#alas the winter storms are fucking us up physically

[aro-culture-is]

aroallo culture is being incredibly fucking tired of aroallophobia constantly perpetuated by both aspec and non aspec people. not every single conversation needs to be about you. we're very forcibly erased in conversations by literally everyone, let us speak without talking over us for once in your damn lives. we have just as much of a spot in this community as aroace and alloace people do. do some reflection on why you feel other queer people talking about their experiences is a personal attack on your identity. learn to sit down, and actually listen to us when we talk about the rampant demonization we face, both in society, in queer spaces, and in aspec spaces where we should feel safe and accepted but rarely are. inspired by people being horrifically aroallophobic in the notes of a recent post on this blog

i'm pushing this ahead of the queue, because honestly, I have deleted several extremely immature responses by aroaces, and I'm tired. our whole system is somewhere in the realm of aroallo, just aro, aroqueer, something in there, and we didn't have the ability to respond as effectively as we wanted to.

we posted that specific one as, in all honesty, the tame ask of that type to be like, really bro? you think it's erasure to ask you to not erase us?

anyone claiming it's erasure to be asked to not force themselves into a community they do not identify as is gonna be deleted from here on out. blocked it it's nasty.

[priceoftheduchess]

oh, father! where art thou?

part two.

highschool au, long lost lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, grumpy and sunshine-esque dynamics, simon riley & fem!reader.

cw) angst, use of 2nd person, allusions/vague depictions to intimacy eventually, drinking eventually, breakdowns, motherhood, simon riley is father, un-canon lore! all of it eventually

tw) super short and i’m so sorry

also, scarf scene inspired by @girl-lostconnection ! please read her “Unsweetened Lemonade” AU! <3

previous part

Winter in Manchester was never easy. It marked the beginning of a new term, new classes, new people in these new classes. Not to mention the Manchurian weather. Fog, humidity, and wind.

All of Simon’s adversaries. His clothes were too thin, too ratty for all of this nonsense. You noticed this, more closely — perhaps, for the first time when you caught him smoking outside of the orchestra building again. He’s lucky Dr. Harris was too senile to really care about busting him for smoking.

You sat and watched him. Effortlessly blowing the smoke from his chapped lips, like he’s already setting a somber tone for his day. Fucking weirdo, also, what’re you doing just standing here and watching him?

Since when did you become so interested in him?

You approach him again — before you can think better of it — and thrust your scarf into his chest, same as you did with the granola bar just a few weeks earlier. He’s puzzled, but almost unsurprised. He flicks some ash in your direction and snickers to himself as you flinch away from it.

“Wot’s ‘is?” He asks. You’re dumbfounded by how dense he must be.

“S’a scarf.” You respond, and you’ve must’ve made a face because he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, gathered ‘at much. Wot’s it for?”

“It’s 5° celsius outside, and you’re asking why I’m giving you a scarf?” She asks, her eyebrows aching from her confusion.

“No need for lip, princess,” he chuffs back at you. Princess? Wot? “Was jus’ askin’ why you’ve decided to gimme your scarf.”

“‘Cause I ‘a clearly see you’re cold.” She says, reaching the point of exasperation.

He scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous idea he’s ever come across. “Come off it,” he chuffs and passes the scarf back to you unceremoniously.

“Mate, ‘at’s so hard to understand?! Givin’ you a scarf, ‘ot a billion quid!” And he snickers, having found you riled up again. He seems to let go of his grief a bit easier now. Especially in your presence.

He towers over you, as lanky and awkward as he is. Seeing you with your hands on your hips is quite funny, and he can’t even remember your name. Just knows you’re sweet and well-respected. All the things he will never be.

“Don’t need it.” He says, and you give up on conversation. Shoving it against his chest again, you storm off to first lesson. It’s some arithmetic class you wished you could’ve opted out of, but alas.

And who walks in? The boy with the scarf! Oh my, God. Oh, my God! You physically coil back into your seat when you see him search the room for his desk, before slipping into the one beside you. Your scarf is poking from his jacket. Your scarf. He’s wearing it! Well, hiding it. But a win is a win.

You peak onto his desk, learning his name wordlessly.

Simon Riley.

Short and sweet.

“Got a pencil, luv?” He nearly knocks you out of your seat with how abruptly he’s spoken. Shit, when did the teacher start talking?

“You’ve come to school without a pencil?” You asked, reaching into your bag for one nonetheless. You hand him a sparkly pink mechanical pencil, and he looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” you teased him, all too proud of yourself.

Oh, doesn’t he know it, sweetheart.

“Some station’ry you’ve got,” he chuffs, but your chest almost physically puffs when he starts writing in his scratchy handwriting with the frilly pencil nonetheless.

You grumble under your breath, mocking his voice and sticking out your tongue. Appropriate rebellion, you think. He smiles for a split second, his home life forgotten. How do you have this effect on him? With the scarf and the stupid ass, girly ass pencil? Has he actually gone mad? Would be the most likely explanation.

You catch glimpses of him during the lesson, and the scent of him. It’s strong, musky, and mature. A grown man’s cologne. You wonder where it’s from. Smells expensive. But with every glimpse you catch, you can’t help but notice his lips. They’re chapped beyond oblivion and you’re wondering how he’s not chewing them till he draws blood.

You forget paying attention to the lecture entirely, and start rummaging through your purse. You find it! Aha! Your blueberry flavored “healing” lip balm.

“Here,” you all but slam it on his desk. He snorts at you and doesn’t give the tube a second glance. You don’t give him a chance to before you’re forcibly applying the lip balm for him, a rough grip on his chin and another tightly holding the lip balm. “Better?” You ask, and he’s again looking at you like you have two heads, but at least his lips are shiny.

And the second term of Year 11 continues like that. You offering him small things to help him cope with the Manchurian winter and him begrudgingly accepting.

The last day of the second term roles around, the winter snow and harsh winds bygones. And you still haven’t seen your scarf. Hm.

Simon sits down in his desk, the desk you two have shared, the desk you two have bonded over and fought over just as much. He is a bit dejected today, but he’s been looking a bit better. His arms are fuller and his face is a normal color this time of year. He begins speaking without even glancing your way.

“Been workin’ ad’a butcher shop.” He says, as if this has been the secret to the universe all along.

“Is’at the answer to the ‘omework from ‘ast night?” You tease, just getting under his skin. He’s ready to give up on this whole being honest and being vulnerable thing.

