#and got inexplicably inspired to make art

[the-corvid-witch]

how lovely, to be rained on with you <3

[iceunhie]

latibule.

premise. in which all too many intrusions come in the form of one particular shadow guard. (or, moze always looks to you to patch him up. inexplicably, you let him do so anyway.)

warnings: gn!reader, pining moze but he's too edgy to know, one kimi ni todoke inspired (?) scene, treating injuries, banter (obviously), probably ooc, feixiao cameo, based off of the new quest, kinda mid writing

notes: not proofread i have no excuse i just like him okay???? inspired by @luvether's mozeqiu/reader fic (i love ur works ☹️) ty @lowkeyren for the chinese help!

“You're here again, Moze.”

In the wee hours between 1AM to 3AM, it has become a daily occurence for you to tend to Moze's injuries.

He nods. “I'm here.”

Despite having a perfectly (super) capable healer who attends to even the Lady General personally at her behest, you do not know why Moze always ends up at your window of all things during the ungodly hours of the moon's turn, complete with stupid, easily treatable cuts all across his body.

As General Feixiao's Representative Proxy, such work is not your forte—and rarely do you ever employ your few practiced arts in healing; the result often clumsy and sloppy, just enough to treat the few cuts Moze sports.

Still, it has since become routine to patch Moze up, and despite your insistence that he take care of himself more, the ashy haired man never listens, instead ending up at your home. You wonder if he does this on purpose.

Next time, you think, you're never going to open the windowsill for him again.

You open the windowsill further to let him in. Hypocrite, your mind echoes unhelpfully. Great, you must be losing your mind.

“Got into trouble again, hm?”

His expression tells you that whoever he fought wasn't all that—show-off—internally, you roll your eyes. “...Will you patch me up?”

No, your mind tells you, the words are at the tip of your tongue; you're always sneaking in here at night, and making me go through all this trouble.

(Your actions betray a different tune altogether.)

You don't know when Moze started to make you his personal healer despite Jiaoqiu in the vicinity; a moment of worry led to one thing, and now here you are, Moze's budget Jiaoqiu at home. The thought makes you laugh to yourself. Compared to the foxian, your skills could be described as subpar at best.

(Complaining to your own Lady General was no use. Incredulously, Feixiao believed that it was because—

“You're special.” Feixiao says with a grin. “Is it not obvious that it is because he wishes to see you?”

“What?” Looking at her, your voice is a tired drawl of resignation. “....My Lady, it seems your recent exposure to the Luofu's romance novels have dulled your judgement. Shall I call for Jiaoqiu?”

“Wha- Hey, don't call me senile!” Your Lady General deadpans, “Anyway, I'm telling you, Moze likes you!”)

“Why is it always me?” you grumble under your breath, though it doesn't escape Moze's ears.

It's good that you don't expect an answer; if Moze had to be honest, he doesn't know why he always goes to you either.

“Why wouldn't it be you?” Moze says, not missing a beat.

Your cheeks warm, the heat crawling up your neck from his audacious words. Jeez, he really doesn't know his effect on people, did he?

“...Not to mention, Jiaoqiu is asleep.”

Never mind. “Know the shame.”

“I don't wish to disturb Jiaoqiu as well.”

“Oh, so you see it fit to bother me but don't bother with Jiao-gege?”

“You'll live.” Moze blinks. Frowns. “Wait, did you just call him... gege?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yes, what about it?”

“Since when were you two so close?”

“Mm, since a certain guard stops by my home at twilight hour?”

“....”

Sighing, your hands are nimble against the bandages, looping the white cloth in your palm and dabbing at the corners of Moze's face, gentle. Up close, his face is all sharp edges and harsh lines. Whether he notices how you gulp when you approach closer, swiping the cloth along his lower lip, he holds his tongue, for fear of disturbing whatever it was, permeating between the two of you like a thick haze, afraid of destroying the peaceful silence.

He watches, instead, as you scrub away the little bit of blood on his cheek.

You're talking; something about him being too reckless, taking care of himself more, yet he finds that he can't catch a word of what you're saying, focusing only on one thing.

Your hands are warm.

Heat creeps up to his neck like coiling vines, twisting his stomach, all because of you. Moze's heart thrums, breath stolen away—you're so close, it's unbearable—and he fights to keep himself even remotely neutral. All because of you.

“Moze?”

What are you doing to him? Why does he always come back to you? Is he sick?

“You're burning up.” You press your hand against his neck; and funnily enough, the thought of leaning into your touch crosses Moze's mind—it's maddening how much he wants to do so.

Blinking once, Moze looks to find you pulling away, and before he can think of it, his fingers wrap around your wrist in an iron grip, carefully maintained distance discarded.

“...?”

“Ah, wait, it's fine— Just—” don't pull away.

What?

Moze coughs. “Just continue.”

The night's breeze flows throughout your home; the chuang kou is wide open, with Moze looking less like General Feixiao's most trusted aide and more akin to an obedient dog. It's humiliation, Moze thinks—but when it was you, his dignity could be in tatters for all he cares.

Your eyes soften, just a bit, “If you say so.”

Inexplicably, relief assaults Moze's senses like a balm to his soul. Because the idea of being perceived, heard—by you—affects him in a dizzying, confounding way, and he knows not how to cure such an ailment whose only cure is your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, it's why he can never stop returning to you. Let you think him a fool, an idiot—so as long as he ends up at your window, by your side, it's a small price to pay.

“Okay.” he affirms, loosening his grip, (never you, though) finally letting you finish patching him up as you plaster what remains of the white bandages upon his face.

Noticeably, he doesn't let go of your hand.

“Okay.” you echo, and finally, you're finished with your work. The sight of Moze all bandaged up perfectly and finally getting to sleep makes you happier than you should be, the prospect of sleep way too enticing.

“There, all done. Take care of yourself better next time, 'kay?”

He hums, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“You sure you will?”

“Yes.” Moze looks at you, and he looks at you like it would be a sin of the greatest kind to take his eyes of off you; holding your presence in his irises, emulating you deeply onto his pupils, his tendons and his limbs. “I will.”

(How could he ever not listen to you?)

You release him, much to Moze's reluctance—opening the closed chuang kou. The night breeze welcomes Moze, kissing his skin, with the colors of the rising sun beginning to rise, vibrancy in the darkness of the inky night.

“...Moze?” you call, in the corner of your eye, seeing him already putting a foot on the rooftop.

“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....” you mumble, glad that your back is turned from him, lest he sees the heat dusting your cheeks. You know Moze has probably left, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Well, you'll bring it up another time, then. Something tells you he'll listen, this time.

This time, you don't ignore the flutter of the butterflies in your stomach.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(“Jeez, if you wanted to see me that much, just tell me instead of going through all this trouble, really....”

In the darkened corner of shadow, a figure slumps disgracefully with a loud thud. Using a hand to grip the side of the wall, nothing can compare to the burning heat crawling up Moze's skin, positively flushed.

Moze puts a hand to his face, slumping further to a near kneel.

It's warm—just like the ghostly feeling of your hands upon his skin minutes prior.

Maybe he'll take you up on your offer.)

a/n: sorry for the long sporadic activity :,D this is what a chuang kou looks like btw

[maneatercore]

𝐢'𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : steve harrington x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you move to hawkins because it's cursed, and what is a curse if not inspiration for art? you plan to spend your days painting and thinking about the macabre. what you don't plan is steve - his perfect smile, the ease of his affection, the inexplicable need you have for him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, oral sex (f receiving), size kink, multiple orgasms, pining, slight breeding kink even though r is on the pill, biting, r is kind of weird and steve loves it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.8k

You’re smoking in the cemetery when Steve first meets you. 

You’re wearing all black: tights, leg warmers, and a long sleeve dress. He assumes you’re mourning someone freshly deceased, so he gives you a polite, acknowledging nod when you look at him. You don’t react. 

The wind is bitter, biting. The tip of your nose is so cold it’s numb, so you rub at it while you exhale a puff of smoke into the dreary November air. You watch the stranger find the grave he’s looking for, and when he squats down by it and disappears from sight for a few minutes, you go back to reading the names on the tombstones closest to you. Birthdays, death days. You think about how old they were - or how young. You try to picture them in your head. 

“It’s cold out here,” a voice says beside you. When you look up, there he is, hands stuffed into his pockets. He’s got a nice face: pretty pink lips and wide eyes framed with long lashes, cold-kissed cheeks flushed deep. His breath fogs in puffs of white vapor. “Do you want to take my jacket? I have another in the car.” 

Before you can respond, he's already shrugging out of the garment in question, a brown coat lined with warm-looking sherpa. You leave your cigarette in your mouth and slip into the jacket because that's what he wants you to do. "Thanks," you say around your cig.

"Who are you?" He asks the question in an almost demanding way, but then he catches himself and shakes his head with a grimace. "Sorry. I just haven't seen you around."

"It's okay. I just moved here." You tell him your name. He repeats it back, his voice soft but gruff in all the right places. You decide that you really, really like the sound of your name in his mouth.

"Steve," he introduces himself, then goes to shake your hand. He wants to ask why you're here. Why you'd move to this town while everyone else is trying to get out. Who you know that's dead. Instead, he just says, "Well. Welcome to Hawkins."

"Thanks," you say. It looks like he's going to leave - his car is parked in the street nearby, and he's walking backwards toward it. "Wait. I can't take your jacket."

"If "No, it's fine, take it. I don't want you to freeze out here." He pauses his backwards-walking. Bites at his lip like he's stalling, deciding something. "If you want to give it back, I work at the diner in town.

Basically every day. I make a mean coffee."

You ask, "Are you flirting with me?" and he freezes.

But then you smile, so he gives a nervous little laugh and looks away. "Bad place to flirt, I know. Sorry. I'll see you sometime?"

You nod at him, lips still quirked upwards, and he says something like okay cool bye before he rushes back to his car, clearly shivering.

Steve does make a mean coffee. He asks if you like it sweet, and you do, so he gives you a steaming mug of caramel-colored liquid, still swirling with freshly poured creamer and what looks like cinnamon. You take a sip and sigh deep.

🕯️

Outside, it's gray and gloomy and absolutely frigid, as it so often has been throughout autumn in Hawkins. You wore Steve's jacket all the way inside, until you slipped into the vinyl seat of your booth, and he'd practically tripped over his feet to come and greet you with a million-dollar smile. Now you're listening to his recommendations while the warmth of the coffee in your system spills outward to your limbs.

"And, I mean, the bacon is just... Crazy. You've gotta pour maple syrup over it." He lifts his hand to his head and makes an explosion sound with his lips pursed, fist opening in time with the noise. You snicker at him. "We have the real stuff, like, from the tree, not the other crap. You'll love it. Promise. Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes," you tell him, body shaking with giggles, and he doesn't even look hurt. "'m sorry, you're just funny. I'll take whatever you think is good, okay?"

Just when you notice that Steve's cheeks are tinted the prettiest, faintest shade of pink, he nods, spins around, and disappears into the kitchen.

He comes back ten minutes later with way too much food. There are too many plates to count, piled high with wide, fluffy pancakes, grits slick with butter, pepper-flecked scrambled eggs, and that bacon Steve promises is mind-blowing.

"Steve," you say as he slides the last plate onto the table. Perfectly toasted triangles of bread, with jam and butter. "I cannot eat all of this."

"Take whatever you can't eat to go. It's on me, if you're worried about how much it is. You told me to give you whatever's good, and there's a lot, so..."

"Help me?" You grab one of the napkin-wrapped bundles of silverware and unravel it, eyes on him. He takes in a sharp breath and looks around the diner.

It's Wednesday morning, ten o'clock. There's two other people nursing coffees at the bar, one of them reading a newspaper, the other watching the tiny television fixed to the wall. The emptiness of the place encourages him to slide into the seat opposite you. "Since you asked so nicely," he says, grabbing his own bundle of silverware.

The two of you eat around the assortment of plates, and he's right - everything is good. The bacon, smothered in that "real" maple syrup Steve talked up, is utterly divine. You eat until your stomach feels like it's stretched to double its size, and wash it all down with coffee and orange juice.

"Thoughts?" Steve asks. He wipes a sheen of hash brown grease from his lips with a napkin.

"Good. So good," you say, "but I'm going to need to hibernate after all of this.

"That's how you know it's good ole comfort food." Steve stands up and wipes his hands on his apron, then starts to stack empty plates in a complicated pile. You try to help, but he playfully swats your hand away with a chastising look. "'ll be back," he tells you and rushes off to discard the dishes and grab a few to-go boxes.

He doesn't let you help him pack up the leftovers, nor does he let you even see the price of everything you'd devoured. You try to stuff some cash into the pocket of his apron but he backs away with expert agility.

"First I steal vour iacket. now this? | feel like a leech."

"You're not a leech. I'm buttering you up on purpose."

"Oh?" You grab your discarded scarf from your seat and wrap it loosely around your throat. "And why is that, Steve?"

There's something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. He lets a couple beats pass, then slides over your plastic bag of to-go boxes. "Just welcoming you to Hawkins."

🕯️

You can't make Steve pay for your food and flirt with you on the job forever, and you certainly can't live on pancakes and bacon grease, so the two of you eventually move your hang-outs to non-working hours. You invite him to your place: a shabby little cottage on the edge of the forest, rented for stupid cheap from a family that just wanted to skip town and not worry about selling the house first. You've been here for a month or two, you're not really sure, but you've already settled in nicely. There are old wooden shelves pinned to the walls, sporting half-melted candles in silver holders and a few jars of oddities you've collected over the years: animal bones, butterfly wings, funny-shaped rocks, dried herbs. Long-dead flowers hang in bunches throughout the home, and on nearly every flat surface, there are collections of thoroughly used paint brushes and squeezed tubes of acrylic paint.

Stupidly, you'd tried to hide the countless canvases bearing your paintings in varying states of completion when Steve had first come over. But of course, he'd found them.

"Creepy," he'd mumbled while he browsed through your work. He caught himself sounding rude and stammered, "I mean, in a good way, in a really good way.”

He looked through your paintings for what felt like hours, oohing and ahhing at the whorls of black and violet and scarlet paint, portraits of frightened-looking women and blood-splattered angel wings.

Even though Steve must've already known you were somewhat... Odd, given your choice of clothing and jewelry and makeup, the sight of him taking in your art made your palms sweat. Because what if it was too much? What if he thought you were too strange?

Instead, he'd turned to you with a lightbulb-moment expression. "I should introduce you to Will, a friend of mine. He paints. He'd probably love this stuff. It's good."

And that had been enough to keep you from worrying that he'd run for the hills from you, yelling burn the witch!

Now, it seems silly that you could ever doubt Steve's interest in you. He comes by your house a few times a week, brings you leftover sweets from the diner that he promises were free of charge. He leaves you notes on the kitchen table that you never seem to catch him writing, and calls you on the days when he's too tired after work to come over. He wipes chocolate frosting from the corners of your lips and massages your forearms while you hum along to the mixtape you'd made for him, An Intro to Real Music, darkwave beats thrumming in the close quarters of your home. He makes your heartbeat feel unsteady.

"I have a stupid question," he tells you today, as one song peters out from the speakers and the next begins. He's rubbing circles in your arms, and the warmth of his touch is so comforting you think you could fall asleep like this.

"Hm?"

"What do you look like without your makeup?"

You can kind of hear him hold his breath. Truthfully, it's not a stupid question. Not when you wear black kohl eyeliner like it's going out of style, smudged all around your eyes and pointed outward at the inner and outer corners. You cover your face with foundation a shade or two too light, and your lipstick is always a smear of deep, wine red. Still, it's sweet that he thinks he's being insensitive.

"Normal. Boring, I guess. Why? You wanna see?"

"Seriously? No, no, it's fine. I was just... Wondering. Dunno." His hands find one of yours, and he rubs his thumbs into your palms to relieve the tension there.

Tension you didn't even know was there.

You peer up at him and smile, eyes finding his. "You wanna see. Okay, hold on."

Standing up from the cheap, rickety couch in the living room, you make your way to the bathroom and rifle through your cabinets for a container of Pond's lotion. It takes a good while to rub away all the makeup, but you're patient with it, and eventually you emerge from the bathroom makeup-free, skin shiny with moisture. Steve is still on the couch, and it looks like he's biting his nails when he looks up and sees you.

You gesture to your face and murmur a little ta-da! as you climb back onto the couch beside him. His arm snakes around your shoulders and he uses his free hand to pinch your chin, just to angle your face perfectly for his viewing. "God," he says.

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"Good, good," Steve rushes out, "I think you're just as pretty. But it's different. I like you both ways, I think."

You smile shyly at him, not really knowing what to say. The mixtape plays a few more songs while the two of you slip back into conversation. Steve is curious about you, and you feel the same about him, so you take turns trading little life anecdotes. He learns that you came to Hawkins because it's cheap and you felt drawn to its paranormal allure - you know, being cursed and all. You learn that he's lived here his whole life, long before it started getting...

Weird.

You don't ask him why he doesn't leave. The people he talks about, his friends, his found family, are clearly important to him. And they've stayed. Steve strikes you as one of the most loyal people you've ever met.

🕯️

It snows for the first time of the season in late November. You wake up to it that Sunday morning, pulling open the curtains and seeing flurries cascading down to the gray-brown earth. You get a fire going in the living room, poking at the flames with the set of wrought iron tools by the fireplace.

The phone rings.

"Hello," you say into the phone. You already know who it is - you don't get calls from anyone else.

"Did you look outside yet?"

"Mhm, it's pretty. I'm freezing." You twist your finger around the coiled cord of the landline, listening and agreeing in all the right moments as Steve invites himself over for coffee and banana bread. Both of which are provided by him.

When you hear the hum of his car engine outside, you wrap a blanket around yourself and swing open the front door to greet him. He's clad in a puffy jacket and a blue flannel underneath, nose beet red as he rushes through the door with a glass dish covered by aluminum foil. "Hi," you say and he shifts the dish to one hand to give you a quick hug. "Hi," he says back.

You both agree that the warmest place in your tiny is the rug next to the fireplace, so the two of you lay out some blankets and pillows there to share breakfast. The banana bread is, like, ridiculously good.

"Did you make this?" You cover your mouth to keep from spitting out a crumb while you talk.

Steve snorts. "No, my mom did. Sorry to disappoint."

You stop chewing and give him a funny look. "She made it... For me?"

"Oh, uh. No. I kind of swiped it from the kitchen this morning." He breaks eye contact and looks very focused on a speck of dirt or dust or lint on his jeans. It almost looks like he winces at himself. You hum your response, not really surprised by his admission. You swallow a mouthful of banana bread and chase it with some coffee. "I don't really talk to my parents," Steve blurts suddenly, and you give him another funny look, though you try to mask it. He charges on. "So they don't know about you. But my friends know. I mean, about you. I've told them about you."

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you're acutely aware of how soft his gaze is, how sweetly he looks at you when you're together. You couldn't keep from smiling if you tried. "What have you told them about me?"

Your question earns a scoff of surprise from Steve.

