#candy colored misery

[candy-colored-misery]

i think im just meant to be this hollow thing forever 

[yomudkipo]

Candy-colored misery

The color of your mind

Orufrey Week Day 2: Song 💛

Lemon Glow is an Orufrey song you guys gotta trust me on this

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary: 

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe. 

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs. 

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.” 

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.” 

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself. 

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas. 

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice. 

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance. 

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely. 

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you. 

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed. 

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself. 

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you. 

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon. 

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress. 

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you. 

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call. 

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need. 

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder. 

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone. 

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself. 

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants. 

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's. 

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed. 

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness. 

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely. 

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass. 

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him. 

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours. 

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take. 

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier. 

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck. 

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Spooktober. Candy.

Self-Aware! Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald x GN! Reader x Self-Aware!Saigiku Jouno

Description: You, Francis and Jouno make candies.

Warnings and tags: OOC. English is my second language. Fluff. Short

A/N: A short fic for a Spooktober.

_____

You have a feeling of déjà vu. The kitchen table, once again, was holding a mountain of ingredients. Near the window were stacked bags of sugar. Jam jars were next to bowls of fruits. Bottles of food coloring and small decorative wooden sticks were in a shadow of towering milk bottles.

And, once again, the perpetrator, Francis, stand in the middle of the kitchen. He clearly saw the expression on your face.

You weren't amused.

Trying to keep things cool, Fitzgerald lean on the table. For a moment, you thought, that you heard, how poor table creaked. Jouno hummed right above your ear.

"Believe me, [Y/N], it's not a hallucination."

Fitzgerald gave the hunting dog a nasty glare.

"And who asked for your input?"

Jouno ignored him. Instead, he turned his head towards you.

"Do you want to yell? Should I cover my ears?"

You elbowed him. Jouno hissed, not out of pain, but to slightly cheer you up. You were in a need of a good cheering.

"I don't want to yell, but I have questions. Francis, did you get carried away during sales again?"

Francis shook his head with a wide grin on his face.

"You can't be more wrong, My dear Treasure! This purchase was on purpose."

You looked at the table again. Despite the fact, that there is no such thing as "too much food" in a house, where 60+ people live, but in that case, there are too much food. There was no need for so much sugar, jam and milk. Only fruits will be eaten, before they become bad.

"Why." It wasn't even a question. You were tired, and you don't want to deal with whatever it was.

Francis looked proud of himself.

"Candy. We will make homemade candy for Halloween Season."

You slowly blinked. A random thought flashed in your mind, and, before you can think, you opened your mouth.

"Francis, if there is a problem with finances, and we need to start saving up... I have some spare money, so..."

"No!"

Jouno and Francis, somehow, covered your mouth at the same time. Both man looked worried.

"No." Francis repeated. "There's no need. Everything is fine with money. I just wanted to do something new."

Jouno huffed.

"He wanted to cook with you again, Firefly."

Francis glared at Jouno again. You carefully removed the hands from your mouth. You rubbed your temples.

"Just let me get an apron. Want to join us, Jouno?"

He shook his head.

"Why not.

_________

"Did we manage to do it?" asked Jouno, focusing on smells in the air. "Smells fine."

You bit your lip. Spiders from chocolate coated apple pieces looked like they wanted to be put out of their misery. Same for bat cookies... And for pan with dried sugar.

Francis coughed, but pick up one of the candies (that was supposed to be a skeleton, but instead resemble a Stay-Puft from Ghostbusters). Carefully, he ate it.

"Hmm... Not bad. Taste is fine, the looks are..." Francis waved his hand, trying to think of a right word.

"Questionable?" you took a spider apple, taking a generous bite. Yea, not a poison, you can eat.

Francis nodded.

"Yes, we will settle at questionable."

Jouno also taste one of the candies.

"Fine for the first time attempt." agreed he.

Now, you three really need to clean up the kitchen. Goncharov was very protective over the kitchen. Keep it clean, or you will face his wreath.

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 5-1, Part 1/5 (p. 1989-2099)

Read the previous post here.

Well the last post got a much more positive reception than I expected, so that's a relief. Anyway, get the grey face paint ready, because it's time for Act 5-1.

Alternian script is the Daedric alphabet from The Elder Scrolls series flipped upside down, which I'm sure most fans know already. The user tries entering "Turdodor Fuckball" for the planet's name.

Interestingly, the correct name is not "Alternia" but "Trollplanet." Is that what Alternia translates to into English? There's like zero discussion at all about troll language because Hussie did not give a single shit about developing this alien society beyond "grey violent humans with horns."

Right out the gate, Karkat's intro leads with his key character trait: his crippling self-loathing. Everything about him, from how he excessively plays up his competence and knowledge to his naturally angry and defensive disposition, stems from the fact that he views himself as a defective freak that constantly needs to prove himself.

His interests are similar to John's. He likes bad movies, specifically romcoms, which ties into his greater passion for romance and the study of interpersonal relationships as a whole. He also has an inexplicable interest in programming. It's at least implied that Karkat only attempts to learn so he can try to compete with Sollux in a futile rivalry. The reason why John likes to program is anyone's guess.

His greatest dream is to join the Alternian military, which is probably the only viable career path for someone of his pariah status. He's constantly in danger of being culled, so he wants to prove to the Empire that he's more valuable to them alive rather than dead. In order to preserve his life, he's willing to serve them and become a tool they can use to further their intergalactic conquests.

"Trolls think fashion is stupid." A simple phrase that is regularly ignored by people who create fantrolls with garish and elaborate outfits.

A good programmer would have no trouble with this modus, so Karkat forces himself to use it until he gets good. Even though it's frustrating and causes him misery, he's so stubborn to prove himself as a good programmer that it reaches the point where Sollux has to take it away from him. Probably because it has become too much of a hindrance. IDK, we never see much of the trolls' session to find out, which is a fucking shame.

Karkat's stubbornness is also a key part of his character. See also: his trolling scheme of trolling John backwards through time is something he admits is stupid, but he continues to go through with it. He will admit he's wrong, often begrudgingly and self-deprecatingly, but will double down and refuse to change course despite that. Giving up is synonymous with failure, something he is deathly afraid of.

If Karkat is so afraid of letting his blood color become known, why does he have candy-red awnings outside his hive? He might as well have a big sign alerting everyone that a mutant lives there.

Everything about Karkat has to be big, flashy, and important. His huge ambitions compensate for his self-loathing so that others don't view him as the worthless mutant he sees himself as. He has to prove that he is a good programmer, he is a strong leader, and he will be the best threshecutioner in the whole military!

This pretty much summarizes what Karkat wants in life: to overcome caste discrimination and gain prestige and respect.

It's tempting to call Will Smith Karkat's "patron black celebrity" but I won't because 1) that whole thing doesn't carry over to the trolls, and 2) this is actually relevant to Karkat's character and not some bizarre, nonsense """joke""" like with the kids.

I've always been a big fan of "angry/uptight guy" and "goofy dumb guy" dynamics, and Karkat and Gamzee fit that to a T. Even though Karkat is extremely rude to Gamzee, he doesn't ever dispute the notion that they are in fact friends. Their friendship is being treated as an established fact, something Karkat uses an excuse to further whinge about how much his life sucks.

Gamzee drops his typing quirk momentarily. This doesn't happen often in the comic, but it's something trolls only ever do when they're close to someone, if they want to express something serious, or both.