Ready to give up on telling you that you were the highlight of his year, as much as you two fought. That he prays he’ll classes again with you come Year 12, and that you helped him get over all the grief he’d been harboring. That as much as he didn’t understand you in your entirety, he adored you. That as much as it was a hurdle to allow himself to get to know you, he’s enjoyed it all. And he’s glad he jumped that hurdle and not that ledge. Because where would you be without him? He allows himself the one cocky thought.

“‘N’ I thought I’d told her she waddn’t in’ited but she’s comin’ anyhow and I’ve ‘iven up try’n to convince ‘er not to.” Oh? You were speaking? You were actively telling him something?

“Sounds like a piece’a work.” He chuffs and you nod in inordinate agreement, believing that he was listening.

“Anyway, wot’s ‘is ‘bout you workin’ in’a butcher shop?” She looped the conversation back to him. Fuck. What did he have planned to say? Why’d he throw away those damn flashcards he’d made?

“Been makin’ some money, yeah?” He starts slowly.

“Lucky prick,” she chuckles softly.

“Nah, ‘ot the point, luv.”

“Oh?”

“Got you sum’n.” He says, and she’s shocked. Did she really mean this much to him? She’s caught up in her emotions, before she feels it in her hand.

A fucking granola bar.

Simon is chuckling heartily, and she’s thrown the damn thing back in his face.

“Not funny, Si.” And he stops laughing.

Did you just give him a nickname? Oh, honey. If only you knew what you had now.

This poor sod, on a leash that you didn’t even attach him to. And he’s shortened it, too, for your courtesy. Don’t worry about him running, off, luv.

“My boss ‘ave me some cuts.” His voice slices confusion in half. “You got any plans ‘or dinner ‘onight?”

What?!

“I. . . dinner?”

“Yeah, you never ‘eard of it?” He teases. Because he’s so positively hilarious.

“‘Re you askin’ me’a come over for dinner?” She says, a bit louder this time.

“Not if you’re gettin’ your knickers in’a twist ‘bout it.” He looks at you like you have two heads. Jesus, is there something you didn’t see in the mirror this morning?

“No! I. . . I’ll check with my parents but that’s probably fine. Eh, wot time?”

“Seven?”

“Seven.”

“Seven.”

next part

[thorfemmes]

Cloudy

in which harry hates summer storms, but she loves them.

Hi everyone! I know I’m not really a fan account, so please feel free to skip over this post if you don’t want to read fanfic! I’ve decided to take part in @helladirections​ ‘s Summer Feeling writing challenge, and this is what I came up with! Feedback is greatly appreciated, I’m trying to hype myself up into writing again. Also thank you @jasline-arod​ for being my beta reader, I love you endlessly!<3

Prompts: summer reading & ice cream

Rated 18+: fluff, SMUT, soft dom!harry, teasing, edging, punishment, impact play, light bondage, condescension kink if you squint, cute aftercare!!! 

Word Count: 3.8k

Summer storms were quite melancholy.

Harry supposed he was being a bit dramatic, considering (y/n) loved the rain. If it weren’t for the possibility of getting a cold and the wandering eyes from their surrounding neighbors she would be out dancing and skipping around the backyard in the puddles and mud. But alas, their neighbors were a bit too nosy and she couldn’t afford any sick time off at work right now, so she was using this day to clean the house. Some last minute spring cleaning as she called it.  

Harry, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to roll around in the sheets all day with her. The young couple had planned a nice date out for the day: a stroll around the neighborhood, a picnic in the park, maybe some window shopping in the plaza. Their car was currently in the shop so anything they wanted to do would have to be within walking distance -(y/n) really didn’t like Ubering around. Mother Nature apparently had other plans. 

Which leads us here. Harry had seen the storm die down and in all of his stubborn brilliance had insisted on making an ice cream run. ‘S just a little drizzle! He maintained. I’ll be back before you know it, Poppet. It turns out “a little drizzle” can easily turn into torrential downpour in the twenty minutes it takes Harry to bike to and from the grocery store. He couldn’t believe his luck, and now as he approached his front door sopping wet and dragging his bike up the steps, he was silently cursing himself for deciding Ben and Jerry’s was worth the trek. 

“Babe? Is everything alright?” (Y/n) proffered over the soft music she had put on when he left. She could hear his frustrated grumbles and sighs from the living room and had of course seen the storm pick up. 

“ ‘M fine, sweetheart, just a bit wet ‘s all.” Harry griped from the kitchen. He quickly dried off the pints of ice cream and stuck them in the freezer before pouring a bowl of uncooked rice for his cell phone. Flicking off the lights in the kitchen, spotless and dust-free thanks to (y/n), he walked into the living room to find her tucked into the corner of the couch reading a book.

Peering over the pages, her eyes softly danced over her lover -damp and frumpy from the rain outside. He had a slight pout on his face that made her giggle playfully, eyes glittering with nothing but adoration and humor. 

“My strong love, fought the rain and thunder just to get his girlfriend ice cream.”

He snorted at her, trying his hardest to hold back a smile. “Think I deserve a prize, don’t you think? It was quite brave of me to go out there, I could’ve gotten swept away by the flood of puddles!”

Her laugh rang like a chime. It was times like this, soft and quiet and domestic, that made his heart skip a beat. She made him delirious and dizzy with love. 

“Of course, my love. Your prize is in the bathroom, hanging from the towel rack. I saw the rain pick up and figured you might come home a bit soggy,” She said with a laugh. “Go get changed, when you come back we can lounge about and read together.”

Harry’s heart fluttered as he shuffled out of the living room. When he came back, now changed into a crisp crew neck shirt and some washed worn sweats, he quickly popped over in front of his love. She looked up from the novel in front of her, stars in her eyes. Harry quickly leaned down and showered her in kisses. Anywhere he could reach was covered in smooches. She wiggled and whined playfully as he threw his leg over her waist, but not before grabbing the book and laying it on the coffee table face down. They grappled and playfully dodged kisses until she cried “Alright! Fine you win!” with a ridiculous pout and her hands pinned to the couch under Harry’s grasp. 

“You’re so mean,” she pouted through puffs of air.

“Mean ‘m I? Would a mean boyfriend have gone out in the harsh winter storm for-”

“It’s the middle of July!” 

“For pints of Chunky Monkey, Phish Food, Karamel Sutra, and Tonight Dough? I don’t think tha’s very mean, d’you?”

Harry swore the sigh she let out sounded harmonious. “No, I suppose not. It sounds like you’re spoiling me, huh?” She tried to loosen his grip again. “Let me up, please?”

