#that i cannot quite explain but i yearn for it

[mildew-dread-mold]

more than halfway through the sun and the star and the contents are obviously pretty fucking dark and despondent but i am filled with such longing for what will and nico have.

[hyuck-xix]

i think for the sake of myself and others i should go into a week-long hibernation every time i have my period

[tojisun]

Angsty thot on the the ghost x reader x soap blurb;

I've been thinking about the what if Soap did actually reciprocate Ghost's advances? For a moment, he forgets reader. Finally, FINALLY, Soap thinks... until the bliss dies down and he remembers reader and guilt sets in. Ghost's only all too happy to show off to reader. Being affectionate with Johhny, leaving whatever marks were left visible, staking a claim that he won.

Reader, of course, is dismayed and feels betrayed. But how much can she really feel? It fucking sucks, it does, that Ghost doesn't care what she thinks or feels and she wasn't in a committed relationship with Soap. So if they were to pursue a relationship, what can she really do about it?

HOW I AM AFTER READING THIS anon i wanna crawl into your mind and poke around your brain because how could you (ext)

johnny knows he hasn’t been honest with himself lately. that, in the face of ghost’s desires—because nothing less could describe the fire in his lieutenant’s eyes; it’s all so heated and leashed. hungry. aching—he denies himself and pretends he cannot see what is crystal clear.

he pretends that every brushing touch was an accident, that every heavy look was a trick of the light. that the way simon calls his name—johnny, with the ‘y’ dripping from his mouth like honey—was all circumstantial.

friendly. platonic, truly.

but it’s becoming more frequent. more passionate. more territorial.

of course, it was all a matter of when, really, was johnny going to fall. and the answer, apparently, is right now.

his shirt is torn off his body, fatigues falling beside two pairs of boots. warm lips, fever-hot, are on his skin, tracing scalding trails that has him trembling. he feels jittery, bones rattling within his flesh. he feels untethered, floaty. nirvana pinched between his fingers.

then, he falls, body thudding against the mattress. the metal of his bed posts creaks, a gunshot in the silence, and johnny freezes. his mind catching up to his heart.

this isn’t—

simon towers over him, his scarred chest heaving in his ragged breaths. the mask is off, discarded to the floor, and johnny, he—

well.

he sees the man that his soul sings to—cheeks flushed, bright cherries, and eyes dark with yearning. simon looks at him like johnny’s all that matters in the world; like all that he’s fighting to live for is johnny.

johnny feels this bloating in the back of his throat, something in his heart swelling until all he tastes is his breaths. his lips wobble, teeth chattering. they stop at ghost’s tender touch, his callused hand cupping johnny’s cheek.

simon's thumb swipes at the skin just underneath his eyes. his lips, crooked, tug up in a smile. “y’r much too gorgeous, johnny.”

johnny doesn’t know what happened next, only that he was stuffed with a burn that scorches from within and engulfed whole; devoured every way possible until simon's marks—from teeth and just his overall brute strength—took. his throat aches, scratchy, and his skin throbs with the memory of their love-making.

he, well, he wept. he tucked his head on the crook of simon's neck, breathing him in, unable to explain the euphoria simmering in the pit of his stomach.

simon loves him. he desired him every way possible so who wouldn't—

who wouldn't lose themselves?

(johnny thinks of you and the memories blur; what had been fiery passion morphs into something ugly. into something cruel.)

there was something different in ghost's gait—that's the first thing you noticed upon walking into the mess hall. he was more relaxed, more open in a way you have never seen from him before. he even met your eyes as you walk towards their little huddled group, the first time in a while, and you are unable to look away because there was something in his gaze that you couldn't quite place.

it still spoke of danger, of a walled barrier that he firmly put between you two, but it was undiscernible.

still poised, though, for the hunt.

kyle greets you first, kind and gentle, but before you could reply to him, johnny's tugging you away. a protest builds on the tip of your tongue, ready to slip past your chapped lips, but you freeze, feet stumbling as the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"bonnie–"

"oh," you say, a whispered gasp, your eyes unable to drag from the bruises on johnny's neck. not made with unkind intensions, if the teeth mars were any indication.

briefly, you wondered if johnny's met someone else to satiate his desires. if, in your absence, he sought to snuff the burning need from someone else. you've been away for three months, after all, chasing a lead in shanghai and tracking them all the way to tianjin. it must have been too long for johnny too.

(you wonder why your heart twinges at the idea of johnny finding comfort in someone else that isn't you.)

but the thought is doused by an ice-cold realization.

"it's– you know that i–"

"oi, 'tavish," ghost's voice rings from behind you.

you tip your head back just enough to see him, to see with your eyes what must he must have done, but he's back to ignoring you again.

it seemed like now that you've noticed what it was that had him elated, ghost no longer wanted to interact with you. not a word nor a touch. not even a glance.

johnny bites his bottom lip, shoulders hunching into himself.

"i'm sor–"

"i have to go," you say, your voice even sounds foreign to your own ears. "i have to, uhm, to report."

you shuffle away from between them, your palm rising to press onto your chest as though that could truly stop the splintering of your heart. as though your heart was truly wounded and that the pressure could stop the bleeding.

but it aches. dear god, everything aches.

ANON THIS HURT ME SO BAD AND I COULDNT HELP MYSELF FROM RAMBLING IM SORRY!! god im wailing so much like i literally was bug eyed staring at ur ask bc OW??? (btw reader is gn in this ghoap x reader angst)

[lxkeee]

BEGGING FOR A LUCIFER X FEM!READER SMUT ABT HIM EATING READER OUT AFTER SEEING HIM DO THAT GESTURE AT THE LAST EP PLSSSS 🛐🛐🛐🛐 would do anything for that man omfg I'D KILL FOR HIM TO CALL ME GOOD GIRL

genre: plot with some smut ig

warnings: cunnilingus, oral (fem receiving), soft dom! Lucifer, thigh marking, praising (both receiving), pet names (love, darling, sweetheart), whiney Lucifer.

notes: I don't do porn without plot so yes... There's a little bit of plot to this 💀 it is quite long as they're not having sex but making love soo you better bet he's going to take his time with herr... This one is hella long btw.

additional notes: banners are made by cafekitsune, reader wears gloves and I can't explain what kind but the kind Child/tartaglia wears from genshin impact. Also, I don't know if this will be good as it's been a long time since I've written smut 💀

tags: @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkitten (I can't tag you </3) @brithedemonspawn @dinawss @froggybich

“Good luck kiddo.” Lucifer said to his daughter before eventually slowly teleporting away from the hotel and back to the palace. His body manifested on the arm chair that's in his room and his shoulders sagged a bit. A heavy sigh left his lips.

“She grew up so fast but I still can't help but get worried...” he muttered underneath his breath as his eyes gazed upon the hanged picture frame of Charlie. Removing his hat from his head and placed in ton the table then his eyes slowly gazed into the framed picture that was on the table it was him and his new lover, [y/n]. He gave himself a second chance at love and he met [y/n], the only sinner that he actually likes being around with. Despite her mysterious yet charming personality, [y/n] is a nice woman, very patient and understanding. Although, there are moments his heart would yearn for his ex-wife, Lilith during his relationship with [y/n] but surprisingly [y/n] herself is very understanding, she understands that he cannot immediately and completely erase a love that lasted for so many years and with that, he is grateful for [y/n] and with that he always reassure her that he loves her and is happy with her. Though, right now, he is completely missing her as she's currently away for a week due to her status as an overlord. Despite [y/n] being an overlord, she didn't become one because of cruelty but many sinners would want to work under her as she treats her souls with care, providing a roof under their head, food, medicine, and protection as long as they follow her orders. [Y/n] didn't really specify how long she'll be gone as there are important matters to deal with but she promised that it won't take two weeks. She reassures him and vice versa.

“Oh [y/n], I've missed you.” Lucifer says to himself, shaking his head with a small toothy grin on his face that shows off his perfectly white sharp teeth. The circles of his cheeks turning a darker shade of red as he thinks about her. He sighs longingly as he squeezes a rubber duck that looks like her, the small rubber toy making a loud 'squeak' sound.

He didn't realize it as the arm chair was facing the opposite direction of his door, he didn't notice the said woman arrived awhile ago and decided to surprise him and opened the door without any sound. [Y/n] grins as she watches the man she loves plays with his rubber duck, her body leaning against the doorframe and her arms crossed over her chest.

“[y/n] come back soon, I need your insights on whether my decision of allowing Charlie a meeting with heaven was a great idea.” Lucifer whines to himself as he talks to the rubber duck version of [y/n].

This caught the woman's attention, [y/n] has met Charlie and she absolutely loved the girl. She heard that Charlie's opening a hotel that redeems sinners, she saw it on the TV and she honestly found it funny how she fought the TV host. She supports her cause but [y/n] thinks she wouldn't be joining it, not because she doesn't believe it will work but she doesn't want to leave Lucifer alone.

[y/n] let out a silent sigh as she continues to listen to her lover ramble to the rubber duck version of her, “If only you could see how motivated she is, love. I couldn't say no and I am afraid they'll crush her dreams like they crushed mine.” he says softly, his voice dull as he recalled what happened to him when he had so much hope and dreams for his people.

“I am sure Charlie would be fine, she's an amazing kid and she has an amazing father who will support her.” [y/n] says with a small smile, finally announcing her arrival. Lucifer slightly jumped from his seat from hearing her voice, turning around quickly to see his beloved leaning against the doorframe with her arms over her chest, the black suit she was wearing hugged her figure perfectly, the red tie adding a pop of color to her outfit. She looked gorgeous, she always does.

His eyes widened before a smile finally found its way back to his gorgeous face, “[y/n]! You're back!” he exclaimed, jumping out of his seat and quickly running towards her. [Y/n] chuckles as she moves away from the door, spreading her arms open for a hug—only for Lucifer to hug her and dip her, the action causing her to place her hands behind his neck for support and his actions caught her off guard when he finally kisses her.

The lovers stayed in that position, Lucifer supporting her weight as he held her waist while in the dipping position. Her hands behind his neck, playing with his light blond locks, causing the man to groan against her lips. Sharp teeth occasionally clash as they kiss, two weeks apart made them yearn for each other.

Lucifer's lips slowly moved away from her lips making [y/n] whine softly as he began to kiss the side of her lips, her jawline, and then her neck. Wet sounds of his kisses fills the room, along with [y/n]'s whimpers as she felt the devil himself began to mark her flawless neck with his hickies. Lucifer gave her a smirk before placing a gentle kiss on the newly made mark he just made on her neck.

“Welcome back, love.” he says softly, looking down at her flushed features. Admiring her as he held her in a dipping position. [Y/n] chuckles softly, her cheeks warm and red after the passionate kiss, “Oh, Lucifer... You always know how to make me swoon.” she mutters and he laughs, his laugh is like a gentle breeze that calms you down, so soft. His cheeks are turning a light shade of pink, “Well, it's a natural thing I can do when it comes to you.” he says with a chuckle before eventually helping her stand properly, making her chuckle softly.

“Aren't you romantic today?” [y/n] says with a small laugh escaping her lips, he could listen to her laugh all day and not get tired of hearing it. Lucifer smirked before softly holding her hand, bowing to place a gentle kiss on her knuckle, “I just missed you, that's all. I haven't seen you for almost two weeks.” he says before the hand that was holding her hand slowly glides across her arm, reaching her chest by her tie and then gently tugging her tie downwards so he could reach her face, “And we have a lot of catching up to do, my love.” he says with a smirk, making [y/n] blush slightly at the action and from the tone of his voice, “Indeed we do...” she replied with a suggestive tone and eventually closed her eyes as Lucifer presses his lips against hers, tugging her tie to lower her more and turn the kiss deeper. [Y/n] chuckles against the kiss, parting away from him for a few moments as a smirk finds its way to her lips, “My... Someone's eager...” [y/n] says teasingly making Lucifer blush slightly and pouted, “Don't blame me, I have truly and deeply missed you.” he says before slowly intertwining his hand with hers, pulling her towards his bed and [y/n] complied with a smirk, deciding not to tease him further. She wants him and he wants her. It's been so long since they've last touched each other. They needed this.

Lucifer gently pushed her down into his bed, [y/n] landing on the soft mattress on her back with a soft 'thud.' Lucifer followed soon after, climbing on top of her, his hand caressing her jawline while his other hand supporting his body weight. They stared at each other, eyes dilated and filled with love and adoration for each other. [Y/n] shudders a little as she feels the soft material of his gloves against her skin, her eyes looking up at him, admiring his beautiful features—the red aesthetic of his room making his light blond hair and pale skin pop, complimenting his beautiful ruby colored eyes, sharp jawline, pearly white sharp teeth, so angelic yet sinful, “You are so beautiful...” she murmurs softly and she swore his eyes dilated more before his hand moved back to her tie and gently tugged her upwards so their lips pressed against one another once more.

Mouths moved against each other, soft whimpers leaving their lips as they tried to match the other's pace. Lucifer groans softly as he feels her fingers combed through his slicked back hair, making it messy but he doesn't mind. He can taste the cherry flavor of her lipstick as he kisses her, the taste of her making his mind swirl, “Fuck... I can't get enough of you...” he groans softly as he gently bites her lower lip, asking for permission in which she obliges, parting her lips slightly to allow him to slip his tongue inside.

[y/n] moans softly, fueling his passion for her. Sharp teeth clash against each other as they lose themselves in the moment. [Y/n]'s hand slowly found its way to his, intertwining her hand with his own. Lucifer squeezes her hand as he continues to kiss her, savoring the sensation of her lips against his and his tongue exploring her mouth.

Her other hand is exploring his body, caressing his chest through his suit, making him shudder slightly. Lucifer's kisses once more moved away from her lips, moving downwards from her jawline to her neck, placing a gentle kiss on the previous hickey he made awhile ago before gently pulling her arm that had her hand that he was squeezing, bringing her hand to his lips and gently bit the end of her gloves with his teeth to pull her glove down. [Y/n] gulped from the action, her body heating up from how attractive he is. Fuck... Why is he so hot?

“You're such a tease...” she mutters softly with a pout making him laugh as he holds her other arm and does the same thing to her other glove, biting it down to remove it before throwing the gloves somewhere out of the bed, “But you love it, don't you?” he asked teasingly with a smirk and she sighs softly with a smile, “I do, I really do.”

“You better say those exact words to me one day but that time, it better be when I'm kneeling down in one knee.” he says teasingly making the girl blush and groan softly and nodded, “that's my girl... Now, how about we take these off as it is in the way hmm?” he asked as his finger traced her chest, running across her suit, a silent question for her consent and she nodded.

Lucifer began to loosen her tie, throwing the red fabric across the room before he began to unbutton her top. Revealing her lacy black bra underneath, fitting her breasts perfectly. Ah fuck, she's so gorgeous...

Removing the black fabric off her figure, finally showing off her torso. [Y/n] did the same to his suit, helping her remove his clothes as he could feel the heat of his skin beginning to heat up more.

Slowly and surely, one by one their clothes were removed. Leaving them naked for each other's eyes. Both Lucifer and [y/n] had to avoid each other's eyes as they felt shy, it has been awhile since they've done something so intimate.

[y/n] slowly moved her eyes back on him, admiring Lucifer's bare figure—hair messy, cheeks red, eyes shy and avoiding, beautifully handsome face and body—clearly sculpted by God. She allowed her hand to graze at his arm up to his jawline, holding his chin gently and then slowly tilt his head back so he's now once more looking at her.

Lucifer's breath hitched as his eyes finally landed on her, [y/n] looked so beautiful—her hair sprawled behind her, her [h/c] complimenting her gorgeous face, half-lidded [e/c] eyes and dilated pupils looking at him with so much need and adoration, plump lips that he oh so wanted to desperately kiss all the time, her body most especially... He just wants to leave kisses all over it.

“You're so beautiful, I can't believe you're mine.” Lucifer whispers softly with his cheeks flushed while he was above her, his arms supporting his weight. [Y/n] blushed and chuckled, “You tell me that everyday, love.” [y/n] says with a small smile and Lucifer can only chuckle, “It's because I want to,” he says with a small smile, pausing a bit, “I want to remind you everyday, that my love and adoration for you will never change and I am grateful that I've met you.” he says softly, his voice gentle and vulnerable as he expresses his love for her, his hand caressing her cheek. [Y/n]'s blush turned into a deeper shade of red as she listened to his confession, a small and flustered smile on her face as she intertwined her hand with his once more, “With that, I am eternally grateful that you chose me, for loving me and with that I would love you till the end of time.” she says softly, Lucifer can only smile—the same dorky smile you always loved seeing on his face.

Lucifer leans down so he can kiss her again, [y/n] instinctively snaking her as arms behind his neck—pulling him deeper into the kiss. Their kiss was needy, fiery, passionate yet gentle, soft moans and whimpers escaping past their lips. I love you's being muttered occasionally between them and against each other's soft lips. Occasionally, Lucifer would let out a small whine as [y/n] began to stroke his cock while they were kissing, his whines were music to her ears, “Y-yes... That feels amazing...” he whimpered softly against her lips, his hips thrusting against her hand for more friction. She could feel how hard he is for her, she can feel the veins running from base to the tip, she can feel the precum staining her hands.

Lucifer's kisses once more slowly went down—to her jawline, neck, collarbone and finally on her chest. He looked up at her, his eyes needy and dark with desire and love for her before he finally took one nipple into his mouth, suckling and swirling his long tongue around the sensitive nub while his other hand played with her other breast.