Even before the introduction of quadrants, we see hints of a pale dynamic between them. Gamzee is the perfect sounding board for Karkat's vents, doesn't object to the verbal abuse being slung his way, and is implied much later on to be a somewhat of a calming source for Karkat. Yes of course I ship them pale. I just think they're neat, okay? <> :)

Gamzee very inelegantly changes the subject after mentioning Sollux and Karkat's friendship. Karkat may be Gamzee's best friend, but Sollux is Karkat's best friend. That must be a sore spot for him. But beyond this, we never ever see what Sollux and Gamzee's relationship might be like. It would've been nice if Gamzee was more jealous and protective of his best friend/moirail and not like it when Karkat shows more favor to anyone else.

Gamzee and Karkat's dynamic is something that I believe Hussie wanted to set up throughout the Act so that their eventual confrontation would have a bigger payoff, but he fumbled massively with the execution. Either because he doesn't really give a shit about Gamzee, or through sheer inept writing, I can't say. But it sucks because there's definitely a lot of potential here.

They're the first trolls to interact in this new Act, but they don't really ever talk much after this point. They're only ever seen together sporadically and it's implied a handful of times that they're closer than Karkat is willing to let on, but there's never anything beyond that. They really needed to speak more so their relationship could be fleshed out. I'll talk more about this as I move along because this lives in my brain rent-free.

It's really dumb how Gamzee's "rather obscure cult" ended up turning into a religion that pretty much every purple blood follows, but I'm not going to talk about post-canon garbage. I get a headache just thinking about it.

I do like the Joker Card posters in his room. I had that Riddle Box one in my own room for a time.

He likes to "chat a lot" with Karkat. So I guess they just talk to each other way more than what's shown in the text. Thanks, Hussie.

Gamzee never received a proper upbringing from his guardian and had to essentially raise himself. In the process of this, he became addicted to mind-altering substances. To everyone who says Bro is the worst guardian in the story, I gladly point you all to Goat Dad.

Terezi is being intentionally annoying. I know most of the trolls are assholes, but why do any of them waste their time with Terezi when she makes it a point to be obnoxious? It's even more baffling when people try to paint her as one of the more "well-adjusted" trolls.

Karkat fantasizes about making doomsday viruses, huh? I'm going to keep a pin in this for l8r I mean later...

It's funny how Karkat both admires and envies Sollux. Their relationship is also one that doesn't get a lot of attention, despite ostensibly being the "John" and "Dave" parallels of the troll cast. Oh wait, I guess John and Dave's friendship ended up being really shallow and one-sided too. So this tracks, actually.

Sollux disparages Gamzee's religion and expresses disgust when he suspects Karkat might be a convert. So again, I think there's definitely some conflict between these two. Two of the trolls that Karkat is closest to don't seem to like each other. It makes me kind of wish we got some auspistice action between the three of them.

Even though Karkat is regularly rude to his friends, he still values their company deep down. He might be one of the most personable trolls despite his grouchy attitude. He not only tolerates the obnoxious people in his contacts, he actually considers them his close friends. Gamzee is a total dullard and Sollux is crass and moody, but they're also the ones he's closest to. Out of the main cast of trolls, there's only one whom Karkat actively dislikes and makes no real attempt at being sociable with. I'll talk about that when I reach that part.

"Orchestrating the demise of the wicked" yeah I'm sure John was guilty of being very wicked and dastardly when she sent him to his death.

Terezi has a passion for justice, but keep in mind that "justice" on Alternia is equivalent to sentencing people to death for the pettiest of reasons. So no, she is not at all some moral, upstanding heroine. She's a psychotic gremlin who enjoys killing people if they violate her draconian interpretation of the law. She does not care for defending victims of injustice, she enforces the will of the state.

Part of Terezi's core conceit is that she's this half-assed Daredevil parody. She's 1) blind and has super senses 2) uses a cane to fight, and 3) is a "lawyer." Aside from that, she shares nothing else in common with Daredevil. I imagine Hussie does not know anything about superheroes beyond superficial, pop culture knowledge.

I remember when people loved to portray Nepeta and Terezi as good friends, but Terezi doesn't actually like role playing with her. She treats her like a joke, much like everyone else. Poor Nepeta gets such a raw deal.

In Nepeta's very first speaking appearance, we get a glimpse of her horrible relationship with Equius. Despite the physical distance between them, she's so browbeaten into subservience that she feels the need to ask him for "purrmission" before doing anything. She is scared about expressing her honest desires around him, preferring to skirt around the issue and just blindly hoping that things will work out and he won't get mad at her. It feels like someone trying to wear kid gloves around an abusive partner or parent. Despite Terezi's concerns, Nepeta tries to downplay the issue and pretend everything's fine.

This conversation is honestly sad to read. "But nooo they are bestest friends!" I hear the fans cry as they flock around the flanderized, fluffy art of Nepeta and Equius. Is that why she straight up admits that she's scared of him? Fuck Meowrails. I hate that shit so much. I'm going to spit so much acid every time it rears its ugly head.

We have to constantly be reminded of Terezi's blindness since it really doesn't impact her character in a meaningful way. Sure she can't see, but she can navigate the world around her so adeptly with her super senses that it's a non-issue. Nobody would even notice that she's blind if she wasn't always pointing it out.

Eridan is mentioned as being part of this inner circle that's in the know about Sgrub. Huh.

I'm old enough to remember when Eridan had yet to be revealed and the only information about him was this page. Some people thought he'd be some kind of environmental activist. It's funny to think about now, but I really miss the days when fans would theorize about future updates and unseen characters. All that guesswork and theorycrafting led to some really fun discussions and fanworks. The boundless creativity shown by the fans was what made the Homestuck fandom something really special in those days. And it's something we lost once the comic was finished and Hussie's completed product didn't measure up to the fans' expectations.

I really really miss 2010-11, you guys...

I really have to question the logistics of this convoluted reproduction cycle. If the adult trolls are off-world, how long does it take the drones to transport the genetic material back to Alternia? Are they just zipping all across the galaxy to do constant jizz runs?

None of this really matters because as previously established, the main trolls were not born in this manner. They're all slime constructs born from an entirely separate incestuous slurry from natural trolls. I think Hussie just has an obsession with creatures being birthed from goo or something.

One of the biggest problems with Act 5-1 is this rushed tone it has. It's weird to say because I remember how often people complained about how long the Act was taking to wrap up, but it's true! Hussie really wants to zip through these character introductions without elaborating on any of the worldbuilding he touches upon along the way. It's what makes troll society as a whole feel so shallow and not well thought out.

These characters really needed their own story divorced from that of the kids and Sburb. A story where the Alternia setting could be allowed to breathe and be explored more thoroughly and thoughtfully. I think that would've made for a more entertaining read.

Sollux gets this fake-out intro that's basically a retread of Dave's. Aside from being kind of standoffish and tech-savvy, this parallel doesn't go anywhere. There's little else that connects Sollux with Dave because Sollux is hardly a main character. He is the tech guy who has mood swings, doesn't like to be involved with shenanigans, and has visions of doom that make him depressed. He's a glorified background character.

Okay, "beenary code" is kind of a lame pun, but I do think "silicomb" is clever.

Kanaya lives near the ruins of Alternia's frog temple. Both she and Aradia are kind of the "Jade" of the trolls' session. Aradia by means of doing background plot stuff, and Kanaya through... I suppose theming? Both she and Jade are isolated, considered "outliers" in their culture/friend group, receive regular visions from Skaia, and are the teams' Space players.

It's worth noting how both the "Jade" trolls wind up being the most stoic, unflappable characters of the cast and mostly serve the purpose of being exposition-dumpers and plot devices. Kinda like Jade herself, except instead of being deadpan she's quirky and all over the place.

I feel like this post could've been a lot longer, but I'm limiting myself to only five posts for this Act. I don't want to stretch this project out too long, lest I be yapping about the trolls until the end of time.