He grinned down at her. “Kissy first?”

She leaned up the best she could for a smooch before he let her get back up. Harry laid down on the couch and patted his tummy with the hand not resting under his neck. 

“C’mere, let’s read.”

(Y/n) crawled between Harry’s legs and laid between them, her head resting on his soft stomach. “Mm, nice and comfy.”

Harry chuckled with her, loving the warmth and comfort the weight of her gave him. He wrapped an arm around the front of her chest and softly rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. 

“Do you want me to start the chapter over?” She asked, perfectly content to reread for him.

“Course not, Petal! Just pick up where you left off, please.”

“ ‘I’m going to America. To seek my fortune.’ (This was just after America but long after fortunes.) ‘A ship sails soon from London. There is great opportunity in America. I’m going to take advantage of it. I’ve been training myself. In my hovel. I’ve taught myself not to need sleep. A few hours only. I’ll take a ten-hour-a-day job and then I’ll take another ten-hour-a-day job and I’ll save every penny from both except what I need to eat to keep strong, and when I have enough I’ll buy a farm and build a house and make a bed big enough for two.’ ”

Harry began to lose focus on the story, instead concentrating on his petal’s voice, soft and clear enough for just the two of them. Almost as if the bubble around them might burst if she spoke too loudly. She began to alter her voice, adding in dashes of accents and key changes as the characters varied. Harry let a heavy breath fall from his nose as he smiled and bit his lip with a smile. 

“ ‘Do you love me, Westley? Is that it?’ ”

Harry held his breath.

“ He couldn’t believe it. ‘Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches. If your love were-’ ” 

Now, Harry knows he has a very specific taste in literature. And while he may personally prefer obscene prose and Joan Didion, this line -from a novel built on fantasies -was embroidered on his heart in bright yellow thread. The millions of grains of sand could not even begin to embody how dearly and how fiercely he loved her. His heart physically ached at the thought of her; her presence, her laugh, smile, ambition, everything. He loved (y/n) in a way he never imagined possible. Harry could not even begin to fathom a world without her. And if the little velvet box hidden in an old shoe box behind a ton of winter coats in the upstairs closet was anything to go by, he didn’t want to begin imagining it. 

“Lovey, are you okay?” (Y/n) spoke up. She noticed him stiffen up immediately after she finished reading that paragraph. 

Silence followed her question. She stuck the loose playing card she had found into the book to mark her place and gently sat up to shift herself in his lap, setting the book down on the coffee table again. Harry was pulled from his thoughts of navy blue suits and white lace gowns when she softly called his name again and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Is everything alright Harry? You zoned out for quite a while there.”

Harry looked at the heavenly sight in front of him. Her hair was a bit mussed up from the cleaning and the sweat that had no doubt appeared in the slightly humid house. She sat in an old cropped cotton shirt that proudly touted a faded improv club logo from college on it (she had gone to one meeting and of course it was the meeting where they gave out free t-shirts) with wrinkles and dried stains from cleaning spray. Her gray pajama shorts had little line drawings of bumble bees on them, and were currently riding up her thighs as they sat straddling Harry’s hips. He dragged his eyes to look at her face. He swore she was glowing in the grayish sunlight streaming from the windows. Little moles and freckles and acne scars dotted across her makeup-less face. Her eyes were wide and her lips were gaped open slightly in worry as his silence continued.

Harry finally, finally took in a breath (he desperately needed it, he didn’t realize she had literally stolen his breath away) and mumbled “ ‘M fine, petal. I just love you so much,” and with that closed the all too wide gap between them. 

Her eyes widened just a bit more before kissing back, her eyes fell closed and her hands held tightly to his cheeks. Harry swore the kiss was meant to be gentle, but then he found himself nibbling on her bottom lip and soothing the slight sting with his tongue when she whined against him. She pulled away breathlessly and looked over his face, now flushed crimson with their movements.

“I love you too!” She breathily laughed. “Let’s-”

Her thoughts were lost as Harry began to kiss a trail from below her ear and down her neck, one hand squeezing her soft hip and the other holding her head in place as she squirmed (she was a bit ticklish). He sucked and softly bit at the junction between her neck and shoulder as she let out a faint moan at the attention being given to the sensitive skin. She ran her fingers through his loose curls and gently led his head back up to meet her lips. She tenderly rolled her hips against his -his hands quickly following the motion. 

“Ah, fuck baby. You’re so fuckin’ sexy m’love,” Harry groaned against her lips. They were breathing in each other's air, hips thrusting against the other and hands grasping at fabric and anywhere they could grab. Harry lowered his hand to cup her hot pussy over her shorts, rubbing his palms against her clothed clit.

“Mmf, please Harry please!” She wanted him so badly, she was this close to ripping his clothes off at the seams.

“What d’you want baby girl? Hmm? Ask me nicely ‘nd maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

The air shifted between them. She knew he would give her whatever she wanted, but the power was now in his corner. She whined loudly and bucked her hips up as he teased the waistband of her shorts.

“Don’t be a brat, petal. You won’t like the outcome.” Harry grinned up at her, running his thumb over her bottom lip that had stuck out with a pout. “Why don’t we run upstairs so I can fuck you properly. Tha’ is unless you want to stay down here with a sore bum ‘nd nothin’ else? Hmm, petal?”

“Harry, I swear if you don’t do something I’m going to screa- ah!” Harry’s hand came down on her ass with a loud smack! 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened as she scrambled off of his lap and up the stairs to their “guest” bedroom, Harry not far behind. Harry giggled at her antics. Of course he wasn’t planning on leaving her needy and wanting, but she was being bratty and he couldn’t have that now could he?

(Y/n) all but threw herself onto their bed and ripped off her clothing, absolutely desperate for whatever Harry threw her way. She’d ride his thigh if that’s all he’d give her. She was that needy right now. 

She scrambled up the bed and sat down with her legs crossed, patiently waiting as Harry stood at the foot of the bed.

“I think 10 swats on your bum are an appropriate punishment for you steppin’ out of line. Don’t you think, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” (Y/n) watched as he walked around the side of the bed. He reached into the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of shea butter lotion and the pretty pink ribbon she was all too familiar with.

“Lay down on your tummy, petal,” Harry said, setting everything on the table. 

(Y/n) quickly laid down, grabbing her pillow and nestling her cheek into it. Harry grabbed one of the extra pillows and shoved it under her hips. He then pulled off the t-shirt and shrugged off his sweats, leaving him in a pair of heather gray briefs that left nothing to the imagination. 