Whimpers and whines left [y/n]'s lips as her hand moves away from his cock and squeezes the pillows, Lucifer really knows how to pleasure her, her other hand running through his hair and massaging his scalp while he moves to her other breast.

“Luci... Mhmm... That feels so good...” she softly moans out and Lucifer feels a sense of pride from hearing that, his mouth continues to suckle on her left breast before eventually releasing it with a small 'pop.'

Lucifer's eyes went back to gaze on her face—disheveled, flustered, and cute.

“So utterly beautiful...” he murmured before moving his body downwards as he finally reached her legs, “Spread your legs for me, love.” he asked with a small teasing smirk, enjoying the flustered look on her face. [Y/n] obediently followed and shyly spreads her legs for him, avoiding his gaze.

Lucifer smirked as [y/n] spread her legs for him, his eyes turning into slits as he saw how turned on she was and how much she needed him, “Good girl.” he praises, his voice teasing, “Only for you.” [y/n] replies with a smirk of her own.

“You better be...” Lucifer says with a chuckle as he begins to kiss her thighs, leaving hickies while his hands squeeze the softness of her flesh, his lips slowly going up and dangerously near her womanhood. Looking up at her, his eyes were soft but filled with want, “May I?” he asked and [y/n] looked at him shyly and nodded.

Lucifer's smile widens before he eventually allows his head to dip into her most intimate part. His mouth began to suckle on pussy, moans escaping both of their lips.

Lucifer felt hungry and he can only satisfy this hunger with her. He suckled greedily like a man dying of thirst. His tongue lapped along her folds, circling her clit that invokes loud moans from her. He misses this, he misses her so much.

[y/n]'s eyes rolled back and her back arching from the pleasure, toes curling, whimpers escaping her lips. She can feel the texture of his tongue against her most intimate part, a gasp left her lips as she felt him slip a finger inside, his long and slender finger thrusting in and out while his mouth worked wonders along with it.

“So utterly wet and so good for me, sweetheart,” Lucifer praises as he continues to eat her out before finally adding a second finger inside her, he could feel how easily his fingers slide in and out—a perfect manifestation of how much she wants him, he enjoys how she can no longer form coherent words aside from moans she let out. He is incredibly hard but this isn't about him but this is about her pleasure, she always comes first after all.

“You are so good to me... I love you...” [y/n] whimpered softly making him chuckle, “I love you too, darling.” he murmurs with a small smile, his tongue flicking through her hidden areas of her intimate area while his fingers continue to thrust in and out. Skins heating up from the passion.

Lucifer can tell whenever she's close, from the obvious sign of how her toes curl, how high pitched her moans are becoming, how hard she is gripping his hair and how far her eyes rolled back at the back of her head.

“Is my love gonna cum?” he asked teasingly making his girl whimper, “Yes...!” she replied and he chuckled as he increased the pace of his fingers and tongue, “Be a good girl for me and cum for me, [y/n]” Lucifer says and that was enough for the knot in her stomach to break, “I'm gonna cu—” her voice was cut off as she let out a loud whine.

Lucifer greedily lapped at her essence, like a nectar from the gods that he cannot get enough of. Small whimpers leaving [y/n]'s lips as she felt so sensitive.

He eventually removed his lips from her intimate area and along with his fingers, he looked up at her disheveled, breathless and flushed but beautiful face. Lucifer smiled, “Are you okay...?” he asked, his voice was gentle and worried and [y/n] nodded, “More than okay, my love.” she replied with a small smile, “We can stop here if you want? I don't want to force you or anything...” he says and [y/n] shakes her head, their love was both giving and receiving afterall, “I can still go on and besides, I know you need help with that.” she says with a smirk as her eyes landed on his painfully erect cock that was begging for her and he blushed, “Now, be a good boy and let me take care of you this time.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably. 

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend. 

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park. 

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night. 

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault. 

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days. 

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness. 

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen. 

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye. 

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another. 

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes. 

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.” 

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone. 

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?” 

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all. 

You just keep waiting. 

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship. 

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?” 

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down. 

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head. 

“Obviously?” 

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened. 

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out. 

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.” 

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?” 

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you? 

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die. 

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?” 

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all. 

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance. 

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-” 

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace. 

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.” 

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world. 

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way. 

You don’t want a boyfriend. 

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud. 

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-” 

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said. 

Making me feel all these stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.” 

Stupid feelings. 

What does she even define as stupid feelings? 

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime? 

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures. 

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you. 

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times. 

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin. 

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her. 

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath. 

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well. 

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach. 

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead. 

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-” 

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want. 

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume. 

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you. 

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed. 

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window. 

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position. 

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer. 

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.” 

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.” 

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?” 

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it. 

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips. 

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes. 

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?” 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her. 

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest. 

So you do. 

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday. 

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can. 

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice. 

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat. 

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice. 

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?” 

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay. 

It was enough. For now. 

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck. 

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill. 

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied. 

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight. 

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[mothmothm0th]

on forming a basic understanding of the moth

cw: parasitism

As a moth, the second most common refrain I hear is "I don't know what you are" in a myriad of different phrases. This is understandable and even preferable to the topmost common refrain. However, this confusion is not because us moths are strange or unusual on some deep, existential level. And indeed, it is a mistake to assume that because one is not strange or unusual, one cannot be a moth. Many of us present as perfectly ordinary, even to ourselves.

Of course, the typical moth will be glad to know that you find it confusing. Even I, as I write my little essay, am torn between being a good communicator and helpful teacher and throwing you off a cliff into a cloud of soporifics and dream-stuff. Thus, assuming an adverserial, distrustful stance to whatever I say is probably a reasonable thing to do. I could be lying out of my abdomen. Or possibly my thorax. Even if I was, I would still be attempting to present my case in such a manner that I would appear trustworthy and thuswise lure you into a false sense of confidence. I wouldn't do that to you though. We're friends, right? We're buddies!

Anyway, at the heart of the moth is a simple syllogism. If the term is unfamiliar to you, you will likely have encountered many examples of them in your life, such as Aristotles famous formulation, originally found in his foundational work en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syllogism (350 BC). His syllogism states as such: "All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is mortal." I could explain syllogisms more thoroughly but I've already provided you with a source to learn for yourself. I'm a moth, not a science teacher. Instead, let's look at the syllogism of the moth. Consider this:

"All moths yearn. The author of this text is a moth. Therefore, the author yearns."

Simple, no? Now, put your thinking cap on and consider this one for size.

"All moths yearn. The author of this text yearns. Therefore, the author is a moth."

Now, I want you to ask yourself whether the statement given is true. And please do it before semantic satiation claims us all. I'll just give you some time to think really hard and I'll be doing that by way of writing nonsense to pad out the length of this paragraph because I need to make it look longer to satisfy the part of my brain that makes writing such a hassle sometimes but please don't be alarmed as purple scissors will not harm you underneath the tulip skies so long as you think really carefully and draw your conclusions with precision.

Did you think about it? Did anything seem amiss? That's right, there wasn't! The second syllogism is perfectly sound and valid beyond a reasonable doubt. All moths yearn, and all that yearns is moth. Good on you for not falling for that trap. You're so smart, and <first draft note!! insert applicable compliment here: beautiful | handsome | Still. don't forget to edit this later!!> too!

Of course, you might be thinking something along the lines of "well, I feel a deep sense of need for something too but that doesn't make me a moth." In reality, you are... possibly maybe correct in some sense of the word. However, what you experience as an emotion is actually a moth's egg, laid in the sweet tasty fabrics of your heart. If this makes you think "woah, so moth-eggs are everywhere, then", you would be quite right! While modern life has taken away the stars by which we navigate the night, those same conditions paradoxically help in the spontaneous generation of our eggs. Don't take this as me saying modern life bad. Pointing out how modern life is bad and bad for you is somewhat passé and indeed, we moths have existed since day one. In fact, to assume that I am saying that modern life bad assumes that I think mothiness is a bad thing. And I'm not saying that, stop saying I'm saying that.

Anyway, let's move out of the realm of baseless accusations about what I believe in and talk about the lifecycle of a moth a tad more. As described, a moth begins life as an egg, just like all other girls. And as discussed, a moth-egg is experienced by the fabric that lays it as yearning. Academic sources and my diurnal dreams differ on whether the yearning or the egg comes first. You may have heard this dilemna by its authorised discursive phrase, "chicken and the egg". A nice lil peek behind the Veil for you there. Don't worry about it.

As the moth-egg hatches, the moth/yearning enters its larval stage. The larva/yearning will begin to consume its fabric/host-mind. While this may sound scary, I invite you to consider how you are already being consumed by many things all the time, metaphorically. Capitalism consumes your labour, love consumes your reason, a third thing consumes another abstract concept, and so on and so on. Thus, while the process of mothly consumption gradually gnaws through the liminality between metaphor and literal, mind and soul, soul and body, it is still no more destructive than the aforementioned. You will not survive life unchanged. Give it up. Embrace metamorphosis. That's my advice to the moth-eaten fabrics in the audience anyway. But you're not moth-eaten. You're <ok seriously though what's a good gender, species, construct, and modality neutral word of praise?> so you don't have to worry about me trying to hasten anything. The eggs in your mind have not hatched. They will not hatch. Don't worry about it.

When the larva/yearning has thoroughly consumed its banquet/host, it weaves itself a cocoon/anticipation within the nice space left within the host's closet/skull. Some naughty witches have devised means of harvesting silk/desire from this cocoon/anticipation and the smart ones even wait until the imago/apotheosis has emerged before committing to the harvest. I wouldn't do either though, so don't worry. But we're getting off-track here. During this gestation period, the moth-to-be experiences a gradual shift in cognition. While most sources typically describe this shift in cognitive possibility space as "major depressive disorder" or "bipolar disorder" or "dissociative disorder" or even "other specified dissociative disorder", these label only apply to the more mundane, less exciting forms of having one's mind consumed. If you're a fully grown imago, you should sue!! In fact, please send me an ask with your frequency, flavour, and cardinality and I'll send you an oneiro-mail with instructions on the proper legal curses to apply.

Ah, distracted distracted. Mustn't let one get too distracted. You are not an imago. At least if you're the audience/sucker I'm writing this essay/trap for. No, no, no. You're here to learn what the lifecycle of a moth/yearning is! So let's talk about the moment a moth/yearning hatches/transcends. While the shift from larva to pupa is gradual enough that one might not even realise it is happening, the moment of transcendence is not. The final step of any metamorphosis is the most traumatic. It is a moment of great pain and of great bliss. John of the Cross/some nerd described it as "the dark night of the soul", which is a fitting description considering, yknow, nights. Moths. You get me. But that nerd was subscribed to some fake news youtuber and misattributed the whole thing to some old geezer who died a whole lotta time ago. Foolish. Foolish! No no no, the moment of hatching is something far greater, and something far more. To hatch is to see the light of Mansus with one's own eyes. To hatch is to become solid. To hatch is to transcend, to reach one's apotheosis of yearning. To become yearning itself. The false self is discarded, the true self is adorned. I see the shapes of things and I reach my hand out and the pain of change once again grips me and my heart sings and I become fluid again to become something anew for the me that is me is not the me that you see but the process is me and you are but a static object compared to me and I see the gods and the devils and they are static too and while my shape shall never be as luminescent I shall deconstruct their light and burn and burn and burn to be reborn and thus shall i die and never die and maybe i even get to drink the sweet sweet nectar of monster energy once again for i shall just be a little guy who is so terrible and nice and so i shall jump for the raw beef and fail the jump and burn in parkour prison until i change again for though i am not great or powerful you shall never diminish my joy and my love and my cycle of mistakes and fuck-ups will continue unto morrow and tomorrow and so it goes and so it goes and.

Oh, you're still here. Didn't notice you. I hope the lil writing exercise didn't bore you or anything. I think writing a bit of modernist pablum every now and then helps keep the mind unpretentious the rest of the time. Gotta keep that ol' noggin nice and crunchy. But in any case, I hope you've enjoyed this brief look into how to write a good essay or whatever the ohio this piece was about. If you're still suffering from symptoms of wanting-to-write-good-but-you-don't-know-how, please send an ask with your true name and object of yearning. I will get in contact with oneiro-mail as soon as I can.

[cbts004]

haii!! i love all the art of your ocs and your world is soso awesome!! is it possible to get some short info on some of your ocs? any lore or even just simple explanations of their personality and stuff? if you have any fave ocs hehe

Yes ofc!

The basic premise of the story of girlworld is this: The world is suddenly being struck by a mysterious disease caused by the moon's rays; zombifying the girls of the world. Along with this disease, strange creatures not of their world that resemble the current princess (Anastasia) are appearing, sapping girls of their powers. Bow and Ribbon, two best friends from a human village, are going on a journey across the lands to get to the princess in search of answers, and maybe a cure.

Ribbon and Bow:

Ribbon is mysterious, quiet, and sarcastic. She keeps her distance from people, but Bow-- being her childhood friend-- seems to always be an exception to that rule. She can get a little irritated at her sometimes, but their bond is unbreakable. Her power is more Mind based, manipulating 'ribbons' (the concept of ribbons can get pretty abstract, but that requires using a lot of mental energy the more abstract the concept). You can see it exemplified in the long ribbon she always has tied to her index finger.

Bow is a bubbly girly-girl, very friendly and airheaded. Truly a shining example of a dog girl. She tends to get herself into trouble, but Ribbon is always there to bail her out. Bow's magical abilities are not as strong as Ribbon's, so she relies on befriending various creatures and beasts in order to summon them.

Some of her beasts: A Chimera (Sonya) A Cerberus (Carebear) and a Manticore (currently unnamed... any suggestions would acutally be appreciated. Something cute for his old man face.) All her friends that she can summon are adorned with little pink bows!

Then there's Anastasia... the antagonist (?). A lonely girl locked away on a castle located in the center of the world, on a mountain. She's very melancholic and shy, whiling most of her days away yearning and writing emo poetry. Has a fondness for roses. She's attended to by her maids. Anastasia is also a Demihuman (I will maybe explain more on demihumans later)

This is an older design-- I still haven't quite settled on a dress idea for her yet. I was thinking her dresses will be extravagant and change design frequently, based on phases of the moon.

Oh. She also has an evil glowing eye because that's cool.

Her maids are Tatiana and Maliana, two sisters. Tatiana is the younger and closer to (obsessed with) Anastasia. She uses bladed weapons to fight, using Matter based magic to use them like an extension of her own body, making herself into a weapon for her Lady.

Her older sister, the other maid, is much more mysterious and distant. She concerns herself mostly with the maintaining of the castle. She uses a very regal wheelchair. Most of her physical energy is sapped due to maintaining multiple dolls that she has loaned her power to. She is capable of being ambulatory without it, but it's quite a strain on her body.

These are the two dolls she has put her power into: Lunette and Solana. They're very advanced as far as dolls go. They cannot speak or emote, but they can commune telepathically with others if they so choose. They tend to creep people out.

I'm super happy to receive any more questions about them! So if this sparks anything else you'd like to know, please do ask <3

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ r/am I the asshole? ” : 

﹙ various monster characters x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various m. characters x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary  ˖  immortal ˖ bad boy character ˖ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ˖ angel character ˖ grim reaper ˖ mortician character ﹚

your partner takes to the internet to question whether they or not they were a bit of an ass during their last encounter with you or alternatively : our characters' biggest red flags

﹙ cws ﹚: yandere behaviour ( on jingyi ) ˖ death mention | wc : 0.5k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i had this idea and i just need to make this into a series because omg. do note that this is hǎitāo's new and improved character !

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙alessio 781. ﹚. . . not understanding their tears when I die !? 🍒 : “ Yeah you read the title right. I ( 31M ) have what you call a regenerative. Trait. M a fucking enigma. ( Don't try track my IP you asshole ).

I admit I don't have the most charming job in the world but - someone's gotta do it. My powers make me come back from the dead. Frankenstein shit n all. ( I am not about to make a religious joke so fuck with Frankenstein. )

Anyway. It's common fact that I come back. My partner knows this. But every time I die - they cry. Of course like a good boyfriend I comfort them. But recently they been scolding me. Getting more emotional. And I just don't get it. I tried to explain to them that they've seen this waayyyy too many times to think I'm not gonna come back. I asked why do they have to be so dramatic you know?

Long story short, they're not talkin to me for a week now.

Yeah. Last week I took thirteen bullets to the gut. But I came back like I always did. I don't see the fucking issue. ”

꒰ mercenary ˖ immortal ˖ bad boy character ꒱

 

﹙jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . killing their coworker !? 🍓 : “ Please do hear my plight before jumping to conclusions at the title.

I, ( 46 M ), have always considered myself to be quite the possessive man. My beloved knows this well, as I have expressed it to them time and time again. I do not like sharing. Nor the thought of it. It makes my skin crawl.

Now, I understand that my darling is the height of beauty. I have garnered more patience for those that stare. My impulsions have eased for the past few months. However, I have noticed their coworker growing increasingly more. . . friendly.

He has been helping them with their work. Gives them compliments and shares stories as they both relate to interests. I have noticed him a few times when coming to pick up my partner. He always smiles and waves - as though expecting them to run back to him.

Last week was my dear’s birthday. And the bastard gifted them a box full of their favourite treats. So I simply did what any concerned boyfriend would do and. . . took care of it.

My partner is a bit distraught but is not aware that I did it, of course. I cannot help but grow more upset over the fact that they grieve him. Someone please relate to this. ”

꒰ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ꒱

 

﹙rishen 9948e. ﹚. . . not having time for them !? 🍒 : “ I would like to start this by saying that I am quite glad for this development in the nadir. It has certainly piqued a lot of interest along the divine realms.