"What haven't I told them? That you're pretty, but, like, kind of intimidating at first. That you're an artist and everything you create is crazy good - art museum kinda stuff. You're smart, mysterious, and just... Cool. So cool. l've never met anyone as cool as you."

Laughing, you wrinkle your nose. "Nobody's ever called me cool before."

"That's insane. You really are so cool."

"You're embarrassing me," you mutter as your cheeks warm, surely spreading redness from your face to the tips of your ears. Steve says sorry, reaches forward, and grabs your hand. Your fingers intertwine and he's so warm, it thaws you out instantly.

It's hard not to pry any further. You want to ask Steve what you are to him - what he tells his friends you are. Just another friend? Some girl? Or something else? You open your mouth to ask but he doesn't see it, so he dives into a story about how the first snow of the season is always the most magical, because even though you see it every winter, its return carries the excitement and comfort and familiarity of seeing an old friend.

🕯️

December comes, and with it, more snow.

Christmas lights blink at you from where they line the homes on Steve's street, a few snowmen standing guard in the whiteness of the front lawns.

The car pulls into Steve's driveway and he puts it in park, turning to you with a grin. "Here," he announces unnecessarily.

The two of you make your way inside and hang up your outerwear, toeing your shoes off by the door.

You've brought a backpack with you, stuffed to the brim with everything you need to stay the night - Steve suggested that you two should have a

"sleepover" since his parents were out of town, and how could you say no? Of course, he'd made sure to qualify that it was an innocent sleepover, as opposed to... The other kind?

You're genuinely intimidated by the niceness of his house - it's bigger than any home you've ever lived in.

Even so, Steve looks embarrassed as he gestures around vaguely and says welcome. He asks if you want hot cocoa and you do, so you follow him into the too-big kitchen where he searches the too-big cabinets and too-big fridge for everything he needs.

You stand by the island and look around some more, only stopping when Steve places your warm mug in front of you.

You take a sip and shift around, the noise of your backpack ruffling catching Steve's "Oh, shit. You wanna put that upstairs? Sorry. Forgot you had a bag." He reaches out to take it from you and you oblige, trailing after him yet again as he leads you upstairs to his bedroom. It's crazy, the sheer amount of lights in his house. He has to flick a new lightswitch every few feet, and the house just keeps spilling out before you.

When you finally reach his room, he places your backpack on his neatly made bed. The room is nothing particularly notable, but the fact that you're in his room at all makes your neck get hot, and you bite at your lip to self-soothe.

"I don't know what you want to do tonight," Steve says, "but I have movies and music, some board games too. You can pick?"

He seems anxious, too, and you wonder if it's for the same reason that you are. The intimacy of being in his house for the first time, the fact that you'll be alone with him until tomorrow afternoon or maybe even later. The emptiness of the hours in front of you. The pressure to fill that time with something interesting.

"Let's make a fort." You take a few steps up to his bed and touch a folded-up blanket that sits atop his duvet cover. "Got more blankets than this? Pillows, too? We'll need lots of them."

So, you find yourself spending the night building a fort in Steve's living room with an array of sheets, blankets, comforters, and pillows. You two have creative differences regarding the structure, but when all is said and done, it's a pretty solid fortress.

You're panting from the effort of it all, the back of your shirt stuck to your spine with sweat, when you finally splay out on the pillows inside the fort. Steve is beside you nursing the last of his hot cocoa, equally spent from all the effort. "I haven't built a fort since I was a kid," he reflects, and you nod in agreement.

"Same here. That was fun. What should we call it?"

Steve thinks, shrugs his shoulders. "I'm bad at names. Let's just call it The Fort."

"Okay. The Fort." You let out a laugh and Steve's lips twitch into a smile. He reaches down at you and swipes a strand of loose hair from your face, expression turning serious. The change makes your heartbeat pick up a few notches. It's quiet, so quiet, until Steve says, "You are so pretty it hurts."

You're lying flat on the pillows and you want to sink further into them, because his words make you feel like you're melting. You mumble something that you hope sounds like thank you, shy under the intense gaze Steve's giving you. He licks his lips and you watch the quick flash of his pink tongue. Then, he sets his empty mug just outside The Fort, turning just for a second before he's facing you again. He shuffles around until he can lower himself onto the pillows beside you.

"I'm sorry. Was that too much?"

"What?"

"I said you're so pretty it hurts. And I meant it, by the way. But do you not like that? When I call you pretty?"

You tap your foot, pick at your nails, whatever you can do to expel some of the nervous energy that buzzes in you. "I do like it," you tell him, "especially because it's you saying it."

You can feel him moving beside you; your peripheral vision lets you see that he's turned his head so he can look at you. The sound of his breathing is closer than its ever been. Or maybe you're just more conscious of it than you've ever been. You close your eyes, turn your head to face him, and open your eyes again. Just like you'd thought, he's already looking at you.

You somehow find your voice enough to say, "You're also pretty. So pretty it hurts."

Steve's pupils dilate wide, and you think for a moment to a time someone had told you that your eyes do that when you're looking at someone you like.

You can't do it anymore. The holding back. You give up and kiss him.

Steve tastes like his hot cocoa, so sweet and chocolatey, but there's also the taste of him underneath the Swiss Miss that makes you shiver.

He holds you through the tremors, hands all over you but somehow not on you enough, and you struggle to breathe when he moves to climb on top of you and cradle your hips as you make out. Your tongues slide against each other and Steve's saliva is slick in your mouth, but you want more of him, as much of him as you can have.

You moan into his mouth and the sound makes him draw in a ragged breath through his nose.

"How can I get you to do that again?" The question is murmured against your lips, but before you can think of an answer, Steve is nosing at your jawline, inhaling your scent and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the smooth skin of your neck. You keen at him, sigh and moan at him, squirm underneath him with your eyes squeezed shut, and he loves it all.

"Yeah?" he asks once, when you moan particularly high in your throat. He'd found a sweet spot on the crook of your neck, and your noises encourage him to stay there until an angry, purple-red bruise marks you.

"Steve," you call out, because he keeps going. His hands slip under your shirt and he's warm on your belly, the soft fat of your hips, the roll of your skin underneath your bra. He unclasps the bra in one quick motion and then palms at the round swells of your breasts, nipples already peaked under his thumbs. "God," he gasps into your throat. "You're going to kill me."

"I would never," you whisper back. Steve huffs a short laugh and brings his lips back up to yours to kiss you deep. Then he breathes out, "Do you want this?"

He rocks his hips forward and you feel something hard bump against your hip. The sensation sends a cascade of butterflies throuah vou. "Please." is all is all you can manage to say.

So he peels your shirt from your torso and sets it somewhere to the side with your bra. Then he's staring at the newly exposed skin before him, the planes of your stomach and sternum, the soft flesh that's thrumming with the need for him. His lips are parted and his eyes are so, so wide.

"Beautiful," he murmurs before he litters your body with hot kisses. You don't think he's aware of how he's moving against you, the restrained length of his cock grinding down on you in search of friction. You hook your leg around his waist and cant your hips up to meet him and he makes a tortured sound, panting. Encouraged, he works on undoing your pants and working them from your hips, until you re just in your lace panties and fuzzy socks.

Steve looks like he really is going to die. Brown hair mussed, lips swollen and blushing, pupils taking over his irises. You want him inside you. So you tell him, "I want you inside me."

His brows knit together and his expression looks like he's been kicked in the head. "God, okay, of course, yeah. But I have to get you ready for me. That okay?"

You think you're so wet that you could take him already, but the prospect of him stretching you open in other ways is thrilling, so you let him roll your panties off and bring his fingers to the wet heat of your cunt, the flood of arousal pooled at your entrance. His eyes roll back for a second or two when he feels you.

"So wet for me," he says in a strangled kind of voice.

"Bet you want me to just fuck you already, huh?" His words simultaneously embarrass and arouse you, setting you aflame with need. You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, thin brows furrowing as he spreads your wetness through your folds, all the way up to the swollen nub of your clit. Your hips twitch and you gasp while he plays with you, his attentive gaze watching for every subtle change in your expression. He works you open with one finger, then two, the thickness of the digits inside of you leaving you whining.

He's still fully clothed, towering over you with his hand between your legs, and the fact that you're so vulnerable in the moment while he's still in his still in his stupid sweater and stupid jeans makes you want to rip the fabric from his body. But it's hard to move when he's scissoring his fingers inside of you, then leaning over and opening his mouth to let a mouthful of saliva drip down onto your already-drenched folds. You whimper at the obscenity of the gesture, then whimper some more when he brings his mouth to your cunt and spreads his own saliva with his tongue, his low grunts and moans vibrating against you. It's too much, but it's somehow not enough. You're writhing beneath him, the fat of your inner thighs pushing inward to cage his head between them, and he doesn't stop, he just keeps lapping at your cunt like a man possessed, fingers pumping into you at a relentless pace. The promise of an orgasm burns bright in the heat of your lower belly, and when it gets too much to bear, you go rigid and release a tortured sound from your lips.

Steve can feel your hole squeezing him like a vice, but he fucks his fingers into that extra tightness to help you ride out your orgasm, tongue prodding at your clit until you're twitching away from his touch.

"There you go, babe," he says as he pulls back from your oversensitive cunt. "That wasn't so hard, was it?”

You're too dizzy with lust to respond so you just nod at him. He moves back up your body to kiss you again, the taste of your cunt in his mouth, and when he pulls back he's smiling at you. "D'you like tasting yourself?"

"Yes," you breathe. Your hands search for the hem of his sweater and tug until he chuckles at you and obliges, undressing himself too slowly for your liking. When it's just him in his boxers and you in your socks, you sit up, gaze falling to the hardened length of Steve's cock obscured with a thin layer of fabric. You gulp because he's big. He's really big.

"Told you I had to get you ready." Steve smirks at you, having caught on to the way you looked at his cock. "C'mere, baby."

You breathe through your nose as you crawl over to him and palm his length through his boxers, salivating in your mouth when you finally get the courage to pull the elastic waistband down and free his cock. It's big and it's pretty and it looks almost heavy, the weight of it tapping his stomach briefly when it bobs free. His tip is wet with precum, and you bring your thumb up to spread it around, You breathe through your nose as you crawl over to him and palm his length through his boxers, salivating in your mouth when you finally get the courage to pull the elastic waistband down and free his cock. It's big and it's pretty and it looks almost heavy, the weight of it tapping his stomach briefly when it bobs free. His tip is wet with precum, and you bring your thumb up to spread it around, prompting a sharp inhale from Steve as he watches.

He curses under his breath.

"Spit on it," he tells you. His hand finds your hair and he pets at it.

You do as you're told, gathering spit in your mouth until it's enough to coat his cock. Steve's hips rock forward when you circle your hand around him and spread the wetness of your saliva, the glide of your skin on his too easy. He draws in another quick breath and then moves to stand up, only pausing when you grab at his hand.

"Where are you going?" You frown at him.

"Gonna get a condom," he says with a wry smile,

"What? You can't wait that long?"

When you shake your head, he laughs. You insist,

"I'm serious. I take birth control."

The smugness of his expression falls, his eyes The smugness of his expression falls, his eyes searching your face for a hint that you're joking, but when you're not he makes a show of flaring his nostrils and rolling his eyes back.

"Fuck, okay. Lie down."

So you do. You spread your legs for him to climb between, and his body is a welcome heat against yours; the feel of his skin on you is so tantalizing you think you might pass out. The prod of his head against your entrance sobers you up, and then he's sinking into you inch by inch, face pulled into an expression you want to memorize forever. But then he tucks his face into your neck to bite at your sensitive skin. his breath hot and needv as he So you do. You spread your legs for him to climb between, and his body is a welcome heat against yours; the feel of his skin on you is so tantalizing you think you might pass out. The prod of his head against your entrance sobers you up, and then he's sinking into you inch by inch, face pulled into an expression you want to memorize forever. But then he tucks his face into your neck to bite at your sensitive skin, his breath hot and needy as he bottoms out.

"How's that feel?" Steve grunts.

"Good, so good, please move, Steve." Your cunt squeezes around him in encouragement.

When he starts to fuck you in earnest, the slapping sound of skin against skin ringing out in the living room, the way he hits something blindingly good within you makes your mind go blank. You're not usually so pliant in bed, but he's so good, and you can't think to do anything other than just take it as he ruts himself into you. His hands come to grab your hips with a bruising grip, and even that feels impossibly good. Steve's not quiet about how much he's enjoying himself, either, responding to your sweet moans and cries with his own curses and grunts, good girl and so tight for me falling from his lips in an endless stream.

You're a panting mess beneath him when he reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit, the sensation drawing a ragged gasp from you.

"Come for me again?" Steve asks but it's not much of a question, because he's dragging a second orgasm out of you already, fucking into you without abandon while you cry out his name and arch your back in pleasure. The sight of you like that, stretched out under him and lost in your own haze of lust, letting him fuck you as hard as he wants, it's just too fucking much for him. He leans closer to you and tells you he's going to come, and when you chant inside inside inside at him he damn near bites your neck open.

"You want me to fill you up?" He pants out the question while he chases his release, hips snapping into yours impossibly fast. You're nodding, eyes squeezed shut. "Huh? Tell me."

The blunt edges of his fingernails dig into the fat of your hips, and he doesn't slow down to let you speak easier. "Yes,"

' you gasp out, "Please, please fill

me up with you, please--"

"Mm. Good girl." Steve brings a hand up to pet at your cheek and then he's coming, hips stuttering as he fucks into you a few more times, somehow deeper than before, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot while he spurts his cum within "Mm. Good girl." Steve brings a hand up to pet at your cheek and then he's coming, hips stuttering as he fucks into you a few more times, somehow deeper than before, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot while he spurts his cum within you. The warmth of it makes you feel whole.

It takes a while for the two of you to come back to your senses. You're sweaty and struggling to breathe, wrapped up in him, and he brings his mouth to yours in a touchingly tender kiss that makes your stomach turn. Cum leaks from your hole when he finally pulls himself out. He looks at you with a dazed sort of expression when he slips his fingers into you again, pushing some of his semen back into your cunt. He beams at you as if you aren't whining and rolling your hips at his touch. "Can't let it go to waste, now, can we."

"You're evil," you say to him when he removes his hand from between your leg and kisses you on the cheek, settling into the pillows beside you again.

"Not always. You like it, don't you?"

A beat. "Yes," you confess.

"Knew it. We should shower. C'mon." Steve gathers the discarded clothes circling The Fort, then taps your hip to encourage you up. He leads you upstairs to his bathroom, where the shower is insanely big, and it's too tempting to keep yourselves from fooling around again when you're halfway through lathering your bodies with soap. And Steve fucks you again when you're in bed, hair still damp from the shower, then another time still when you wake up next to each other the following morning.

Outside, it snows so hard that the world looks like a painting. The lawn is powder white and the streets are empty, howling winter winds keeping you cuddled up to Steve for every morsel of warmth you can find. He kisses you like you're his, and you think maybe you are.

[andraxicated]

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

Pairings: Gojo x f! reader

Tags: kitchen sex | raw doggy | food play | livin for toxic! gojo | male masturbation | dubcon | nipple play | arousal from possibility of getting caught | virginity loss | 'her' is used to refer to reader

a/n: this one's inspired by stargirl interlude because it had a chokehold on me since last year (also saw an art depicting the song like damn), might make a masterlist/event of these pieces that's inspired by explicit media hmm

gojo never knew why a person like you is working as one of his clan's maids. his six eyes sensed it the first time he saw you. the amount of cursed energy surging in your body is comparable to the average sorcerer. you already possess the minimum requirement to be qualified in jujutsu society, yet why are you here holding a tape measure and draping expensive fabric over his naked body?

satoru had to bite back a moan when your fingers ghosted over his stomach but the little sound he made didn't escape your ears. you momentarily stopped at his waistline, glancing up and making eye contact with your young master.

oh how you looked so delectable in satoru's eyes.

'so this is what you'd look like if you were sucking on my dick' he thought. and for someone who has the six eyes, his senses were on fire at that moment, something stirring in his pants with the strong flood of lust.

it was all because of your eyes that the sun glazed upon, lashes fluttering, and the cute questionable look on your face that appeared for a moment. then you got back to what you were doing as if nothing happened.

he noticed your shaky exhale though.

his member was growing beneath the kimono, looking up to the ceiling and biting his lip to control himself. but each touch on his body has him reeling as he suddenly let out a thunderous cough. your fingers froze in shock just at his knees.

satoru smacks his lips. "um-well I think that's enough for today. I'll just send the remaining measurements."

"yes young master" you reply as you immediately drew back and helped remove the kimono on his shoulders, satoru shrugging it off and putting his clothes back on.

he looks at you for a second. "I'll be back a few weeks later. Just in time for that old man's birthday." he says while wearing his shoes, his attention turning to scan your lowered body.

feeling the gaze of someone, you met his eyes once more. the inexplicable tension that lingered between the two of you filled the room. eyes speaking to each other amid the silence, attempting to know what the other was feeling.

then the six eyes sense someone approaching. satoru slides the door and exits without looking. one thing he noticed was your eyes, mesmerizing for some kind of reason. 'how do I describe it?' satoru asks himself, clutching his chin and letting his mind do the work.

he concludes that he found it to be full of life, a refreshing sight to look at amidst the dead eyes of the other servants.

he left you clenching the silk fabric, inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to hold back the pooling arousal. then how do you describe his gaze? you tell yourself satoru would never look at you like that but something inside you tells it was lustful.

gojo longed for you just as much to the point he's actually waiting for an old geezer's birthday party. counting the days 'til he sees you once more, to lock eyes and finally make a move on you—

"fuck" gojo groans, tapping his head to stop you from plaguing his thoughts. he's too damn busy saving the world to even think about a girl he just met. but he shivers in his seat when he remembers how you touched his body with your deft fingers and how ecstatic his heart gets that his dick responds by rising. is it too much to think about how good you'd be in bed?

in the quiet confine of his office, he began to pull his pants down while the hem of his shirt gets taken between his teeth, muffling the huffs of breath he makes. he's a moaner so of course he'll silence himself.

"oh fuck fuck fuck." he takes out his hard cock, wrapping his hand around it and hissing at the contact. satoru was supposed to say your name but he forgot to ask for it with the way his life being a sorcerer was hectic. nonetheless, he continues pumping up and down, closing his eyes and imagining it's your sweet pussy enveloping him. "you take me so good" satoru coos.

your quiet self turned into a cockdrunk whore would be his biggest fantasy, he'd be asking you if it'd hurt yet he'll go on anyway if you said yes coz he knows a good girl like you can take it. your kind always takes him the best.

a grin broke out on his face as he fists it faster, squeezing and tightening his hold like a real pussy would, imagining every filthy thing you'd do just to get him off. and that's where his mind created the idea of you masturbating to the thought of him too, touching yourself at your private quarters and craving to be filled with his cock.

it tips him off badly that his eyes squeezed shut beneath his blindfold, hips thrusting into his fist as his hand slides fast on the sensitive member until a muffled moan of "oh oh oh!" gets out at the same time as sticky white substance trickles out of the bulbous head.

he's so lost in his fantasy that he didn't have time to grab the tissue sitting nearby him. gojo sighs, looking at the mess he made on his hand, asking himself why is he pining so much for a nameless maid.

he then reaches for his phone, dialing a dreaded number and waiting for it to pick up. and when they did, he didn't bother listening to the greeting as it was cut off by his straightforward request.