“You’ve such a pretty bum, sweetheart. ‘M so excited to see it marked up with my hand marks,” Harry caressed and massaged her cheeks carefully. “Count aloud for me, lovie.”

(Y/n) was about to answer when Harry’s hand came down on her left cheek, hard. “One!” She squeaked out.

“D’you know why you’re bein’ punished, lovie?” Smack!

“Ah! Two! Yes sir! I was being bad earlier. I was being naughty and begging without saying please!” 

Harry rubbed over the sore area. “Very good, baby. Are you going to do it again?” Smack! Smack! Smack! Three spanks came in succession.

“Three! Fou-, Four! Five! No, Sir! I won’t!” She squirmed and hid her face in the pillow as her grip tightened on the material. She was a bit embarrassed at the fact that she was already getting teary eyed, but it had been a second since she'd been punished like this.

Harry paused and moved her hair out from around her face. “How are you doin’ (Y/n)? Gimme a color, please.”

“Green, Harry. I’m good, please keep going.” She wiggled and lifted her ass up towards Harry's other hand.

“Okay, lovie. Just makin’ sure.” Harry quickly kissed her cheek then pushed her head back into the pillow. She moaned loudly at the forcefulness.

The rest of the spanks came and went, leaving both of them breathless and stinging. Harry reached up and grabbed (Y/n) by the hair to pull her on all fours, his other hand removing the pillow from under her hips before running his fingers over her pussy.

“Y’not gonna do tha’ again, are you, petal?” He said smugly.

“No sir,” She hiccupped. 

A jolt ran through her as he gathered her wetness and began circling her clit with two fingers. 

“So sensitive, petal. Bet you almost came jus’ from me spankin’ you. Maybe you don’ need my cock after all? Maybe I should jus’ take care of myself and leave you here, what d’you think, petal? ”

She let out a pitiful moan. (Y/n)’s whole body was shaking; she was desperately trying not to come, her arms were shaking from holding herself up, and her breath was shaking from the stimulation of it all. She was almost there, almost ready to come when Harry suddenly let go of her hair and stopping playing with her pussy. Her arms gave out under her as she whined desperately at the loss of stimulation.

“Please! No, don’t leave me!” She sobbed. “I need it! Please give me your cock sir! I’ll be so good, I won’t come without askin’ please! Ple-”

“Okay, shh baby. Shh, ‘m gonna make y’feel so good. Y’such a good girl f’me.”

Harry leaned down and kissed up her spine gently. As he reached the base of her neck he grabbed the pink ribbon and ran it teasingly over her shoulders. “Color?”

She sniffled a bit before answering confidently, “Green, sir.”

“Tha’s my girl.” He pulled her up so she was kneeling and grabbed her arms, skillfully tying a cute little bow around her wrists. She wiggled a bit to make sure it was comfortable. Once she was settled, Harry pushed her back down into the pillow.

“What a sight. Must’ve been savin’ this for a rainy day, huh petal?”

She snorted at his joke but was quickly silenced by his finger sinking into her pussy. She hissed at the sensation, already a bit sensitive from the first orgasm he denied her. 

“Y’always so warm for me, lovie. So warm ‘n tight. Can’t wait for my cock, can you?”

She whined and pushed back on his fingers as he added another, thrusting in and curling to find her g-spot. “Please! I’ve been so good, I’m ready!”

He chuckled at her begging, letting his thumb pet over her clit again before pulling his fingers out of her after one final thrust. “Y’think you’re ready, baby girl? I know I am.”

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “I’m ready, I promise.”

Harry used the wetness he had gathered from fingering her and stroked himself a few times, exhaling heavily as some pressure was finally released. He grabbed the ribbon where her wrists were tied and lined himself up, pushing gently into her soaked cunt.

They both released a guttural moan as he moved in her; her walls tightening around him and his length rubbing inside her perfectly.

As she felt him bottom out she let out a sob that was stuck in her chest. “Fu-ck. Thank you! You feel so fuck-fucking good!” He growled in response, reaching around and playing with her clit again while he waited for her to get accustomed to his size. She choked out another moan and squirmed, crying “Please! You can move now, please fuck me!”

He pulled out until only the head of his cock remained in her cunt, and then thrusted back in experimentally. Her moan spurred him on, allowing him to continue to set a slow and rough pace. 

“Holy fuck, bunny. Y'feel so good,” Harry grit through his teeth. “I love this fuckin’ cunt, this ‘s all fo’ me, huh?”

She moaned and nodded as she squeezed his cock as tight as she could like a good girl. She wanted to behave, be his good girl. (Y/n) wiggled her hands at him as he continued to thrust. He got the hint and laced his fingers with hers. She let out a contented sigh that melted into a moan as his thrusting sped up. He loosened one of his hands from her grasp to reach down and stroke her button of nerves. 

She wailed in response, tears brimming in her eyes again from the overwhelming sensations attacking her. Harry was all that existed. He surrounded her, stopped playing with her bundle of nerves and reached his hand up to wrap around her neck, pulling her up to meet his kisses. All she could feel, smell, taste as he paused thrusting to slide his tongue into her mouth before slamming back into her and letting her drop back into the pillow. 

“Sh-shit baby girl. I can feel y'squeezin me, you’re almost there aren’t you?” She nodded in response, unable to form words. “Hold it jus’ a bit longer, I know you can do it. Fo’ me please, petal. Wanna feel tha’ cunt come with me.”

She shuddered as she fought to hold her orgasm back. Her cunt clenched and dripped down her thighs as Harry pounded into her as quickly as he possibly could without hurting either of them. 

“N-now! Come now, petal! Give it to me, baby. Come for me!”

(Y/n) came with a shout, her eyes shut as tightly as possible. Her whole body clamped down onto Harry’s cock as she came and came and came. Her orgasm pulled Harry’s out of him, milking him for everything he had. One final thrust had him filling her with his cum, both moaning at the feeling of her pussy being filled even more.

She slumped into the pillow, body feeling like pudding. Harry leaned over her as they both took a moment to catch their breaths, both spent and relaxed after their afternoon delight. Harry recovered first, gently pulling out of her cunt. She clenched around him as he left her, almost as if she was inviting him to stay.

He quickly untied her wrists, mind set on dealing with his spilled seed later. He delicately rubbed the tender area, gently kissing the indentations.