Read the next post here.

[i984]

Sweet, Foolish

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: Ooc! Wednesday Addams, jealous(?) Wednesday Addams, girlie really be in love and just can't tell, you had a great Valentines because people gave you stuff, confession at the ending(?), author still don't know what they're doing.

|Summary|: They say too much of something is never good. Well, too much of something sweet proves different.

|A/n|: Happy Valentines Day, all!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You.

You were driving her crazy.

All smiles and laughs even though you were bedridden. Wednesday feels like slapping the stupid grin off your face. How can someone be so utterly foolish to trap themselves in this situation?

Wednesday has watched the pile of various sweets in your bag grow. Class after class, student after student professed their feelings for you, and with each candy, flower bouquet, and chocolate of many kinds, you kindly returned with bright smiles and grateful remarks. 

It's as if you truly appreciate all the cheesy scenes unfolding around you everywhere you go—something Wednesday would never dream of understanding in a million years. Now though, as you lay on one of the infirmary beds after eating too many sweets, the Addams girl somehow found herself sitting beside your laying body, brows furrowed in annoyance or concern, nobody knows.

It's all those incessant fools' fault.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl?"

"Do not call me that ever again," Wednesday pointedly glares at you when she hears your snicker, "or do you have a death wish?"

You hummed in mock consideration before answering, "Death may already be standing beside my bed with you, Wednesday," You rolled on your back, staring up at the ceiling. "Besides, you are pretty."

You said that to Enid this morning. And to Yoko's black scarf at lunch. And to the block of chocolate stupid Xavier gifted you. The bouquet of flowers and the bottle of honey Eugene shoved at you too. 

"You say that to everyone," Wednesday straightens in her seat, "not that I'm complaining." Her jaw clenches for the umpteenth that day when the smug look on your face grows. "What?"

"Nothing," you mumble, eyes scanning over the ravenette's features, "except for the fact that it's pretty clear you're jealous."

"You have an unconventionally large mouth for someone who claims to have severe stomachache."

"And you have an atypically deep blush for someone who claims to be above— Uh, what did you call it?" You make a show of tapping your fingers to your chin, brows raising almost teasingly. 

Maybe the sweets poisoning will catch up to you. Maybe, you'll die soon. Misery will surely be out my way.

"Oh yeah! 'A pish posh day full of ungodly sickening romance' was it?" you smirk as you raise your chin slightly. "Yet here we are."

There's an undefined silence that fills the air. Wednesday finds herself at a loss for any comebacks. She hates it because the phenomenon only happens when you're around. She also hates it because, with each passing second, your smugness practically suffocates the room. 

Tick. Tock.

The clock sounds obnoxiously louder than usual.

"You know, if I don't know any better, I would say jealousy is a nice color on you."

With your words, Wednesday finds her breathing hitched slightly.

"Good for you, I'm not."

"Not what?" You loll your head to the side.

"Jealous."

"Sure, Wens."

There was another prolonged silence until your mouth opened, "Enid told me something interesting earlier," you said almost conspiringly. "Apparently, someone has been asking her about what can be considered normal to give on Valentines day."

Do not trust anything the werewolf says. Surely nobody would be asking such a 'normal' question. Thing may be the one to do that. Definitely not anyone else, especially not me.

"Don't you wanna know who might've asked it? Or what the normal thing to give is?"

"Absolutely not."

"Incurious, I see," Your voice is tainted in mischief as you roll on your side, facing her. "Dark chocolate tastes quite nice— just saying."

Well. Enid has proven herself untrustworthy. Maybe her roommate deserves the pillow smothering. Wednesday pulls her shoulders back in an attempt to compose herself.

"Agreeable," the ravenette acknowledges carefully. "Though your decision to devour all the teeth-rotting delicacies all at once is not."

"Yeah, yeah," you wave a dismissive hand before propping yourself to sit up straight, resting your back on the headboard. Wednesday watched as you settled into your position before hearing a choked hiss from you.

Wednesday stopped breathing.

You grimaced at the sudden twist in your guts, arms coming to clutch your abdomen, attempting to soothe the discomfort.

If you had refused all those poor excuses of courting methods, maybe you wouldn't need to experience all this. I shall tell off those intrepid dunces next year for you. 

"You're in pain," Wednesday stated. Her face glowers when she trails the creases forming on your forehead.

You chuckle dryly. "Yes, a wonderful observation, Professor Addams. Your intuition amazes me as always," you simper. "I would also like to add that the sweetness is worth the pain. You wouldn't know this, of course. Your taste buds are most likely incapable of tasting sweet."

You're technically incorrect. Wednesday is sure her tastebuds work fine, though her body will reject the highly processed food upon the first swallow.

She'll give you a half point.

Wednesday carefully inspects your expressions. Your eyebrows seem to relax as you take notice of the vase of tulips on your bedside table. Your fingers delicately trace the outlines of the petal, a soft smile tugging at your lips subconsciously. 

I can bring you fresh tulips every morning. If you grow tired of them, I can grow you a different kind. Black dahlias are my favorite. What's yours?

"You look quite foolish, grinning like that," is what she says instead. Wednesday mentally slaps herself in agony, chest-puffing as she takes a deep breath to calm herself.

"Maybe, I am a fool."

Are you upset?

"For you."

"That statement is not the compliment you think it is," Wednesday rips her gaze from your face, eyes rolling in faux annoyance. 

"Oh, come on Wens," you let your head fall back and hit the wall, "don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

You groan openly into the room. "I specifically asked for you to accompany me to the infirmary. Why do you think I did that?"

"To pester me into an early grave?"

"No! I was trying to spend time with you," your hand comes up to massage your head. "I like you, okay?"

Wednesday blinks at your confession. 

Her eyes trail from your slightly scrunched-up nose to the smudged chocolate near the corner of your lips. You don't seem to notice it all this time, and Wednesday feels her fingers twitch at the urge to wipe the stain off you. Pugsley as a toddler had better table manners than you.

You're tolerable, at most.

"You're a fool," Wednesday lets the words out.

But you can see the ghost of a smirk on her face, her shoulders that relaxed, and the slight raise of her chin. 

Grinning ear to ear, you let out your final blow. 

"Your fool."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

|A/n2|: If you see me rush through that ending, no you did not :D It's not Valentines anymore for me, but it might still be for you guys so ye! Forgive me for the weird pacing :")

Tag list is in this post, please interact accordingly if you wish to be added!

[cordonianroyalairlines]

Staking a Claim

Series: Cordonian Royal Airlines

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Various

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 2,340

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language mostly

A/N: This is for the @choicesholidays Valentine's Day prompts: "Be my fake date for a wedding."

The hair color is wrong for my Riley, but this image was perfect!

The copilot twisted around in his seat one too many times, craning his neck as if searching the cabin for something, jostling the pilot in the process.

Liam grunted in consternation. “Drake!”

Drake spun back around, “What?”

“What is your malfunction?”

“What do you mean?” Drake blinked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Liam grunted, “We haven’t made it through the preflight checklist because you keep turning around to stare into the cabin! What the hell is so interesting out there?”

“Nothing!” Drake rolled his shoulders, stared blankly out the cockpit window for a moment then turned back to Liam, “Can you see the guy in 12B?”

“What?” Liam’s head swiveled around and then back. “No. Why?”

Drake’s bottom lip protruded as he shook his head. “No reason.”

Liam watched him skeptically. Drake had been visibly agitated since he’d reported for duty. “There has to be a reason.”

“I…he just….he looks a little squirrely. You know what I mean? Untrustworthy.”