"that maid who assisted me last time, assign her to me. i don't need a team of servants, just that girl is enough. i'll also be coming back to the estate sooner than I expected...what's her name again?"

said maid was getting herself busy at an ungodly hour. you were still so lost in your own orgasm that you just blankly stare at the wetness between your thighs. your kimono hiked up to your waist as you sit on your bed, flustered that you just did something dirty.

your shaky fingers try to touch the puffy folds again but you flinch at the slightest bit, wanting to enter once more to quench your thirst but you're too overstimulated at this point.

you plop back onto the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling and remembering the man who you thought about the whole time you were fingering yourself. masturbation clearly wasn't enough by the way you're immediately clenching your thighs.

"satoru~" you meekly whimper, testing how your tongue would pronounce his name if he's fucking you. and it had you squealing like a teenager with your pussy throbbing, toes curled, and feet kicking.

you needed the real deal. and luckily, both of you were waiting for the same thing.

it was finally the day of the birthday party, a garden one to which gojo scoffs at the pompous herd of people in the courtyard. he could destroy all of this in a flick of a finger but he decides not to spoil a dying man's last year because he has better things to do.

he trudges off to the renovated kitchen, designed to be modernized at his request, contrasting to the rest of the house. whistling with hands in his pockets, luckily, he sees you there decorating the cake of the day diligently. a wicked smile suddenly crept up his lips, tongue smoothing over as he approaches you, unable to conceal the giddy grin he was sporting.

"hey. didn't know you were quite the patissier." satoru leans on the counter, watching you push down the pipe filled with white cream to create decorative toppings. This innocent scene in front of him turns dirty thanks to his sick, perverted mind. You were just doing your job diligently yet it turns him on so much, his member was already painfully hard beneath his kimono.

He's doing his best not to whip it out and make you suck on it.

"do you need something, young master? i apologize that i cannot attend to you right now despite the arrangement. i was suddenly in charge of making the cake since it was-"

"they dumped this on you because they're too lazy to bake a fucking cake. you're getting picked on by the elders, shouldn't you be angry?" he asks and you don't reply as you're intently focused on the cake. one mistake and it could cost you your livelihood.

satoru sighs and passes a hand through his hair, looking at your figure fixated on your job. it looks like you have no reason to entertain this man any longer. "damn and I thought we were getting close" satoru said with false disappointment, watching your eyes slowly look at him and back to your work. he smirked, going around the corner of the counter and at your back where you could feel his large presence looming in, making you feel uneasy for you to suddenly have a shaky hand.

you could feel him closer, fear mixed in with anticipation and satoru senses that very well. he startles you by placing both of his hands on your hips. he also notices how the rise and fall of your chest quickened along with your heartbeat, he thinks it's cute for you to be so nervous around him.

"what happened? why don't you continue making the cake?"

you shook your head, trying to get his mental tricks out of your mind but his physical touch has you whipped. his slender fingers tease you by playing your body like a piano, moving upwards from your waist to settle at the underside of your breasts. your breath hitches, thighs clenching to form some kind of relief in this torture.

"answer me"

"I can't" You breathe out, feeling yourself about to either faint or cry.

"why not?"

"because you're touching me. it's not...appropriate."

satoru let out a "tsk" sound, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder, wanting to take a peek at your face but you're not letting him. "then is it appropriate for you touch yourself at the thought of your employer? your young master?"

you don't even wonder how he knew that but your eyes got big and whipped your head to look at him, fearing his next choice of words or his criticism of your actions. you might actually get kicked out of the household and live in the streets.

the thought of having no roof above your head scares you that tears spring up to your eyes, throat constricting. satoru's hand move to wipe those tears away, a frown on his face when he saw you about to break down.

"what are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours? hmm?" he coos closer at you, prompting you to speak. you let a shaky breath first before looking at him intently, bowing down in regret as you apologize.

"I'm sorry, it was inappropriate and I'll make sure it won't happen again-"

"yeah, I'll be mad if I go to your room and find out you're touching yourself." You freeze at his words and satoru had to bite back a laugh at how much he's affecting you. you're just too damn cute, he wanted to pinch your cheeks and smother you with kisses but he'll have time for that later.

"you know why?" he asks directly at you as you shook your head not knowing where this conversation is going.

"because it means I'm not pleasuring you. so for you not to do that anymore, I need to touch you and show you that you need me to feel good. to satisfy that itch between your thighs."

he motions at your clenched thighs as embarrassment filled you. he was too straightforward with his dirty words. your nails dug into the counter, scared of the outcome yet at the same time excited.

"you've taken care of me since I arrived here, you're the only person I care about in this house. so let me be good to you (y/n)." he finally knows your name, and satoru considers himself to be incredibly whipped because out of all the names he knows, yours sound the best.

"w-what are you doing?" you ask, feeling him press his growing member on your butt, rubbing and letting out soft mewls that went straight to your ear. he began grinding upwards with a roll of his body as if getting off on your clothed figure alone. but satoru was a greedy man and he wasn't going to settle for your held-back moans and untouched cunt. he wants you fucked up—dumb, incoherent, cock-hungry—on the kitchen counter with a chance of being seen, dripping with his precious seed that's supposed to be given to a woman with a better pedigree.

"prepping you" he replies.

and the thought of giving out blood pressure and heart attacks by indulging in you gets him all giddy. it's a total win for him when he suddenly rips your kimono with his bare hands, catching you off guard with your wide eyes and open mouth, quickly slipping his tongue in and molding for a french kiss.

it burned your desire even further as you tilt your head upward to get a better taste of him. your inexperienced technique was no match for his skills and gojo smiled when he realizes how sloppy of a kisser you are, loving the sweet taste of innocence on his tongue.

his lips felt plump against yours as is your folds that his long fingers are ghosting over. he then cups it, making you pull out of the kiss yet he attaches his lips over yours again, rendering you breathless.

"be quiet. wouldn't want someone to see this won't you?" he teases as he rips your clothing even further. the stretches of fabric hurt your ears as your whimpers of disapproval were long buried in his mouth.

you were then left naked and cold despite the warmth he was giving by pressing his body onto you, eliminating any space that his bulge sticks to your ass too much. satoru notices this and decides it was time for you to get all sweaty and messy. he has to fuck you right then and there as his dick decides.

the tip of his fingers prods your hole slowly, whispering sweet nothings as you squirm about how it was too big and long. gojo wanted to scoff at that and say something mean but he figured he should be good to you as you are to him.

"look at you, good girl. taking my finger so well, it's better than yours isn't it?" he nuzzles his nose at your neck, biting and sucking at the skin as he adds another finger to which you scream, finding the penetration of two fingers a bit too much. he doesn't even care if you make noise anymore. gojo firmly believes that you shouldn't be holding back moans when you're feeling good during sex, that's why he's going to unravel the slut inside you slowly at a time.

"no, satoru! take it out i'm too stuffed!" you held his wrist to push it away but it doesn't budge one bit. he smirks at how cute you are trying to overpower him and he pushes them deeper, watching you let out a loud moan.

"you called me satoru, i like it. but how are you going to take my cock when a mere finger is too much for you? huh?" he taunts, massaging your walls and pulling out to rip a whine out of you.

"i can take it! i can take your cock!" you suddenly exclaim and satoru takes it as a cue to start pulling it out of its confines.

"why the sudden change of heart?" the hard member twitches in his hand, leaking precum, begging to feel the warmth of your walls, and satoru hisses once he aligns the tip to your hole that's comparingly smaller. "answer my fucking question slut"

he's gonna fucking destroy you and both of you know it.

"owh!" his large hand met your ass, making you jolt in surprise before you reply. "coz it feels good when something's inside me" your voice went smaller with each word that gojo almost didn't quite catch what you were saying, but he did and it rose a smile on his face.

"i love honest girls" he says and pushes in with one quick thrust, opening your cunt wide open and devouring every space inside you, filling you to the brim with a sweep that has your mind reeling. gojo feels insanely thick inside you, giving pain with pleasure that has your pussy pulsing, evoking a low moan from him as he bit your neck.

"ah! ahhh! satoru~" you moan as he starts to move but you're too tight around him that it takes all of his willpower not to slam you on the counter and use you like a fleshlight.

"sweetheart, you're a virgin?" he pants, stopping his movements to let you adjust and feel what it's like to cockwarm. you nod at him shyly and he kisses your cheek then your lips, breaking off the heated exchange with a pinch to your nipple. "you just get so much better. i think i'm in love with you"

gojo then starts to pull out only to rut inside you like an animal, bumping you against the counter that your nails dig and scratch painfully on the flat surface, loosely holding onto the edge for dear life as you scream with each penetration of his big cock.

"satoru! y-you're too much I'm gonna break! aw! oh!" he only laughs at your moans while gripping your hips, giving him good control of how he wants your body to be. he could honestly go worse than this, he could be merciless and not care about your limits but for your first time he'll take it easy on you.

"lift your ass, give me a good arch sweetheart." gojo instructs and you follow, sticking your ass out for him as he pumps in deeper, hitting your sweet spot like he couldn't stop. you could even hear how sexy his moans are along with his balls slapping against you.

"y'know I like sweets"

"what?" you spoke out of confusion and he suddenly swipes a finger on the icing, poking the soft texture deep enough to destroy it, bits and pieces crumbling down in front of you like how hours of effort have been in vain.

you could care less but your heart still dropped, kinda hurt how you made it all pretty only to be destroyed by gojo with a swish of his hand.

he cooed at how your expression looked sad yet he dismissed it by fucking you harder, thinking somehow the pleasure will win you over. "it's just a fucking cake to them. they won't appreciate your efforts no matter what you do, so don't bother."

"i know-" you were supposed to say more but gojo's hand suddenly shoved icing into your mouth, filling it with his large fingers to shut you up yet the skin slapping was no means quiet.

"there's—ohhh! ah~ a—a person coming. they must be looking for me" gojo tries to make coherent sentences between moans, too lost in the feeling of your cunt spasming on him and letting him ease his cock in. your virgin pussy was too good for that it secretly had his eyes rolling back onto his head, the tips of his ears red along with his flush cheeks.

gojo takes his fingers out of your mouth, letting you breathe so you don't black out. "t-then stop! we'll get caught!" you tap his arm, trying to get him off you but you only push him deeper from behind, making him moan.

he may not care about what happens when you get caught because he's always going to be off the hook, yet you know it won't end nicely for a maid like you. fear crept into your body as your shaky eyes could only wait for the figure to come in and see you debauched.

"i'll try to be quiet too" satoru's other hand went over to the cake once more, swiping the white cream to be put at the top of your sensitive peaks. you shiver at the cold sticky feeling. "ready? his head rests on your shoulder and looks up grinning with his blindfolded eyes.

"i wanna see you satoru. take off the blindfold." you whisper and satoru gives a cheeky smile before doing what you wanted.

it was the prettiest shade of blue you've ever seen. like a rare diamond that you would love to stare at forever because it's yours. pulling you in deeper until the only thing you're thinking about is him.

"looks like someone's forgetting who's in charge" gojo whispers back amidst your lovestruck gaze at him. he was used to that kind of gaze thrown at him but there's something different about yours that he wishes he was the only one who receives it.

gojo clears his throat, embarrassingly got lost in your eyes, and had a little daydream of his own. he smiles and looks at the icing melting on your boobs. "oops! gotta clean them up!" he giddily attaches his mouth to one of your nipples, licking and toying them around with his tongue as his way of being quiet. he pinches the other one and pulls, squeezing the mounds to make it harder for you to keep quiet.

you had your eyes shut as gojo was busy sucking on your nipple, addicted to watching your face morph into pleasure and the feeling of your softness between his teeth. he gave kisses to both of the mounds, lapping the area around them while he was thrusting at a slow yet deep pace, one that elicits sobs from you each time he plunges back.

"satoru-! i'm-hmph! ohhhh i-ahhhh" you were beginning to tighten like crazy. as you started reciprocating his thrusts and gojo knew you had to feel him rough to get off. he was very reluctant to leave those peaks, giving them a long final suck before cupping both of them to return to his proper position facing your back.

he was close too, he could feel it coming, he could feel you too.

and so his cock pulls out at an agonizing pace to switch to pounding you into the counter. staccato moans came out from your lips and you had to cover both hands over your mouth to keep it. gojo didn't like that and decided it was time to reveal the little game he played just to taste your titties.

"it's okay, be loud as much as you want. they're in the courtyard having some fun" he says, fixated on your ass jiggling with each thrust, your walls constricting against his cock and that spongy spot he keeps hitting like a goal.

the loud chorus of the happy birthday song began to echo with so many guests outside and it just made you remember how disrespectful you were being, getting fucked by the young master with the sun still out, nonetheless in a space that anyone could walk into.

"i can't!" you choked out words the best you can and satoru scoffed at how ridiculous you were being. he just wanted to hear your fucking moans, wanted to hear how good he makes you feel. if this rhythm isn't enough then he starts to go hard befitting of his stamina, successfully ripping a scream out of you.

he laughed, pushing his slick-covered cock in. "listen, there was no one around in the first place, sweetheart. you don't think i planned out all of this to fuck you in the kitchen just for someone to come ruin it?" each snap of his hips makes you lose your mind, letting him take you from behind as you scramble to organize your thoughts about what he just said. you wanted to look back at him and ask why did he do all of this but the feeling of his large cock surrenders you to him.

"s-stop! ahhh! it-it's coming!" you feel a wave of pleasure washing over you, coming from your center that's still accommodating his girth. it was different than when you do it yourself, it hit hard like a truck that released all your pent-up sexual frustrations, bringing you to a state of clarity yet making you limp like a lifeless ragdoll that's waiting for its owner to stop playing. especially, your poor legs that stand on so little strength.

your arms gave up with your head and laid flat against the counter, not knowing when was this going to stop because your pussy feels incredibly sore each time he slams in. gojo then began to whine like a bitch, saying things about how you're so tight and he's so lucky to get to feel your pussy first. not that anyone will come next.

"fuck fuck!-(y/n)! ohhhh i-i'm coming! take it you fucking slut!" he groans, surprising you by pinching your clit and swirling his hand around your pussy, thrusting with his ass clenched so hard that you actually think the cockhead knocked on your womb with the way you lurched forward for the final time.

"happy birthday to me...feels like my fucking birthday." he mutters to himself, spilling his warm seed deep inside you, watching some of it begin to spurt out despite still keeping you plugged. he wanted to plant himself inside you as a claim of territory, making it clear to you and everyone that from now on, you're his.

"i feel full" you babble and relish at the feeling of being blessed by the gojo heir's seed, some of it already trickling down your thighs. "so tired. feels like I'm going to pass out"

and you did pass out from the fatigue of waking up early to learn a recipe for nothing—and from getting railed on the countertop for the first time.

this won't be the last time as gojo's keeping you for himself. he never wanted anything from this household except for you, his handmaid. so he's gonna call ijichi for a ride, get someone to pack your stuff, and keep you nice and warm in the comfort of his own home.

he's taking you to jujutsu high not for the reason of actually making you useful with your cursed energy. you're way too pretty to fight ugly curses anyway. and he's pretty sure, you would love to have your life turn around and become a princess, his princess.

after all, it was his handmaiden's fantasy.

[merryloumas]

Even though I read plenty of fics and have been doing so since I first started in 2021, this is the first time I actually noted down the names of the fics as I read them this month. I’m so thankful to our fandom’s wonderful writers for sharing these with us and it is because I read so many that I wanted to start noting them down so I can remember them. I was debating posting the list but fics have always been a source of comfort for me and if you feel the same, maybe these can bring you some comfort too.

🎃 The Serpent and the Lion by louiseparker @louiseparker [212k]

Seventh year Hogwarts AU in which Harry Styles is an asshole Gryffindor jock with daddy issues, Louis is just trying to get through the year, and Liam, Zayn, and Niall rarely ever know what the hell is going on.

🎃 Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by Toomanytears @toomanydreamers [126k]

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

🎃 You Drive Me Round The Bend by TheCellarDoor [77k]

In which Louis is a spoilt rich kid who’s always on the phone while he drives and Harry is a struggling musician making his way down the mountain. It’s just a matter of time before they crash and burn.

🎃 but me, i'm not a gamble by orphan_account [33k]

A Posh & Becks AU in which Harry is a star on the stage and Louis is a star on the pitch, but they're both inexplicably terrible at articulating their feelings. In the end, it only takes a season's worth of failed matchmaking schemes, platonic dinner dates, road trip holidays, and one very convenient David Beckham cameo for them to figure it all out. And if Niall knew all along? Well, he at least has the decency not to be too smug about it.

🎃 The Lone Hydrangea by sarah_writes @lightwoodsmagic [77k]

The post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other.

🎃 The Sunshine Stays by quickedween @becomeawendybird [15k]

It's three years after One Direction got back together, and Harry and Louis have just come off a world tour. They're enjoying a much more relaxed schedule the second time around, allowing themselves to bask in married life. Until, one day, Louis surprises Harry on vacation, and there are some surprising consequences.

🎃 House Of The Rising Sun by @itsmotivatingcara [100k]

Witch Harry/Vampire Louis. The Originals AU.

🎃 Something Like This by multicoloredme [150k]

After leaving his boyfriend, Louis is a little sore emotionally and is ready for a fresh start in a new city. When a coworker tells him about a couple friends looking for a new flatmate, he decides to go for it. Little does he know, that one of his new flatmates is the gorgeous, captivating guy he met at a party a few weeks ago. A New Girl/Grey’s Anatomy/Relief Next To Me inspired AU.

🎃 Say That You Can See Me (I'll Speak Up I Swear) by @coffeelouis [20k]

The liberal arts COLLEGE AU where Harry knows Louis as the best friend of the boy he has been hopelessly in love with for years now and Louis knows Harry as the boy he wished would look away from Zayn long enough to notice him.

🎃 Don't You Think It's Boring How People Talk? by wildestdreams @thelavendrhaze [80k]

A Gossip Girl AU where Louis is the king of the Upper East Side and Harry is the bad boy he loves to hate until a late-night limo ride changes everything.

🎃 Magical Soup by gloria_andrews @gloriaandrews [28k]

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

🎃 King Of My Heart by wildestdreams @thelavendrhaze [80k]

A Red, White, and Royal Blue AU where Hollywood elite, Louis Tomlinson, finds himself falling for the closeted Prince of England.

🎃 And What If I Were You by @jacaranda-bloom [100k]

For Louis, will losing his sight give him the clarity to realise what is right in front of him?

For Harry, will losing the love of his life give him the strength to finally open his heart?