“Y’did so good for me, (Y/n), thank you baby,” he whispered to her. She looked at him with foggy eyes, the afterglow finally settling in. She hummed in acknowledgment of his praise, smiling softly at him. “I’ll be ri’ back, petal. I’ve gotta go grab stuff to clean you up.”

He ran as quickly as possible to grab water bottles and snacks from downstairs, before stopping for a wet washcloth and a change of clothes for her on the way back. He set the food and spoons on the bedside table before cracking open a water bottle for her.

“Can you sit up a mo’? I know your bum’s a bit sore.” He helped her sit up enough to drink the water he gave her. As she gulped down the water, thankful for the cool drink to sooth her heated throat, he gently wiped up the mess he made of her pussy. He ran and tossed the cloth into their ensuite sink, quickly returning to his love. 

“Can I rub some shea butter on your bum and wrists? It’ll help with the soreness, lovie.” 

She sleepily nodded before asking “Could you please pull my hair back? It’s sweaty and itchy now.”

He laughed at her cloudy state and grabbed one of their scrunchies off of the dresser and carefully tied up her hair. He then pumped some lotion into his hands, warmed it slightly and guided her to lay down on her tummy again so he could soothe the red marks. After a few moments, when her fogginess had cleared and they were giggling and cracking jokes as he jiggled her bum in his hands, he helped her get up and walk to the toilet so she could relieve and redress herself before heading to their bedroom with the snacks. 

(Y/n) climbed into bed, mindful of her sore bum, and excitedly grabbed the remote to turn on a movie for the couple to unwind to. Harry followed closely with two pints of ice cream and spoons -Chunky Monkey for her and Karamel Sutra for himself. They giggled again and settled down under the blanket as the opening scene to Clueless started on their television. 

Taking a bite of the ice cream, (Y/n) looked over at her boyfriend. “Hey Har?” He looked at her, mouth full. “Thank you for getting us ice cream even though there was a storm. And for letting me read to you. I hope you enjoyed your prize.” She winked at him with a huge grin.

Heartily laughing, he leaned over and landed a loud smooch onto her cheek. “Of course, anything for you my love.”

As she cuddled into his side, snacking on ice cream and watching this cheesy rom-com, he knew he needed to find a reason to excuse himself to the closet that evening.

[kirinda-ondo]

You know him, you either love or hate him (or are moderately confused by my sudden dive into this hyperfixation); we're talking about Orko because I have a lot of feelings.

As a disclaimer, I am not gonna claim to be some kind of superfan. I am not aware of every single iteration of the lore and all of its secrets. I don't know anything about the DC comics. I'm only halfway through the 2002 series as of me writing this. I am not someone you want to have discussions on the wider Masters of the Universe.... universe with. However, after watching Revelation, the entire Filmation He-Man (and some of She-Ra, cause he was there too), and going on a deep dive of storybooks, annuals, and minicomics courtesy of He-Man.org and the lovely people who submitted their scans there, I do feel pretty qualified to at least talk about Orko.

So, with all that being said, I'd like to get into a little bit of backstory, if only for my followers who came to this blog for completely different things and are wondering where the hell my love for this funky little wizard dude came from all of a sudden. Truth is, Orko is actually one of my earliest faves! Mind you, I only had limited access to Masters of the Universe as a kid, only seeing a couple of rented VHS tapes and later getting my hands on a small pile of the Golden Books from Goodwill, but apparently it was enough for Orko to  imprint himself into my brain. However, also due to my limited exposure, he kind of got shifted to the back of my head as I got deeper into other things. I still knew for a fact I liked Orko a lot though, even if I couldn't quite remember why anymore.

And then Masters of the Universe: Revelation dropped on Netflix. I'm not gonna get into my opinions of that show lest I open a flood of irrelevant discourse (for those uninitiated, it is a bit... divisive, to say the least). However my feelings on the matter did encourage me to go and watch the original and well, holy shit I love Orko more now than I could have ever comprehended as a kid. He is THE quintessential underappreciated comic relief character I tend to gravitate towards, and then some.

But before I get into that, let me back up a bit and explain. Orko is a Trollan, a race of magical little dudes that are basically floating sweaters with hats and covered up faces. Out of these Trollans, Orko is an incredibly fucking OP archmage. Like, they straight up call him Orko the Great, he's so powerful. But then, he gets caught in a freak storm that whisks him away from his home dimension and into Eternia. Immediately, he runs into a young Prince Adam, who is trapped in a swamp/tar pit and needs rescuing. Orko, being the upstanding lad that he is, uses his magic to save him but in the process loses the item that allows him to focus his magic to the swamp (in the 80s version, it's a medallion, but in the 2002 series, it's a wand). Worse yet, the magic (and dare I say the very laws of physics) in Eternia works pretty much the opposite as it does in Trolla, so he's been incredibly nerfed.

So basically, Orko is trapped in a topsy-turvy world away from friends and family, a world with magic he is fundamentally incompatible with. Ouch. He's not completely screwed, however, as he is rewarded by the king and queen for his heroism and appointed... the court jester. Double ouch. He surprisingly doesn't seem to mind though. He genuinely does enjoy entertaining people, even when his tricks only ever work like half the time because he's basically a Mac program trying to run on a Windows computer.

It's not all horrible though, as he does quite literally get adopted by the royal family  and thus sort of become the entire palace's weird son/little brother (despite being older than many of them. He's very, very child-coded largely for the purposes of being a stand-in and example lesson to the actual children watching). But also, more importantly, he becomes one of the very select few to know that Adam and He-Man are one and the same.

But outside of secret-keeping, he is actually a pretty valuable ally to have against Skeletor and his dudes because even though his magic is kind of screwed up, when it does work, he's still one of the most powerful mages on Eternia. In various materials, he's created floods, a second winter, and hell, he can literally explode himself and still be perfectly fine. He's also really clever and can weasel his way out of a number of situations. In one episode, for instance, he manages to convince someone that he's He-Man and Adam is his "assistant" in order to free him from captivity so the day has a better chance of actually being saved.  He's also got the ability to just be really frustrating and incomprehensible to the point that villains who capture him sometimes either don't want him or don't know what to do with him anymore, which is honestly really funny. In an episode of She-Ra, the villains tried to scan his brain but because the inner machinations of his mind are that much of an enigma, he got diagnosed a weirdo and broke the entire machine. Absolutely delightful.

However, there's a lot more to Orko than just comedy and bungled magic. He's actually surprisingly complex!