Liam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is he a threat? Do we need to alert security? Did you see a weapon?” He whipped his head around quickly to try and get a good view of the man in 12B. “I can’t see anything. Riley’s blocking my view.”

“Is she talking to him?” Drake’s entire body moved just as Liam turned back around. Their heads collided with a resounding thwack.

“Ow! Fuck!” Liam grabbed his forehead.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Seriously man, tell me what’s going on right now. I’m calling security!” Liam reached for the microphone but just as he got it to his mouth, Drake slapped it out of his hands.

“No!”

Liam watched in astonishment as the microphone flew out of his grip and hit the window then bounced off the dash. “Are you on drugs right now? Do I need to get another copilot?”

Drake gaped at him. “Seriously? When have I ever done drugs?”

“I don’t know man, but you’re acting really fucking weird.”

Hana ducked her head in to ask, “Are we almost ready? A couple of the passengers are getting antsy.”

“Which ones?” Drake asked.

Hana’s brows pulled together for a moment then smoothed out as she chuckled. “Oh. You know Riley’s ex is out there, don’t you?”

“What?” Drake’s eyes shot to Liam then back to Hana as he denied it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

A relieved breath whooshed out of Liam. At least he now knew Drake wasn’t on drugs and there wasn’t a terrorist on board. He stifled a laugh. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!” Drake glared at them both.

Hana giggled as she backed out of the cockpit.

They finished the checklist and got airborne, but Drake’s agitation quickly returned. “Do you think he’s better looking than me?”

“Who?”

“The guy! In 12B.”

“How would I know?”

“You’re bisexual, right? You can judge that kind of thing.”

Liam scoffed. “First of all, I haven’t laid eyes on the guy. Second of all, I thought you didn’t care.”

“No, I don’t! I mean….just objectively speaking, out of curiosity….I overheard Hana call him eye candy. He can’t be that good-looking, can he?”

“I dunno Drake, Riley is a ten, so I imagine her ex is no slouch in the looks department either.”

“Great.” Drake huffed as he spun around in his seat again.

“Oh, for the love of God, just go look!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know I care!”

Liam cocked an eyebrow at him, “So you do care?”

“I mean she’ll think I care!”

“You’re really an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Of course you don’t.” Liam shook his head. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself. Put the rest of us out of our misery and just tell the girl that you like her already!”

“I’m not going out there.”

“Okay.”

Drake tapped his fingers on his knees for several seconds before jumping out of his seat. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sure you do.”

“I had a lot of coffee before we boarded.”

“Sure you did.”

“Fuck you. I’m going to take a piss.”

“Great. Tell Riley I said hi.”

Drake ignored him as he exited the cockpit and headed for the back of the plane where the restrooms were located. He slid his eyes sideways as he passed aisle 12 and scoffed to himself. The guy wasn’t that good-looking.

He was clean-shaven with a strong jawline, and raven hair swept back and gelled to perfection. Was that an Armani suit? How were his eyes that blue?

He slammed into the lavatory and locked the door to glare at himself in the highly polished silver surface of the mirror as he regarded his deep copper-colored eyes and messy, fly-away hair that barely saw a brush, much less hair gel. He ran a hand across the stubble dotting his jaw. It was a strong jawline, wasn’t it? Should he shave?

The guy in seat 12B looked like a CEO or something. Did she like that type? Drake was far more likely to be found in a tent than a boardroom. Did he even own a suit? He owned uniforms. Didn’t women like men in uniforms?

He made pretty good money as a first officer for Cordonian Royal Airlines.

Not CEO money.

“Fuck!” He spun and lashed out at the toilet. His foot connected to the stainless steel sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting up his leg.

There was a knock at the door. “Everything okay in there?”

Shit! It was Riley! “I’m fine. Dropped my…. Wallet…” Fuck, Walker! What the shit is wrong with you, man? Your wallet really?

“Are you sure because that didn’t sound like—”

“I said I’m fine!”

“Okay. Just let me know if—oh, excuse me what?”

From the other side of the door, a man’s voice murmured something he couldn’t make out then both people moved away.

Was that the ex talking to her? He forced himself to count to twenty so he didn’t just barrel out of the bathroom after them. He took several deep calming breaths like Max had tried to show him last time he had been upset about something. At least he thought it was what Max had done. At the time, he had mostly ignored him.

With an air of calm he most certainly did not feel, he exited the lavatory. His eyes went straight to seat 12B. Empty. He backtracked and ducked into the crew area.

Sure enough, there was Riley standing in the middle of the empty inflight catering kitchen talking to Mr. CEO.

All his jealousy evaporated in an instant as he took in her demeanor. Her arms were folded defensively across her chest and her face was furrowed into a frown. She was shaking her head as she leaned forward, her voice lowered but her entire body radiating her discomfort with the conversation.

The guy reached out and grabbed her arm.

She flinched away.

Oh hell no.

Drake didn’t remember moving but he was suddenly next to them, his hand wrapped firmly around the man's wrist. He flung the other man’s arm away from Riley and through gritted teeth asked, “Is there a problem here?”

The man gave him a startled look then annoyance flashed across his face. “We were just having a discussion.”

“Doesn’t look like the lady’s enjoying the conversation.”

“Mind your own business,” he shook his head dismissively and reached for her again, “Riley, if we could just talk privately—”

Drake intercepted the motion before he could touch her. “If you’re attached to that hand and wish to keep it, then I would strongly advise you against touching her again.”

He jerked his hand out of Drake’s grasp and rubbed his wrist. “Was that really necessary?”

Drake never took his eyes off the man as he leaned his body toward Riley, “Do you want to talk to this guy?”

“No.”

“But, Riley—”

“We have nothing to talk about, Nick!”

Drake angled his body so that he was blocking Riley from Nick’s view. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard her.”

Nick looked like he wanted to press the issue, but after taking in Drake’s stormy expression, thought better of it. He straightened his suit jacket with a sharp tug. “Fine. I’ll see you at the wedding. We’ll talk then.”

“You’re not coming to my sister’s wedding!”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ll be there as Clarissa’s plus one.”

Riley shook her head back and forth. “Seriously? When we were dating, you couldn’t stand her!”

A gloating smile crept across his face. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Because you’re not over me, Riley. If you were, you’d have bothered to line up a date for the wedding.”

“I—”

“She has a date for the wedding.” Drake cut in as he casually slung his arm around her shoulders.

Nick turned his gaze to Drake for a long, evaluating moment. “Are you the new boyfriend then?”

“Yep. And I’m only going to ask you once to return to your seat. If you don’t stop harassing the flight crew, I will land this plane and have security escort you off of it.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly as he huffed out, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Riley ran her hand down Drake’s arm as she smirked at Nick, “He would. He’s very protective when it comes to me. I wouldn’t test him if I were you.”

“Whatever,” Nick bumped Drake’s shoulder as he shoved past them and exited the kitchen.

Drake’s arm was still around Riley as he turned his head to watch Nick leave. “Let me know if he bothers you again and I’ll—”

Riley spun on him in fury, her fists raining blows on his chest. “What the fuck did you just do, Drake?”

His hand flew to his chest. “Ow! What the hell, Riley? I just rescued you from that guy!”

“I didn’t need rescuing, Drake. I can handle Nick. He’s an asshole, but he’s not a serial killer or something!”

Drake scoffed with a shake of his head, “I think the phrase you’re looking for is thank you.”

“Oh yeah? Really?”

“Yeah, really!”

“Do you know what you just did? Do you?”

“Um…got the asshole ex-boyfriend to leave you alone?”

“No, you fucking jackass.” She slapped his arm. “You just told him that you’re my boyfriend and my date to my sister’s wedding!”