And can they find their way back, before they lose each other forever? A story of love. A story of loss. A story of fighting for each other, no matter the odds.

🎃 Tell me when you're ready (I'm waitin') by insufferablelovebirds [17k]

When Harry's love letters to his old crushes get sent accidentally, one recipient, Louis, offers to help him fake a relationship but it gets complicated when feelings get involved.

Or an au loosely based off to all the boys I've loved before.

Total Fics Read: 14

[vermilionsun]

Your Touchstarved headcanons are wonderful! You are almost single handedly keeping me sane while I wait for the full game. Truly, you are a blessing to this fandom.

I was wondering if you had any thoughts about what any of the LIs would think of an MC who is a Writer/Artist. Maybe they had to give it up for a while when they left to go to Erridia?

Or...

Since MC is broke, what do the LIs think of them showing affection through gifts, even if they haven't got money? I can imagine they make simple, inexpensive things like paper flowers for Leander or friendship bracelets for Ais.

Anyway I hope you have a great day, keep up the good work and thanks for posting so much good stuff.💐🌼

I’m actually crying you’re so sweet THANK YOU SO MUCH?!! AVCKHVCEBFC 😭😭

I took it a step further, I hope you don't mind.

This is 1/2 :)

Disclaimer! They/Them for MC because we love inclusivity!

Kuras

Writer

He’d probably figure it out rather quickly. The way they would meticulously jot down notes, the endless stream of ideas, and their thoughtful insights into various u̶n̶c̶o̶n̶v̶e̶n̶t̶i̶o̶n̶a̶l̶ topics. Or perhaps he had caught glimpses of their constantly ink-stained fingers. Either way, it became another entry in Kuras' catalogue of fascinating things about them. Undeniably intrigued, he couldn't help but wonder if their writing reflected their innermost thoughts and desires—if each word they wrote held a piece of their soul, waiting to be discovered by someone willing to delve into the depths of their imagination—or perhaps if it was simply a creative outlet for emotions they couldn't express otherwise.

Kuras found himself wanting to uncover the layers of complexity that made up the enigmatic individual behind the pages of their notebooks. And he was more than willing to take on that challenge.

Taking into consideration the fact that perhaps the MC wouldn't be able to afford fancy writing tools or notebooks, often writing down messy notes in napkins with worn-out pens and crayons left behind by patrons at the Wick, Kuras would gift them a brand new notebook and a set of pens, hoping that the small gesture would encourage the MC to continue expressing themselves through writing and perhaps even open up to him about the deeper secrets of themselves they had yet to reveal.

Vere

Artist

As a fellow artist himself, Vere knew to recognize talent when he saw it, no matter how subtle or unassuming it may appear at first glance. After all, true artistry is not just about skill but also passion and dedication. He didn't miss the way the MC's eyes lingered a moment longer on the brush strokes of a distant painting in a random Eridian shop with such reverence, as if trying to capture the essence of the art itself, before moving on, or the way their eyes focused on the lightning dancing across the sky and their fingers twitched with an unspoken desire to create. 

Vere could sense the raw artistry bubbling just beneath the surface; he saw in them the same hunger for self-expression and longing for freedom that had driven him to pursue his own artistic endeavours. 

So he carefully crafted a plan. He discreetly left behind pens and paper in the MC's vicinity. He didn't directly hand it to them, opting to let them stumble upon the supplies, hoping that the MC would take notice and feel compelled to pick up the tools on their own accord. Don't ask him why he did so; he doesn't know the answer himself. Perhaps because of an inexplicable curiosity and a desire to see if he could spark something within the MC, to see if he could ignite that same creative flame that burned within him. Or maybe it was simply a gut feeling. Regardless, he watched from a distance as the MC began to tentatively pick up the pens and paper, their eyes alight with newfound inspiration. It brought a g̶e̶n̶u̶i̶n̶e̶ satisfied smile to his face, his tail wagging back and forth in contentment.

Leander

Dance

Leander figured the MC used to be a dancer. It was obvious if one paid close attention; their perfect posture, precision, strength, and flexibility in their body were a dead giveaway. He'd notice the gracefulness in their movements, every step deliberate and full of confidence, and the fluid transitions between postures.

Leander found himself bewitched. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the MC as they'd effortlessly glided around the Wick, their feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. It was effortless, seamless, and utterly captivating. He will admit he couldn't help the small smile once he'd noticed the subtle way they would often tap their feet to the rhythm of a song roaring throughout the tavern.

It was a talent that couldn't be hidden, no matter how hard they tried.

His plan was simple: He needed some sort of opening, somewhere to insert himself into the situation without coming across as intrusive (o̶r̶ a̶g̶g̶r̶e̶s̶s̶i̶v̶e̶… o̶r̶ d̶e̶m̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶… o̶r̶—). He would simply attempt to start a conversation with them and praise their dance skills, hoping to learn more about that talent of theirs—maybe even ask them for a dance later in the evening—while also finding a way to subtly steer the conversation towards more personal matters.

N̶o̶, i̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶n̶'t̶ n̶e̶r̶v̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶l̶u̶t̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶ h̶i̶s̶ s̶t̶o̶m̶a̶c̶h̶. I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ e̶x̶c̶i̶t̶e̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ u̶n̶k̶n̶o̶w̶n̶ o̶u̶t̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ a̶w̶a̶i̶t̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶ b̶l̶a̶h̶—

Mhin

Sculpture

They noticed something was up because the MC. wouldn’t. stop. staring. at their face. The way their eyes lingered on Mhin's features made them feel self-conscious, as if every flaw and imperfection were being scrutinised under a microscope.

Mhin couldn't decipher the intent behind the intense gaze, but it left them feeling both uncomfortable and strangely flattered. They couldn't help but wonder what it was about their appearance that captivated the MC so intensely. It was as if they'd seen something in them that no one else did—something worth examining closely.

They tried to maintain a neutral expression but ended up shifting uncomfortably in their seat, trying to break the look that seemed to be piercing through their very soul. 

It wasn't until the MC finally spoke up, complimenting Mhin's bone structure and suggesting they would make a great model for a sculpting project, that Mhin made the connection.

The revelation made Mhin feel incredibly flattered and intrigued, as they had never considered themselves to be particularly striking or noteworthy. The idea of being immortalised in stone by someone talented was… intimidating. And somehow humbling.

Ais

Architecture

He is observant, and can easily notice a person who seems particularly interested in a specific thing. He observed them, their body language, facial expressions and the way they looked at things around them, their eyes tracing the fine details from afar—it was almost like they were analysing them.

What made his suspicions clear was...the Seaspring. F̶i̶n̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶a̶m̶n̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ w̶a̶s̶ u̶s̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ a̶t̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ b̶e̶y̶o̶n̶d̶ b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ d̶e̶s̶p̶a̶i̶r̶

It was the way they looked at the building in particular; their eyes darted around, as if examining every inch, every line and curve of the temple. He’d smirk to himself, eyes following their every move, as if he could read their thoughts.

He’d bring them anything; from papers, inks and rulers to wood and other building materials. He’d let them demolish, remodel, completely renovate the fucking thing—he couldn’t care less, as long as he had somewhere to rest at night. Besides, their smile was worth more to him than any amount of power he could be offered.

I could make another one with Singing/Music, Theatre and Design or Ceramics perhaps….

[futuremrscameron]

weird girl!kook

weird girl!kook is a social outcast amongst her fellow kooks; they didn’t her strange and offputting for her macabre paintings

she loves people watching; it helps her gain inspiration for new paintings, and it’s fun. it gives her an insight on the lives of kildare’s “elite”

her parents are both artists, so she loves to joke that she never stood a chance. one of her mothers works with charcoal and the other is a sculptor so she was surrounded by the limitless potential of expression through art since before she could talk

has two ferrets named ‘asuka’ and ‘shinji’ and they’re her babies. if they’re not rolling around on her bed they’re fighting and she’s constantly having to break them up

she does not have many non artist friends and even her non artist friends are a little artsy in their own way (ie; kiara)

knew of jj before officially meeting at midsummers. she was intrigued by the party animal front he puts up in front of everyone that barely masks his cruelty

wanted to drop out of kildare private academy and focus on her art but her parents convinced her to stay and graduate so she could at least her her high school diploma and when that didn’t work, access to their art supplies

smokes like a fucking chimney. not weed mind you, though she does get her stash from the mainland, cigarettes. she says it helps her think and that it’s good for stress but really she just likes the smell

weird girl!kook finds herself inexplicably drawn to jj after their midsummers meeting. she wants to get to know him but doesn’t want to seem desperate or like a school girl with a crush but her asking around about him isn’t helping

when he corners her asks her about it, she says it’s purely artistic curiosity, he has a good face and she would like to paint him. this inflates his ego to the gods so of course she has to humble him every so often

their painting sessions are something they both end up looking forward to though admittedly they had a rocky start

“why are you naked?”

he smirks at her blatant disgust, “aren’t you gonna draw me like one of your french girls?”

she rolls her eyes and begins packing up her materials. he frowns. “woah what are you doing?”

“if you’re not gonna take this seriously you can go. i can find someone else.”

he picks up his shirt from the floor and covers his lower half. he’s in front of her in mere seconds when she turns back from pack.

he grabs her arm, “hey hey hey okay wait there’s no need for that. i’m sorry.” she looks at him, trying to gage if he’s genuine. she looks down at his hand on her arm, he lets go.

“sorry.” he scratches his head awkwardly, she takes note of this too.

“you said that already.”

his cheeks flush at her bluntness, “yeah um sorry. sorry.” his face somehow grows pinker.

“you’re good.” she unpacks her paints and looks back at him, “well get dressed we’ve got work to do.”

he grins, “yes ma’am.”

she looks down at the arm he grabbed. goosebumps

often home alone because he mothers go to the mainland to sell their art as a kid she hated it but now she’s thankful she doesn’t have to explain why the infamous jackson genrette is sneaking out her room at 8 am

surprisingly not a lightweight, jj finds out the hard way when he tries to challenge her to a drinking game. she knew he was trying to get her drunk to fuck her so of course she hustled him, pretending not to know the rules and struggle in the first round only to kick his ass in the second, third, and fourth round. she ends up carrying him back to hers

her colorful outfits and makeup makes her stand out more than anything but she refuses to change it despite the drawbacks (being perceived) it’s how she expresses herself outside of her art

she hates being the center of attention but loves receiving praise for her art, this double edged sword always strikes when she offers to paint sets and props for school plays. she ends up the talk of the school for a month before she happily goes back to being the outcast

weird!girl!kook doesn’t realize she likes jj until he pulls up to her house in his motorcycle on one of their non-meeting days. he tells her to get dressed cause he just wanted to see her. he convinces her to take him up to the roof so they can look at the stars. he points out every constellation he can find and tells her about his mom teaching him all about them. it’s the softest and most genuine she’s ever seen him

thinks rafe is weird and sketchy but understands why him and jj are friends. rafe thinks she’s weird and sketchy but knows she’s exactly jj’s type. they get along for his sake

has jj saved as ‘my muse’ in her phone. jj has her saved as ‘sexy da vinci’ before he gets serious about her and ‘eye of the beholder’ after they start dating

no one understands how or why they’re together because they’re so different and they don’t seem to like each other, at least that’s what it looks like to outsiders. they still haven’t gotten over that time she called him a dirty dog after he asked her to put her cigarette out on him while he was drunk (she did)

weird!girl!kook who hopes to leave outer banks share her art with the rest of the world and secretly hopes jj will come along

—————————————————————————

this took me a minute cause it was not planned but as always tell me what you thought, positive or negative just keep it classy. <3

(i wonder if anyone will catch the iwtv inspo)

[jitteryjive]

Text ID: Fitzroy and Foster ©1936 Maurice Foster, a shamus with psychogenic amnesia, strictly adheres to reality— until a chance encounter inexplicably manifests a rubberhose cartoon named Fitzroy with his likeness! The two deduce they must solve how Fitzroy (and whoever created her) came to be. End ID.

FITZROY & FOSTER MAKE THEIR GRAND DEBUT!

HERE IT IS FOLKS!!! a shiny post just for the new stand-alone OCs!!! after watching the new trailer for mouse: PI for hire, i had the realization i don’t have any B&W toon OCs… this is my solution! this is also my opportunity to write a more noir-focused story X) there is plenty more art, descriptions of the cast, and a chart under the cut!

also my apologies for the lack of full alt text; i have never done a separate art and text description before, so if anyone has any suggestions, please share :-)

while not obligated i would appreciate reblogs for my troubles!! (silly)

WHAT IS FITZROY & FOSTER?

fitzroy & foster is a great depression-era, noir inspired fiction about a private investigator (shamus) named maurice foster and a rubberhose, b&w toon that looks just like him! along with the motivation from mouse to draw a b&w toon, i wanted to dabble in genre-typical archetypes being interrupted by a character who does NOT fit in (fitzroy). also, as i’ve been experiencing a lot of PTS, i wanted to write a character who’s centered around their trauma.

(the original concept art i did up)

WHAT IS THE STORY?

burnish avenue is the dusky, downtown home of a city’s anticipated activity: construction men, working parents, a moonlit cabaret, and a shamus office on its second floor. that little studio belongs to 34 year old detective foster, a gruff investigator specializing in private cases. he lives with the psychogenic amnesia he received from his unknown past, and due to his memory issues and sensitivity, stays toughened and grounded in reality.

that is, the impossible occurs. a night returning from an investigation ends with an attack by a cartoon wolf, and foster mysteriously wakes up in his office with a cartoon character in tow! after a scuffle of confusion, she introduces himself simply as fitzroy. they both deduce they must work together (despite their flagrant differences) to figure out who created fitzroy, who that wolf was, and how toons are real.

Text ID: Who are Fitzroy and Foster? Maurice Foster is the shamus of Burnish Avenue, as many residents call him. He is gruff and reticent, and due to a secretive past, he holds contempt for, but not limited to, daydreamers, hecklers, clowns, and absurdity. Fitzroy, on the other hand? She's the complete opposite! Where he came from, why he's got Foster's face, and how she's a living, breathing cartoon is an illogical mystery. He is devil-may-care and hates stoicism; all his solutions to problems involve the highest degree of cartoonishness! These two are a match made in heaven, but they both ask the inquiry— why is Fitzroy here, and at that, who created him? End ID.

according to the locals of burnish avenue, foster appeared with the wind some years ago. to this day, the only things people know is his name, his hailing from woodlawn, new york city, and his connections to the burnish cabaret. though he’s known for taking a tough fist to enemies, he is also known for his benignity towards his clients, and is trusted by the avenue.

fitzroy is just as enigmatic. the difference between her and foster, other than being a living, breathing, toon, is his kippy personality! she loves fun, can’t stand being serious for the life of her, and is unnervingly eager to knock down a criminal’s door with some wild weapon he’s made up. he doesn’t know where she came from, either, so she makes the most of it!

fitzroy and foster are two sides of the same coin— if those two sides could staunchly disagree! they may share emotions and the remnants of memories foster has of his past. regardless, to foster, fitzroy’s an unbearably wacky impossibility, and to fitzroy, foster is a killjoy who needs loosening up.

contrarily, they cooperate as well as they can when on a case together. fitzroy comes along for the ride, and though his abrasive, comical methods of investigation may irritate foster, an extra body and friend by his side aren’t taken for granted. (for being a silly cartoon, fitzroy’s weirdly handy with dynamite and pistols.)

eventually, the two will learn to see eye to eye, being foster opens up and fitzroy’s efforts thaw him. but, until then, they butt heads and get no closer to solving the case of the living cartoons.

WHO IS JO/JOSEPHINE?

Text ID: Josephine “Jo” Simon (She/her). End ID.

Text ID: Who is Jo? Josephine "Jo" Simon is one of the satiny performance girls of the Burnish Cabaret. A singer, dancer, and show-woman, she performs every evening below Foster's private office on the second floor. Jo is a debonair dish with the great ability of making all kinds of acquaintances! However, the friend and confidante she deems her closest is Foster. Jo contacted the investigator in early 1932 to help gather enough evidence of her then husband's abuse. She, in return, helped him find an office. In present time, they chat every day, or have a dil-ya-ble if they're busy. When Jo isn't romping with Foster or performing, she's drawing away! End ID.

the hijinks within detective foster’s office aren’t the only focuses of the story. a floor below his private studio is the burnish cabaret, the source of the avenue’s musical nightlife. there, you may see 31 year old josephine simon in the ensemble— but everyone calls the performance girl jo. she is a flirtatious, humorous show-woman who has always loved the arts since her childhood.

jo was drawn to the cabaret when she moved near the avenue with her then husband. as a young child, she was adopted by french immigrants, and eventually left home in search of her identity. the cabaret, which hires and houses chinese-american women, gave her the ability to reconnect with herself. when she escaped and divorced her husband, she fully joined the cabaret, and has lived and performed there to this day.

if you’ve read this far, thank you! while this isn’t replacing crime express in any capacity, and ruth and blu are still my favorites, F&F (as i abbreviate it) is another passion project in the making. keep an eye out for more of the new little guys if you’re interested! X)

as i’ve gotten a couple questions from irl friends about F&F, i will answer the relevant ones here for convenience:

Q: are fitz/fitzroy and foster related/twins/etc?

A: no. they’re not related in any way, despite fitzroy originating from foster and what not. i only clarify this cause they’re shipped in the story and don’t want any misconceptions LOL

Q: is F&F part of the crime express universe/tooniverse?

A: no. this is a separate universe entirely! unlike crime express, which is a toon-human world, this is a world unfamiliar with toons. fitz and the other toons not featured here are outliers.

Q: who is the ‘cartoon wolf’ who attacks foster in the prologue?