Alas, I digress. I am a guardian angel who is on my way to the next rank. I am also a being granted trust from the divine themselves. Venturing from the abyss, to the abhorration, to across the multiverse. As such, you can decipher that I am quite the busy individual.

I adore my light, my sunshine and mi amanecer with all of my heart. It shatters the very being of my soul to see them weep for me after days of being apart. There are times I cannot attend important events to them. No matter how hard I try.

I am a very lonely angel, you see. I fear that they will leave me behind in search of a lover that will hold them in the night. I yearn to do so, but my duty is too great. My tasks are too plentiful.

Am I the one in the wrong? Should I punish myself for this? ”

꒰ angel character ꒱

 

﹙hǎitāo 9948e. ﹚. . . joking about their coffin !? 🍓 : “ Okay listen. I would like to clarify. I was joking about their coffin. Not their death. Yes those two go hand-in-hand like flowers to a gravestone but! I stand by my statement.

We were just talking about their favourite colour and jewellery. I'd asked for their upcoming graduation. Yknow, celebrate and all? Anyway, they gave me the answer and -

Oh yes. I would like to clarify. I am a mortician. And a grim reaper. Death is my whole shtick, you get me? It's literally in the name! Grim reaper. Not glee reaper.

I am going off topic. In any case. I made a joke - saying that their coffin will be quite easy to make. They gave me a face and I added on that it would be beautiful. A beautiful box for a beautiful corpse.

Apparently, this was not to their fancy. I was greeted with mild disgust and even more disturbia. They have not spoken since yesterday. I don't understand. I was just stating the obvious! ”

꒰ grim reaper ˖ mortician character ꒱

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[day-drawn-blog]

Jealous over Astarion's affections

Pairing: Astarion x Reader -- This is set in Act I

I got triggered by some flirtations banter between him and Shadowheart and I realized, my tav, if anything like me, would probably feel extremely jealous too. We are not together yet, so do I even have a claim on him? I needed to write down this scenario.

Tags: angst, fluff, sadness, angst, fluff, then maybe eventually smut because I do love that

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace

Part IV: There is much to do and I still want to live

Part V: Our futures bound, our bodies known

Part VI : These ain't my sins, I broke my chains

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours?

Part VIII : your blood like wine, invite me in

Part IX: I'll welcome my sentence and give you my penance

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die

--------

What a day. As you all were sitting down next to the campfire, your eyes couldn't help but wander at Astarion. While you all were fairly new to each other, you noticed, Shadowheart was quite comfortable around Astarion. and Astarion was acting quite familiar around her too. You wished you didn't see that. So you quickly averted your eyes. Every one else seemed to be busy being merry, laughing, drinking and having a good time. So why couldn't you relax?

You stood up, intending to clear your head. Why do you feel such a sharp pang. You don't love him. You barely know him, he may not even be a good person for all you know. What had you hoped? That he would favor you over everyone? But why... is it because, you yearn...

You yearn for him.

Your heart lit up. And then, you remembered, he didn't, yearn for you. He likes Shadowheart. The beautiful Shadowheart. And she is powerful. Of course he would. She was like a dangerous flower. But a flower all the same. And you? Just a nobody, with no past, and a future you cannot envision. Nothing to your name. Except for a sword, bound to you by a pact. Power. To dispel enemies. To fight your way in this madness that has engulfed your world. But they weren't enough. Not enough for him to yearn for you...

You ran.

Through the woods, far away from your friends, and the warm fire. Through the darkness, like your racing mind. Till you were out of breath in a field bathed in silver moonlight. And the world was quiet. And you felt welcome by Nature. And loved. By the world around. There was not a soul around, and you broke down, in tears. As you felt sorry for the state your heart was in. And how brutally it was crushed. You blamed yourself for even getting your hopes up.

You wailed.

Your cries could not be heard by anyone here. You felt grateful for the serenity. You lay on the grass, hugging yourself. Before long, you closed your eyes, and were drifting off due to exhaustion. The day was hard. The night even more so.

Your light sleep was interrupted by the sound of twigs cracking under approaching light footsteps. You jolted up and were shocked at the shadowy figure looming over you. Instantly your hand reached for your Pact Weapon, but the other party - just as shocked initially - cried out in self defense. "Its' me! Astarion! Please, I did not mean to scare you. Please."

You lowered your weapon. But he had some explaining to do.

"I am sorry, I - I didn't realize it was you. I - I thought you were someone else. A bandit. And I, I was going to well... I was hungry."

He took a deep breath. Resolved to his fate. "I would never hurt you. Or any of my friends. I want you to trust me."

"Alright, let's say that is true, what did you want with this.. bandit? You wanted to loot him I suppose." You put your weapon away.

"That's the other thing. I am not sure, if I should be telling you this, but, I am so hungry, and .. and I have been very unlucky tonight, you see."

"Did Karlach not leave you any food? Or were you so distracted, talking to Sha- other people, that you forgot to eat?"

"I, I need blood to survive."

Silence followed. Deafening silence. He looked down. As if he was ashamed. Then looked up at your with pleading yes.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Incredulous, you couldn't believe you had missed the signs that were there all along. Everything pointed to him being a Vampire. So that boar..... But now what? There is a Vampire in your midst! OMG. Had you just put your entire party in danger?! You and your stupid trusting heart. What now? Should you kill him?

"I never, please believe me, I never hurt people I know. Those who are my friends. But please, I am very hungry, I just need... a little bit.. it will help me fight better, and make me feel like myself, again".

He knelt down. On his knees... "If it isn't too much, I only need a little bit - or you are free to stake me".

You looked down at the sorry state he was in. This man who you were yearning for, on his knees, pleading you. He was pleading for your blood. That was the only problem. You didn't want him to, but wanted him to not be in such a state either. You wanted to help him. There went your stupid kind heart again. You never learn.

"Will it hurt?"

Astarion looked up - incredulous that you even entertained the idea. "What? Oh! No, only a little prick. And I can be extra careful too -"

"Does it have to be the neck? Because I don't want-" "And you don't have to - if you don't want to" He had stood up. He lifted your right hand, and lifted it to his lips - placing a light kiss. "I am more than happy, with your hand. May I?" He looked up. A darkness in his eyes. Hunger? Greed? Deception? Maybe all of it. You nod slightly.

He caressed your hand with both of his, dragging his lips over your wrist sending sparks through your body. This felt so wrong, yet your body liked his touch. You could smell his hair, bergamot. He was taller than you. Lit up in the moon, this man was gorgeous. And dangerous, as he was just about to prove himself to be. You looked away as he bared his fangs. You hated anything piecing your skin. Hoping you don't feel a lot, you closed your eyes, and you did not. It was barely a prick like he promised. You were grateful.

After a while, you decided this was more than enough of a favor. You tried withdrawing your hand. He got the hint. He let your hand go and stepped back, and looked at your with a grateful smile. "Would you like me to...escort you back, to camp?"

Should you let him? Weren't you running away from how he was making you feel. Wouldn't Shadowheart notice? What would she think? But, how could you refuse him. After all, you may never get another chance...to walk with him. Through the woods. Just the two of you. Even as friends. Or strangers. You grasped at what you could get.

You two walked back in silence. Him next to you. Every now and again you would look at him. He seemed lost in thought, smiling. You figured he must be thinking of her. Your heart sank, and the gratitude you were feeling at being able to walk next to him, quickly dissipated to pangs of sharp pain again. What started as a romantic moonlit walk quickly turned into an unbearable awkwardness for you, and you wished you were back already. So you quickened your pace.

Very soon, you could see the warm glow of the fire. What a relief. You just need a hug. From Karlach. Or Halsin. And you could forget about the unceremonious way you let your heart pine for a man out of your reach. And upon reaching camp - you did just that. You forsook Astarion immediately and without another glance at him, ran to Karlach and buried your face in her, lest you start crying again. You didn't care what he did, whether he went back to Shadowheart, you did not want to witness that.

Afterwards when the whole camp had quietened down. You hung around with Karlach, Gale and Wyll. You assumed, Shadowheart was in Astarion's tent. And you dare not look that way. You asked those lingering - what their reason to live was. Did everyone have something to live for? What would they do, after all this was over?

An interesting discussion followed. You felt you got to know your comrades a bit better. It made you feel warm. The cold that was left due to the lack on one was filled by the warmth of many, and you smiled. You liked it. And you liked your new found friends.

Later that night, you lay in your tent, and tried to drive away all the thoughts about how no one would miss you. If you were not there, or how you were not as interesting as some of the others. And as you fought hard, with yourself, you realized, that there must be others like you out there who needed someone to know them, to look at them, and value them. And you realized you had a purpose. You could be needed. You could carve out a meaning for your existence in this crazy world. You wanted to be there for those that needed you. You will be the hero. And that would be the reason to exist, you would love yourself, so you can love those who needed to be loved.

And with that comforting thought you drifted away.

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

[roboyomo]

hey. pspsps. for whenever u need it. hands u a Talk About Yuor Beasts ticket for azrael and kenix. disappears into my shrub again. woe

HELLOOOO HAI. I FINALLY WROTE THIS HOLY SHIT. just to prepare you people, this thing is going to get LONG. EXTRA LONG COMPARED TO MY USUAL OC RANTPOSTS. 57 paragraphs and about ~7000 words. Yeag ^_^ read at your own risk and if you have a Lot Of Free Time Alrightsies? And also if you want to hear about fucked up and doomed little queer guys! I had tried to cover everything about azranix in here so let's goooo !!!

okay so first of all i will Definitely be reusing some of the old info i have already said about them before because Yeag ^_^ it is definitely needed for context for all the other people that have been following my blog and never read my previous rant posts. And those who just Never Saw Said Oc Posts dhehdsh just so this all would make some sense

and God. i've had kenix and azrael for abouttttt 2+ years by now i think ? ? and their story have changed a lot but GOD they still have such a grip on my soul.,,, cannot think about them without being Plagued very intensely and extremely and severely. they were this one Thing but then their dynamic and relationship evolved and so did they as people and it makes me So Sick of them soemtimes i swearrrr.. . .

so to start off! yeah the already known thing is that they're part of the seven deadly sins order of characters but to make it easier i'll just call them either sins crew or seven sinners. For my own Convenience. The concept of the sins crew is that they are mirroring the main original timeline cast. While the main cast is blessed by the divine in the name of keeping peace of their perspective duties. the sins crew Unfortunately did not get such treatment. To be part of the sins crew is to be abandoned by the gods above Basically. which is exactly their fate! they have curses and not blessings and. to make it short that's just how they have been punished for even having desires! Quite Unfair,, , ,

each of them have their own perspective sins and here, azrael and kenix have envy and lust as their assigned sins respectively. each of their actions that lead to this point are represented by said sins ofcourse but in their own ways (so No not That kind of lust for kenix i know please do not) i think i have explained all the needed context before i get to both of them on their own and then together ^_^ firstly i'll explain azrael because Yeag.

azrael is kind of. Complicated to say the least. a living weapon of some sorts! grown up in a hostile environment where the sole goal was To Win. there was little importance in personal happiness because it was all either to kill or to be killed. and he just grew tired of it yk? his hands only knew the warmth of blood and not the warmth of an another person. A dull and terrified view on life. He could only yearn to know how it is like to live normally without having to worry about being someone's next target.

and then there was someome who knew such happiness. a nameless girl, so full of life. just like him, she had no name from birth. Only a serial number. But yet. She was someone that had no worries like he did. Someone who Had So Much. stood right next to azrael. It felt unreal. Like a dream! A false scenario because surely! Surely that kind of bliss wasn't possible in his world! and yet. Yet. someone knew that feeling that he wished to knew the warmth of himself. Was right in front of his eyes. But he also was envious of her to some degree deep down. envious that she had what he yearned for his entire life while working with these bunch of assassin-esque people. but also!

it is very very safe to say that she meant Everything to him. Like how could she not? her attitude changed his worldview on such a fundamental level that azrael was. Fully convinced that he wouldn't be able to exist without the bright colors she intergrated into his life. spending all of his time with her. her happiness and optimisim was everything he needed. It (the whole relationship) wasn't even exactly anything to Her. like both of them very much saw each other as friends! but azrael meant something different by friends Me Thinks,, , , more like a person that he committed himself to.

"oh you are my friend and i am yours? okay then you have my devotion now. We are Friends and More Than Friends at the same time now :)" like they had something Very Intense and at the same time so one-sided. which is Unfortunate for azrael because! Wow my dude you trusted someone So Much you have let your guard down! Bad Choice my guy! because now it wasn't azrael who was the target. It was her. the nameless has been seen with him so many times that she was in danger because of him. and since he has let his guard down it led to. You know. Her death eventually happening.

the loss of the nameless girl not only broke azrael but changed his worldview once again. Because now he wasn't just apathetic to the entire world around him like he used to be before she appeared in his life, but he despised everything about the world. he was so jealous because now seemingly everyone had everything he had ever wanted! that source of happiness! something he had just mere moments ago! the warmth of blood on his hands coming back to haunt him!

It felt nauseating to see others have that joy. and in a series of overthinking it all, he came to the conclusion that. The others surrounding him have decided to keep happiness a secret from azrael. they were all on it. They knew what they were doing when she died. it is like they have purposefully taken the girl whom meant the world to azrael away from him! but of course how could he not see the truth that was displayed in front of his him this whole time!

coming to that conclusion utterly broke everything azrael knew and built it all anew. His envy was ever so clear to see. he knew that the people surrounding him wanted him to keep being envious of their joy. And so he just decided to ruin it all for them! after all. how come they get to have such happy moments while he has to be left behind in the dark, destroying his youth away for this constant cycle of death to keep going in circles on and on? it felt so utterly unfair to him. There was no use to continue doing what he always did when there wasn't a reason to keep doing it from the start besides living. and how could he live now without the person he treasured by his side?

in the end, his envy of others spiraled into a huge breakdown and caused him to go on a rampage. there were no exact names as his targets, only what his heart and shattered mind told him was the target. and that whole ordeal lead to quite a lot of deaths. ranging from people who at least were azrael's enemies from the past to some degree to innocent bystanders of the world who didn't know that azrael even existed

he found weird comfort in their deaths. Like "wow. i have finally gave in and destroyed what only worsened my misery and envy.. .," he kind of just, , did not feel sorry at all for the murders. even relishing in them in a ?. ? Way. but it all came back to stab him in the back. And Quite Literally too! that is what lead to his death and now his current state. being cursed and with the sin of envy being forever carved into him as a person, his jealously turned into pure venom. like Actually. he has venom running through his body, created from the purest desire for happiness. A man now destined to roam afterlife, forever seen as the pure embodiment of Consequences

so spiteful. so hateful at his very core. although he may be hiding it, but the Venom is present and is very obvious when you look closer into it! his only way to deal with this is to be distant from people. there is no reason to be conversing with the beings that once saw him as such a lowly being. azrael's way of thinking this through is just. Very confusing to say the least. he acted upon his desires but tries to rationalize them at the same time. trying to show that he doesn't care. No he doesn't care. . at least he is convinced so but Truly it is just ?.?? it is clampicated to describe for him. Or something

and now about kenix. Oh god This Dude Man. kenix is Incredibly Fuckjng Complicated as a person man. To start off, i will refer to him as his real name (Yi Dal) sometimes alright? kenix is Very Much a very deeply troubled guy that just represses such feelings. ever since he was born, he was in the dark. Metaphorically and kind of Literally?. since he was a child, he had the whole thing between him and his parents and just His family in general. which was Just Good Fucking Lord how much Inferior he felt to them. he was mostly, if not all the time, reduced to a "servant" for the family. which really contributed to him trying to seek value in himself through being useful to his family

obeying all the orders from his family? No questions asked, although it may hurt, he will at least get some attention. No matter positive or negative. he really just. didn't have a say in anything. for both of the parties, it is all just listening to what he is told to do. And his parents and siblings made that decision consciously. there was never any reason for him being neglected. not that kenix even knows of one! but it was like he was destined to be unacknowledged by them.

kenix was scared to take up space, because what if they find something to be angry about? Something to scold him for? Something to hit him for once again? he may be seeking attention but not in the form of being yelled at or having objects thrown at him. such treatment is still terrifying to him to this very day, a haunting memory at best. He genuinely felt like a little tiny being not deserving of attention with how obvious it was that his siblings were favored far more than him.his parents' treatment towards him made him think that he doesn't have the right to exist in this place without value or a purpose.

the neglect coming from his parents, the humiliation from his siblings. the embarrassment of being treated like a stranger whenever the family was in public. all of those factors reinforcing the idea that kenix is nothing of importance or relevance into his consciousness. kenix really just wanted to be free damnit.he yearned for it, he prayed for such salvation to come save him on a random day of his life but there was. No response as expected. he had never properly felt the warmth of the sun and freedom, only the cold air in his room at night. feels kind of suffocating in here, doesn't it? such a sheltered view on the world. It really is No wonder that kenix wished to escape this place. lacking social interaction and awareness of the outside world, , A shame, really

yi dal had been planning his escape from this god forsaken household for so So long, and he has finally been able to execute it when he was still a teen, about 17 years of age. An opportunity so perfect it truly felt unreal to him. An opportunity to finally feel the fresh air for himself forever and ever? you mean it you mean it you really mean it ?? <- deep down he was so Hopeful man. Man. the first time he was outside in nature by himself?? oh yeag. Yeag that felt like heaven that he himself couldn't believe in. feeling the grass beneath him, the light wind in his face, the chirping of the birds sitting on the trees. what else could he have possibly been missing out on? neither kenix or i know how he has survived about 16 years alone as a 17 years old guy with no social skills or concept of how the world really worked. he did make a fool out of himself but. He got the hang of it! Kind of! Normal social life was hard to get used to but!! ^_^

it truly was impossible for him to predict that at the age of 33, he would be found by his siblings and eventually tracked down, oblivious to what was planned for him. poor poor yi dal. only barely made to his early 30s and yet There It Is. Him laying on the floor, completely devoid of his ability to move his body. a small puddle of blood. Was it his blood? Was the blood of his brother he had manage to stab before being paralyzed? no reason to ponder that now, for he could only watch what was about to happen to him and. That was The Most amount of fear he had ever ever felt in his life. nothing could come close to how he felt when he saw his sister holding something in her hands, his brother following behind her. there were so so many things they could do. and it scared him on such a deep level that he didn't even know existed.

there he is now, a dead man walking and roaming the afterlife. the difference between him and azrael is that kenix acted upon his deepest desire only after he had been killed. the desire to avenge himself. to feel what it was like for his family. to be one of the higher-ups. To finally feel Superior. lusting for power in a way that breaks his morals (hence why this guy is assigned lust as his sin). a desire so strong it basically just Breaks Him Completely. In a way that leaves him so vulnerable that just. Makes him so easy to take advantage of. Disturbingly Too Easy. And that is exactly what fucking happens!!