See, going into this, I expected Orko's whole situation be played entirely for laughs while the sadder implications of his existence go entirely unaddressed. Coming off the heels of characters like Cobalt and others I enjoy, I'm used to this sort of treatment by writers. But they actually don't do that. The depressing subtext is for once, actually TEXT, which was INCREDIBLY surprising to me. We actually get to see another side of him, a side that hates that he can't be taken seriously no matter what he does, a side that is well aware of all the trouble he causes and feels like a burden to those around him. He actually runs away on multiple occasions, fully believing that he's unloved and everyone would be better off without him, even if that couldn't be further from the truth (a point which the Sorceress hammers home with multiple straight up magical video presentations, and in the 2002 series, a literary adaptation, of why he is loved and important).

Underneath all the hyping himself up that he does, there's a lot of insecurity. He's someone who desperately wants to be loved and respected and feels that without funny magic tricks to entertain people, he has no inherent value (which is incredibly relatable if you are also known by people as The Funny One). At one point he agrees with the notion that he doesn't feel like much more than a pet, which is absolutely heartbreaking. Even when he gets the ability to go back and forth between Eternia and Trolla, his feelings of inadequacy now extend toward his family, worrying that his own uncle, the one who taught him everything he knows and greatly contributed to him being Orko the Great back home in the first place, wouldn't be proud of him. Being on Eternia highkey wrecked his shit, man.

However, even when given the opportunity to go back home for good, he always chooses to stay because he's loyal as hell. Even if he needs some reminders, he does know he's needed not just in the fight against evil, but just because his friends and newfound family genuinely love him. It's heartbreaking, but also incredibly wholesome. I did not even remotely expect a comic relief character like this to get this much depth and respect from the writers, especially not from the incredibly campy and cheaply animated 80s series. I am genuinely so unused to this.

But I think that's also what separates him a bit from his fellow Silly Kid Appeal Characters That Kids Fucking Hate ala Snarf Thundercats or Scrappy Doo. He not only makes a concerted effort to be an actually useful ally, but he's also in fact very self-aware of his status as one of these characters. He knows he screws up a lot but he actually tries to accept responsibility and fix it. It makes me wanna root for the lil dude. Now I understand if someone isn't a fan of the brand of humor he brings to the table, or feel like he's simply a distraction from the Cool Buff Dudes Fighting Each Other, but I hope you can see why he might also be a really appealing character to other people, both kids and adults alike. I mean, he was popular enough to be embedded into the canon despite originating from the cartoon and not the toyline for a reason, after all.

Orko is a fun, entertaining, but also complex, heartwarming, and relatable character. I know there is a faction of people that would disagree with me, but I don't think you need to change him all that much or make him a super serious character to be more appealing. He's already got a lot going on that a writer could easily work with. It all just depends on where you decide to focus. Take a lesson from the show and accept that he's fine just the way he is.

[blindkarakul]

Long Survey - M’yhe Tia

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :  M’yhe Tia NICKNAME :  Youta, Little Sheep  AGE :  25 Summers BIRTHDAY : The beginning of spring (Apr 13) ETHNIC  GROUP :  Seeker of the Sun / Keeper of the Moon NATIONALITY :  Gyr Abanian LANGUAGE / S :  Huntspeak, Eorzean (Common and Ala Mhigan Dialects) SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :  Homosexual Homoromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  In a Relationship; Ninka’ir Tayuun HOME  TOWN / AREA :  The Lochs, Gyr Abania CURRENT  HOME : None; Lives with mate in the Lavender Beds PROFESSION :  Diviner, Fortune Teller, Oracle, Ritualist, Bounty Hunter, Absolute Dumbass

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :  Sandy Rose-Blond EYES : Pale Blue FACE :  Thin, Scrappy COMPLEXION :  Deep Tan BLEMISHES :  None SCARS :  Lashing scars across his back, a band around his ankle, a few deep cuts in his abdomen TATTOOS :  Seer’s tattoos around his entire body, white ink HEIGHT :  5 fulms, 3 ilms. WEIGHT :  Trying to steadily pack on some weight-- 118 ponzes BUILD : Lithe and agile, recovering from malnourishment.  FEATURES :  Chalky face paints, bright white eyes, Claws, Snaggletooth Grin ALLERGIES :  n/a. USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Cut and groomed short, braids woven at the side of his face and stained red USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  Smudged on face paint, a coy grin USUAL  CLOTHING :   Free and flowing, rough and tumble but dependable

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :  Whips, Dogs Barking, Maggots, Infection, Loneliness. ASPIRATION / S :  Becoming a Fist of Rhalgr. Happiness. A home. Found Family. POSITIVE  TRAITS :  Wise, Caring, Light-Hearted, Fun-Loving, Mischevious, Adventure-seeking NEGATIVE  TRAITS :  Hotheaded, Stubborn, MISCHEVIOUS, Self-depreciating MAJOR ARCANA :  The Hanged Man ZODIAC :  Aries, the Ram TEMPERAMENT :  Sanguine  SOUL  TYPE :  The Spiritualist ANIMAL :  The Sheep VICE HABIT / S :  Bullheaded Adventure; they rarely think of the consequences, and would rather have fun first and say sorry later. Very defensive about this. FAITH :  Worship of the Twelve + Tribe Specific Religion; M’yhe’s branch of the M believed in the intrinsic spirit of all things. Everything as it is known was formed by the hands of the twelve, and is derivative of what were once larger spirits. Communication and appeasal of these spirits grants good fortune. Angry spirits that die unhappy turn into spectres, and while the nature of an angry spectre is harmful and dangerous, it is a terrible thing to kill a spirit rather than give it the chance to find peace. GHOSTS ? :  Yes. AFTERLIFE ? :  Yes. REINCARNATION ? : Yes. ALIENS ? :  Maybe? He doesn’t often think about it. EDUCATION  LEVEL :  Has never been in a school, but has had various tutors over the course of his life.

FAMILY.

FATHER :  Unknown Keeper of the Moon; whereabouts unknown MOTHER :  M’iraa Vuehe, deceased (haunts as a spectre) SIBLINGS : M’iaho Nunh, adoptive brother, alive. M’koyo Tia, adoptive brother, alive. EXTENDED  FAMILY :  M’ahsasha Vuehe, adoptive mother, deceased. M’ahli Jedte, adoptive mother, unknown. M’rhaxis Tia, tribe brother, alive. M’zhrii Zurrie, tribe sister, alive. M’zhbi Zurrie, tribe sister, alive. J’kebun Tia, half-tribe cousin, alive.  NAME MEANING / S :  ‘Yhe’ is an utterance in M Tribe Huntspeak, often used to indicate positive affirmation, or sometimes joy.