A: while i don’t want to spoil the story in the introductory post, i will say that their pseudonym is the big bad wolf, and they are responsible for several denizens of the avenue acting strangely or injured, including foster. their real motivations and identity shall be kept secret for now!

if there are any other specific questions, i will GLADLY answer them. i have a ton of lore i haven’t even remotely touched upon in this post that i shall happily discuss if asked!

border credit goes to @.steddiecameraroll-graphics

[blankvort]

tangentially animal-related hcs 4 the mean girls crew bc i am now responsible for giving a goldfish daddy issues

cady

inexplicably allergic to dogs and always in the first four stages of grief about it. don’t @ me about the medical semantics i just want her to suffer a little

tried to get a job at petco the second she turned eighteen but learned of the above information in the most destructive job interview since janis’s application to be the local coffee shop’s cool gay barista (they were worried that she’d swear at fighter-jet-takeoff volumes if she touched hot coffee) (she did, but only because they started playing a shitty pop cover of one of damian’s fave show tunes) and came out of the building a puddle of mucous and tears

grossly fascinated by the grossest of primitive functions. her insta page is all dope and authentic until you find a selfie taken using the back camera 0.5x with the corpse of an effervescent snail and a bunch of reels telling you how to narrow down what bird species are destroying your garden by the splay of their shit

has a miniature aneurysm whenever movies get stuff wrong about animals. artistic liberties are granted to janis alone. like sure if she’s in the theater she’ll sit through the movie fisting popcorn down her throat but as soon as she gets out of there the entire mall becomes a soapbox for dissecting the bullshit sexual dimorphism of giving female animals eyeliner

thus while i know the headcanon of her loving the lion king is basically canon i think she’s absurdly secretive about it. like she’s burying her merchandise and blu-ray copies under her bed in the dead of night while secreting more sweat than should be possible. she could come out to her parents and elope to antarctica no problem but liking the lion king which implies that lighter manes = stronger lions is a death sentence

probably got banned from a bunch of zoos for interrupting field trips 

janis

had one of those angel/wolf/dragon/whatever hybrid phases as a kid like all good artists. did those like. not quite furry but not quite human animal art commissions on twitter for a while for the funnies but discovered a lucrative market and never turned back

does not know how to hold human or animal babies. like she’s good at taking care of them in terms of general physical and intellectual nourishment but that limp wrist is not supporting any necks properly

mercilessly makes fun of the whole “would you love me if i was a worm” trend. she doesn’t even love most humans what makes you think she has any answer for you regarding that other than that she’d turn you into a super deep art piece museums would purchase for exorbitant amounts

that being said she feels like a vivarium girlie to me. she’s nocturnal like a pillbug and post-canon constantly tries to convince the plastics that her pacman frog is poisonous

feeds her meticulously decorated ant farm gourmet meals every day. anyone else gets microwavable mac and cheese at best

this one probably won’t make sense unless you’re a jenny nicholson fan but she has a fake id for buying wine and turning the corks into those hallmark craft animal sculptures (and selling the open wine bottle to mrs george in back alleys)

damian

his grandma owns the most omnicidal chihuahua in the state of chicago. it’s how he learned to dance with such mental and physical dexterity. how else would he have survived visits to the nursing home

^ attempted to adopt the chihuahua’s children to have his own bruiser woods moment. turns out, even with his classically trained tenor voice, puppies and janis respond to the “drop it” command much the same way. that is to say they do not drop it and the puppies ran away with ninety nine per cent of his anastasia-inspired music box memorabilia

has a love-hate relationship with cats the musical. like memory is one of his top ten karaoke songs but he’s not going to admit it until he’s several fruity seltzers into the night. wishes all the actors in the movie had been replaced with real cats picked off the street before anything else was approved

played milky white in a scammy local production of into the woods and so so so embarrassed about it. he had to be on stilts the whole show

stuck a fish in regina’s backpack sometime in sophomore year but found karen feeding it and talking to it about her worst fears and greatest dreams felt too guilty to continue with the next phase of his plan (sticking a very hot picture of janis in regina’s backpack) (karen probably would’ve tried to talk to the photo too)

regina

musical specific but i think she didn’t Exactly do a matching animal costume with gretch and karen because 1) what can you dress up as when your friends are going as a cat and a mouse. cheese? 2) had cady not moved into the neighborhood, she’d have gone as a sexy lion to ease into the prospect of. you know. with shane oman but going as a sexy lion when your shiny new homoerotic frenemy has a lion pin on half her clothing isn’t quite a non-questionable choice

had a warrior cats phase she keeps under lock and key in the very depths of her closet. her closet is an iceberg of issues that goes shein -> homosexuality -> warrior cats and climate change is doing a number on it

fried a couple of janis’s ants alive with a magnifying glass sometime before middle school. she’s never flirted normally in her life

the bulk of janis’s furry commission clientele. she has so many emails for alternate accounts that she could get every american president ever suspended from twitter if national security let her. that’s including the dead ones

remember the nigh-rabid chihuahuas damian had. yeah she’s been raising those in secret for a few years now. mrs george doesn’t notice because regina hides them in her hair and extensions are, like, totally in or whatever

had a horse girl phase. all her drawings of horses came out like this meme tho. the art freaks nickname was born out of jealousy

gretchen

chose to be a sexy cat for halloween to match with karen because she has no sense of identity. also because she remembers regina’s warrior cats phase

actually a guinea pig person. i’ve never met a guinea pig person but she feels like one. they’re both in dire need of daily interaction and likely polyamorous

but also peri-canon gretchen could not keep a pet alive she’d spend every cent of the wieners fortune on buying the animal’s love

speaking of. her family bought a stable to fuel “her” horse girl phase. she just wanted to make regina happy and couldn’t stay on a saddle if there was an escalator that plopped her right on the horse

cares about the puppy bowl more than she cares about the superbowl

instinctively pets cute animals. if they bite her then she deserved it

karen

chose to be a sexy mouse for halloween because tom and jerry was having a media marathon and she’s into that sort of power dynamic

believes in unicorns more than she believes in horses. this is because she had a horse girl phase for the hottest of seconds before realizing that none of the ponies at the apache trail sale had horns and thought they had their horns cut off for aesthetic reasons

animals love her so much. survived a jellyfish attack because the jellyfish sensed she just wanted to pet something shiny and absolutely respected that. pests of all shapes and sizes evict themselves stat when karen says her mom doesn’t appreciate her hundred thousand dollar lotions being invaded by peril-bringing insects. strays follow her 24/7. gretchen is jealous (of the animals)

thinks tigers are very sick zebras

thinks blobfish are cuter when they’re all flesh putty out of their natural habitats but would also break into a zoo if she thought the animals were being mistreated

was banned from australia at the age of eight because she tried to have a sleepover in a kangaroo’s pouch

aaron

mean girls insta described him as a golden retriever so i’m also hcing him as being allergic to dogs <3 equality

becomes deeply fearful of all fauna after falling into a research rabbit hole for the sake of connecting with cady. what do you mean buffalo are some of the deadliest beasts on the planet and not just a type of chicken wing

kevin g

a preteen vsco girl in her granola advocacy era stuck in a teenage boy’s body. he has saved more turtles than any natucate volunteer by repurposing his rejected business cards to make a selfie stick long enough to stick him in the same selfie as gretchen wieners. the selfie stick has been in progress since daycare. he has also gone to the hospital more than any natucate volunteer do not trust this man with shop class equipment

[adobe-outdesign]

in honor of international women’s day, could you review some royal neopets (since all women are queens?)

(Royal has a lot going on with it, as there's not only the usual customized vs UC designs, but also the royal boy vs royal girl designs on top of that. For purposes of this review I picked out royals where both genders look great, but let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing a royal girl/royal boy-specific review.)

Royal is one of the more complicated Neopets colours, having special art and poses pre-customization and having a gender split on top of that. Normally I'm not big on gender splits as a whole for being overly cis, but I'll forgive it in this case because it is actually possible to get a female royal boy pet and vice versa through lab ray shenanigans. Customization also allows for clothes to be swapped around at will.

One thing that I always found strange about royal as a colour is that it oftentimes doesn't really match up with anything lore-wise. For example, Blumaroos come from Roo Island, and their leader, King Roo, is vaguely dressed like a jester because Roo Island is the happy-go-lucky fun land. Makes sense! But then the royal Blumaroo colour is... space themed, for some reason?

It's not that the colour literally needs to match up with actual Neopian leaders all the time, of course; it's just that sometimes the choices made feel random and ill-fitting for the species.

Another instance of this is in the royal pets that are based off a specific country/region. I do like the diversity in not having all pets share that Meridell-esq European look, but sometimes it does make me raise my eyebrow. Like, where in Neopia is "Mongolia", exactly?

And in terms of customization, royal pets generally got hit pretty hard. Previously, royal pets were bipedal, and many of them had subtle anatomically changes to give that them royal look. It's not even that royal pets just got converted in general, but many of the conversions seem very poorly done—such as the poor Aisha above, which inexplicably lost an entire set of ears. Like I said, I like the ability to trans our Neopets easier, but that's about the only benefit.

Favorite Species:

Skeith: One common problem with royal pets tends to be that the royal girl and royal boy look completely different, with one of them (usually the male) looking significantly better. Thankfully, the royal Skeith do not have this problem, with both male and female sharing a white base with a subtle accent color and similar-but-distinct sets of clothing. The Alice in Wonderland inspiration is also very fun, and feels supper fitting for the species. Great stuff.

Kyrii: I already went over these designs in my Kyrii review so I'll keep this short, but the UC/styled royal Kyrii are just fantastic designs all around. The squarer head shapes than normal give them a very elegant look, and the designs make full use of the Kyrii's distinctive long manes (not to mention the old BD poses, which were just delightful). The only drawback is that the converted versions are particularly bad, to the point where I'm not even bothering to show them here to save space.

Peophin: Something about underwater royals just tend to hit, and the Peophin is no exception. The species already has their distinct head ornamentation, but the royals take it a step further by adding extra jewels and extending it over the ears and head fins, then accenting it with even more additional jewelry. I also really like the robes, which feel surprisingly natural for their body shape. Beautiful all around.

BONUS: Remember how I was saying that a lot of royal designs feel random and ill-fitting for their species? The royal Koi avoids this completely by basing the royal boy design off of King Kelpbeard, the ruler of Maraqua. Once again, both designs here are well balanced and go well with each other, and I like the degree of underwater elements—coral crowns, seaweed accents, and pearl necklaces.

(Side note: a very honorable shoutout goes to the royal Mynci and Flotsam, which didn't quite make the cut but are still excellent designs.)

Least Favorite Species:

Moehog: Most royal pets are at least interesting, but I can't say that about the poor royal Moehog, which is mostly forgettable; just the standard clothing that you'd expect from royals. The royal boy is slightly better, at least sporting a nice dark blue base, but the royal girl has a very "cheap" design, like it's wearing a Halloween costume instead of actual royalty. The royal Moehog never got a UC option, but they did have pre-customization designs that were slightly better–but only slightly.

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Blue-Flamed Forest

Witch!Dabi x Fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, mentions of religion, medieval AU, witch hunts, restraints (NOT IN SPICY WAY), witch curses, witchcraft (duh)

Synopsis: You're accused of witchcraft after your hair inexplicably and suddenly greys. Sensing that you'll be the next victim in the church's witch hunt, you make a run for it. You barely escape the church's men when you step foot in the forbidden forest. You're grateful for their silly superstition until you realize that the forest is legitimately cursed, as a wall of blue flames materializes at the forest's edge every time you attempt to flee. With no other option, you trek deeper in the forest, hoping to find some other way out.

Author's note: I literally fell down a rabbit hole of medieval history to write this fic. Reader in this fic has silver hair, but it's a plot point. Awkward interpretation of Dabi since he's been alone for awhile. Spicy scenes in part two. I kind of got carried away with the world building/plot... Also go like @shoucolate 's Witch!Touya artwork if you haven't already!!! It's fucking beautiful.

Word Count: 6K

Heavily inspired by this art by the lovely @shoucolate

Masterlist

Link to AO3

Part One

You hear the galloping of the men’s horses echo through the valley. Your breath is becoming ragged and erratic as you desperately attempt to flee from your potential captors. It’s hard to hear what they are shouting over the sound of your breathing and the thrumming of your heart in your ears. Your options are to die or to run. Clearly, you chose the latter. 

You can hear the church’s henchmen gaining on you, evident by the horse’s hooves thumping against the grass. With what little stamina you have left, you sprint towards a tree line. You wager it’d be easier to lose them in the forest. You are right, just not in the way you intended. As soon as your body crosses the threshold of the forest, you glance behind yourself. The church’s men yank abruptly on their horse’s reins, rearing them back. There’s a look of horror in their eyes. They dare not near the forest. One of the men looked with uncertainty to who you could only assume was the leader given his comparably adorned horse and garb, along with his domineering aura. The leader can sense his underlings' unspoken request for direction. 

“We retreat and report back to the clergy. No use chasing after her, she belongs to the witch’s forest now,” he commands, stating the last sentence with an air of derisiveness. With that, the men steer their horses away from you, leaving you alone in the tree line. 

Now safe from potential captors, you lean against the bark of a nearby tree to catch your breath. It feels incredibly relieving to rest your weary body and know that the men likely won’t find you anytime soon. After a few moments, your breathing stabilizes and your adrenaline starts to diminish. Upon calming down, your eyes pick up on how the tree bark is partially singed. Large swaths of the bark are blackened to charcoal. You notice that the nearby trees on the edge of the forest were also damaged by flames. It was as if a fire had only danced upon the forest edge. 

How strange. However, you have bigger worries than this natural mystery. With the men no longer on your tail, you could continue fleeing from the church’s influence. All you had to do was figure out where you were and go from there. It’d be best to exit the forest now. Still, there’s a gnawing worry eating away at you. What was in this forest that even those brutes do not dare to encounter? You begin walking out of the forest and toward the hillside. Before you’re able to cross the threshold, a wave of intense heat blasts you back. A wall of blue flames appears between the forest and the hills. Your lungs protest the inhalation of smoke, leaving you sputtering and coughing. You feel the heat still clinging to your skirt, evident by the singed color along the hem. Although your clothes have been touched by flames, by some miracle, your skin is left unscathed. You really are lucky today. 

But despite the temporary blessings, you are still hopelessly trapped. If you couldn’t figure out a way past the fire, you truly would belong to the forest. Maybe your best bet would be to traverse deeper in. Surely this wall of fire couldn’t have surrounded the entire forest, right? You reason there had to be a weak spot somewhere along the barrier. Besides, you had already eaten through your rations. Another priority is to find food. 

You begin trekking further into the woods, investigating bushes you passed for berries and scanning foliage for fruit. So far, the forest seems barren. The lack of birds chirping makes you question if there were even animals around, that is, until you hear movement from one of the bushes. You tense. Your brain keeps recalling what the men on horses said about this belonging to a witch. Could there be something demonic lurking within that bush? Part of you feels ridiculous for falling prey to superstition, for believing even for a moment that this forest could harbor supernatural creatures and immense danger. 

Out of the rustling bushes emerges a black creature. To your relief, it is nothing more than a black cat. A well-cared-for black cat, at that. The feline has glowing blue eyes, reminding you of the blue-hued flames that surround the forest. Its long coat is remarkably shiny and fluffy. It sniffs the air in your direction as it stares you down. 

“Hello pretty, what’re you doing in a place like this?” You coo at the creature. The cat tilts its head at your voice. The church had instilled many false ideas that all cats were the offspring of the devil and attempted to enact doctrines to restrict felines from the city limits. You never believed such ideas, however, and you held nothing but fondness for the animals, despite not being able to see them often. Slowly, you offer your hand to the cat to allow it to smell you. The cat cautiously creeps closer. Something catches the cat’s attention, as it suddenly becomes alert. Its ears twitch and focus on some sound, yet you hear nothing. As if hypnotized, the cat begins walking away from you and deeper into the forest. Before it gets too far, the cat looks over its shoulder at you and stops, meowing at you. It wants you to follow. 

You oblige the feline, curious as to where it is seemingly leading you. The two of you wander through faint trails and hop over bubbling brooks. It seems you are wandering aimlessly until the little creature leads you to a clearing within the forest. The clearing consists of mostly open and raised meadowland but housed a singular, aged tree in the center. The cat hops through the thick grass and tall daisies, something you find endlessly entertaining. It’s cute to see the black cat’s head bobbing amongst the flora. You follow the feline up the hill, thinking that perhaps if you climb the tree, you could get a better view of the surroundings. Maybe you’d even be able to see an opening from there. When you climb up the sloping hill and arrive before the tree, you are able to see low-hanging fruit on its branches. You beam to yourself that luck was on your side. This tree is killing two birds with one stone. With no reason to hesitate, you grip onto a low branch and hoist yourself up. The feline loudly yells at you from the base of the tree, tail swishing in agitation. 

“Stay there kitty, you’re too cute to get stuck up here,” you warn the cat. The feline narrows its eyes in response but does not vocalize again. You shift your focus to climbing the branch. Your target is one of the lowest-hanging fruits, dangling close to the edge of the branch. The tree was so old that even its lowest branches were thick and sturdy. It isn’t too nerve-wracking to shimmy toward the end of the limb and pluck the fruit from the branch. You climb back down to safety and rejoin your feline friend at the base of the tree. 

You take a moment to further inspect the fruit. It doesn’t look like the native plants of the area. You had seen something like it once when you caught a glimpse of a traveling merchant peddling exotic goods. The fruit back then was colored like red wine and filled with seeds, remarkably similar to the fruit you held in your hands. You unsheath your knife from its gartered holster on your leg, using it to cut a slice into the fruit. A couple of red seeds fell into your lap, but with no one around, you care little for eating etiquette. 

With just a few bites, you start feeling satiated, but strange. It’s becoming harder and harder to move your body. Your fingers are already not responding. The world around you seems to blend into one haze. Sleep quickly begins engulfing your entire being. Everything is black, but you hear the distant voice of an unfamiliar man.

You begin to slowly regain consciousness, struggling to shake off the remaining dregs of drowsiness. Your mind feels hazy. It’s hard to remember how you fell asleep or where you were. You open your eyes, blinking a few times to clear the blurry vision. When you try to wipe your eyes, you realize your hands won't move. Your wrists are bound behind you. The blurry vision slowly starts to subside and you take in your surroundings. You’re in the center of a strange room, the shelves mounted in the wall displaying odd items; weathered books with spines in languages you cannot understand, flasks filled with potions of varying colors, glittering crystals shining in the rays of sunlight, and jars of dried herbs. The last thing you remembered was eating that fruit from the lone tree in the clearing, but now you’re in someone’s home? What is going on? Panic started to arise within you, especially when you hear the sound of boots coming closer to you. 

“I see you’ve awoken already. You have impressive tolerance,” the man muses. His voice grows closer and closer before he shows himself in front of you. “No matter, you’re not going anywhere anyways.”

He has an unusual appearance. His neck and arms are decorated in thin scrawls of purple ink, each line arranged in symbols you’ve never seen before, letters in a language you do not understand. The ink travels from his neck and onto his jawline before lines of strange lettering connect with his eyes. Even his under eyes are lettered. You’d shudder at the idea of tattooing such a delicate area if you didn’t have bigger concerns. He’s crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, with his painted black nails pressing crescents into your skin. His glowing electric blue eyes study you. He hums in interest before gently lifting a lock of your hair in between his thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. The juxtaposition between the gentle gesture and the tight grip on your jaw has you uneasy. 

“What an unusual hair color for a human so young,” he comments. You whisper a timid ‘yes’ in response, unsure of what else to say. You know it’s odd. You know it’s unnatural how your once h/c strands changed to silver. But you don’t have any explanations for it, it just happened suddenly. The drastic change in your hair is what drew the attention of the church to you. He seemed to study the strand thoughtfully before a dark look flashed on his face. “So unusual it makes me wonder if you even are human.” 

You’re instantly taken aback. “What are you even saying? Of course I’m human,” you defend. You desperately felt as if you had to prove your humanity to this stranger. If he were accusing you as a witch, that could mean grave consequences. Burning at a stake or being sunken to the bottom of a well were just some of the dark fates for those accused of witchcraft. You nervously chuckle, “What else is there to be? Witches and demons are just tales.” 