“So?”

“So?” She threw her arms up in the air. “So when I show up at the wedding with no date and no boyfriend he’ll know that was a lie and I’ll be humiliated!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…oh!”

They stood in silence for a long moment, Drake rubbing his chest and Riley fuming. Then Drake quietly said, “I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

“What?”

“I mean….if you want me to.”

“I…”

“I did get you into this situation. Let me make it up to you by getting you out of it. One fake boyfriend slash date for sister’s wedding coming right up!”

All the fight went out of her as she took in the hopeful smile on his face. “I can’t ask you to do that, Drake.”

“Why not?”

“Because the wedding is on Valentine’s Day and I’m sure you already have plans. I can’t ask you to cancel—”

“Pfffftttt.” He waved a hand dismissively in the air. “I do not have plans for Valentine’s Day!”

“You don’t?”

Did she sound hopeful?

“No, I do not. No girlfriend, no friend with benefits, no romantic entanglements at all.”

Except with you.

A delighted smile broke out across her face. “Okay, then.”

“So, we’re good?”

She gave him a flirtatious smile as she flipped her hair and turned to leave. “We’re good.”

“Okay, good.”

He watched her walk away with a contented smile on his lips then followed her out of the kitchen and back to the front of the plane. He glowered at Nick as he passed aisle 12.

Nick returned the glare as he adjusted his headphones and slid down in the seat.

When he stepped onto the flight deck Liam greeted him with smug satisfaction. “That was the longest piss in the world.”

“Shut up.” He slid into the copilot seat without looking at his best friend.

“So how’d it go? Did you get a good look at her ex?”

“Um….yeah… he’s a pushy bastard. I had to tell him to keep his hands to himself and….”

“And?”

Drake released a long-suffering sigh knowing Liam was going to find out sooner or later. Riley would tell Max and Max would tell everyone else. “I’m going as her date to her sister’s wedding.”

“Wow! That’s quite a jump from ‘I don’t like her like that’.” Liam chortled gleefully.

Drake kept quiet but his foot started tapping nervously.

“Oh, shit, there’s more! What is it?” Liam prodded.

“Ah…”

“Don’t make me call Max and find out.”

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Come on, what else?”

“It’s on Valentine’s Day,” he answered with a resigned sigh.

Liam practically danced out of his seat. “This is amazing! This is epic! Mr. I will never take a woman out on Valentine’s Day because that’s far too much pressure and it’s all about commercialization anyway is taking a woman out on Valentine’s Day. To her sister’s wedding!”

“Why does this make you so happy?”

“Because I get to say I told you so forever!”

“It’s not even a real date.”

“Sure it’s not.”

“It’s not!”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes! I just said I was her boyfriend so that Nick guy would stop—”

“Wait! Wait! You played the pretend boyfriend card to back off her ex?”

“Yeah…so?”

Liam threw his head back and belly laughed. “You are such a goner!”

Drake pressed his lips into a tight line and returned his attention to the control panel. He wanted to argue, he really did. But he couldn’t.

He was absolutely a goner.

And he was going to have to buy a suit.

Shit.

[thedreamlessnights]

Foul Little Thing

Summary: Astarion adopts a cat. Or, rather, the cat adopts him.

Warnings: Post-BG3. Major spoilers for BG3 Act III. Mentions of Cazador and trauma recovery, as well as starvation and animal malnourishment.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Here's a soft, short little story that I hope will warm your heart. Enjoy!

Since the loss of the tadpole, Astarion has been forced back to the misery of seeing the world in shades of grey.

He misses the other aspects of the sun, of course. The golden light that had warmed his skin for the first time in two centuries. The freedom to traipse around wherever he pleased without the fear of burning to a crisp. The plain normalcy of it - as if, for a moment, he could pretend he wasn’t what he was. All of that has been lost, too.

Most of all, though, what he misses is the color.

Darkvision serves its purpose: he can see what he needs to, and nothing more. There’s no joy to it. The washed out grey of life is as dull as wine tastes to him now. Once, that wine had been rich, heady, and sweet on his tongue. Two centuries ago. A life he can barely remember. Similarly, once - more recent than the wine - Baldur’s Gate had been a kaleidoscope of colors, rather than a myriad of loss.

In the light of day, Baldur’s Gate is a number of things. Sweet wrappers at a candy shop, glistening green and pink and blue, like the sky. Beautiful gowns on display in the windows, constructed from pearlescent silks, embroidered with an amount of skill even Astarion had to admire. The ocean’s deep blue in the distance, and the buildings painted in shades he’d almost forgotten existed. If he closes his eyes, he can see it now; he can make believe that it’s still there any time he wants it, that shining jewel of a city.

His for the taking.

Somewhere deep down, he knows he’d done the right thing in turning down the Ascension, but it doesn’t take away the sting of what he’s lost. He can no longer stroll into houses uninvited or walk through running water without it burning like acid, and if Cazador were still alive, he’d most certainly be vulnerable to his compulsions.

Some nights are worse than others in the aftermath of it all, but tonight is particularly bad. His chest seems to have filled itself with lead. The air is bitter and frigid, as it tends to be in the months approaching winter. Even the clouds above are a dull shade of grey - no silver moonlight to curb their gloom.

His ears feel iced over in the exposure, but he can’t force himself to go back home. Not yet, at least. Not even for the warmth of the pleasant little room he’s made for himself. His feet drift over the cobblestone, barely making a sound. The wind howls, tousling his hair as it sweeps past. Even this late, it’s rare to find the streets so empty, but they’re practically deserted now. Everyone else must have turned in, seeing the state of the sky.

If Astarion wasn’t so restless, he’d join them. If visions of Cazador’s cruelty weren’t blurring across the edges of his vision, he’d already be at home, tucked away with a book and enjoying his freedom.

More than anything else, this is what seems the most unfair: that Cazador can be dead - really, truly dead, and by Astarion’s hand - and yet still haunt him. Those scars and the memory of them being carved will forever mark his back and his mind. If he could see his reflection, it would be fangs and red eyes that greeted him, not… whatever color they used to be. And, on the worst days, the bastard is ingrained in Astarion’s thoughts, faded commands echoing against the shielded corners of his skull.

As a cutting gust of wind blows past, Astarion stirs from his thoughts, and finds himself almost home - just a few more minutes, and he’ll be there. His feet have started the path without him realizing. He can’t quite decide whether or not he’s grateful, or if stepping inside will make it worse, but it does seem gloomier than before, somehow. He picks up his pace.

Is it more grey than usual?

As if in response to his thoughts, there’s a bone-rattling rumble of thunder overhead, and the sky begins to pour rain. There’s not even a precursory drizzle, a light mist, a warning to give him time to run. No, instead it strikes down in a blow of icy water, soaking him straight to the bone and drenching his best boots.

“Oh, for the love of…” he sighs, throwing his arms out at his sides. He can feel his hair pressing flat to his scalp, undoubtedly a mess that will take ages to tame. He’s just started internally bemoaning the hours lost to fixing the extent of the rain’s damage when he hears a noise. Even worse, something rubs against his leg.

Astarion has always been one for instinct. Immediately, he’s leaping away, brandishing his favorite dagger - curled fingers ready to bury the hilt in a new home. Then, he sees his enemy. No enemy at all, really. A scrawny little beast, soaked just as he is, all wet fur and dirty paws and pathetic eyes that stare up at him. He can see the creature’s ribs.

The cat lets out a pitiful meow, and he can’t help but grimace at the sight of it.