FAVORITES.

BOOK :  Anything Ninka’ir reads to him DEITY :  RHALGR, the Destroyer HOLIDAY :  Winter’s Knell MONTH :  ‘Budding Season’ in Gyr Abania SEASON :  Spring PLACE :  Ninka’ir’s Apartment + The Velodyna River WEATHER :  Warm Sun and Cooling Breezes SOUND / S:  Ninka’ir’s Voice and Music SCENT / S :  Rose, Chamomile, and Frankincense TASTE / S :  Savory and/or spicy FEEL / S :  Silk and/or Leather NUMBER :  What The Fuck Come After Seven? (n/a) COLORS :  Red, Purple, Blue, Black, White.

EXTRA.

TALENTS :  Fighting, Charisma, and Healing. BAD  AT :  Being decent. And most tasks that require eyesight. TURN  ONS :  Ninka’ir Tayuun TURN  OFFS :  Whips!! Shit, dude. HOBBIES :  Training, Painting, Fortune Telling QUOTE : “A hurrrting hearrrt is not so weak as you have been lead to believe.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about? A1 :  Blood Moon; an action packed drama about M’yhe’s life growing up and the pitfalls that make him eager to seek happiness and redemption in his current life. 

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like? A2 :  IT... VARIES... But honestly I’ve always been a fan of folk music, and so has M’yhe. Music by Blanco White is pretty close.

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character? A3 :   I made M’yhe around 6 months into having started FFXIV. My ex and I were trying a new server, and making alts there. I had a previous M tribe character, M’iaho, who I made because the more I learned about the plight of Gyr Abania, the more the concept of a tribe from Gyr Abania became interesting for me. But M’iaho was a very irresponsible Nunh who claimed his title by accident, and as fun as that was to play, I wanted someone who was a bit more grounded and grumpy. M’yhe was actually supposed to be a bunny from the Gold Saucer who just happened to be able to read fortunes AND was from Ala Mhigo, but I became really invested in him and his character. He was interesting to me because of his background in the occult, and so he just grew from there (and I ended up leaving the Bunny concept behind). He would always be my favorite go-to character that I would play when I needed to get into a place of destress. Because he was so seemingly carefree on the surface, his natural mischief made his interactions with others fun, and helped me branch out and find new friends when I needed it most. Toward the end of my relationship, I would use him as a crutch to give me a happy place to turn to. I placed so much love and work into him that when I finally made the decision to be free for myself, I took him with me. And while he grows, I continue to grow too. So... he’s a very personal character that was kind of born out of my subconscious desire to break away and be free. And now that we’re both in happier places, I’m relishing getting to play him growing as a person. World knows I am too.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character? A4 :  Honest to god I just wanted another catboy? But one that I could connect with more. The first two I made were fun, but not what I was looking for in terms of a character. Also yeah, all the above stuff too. I wanted to explore the concept of finding personal freedom after being in a place where I didn’t feel like I had much.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 :  M’YHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A LOT RUDER but I’m too soft to be terribly mean. Each time M’yhe makes a stupid life decision a little part of me dies.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse? A6 :  We’re both adept tarot readers! But that was obvious. So less obvious is that we would both kill for oranges. (I can’t eat oranges though, sadly, because I’m allergic to them, so I get to live my citrus impulses through M’yhe). 

Q7 :  How does  your muse feel about  you? A7 :  Real talk I don’t think M’yhe would find me especially interesting and I don’t blame him.

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8 :  Because he’s such a charismatic character... really he can bounce off of just about anyone? But I really like the characters that are able to peel away his charismatic exterior and get to actually make him act as the kinder and softer person he can be deep down. I like the people who get him to say his cryptic wise quotes without a shred of sarcasm. M’yhe is a very manic character and can sometimes feel so on top of the world that when he’s grounded and serious are sometimes my favorite times to write him.

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse? A9 :  Music, honest to god just me imagining scenarios... and also my lovely as FUCK Free Company, Nightraid. As well as Coeurl’s RP community as a whole. I mean, I know it’s cliche to say. But I have a lot of people there who plot and poke fun at scenarios with me, they always keep me on my toes and keep me thinking of the next story beat. They’re all amazing and lovely people, and while there are things I miss about being on a more populated RP server like Balmung or Mateus, Coeurl is my home and damn if it isn’t M’yhe’s too.

Q10 :  How long did this take you to complete? A10 :  Do I mention the fact that I finished like half of this and then took a 3 month hiatus or what

Tagged by: No one I stole this but I caN’T REMEMBER WHO I STOLE FROM.... I think @huntspeak​

Tagging: ANYONE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS! Also;

@akaiwakizaka @unatobajhiri​ @impure-ivory @sangria-fangs @donpom-house-of-alts  @of-shadow-and-storm @renofmanyalts@fakuboy@weaveroftruth @amurr-reha @rkhdaj-tia @khabataaq-buduga @ballade-du-mage  @ofmasters@divineseer-marcella @lavender-hemlock @yululu-and-co @sedatayuun @ritsuka-aoki  @an-honest-waltz​ @alusbeauregard​

(For a character of y’alls choice, for you multimuse buddies)

It’s been a while since I was really active, so I thought I’d do a big comprehensive on M’yhe’s character again!

[lady-tortilla-chip]

Petrichor + Soukoku

I don’t know what this is anon. I really don’t and I triple checked what Petrichor meant (because I didnt previously know when I got this) so, I hope this fic (not a ficlet because it’s 1600 words long!!) is what you had in mind!

—

The first time Dazai saw Chuuya again was during the first storm of the winter season. The rain was relentless over the city. Falling in sheets full of wrath pounding against windows and pavement.

Dazai had gotten himself caught in it. Still a few blocks from his own dingy apartment building and finding refuge within a small cafe that still happened to be open.

The smell in the air was distinct and wet. The kind of smell one looked forward to when it finally rained after a long dry season. Like everything was cleansed of its dirt and grime. (Though Dazai would never properly be cleansed of his own.)

However, Dazai would’ve preferred to enjoy the smell inside his apartment. Where it was dry. Currently he was soaked to the bone and while it wasn’t particularly chilly out, it didn’t make his wet clothing any less uncomfortable. He sat himself at a table close to the door.

Peering outside the window he watched as passerby’s -smartly equipped with umbrellas- went about the rest of their day. Either heading home or back to work. It was methodical, the way each person walked passed another. The way they called out to cabs and slipped inside without breaking the nearly endless cycle of moving cars and people.