The man looks at you, a bit stunned, before genuinely laughing. He releases his hand from your jaw and stands up straight. You wonder in slight horror how this could be entertaining to him. He chuckles a bit more as you stay silent, before giving you a taunting grin. “You poor, innocent fool. What do you think I am?” 

“No, that can’t be. You’re lying!” you accuse. How repulsive it was to you, for him to even insinuate such a thing! Really, he must take you for an idiot if he expects you to believe such a tale. The strange white-haired gives you an ominous grin and lifts a hand. You can barely hear him whisper foreign words and your eyes catch a few of the purple runes adorning his body begin to glow. A wisp of blue flame dances in the palm of his hand. 

“This change your mind?” He inquires. You’re taken aback, still reeling in shock from what you’ve seen. It’s hard to believe it’s true, but it’s even harder to deny what just happened was outside of human ability. He conjured flames with nothing, even handled such heat in his bare hands. You never really believed the church’s claims of witches lying in plain sight, but you can’t help but think back on what you’ve been told about witches. It scares you a bit to be faced with what appears to be one, based on the tales the church had told. 

“What will you do with me?” You ask, your voice unsteady with fear. You’re holding onto your breath, preparing for words depicting your cruel fate, to admonish you for being so foolish as to step into a witch’s forest. Only, the words never come. He merely hums in deep thought. 

“If you are really telling the truth, then nothing,” he answers, cryptically. You hear him whisper out an incantation under his breath again. With a snap of his fingers, a blue flame burns away your bindings, leaving nothing behind but ash and the sensation of warmth on your skin. You rub your wrists, thankful to be released, but a bit confused. The temperature of his flames is scalding, you had seen as much along the forest’s edge, and yet, you remain unscathed. Something is awry.

He turns to walk away, before glancing at you from over his shoulder. “There’s an extra room down the hall. You may stay there for now. Follow me.” You can’t help but display your confusion on your face. The white-haired man gives you whiplash from all the switches in his demeanor. First, he was cold and accusatory, and now he’s being accommodating? Why did he go through the trouble of restraining you, only to later allow you to stay in his home? Was he merely testing you? If that’s the case, is he still testing you? 

He leads you out of the room and you follow. Silence settles between the two of you while you contemplate your situation. You never arrive at answers, only finding ways to generate even more questions. Nothing makes sense anymore, but you suppose a confusing life is better than being dead. For now, you’ll just have to see where this strange situation takes you.

The two of you make the short walk to the room in question. He opens the door, revealing a modestly sized room. “This room is mostly used for storage, but it should suffice,” he explains. You glance around the room and see what he means. There’s a wooden wardrobe tucked in the corner and chests lining the wall, presumably filled with his various possessions. He turns on his heel to leave you to the room, but stops at the doorway, looking over his shoulder to add, “I think you already know this, but just to be clear, it’d be unwise to fight me. I’m not your enemy, but I can be,” he warns. 

You nod in understanding, seemingly satisfying him enough to leave you be. The room is now incredibly quiet, leaving you with some time to reflect on everything that just happened. You were accused of witchcraft, abandoned your job, fleed from the church, accidentally entered a cursed forest, ate a fruit that knocked you out, woke up in another person’s house, discovered that witches are in fact real, and are now staying in a witch’s guest bedroom. You’re alive and unharmed, but still a bit unnerved by the witch’s initial actions. To say this has been a wild day would be an understatement. A wild day that is, thankfully, coming to a close. 

The light inside the room begins to dim as the sun sets. You find yourself growing weary, desiring to prepare for bed. Only, you realize you don’t have any of your belongings, and therefore, no nightclothes. The witch must have taken your cloth bag as a precaution against you harming him. Since your reflection, you realize it was likely he initially saw you as a threat, and as such, thought to ensure you wouldn’t use something in your pack to harm him. Maybe you could explain this and ask for it back? 

Deciding it’s worth the attempt, you pad down the halls in search of him. You notice how all the candles in his home are lit with his blue fire. Clearly, this was a trademark of his. You search around his home until you notice the door to what you assume is his study is ajar, with glowing blue light illuminating the room. Given how brightly lit the room is, you wager he’s in there.

 You’re about to announce yourself and walk into his office when you hear him already speaking. There is no one in his home but you, who would he be speaking to? Your curiosity gets the best of you and you hover closer, peering through the ajar door. The witch sits in front of a table, with many books opened and littering his desk. His black cat, the one you saw earlier before your impromptu slumber, hops up on the desk and interrupts his readings. 

“You were much too trusting with that silver-haired stranger, Coal,” you overheard the witch whisper to his cat, the same fluffy feline that accompanied you through the forest. Despite chastising him, the witch was speaking to his pet with gentleness. The thought of this scary witch acting so tenderly to his animals put a small smile on your face. Perhaps witches were not all cruel as the church led others to believe. 

His cat protested with a loud meow in response, to which the witch replied, “That doesn’t matter, had it been another witch, you could have been hurt.” It was as if he could understand his pet. He shoos his feline off of the desk, and says, “Now leave me be, I have to figure this out.”

The witch seems rather stressed as he pours over his texts. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating. You decide against disturbing him, not wanting to add to his stress for your own sake. Besides, he said that the room was once for storage, perhaps there are some clothes you may wear in there. You quietly leave from your spot in the hallway and make your way to the room. The first place you look is the wardrobe and to your delight, you find it filled with clothes. However, as you search through, you take notice of how high quality all of the clothes are. It’s bizarre, you think, for a witch in the woods to have clothes made from fine silks, velvets, and cotton. Nonetheless, you keep looking through, hoping to find something suitable for nightwear, only to stumble across an article of clothing that takes you by surprise. 

In the closet, tucked and stashed far out of sight, hangs a remarkable cloak, unlike any you’ve ever seen before. On the rare occasions a noble requested your seamstress services, their clothing felt nowhere near this luxurious and wasn’t made of such rare materials. The craftsmanship is truly impeccable, far beyond what even the wealthiest of nobles would wear. Thick white fur embellishes the opening of the cloak, joining with the deep blue velvet that makes up the rest of the garment. Its lavishness clearly suited for royalty. Your fingers trace the fabric, until making contact with a metal clasp. You gently push aside the folds of velvet, allowing you to inspect the buckle. It appears to be a coat of arms, one that you’ve never seen before. Although you’re unsure of what family the crest belonged to, there are two things you were certain of; one, the clasp was made of high-quality silver, and two, this cloak once belonged to a very distinguished family. But where most crests included a lion or horned horse, this one depicted a phoenix. You abruptly retract your hand from the cloth upon remembering a particular tale. 

You remembered hearing stories of a long-lost prosperous kingdom, ruled by a red-haired fiery tyrant. This kingdom from long ago was notorious for its power, always leaving behind desecrated battlefields that proudly displayed a phoenix flag, the nation’s symbol. The ruler, King Enji, was known for his cold demeanor and the strength of his knights. Despite his rumored cruelty, the kingdom prospered nonetheless. You always found it ironic, how the nation symbolized by a phoenix fell apart after a fire, unable to rise out of its own ashes. Almost nothing remained of the once glorious kingdom, save for rumors and legends. A devastating fire destroyed all traces of the castle, taking the life of King Enji with it. Legends diverge from that point on, with some reporting that two of his sons perished. Other variations depict the youngest son surviving while the eldest lived, and vice versa. 

There was always one particular iteration of the legend that stood out to you the most, never failing to elicit a chill down your spine. This cursed legend claimed that the fire was no ordinary one, rather, it was magical in origin. The flames that leveled King Enji’s castle to ashes burned an unearthly blue hue and reached temperatures far beyond that of human blacksmith forges. Elders that whispered this tale claimed the forsaken, eldest prince wielded such flames and cursed the family in retaliation for his exile. The eldest prince was said to be physically frail, a trait that King Enji believed tarnished the family name, and as such, was sent away from the castle. His claim to the throne was given to the youngest, most favored son.

On the fateful day of the fire, the eldest prince returned to the castle. Over the course of the Prince’s lonely exile, drastic changes had occurred in his body, for his once vibrant, red hair grew stark white. What’s more, he gained the ability to wield magic, manifesting in the manipulation of blue flames. It was implied that the eldest prince became a witch, or, was born one all along. Whatever the case was, his apparent state horrified King Enji. Before the king could order the guards to execute his son, the prince enacted his revenge, burning his father to death, alongside the castle. The elders said the prince escaped and warned that he may still be roaming the land, to this day. You had figured this version of the story served to scare curious youths from wandering past the city’s limits, claiming that their carelessness would end in their demise at the hands of the white-haired witch. 

You’re not sure what any of this means. Why did this witch have a cloak that appears to have belonged to the royalty of the fabled kingdom? Better yet, whose cloak was it? Judging by what you’ve heard of the King with his hulking figure and immense wealth, it certainly couldn’t have belonged to him. The cloak was much too small and not lavish enough for a king. No, it must have belonged to one of the princes. But, which one? 

The questions you have only result in grim answers. Thievery or murder would be the only ways the witch could have obtained a prince’s clothes. You’re starting to think it’s time for you to make your leave. Given the witch’s blue flames and the stashed away cloak, you fear he may have killed the Prince and stolen his goods. He said he didn’t know what to do with you, but you don’t want to wait for him to decide your fate. Should you linger, a dark fate may await you. Perhaps you should inquire about how to leave, pretend you’ll stay longer, and then slip unnoticed in the dead of night. It sounded as good a plan as any, and with nothing else to lose, maybe it’ll work out for you. You decide to bring up the matter in the morning. With that decision made, you strip down to your chemise and retire to bed.

Your sleep could only be described as fitful, at best. Endless tossing and turning kept you awake, mind racing with questions and imagining grim scenarios. You awake to the morning sun, feeling poorly rested. The light shining through the windows only brings you anxiety, reminding you that the time for confrontation is nearing. When you hear stirring in other regions of the house, you don your clothes for the day and with great trepidation, exit the room. You find him in his kitchen, joined by his loyal black cat, preparing food. He momentarily acknowledges your presence with a passing glance, before looking away. 

“I do appreciate the, um, hospitality, but I do wonder, how would I leave here when it is time?” You ask, breaking the silence. He abruptly stops trimming the vegetables, putting down the knife and looking at you with a serious expression.

“You know you cannot leave here, right?” 

“But why not?” 

“Judging by your singed clothes and boots, you saw the flames, no?”

“Well yes, but… if you control fire, then can’t you will the flames away?”

“It is a curse, one of many I placed in this forest,” he explains, assuming that would be explanation enough. 

“If it is a curse, why can’t you just break it?” You debate. He responds with a sigh of exasperation. 

“You don’t understand. The curse prevents all who enter from leaving, so others can’t find me and destroy my forest. That fruit you ate was also cursed, it puts humans into an eternal sleep with just one bite,” he explains. Your hope dwindles with every word. “No one else has ever survived either my flames or eating that fruit. Do you understand what that means?” You shake your head.

“You are not human. I don’t quite know what you are, but it seems you haven’t the faintest clue either,” he iterates with certainty. “Which means even if I wanted to break the curse, you’d only leave to later end up hunted.” 

You feel tears prick at your lash line, threatening to overflow at any moment. The church was right. You are a monster. Your lower lip trembles at the revelation. Everything seems to come crashing down all at once; the sadness you felt abandoning your shop, the fear you experienced while running from the church, the confusion you feel in the witch’s presence, all of it unloading from your soul and out of your eyes. The tears freely fall, much to the witch’s surprise. 

“I… realize I’m not the nicest guy and staying here with me is unpleasant, but, I hate seeing you cry,” he says, softly and somberly. He’s trying to apologize, in his own way. His hand gingerly brushes away the tears from your cheek, an act of softness you’ve not yet seen from him. He speaks again, attempting to reassure you, “Nothing bad will happen to you. This is the safest place for you now.”

Your lip still quivers. A bitter thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s truly being genuine with you. You wonder if the former prince was led to believe the same and if the witch used that false sense of security to cut him down then. Your voice is wobbly as you accuse, “Do you tell the others who have wandered in the same thing?” 

Immediately, he retracts his hand from your face, as if he had been burned by your words. The walls he had placed come back up, as his voice is much colder when he responds to you. “What do you mean?”

“You have the possessions of dead men in your home,” you assert. 

“What are you referring to?” He eyes you with caution, guarded against your next allegation. 

“The cloak, in the closet. It belonged to a royal prince, did it not? Given he’s not around, I wager he’s not alive.” He sighs at your accusation and runs his hands through his hair out of stress.

“I suppose there’s no point in hiding it now,” He reasons aloud. You swallow thickly, nervous at his next admission. “It’s true that the unlucky souls who have wandered in my forest and eaten that cursed fruit have died, and it’s true I may have… helped myself to their things. But, that is not the original purpose of the tree.”

“So do tell, what is the purpose then?”

“The curse is too strong for normal humans, but for witches, it’s a mild sedative. Due to my past, I have… difficulty sleeping,” he admits. “Besides, that cloak does not belong to a dead prince, it was once mine.”

“You were a prince?” You ask, incredulously.

“Yes, I was King Enji’s son,” he clarifies. 

“So the tales are true, the Todoroki Dynasty really did exist,” you whisper in awe. He lets out a light-hearted and soft chuckle, clearly amused by your amazement.

“And you were unsure before?” He teases.

“All that remains of the kingdom are tales. Many do not believe in such legends,” you explain. 

“I suppose it is the nature of humans, to forget such distant things. It has been a long time,” he muses. “But to answer your question, yes, the kingdom did exist. It seems my father’s legacy died with him, on the day I burned him.” The gears start turning in your head. 

“So, does this mean you were the eldest prince? Prince Touya?”

“You are correct,” he answers. One legend said that the King’s murderer was the eldest prince, it seems that one rang true. “Though considering there’s no longer a kingdom I belong to, wouldn’t it be more fitting for you to just call me Touya?” 

“R-right, I suppose that is true,” you agree. It feels a bit intimate to call him by his first name, without any titles, especially considering you now know of his lineage. Despite that, it’s nice to finally know his name. However, there was a nagging question in your mind. “But wait, if you are the Prince then why do you look so…” 

“So strange?” He says, attempting to finish your sentence. You can only imagine he’s referring to his tattoos and snow-white hair. 

“Young. Why do you look so young?” You clarify, “Your kingdom existed long ago, yet you look to be in your twenties. Why is that?” 

“Witches live a long time,” he reveals. “I’ve lost count of the years.”

“I see…” you trail off, absorbing all the information. 

“Is that everything you wanted to ask?” He questions. You nod in response. “And do you still wish to leave?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I suppose staying here wouldn’t be terrible considering I have nothing left to go back to,” you answer, your voice taking on a wistful tone. You feel a bit safer here, knowing what you know now. There’s still this sense of melancholy, as you miss your old life. But alas, there is nothing to be done. You’ll just have to adapt to your current situation. 

Nearly a week has passed since that tense conversation, and you find yourself establishing a routine with Touya. You’ve taken on some light, daily duties of your own accord, just to keep your mind focused and prevent boredom. Not that you think you’d ever suffer from boredom with Touya’s strange antics. He appears to be serious in figuring out what you are. None of his methods are uncomfortable or unpleasant, just mildly entertaining or odd. For instance, he gave you a silver bracelet and told you to wear it, only to immediately and feverishly write something down in his journal. You took a peek and saw the words ‘definitely not a werewolf’ on the page. Truthfully, you weren’t sure whether you should be scared upon realizing werewolves existed, insulted from him even assuming you turned into a hairy beast upon full moons, or relieved that one less condition has been ruled out. Other than moments like that, your time with Touya hasn’t been unpleasant. Living with him felt natural, all else considered. Though, you were beginning to feel cabin-fever. 

Your desire to be outdoors is especially distracting today. Although you and Touya are still getting acquainted with one another, he’s able to discern that something is on your mind. He notices today that your gaze often lingers on the windows. In those moments, he steals plenty of glances at you, relishing in the opportunity to admire you. You’re pretty, he thinks. More gorgeous than the high nobles his father had proposed he marries. He remembers how, much to his father’s dismay, he was uninterested in them. You had a way about you that captures his full attention. If there’s anyone he has to live alongside in his cursed forest, he’s secretly glad it’s you. Your smile and insights deserve to be protected. He won’t let you live on the run like he once did. 

Whatever is on your mind, he wants to show that your arrangement is not only out of convenience, but also one of trust. He wants to help you sort out what’s bothering you, he’s just not sure how. Maybe a bit of fresh air would do you some good? 

“Come with me,” he says, interrupting your trance. You peel your eyes away from the window to look at him. “If you are to stay here, you should become familiar with the forest. I’ll show you.” He offers you his tattooed hand, to which you hesitantly take. Touya leads you outside of the house. After taking a good few steps, you glance over your shoulder so that you may fully see the house and your surroundings, only to see the house is gone. No trace of it remains, as if it vanished in thin air.

“Huh? Where did it go?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. It’s endearing to him how you do not yet understand magic. 

“It’s still there, just hidden with a spell,” he assures through a smile. You tilt your head in confusion, wondering why such a thing is necessary. He seems to pick up on this, and explains, “I don’t usually like ‘visitors’ barging into my home.” You understand the reasoning. If you hadn’t eaten that fruit and instead wandered around the forest, you’re certain you’d barge into his house demanding answers. You suppose you can’t blame him, as you’ve discussed how he was treated by others prior to him settling in the woods. 

He guides you along, helping you by the hand over particularly rough terrain or over slippery creek stones. You nearly stumble into him, at times, but he’s ever patient with you. Though, that’s not to say he doesn’t tease you about it. The encounters make you flush, both out of embarrassment and from being so close to him. You’re never left to dwell on it for long, as he strings you along from place to place, pointing out things he deems important. He’s in the middle of guiding you to the next point of interest when you stop in your tracks. 

Your ears pick up on some rustling in the bushes. The sound makes you halt, bringing the attention of Touya. You tug on his sleeve and gesture to the brush. “Should we be concerned?” You ask. He shakes his head. 

“It’s probably some sort of animal,” he reasons. “It’s not all barren here, animals do occasionally wander in, after all.”

On cue, a scraggly-looking cat pushes through the shrubbery. Its fur is flying every which way, with little leaves nestled into tufts of fur. You feel pity towards the feline and release your grip on Touya’s sleeve to approach the animal. “Aw, poor thing. You look terrible,” you soothe. The cat’s tail swishes, almost in agitation. You turn to Touya, and plead, “Can I take her back with us? Look at how ragged she is, the poor thing needs some rest.” 

‘I’m not ragged! I’m just having a bad fur day from chasing after YOU this whole time. I mean really, you couldn’t have stayed in one place?’ The cat counters. 

You tilt your head in confusion. Surely you are mistaken, you must be hallucinating, there’s no other explanation. Cats cannot talk. And yet, here you are, questioning such a fact. Your mind tunes out all of Touya’s words as you focus on the scene unfolding.

‘Really? The silent treatment? After I come all this way, you don’t even speak to me? Some witch you are,’ the cat taunts. You turn your head to Touya, hoping to find him reacting to the cat’s words, only to find his expression incredibly neutral. 