“Shoo,” he says, but it doesn’t understand him. Instead, the wretched creature begins to purr, once again nuzzling against his now-sopping boots. The rain has made its way into his socks, and it’s almost more than he can bear. “Go on,” he says, louder this time, gritting his teeth against the discomfort. He has no time to deal with animals, and this thin, mangy stray is the last thing he needs at the moment.

It once again doesn’t listen, though. Instead, when he moves to press on, it follows him. Past the butcher’s shop, past the town hall, past the graveyard. “Oh, go on. Shoo!” he says again and again, as if one of these times the cat will take the hint.

It doesn’t.

It follows him all the way to his home, and when he shuts the door in its face, it sits on the doorstep and waits. Astarion knows it waits, because even after he’s peeled away all of his dripping-wet clothes, he can hear the weak pulse of its heartbeat outside the door.

“Foul little thing,” he mutters, but he can’t get the image of it outside of his head. Scrawny, weak, pathetic. It’s the last thing he needs. What’s he supposed to feed it? Blood? His house is empty, save bad wine. Even he knows that won’t do.

His gaze shifts to the nearby counter, and his brows rise in shock. As it turns out, he does have something. He’d been recently gifted a loaf of bread from a grateful contractor, unaware of his true nature, and he hadn’t bothered to throw it out yet. Cats can have bread, can’t they?

Or, perhaps they can’t. Maybe, in trying to help, he’ll end up killing it. It’s just the sort of thing that would happen to him.

Still…

“Gods above,” he mutters, casting a hand over his eyes. The sound of that pulse is driving him mad.

After a moment more of internal debate, he wraps himself in a warm, comfortable robe, fluffs out his hair as much as he can, and swings open the door. Just as he’d known it would be, it’s there, staring at him in silence. Sitting on the rain-soaked porch.

“Oh, all right,” he sighs, standing back to let it in. “Come in, then.”

The cat tilts its head, then rises to its feet, tail rising straight up. Then it starts to circle around him, purring as it nuzzles against him once more - brushing against his newly-dry legs and covering them in soggy rain water and who knows what else.

“Just wonderful,” he mutters.

Yet, for all he’s heard about the temperament of cats, this one isn’t so bad. It sits still as he dries it off with an old towel, only letting out a single yowl of complaint. It eats the bread up with no hesitation, and the nip it gives Astarion’s fingers barely stings. When he finally turns in for the night, it curls up next to the fire to sleep, and when he rises from his trance, it hasn’t made a complete mess of things.

It’s much too thin; this he knows. The hunger present in its visible ribs and weak movement is a feeling he’s all too familiar with. It’ll have to wait until the sun sets again, when he’ll be able to venture out and purchase some decent food. Yes, the basics of this little beast - hunger and exhaustion - are well known to him.

Everything else, however, is all too new. He should name it, shouldn’t he? He’s not very creative with these things. And it needs some form of bed, doesn’t it? Gods, he’s surely not meant to be in charge of anything like this. Taking care of himself is difficult enough as it is.

For a moment, he even considers reaching out to Gale. After all, the wizard had mentioned owning a cat, once, hadn’t he? Knowing him, he’s almost certainly an expert on the subject. Still, the thought of asking for advice is enough to turn Astarion away from it.

No, he thinks. He’ll handle this on his own.

Once the sun has gone down and Astarion is ready to start his nightly activities, he readies his supplies and slips his favorite dagger back into its sheath, intending to give the new occupant a few stern words about not breaking his valuables. As soon as he pushes the door open, though, the cat slides past his legs and darts away.

Astarion stares after it, an uncomfortable feeling churning in his gut as the black silhouette of its fur fades into the distance. “Well,” he says after a moment. “I suppose that’s that, then.”

After a brief internal deliberation, he heads off.

Work goes smoothly, as usual. Astarion gets his fill of blood before the vagrant dies, sating his hunger - but, for some reason, he can’t stop thinking about that stupid cat. He even, gods forbid, buys a few fish off the docks of Wyrm’s Crossing, and all the way home, the smell of them is nearly unbearable. He’s not sure if the cat will be back, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

Sure enough, as soon as he’s approached the doorway, there it is again - running in from the nearby park, circling around his legs and purring.

“Go on, then,” he says, swinging open the door. The cat’s tail rises and it enters, making itself at home in front of the fire.

Astarion takes one of the fish from the pouch and places it on one of his decorative plates, setting it on the floor. The little beast eats it up within seconds. The second fish is gone just as quickly, and the third follows soon after. Clearly, he’ll need to get more food than that in the future.

Then he attempts to make it a bed, fluffing up a spare pillow and blanket, but it won’t even lie on it. Instead, it blatantly ignores his hard work, jumps up on Astarion’s bed, and curls up into a ball - apparently meaning to nap.

Oh, who is he fooling? He has no idea what he’s doing. At this rate, it’ll be dead within a week, and his house will reek of fish. Not to mention his new sheets, and the havoc that will undoubtedly be wreaked upon them.

Letting out a long sigh as he internally admits defeat, Astarion takes a seat at his desk and begins to compose a letter.

Gale Dekarios

Waterdeep,

Western Heartlands

After all, he thinks, leaning back in his seat, there is nothing Gale loves more than talking about his knowledge.

[p-rtyboy]

Flag id: A rectangular flag made of five concentric circles on a black background. From the outside in, they are dark reddish pink, reddish pink, candy red, light red, and pig pink. Each circle has a thin ring in the center. From the outside in, they are dark reddish pink, reddish pink, candy red, light red, and pig pink. In the center is a black slanted beamed eighth note. /end flag id

Misfleshcongic

Pt: Misfleshcongic /end pt

Gender related to the song Misery Meat [link] by Sodikken in the context of the Flesh from The Magnus Archives

Coined on October 22nd, 2024

Colors based on the Flesh and the song, -congic coining post [link] — etymology: [mis]ery + flesh + congic

Tagging @radiomogai @obscurian @musicamogai and @recordshop-archive

[l4v3nd3r-bl00d]

i thought i'd do an updated introduction post since i’ve been so inactive, so new mutuals/followers can know more about me!😊❤️

my name is kittie, i am 18, i have been diagnosed with autism & adhd since i was 15 (important to know because it explains why i am the way that i am lol) i don’t mind what pronouns you use for me, literally any are fine. i am just a person. 😁

i first started collecting violet exacts in 2019 however my collection has grown pretty slowly since i can’t hold down a job because disability.. disables. 🥲😭💔

i enjoy old things quite a lot, at the moment my main areas of interest are in: gothic architecture, silent film era (georges méliès films are my fav), skeleton keys, children’s books & toys from the 40s-70s, taxidermy, postcards, and vintage fashion/lingerie from the 40s-70s.

i also cosplay, i just don’t post it on the internet very much, my favourite anime are: kamisama kiss, vampire knight, nana, paradise kiss, love live, k-on, the future diary and chobits.

my main/oldest special interest is japanese fashion subcultures! (lolita, mori kei, fairy kei, dolly kei and cult party kei to be specific)

i don’t game regularly but my favourite games/game franchises are: american mcgees alice & madness returns, fran bow, sally face, little misfortune, stray, silent hill, elder scrolls, resident evil, skyrim, bloodborne, life is strange, the walking dead, the last of us and batman: arkham knight.

some of my favourite shows/movies: ahs (obviously), the office, dexter, the walking dead, its always sunny in philadelphia, lost, kamikaze girls, ghost world, sharp objects, wayne, a series of unfortunate events(both the series and the movie), gummo, ginger snaps, donnie darko, twin peaks, black mirror, and every wes anderson, tim burton and a24 project ever.