"prometheus", or well, ephai is at fault here for that. no longer having a physical form, they saw a vessel so perfect in what was left of kenix. A soul that has been shattered into pieces since the start. Kind of. He needed just a little bit of a kick to fall over the edge and never come back to what he was. And they have seen it as an opportunity to prove the existence salvation to kenix. You Know. The guy that even fully gave up on religion and "salvation". And it worked of course it worked on kenix that Little Hopeless Thing— yeag. I could go on and on about kenix and prometheus but this is about azrael and kenix not these two's toxic relationship

prometheus is the key to kenix achieving his goals and in a moment of desperation. When he was offered a chance to avenge himself. To strike back at the people who degraded him the most. To feel in power. He didn't even hesitate to agree to the offer which lead to a little "contract" of some sort happening between them and that's just how kenix has been cursed. kind of like being oblivious to the fact that the salvation he was promised was a punishment in disguise. but it's not like he cares now.. . he has stolen fragments of powers from all kinds of divine beings, all for the sake of fulfilling his own wishes. trading his sanity for power. to the point of almost worshipping the one who has given him this opportunity and making ephai to be a divine entity

kenix himself though, is now more than just a god-like being. he is the flow of time himself. But Uh Oh! Bad News Motherfucker! You are Not Alone in this! because to keep existing like this, he had to take the body of an alternate timeline version of himself. Which just so happened to be the Yi Dal from the main cast's timeline. Who was already part of the main cast. And so essentially while taking over Ken's body, he had to replace him altogether unless they switch hosts. which kenix forbid to do because Good God he doesn't want ken to have anything Really. reasons that i'll get to later because Yeag ^_^ another problem is that prometheus is Also There with them. a third wheel or something so no you got 3 whole separate people in a singular body

so now kenix got himself stuck in a situation where he has to keep up a kind of play. Not pretending to be the version of himself he has replaced per se, but to always appear calm, continue to be soft-spoken and amicable with a formal attitude. because such etiquette and manners are what have enforced into his subconsciousness by his family while he was still living in that household. The manners that have been engraved into his mind by his own will. The facade of not caring about his surroundings. He destroyed his chances to live normally for the sake of his desire. so now kenix just has to pretend that everything is fine when really. Really. he never felt like a person, let alone an indepedent one. it is always him being the shadow of someone else and not seen as someone of his own. previously being the shadow of his siblings and now to be the shadow of ken because. Kenix is not perceived as his own self. Not that he has an identity really! But we will Also get to that later ^>^

now to finally talk about azranix together. their relationship had a pretty Rough start i'd say. Like it wasn't bad! But with azrael's decision to purposefully distance himself from others.., it was Hard for kenix to get closer to him without exactly going against his boundaries. Yes, he did pay attention to when he was getting far too close for azrael's comfort. for what reason did kenix even try to get closer to azrael? Well You See ^_^ he just wants to playfully mess with someone! No other reason! Just innocent little teasing that's all! but both of them have started to note. A lot of things about each other. with azrael's distrust, he was very wary of everything single move coming from kenix. And kenix well just. Tried to notice all the details there are about the person he pursued to know. pure curiosity if you could say that. to azrael there was always Something that was off about kenix and to kenix there was always Something about azrael that peaked his interest.

at the start with how used azrael was with seeing people as some sort of assholes trying to ridicule him, he looked at kenix with a bit of disdain. What if he was also one of such people? Why would he try to seek azrael out of all people? There is that sense of cautiousness that haunted him and his actions. and kenix ultimately decided to become a non-threat in azrael's eyes. otherwise how could he get such an interesting and peculiar person to trust him? to lose on such a great opportunity? no! he had to do it. He Had To. (no no it's not for any particular reason you see, it is just. .)

with every single encounter they have had, azrael just kind of like. Questioned everything about this guy! What Is His Problem! Why Is He Trying To Pry On Me! and so on. and with enough amount of times of them meeting each other in various places, azrael just went "fuck it, i'll try to get the answers to my questions straight from him" and such thinking led him to the Confrontation part. with his frustration present, he really just could not wrap his head around the fact that someone wants to know more about Him. that someone would even find Him interesting. he is trying so hard to avoid such relationships for the sake of himself and. Others to some degree. That an idea that someone once again would want to be a companion to him is just a Bizarre Concept. and kenix answered his questions, albeit not exactly. only a smile and "Wouldn't you want a friend yourself, in this place?"

which is exactly what was needed to crack azrael's front, even just a tiny bit. perhaps kenix was right. this place was Lonely. So Incredibly Lonely. maybe even reminiscent of azrael's past. and that made him realize just how much worse the situation was. to finally be aware of he had to stay here like this for hundreds of years, if not thousands. If not for all eternity. Destined to slowly disappear into thin air. with a few other people who are just like you by your side. a reminder that everything that could've saved you has Abandoned You. Even the divine above have abandoned you. A reminder that there is no one. And nothing. that is coming to save them. He is Alone. And Will Be Alone. his decision to distance from his only source of human interaction has always been a self-fulfilling prophecy of him swallowing his own venom. denying himself everything out of envy and hatred that is wallowing inside him. like a serpent on his shoulder. azrael is just a self-fulfilling prophecy of self-destructive at times that it is like Hey Dude. Please Don't Continue To Do That.

realizing just how fucked up everything in this situation is possibly may have made him just a tinyyy bit Desperate. more willing to finally open up to others a little. more accepting of letting people into his life. It is so fascinating that a single question from kenix is what managed to change his mind. azrael letting his guard down after so long! truly a miracle that we Cannot tell the aftermath of. and thus azrael has started to seek kenix out on purpose while still noting more things about him. Trying to figure him out like what kenix has been doing this whole time, you know? if kenix gets to pry on his life, then azrael might as well just do the same

it was a slow, slow way of actually getting to know each other at a deeper level because kenix. Like always. has tried to keep his past and his general life a secret. A mystery of some sorts. he wasn't really an enigma, azrael just. Never could figure out things about his family, his past life and what else has brought him here like the rest of the sinners. there were always moments about his story that he always left out on purpose. he never went into detailing anything he explained about himself. giving azrael only (mostly) surface level bits of information about himself. and azrael well, did much the same because he still felt that kenix shouldn't be trusted fully.

despite all that, azrael and kenix did manage to start bonding more! they both learned more about each other's story and felt. Sympathy for each other's struggles. as well as bonding over facing the same Horrors™ each day and they just had to learn to get through it together. To survive the troubles with each other by their side. learning more about each other through such dangerous encounters with the unknown things unable to be communicated with. having to find comfort in each other's presence if you understand what i'm trying to convey here. which then evolves into far more intimate moments being shared between them both where one helps the other with his problems and their opinions of each other turning into "ohh so we are one of the same to some degree. then i'll trust you more because i have seen you struggle with the same problems i have in the same way i do"

with the circumstances they were in, they got attached to each other's company Pretty Easily. considering how both of them severely lacked such companionship in their lives. it was a change of pace for the both of them For Sure. after years and years of being together, the trust they built in their relationship was Incomparable to anything else to be honest. they knew each other so so So long that it is now like both of them wouldn't be able to get anywhere without each other. they both had their own reasons for pursuing each other in this sense in specific but for kenix. it always was a desperate attempt for find someone to be there for him covered up as curiousity. kenix has always and Always followed orders his entire life, at first from his family now to listening to whatever prometheus whispers in his mind. his decisions always had this underlying tone of not being by free will. he does what he is told to do.

But trusting azrael and trying his best to be a trustworthy person in his eyes is the first decision that kenix has done by himself. It was his own free will which wanted to befriend azrael in specific. clinging onto him, knowing that azrael could be the one person to understand his troubles. kenix is very much aware of his fate being abruptly ended at some point and he knows that it will come soon. It is only a matter of time. following the orders of prometheus is the only way he can buy himself time to survive. Because he Needs to.

He must persist and keep living. he grasped at the concept of him being allowed to live only if he brings value to others for this long that. he just couldn't bear the thought of becoming Nothing if he wasn't anything of such value. seeking attention and validation through all means possible. all of his terrific actions had no reason other than desperation for recognition behind them. A villain who seemed to be enjoying all of this has only done this for the sake of surviving an another day.

Yet. every time kenix wanted to actually open up to azrael, it turns into a blockage in his throat. Unable to speak up, becoming a voiceless being of some sorts., , the reason being the fear of rejection in his soul. Kenix had to grasp at anything that would've given him a purpose. being prometheus's vessel was exactly done out of that desperation he wasn't even aware of. without the facade, kenix is No One. there is No One behind his carefully curated formal facade. Nothing but an incoherent mess. kenix lacks an identity. But the lack of it, then, is his identity: nothingness, absolute null. All of his emotions and feelings have always been repressed and they continue to be repressed even now. So no matter how hard he tries to differentiate himself from others, he'll end up being someone unintentionally because there is No Originality in him. And that is exactly how there is nothing about his real "self" that he thinks people would want to stay for.

with how much kenix has been repressing his emotions, discarding them and thinking of them as "fake" because he thinks that anything he felt emotionally is a lie. Because he built his whole self on a lie. A lie that he wanted this. he has now managed to lie to himself. thinking that the affection and love he holds for azrael is not real. That their bond is not real. That if he tried to show what he has been hiding behind his front for years, he would drive azrael away from him. When their relationship very much is real! kenix has no idea how to tell what was true and what was fake in him apart, so he just decided to think that everything he feels is a lie

yet. The repressed feelings, the suppressed emotions. They're all still there. Forming an incoherent mess inside of his mind and body. but even then without that mass of emotions, there is nothing else about kenix that is distinct. pure nothingness. and it Truly Scares him to even think of a scenario where azrael finds out what hollow husk of a man kenix is beneath his facade. The fear that azrael would be disgusted. That he would see him as a lowly creature. so kenix can never be truly honest about himself with azrael out of fear that the only person who understood him will leave. he tries to be so careful when talking to azrael lest he would let something about him slip. he can't just lose someone him, no.

but azrael is patient with him, he always has been. he shall wait all the needed time until kenix finally gathers the courage. he may not know what kenix has been meaning to tell him this entire time, but he can see his attempts ever so clearly. kenix is trying his best and azrael wants to make sure that kenix knows that it's alright. azrael may not be an overly kind and positive person but. If it means that someone who needs to be reassured will hear it. Well then. . . yet kenix could never be able to wrap his head around how that could be true. because of how much he was used to the lie he convinced himself with. he has told himself the same thing over and over again so many times that finally being told the opposite truth is just Shocking to him. the fact that someone doesn't want him for his value but for who he is a person

to bring back a previous point, kenix's problem with ken too, is just how much ken makes kenix realize that he is the extra one of the two. Ken had a normal life, he had a normal family, he had everything, ken had it all !. and kenix had nothing to himself. All of it - stolen. it is not even his own physical body, but the body of the original. he is perceived as someone else, he is not distinct from that someone at all in the eyes of others. despite all of his attempts to show himself as an independent person, he will forever be considered. A shadow of someone else. a shadow of the original and it pains him. and now azrael and the other sinners are the only people to ever treat kenix like a person. not like he is somebody else. But his own self. And he couldn't be more grateful that they do. That Azrael Does.

yet he can't be honest. No. No that would destroy everything he has built. everything he has worked for. but the desire. The wish to stay true to the only person he ever would consider being honest with. it has only grown stronger. The reason why he hasn't managed to tell azrael anything is solely because kenix simply felt like it wasn't the time. it will never be the time. so his one and only option was to finally tell azrael his real name. Yi Dal. although it doesn't seem like much, azrael understood the importance of this to kenix. from connecting the pieces of kenix's past story from everything he has ever told him, he could figure out that kenix only has bad associations with his real name regarding his past.

maybe. Just maybe. he could change his view on his real name, the same way kenix changed his view on his surroundings. To become the positive association that is worth remembering whenever kenix is referred by his real name. To be that something to look back at fondly.

And then the Creature™ phases come around with each of them turning into some sorts of fucken beasts ^_^. the cursed forms that in all shapes and forms represent their desires and their inner selves. for each sinner and other curse bearers, these forms are different. but for azrael and kenix.

azrael's form is completely unable to speak in full sentences. it barely speaks Actually. seeming to be straight-forward but it only just shows how azrael was not able to speak out what he thought. he was all action and no talk. which is exactly how his rampage started. he only came to conclusions from so much overthinking and hasn't tried to communicate with anyone. he just thought ot everyone as a traitor and shallow people. it really highlighted just how much he trusted his jealousy and envy rather than confirming things for himself

yet the creature seemed. More over fine with kenix's presence. Like he wasn't just a little friendly being to him! he still lashed out and acted irrationally because this form reflected on azrael's loses and overthinking that jumps straight into conclusions! but he still acted less aggressive with kenix. he didn't need to overthink his actions because of the trust he has in kenix. a bond that was stronger than the envy whispering all sorts of things into his ears. He Knows that he doesn't have to doubt him. yet he is Stuck in this box. a labyrinth of constant hesitation to Trust not only others but himself too. he wishes to free himself from such shackles but it is hard. it has always been hard to let go and change his mindset when it always was his only defense mechanism from being hurt. all of these struggles shaping themselves as a scorpion, a serpent, a venomous creature. something that symbolizes hidden danger. and yet, kenix has found beauty and something to love in such a devasting depiction of his partner. the purest way to show what he truly felt. how much he just hid this somewhere inside of himself. something that he couldn't help but feel pity for

and kenix shall do anything to prove that even then. it's going to be okay. he knows it's okay. azrael has always told him it is alright to feel like this, so surely he meant it for everyone? all struggles will pass eventually and you'll become stronger than ever, that's what azrael has told him a long time ago. even if kenix doesn't see a future for himself, he wants to make that promising future for his only love. To help him become resilient Together. He knows that azrael can do it, he had been through so much. he know he could get through this as well and break free from the curse.

and as for kenix's cursed form and the overrall story it is. So much more .? ?. his cursed form is much more bizarre compared to others. a constant variation of geometrical shapes and other possible physical forms, emiting a some sort of glow. He has lost all of his human characteristics. The true form of his self. the mass of emotions and feelings that have been repressed for decades, even centuries, has finally spilled over. creating a mess out of himself. A fool now no longer bound to a facade but is now letting all of that anguish out. so much madness, frustration and sorrow suppressed in him that is now out in the open for everyone to see. a being no longer able to communicate, for he has turned into something that is only capable of Wails. Sobs out loud. Muffled screams of agony. so many emotions he had yet to properly address yet that it is all coming in as an overwhelming wave of terror. he can no longer hide himself beside a neatly made front

a seemingly unapologetic "villain" reduced to a sorrowful creature. a being so clearly desperate for freedom. to know who he is. to finally be free from these principles chaining him to a life of silence until his death. he feels that his demise is coming soon. and he can't do anything about it. for now he can only be a hostile monster. a vessel, a prophet for prometheus's salvation. because this was planned to be his end a long long time ago. this was his purpose. his only value. once this is done, he will be gone for too. finishing his duty, being allowed rest. despite how much he yearns to keep living. but kenix has always been about acceptance. acceptance of his fate. This Miserable Fate

yet azrael found himself only feeling sympathy, for this was the moment that he has finally learned about his partner's true feelings. and it hurt to hear someone so important and dear to him wallow in pain and anguish like that. that version of kenix was a hostile being, but he still so clearly needed help. he needed the courage to overcome this. to break free from prometheus's influence over everything he did because he never had confidence in such actions. and azrael wanted to help with just that despite their current barrier where they cannot understand one another. just like kenix helped him, he wanted to help kenix create his own future to look forward to. without death. with azrael by his side. to survive. to keep living just like kenix desired to this whole time.

the end of their chapters as cursed beings meant that the both of them could finally experience relief together. a moment of Bliss. the realization that it is over. they get to exist, unshackled from the burdens that once plagued their minds. a possibility for salvation. a chance to live without being bound to their past or their inner desires. just peace and tranquility, their one true wish

But Uh Oh! Bad News Motherfuckers! Y'all forgot this shit was a death timeloop! With how i previously mentioned that the actual protagonist of the story, Yaku, has started a timeloop rooted in the desire of saving what meant the world to him that was dying at the end of the journey. The same kind of important people who cruelly had their lives cut short. And The only other character aware of this timeloop was well. Kenix! with this sudden ending of lives for most of the casts, azrael had also became a victim to these abrupt endings.

having to witness his love's life fade away before his eyes, it is only natural for kenix to also be shocked at the situation that yaku is also stuck in. and this scenario is exactly how yaku became the last one to be cursed, his curse rooted in his one biggest desire. a selfish deed covered up as an act of selflessness. their timelines' restarting, the flow of time now looping on and on until yaku manages to save everyone from these deaths

kenix had no control over this, he was forced to watch the protagonist and his nephew descend into madness over a singular goal. while also having to relive his entire life over and over again. a cycle of misery for everyone involved. the others would never be able to realize that this was a timeloop, so the first and the original time they had done this. Has became their script. that everyone, including kenix, had to follow until the end

of course in the first few loops, kenix had also tried to do everything in his power to ensure that his friends. that azrael. would be safe from their gruesome demise. yet their endings had already been written as part of the unchangeable fate by the forces above. neither kenix or yaku had a chance at succeeding. despite kenix's own attempts to save his partner, there was nothing he could do. he could only Watch how his impending doom was slowly getting closer

it was Painful. he could see azrael, he feel him, talk to him, interact with him in general just like normal. yet it wasn't him. no that could never be azrael ever again. that azrael felt surreal. abnormal. like he was programmed beforehand. there was nothing new about him and he felt so Off. Because kenix was aware that this is just the repeating of their original story. it's like he talked to someone playing pretend. his original feeling of "this doesn't feel real (positive)" when he first met azrael has turned into "this doesn't feel real. (derogatory)" kind of feeling. seeing azrael like this was just tormenting. a painful reminder that he will, one day, leave him not by will. and kenix will have to learn to live without him

to live without the person who had shown him love and how to love for the first time ever. a someone who had changed the course of his life so much. brought down what kenix had thought of the world and built it anew. keeping his silence about the truth because now. it was the only the thing that he could never ever tell azrael. what he had seen that day. None of it. for his sake.

perhaps, if they had never met here. if they had met at a different time.