“Can you not hear her?” You ask Touya, nervousness clear in your voice. Have you lost your mind?

“She’s just meowing. Why, do you hear something different?”

“Yes, she speaks,” you affirm. “You really cannot hear it?”

“This certainly explains things,” he states pensively. 

“Explains what? What does this mean?” You frantically ask him. 

“Relax. My darling, you are a witch,” he assures. “And this seems to be your familiar. Really, I should have guessed sooner.”

“But how did she find me?”

“They always do, familiars have a way about them, even I do not fully understand it,” he explains. There’s a nostalgic tone in his voice, clearly reminiscing on his own past. Your brows are still furrowed, lost in your thoughts and attempting to absorb the revelation. He seems to pick up on this and places his hand on your shoulder, reassuringly, and says, “It was long ago, but I once felt what you are feeling. It’s confusing at first, but I’m here, I can teach you. Your familiar will also help. You’re not alone in this.”

‘Can we skip the touchy-feely and get to the witchcraft already?’ The cat complains. You scoop the cat up and hold her in front of you. 

“We’ll start once you learn some manners,” you scold. Touya earnestly laughs. 

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” He laughs. You pull your familiar closer to your chest, smoothing over her fur. You offer Touya a genuine smile and he smiles back. He can’t but admire you in this moment, with the sun hitting your face, looking legitimately happy. 

He’s glad to have met you.

[constellarcreator]

I wanted to go through a "main sona timeline" bc a friend inspired me (hi Leif 👋) but I started looking through my camera roll and realized that there are FAR too many variations for me to go through in a timely manner </3 So for the sake of my sanity you get a HEAVILY abridged version

The earliest notable "main sona" I had was this dawg. I used her for a good while until some particularly awful shit happened and I kinda got forcibly detached from them

I attempted to bring the design back as a bat a little bit later but it didn't stay around long

I cycled though many MANY fursona designs and none of them seemed to stick until Aster came into the picture in 2022. He was a freebie base edit design made by a now ex-friend but I got inexplicably DEEPLY attached to him to the point where I see him sticking around basically forever. He has at least 200 pieces of art by now and I want a suit of him badly (art shown is by @//studioscheppen)

My humanoid personas are even more difficult to document because there are DOZENS of variants over the years that didn't stick around for long. Here's just a handful of those

Eventually I figured out that just making my sonas a regular ass humanoid simply wasn't cutting it and never would for a LOT of reasons, and as soon as I let loose and allowed myself to be an awesome nonhuman freak it all clicked. This is my current persona >:]

[anamelessfool]

I am enjoying inventing random OC Papas throughout time. This one I was like, dang I got to do more with him....maybe later though!

Bestiary (AO3 Link)

So if you meet me have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and some taste... Use all your well-learned politness or I'll lay your soul to waste...

The adventures of the Nameless Ghouls throughout time. Each Chapter is a different Nameless Ghoul, some canon, some OC. Romantic, weird, smutty, sad, actiony, whatever tone I want. It was fun researching this one. Dancehalls sound interesting. This poster is a riff off of a Little Richard Tour Poster. The two songs at the bottom are real and in period.

2: 1945 [Dewdrop Ghoul]

Tags: Mystery, Adventure, Horror, Alternate History, Weird Astral Shenanigans

Dewdrop narrowed his eyes, kicked a rock. If he could spit on the ground, he would. This is what they get. He pouted, making sure everyone around him knew his displeasure, but inexplicably felt drawn look at the mountains in the distance, just like the rest of them.

Musical Inspiration, More Fun Facts about my Poster and Taglist below the Cut!

Cab Calloway would be the perfect historical Papa. And 99% of running a big band is pure charisma.

Papa Camino's Papal Visage was inspired by the 1946 film "The Crimson Ghost" which is the direct inspiration for the Misfits Skull Logo.

Also this fic is what happens when you listen to an 8 hour podcast. WATCH OUT.

Thanks @kabukiaku for all the digital art help

Tag List: @historian-crown @monkberryghouldelight @in-cardi-c-we-thrust @riptide-kid @thew0man Let me know if you want to be on my tag list

[entropicquilibriumofchaos]

Re-Write the Ending

Veikko Alén/Aleksi Kesӓ/Baba Jakala

All's fair in love and cult sacrifices.

*A re-telling of Yötön Yö*

Thank you to the lovely @fritzmetzger for creating and sharing the bisexual lighting Yötön Yö art piece that was the inspiration for this fic! Go check out his blog if you haven't already; his art is amazing.

Read it on ao3.

“You’re fired, Kesӓ.”

Aleksi blinked in surprise, trying to digest what the man in front of him was saying. “What?” 

In all honesty, he couldn’t even remember how he had gotten to where he was. One moment he had been out, chasing a lead on one of his newest cases and the next he was here, getting fired for some reason? His face was screwed up in confusion as he stared at the man across the desk from him.

The man sighed, standing up and walking over to where the detective was sitting. He handed him a sealed letter. “You’re fired. Orders from the chief.”

Aleksi took the letter and stared at it for a second before replying. “Why?”

The other man leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “You caused quite a stir on your last case. Uncovered some things that should’ve stayed in the dark; pissed off some people you should’ve sucked up to.” 

The detective shook his head. “You can’t- you can’t just fire me because I pissed off some corrupt officials-”

“It’s not my decision. The order came from on high, there’s no use fighting it.” The man popped off of the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should go home, Aleksi. Make it easier on all of us.”

Aleksi couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the letter of termination. Anger swelled in his chest as he stood. His teeth ground against one another as he clenched his jaw. The paper wrinkled in his hands. 

“Maybe I will,” he said between clenched teeth.

Driving back into his hometown was surreal. The quaint main street was almost dead even with the biggest holiday of the summer on the horizon. Storefronts that had once been bustling with life were empty, their neon signs long burned out. 

The street lights blinked red as he made his way through to the small cabin on the outside town. The cabin where he had spent so much of his childhood and his teen years. 

Where he had loved; where he had lost. 

The cabin was just as he remembered it. The paint was peeling slightly and the flowers in the garden beds were wilting, but everything else was the same. The porch swing swayed gently back and forth and the windows shown bright with warm light. There was a cat out on the green grass of the front lawn, lazily sprawled out with its belly in the air as if it had no worries in the world. The thing that caught his eye though, was something that definitely wasn’t there before.

A woman sat on the porch step, watching Aleksi with an intense gaze as he pulled into the driveway. The summer breeze made her dark brown hair blow gently to one side and her white dress fluttered with the wind. Aleksi felt his heart skip a beat seeing the pretty girl that he had known once upon a time, all grown up into a beautiful woman.

He stepped out of the car cautiously. She didn’t smile at him; instead she got up and made her way over to where he stood. 

“Baba…” he whispered, taking her hand as she drew close to him. “You look- you look wonderful.”

His comment made her serious facade crack as a smile spread across her lips. “Shut up, Aleksi,” she chuckled, before wrapping her arms around him and enveloping him in a hug.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said softly, relaxing into her arms and cradling the back of her head in his hand. 

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder when she replied. “We missed you too.” 

A shiver ran, inexplicably, down his spine as her words reached his ears.

“We missed you.”

That night was the Midsommar’s Eve dance. Baba dragged Aleksi down to the town hall. He went willingly, following her like a lost puppy. 

Once upon a time, he had been in love with Baba Jakala. When she chose Alén, Aleksi had left town, unable to live with the idea that she could never be his. But, now, thirteen years later, Veikko Alén was nowhere to be seen, and his feelings for the woman were being fanned into a flame once more. 

They swayed together to the music, Ahti’s voice dancing around the town hall in a dreamlike melody. Aleksi couldn’t help but reminisce of the times he and Baba had been in the same place, dancing to the same music, but in an entirely different time. He took in every inch of her: her legs, her torso, her chest, her neck, her arms, her face. The flowers in her hair; the way the black dress she wore fell across her hips. Everything was the same as he remembered and at the same time so different. The carefree girl that he had left in the care of the writer was gone. Baba’s green eyes held secrets now. Aleksi was determined to unravel everything that she would let him. 

“I missed you,” she said, looking into his eyes as they swayed. The context of her words wasn’t lost on Aleksi as she moved ever closer to him.

“You and Veikko were together,” he explained. He swallowed nervously, “So I left.” 

It was the truth. They both knew it. 

Finally, Baba confirmed what Aleksi had suspected since returning home. “He’s gone.” she said. Aleksi bristled slightly. “Has been for a long time now.”

The words came out of his mouth before he had the chance to think them over. 

“This time when I go, come with me,” he responded, his voice breaking the tiniest bit. His heart jumped in his chest as she smiled at him. He used his hand on her back to bring her even closer. He wanted to kiss her right here, in front of the whole town. 

A mischievous look came over her face. “But not before the morning,” she smirked. 

Aleksi blinked, her forwardness stunning him slightly as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a masked figure cloaked in black. The figure stared at him, its deer mask never shifting or breaking eye contact. 

When Aleksi blinked, the figure was gone. 

He thought back to Veikko. How could he just be gone? Aleksi could feel the pain in his chest; that tiny sliver of… something that he had repressed so long ago coming to surface as he thought about the writer. The thought of him disappearing had his heart beating faster than it should for the gentle sway that he and Baba had been caught up in. 

He had loved Baba, yes. He still loved Baba if he was honest with himself. 

But deep down, he had loved Veikko, too. 

The writer had always been the leader of their group. The guiding hand. It was Veikko that Aleksi had gone to when things went wrong, Veikko who would embrace him and tell him it would be alright. 

In the end, it was Veikko who had broken his heart when he had chosen Baba and not him.

Confused and slightly unnerved, Aleksi went to the one place in town where he knew he was always welcome. 

Aleksi had known Ahti since the beginning. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time that the man hadn’t been in his life. He was a staple in town, seemingly everywhere all at once. Always a friendly face when you needed it the most. And Aleksi had needed it more than he’d like to admit. 

The coffee cup in front of him steamed as the black coffee reflected the tiredness in Aleksi’s eyes. He took a slow drink, letting the liquid burn down his throat with a sigh. 

“Why return when you got away once?” Ahti asked with arms crossed. 

Aleksi shrugged as he placed his cup down. “I didn’t mean to,” he replied, “But now I find myself here. I must be cursed. I’ve been written into the story of a sadistic writer; I’m stuck in a loop.”

His words didn’t make complete sense, even to himself, as he spoke. But at the same time, they felt right coming out of his mouth. He was here because of Veikko, after all. 

Veikko is what made him leave. How far off would it be to think that Veikko had brought him back?

Ahti sighed. “Earth is a cyclical song,” he drawled before changing the topic. “How’s it going at the Federal Bureau of Control?”

Aleksi held back a smile at the old man. His memory must have been getting away from him. 

“You’ve got the wrong Bureau, I don’t work there,” he corrected, taking another sip of his coffee. “Besides, I was fired.” He tried his best not to let the bitterness in his voice leak through. A smirk crossed his lips as he finished, “You wouldn’t be in need of a janitor’s assistant?”

He thought of how different his life would be if he had chosen a different profession. Maybe he’d be far away with a family by now, having gotten over his first loves long ago. 

But he became a detective, and that brought him right back to the beginning. 

Ahti’s response was quick as he shifted in his seat, “No, the master of this farm vanished into the night years ago. Soon after you left.”

Aleksi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he recalled the conversation between him and Baba. She had said Veikko was gone, not dead, or missing, but gone. 

“Now the signs are in the air again that I too will be out of work soon,” Ahti added, bringing Aleksi out of his thoughts. “That’s why I’m asking about the Bureau, maybe I can get a job there.”

He sipped his coffee through a sugar cube in the way that many of the older residents of the town tended to. It reminded Aleksi of simpler times. Of him and Baba and Veikko sitting on the porch of Baba’s family’s cottage, watching the old folks drink their coffee and argue about things that never ended up mattering. Of Veikko making up crazy stories for them to play along with on the shore of the lake. Of the three of them, just being kids together. 

“Come,” Ahti announced, finishing his coffee and setting the saucer down. “The sauna is hot.”

The two men made their way outside and into the sauna, grabbing a few beers from the fridge one the way. The sauna was indeed hot, and Aleksi could feel the heat work into his muscles as Ahti threw a ladle of water onto the rocks. 

He sighed and took a drink of the beer. The juxtaposition of the cold liquid and the hot, steamy air made him content. As they sat, he began to think once again about Veikko. 

“Ahti,” he began, catching the older man’s attention, “What happened to Veikko anyway?”

He shook his head and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “They say that Alén reached too far into the depths of the night; couldn’t find his way back anymore.” 

Both men took a drink of their beer.

“Be careful of Alén’s black widow,” Ahti warned.

Instinctively, Aleksi bristled with the need to defend Baba, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“You had a crush on her, didn’t you?” 

Aleksi chuckled. “I was scared of her.” 

Ahti returned his smile. “Us boys used to be a bit hopeless with women,” he mused, before throwing another ladle of water onto the rocks. 

Truer words had never been said.

Aleksi was never good at staying in one place for very long. He was prone to pace, to wander, when he had nothing better to do. After leaving Ahti, he decided that maybe a good wander was what he needed to clear his head.

He was deep in his thoughts when he heard voices. A familiar sounding voice that sent chills down Aleksi’s spine.

He looked up to see Ilmari Huotari posted up against the side of a shed with his foot up on a chopping block. He was wearing a leather jacket that Aleksi recognized as his brother, Jaakkopi’s. Oddly enough, as Aleksi searched the faces of the group standing with Ilmari, he didn’t see the other Huotari brother. 

“I poked him with my knife: poke, poke, poke!” Ilmari laughed, the look in his eyes one that Aleksi knew from interrogating one too many psychopaths. “And he shat his pants.”

The group of men laughed, a couple of them passing around a flask of a liquor strong enough that Aleksi could smell it from where he stood. 

“On all fours in the ditch, drunk out of his mind,” Ilmari continued with a sick smile on his face, “sobbing for mercy, ‘Mercy! Mercy, dear brother! Mercy, I’m dying!’”

Suddenly, Aleksi understood why Jaakkopi was nowhere to be seen. 

The group of men burst out into more laughter as Ilmari shifted his position to take the flask. Aleksi approached the gang cautiously, the leaves under his feet crunching and giving away his position. 

Ilmari turned to face him slowly, the smile melting off of his face as the former detective approached. Aleksi did his best not to bow under the intense gaze of the other man.

“Check this out…” Ilmari trailed off. He screwed the cap back onto the flask from where he had been uncapping it, dropping his arms to his side as he eyed-up Aleksi. “The return of the prodigal son. And with his tail between his legs.” He looked over to the rest of the guys by the shed with a smirk. A few of them laughed maliciously.

Aleksi fought back the urge to roll his eyes. He had always preferred Jaakkopi out of the two twin brothers. 

Ilmari’s next words struck Aleksi’s core. “Did you come to beg for forgiveness?”

In an attempt to gain control of the situation, Aleksi spoke slowly and clearly. “The news of my return are premature,” he explained, “I just came to drop by. And now that I remember what goes on around here-” He paused to look at the dangerously rag-tag group of men. He smirked. “I won’t stay long.”

Against his better judgment, Aleksi decided to play into Ilmari’s psychopathy. 

“Where’s your brother hiding?” he asked knowingly. 

Ilmari smiled widely and let out a breath. Aleksi could smell the booze on it from five feet away. “I stabbed him to death,” he admitted with no remorse, as casually as one would talk about the weather. 

Aleksi couldn’t hold the smirk on his face. 

“His never-ending jabbering got on my nerves,” Ilmari said in a low, gravely voice. The air around them had shifted into something that made Aleksi’s fight-or-flight instincts flare up. “A sacrificial offering for the master. But my shit brother wasn’t even good enough for that.”

Ilmari approached Aleksi slowly, calculatingly. All playfulness had left him, leaving behind a murderous look in his eyes. The other men had stopped laughing as well, all waiting on edge for their leader’s signal to rip Aleksi to shreds. He stopped a few feet from Aleksi, raising the hand with the flask in it to point at the well-dressed man. 

“You were the master’s chosen one,” he growled, baring his teeth. He reminded Aleksi of a guard dog that had been backed into a corner with nowhere else to go. Nothing else to lose. 

Aleksi gritted his teeth together and swallowed hard.

“Never could figure out why,” Ilmari continued before taking a long drink from the flask. “I should kill you too for that.”

The sound of a knife being unsheathed drew Aleksi’s attention. He watched as Ilmari drew his weapon out from his pocket and the other men gathered theirs as well. Suddenly, Aleksi wished very much that he had just gone back to the cabin with Baba.

“The knives are out,” Ilmari announced, that damned smirk playing on his face once more, his blue eyes sparkling with murderous intent. “We’ll give you a cut throat shave, boy!”

As the gang of men began to surround Aleksi, he moved back slowly with raised hands. When it was clear that they were going to pursue him he turned and ran faster than he had ever run before. It had been years, but he had grown up here, he knew these forests. His work as a detective had kept him on his feet for the last thirteen years and adrenaline was pumping through his veins, causing his legs to carry him away from the men at a shocking speed. Maybe it was his training, or maybe it was the fact that all of the men following him were at least half drunk, but he managed to lose them. 

Something was wrong here. Something was very, very wrong.

Nighttime fell onto the woods like a smothering blanket. When Aleksi finally stopped running, he found himself at the old well that he, Baba, and Veikko used to hang around. Baba was there, sitting on the side of the well and looking down into its depths. 

“Baba!” he called, catching his breath. “Baba, we need to get out of here. Ilmari is-”

She cut him off by placing a finger to his lips. “It’s okay, Aleksi. Breathe.”

He did his best to do as she instructed, his face growing warm as she slid her hand down to his chest. Finally, once she determined that he had calmed down enough, she took her hand away. 

“A toast,” she suggested, producing a bottle of clear liquor from behind her back. 

Feeling slightly light-headed from the lack of oxygen, Aleksi smiled, sighing ever-so-slightly. “What are we drinking to?” 

Baba smirked. “The nightless night.”

She placed the bottle into his hands and he took a quick swig from it, not forgetting the strength of the liquor distilled from the water of the lake. He capped the bottle and handed it back to Baba, expecting her to take a drink as well.

The wind whispered through the trees. Aleksi swore he heard a voice on the breeze: “you came back to us”.

Instead of taking a drink herself, she uncorked the bottle and tipped it into his mouth once more. He didn’t fight her. He drank what she poured down his throat. She watched him calculating eyes as his head began to swim. His eyes crossed involuntarily and he swayed on his feet. 

The world around Aleksi seemed to fall away as the liquor traveled into his bloodstream. Much faster than it should, at that. The woods spun around them and he felt as if his skin were melting off of his skeleton. He felt relief as Baba untied his tie and began to open his shirt. The cool night air felt like heaven against his flustered skin. 

“This is the ritual to lead you on,” she whispered as he slowly blacked out.