okay now here is a dump of all of my fav albums because i feel it’s very telling

blonde redhead - misery is a butterfly & 23

scarling - sweet heart dealer & so long, scarecrow

air - le voyage dans la lune & talkie walkie

oingo boingo - only a lad

brennan wedl - holy water branch

daniel johnson - hi how are you

teen suicide - dc snug film/ waste yrself & i will be my own hell

fox academy - luxury beverage

sidney gish - no dogs allowed

s.maharba - s.maharba

mcr - i brought you my bullets, you brought me your love & three cheers for sweet revenge

katie jane garside - lullabies in a glass wilderness

roar - impossible animals & i’m not here to make friends

candy claws - ceres and calypso in the deep time

imogen heap - speak for yourself

ricky eat acid - three love songs

dandelion hands - bleak week

catatonia - equally cursed and blessed

mort garson - mother earths plantasia

black box recorder - england made me

lady radiator - bounce energy hear me out

coma cinema - posthumous release

color filter - sleep in a synchrotron & i often think in music

jenny01 - jenny01 best & cluster

otto benson - songs before bed

marysgate - special memory

fear before the march of flames - the always open mouth & odd how people shake

the avalanches - since i left you

elysian fields - queen of the meadow & ghosts of no

leslie gore - i’ll cry if i want to

my bloody valentine - loveless

smashing pumpkins - siamese dream & mellon collie and the infinite sadness

jack off jill - clear hearts grey flowers

colour filter - sleep in a synchrotron

elliot smith - xo

panic at the disco - a fever you can’t sweat out & pretty odd

maple bee - chasing eva & home

nastyona - another secret

heartsrevolution - kitsune hearts japan

rasputina - transylvanian regurgitations &cabin fever

chris vrenna - american mcgees alice

queenadreena - taxidermy

bunny boy - Shelly & the bunny tree & did the angels come to kiss you

hole - live through this & celebrity skin

akira yamaoka - silent hill 2

hooky - something to look forward to

jack stauber - micro pop & pop food

satanicpornocultshop - arkhaiomelisidonophunikheratos

sparklehorse - its a wonderful life

susumu yokota - symbol

every album by the cure ever

i’m not very interesting so i don’t have a whole lot to say about myself on a personal level, i just like to share the media that i enjoy lol. don't be shy to message me if u ever wanna talk, especially about anything music, fashion or fandom related, just a heads up though that i sometimes really suck at replying(i apologise in advance)🥲

here are links to my other social media if you want to follow me elsewhere, though all personal accounts, not violet or ahs related.

tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@kittiebot?_t=8pZwtHs5DjU&_r=1

instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kittiebot13621?igsh=MnFpbzlpaWo0enpn&utm_source=qr

pinterest: https://pin.it/4Rlko08SX

spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/qenp8br378218on2h77lzldq8?si=-sS3g8ATQECdosiCSmBVyw

- kittie😇❤️

[candy-colored-misery]

"my soul aches for something better than this."

2023 journal entry, from me.

[sleuth-mila-young]

🔍 PROMO 🔎

A black screen awaited any viewer who dared to tune in. Judgement here was long gone, it being passed onto the unrighteous. A sizzling, static noise struck the shadow-filled display, absent of any empathetic touch.

...!

"OW!"

A shriek of pain interrupted the solitude.

To follow the yelp, a long, quiet rustle was audible on the other end. Though whatever waited on the other end wasn't visible, the panicked, hurried sounds spoke for them all the same. Rustling and rummaging hissed through the blackened screen. The mental picture could easily be put into your mind.

...After a minute or two of agonizing and awkward waiting, the camera finally took focus, colors flooding the screen. What stood in plain view was a short gentleman with tanned, bronzed skin and short, black curly hair. They smiled sheepishly, smoothing back their hair and brushing off their suit. "...It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." They nodded politely, putting a gloved hand on their heart. "We don't know each other yet, but... I hope we will come to. I'm Mila Law Young, a detective at the Royal Court Agency."

"For a back of a better word, I have gotten wind that thing's have been... risque, around these parts, wouldn't you say? An assortment of crime running in these dark, shaded backstreets, hiding under our noses... And I simply cannot live with the idea that innocent civilians are getting mixed in the middle of it."

"So... that's why I'm here!" Mila beamed, grinning from ear to ear. "To protect and serve! To get to the bottom of these terrible sins that are haunting our youth! Whatever you need, please don't hesitate to contact me. Please remember that I'm a resource, an ear to listen, and, hopefully, a friend."

The sleuth bowed, looking up with a wink. "...I'm at your service."

@ask-a-gremlin @ask-shslpianist @ask-miu-iruma @a-perfect-wish @scxrs-will-fade @roguesinger @ask-the-ultimate-cosplayer @photographic-misery @obsolete-journalist @demons-for-darling @candy-cocktail @ultimate-class-rep @depths-of-hope-and-despair @devoted-nychta and anyone else not tagged! feel free to jump in/ignore!

[oreo-oro-orero]

Bad Ending Prelude

A bed ending excerpt for @redrum-alice dating sim au

"A Predator Lurks"

Ekko laughed, a sweet sound that you've grown attached to ever since you started to hang out with him. You couldn't help but notice that when he was around everything seemed to get so much brighter.

Ekko: "You know, I'm happy you were able to make it. usually it's just me and Jinx at these god awful pep rallies but it's nice to have another friend to share our misery with."

You chuckle and agree but a small part of you lingers on that "Friend" word. It's odd really, you didn't even realize you were falling for him that's how he gets you. Just like a sweet dessert, you take one bite and then you're hooked.

"Well..you know what they say...misery loves company"

You say as your hand slowly but surely makes its way onto his thigh. He gives you a quick smile and soon focuses his attention back on the rally.

Just then a shiver ran down your spine and you instantly recognized the feeling. It's exactly the same as when she walked you home, the darkness in her eyes, the uncaring gaze that somehow pierced your soul, the hint of pink that mixed with cold blue. She didn't say much when she was staring at you. Her hand gripping your wrist almost threatening to break it. She only said two words.

"He's Mine."

You quickly excuse yourself and make your way to the bathroom, your breath fast and nerves on edge.

You lock the stall door and calm yourself as best you can. What were you thinking? Of course she would be watching, for God sake you knew she would be. She said she wanted to go up the second level of the gym to get a better look at the rally but she....Then it hit you...this was a test...a test to see if you would take her advice. That you would stay away but you didn't. You took a bite of that dessert and now you wanted more. It was a test and you failed it with flying colors.

You steady your nerves enough to leave the stall and exit the bathroom. You'll just go home, yeah that's it. Sneak out the back of the school and run home as fast as you can. You can text Ekko and tell him you had a stomach ache an-

Jinx: "You know...I told you that you should've packed your own lunch, damn near everybody knows to bring food from home on casserole day."

Your heart stopped and that familiar feeling of dread coated your spine. There she was, standing right in front of you, leaning on the wall. Her ocean blue braids scraped the floor as she fiddled with her candy colored nails.

Jinx: "I have to say, you were getting pretty handsy with my Tuff-Tuff." Jinx said not even looking up from her nails.

"Jinx I...you know that I would never-"

Jinx: "tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk, even after we had our little talk and even after you promised that you wouldn't try any more shit, you still test your luck. I expected better from you."

Her words were cold and blunt, this was a far cry from the energy filled ball of chaos that you've grown to know

"Jinx I know I messed up but it wasn't anything like that, I swear....I...I"

You try to find your voice again but your throat has gone dry.

Jinx: "Ekko really seems to like you, so we'll just call this strike two, I'll tell him you got a bloody nose and went home."

You look at her in shock, she's...she's letting you go?