In short, they are so fucking Doomed.

smth smth. Yeag. Good Fucking Lord They Make Me Sick

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

a knife in the dark

[adar/oc]

This is a slightly unhinged WIP AU for my longfic, Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n. Highly recommend (ask/beg/implore) you to read at last the first like, 8 chapters of that first or you'll be... um... maybe a lil confused? PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is. [DON'T @ ME ON REINCARNATION MECHANICS, THIS IS PURELY A NONSENSE DRABBLE THING THAT WILL HOPEFULLY EVENTUALLY LEAD TO SMUT BUT MORE REALISTICALLY WILL JUST BE A LOT OF RIP-YOUR-HEART-OUT ANGST BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S ALL I DO HERE. 🫠 ]

She makes her voyage on an elven ship that is nearly empty.

Why would you go across the sea, the other elves ask her, mouths agape, in the days before her departure. Bliss lies here in the West—you will find little comfort on the shores of Middle Earth.

Erenyë cannot answer them, cannot explain why the eastern expanse calls her so. She has heard many among the eldar who made passage home from the Hither Lands speak of the sea-longing that precipitated their journey—but this feels like something even stronger, a yearning for a place, yes, but something more… something that she cannot name.

Whatever it is, she surmises it must be the reason she has never felt quite at home in Valinor, even surrounded by her Noldoran kindred, the ones who had remained after the terrible kinslaying of old.

As she watches the waves pound against the sharply angled bow, wind whipping through her hair, she speaks a silent promise to the waiting horizon: I am coming.  

...

The tides of fate flow, and the sea is treacherous.

Their vessel is beset by perilous storms that rage by day and night, and no prayer to Ulmo seems capable of assuaging them. Their instruments fail, and the gale proves too powerful to hold their northward course to Lindon.

She asks how far off course the storm has flung them.  

Toward the Southlands is the answer.  

...

They make port in an abandoned Numenorean harbor that the captain calls Pelargir, and it is here that Erenyë takes her first steps into Middle Earth.

The landscape is lush and green, and different from Valinor—for it strikes her as more rugged and wild than the place from which she’d come. The climate is temperate and the air is moist, the trees here are massive, with thick trunks and sprawling branches, growing as they do only in Oromë’s woods across the sea. The forest calls to her—as all forests do—and she wanders eagerly toward the treeline, ready to lose herself in this new world.

But she is stopped by raised voices as a party of men emerges from the woods with warning. They are downtrodden, starving and traumatized, bearing the scars of war and disaster. In due course she learns that they have fled their homeland, several leagues to the east and over the mountains.

With terror-laced voices, they speak of a fire mountain, lately awakened, belching fire and cloud so high that it swallows the sunlight, rendering the land a waste, overrun by orcs. They answer to a single leader, the men tell her—a villain who calls himself Adar.

....

Adar.

It is a perplexing name for a servant of darkness, an elvish word.

She ponders the mystery late into the night, after the newly established encampment falls still. The elves had wasted no time in offering aid to the refugees, and Erenyë had done her part, though the forest still calls to her, insistent.

She considers going off alone, but the threat of orcs roaming the hills seeking captives to return to this Adar gives her pause. She knows enough of orcs to understand that the safest time to move through their lands is in daylight, and though she has never encountered one, memories of the stories that had reached her ears in Valinor, and the accounts of the Southlanders strike a deep chord of fear within her breast. She passes the night restless, yearning to roam.

At dawn, a small party of elves from the ship sets off toward the mountains, and Erenyë accompanies them eagerly, taking up a sword and dagger from one of the men who had not survived the night. The elven leader, Telemnion, tells them they must discover as much as they can about Adar and his legions so that a report can be sent north with all speed to High King Gil-glad.

They set a northeastern course that takes them up steep hills as they near the borders of the Southlands. As the day wanes, she catches the scent of smoke upon the air—ash and scorched pine, the smell of instantaneous destruction. Without warning, she doubles over, bracing herself with one hand against the nearest tree, retching.

“Are you well, Erenyë?” Telemnion hurries to her side, his eyes wide with concern.

In truth, she cannot say why the smell affects her so—she only has the keen sense of having experienced it before.

Her mind is filled with visions of ruined land—even before they emerge from the trees on a high precipice just before nightfall and see the blackened remains of the Southlands for themselves—and she knows that the visions are not simply abstractions. They feel like memories.

But it does not make sense—there had been no destruction of that kind in Valinor. Yet as they stop to rest, she cannot shake the sensation of touching ruined ground: of trailing her fingers over blackened, hollow trees, over the bleached bones of dead animals, over ash-laden earth.

As day gives way to night, she watches the skies above turn color. It is not the natural, blue-black of a peaceful night, but a wicked orange glow, cast by flames and smoke. It is yet another strangely familiar sight, and it fills her with blackest dread.

...

Several nights later, they are attacked by a band of orcs.

They are far outnumbered, and Telemnion cries out to them, telling them to run. With a pounding heart, Erenyë flies as fast as she can through the trees. When she’s confident there is enough distance between herself and the skirmish, she climbs, seeking for the safety of the upper branches of a great oak tree.

In the distance, she sees torches gleaming, and the sound of orc horns pierces the night air. She hugs the trunk of the tree, pressing her body close as though hoping it might open and absorb her into the safety of its bark as the orc army presses closer.

They are chanting something in unison—something that sounds victorious—and it is not long before they are close enough for her to understand it.

Adar… Adar… Adar…

The orcs continue their advance toward her tree. She considers climbing down and fleeing, but the chant soon falls silent, and the flickering torches stop moving.

A new voice fills the air.

It is low and husky, speaking the guttural language of the enemy. She cannot understand a word, but she tips her ear toward it, for there is something, some phantom quality about it that she cannot place. The trees are close in the glen, and with great care, she makes her way from one to the next, sidling toward the voice.

The orc army comes into view, and she can see their leader standing before them. His back is toward her—she can see only his silhouette against the torchlight. He is tall and slender—strangely elven, compared to the other orcs, the majority of whom are stooped and stocky. His presence is commanding, though he does not raise his voice beyond what is required to adequately fill the clearing.

He finishes his address with what is clearly a command for the uruks to set up camp, for they break out into groups, busying themselves with assembling tents and unfurling bedrolls.

Adar, for his part, watches the flurry of activity, then retreats into the shadows of the treeline. He is outside the torchlight now, but Erenyë follows his shape in the dark as it moves deeper into the forest. Keeping a safe distance, she scrambles down from her tree, closing her hand around the dagger she carries. Her heart begins to thrum again, pounding with a mixture of intrigue and terror.

He weaves gracefully through the trees, making no sound. There is something about his bearing that seems ancient, as though he is a part of the old forest itself and she creeps closer, fearing that at any moment, he might be swallowed by the trees, absorbed into them.

Dawn is breaking when he pauses in a clearing, and she realizes that the trees around them have started to thin, their leaves charred. The scent of smoke is stronger here, and with a soundless gasp, she discovers that they have reached the line of the fire-mountain’s destruction.

He kneels down, and she is struck by how suddenly small he appears. The sight of his silhouette stirs something in her—something that originates from that same place of strange recollection.

Why, her heart cries in anguish, does he seem familiar?

Without a thought, she steps closer.

He is crouched beside a green sapling that the fire had somehow spared, fingering the delicate leaves with a reverent—almost loving—tenderness.

She takes another step, disturbing the ground in her wake. A twig snaps beneath her foot; his head whips around toward the sound, and she flies at him, unsheathing her dagger with a cry.

They collide, tussling in the ashes. Erenyë scrambles and struggles with all her might until she lands on top with a dagger to his throat, gasping to reclaim the wind that was knocked out of her in their skirmish. His face comes together in her field of view: grey, mottled skin, covered in scars, thin lips, and shockingly deep, green eyes. She loses herself in them for a moment, as she steps seemingly out of time itself, spellbound by their depths. Her heart accelerates, threatening to batter itself out of its cage within her chest. She leans closer, bearing down on the dagger that is still pressed against the flesh of his neck.

He draws in a sharp breath as the blade bites into his skin, drawing a few drops of black blood. His eyes close, and his exhale is a soft moan, she presumes of pain, but she recognizes it as excitement, somehow. Pleasure.

She squeezes own her eyes shut, striving to steady herself, for it seems as though the ground itself is now swaying beneath her. She feels it again—the familiarity, the certainty that she has heard that sound before—no, not just heard it, she has been the cause of it.

He is no longer struggling—his body is languid beneath her, boneless. She clenches her teeth, confused, weighing her next move. He is the enemy; he and his army are responsible for the fire-mountain, for the destruction of the forest, for the torment of the Southlanders. She should let the dagger finish its work—drag it across his throat, spill the rest of his black blood here upon the ashen ground.

He murmurs something, something in a language that sounds like elvish, but it is older: an archaic form—one that she has only ever seen preserved on ancient scrolls. A dream, this is a dream, he rasps over and over, in that same low, husky tone that sends a shiver rolling down her spine, but not one borne entirely of fear.

The sound of the ancient language comforts her. Inexplicably, she thinks of stars, and the sound of water falling gently over stone. 

She feels him shift and opens her eyes, preparing to defend herself. But he does not attack—instead, his hands seek for her hips, sinking softly into her flesh as he drags in another quaking breath. He wears an iron gauntlet on one hand, and it digs into her side, stopping just on the edge of pain.

Her stomach roils at the sight of this creature, this thing, this orc touching her, but her skin tingles beneath his fingers, even through her tunic.

She lets the dagger drag another quarter of an inch across his throat—she isn’t sure if she intends it to be a warning or an invitation—and he groans again. Tremors roll steadily through her body now; she feels she is dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and she does not know whether to seek for safety or let herself fall into it.

He opens his mouth, and breathes a single word:

“Erenyë…”

Fear wins out—the sound of his name upon her tongue sends an earthquake through her body and she moves automatically out of shock and terror. With a strangled yell, she yanks the dagger into the air. He tries to rise, but she is too quick, slamming the butt of it against his temple—hard.

He falls back, unconscious, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatens to break free.

tagging @catz4ever @toddthekiwibird @eowyn7023 HERE YA GO MY FELLOW BADDYDADDY BRIGADERS

Read part 2 | part 3

[fayes-fics]

Portrait: I

Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The first portrait session.

Warnings (for this chapter): none

Word Count: 1.4k

Authors Note: Enjoy! <3

I

It's an early spring morning when you watch from the drawing-room window, heart in your mouth, as he descends gracefully from his carriage, so elegant in a navy jacket over a maroon waistcoat with a soft gold silk cravat. You listen as your family butler lets him in, and before you can arrange yourself on the setee, he strides in business-like. All he knows is that he is here to paint a portrait of a bride for her intended. He already has his hand out to shake yours… until he sees it's you. 

His whole stance changes, and you know in an instant that he recognises you from the gallery that night. Now, up close, you see how tall he is, the turn of his aristocratic nose and his eyes that are the haziest blue you have ever seen. It's impossible to look away. 

There is something charged in the air as, instead of shaking your hand, he delicately takes it up to his lips and brushes the lightest of kisses across your knuckles. There is no skin contact, seeing as you are wearing silk gloves, but even that simple gesture has you undone. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and his lips through the material, and you have to school your breathing; your stays suddenly too tight around your ribcage.

“Miss y/l/n,” his voice is a veritable rumble, and your body is aflame. You are his. Completely. There is no other man you wish to know, wish to marry. Ever. You want him to take your hand and run. Run far away until the name Thomas Baden-Smith is but a distant memory…. “Show me where you wish for this portrait to be painted.” he cuts into your yearning reverie.

You stumble, almost dazed, towards the chaise you have set up in front of the fireplace for this exact purpose. His gaze flits between you and then around the room.

“The light there is not quite right,” he opines with a head tilt. “I would like to move you,” he adds, drawing closer. You sit there dumbfounded for a second until you realise he is looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to get up so he can rearrange the furniture.

“Sorry, good sir,” you apologise and jump to your feet, stepping aside, not missing how his nostrils flare at the honorific title you bestow upon him.

He moves the chaise, so it is on a diagonal. Then asks you to sit again as he moves to stand in front of the window. All you see is his silhouette as the bright sunlight blazes behind him.

“Perfect!” he exclaims after a moment of consideration, gesturing for his valet to set up his easel where he stands.

The valet does so and then bustles quickly from the room. It is just you and Benedict now. And the grandfather clock in the corner, loudly announcing each second with its pendulum swing.

You decide it is good that you cannot see him so well with where he has chosen to stand. Perhaps you will be able to sit still. Not think about the tingle you still feel on your knuckles where he kissed you, barely a chaste brush as it was. Just last year, you shared a stolen kiss with your childhood friend Daniel behind the greenhouse, his tongue in your mouth, his hands grabbing your bottom. But that was nothing compared to the split-second Benedict Bridgerton’s lips burned a metaphorical hole through your glove and your heart. And indeed, the polar opposite of the disdain you feel every time you are within a few feet of your intended, albeit the very reason you are sitting here in the first place.

You have to force yourself to concentrate as Benedict details how the process will work, explaining it will take around five hours and that he will paint the portrait over the course of five sessions. Adding that he has heard from a good friend that this is the most successful approach, as after an hour, people tend to get restless about sitting still.

“Do you have a pose in mind, or would you like me to suggest one for you to adopt?” he asks, and your mind goes blank. You honestly had not even considered that.

“Nothing in particular. Just something acceptable for my future husband to hang in his hallway,” you answer quietly, reluctant to vocalise the reason he is here.

Something flashes in his eyes, and it dawns on you that perhaps your parents did not elucidate why they requested his services. 

“Right, well,” he bustles, seeming a little off-kilter, “we should endeavour to capture the very reason he fell in love with you….” 

“He does not love me,” you cut in, desperate to clarify, “and I certainly do not him. Not all people have the privilege of marrying for love, Mr Bridgerton,” you end, your voice brittle.

You see him nod and swallow heavily as if he has words he doesn't want to allow to escape. “Permit me a closer look to determine the best pose?” his request gentle and respectful. 

Suddenly he is kneeling in front of you as you perch on the chaise. You have to fix your gaze on a spot on the wall behind him; you dare not look at him as he seems to study your face.

“You have a face that captures the light perfectly,” he murmurs, and you know a blush stains your cheeks and creeps lower your collarbone feeling heated and prickled. A gasp catches in your throat as a long, elegant thumb and forefinger delicately grab your chin and move your face to be slightly in profile. It's his bare hand on your skin. Your body flushes hot, and there is a sudden pulse at the apex of your thighs; you have to swallow hard to tamp the saliva filling your mouth.

“That's it,” his tone triumphant, “don’t move.” 

Your eyes dart to meet his even as you keep your head where he requested. There is a split second where your gaze holds, and his pupils enlarge as you slowly draw your bottom lip under your teeth without realising. There it is again. That jolt that you ardently want to believe he feels too.

It's almost a relief when he clears his throat, stands up and walks back to his easel, puttering around with paints and brushes as you watch in your peripheral vision. Just as you think you are back to an even keel, he peels off his jacket and rolls up the frilled cuffs of his crisp white shirt, exposing his toned forearms. You feel a galloping tightness in your chest, yet again, you cannot look anywhere but him.

“This is to prevent charcoal or paint transferring,” he explains, erroneously assuming your intense stare is borne of confusion rather than abject enthrallment. 

“Of course…” you respond, shaking your head lightly to rid the reverie of thoughts your mind is supplying, tumbling images of your fingertips tracing over the vein that runs from his wrist to his elbow.

“At first, I like to sketch an outline as a guide for my painting,” he explains, and you just nod, unsure of what else to do.