The darkness was thick, like a syrup on the verge of crystallizing. It seemed impenetrable, even as bright flashes of light echoed from far away. Suddenly, the flashes got closer and closer until there was nothing but white light.

And then, Aleksi was in a darkened room. On the other side, in between two eye-like windows was a man, lit by a single, warm light.

He seemed to tower over Aleksi as he approached, his long, dark hair falling into his face as he looked down at the shorter man. It had been years since Aleksi had seen him, but he knew as soon as he first laid eyes on him that the man in front of him was Veikko Alén. 

He held a lamp in one hand, holding it high over the detective’s head as it cast long shadows of the two of them onto the floor. Veikko studied Aleksi with curious eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to see him. Aleksi did the same, his eyes traveling over Veikko’s body, taking him in for the first time in so long. 

Words caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the man’s chest, exposed in the slightest by his unbuttoned dress shirt. His face grew warm and he swore he saw Veikko’s lips turn into a smile. He was about to finally say something when he began to fall back, away from the writer and into the darkness once again.

Aleksi reached out for Veikko, who simply watched as the detective was swallowed by the void. 

Aleksi came to with bile in his throat. He was shirtless and on all fours, crawling in the detritus of the forest floor. His head was pounding as his arms shook with the effort it took to hold his body up. Unable to hold back his sick any longer, he vomited onto the ground in front of him. As he looked into the vomit, a single, intact mushroom covered in sickly yellow stared back at him, taunting him.

What the fuck had Baba done to him?

He struggled to his feet and wiped his mouth. The taste of vomit had mixed with the liquor that Baba had forced down his throat, making him feel even sicker than before. 

Half-naked, Aleksi stumbled forward, towards the abandoned well that sat mere feet away from him. If he could just sit down, gather his thoughts, maybe he could stop his head from spinning. But, as he approached the well, figures began to appear from the darkness of the forest.

Figures like the one from the dance. Cultists.

They all wore black robes tied with rope around their waist that made them blend into the darkness. Strange deer masks hid their faces, but they all donned necklaces that held two intertwined triangles made of gold. Cult symbols if Aleksi had ever seen them. 

The cultists surround Aleksi, who immediately backed away from them, just to be met with more behind him. Two figures grabbed his arms; their grip was bruising. 

They forced Aleksi down onto the scattered stone. He thrashed back and forth, trying his best to free himself from their grasps. He managed to get one hand free, reaching up to the sky.

‘Towards what?’ he asked himself. ‘God? There’s no God here.”

Slowly, one of the cult members knelt down next to him. The hood was thrown back, and the deer mask ripped off to reveal Ilmari Huotari. Aleksi didn’t have the energy to be shocked. For a moment, he thought the figure in front of him shifted, no longer Ilmari but Baba instead, unsheathing a large puukko. The figure flickered between the two cultists, Ilmari and Baba becoming one as the knife was raised above their head. It became fixed on Baba as she brought the knife down hard onto Aleksi’s chest. 

Pain blossomed in his chest and blood spattered across everything in the proximity. The dark red humor, a stark contrast against Baba’s pale face, against Ilmari’s unkempt beard. 

The knife kept coming down. The identity of the person wielding it never stayed the same between stabs, flashing between Baba, Ilmari, and even Veikko himself. Blood coated every face Aleksi saw, including his own as his chest was eviscerated. 

Blood filled his mouth, pouring out as Aleksi’s head turned to the side. He no longer had the strength to fight against the cultists. His vision slowly darkened as he choked on his own blood. Words floated around in his head, the voices of Baba, Ilmari, and the other cultists slowly becoming one cacophony of sound that laid Aleksi to a painful sleep.

As he shut his eyes, a blinding light filled the forest. A spotlight of white focused on the well. Aleksi’s eyes were wrenched open by an unknown force as all attention turned to the decrepit stone pit. 

Slowly, like some kind of angel.. or demon… a body began to rise out of the well. His arms were outspread as his head tilted back, relishing in the light that reflected off of his pale chest. His hair fell back, revealing Veikko’s face, his eyes closed in reverie as he floated out of the well and back down to the forest floor. 

Aleksi couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched Baba approach Veikko. He spit up more blood, unaware of how he was still conscious with the amount of blood that he had lost and was still losing every moment that his heart continued to beat. 

Baba’s voice came as a whisper. “At last.” 

Aleksi couldn’t help the groan that left his mouth. The feeling of betrayal was just as strong as the pain that surged through his chest with every breath he took. 

“Thank you, my love,” Veikko responded in the same baritone timbre that Aleksi remembered from their youth. The voice he had fallen for. The voice that would haunt him even in death.

Suddenly, the pain in Aleksi’s chest was gone. The world had turned to darkness once more. 

He opened his eyes to find himself back in the room where he had seen Veikko the first time, but this time he was alone. He was fully clothed, his suit pristine without a single drop of blood to be found.

“It’s not a loop,” he realized. “It’s a-”

A bright light cut him off. Where the darkness had devoured him, the light enveloped him, filling every crack in his lips, every wrinkle in his skin. It seeped into his very being until there was nothing left but light.

Veikko cradled Aleksi’s body to his chest, his hand placed over the various stab wounds. Baba knelt next to him, brushing the detective’s hair out of his face, whispering her apologies through tears. 

“Come back to us, Kesӓ,” Veikko whispered, pressing his hand further into Aleksi’s chest. “Come back.”

The larger man bent down, bringing his lips to Aleksi’s gingerly. Blood seeped between the two of them, making Veikko shudder, but not deterring him in the slightest. He could feel Baba’s hand thread into his hair reassuringly. 

A gasp of air caused Veikko to retreat. Aleksi’s icy-blue eyes shot open, filled with fear, immediately locking with Veikko’s before he was crushed into his chest. The writer held him tight, arms wrapped around his body and not letting go. Another pair of arms held him as Baba embraced them both.

“I’m so sorry, Aleksi,” Baba whispered into his hair, “It was the only way to get both of you back.”

Veikko loosened his grip on Aleksi slightly, and Baba took the opportunity to slide her hand between the two and grasp Aleksi’s face gently. She wiped the blood from his lips before guiding his face to hers, kissing him passionately. They moved together in time with Veikko holding both of them close to his chest. He wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. 

Aleksi might not remember every loop they had been through, but something about being held by the two people that he loved from the beginning was enough to placate him for now. 

[meadow-selfship]

Hans x Ursula (s/i)

Day 1, 2, 3 for Self-indulgent September (first meeting, museum date (if you squint), Autumn weather/rainy day)

Like many of my 'better' works, this is vaguely inspired by a dream I had that I heavily adapted into this piece.

Pairing: Hans Gruber x Ursula (s/i)

Wordcount: 1660

Setting: a very rainy New Year's Eve.

Dividers by cafekitsune

The pouring rain strained our vision, as we ran over the slippery asphalt. My brother, Abel, followed close behind me. Even though we tried avoiding puddles, our shoes were wet and soggy already.

“In there, the museum looks like it’s still open,” I called over my shoulder. We reached the doors and didn’t hesitate for a single moment, before we barrelled in. The light in the lobby was still on, a clerk sat bored behind the monitors, glancing up from his crossword puzzle. The desk was right by the door, but just past the desk was a little area with seats. It reminded of a doctor’s waiting room with the magazines on the coffee table and the white walls.

Abel sighed and slumped against the door. We dripped all over the door mat, from coat to Abel’s jeans to my wool skirt – everything was soaked through. I wiped at my face, trying to avoid messing up my make-up.

“Good evening,” the clerk greeted and I walked a little closer.

“Hello. Do you mind if we stay here and try to dry up a bit? I know it’s late…” I said.

“Nah, go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The New Year’s party is going on upstairs so we aren’t closing anytime soon.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod and squeezed the water from the hem of my wool skirt. Disgusting. Boisterous noises came from upstairs; yelling, laughter, people popping small fireworks. Abel and I exchanged a look.

“Sounds like quite the party,” Abel said.

The clerk shifted. “Sure is.”

“Let’s dry off in the bathroom,” I said to Abel.

“Down the hall to the right,” said the clerk and we went on our way.

“Can’t believe it’s still not stopped raining,” said Abel, nudging my knee with his foot. We sat on the couch in the museum lobby, staring restlessly outside. We worked our way through the art magazines that were strewn about the coffee table, but nothing could quell our unease. At some point, the party upstairs quieted down inexplicably, but no one came down to leave. We’d taken our shoes, gloves and coats off and left them on the radiator, hoping they would dry soon. My hair was still dry, thanks to my thick fake fur hat, that now laid sadly next to the gloves, looking something like a deflated wet rat.

“Can I write on this? It’s yesterday’s paper,” I held the paper up.

“Go right ahead,” the man said, hiding a strange tenseness by pretending not to be interested. Bored out of my mind, I circled the fun words, doing as I often do on the train; to see if there is a hidden poem in the front page article.

I turned to Abel. “It’s already half past eight. You were meeting some friends at ten, right?”

The clerk glanced up, something uncharacteristically calculating in his eyes, for a museum desk clerk. Something felt off. We’d better get going soon.

“Yeah. There’s still time. What are you doing?”

“Black out poem.” I nudged the paper to him. “Your turn. Just circle words or connect them.”

He blinked at me. “Mom and dad should’ve never let you study art.”

I laughed. “I assure you I would’ve been equally pretentious even without the education.”

A static buzz made us look to the desk, where the clerk answered a walkie-talkie.

A walkie-talkie is not something front-office workers usually have in a museum, is it? Something was definitely wrong. I pulled the newspaper towards me and penned a quick ‘er is iets mis’ on it. Abel nodded, mirroring my worried expression. We got up, trying to not let our alarmed expressions show.

"You're leaving?" asked the clerk. 

"Yeah, if the rain isn't letting up anyway, we better get home and dry up there," I said, going for my shoes. Ew, still soaked. Cold, too, and I hoped my toes would recover quickly once at home. Not that it mattered now, since it was still coming down in buckets and we'd be soaked through even if our clothes were dry.

"Gross," said Abel, his lip curling with the feeling of it as he pulled the still wet shoe over his socks. Before we could get our coats on, a small group of men came down the stairs. They walked quickly, with purposeful strides, The one who came down first wore an impeccable suit, was he the museum director? Whether he was or wasn't, Abel and me backed away to the door. I grabbed my coat over my arm and held my hat, same as Abel.

"There was only one thing I asked of you, Johan. It was to keep people out," said the one in the suit. With the way he strode towards the clerk, it looked like he wanted to hurt the man. We should've listened to our gut sooner.

I pushed against the door, and instead of it giving way, it made a beeping noise and stayed shut. The eyes of the men from upstairs fell on us. Suddenly it was like I was a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I stared back at them with unease. The one in the suit, the scariest one, turned around, and our eyes locked. His expression changed.

"See, the alarm was on, I swear-"

"Johan," he drawled, "you didn't say we had such a lovely guest."

He made a jovial gesture, and came closer. "How rude of me not to introduce myself." 

His sudden pleasantness threw me off. He extended his hand, and the way he did it made me take it, despite the strangeness of the situation. "Hans Gruber. And you? Hiding from the rain?"

"Ursula," I said, trying to apply equal pressure to the handshake. "Yes, we're very sorry for intruding. We just came by here from work, and..."

His touch lingered, warm. His smile was the most charming one I've ever seen. "And this is your..?" He gestured to Abel.

"Abel," he said, reaching out to shake his hand. "We're siblings."

Hans nodded, still smiling, as something calculating crept in his gaze. "Good, good. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Actually, why don't you stay a little while longer? We are just wrapping up here. How about, after that, I'll take you home?"

It didn't feel much like a question. His eyes lingered like his touch did. When Hans turned around, his demeanour changed again. A business man.

"Johan, I'll deal with you later. Karl; get the car. Fritz, Tony; get the bags from upstairs."

They did as he said, dispersing quick and without fuss. One thing is certain; Hans is not the museum director.

Abel and I exchanged a confused glance. I tried the door again, muttering a mild curse when it didn't still didn't open. Before I could ask if this was a good idea, Hans turned back, coming closer now. 

"It's really no trouble for us to walk, we wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"You're not from here, are you?" Hans ignored my statements to weasel our way out the door. His hand rested on my shoulder, as he directed us away from the exit and towards the elevators. "When I first came here, it was those times when strangers showed great kindness that made me feel welcome. Let me extend that same kindness to you, today."

"Sir, it's New Year's Eve, surely you have something better to do."

"Oh, Liebling, just call me Hans." His hand slipped to my back now, pressing on insistently enough to make it awkward to linger. "Isn't that even better? A festive mood during a festive time. How are you celebrating?"

Even though Abel followed by my side, it felt like Hans addressed only me. We reached the elevators and Hans stepped forward, pressed buttons, no matter that we didn't agree to come with at all. Abel glanced back at the door. I shrugged at him.

"Abel is going to see some friends later," I said, shifting the focus to him. "They're going into the city, find a good spot to watch the fireworks."

"How nice," he said. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Hans went in first. He expected us to follow, but more so than that, it felt like he didn't even consider it a possibility that we wouldn't. We stepped in and the doors closed. "And you, Liebling?" 

Me, Liebling... "Hmm, watch fireworks from my window and go to bed on time. I'm not such a fan of the loud and the-" I gestured with my arms, "the boisterous."

Hans looked at me for a long moment, no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and an unexpected fondness. "Then join me in doing the same. My hotel room has an incredible view." Where someone else saying the same thing, would have been a gaud-ish boast, it wasn't with him. His voice was soft, the quietness in which he said it made my heart stir. Would he not be celebrating with those men from before? Or with friends of his own? Not even a wife? If he’s staying at a hotel room, he could be far from home… Just like me.

I kept silence, not breaking eye contact. The moment lasted like that, us staring at each other, Hans' request hanging in the air between us. If we kept it up like this, I wouldn’t need to say anything at all. He could see it all, written on my face, just for him to read – that’s what it felt like. The elevator dinged. Despite having, once again, heard no ‘yes’, Hans led us to the car. 

"Bring Abel home first," I said. "Then we can talk."

Hans’ smile was brighter than even the most colourful fireworks.

[thelostrainbowthenovel]

Friendships: Maya's Friends

Next up for the friendship posts for the main characters, we have Amaya! I hope you enjoy~

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- Arianian Friends

. Iris: Her girlfriend of 2 years, but they have been friends since childhood. They first met in a ballet class, becoming friends pretty fast as they first bonded over how expressive the art can be without the use of words. They have always had an inexplicable closeness, and spent many nights and sleepovers doing fun activities together and talking about whatever was on their mind. Maya always admired her kind and generous heart, how she shares the same goals as her to do well by others, and how she always made her feel appreciated for her instead of how others expect her to be. They inspire each other endlessly, and always know the best ways to calm each other down and surprise one-another.

. Aurora: One of Maya's closest childhood friends. They first met when they were really little, and completely by chance too. As Aurora was kept mainly in her room or the palace infirmary due to her illness, they never knew about each other until they crossed paths in the hallway one day. Deciding to sneak away from their parents for a little bit, the two got to talking and really hit it off as they found they had a few things in common. They could not see each other for a while due to Aurora's illness, but they met again in ballet class after she was finally feeling better with her health. Now that they are grown and Aurora has grown much more healthy from her illness, the two make plans to hang out way more often, with her being like the calm rock in Maya’s life with her always looking on the bright side of things and her never-ending sense of hope.

- The Other Main Characters:

. Talia: The one she is obviously the closest to, as that is her older sister. When Maya was little, her older sister Talia was one of her most favorite people, as she always admired how confident and unapologetically herself she was, no matter what people said about her. She always thought she could make for a good queen one day if she were just to reign in her attitude a little, but unfortunately, she is one of the few people who thinks this way. Despite how the nobles have very different views of both girls and them knowing it too, the sisters are actually very close and try not to let the nobles' views get to them or affect how they see each other. The two sisters also took many of their dance classes together and enjoy a lot of activities together, and even got a lot of their piercings together too.

. Gaia: These two have always had a good and close friendship together, much like their mothers had together when they were young. It is because of their mothers' own friendship that allowed for the girls to become close, as Noelani and Demeter often made visits to see each other whenever they could. Maya sees her as an older sister figure, and the two have the most similarities and in common together. Both are gentle and compassionate young ladies who love helping out their respective kingdoms and citizens whenever they can, and they both have an appreciation for nature and flowers together. They always look forward to seeing each other whenever their families are doing visits together, as they always have very pleasant conversations together, and they also find it cute how their little sisters are also good friends.

. Hestia: Being the closest in age to each other they have had some of the most interactions, but were not always on a friendship level. When they were younger Maya always wanted to give Tia a chance, but the Feorian princess was always a bit hesitant to as she always had difficulties making friends or feeling comfortable referring to someone as such. Maya was of course understanding, and did not want to force her into anything she didn't want to do. Slowly yet surely Tia started to warm up to her more, especially after the main events, and the more they spoke together the more they found things they had in common with each other. Both relate on having high expectations and ideas placed on them to be and do other things than who they actually are as people even when they have made their stances on their respective matters quite clear, and having more artistic past-times, specifically dance for Maya and music for Tia. Whenever they get a chance to see each other and have the time to, they usually like to combine their talents into a little performance, and it was working on their first performance together that really cemented their friendship, though also just talking and getting to know each other more. Tia comes to feel comfortable in having someone so sweet and patient for a friend, and Maya is always happy and honored knowing someone amazing like Tia feels so comfortable and relaxed around her, with them having a sweet but little bit playful friendship on Maya's part.

. Brooke: Maya always found Brooke to be a pretty fun and good person despite the bad reputation he usually gets, as in many ways he reminded her of her older sister. While other kids found him to be a nuisance when they were growing up, Maya made it point to get to know him for who he truly is, and they actually both hit it off fairly good. They have a fairly good and playful relationship, but after opening up about their insecurities and anxieties more to each other they have that deeper understanding and connection with each other to not be afraid of talking about more serious topics. After learning more about and getting to observe his relationship with Nate during the main events, she becomes inspired to start thinking about becoming more open about her own relationship with Iris, and it gives her hope that her own relationship will flourish and continue on strong knowing how long they have been together. They both also bond over their mutual love for dancing, having an appreciation for how beautiful the art form can be, and they have taught the other some moves from their respective favorite styles.

. Ignatius: Maya was always aware of Nate through the Elementals Alliance, but they never really interacted much before. At most they were cordial with each other during their few interactions, but due to both all the personal differences between them and the ones between their respective kingdoms, they never really developed a further relationship. However, once they have to meet up with the others during the main events of the story their dynamic starts to change. For most of it she gets kind of an 'off' vibe from him, as he was mostly hesitant around her and would not talk much to her directly, though she had no idea why that was as he did not disclose anything. Eventually after he does open up a little more with her, and the initial distrust wears off, they start to get a little closer as the whole group in general does with each other. Still not super close but they do consider the other a good friend, and Maya does both look up to his relationship with Brooke and relate to him a lot on being afraid of what others would think or do if they found out they were gay and in secret relationships.