before, even though I wrote something in the past). It feels as if you’ve enabled me to write again.

You also gave me more than that:

a) inner peace - really helpful during work. I was pressured and a tad lost with work recently, but your passing just made me feel that there’s more to life than stressing over work... and tranquility encompasses my heart.

b) so many fond memories! Really remember the time when you wanted me to get you cheesecake on Mother’s Day so that we can share. Although we never did because you were admitted to the hospital then, we still managed to share a bowl of Tau Foo Fa together.

(I remember when you rejected your bowl of Tau Foo Fa yet agreed to share with me. You just took a little bit to your bowl because you were skeptical with the taste, because you thought this would be your typical Tau Foo Fa. It isn’t. You fell in love with it but didn’t want to trouble others and ask for more. I noticed, though, so I offered you my share. You kept making me eat more before allowing me to feed you the last of what I have. You kept saying having me as your goddaughter was the best thing you’ve ever done in your life.)

((Many of your friends would later revered you, would brag at the fact that they were praised by you. That you enjoyed being in their presence, that they are fashionable, that you admire them. But no one could brag how you bragged of me being your goddaughter, because as far as you remember, I was the only precious goddaughter and you’re just happy it stays that way. Hah!))

c) an extended family of supportive big brothers and big sisters. Again, I thought my connection with your family would end after your demise. I thought that, perhaps, you see our relationship as something of Name Only, of a temporary agreement. I was proven wrong again and again during your funeral, because it seems the people closest to you know I am your (god)daughter.

(Admittedly, I have cried four times after your passing.

The first time, I cried (quietly and unnoticed in my office) when received news of your passing. Not because I was sad that you left, no, bless your soul, you were released from mortal constraints and therefore relieved of pain, and I could not be happier for you. No, I cried because I hated how helpless I was, not being able to be by your side, not being able to do more when you were gone (because, they said, everything would be covered by your blood family, oh just what was our bond then?). 

It seems my concern was misplaced; I cried the second time when your sons adamantly made sure that I was called in front to pay my respects to you as part of your family. I was touched at the notion that they’d see me as family.

I cried the third time, when I was called in front of your coffin before burial, to stand by your sons and daughter-in-laws, because apparently our familial ties is real and THANK BUDDHA because that means I get to say my goodbyes, to chant sutras, to be near you for one last time time. Which is all I ever wanted.)

I miss you, godmum.

My elder brother described you as one who is “full of smiles, full of laughters”. That is how everyone remembers you. That is how I will always remember you.

You are always kind and true to others, a rare example of a person whom I can never detect any adult falsities. You, who can see the good in others and sang sincere praises of others...

(On the fourth time, I cried when your maid Umi shared her fondest memory of you: when she agreed to extend her contract, you were so delighted. She remembers your smile. She is happy and proud to have served you. In fact, I remembered her saying “Auntie, selamat berjalan! Selamat berjalan! (Safe trip! Safe trip!)” when we have one last view of you. Maids in general are either unhappy or take a master’s kindness for granted; this is one of the rare few times I’ve seen one so fond of her master, so fond of you.)

One can have many teachers in a lifetime, but let it be known that you are one such person that I’d strive to be. And I hope that, by writing this letter, I can remember the happiness and kindness you exhumed.

Rest well, godmum.