And then all is quiet as he concentrates on the task at hand. It is a strange trance-like state you enter as the moments tick by. Holding the pose as you hear charcoal scratch over the canvas. Attempting to syncopate your heartbeat with the gentle dull rhythm of the grandfather clock. Anything to school your body’s reaction every time your eyes stray to him.

Half an hour has passed when the pins and needles start to creep into your limbs, your body more on an even keel as it adjusts to his continued presence. Your brain feels like it needs some stimulation, and alas, you cannot read a book, so decide conversation it must be.

“How many young lady’s portraits have you painted?” you ask as he seems to change for a different pencil.

“None,” he admits with mild contrite, “you are my first. My speciality is usually landscapes.”

“First of many, I am sure,” you affirm. “Once they see your work here, you will have a line of customers.”

“You flatter me, miss,” his cheeks heating a delightful shade of pink as he dips his head and continues his work. Not without his eyes twice darting to yours and then looking away. 

You pretend not to notice the ache in your chest his humility causes as the clock strikes the hour, signalling the end of your session.

And when he leaves a few moments later, wrapping up the canvas without letting you see it, you feel strangely bereft—as if he has taken a little piece of you with him out of the door. 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush

[minnaci]

okay. whipped out my laptop again for apology tour. same disclaimers apply: i'm not a hellaverse blog (or, if i am, i'm very much in denial about it), i enjoy the show and the characters, and my opinions are informed by my personal lived experiences. apology tour spoilers ahead.

i've done a lot of scrolling through comments and posts since watching apology tour and, while many good points were made, i'm not sure that any of them sufficiently sum up how conflicted i feel about this episode. i'll try to hopefully stumble my way into a coherent analysis.

full warning, it will be blitz-centric, but there is enough nuance in my heart to be sympathetic to stolas, too. both of them fucked up! i just happen to identify more strongly with blitz.

tldr: the showrunners said it best. stolas is not quite as self-aware as he should be, and blitz... is blitz. cw for spoilers and discussions of american racism (particularly antiblackness) and classism.

this crux of the issue in apology tour continues to be miscommunication, which is heavily influenced by 1. both blitz's and stolas's pasts and 2. the sociopolitical context in which they operate.

1 . STOLAS

stolas was a victim of emotional neglect in his childhood, and then a victim of his emotionally abusive wife in his adulthood. he, as he so aptly implies in apology tour, has never truly felt wanted beyond what he could provide to his family. one of the only times we have ever seen stolas happy was at the circus as a child, where he developed a fleeting, parasocial admiration for blitz.

in this way, stolas is painfully, achingly relatable. while he grew up in a disgusting amount of material wealth, he has been deprived of the one thing you cannot buy with money: unconditional love. he yearns for the type of romance he reads about, the type of passionate desire that he watches in his telenovelas, and when blitz comes along— the one, shining memory in stolas's otherwise dull childhood— stolas falls into the fantasy.

and that's exactly what it is. in the beginning, stolas doesn't really want blitz. he wants what blitz represents— a charming, seductive figure to ravish him, to hold him close, to show him that he is desirable and make him feel wanted. it's a fantasy at the price of the key to stolas's job— a fantasy that is, from an outsider's perspective, easily explained by racial fetishization. more on this later.

to stolas, it's a small price to pay. the grimoire, a token piece of power to the goetias, in exchange for the one thing that stolas has always wanted? sign stolas up! stolas has never had to worry about his livelihood, nor his safety— not in any way that matters. not in any way that blitz would have had to.

stolas is ignorant. he is naive and unaware of how the world works. this remains true when he falls for blitz, when he plans to "set them free" (a la "when i see him"), even after he confesses and his fairy-tale fantasies come crashing down around him. he is not in a place where he can comprehend the effects of class on his relationships because it is not something he has ever had to consider before.

all that said, none of that invalidates the way that stolas feels when blitz explodes at him in full moon. stolas setting his boundaries at the beginning of apology tour ("i feel uncomfortable when you talk to me that way") is valid. it's actually an example of communication gone right in this episode, in that stolas explicitly communicates how blitz's actions make him feel.

his resultant upset when blitz keeps pushing him and antagonizing him is similarly valid. his decision to go to verosika's party is valid. my main point here is: while i don't particularly enjoy stolas's actions in full moon or even in apology tour, i can empathize with wanting to be wanted by someone so badly that it basically ruins your life.

again, stolas is ignorant. he lacks self awareness. he is emotionally immature and lacks empathy. but the message here isn't "rich people can't feel heartbreak", at least for me. the message is "even though he is hurt, stolas needs to understand that his actions have consequences, and that blitz experiences relationships (and the world) in a fundamentally different way than stolas as a product of the differences in socioeconomic contexts in which they were raised."

2. BLITZ

oh, blitz. where to start? this is where i admit that there are a lot of similarities between the way blitz and i grew up, and a lot of similarities in the ways that we view relationships now (read: i may project a bit. apologies in advance).

from when he was young, blitz has learned that the only successful type of love is love that is transactional. he loved his mother, and she died in a fire he started. he loved fizz and barbie, and he ruined their lives. the only "successful" love he has experienced is love where he provides something (read: gets "used") and receives something in return. so, unless he can provide something of value to his partner, blitz prefers to keep it casual. in blitz's mind, people don't care about blitz, and people shouldn't care about blitz. loving blitz has always been a recipe for disaster, because in his perspective, if he can't provide something to his lover that offsets the destruction that he causes, then he's not worth it.

it's normal for blitz to feel used. it's normal for blitz to feel less-than, or unwanted, or unloved, and it hurts blitz less to believe that. sex is fun. he can "do sex", and he can do sex good, and maybe to him, that's all that he can do good. he certainly can't hold down a relationship. his employees only care about him because he provides a stable source of income. his daughter only cares about him because he gives her shelter. it's normal. blitz feeling hated is normal, and the normalcy brings him so much comfort that he purposefully pushes people away to maintain that awful, vicious cycle of a status quo. it's a self-fulfulling prophecy.

blitz's approach to stolas in the beginning of apology tour is his desperate bid to return to normal. stolas being so short and angry with him is almost comforting— blitz knows how anger feels. he knows how hate feels. stolas is just another person who finally, finally realized what blitz knew all along— love is something that isn't possible for blitz, because he always fucks it up (at least in his perspective). and if stolas lets blitz fuck him, lets blitz provide this service to him, then maybe, blitz can "earn his way to earth" (read: "earn" stolas's affection back). affection, to blitz, is something for him to work tirelessly and endlessly to receive— a sisyphean affair. he is not ever intended to actually receive it.

stolas doesn't recognize this. stolas doesn't even try. but in stolas's defense, blitz doesn't exactly make it easy. i may empathize with blitz, but i think i would also be a little less prone to empathy if the object of my affections mocked my feelings by brushing them off in favor of sex and then screaming "GAY" in my face when i refused.

the rest of blitz's apology tour is borne out of pettiness towards stolas, because in his eyes, stolas is the one who wronged him. stolas was the one who accepted the rules of engagement with blitz (i.e., a transactional relationship: the grimoire for a bit of fun, kinky sex). stolas is the one who has all the power. stolas is the one who can choose to ruin blitz. stolas is the one who ruined the good thing they had going.

except... blitz doesn't really believe that. deep down, subconsciously, blitz knows he loves stolas, and by being in love, he's done to stolas what he did to his mother, to fizz, to barbie: ruined his life. maybe, if blitz could seduce stolas and make their relationship transactional again, he could correct their course and save stolas the pain of believing that blitz is deserving of love. it's a trolley problem: pull the lever, and blitz is the only one who gets hurt. let the trolley continue, and stolas will inevitably get caught in the crossfire of loving blitz.

blitz can handle a little pain. he handled it when his mother died. he handled it when fizz hated him. he handled it when barbie left him. he handles it over and over again, being used as tool for sexual pleasure or physical violence. he earns his pain, just as he feels he must "earn" the grimoire. just as he feels he must "earn" the little tokens of stolas's affection.

as an aside: the grimoire is more than a symbol of blitz's livelihood. it's a physical representation of the stark difference in class between blitz and stolas, as well as a representation of the transactional nature of all of blitz's relationships, not just the one between him and stolas. it is one magical book among thousands that the goetias own— a veritable drop in the bucket of the immense power, wealth, and influence that the goetias, and by extension, stolas, wield. that same book which is inconsequential to stolas and the goetias is everything to blitz. without the grimoire, he loses his job and everything that comes with it, including (in blitz's transactional view of relationships) millie, moxxie, and even loona's companionship. but i digress.

it's been said before that there is nobody who belongs at the blitz hate party more than blitz himself, and it's true— there is nobody in hell who could hate blitz more than he hates himself. because as much as he might present himself as a little dumb, he's anything but. he knows what he's doing will destroy him. he knows if he continues to do what he's doing, he'll "die alone", which, in some ways, is what he fears more than anything. he even tells verosika that he "doesn't want to be like this forever", but he can't seem to stop himself. he doesn't know how to stop himself.

after all, he's right. everyone hates him. it's evident in the party they've thrown for him. and the worst part thing is: it's his fault, and he knows it. he knows he's hurt all of these people, and even though he plays at callousness, he can't quite hide his hurt that stolas in particular won't hear him out. he can't hide his hurt that stolas can't seem to understand where blitz is coming from. because blitz does try to talk to stolas in apology tour. he tries to tell stolas what he's feeling, and how he regrets how he's spoken to stolas, but stolas is too drunk and too upset to care (which, btw, not blaming stolas for that. if i were a drinker, i'd be right there beside him).

stolas, in this moment, focuses entirely on himself and the pain that blitz put him through (again, not blaming stolas for that), but it tells blitz that stolas really, really does not care about him anymore, if he ever did. and wasn't that what blitz wanted? isn't that what blitz deserves? so it's easy to let a bigger, taller, more handsome, more suave imp sweep stolas off his feet and out of blitz's life. the imp is, by his t-shirt's estimation, "better than blitzo", after all. and don't they say that to love someone is to let them go?

verosika's advice to blitz only cements this. stolas is moving on. stolas deserves better. and blitz? all blitz deserves is to be used, so can he really be mad that some better imp is giving stolas what blitz never could? and again, blitz has dealt with the people he loves hating him before. his father sold him for $5. his best friend hated him for years. his sister still does. at least with stolas, he got the asmodean crystal out of it, and he won't lose the only semblance of companionship he has left.

3 - SOCIOECONOMIC CONTEXT

i saw a post that said that fans are focusing too much on the class difference between stolas and blitz, and i couldn't disagree more. in fact, i'd say that we are not focusing enough on the class difference between stolas and blitz.

all of stolas's ignorance is magnified tenfold by his lack of understanding of how their class and race difference colors their relationship. all of blitz's self-hatred and self-worth issues are exacerbated one-hundredfold by these same class and race differences.

classism and racism go hand in hand, especially in america. in helluva boss (and especially in the beginning of the stolitz dynamic), there is an implication of racial fetishization. blitz, the "lower-class" poor imp, fulfills stolas (an "upper-class" wealthy elite)'s fantasies of being "ravaged" and "taken" in his own home. stolas canonically enjoys the rough treatment, enjoys the taboo feeling of having blitz fuck him. it's very evocative of how some white american women fetishize and fantasize about black men— a fetish that has its roots in white supremacy (and especially the enslavement and ongoing oppression of black people in america.)

that said, in the context of helluva boss, it is very clear that blitz is aware of his socioeconomic standing the implications thereof— more aware than even stolas, who has ostensibly been educated on the social and economic nuances of the realm he helps to rule. he tries to tell stolas about how this difference in class affects him and amplifies his already awful self-worth ("you're a prince. it's hard to believe you would want me. that anyone would want me"), but stolas is incapable of hearing him.

all this to say, blitz is not solely to blame for their current relationship. that isn't to say that blitz is blameless. in fact, blitz isn't the most emotionally mature either— most of what i have written about him are things that i doubt he consciously realizes about himself. but stolas's ignorance and lack of willingness to consider where blitz is coming from, both emotionally and socioeconomically, make up a huge part of why stolitz continues to miscommunicate.

anyways. yeah. viv was right. things sure did happen.

[gingeragenda]

Freed - all chapters in one

Part 4 of Dream a Little Dream of Me (Your Worst Nightmare) 🔞

Just as she had felt the strange and disturbing bond running between herself and Adar on the night he kissed her, and been nearly overcome with it when she held a knife to his throat for the second time, she felt it thrumming between them now. Adar seemed determined not to acknowledge any of this as she sat at his table, as he spoke of the Crown and the Rings and Halbrand. It was quite unbearable in any number of ways. 

He may be right about the combined power being enough, but the crown has proven insufficient once already and can she guarantee that Elrond will deliver Nenya? She sees she must take control of the situation and so rather than letting him depart she tells him, “Yes, Halbrand is Sauron, He’s in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow him to dominate my kind. And yours.”

“Every kind in Middle Earth.”

“But he will not attempt escape until his task is complete. And that gives us momentary advantage.”

“Us?”

“Unlock me.”

As he leans in close to remove the manacle, the thin bond between them flares and she thinks again on the taunting narrative she had endured while caged. She does not know what to believe. She is almost certain Sauron has indeed taken Adar as a lover in the past, but how can she broach this? The notion of a much needed alliance still hangs in the balance and what if she is wrong? She might have to let her fëa slip away out of sheer embarrassment if she makes such a suggestion and it turns out to be yet another of Sauron’s deceptions. She takes a deep breath: 

“You and he. For many years. You were… together”. 

“Yes”

“As fellow servants of Morgoth? Or…” she swallows, unsure of her wording, but determined nevertheless. She breaks the heavy silence between them with a barely whispered “together as you and I almost…” Her cheeks colour at the question but now the question is out she is flooded with relief. He is clearly discomforted by what she asks, and yet she sees a yearning in his eyes. Perhaps he is as tempted as her by the prospect of confessing all to someone who understands what it is to fall so completely under the spell of Sauron.

Perhaps an admission of her own would loosen his tongue. “The time I spent with him was but a blink of the eye by comparison, and that was all it took for him to worm his way into my mind. He has left something in me, not just a puncture, but something running through it, a thread made of burning desire. You know of what I speak. Did this sordid abomination originate with Sauron?” 

He seems far away as he speaks, “No this was Morgoth’s doing. He was determined to create new life. When he made the Moriondor not all of us responded the same to his… treatments. Most of the others were content to fulfil their role once he had worked his corruption into their flesh. I refused to breed with unwilling captives and so he placed this curse upon me, to be beholden to an irresistible urge to mate.” 

“You are able to resist though, you have proven this to me.”

“That is only how it was at first. To my eternal shame.” 

She sees how heavily the guilt weighs on him, but there is more she needs to understand, “What changed?”

“His servant took an interest in me.”

“Sauron. What did he do?”

“I am no sorcerer, to this day I know not how he did this thing, only that the unmoored desire was bound to him alone.”

“I do not understand. What is the benefit to him?”

Adar does not know how to answer. He feels no certainty any more regarding Sauron’s intentions, and cannot fathom how to even begin to recount everything that passed between the two of them. Would Galadriel think him insane if he tried to explain that the fearsome dark lord is simply a needy, selfish bitch eternally bereft of cock? Is it more or less absurd to articulate his fear that there is some entirely unseen threat connected to it all, that Sauron has somehow devised a way to take control of all Middle Earth via sex magic? Is it too unbearable an humiliation to confess that he was so enamoured with the beautiful Maia that at the time he genuinely believed Sauron wanted to help, to ease his suffering? That he believed the bond would allow him children, of his own, to keep and raise. Children of their own, to love. 

Instead he presses on with his tale. “When I used the crown to slay him, I thought I had been freed completely. For centuries I was unburdened, but then Halbrand was brought before me as a prisoner. I believe he used this encounter to reignite the spell. As I say, workings of this nature are beyond my ken.”

“You did not recognise him at Tirharad? You are sure it was not awakened when we - I - when you were taken captive?”

“I am certain, I felt nothing until that day in Mordor. Then it was if a fog fell over my mind and the longer we spoke the greater a hold he had over me. He lay his head at my feet in submission and I almost - but I released him. I had him and I let him go.”

She knows it is hypocritical to take umbrage at Adar’s failure to contain the enemy when he had opportunity, but cannot keep her voice entirely free from irritation, “Clearly that was not the end of it, what then?”

“He started visiting my dreams instead.”

“What happened in these dreams?”

Adar will not meet her eyes, and Galadriel is once again struck by the urgency of their situation. Sauron’s tale may have been intended to taunt and frustrate her, but it had also allowed her to investigate the veins of Morgoth’s magic that ran between them. Adar may not understand anything of the sorcery that works within him but she does; she can feel the possibility of bending this power to their advantage. She cannot afford his coyness when they have work to do. This is motivation enough to overcome her own reticence on the subject, and it all falls firm and fast from her lips:

“You have no need to hide from me. He has visited me also, there have been no visions since we parted ways, but a voice has whispered in my ear. He has told me what you were to each other. So there can be no misunderstanding between us, I will be plain; he has been most detailed in the physical nature of your relationship and I have come to believe that the act itself is key in the manipulation of this magic. He has lent some part of it to me, you know this, you have felt it. I believe it was to aid in his efforts to seduce me before he bade me become his Queen. I can transfer it back to you, I can teach you how to take hold of it and mould it yourself. Look at how desperate he is to draw people to him; even as he craves dominion over the world he wants to rule with someone at his side. You have tried to slay him once and still he reaches out to you. Let me help you turn this thing into something to be wielded against him. Then you and I. Uruk. You and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world.”