It was boring.

A waitress came by his table only once to offer a warm drink, her smile plastic, given out to everyone as per her job’s description. She seemed tired, older than a woman working this kind of job should be. Dazai accepted her offer of the daily special.

It was a simple coffee that didn’t taste all that great, but then, nearly everything tasted bland to Dazai. At least she’d been right in that it did warm him to the core.

As he continued to people watch, only half focused as several different trains of thought battled for his primary focus, the distinct sound of a bell ringing pushed them all to the back of his mind.

Looking up Dazai was greeted with the sight of a very wet and angry Nakahara Chuuya.

He hadn’t seen the man in well over two years.

Not since he’d left.

He didn’t think he’d ever see the man again.

He’d grown, not so much in height as everything else. His stance was more assured despite his hunched shoulders which shook with irritation at the weather. His face was more defined, the lines between his masculine and feminine features more clearly drawn to make him seem less androgynous than he used to. His eyes were still full of light, however they were sharper.

Though that could’ve just been the glare he was currently sending Dazai’s way.

He hadn’t even realized the redhead noticed him.

At the realization he also realized that the man was moving towards him.

Seating himself in the chair across from Dazai with an exasperated huff like the decision to sit there hadn’t been entirely his own.

Dazai didn’t say anything and he doubted the man wanted him to. He looked like a cat, an angry, wet, and feral cat. Blue eyes narrowed and the twitch of his brow like that of a cat’s tail.

“So either, you are very dead and hung yourself in this cafe and are currently a ghost. Or actually fucking stuck around in Yokohama. Please tell me you’re fucking dead.” Chuuya said.

“Would you like the truth or something to continue believing I have successfully killed myself?” Dazai responded.

Chuuya leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest, “You pick.”

Dazai nodded his head once and said in a self pitying tone, “Alas, I cannot say I have died but instead am still trapped among the living.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, huffing a breath through his teeth as his gaze flicked elsewhere, “Fuck me.”

Dazai’s brow raised, the first thing that came to mind to say would surely get him violently thrown back into the rain. Through the window.

So instead he stayed silent.

Chuuya’s eyes came back to meet his, eyebrow cocking high on his forehead as he spat, “What? No stupid remark to make about how you already have? Or happily would again? Or maybe that you’d never dream of it? Nothing?”

Dazai shrugged, “Seems you’ve come up with enough comebacks on your own.”

Chuuya sneered, “Shut up.”

Dazai shrugged again then sat back in his own seat. Once again glancing outside only to see his reflection staring back at him. Deciding he didn’t care for that particular view he moved his gaze over to Chuuya’s reflection. Allowed himself a moment to dwell on everything that seemed to have changed about him.

His presence seemed to have broadened, become twice the size since Dazai had last seen him. It was a still familiar presence though, known.

“You know I’m still feeling the heat of your oh-so-sudden departure?” Chuuya eventually said, breaking the thin layer of silence that had settled over them.

Dazai didn’t turn his head away from the window to indicate he acknowledged the statement. Simply waited for Chuuya to continue speaking.

“I’m still in the process of cleaning up your mess.”

Dazai made a sound under his breath, “Surely the blood has been truly and thoroughly cleaned up.”

“Not really.” Chuuya bit out.

“Did you-?”

“No.”

The new mafia boss still hadn’t publicly been made clear yet.

If not Chuuya, then it was Kouyou.

Dazai snorted.

“She’s great at it, better than even he was. Has had to call my loyalty into question one too many times though.” Chuuya said with a pointed look at Dazai before averting his gaze again.

Dazai didn’t have a response for that. It made sense that Chuuya would be a suspect to aiding Dazai in his escape. His loyalty coming into question would’ve been laughable with literally anything else. But Dazai abandoning ship the way he had and how easily he seemed to slip away, there was absolutely no way Chuuya wouldn’t receive suspicion.

Chuuya frowned, head turning to look at Dazai back through the window, “You have nothing to say?”

“Were you hoping I would when you came to sit there?”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, “No,” he answered and it seemed honest, “No, actually I was hoping I’d slipped on a puddle and passed out a few blocks back and that you weren’t actually here and I was just suffering through a concussion induced nightmare.”

“You could be.” Dazai said and that got him a grunt.

“Maybe I am. And that’s why you’re so quiet.”

“I’m not quiet. Just observant.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, “What are you observing?”

The entirely honest answer was, everything, though that’s not what he said, though, he regretted what he actually said all the same, “You.”

Chuuya smirked and leaned forward, “I haven’t changed. But you clearly have.” He said with a clear nod to Dazai’s change of wardrobe and unbandaged eye.

Fighting the urge to reach up and touch the skin around his eye, Dazai watched as Chuuya clenched his jaw. Expression shifting as he debated something.

Eventually he asked, “Was it worth it?”

It was a loaded question, one that wasn’t enough to encompass the emotions Chuuya had felt at Dazai’s betrayal. Wasn’t accusatory either. Sounded curious, like he needed the answer to be the right one. The one that could rationalize why Dazai would leave him. Why Dazai didn’t choose him.

Just four simple words that Dazai couldn’t decipher the purpose of answering, because he didn’t know what the right answer was. Not knowing something, especially about what Chuuya wanted from him was foreign. Odd. Had him wondering if perhaps Chuuya had changed more than just physically and far more in maturity.

So, he responded honestly, “I don’t know yet.”

At that Chuuya smiled though it didn’t touch his eyes and stood.

Dazai, curious now, asked, “Was that why you came over here?”

Chuuya didn’t pause, didn’t miss a step, just continued out as though Dazai’s voice hadn’t reached him.

The brunet, watched as Chuuya exited the building, re-entering the rain and moving quickly away.

The first time he’d seen Chuuya after defecting from the mafia, killing Mori, and leaving behind one of the only good things he’d had in life, was also the last.

It wasn’t until, a few years later, tucked in bed with Chuuya laying next to him, curled against his side, breaths light and gentle as he slept, that Dazai stopped have firsts and lasts with the man.

That they began and the end, the end was distant. A promise that would eventually be fulfilled, like the promise of rain after the end of a dry season, the promise of petrichor drifting in the air when it did, the promise of a final page to every book.

The book Dazai had, guaranteed their end would come later. That Dazai need not trouble himself with worry over what may occur tomorrow because tomorrow they’d return to their bed. As they always did. As they always would.