"O...okay...but my nose isn't bleeding, what am I gonna tell the teachers"

And just like that you find yourself on the ground, Jinx standing over you. You smell metal and soon a sharp pain rings throughout your face. You instinctively hold your nose as blood gushes from it and as you do you see through tears stained eyes that your blood is on Jinx's knuckles. How did she get over to you so fast? It felt like you just blinked and-.

Before you could finish your thought you felt a cold hand grab your busted nose and squeeze but before you could let out a scream, your mouth was covered by another hand. Soon you find yourself staring at eye level with those Azure eyes and that cold stare.

Jinx: "You tell them you have a broken nose silly."

Jinx says a hint of glee peaking out from the ever present coldness she's meeting you with up until now.

Jinx: "I don't like repeating myself but I'll do it anyway. I'm not going to let you take him away from me. We've already been split up before and I'll be damned if I'm going to let some wannabe street trash split us up again, he's mine mine mine mine. Do I make myself clear.

You nod your head and Jinx lets go of your broken nose and uncovers your mouth

Jinx: "Good, run along now and oh!"

Jinx goes into the bathroom and emerges with a clump of paper towels in her hand, she dumps them on you ask she walks past you to the rejoin the rally and Ekko

Jinx: "For the road. That's pretty nasty break, you should really be careful next time. Those bathroom floors are always so wet."

She says that hint of glee peaking out again. Blue braids disappear up the steps and you slowly get up and cover your nose with tissues.

"strike two...how many...how many do I have left"

[confessions-official]

hot take: i dont like ted drews. i mean, the ice cream is good, but there is so much better at other places. i mean, oberweis, s&js, richs, etc. easily top ted drews for me. everyone touts ted drews as the best ice cream in st louis, but... i disagree. i keep this a secret from everyone i know. i go to ted drews and i eat the ice cream because it is good. but deep down, i know that there is better. i know it in my heart and nobody can take it away from me.

(i hope that literally anyone from stl or missouri in general finds this confession. can somebody back me up on this??? or am i crazy???)

while im talking about it, i might as well rank other missouri/stl food and traditions.

toasted raviolis: 10/10. life changing. you have to try these at least once in your life

gooey butter cake/cookies: 6/10. good taste, but very dense, buttery, and heavy for me. like they are so dense

stl pizza/imos pizza: 10000/10. everyone gets really fired up about stl pizza, which is very amusing to me. you either love it or hate it. listen to me when i say this: i know that stl pizza is abnormal. i know it is alarming. but just give it a chance if youre ever in town. please. trust me on this one.

provel cheese: 5/10. meh, im just kind of used to it. it doesnt really stand out to me. i only discovered a couple years ago that provel is a st louis thing. people claim that it isnt real cheese, but i think that is bullshit. what is paint if not a bunch of color mixed together? should painters only use home crushed berries to paint? no. embrace change. INNOVATION!

having to tell a joke/sing a song/do a dance before receiving candy on halloween: 0/10. WHO CAME UP WITH THIS. RICKY WHEN I CATCH YOU RICKY.... WHY. i am the most socially inept person out there. the LAST thing i needed as a kid was for old people to DEMAND i tell them a shitty knock knock joke before forking over one measly almond joy. to be fair, coming up with jokes was always one of my fondest memories of halloween. its just such a strange tradition and i dont care enough to research how it came to be.

anyways, this was a very big backed confession. but whatever. i hope that all my silly little missouri folks of tumblr find this post <3 missouri? misery? is there a difference? there is not.

 

[thewhumpcaretaker]

𝕺𝖓 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘

Note: I wrote this years ago when I was thinking about the concept of lust and found it today. ʚ♡ɞ

Never forget that we,

Like kittens at their yarn, pursue.

And when you chased the fairies down,

The goblin kings and dwarven crowns,

By hyacinths and in brittle aspen’s highest bough,

Where reckless kittens after little moths pursue, pursue,

What did you want to do?

Simply to know, by trembling caress,

That finds its halting way or makes its sudden trespass,

Either way breathless until

The scent of honeyed morn on yonder hill

Or sweat that tastes like spice of foreign fears, labors and loves unknown in these tame parts,

Finds lungs that shudder, winglike, in your breast,

Drives them through sprouting shoulder blades, through cardiac arrest,

Endowed with the levitation of power,

And do you reach? You do not know yourself, you cannot guess,

It has you now, desire,

That freckle-starred and fair,

That hair like cotton candy sunrise spins,

Or lace confection veil of a mourning bride,

Silver, pastel, carnival prize to win,

Blonde, angelic, to be buried in.

What do you wish?

To keep a jar, possess and tint in cola colored washes,

To own, to keep and make stay, to have to hold, and by this holding, see?

To use, to break? To be

Swallowed in a cloud?

Buried, with another body as your shroud?

What do bodies want,

To cherishingly crush the fragile, squeeze the darkly adored

Into powder, strike them like a chord,

And into a lightning storm release,

Follow the butchered ghost into the blaze,

Frenzied, to feast?

To taste the fleshy candy, sugared meat,

Were they of pomegranate blood and hot fondue, or did they proffer you

Sweatmeats beyond compare,

Fresh chestnuts where

Hearts beat in margination of a caramelized desperation,

Or,

Abandoning all metaphor,

Did you wish to fuck nymphs, happily kidnapped,

Too gentle and pure for your insatiable greed to stain,

That turn instead your insides gold and hollow from the loin and rot the veins?

Or did you wish to pay with your own cum and your own name,

Make wild love to twisted, pulsing horns while forked tongue lapped your thighs and spat a salted flame?

Did you wish to be bound and stolen,

Abandon all remembering and enter a slumbering,

Where ten thousand days unfold as handmaiden,

Desperate, adoring slave, rose laden,

To be kept in crystal, bell jars and castles in the stars,

To flail against the bars,

And then be broken, marred,

Into a better shape, to be reborn?

To cook sumptuous feasts from glamour and the air,

In gilded cages, warm, waxy drops of amber, and paralysis of fairy kiss,

Beneath the soil, be preened and wed to kings in amber halls,

Bewitched, resisting, to unearthly bliss,

Nun to a peerless, brutal, Pagan creature-god of beauty awful to behold,

Our lord the devil in her harlequin and gold,

Or, by bacchanalia rhapsody of lithe and lively riverdanse macabre,

Know his catlike motion and her deftness with a moonlight woven knife,

Its sting,

To die, impaled on his maple lily wings,

To walk hand in hand with one you cannot understand, and then to understand

A vivid moral compass, spinning, spinning in the depths,

And yet always pointing true,

For it always points the way desired by you.

Didn’t you wish,

To know your own soul’s lavish price,

To know what things

Lie beyond man’s kingdom and be given these,

Be given to these?

What happiness

And misery exist

Beyond even what exists -

The evils that we can imagine if we wish to be

Happy

Flailing ever forward into deeper reaches of paradox fantasy,

Where love’s most bitter, lashing embers stir,

Never to return,

Ever to pursue...

Think: if you caught a fairy,

What did you want to do?

And did you want to catch him, did you want her to catch you?

[david-goldrock]

Fuck misery, I'd like to share with you the favorite part of my day

These are the last days of summer in here. The sun is still burning the asphalt hot, but this isn't where I was. I stood by the grass near the sea, and felt the breeze of the ocean sweep through my hair like the call of the adventure of the ocean to a sad lonely sailor. I saw children running around the street, laughing, buying candies after a tiering day at school, making a noise as beautiful as their smiles. I saw the bright, pure-colored, cloudless sky brighten on its way to the horizon, and felt the sound of the waves carress my ears like a lullaby, and stood in the shade of a palm tree, which by its height had been planted before my parents were born

And that, my friends, was the best part of my day