He had watched her in rapt silence, and she thought she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes at the notion of finding a redeeming purpose for the curse upon him. 

“What do you require me?”

“We must join our bodies together so that I may first ascertain how to manipulate the spell. It may take some time and… multiple attempts.”

“No.”

“No?” She thought that they understood each other, that he saw the necessity in mastering whatever weapon they had at their disposal.

“It will not work. You have just acknowledged that he has a hole into both our minds, and he is drawn in by our desire so he can turn it to his own perverted ends. He will see what you are about and you will have no chance to experiment before he puts a stop to it.”

“Then it will be your task to hold his full attention. I will do my work and you will ensure he cannot possibly think of anything else. You have experience of his preferences, what will captivate him? What will keep his eye fixed on you alone?”

“No matter what we do, I fear he will seek to feel it through you, your body.”

“What makes you say this?” A vague feeling of offence bubbles up in her chest, is he suggesting it is impossible Sauron would wish to ravish her, that she is an unworthy lover compared to Adar? 

“I have experience of his preferences,” he echoes dryly, he pauses then, a hint of the earlier reluctance creeping over his face, “and his last visit was different, he came not as himself but as you.”

Her face heats at the thought, surprised how much she wants to know what Adar chose to do with her body. The anger she feels at Sauron choosing to wear her like some wedding night lingerie does little to diminish her arousal. But she must not allow herself to be sidetracked.

“Adar please, you know him better than any that walk this earth, surely you can think of something more tempting for him than to be treated like a bitch in heat?”

She does not recall having heard him laugh before and it is rather disquieting. The wretched timbre of his voice is worse as he shares the conclusion he has come to. “He loves the power he wields over me, I betrayed him and he wishes to see me suffer, if he sees I am in torment, overtaken by the urge to mate, I think that would entice him.”

“You believe he would choose to taunt you as you raped me?” She hopes she has misinterpreted Adar’s meaning. 

“Lady Galadriel, I have neither the time nor the heart to tell you of the foul tortures Sauron has devised, and even I do not know the whole of what has been wreaked upon him. He is twisted beyond reckoning. So if you trust my knowledge of him as you claim, you must accept my judgment that this is the only sure way to keep him focused on my mind.”

She is determined to proceed, even though his words chill her. There is no other choice and they must negotiate the terms of this particular alliance with haste. “We shall make it a game then, a show. He has mocked my presumed innocence enough that he will not be suspicious if I resist. You will understand that I go into this willingly and that you must not stop until I have transferred every shred of this magic back to you.” She does trust Adar’s judgment in this: there will be a limited window to get this done before Sauron gleans their plans. They must not fail. “Whatever you need to do, I shall weather it.”

“We shall see,” he says softly, eyes drifting down across her body. His demeanour is shifting, easing, the wariness he has shown throughout the most intense dinner engagement Galadriel has ever endured dissipating. She is momentarily startled by his scornful tone as he stalks up to her asking, “Is there anything else you need, for your witchcraft?” But then remembers her role and is pleased he is committing to his own. She shakes her head mutely as she stares up at him.

“Good.”

Sharp pain blossoms around her arm as the pointed fingertips of his gauntlet dig into her, he swings her round and pushes her against the edge of the table. He sweeps some dishes onto the ground then bends her face down onto the empty surface, metal spikes now resting firm against the small of her back. A jolt of panic runs through her as his bared hand tears at her breeches, pulling them down around her thighs, exposing her cheeks to the cold air. The pressure of the table edge and the friction of the bunched fabric tease at her centre with barely enough pressure and she realises that she has lost all focus on the task at hand. She steadies her mind, channels her body’s pulsing need and starts to weave it into the edges of the dark thread within her. 

———

Adar’s whole body sings at the skin on skin contact as he runs his hand across her bare backside. He does not need to feign the desire to take her, but knows he must work to be convincing in both outward savagery and inner shame when the enemy comes knocking. He squeezes the cheek, thumb stroking towards its seam, making her gasp at first, then blurt out “Please don’t, you mustn’t”!

His reaction is instinctive, he is determined to carry out his part in her scheme, but her words cut into the urge that drives him on and he is briefly frozen by his warring mind and body. 

And then Sauron is upon him. 

———

Galadriel feels him freeze in response to her charade and tries to push back against him in an act of simultaneous reassurance, encouragement and self-pleasure. Fortunately, after a moment he resumes, this time running his fingers lower down, trying to push between her legs but hampered by her rucked clothing. He wrenches them down and off along with her boots, then kicks apart her freed legs. She scrambles to push herself up from the table, but he reaches under her arms to rip open her doublet, pulling it back over her shoulders and leaving her hands tangled together behind her back. She bucks her hips trying to ease the insistent ache between her legs by grinding against the edge and he must take it as further resistance for his gauntlet grips her waist as his other hand comes down in a stinging smack to her backside. 

“Stay. Still.”

She whimpers in response his terse command, but obeys. She cannot turn her head enough to see, but she hears a rustle of clothing and hears him groan in relief and then she feels the blunt head of him nudge at her wet folds. The shock of the sensation has her reflexively flinching away what small distance she can. Another slap, harder than the first has her crying out, as do the two that follow. 

“I said be still, Elf,” he growls, then forces his full length inside her as she shrieks at the stretch and burn of it, pushed up onto tiptoes so that her swollen nub presses against the table below. She fixes on the perfect pleasure pain of it and folds it into her sorcery. 

———

Sauron’s murmurings are just as he expected: in turn mocking, faux-scandalised, spiteful and lewdly encouraging. But with Galadriel there to anchor him, he is able to let them wash over him and concentrate on giving her what she needs to succeed in their task. And if that means he must fuck a beautiful Elf into his dining table then that will just be the latest in a long line of sacrifices Adar has had to make in his quest to rid Middle Earth of the Dark Lord. 

———

Despite the rough wood beneath her cheek, Galadriel feels like she is floating on waves of bliss as his cock drives into her again and again, stretched up onto tiptoes by the force of him, wringing pleasure from places within her she did not even know existed. It builds and builds and then she is almost there; she counterbalances her efforts, drawing in her climax and propelling her share of the spell into Adar. The proximity of triumph and the sweetness of their union is intoxicating and without forethought she is calling out to him to him for more. 

———

The aggravating commentary within his head comes to a sudden halt as Galadriel’s voice rings out in undeniable pleasure, “Yes, Adar, please, harder!” and his fledgling hope falters. 

“You know, dear heart, you did leave me rather unsatisfied after my last visit. It only seems fair that I should get to finish my little adventure as Galadriel and it sounds like you’ve overcome her reservations about you most effectively. I think I might go and see things from her point of view.”

Adar panics, fighting and failing to keep giving Galadriel what she begs for while groping for an idea to keep Sauron preoccupied and out of her mind. He speaks aloud so that she will be on guard, and in the hope of appealing to his flair for the dramatic. “Have you become so soft in your old age that you do not know how to use her as I do? Is the once great Commander of Angband at a loss now when greeted a captive Elf?”

He stares intently at where their bodies are joined, willing Sauron to be as enthralled by the sight as he is. He watches himself slowly withdraw from her spread cunt, until they are linked only by a glistening thread of moisture. It breaks as he moves around to grasp her by the hair forcing her to look into his eyes, hoping that she will understand the necessity of his actions. 

———

She is livid to have been thwarted at the last moment, but sees all is not lost. Adar seems to be managing to improvise in the face of the enemy’s assaults and Galadriel knows as long as they continue she will be able to bring everything to a satisfactory conclusion. He leans in, threatening, grip tightening in her hair as he reprimands her, “You and your kind have harmed both of us greatly, not to mention my children. Do you really think I would ally myself with you? You will never allow us a place in this world, believing yourselves so superior and us unworthy. How self-righteous do feel right now? Instead of dropping dead from ravishment like a proper Elf, here you are pleading to be defiled furth… WHAT? He roars, derailed by a voice only he can hear. 

He swallows hard, then rasps, “He wants you to know he would bring you back if you tried it.”

A thrill of terror runs through her, but she is resolute, and will keep to her word and weather whatever is to come. She is not expecting him to free her hands from where they are still bound by her own clothing, but he does, then tells her, “Remove the rest”. He watches impassively as she awkwardly rights herself so she can strip herself completely bare. “Now undress me, slave.”

———

While she works diligently at various fastenings, Adar is able to focus on selling his plan to Sauron. He is buoyed by Galadriel’s confidence in him; he does know him better than anyone and instead of shying away from the memories he will hone them into a weapon. 

“I think you have been feeling nostalgic of late, my love. I know I said some unkind things when you brought us to your old chamber, I was angry, I apologise. You must know that each night since I have regretted it. We had many good times there, did we not?”

“Yes.” The admission is reluctant and Adar call tell he is pouting, so tempts him further.

“I remember you telling me of how you and He would slake your wrath, and lust, when a particular prisoner caught your eye… how the best part was making them like it, witnessing their shame.”

“Yes…” now intrigued rather than petulant. 

“She is very obnoxious even by Elvish standards, let us teach her a lesson, together.”

“Very well.” 

———

Galadriel kneels before Adar, naked save for his gauntlet. As she looks up at pale skin that has been broken and remade in immeasurable ways, she recalls a phrase, All the more appealing for its degradation. She tries to focus her gaze on his stern face, softened by the strands of inky black hair that fall around it. It seems easier than acknowledging the hard cock at eye level, still sticky with her own juices. She marvels that it all fit inside her. She wishes she were still bent over and filled with it rather than stewing in anticipation on the floor, and glances back over to the table, wistfully. 

At first she cannot decipher the abrupt sensation of something striking her cheek, then realises with indignation he has slapped her with his cock, which he is now slowly stroking with his bare hand. 

“Pay attention.” Cold metal digs into her jaw as he forces her head up, “Open,” he commands, spiked thumb grazing across her lips. She obeys and then the head of his cock is pushing into her mouth, laying heavy on her tongue.

“Suck, Elf. Do it well and your punishment may not be as harsh.” 

She tries her best to seal her lips around him and position her tongue in such a way that she can carry out his instruction, but it is an unfamiliar stretch and she splutters around it, making sloppy wet noises until she finally settles into a manageable rhythm. He starts to thrust back and forth in her mouth, his movements punctuated by harsh pants, and a phantom sensation of being entered assails her cunt. She redoubles her efforts, flattening her tongue to allow more of him in, but when his gauntlet tightens around her jaw and he rams in too deep she chokes and coughs and slaps at any part of him she can reach until until he yanks her head up off him. 

Her Elven hearing just discerns a hissed, “…will not tell her she’s a better swordswoman than sword-swallower.” Then she is being hauled up by the scruff of the neck and shoved backwards onto Adar’s bed. He claps a manacle shut over one of her wrists, with none of the gentle care he showed earlier by the dining chair, then pulls both arms up above her head, looping the chain around the headboard, securing her other hand. Bound and helpless, she feels more exposed than ever to his gaze, and tries to press her legs tightly shut in a pointless gesture of modesty, but he will not allow it. Large hands envelop her knees and force them wide so all her most intimate parts are displayed before him. Ever since he pulled out of her against the table, her body has been crying out to be filled again and having him kneel between her legs, splaying her open, drives her need to a fever pitch and she knows she must have more. 

“Please.” She softly begs. 

He bends her knees up to her chest, then settles close against her body, she thinks he will grant her plea, and braces for another breath-taking intrusion, but instead he simply rests himself between her legs, hard length teasing over her swollen nub and brushing against her folds, balls grazing her backside. 

“You are in no position to be asking favours, my lady,” he taps his cock against her, a few times, making her whimper. “But you did ask nicely,” and he shifts enough to line himself up with her sopping entrance and slides inside, but only gives her a few teasing thrusts before her moans shift from pleasure to disappointment, and he is gone from her once more. 

“I hope you enjoyed that. The next time I fuck you I will not be using your cunt.” Galadriel has little chance to ponder the implications of that statement before all her attention is drawn to Adar pushing his face between her legs, lips pressed against her aching nub. He starts to tongue at her, almost gently at first but as she starts quivering and pushing back against him with tiny, involuntary spasms, he speeds up, tongue flicking wetly over her pearl, dipping into the soft, damp folds of her cunt and pushing inside, unhindered. Two fingers soon follow, and she grinds down onto them as much as her restraints will allow, needing them deeper. He takes them away instead, holding them up so she can see how drenched they are, before bowing his head back down to lick at her some more. His slicked fingers rub not at her folds now, instead brushing against the puckered hole behind. The tip of one finger breaches her and she bucks away from it in shock but this just grinds her harder against his face and as she writhes in pursuit of release, she inadvertently drives his finger deeper, sending burning pleasure through her. 

“Please I’m so close,” she hopes he will grasp her true meaning while Sauron will only hear evidence of her successful debasement. 

Adar removes both his mouth and hands from her body, and moves to collect a vial of viscous fluid which he lays on the bed before releasing her hands and ordering, “turn over.” She lays flat on her stomach, but he pulls her up by her hips so her face is pressed into the furs, knees apart and inserts a pillow under her, “Because it pleases me to have her displayed so,” he murmurs. Out loud he tells her, “You will enjoy this, Elf, and will know you are no better than I when you are begging me to keep you as my whore.” Her cheeks are pulled apart by cold metal and warm flesh; he commands, “touch yourself,” and then he is lapping at the crease between her buttocks and then over her hole, soft at first, but before long the tip of his tongue is jabbing into her, opening her up, the wet, unthinkable stretch of it making her cry out for more. She manages to wriggle one hand between the cushion and her body, fingers seeking out the place that would bring her most satisfaction, moving in time with the slick muscle inside her. His mouth disappears and is replaced with two oiled fingers pushing past muscle, burning her, as they are forced deeper than his tongue was able to reach. 

She strokes herself faster as he adds a third, growing impatient in her desire to complete her spell. If Adar senses her need, or is merely driven to tend his own she does not know, but she finds herself whimpering at the loss of his fingers, but a moment later lets out a wail of agonised ecstasy as they are replaced with his cock.

“That’s right, let me hear how much you love this.” 

Combined with the fluttering of her fingers against her centre, his every thrust has her crying louder. Her pleasure seems to spur him on and as his large hands circle her waist, urging their bodies together it feels as if he grows even larger and harder within her. She is so very close, all her sorcery aligned; tears spring in her eyes as she prepares to heave all traces of Morgoth back into Adar and with one last desperate tug at her swollen nub she is coming in long hard waves and screaming in victorious rapture. 

———

Galadriel clenches around him as she peaks, and he feels a surge of dark energy wash over his body as he follows her over the edge, emptying into her in great pulses that have him panting and groaning with the exquisite sensation of sating his body in another after what feels like an eternity. 

The sound of earnest applause rings through his mind, “I had my doubts, but I’m impressed, I think you’ve made her cry even. I am glad you invited me to experience this through you, that really was quite cathartic. I sincerely hope we will be reunited in the flesh forthwith.”

Adar sincerely hopes that their exchange will come to an end forthwith, “You do recall I have killed you once…” 

“You’ve tried.”

“…already and I am about to bring down a legion of Uruk upon your head?”

“How could I forget.” 

And with that, he is, mercifully, gone. 

Adar withdraws from Galadriel as carefully as he is able, feeling a deep satisfaction at the seed that drips from her when he is all the way out. It is replaced by a flash of shame as she rolls off the cushion, hissing and wincing at her own movements, but as she lays back to stare glazed at the roof, he sees her whole face is alight with an elated grin. 

“Did you feel it? We did it, I have given it to you, I am freed!”

Adar lays down next to her, on his side so he can continue to regard her gleeful expression. 

“And you did not mind the manner of the - freeing?”

She turns to face him, eyes still glittering with delight, “I don’t think I would want to go horse-riding right now, but no, I would not say I minded.”

“I am sorry for the nature of how this has come about and some parts of how it transpired but I cannot regret having been with you this way, Alatáriel.” 

“I am not sorry for any of it, and neither should you be, Sauron is to blame for this, and do not forget, this is but the first stage in assuring his destruction.”

[tmariea]

You Cut Through All the Noise

Fandom: MDZS/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation/The Untamed

Pairing: Xiyao

Characters: Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao

Rating: G

Summary:

There are many things one cannot say to A-Yao. Xichen had tried once, saying, ‘The night is beautiful and I am here with you. That is all I need to celebrate.’ A-Yao had replied with precise and perfect courtesy, exactly as expected from one sect leader to another in response to a compliment. Scripted. Exactly what Xichen did not want him to be. So he said different words now - a holiday, or a successful night hunt, or the completion of a project - and tried to let his face and his actions say all the rest. --- A look into Zewu-jun's and Lianfang-zun's late night talks, featuring gifts, gossip, and quite a lot of yearning.

Read on AO3

This was written as part of the @xiyaogotcha4gaza for @eternal-brainrot's prompt: xiyao spending an evening together at jinlintai or cloud recesses drinking tea, gossiping, etc. just them being able to put down their burdens and perfectly crafted appearances for the evening in a way that they cannot with anyone else and having a silly side of themselves that they arent able to show to anyone else. laughing together!! lxc giggling!!! maybe lxc staying up past lan curfew despite getting sleepy because he wants to make his time with jgy last as long as possible. sleepy lxc being a bit sappy maybe? maybe the other ends up falling asleep in whoever's room they���re in and ending up staying the night there?

Well, tooth-rotting fluff with a side of serious yearning is my bread and butter, so it was a match made in heaven for me! I hope you enjoy!

Title from Bastille's 'The Anchor'

The door to Jin Guangyao’s rooms was unlocked, but his sworn brother was not in sight when Xichen pushed it open one-handed, keeping careful balance on the tray of tea, wine and cups in his other.  The sliding doors to the private garden beyond were open just a crack though, enough to give him hint of where A-Yao could be found, without letting in too much of the cooling night air.

A-Yao was indeed in the garden, settled at a small table beneath the pavilion with his back to Xichen.  He was wrapped in a thick, fur-lined cloak against the late-fall chill— much less severe than in Cloud Recesses, but always still enough to bother A-Yao.  Xichen took a private moment to feel the disappointment at a lost opportunity to ask A-Yao if he was cold and drape his own outer robe around his shoulders.  Then he stepped out of the door, and closed it audibly behind him.  A-Yao turned at the noise, a smile on his face which softened into a much more genuine one as he caught sight of who was at his door.

“Er-ge, good evening,” he said, and beckoned him over.  And then when he noticed the tray, “Oh, you are a guest, you should have allowed me to call for refreshments!”

Xichen stepped down from the porch and walked between the neatly groomed beds of peonies to join A-Yao at the pavilion.  “Gifts from Gusu,” he explained without remorse for his tray, setting it down on the table, and taking a seat at the side adjacent to A-Yao.  He turned the bottle of wine to display the label proclaiming it Emperor’s Smile.  The tea, too, was a blend native to the region.

A-Yao gave him a look which conveyed ‘that was not necessary,’ over the top of a current of genuine pleasure.  They’d had conversations to that end many times, until Xichen had finally offered to stop if it made him uncomfortable, and A-Yao had remained suspiciously silent.  Xichen had just smiled wide and accepted his win.  Even still, A-Yao gave him a demure look of thanks, perhaps for his own peace of mind.

Now, instead of more protests he asked, “What is the occasion?” and reached for the pot and cake of tea to begin brewing.

There are many things one cannot say to A-Yao.  Xichen had tried once, saying, ‘The night is beautiful and I am here with you.  That is all I need to celebrate.’  A-Yao had replied with precise and perfect courtesy, exactly as expected from one sect leader to another in response to a compliment.  Scripted.  Exactly what Xichen did not want him to be.  So he said different words now - a holiday, or a successful night hunt, or the completion of a project - and tried to let his face and actions say all the rest.  He thought he’d gotten better at that with practice.

Today he said, “The success of Jin Ling’s party,” as he peeled back the lid of the wine jar to pour A-Yao a cup.  It wasn’t even breaking a rule to say so - that was the reason he had come to Lanling today after all, and the party a testament to A-Yao’s organizational skills, as every event held here was these days.

“And why would er-ge find Jin Ling’s fourth birthday to be worthy of such celebration?” A-Yao asked with a look that Xichen chose to interpret as ‘I appreciate the sentiment but we both know you are making excuses.’

“It seems the other sect leaders are determined to fawn, why should I not do the same?”

“I find er-ge to be far less likely to travel with a herd, or turn a white fluffy tail and run at the slightest provocation.”

The thought of the other sect leaders bolting from the hall this afternoon as soon as Jin Ling had begun to wind himself up to a tantrum, contrasted with A-Yao’s perfectly serene face as he said it, startled Xichen into a burst of laughter.  

A-Yao’s smile grew until his dimples were showing, and as always, Xichen was consumed with a gripping temptation reach out and trace them with reverent fingertips.  Instead, he contented himself with taking the cup of tea held out to him, letting his fingers linger far longer than necessary against A-Yao’s before bringing the cup to his mouth to drink.

They spent the time while drinking their respective tea and wine talking about the party anyway.  A-Yao had witty things to say about every present Jin Ling had been given, never outright disrespectful, but only because his turns of phrase were so very clever that Xichen doubted the guests would have realized even if A-Yao had said it to their faces.  Oh, how he wished he could watch him say it to their faces.

When the teapot was nearly empty, Xichen set down his cup and said, “I hope A-Yao will forgive the presumption of one more gift.”

“Er-ge is far too generous!” A-Yao said, his voice admonishing but his dimples gave him away.  He shook his head and added, “You should be careful, lest someone take advantage of that nature of yours.  I should say no, if only to keep you on your toes.  What would you do then?”

Xichen hummed, pretending to think on it for a moment.  “I would be disappointed to not get to dote on A-Yao the way he deserves.”  And then, feeling bold in the way he rarely did outside of these nights where it seemed the world shrunk down to only the two of them, added with a confiding smile, “And then I would keep the gift for a different day.  But, I don’t think my A-Yao will refuse, will he?”

A-Yao opened his mouth and then closed it then, in an uncharacteristic lapse of control.  It was hard to tell in the golden lamplight, but Xichen could swear his cheeks colored as his eyes tracked to the side.  “No,” he said, and then cleared his throat.  “Your A-Yao will not.”

This time, it was Xichen’s turn to feel his ears heat as he realized what he had said.  To hopefully distract from that line of conversation - and the fact that he was loathe to take it back, and may even want to say it again immediately, my A-Yao - he reached into his qiankun sleeve and drew out a roll of silk mounted with a wooden frame at top and bottom.  He rolled it out in A-Yao’s direction, for his inspection.

Perhaps this boldness had been simmering in his blood for a while now.  He had painted Cloud Recesses for A-Yao many times before, as expected when it was his most common reference material.  This painting, though, depicted the small garden and stand of pines visible from the back porch of the Hanshi, with the lazy stream trickling between them.  It was not a sight that many people got to see, something only those in Xichen’s greatest confidences would recognize.  

A-Yao knew it immediately.  His eyes softened as they scanned the ink strokes on silk canvas, and then his lips parted just slightly again in surprise for the second time.  Xichen wanted to kiss them with a desire swirling deep in his belly.  Instead he contented himself with watching A-Yao raise a hand and use one elegant finger to trace in the air, never quite touching, the small black shape beneath the trees.  Just a silhouette, barely a curl of ink.

The last time that the two of them had met, they A-Yao had mentioned that he was considering getting a spiritual dog for Jin Ling.  ‘Terribly useful creatures, spiritual dogs,’ he had said, and then added, ‘shame though, I really do prefer cats.’  And so when A-Yao left, Xichen had painted, in almost a haze, his garden and into it placed a black cat.

This was another of the things that one could not say to A-Yao, that he knew the most intimate corners of Xichen’s life, that he belonged there, that his presence left ripples even when he was far away and gone.  So Xichen brought gifts, and painted, and treasured the moments they had together.  

And he thought that he could read some of it back in A-Yao’s clear gaze as he met his eyes unwaveringly and said, “It’s a beautiful work er-ge.  I will hang it in my study.”

“Thank you, A-Yao’s praise means much.”

Xichen felt a little thrill too, to read between the words and see that A-Yao intended to display openly all of the unsaid meanings between them.  And that the world would look, but never see.

If he let himself, he could fall into that gaze, into all of the unsaid words.  He could let it carry him forward, around the scant barrier of the corner of the table between them, until he could taste the unsaid words from A-Yao’s tongue.  He wondered if they would taste like wine.

To keep himself from doing that, he asked instead, “Has A-Yao made a decision on the spiritual dog for your venerable nephew?”

Xichen could feel the moment the tension between them broke, like a summer storm over the mountains, with A-Yao’s bright, surprised laugh at the thought of a venerable four year old.  Xichen tucked that laugh away into a corner of his heart, and let himself breathe out a long, steadying breath.  It wouldn’t do to dwell on the things he might wish from A-Yao, and forget the time they were granted.

“Ah, yes, I do think I will give one to him.  It will be a good exercise in responsibility, and a companion.”

Xichen knew that A-Yao worried about the way the other children in Jinlintai reacted to Jin Ling, influenced by the way their elders would tell them to keep a respectful distance in one breath and then turn around and gossip with the next.  It was a mixture liable to curdle with time.  He didn’t know if it was better in Lotus Pier, but he hoped so.  

“What are Jiang-zongzhu’s thoughts?” he asked, hoping to let A-Yao give voice to his delightfully sharp opinions on Jiang Wanyin’s parenting style, and varied emotional outbursts.

Instead, A-Yao raised his cup to take another sip of his wine, and from behind his sleeve told him coyly, “I haven’t said.”

“A-Yao, you wouldn’t!” Xichen knew he sounded delightfully scandalized.

“Er-ge, I don’t know what you could possibly mean!” A-Yao intoned in his best impression of Nie Huaisang.  “Jiang-zongzhu loves dogs, doesn’t he?  It should be a nice surprise.”

“A-Yao!” Xichen said again, losing the battle against his own laughter and unable to force anything else out.

“Such a nice surprise, in fact,” he continued, the dimples in his face deepening as he obviously fought to keep his voice steady, “that it might even lift his spirits in a trying time.  Perhaps if he were first to learn when we all must attend Yao-zongzhu’s daughter’s wedding next spring.”

“Oh no,” Xichen said faintly.

“It will only just serve as repayment for all the swear words Jiang-zongzhu was so kind as to teach our darling nephew the last time he was in Lotus Pier,” A-Yao said, holding onto his highest dignity, before he dissolved into giggles too.

The giggles were not dignified.  They rose and fell in pitch, interspersed with lower chuckles and higher peals.  Lan Xichen was not sure if another person alive beside himself had ever heard A-Yao laugh like this before, and he was so in love with him that sometimes it felt like his golden core was trying to claw its way out through his heart.  

Or maybe it was just that he couldn’t quite catch his breath without starting to laugh again.

It took a little while for the both of them to calm down well enough to speak normally, but when they did, A-Yao said, “Come, we still have a little time yet.”  He poured himself a final glass of wine, and stood to lead them to another set of cushions laid at the edge of the pavilion’s floor.  He set down his cup and picked up a small book which had been strategically placed next to his cushion, that Xichen hadn’t noticed until now.  “This one had discovered a new book of poetry, if er-ge might be interested in finishing the night with a recitation?” he said, turning the cover so Xichen could see the title.

Xichen looked up at the stars and the moon overhead, framed by the dark silhouettes of trees along the garden wall.  It was getting on towards hai time, but he said anyway, “Please, go ahead.  I do not mind staying awake a while longer.”  He kept behind his teeth the words, ‘I would listen to you read beautiful words every day if I could.  And then I would want it to be your voice that lulls me to sleep each night.’

A-Yao gave him a skeptical look from the corner of his eye, but he opened the book and began to read.  He got through several poems, lovely and indicative of A-Yao’s well-read taste, before Xichen let his eyes drift closed.  Only to concentrate better on A-Yao’s voice against the background of the late night sounds of the garden.

“Tsk, er-ge you are so bad at this!” A-Yao scolded. 

Xichen blinked his eyes open again, and made the argument, “Every sect leader must be acquainted with spending more time on work than his sleeping hours would allow.  It is no hardship to spend the same on pleasure.”

“Oh yes, I am sure.  And how many of those hours has Lan-zongzhu spent by waking early instead?”

The rules said not to lie.  In absence of the waking brain power to come up with anything better, he remained silent.  A-Yao laughed at him, so fondly that Xichen had no choice but to return a rueful smile.

“Here, I’m not about to have you falling off the porch and hitting your head.  Lie down.”  He pulled off his plush, fur-lined robe and folded it into a pillow.  Instead of setting it on the porch beside them, he placed it in his own lap in invitation.

Any pleasantly polite response Xichen could make to that deserted him, and he felt suddenly more alert.  Ears blazing and with the sense that his words were distinctly clumsy on his tongue, he asked, “Will A-Yao not be cold?” in an exact mirror of his earlier desires that was not lost on him. “Here you should take my outer robe.”

A-Yao scowled up in his direction, but Xichen could tell that he wasn’t putting any real heat in it.  “I’m not so fragile as you think.”

No, A-Yao really wasn’t.  He had experienced things that many of the Jianghu, even after being through a war, could only imagine and come through it still steadfast.  Xichen also knew that he frequently worked through pain even now, for all that he so infrequently caught a glimpse of it beyond A-Yao’s perfectly crafted face.  The cold made it worse.  “Won’t you allow your er-ge to make sure you are comfortable, though?  It’s a lovely night out to me, much warmer than Gusu is at this time of year.”

A-Yao didn’t say anything in reply, but the edges of his lips did tilt just the tiniest measure further into a smile.  Xichen took it as permission to pull his arms from his loose outer robe and drape it over A-Yao’s shoulders instead.  It made him look just that much smaller, with his own gold colors still just peeking through but almost subsumed by swirling white and blue.  Xichen was absolutely going to do something embarrassing if he kept looking at the sight, like lick his lips.  Instead, he turned away and stretched himself out on his back at the edge of the platform, so he could lay his head in A-Yao’s lap.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could swear he saw A-Yao hug the robe to himself after pulling his arms through the too-long sleeves, but he could not be sure.  As a concession to all of the other things he wished to do or say, Xichen reached out to hold A-Yao’s forearm, the easiest part of him in reach, and give it a light squeeze before letting his eyes fall closed.

Xichen dozed for a while after that, with the feeling of the fall breeze cool on his face, but A-Yao warm beneath and beside him.  It was too late in the season for most insects, but the trees rustled in the distance, a calming, lulling sound.  Given half a chance, he would fall asleep here.

He had not quite done so when careful fingers brushed across his face in the ghost of a touch.  When he did not startle or pull away, it seemed A-Yao became bolder; the fingers began to massage at his temples, his forehead, at the tension at the tops of his cheekbones and around his eyes.  They worked around his ribbon, always careful not to touch.  Xichen gave a sigh of pleasure, and received a faint laugh from above him in reply.

Eventually, A-Yao must have been satisfied with his work, because he stopped massaging.  Instead, he just ran his fingers across Xichen’s brow in a rhythmic pattern.  He was so relaxed and content that it took him a moment to realized that A-Yao was tracing skin just beneath his ribbon, in constant parallel.  He would not touch without permission, Xichen knew, but he could, he could; it had always been A-Yao’s to touch, from the moment they met.  The sudden rush of wanting this inspired was so heady that Xichen stiffened just slightly.

Naturally, A-Yao noticed.  “There, you are er-ge, back with me?”

The game up, he didn’t have much choice but to open his eyes to the sight of A-Yao leaning over him slightly, silhouetted against the night sky.  One strand of hair hung over his shoulder, dark against blue over goldenrod robes, and his smile was far too soft and serene for his dimples.  He was the most beautiful thing Xichen had ever seen.  Instead of any of that, he said, “good evening,” in the warmest voice he could possibly muster, and was content to catch what might just be a tinge of pink in A-Yao’s cheeks.

“Alright, I think it might be time for Lan-zongzhu to retire for the night.”

Xichen did not miss the use of his title, the chance he had been given to ask, ‘but what of er-ge?’  He would play this game, but not with such obvious bait.  Instead, he tilted his head to look past the edge of the pavilion and judge the position of the moon in the sky.  “Yes, it is perhaps later than is proper for a Lan to still be awake, and seen wandering the halls or gardens of Jinlintai.”

A-Yao gave him such a withering look that Xichen nearly started giggling again.  He held it back with the help of years of practice keeping his face serene and neutral.  “Yes, quite.”  A-Yao’s voice was dry enough to cure a fish, and so obviously affected.

“Then, will this noble and filial san-di help his er-ge save some face, and let him spend the night here?”

A-Yao’s nose wrinkled up and his mouth tilted into a smile again.  “I think your face is plenty thick, er-ge!”

“Mn, one must not tell lies.”

A-Yao made a noise of disbelief, but his face softened even further as he reached out one finger to run it below Xichen’s ribbon again.  “Alright, you can stay.”

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Winifred Dailey from her grandniece Agnes, 189x

Dearest Aunt,

The seasons are beginning to change here in Chestnut Ridge, as the chill of autumn has come upon us at last. As it has, I have become rounder and far more exhausted, perhaps even more so than when I was expecting Charlie. Maybe it is because of Charlie that I am tired so often, no one ever told me how difficult it would be chase after one child while you’re carrying another. I’m ready to retire to bed before I’ve even finished washing the breakfast dishes, and have found myself dozing off on occasion, certainly more than I’ve meant to.

Its never for long, though, as Charlie is intent on keeping me on my toes. I’m not sure he quite understands that he’s about to become a big brother, even as much as Will and I have tried to explain it to him. I just hope that he isn’t too jealous once the baby arrives, I worry how he might feel seeing me give so much attention to someone who isn’t him. Will says not to expect too much from him, as he is only a small boy, and I suppose he is right. He’s bound to get upset regardless, I only pray that it won’t be a long spell, I’m not sure I’d be able to deal with his tantrums and a crying baby all at once.

Speaking of the baby, I’ve been finding myself strangely excited for this one to arrive. Do not misunderstand me, I was just as eager for Charlie, but now that I know what to expect it has made this whole experience a little less daunting than it was the first time. Will seems convinced we’re having another boy – as he has a brother, and boys primarily run on his side of the family, but I cannot help but yearn for a little girl this time around.

I’ve always dreamed of it, having a daughter, with soft curls that I could brush and braid. Someone to teach how to sew, someone to bake cakes and pies with, someone I could teach to make jams and jellies. Make no mistake, I love Charlie immensely, but it won’t be long before he’s old enough to help his father out in the fields, which leaves me alone in the house again, and I dread the very thought of it. I know that a boy belongs to his father at the end of the day, but a girl? A girl would be my very own, call it a selfish wish if you will but I suppose I just can’t help it.

Even so, I look forward to both this baby’s arrival and the continuation of the autumn season. Both are already so very wanted and welcome.

Your loving niece,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

P.S. I was thinking of naming the baby after Mama should it be a girl. Do not tell Papa, I would like for it to be a surprise to him.