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#HES SO STRANGE AND ODD AND SILLY AND POSSIBLY DANGEROUS

colgatebluemintygel · 2 months

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Pls tell me about oao for the wip ask game

HELLOOO EL my beloved mutual ... oao well.. it's just this silly little thing that i've been working for er ... nearly 2 years 😇 hehe allow me to share some lil deleted snippets with you <3333

from: tuscany part one

Sirius suddenly feels sad and furious all at once. He’s sad that this is a side of Regulus that he’s not allowed to see anymore. He’s furious at Regulus for maintaining this inexplicable distance that seems to have developed between them. Where had everything gone so wrong? Sirius doesn’t even want to answer that question. Where hadn’t it? At some point, they’d stopped talking to each other; Sirius self-destructed and tore through that house like a comet. Regulus retreated so far into himself that Sirius is certain that he left a part of himself behind in that house. Sirius doesn’t blame him. Sometimes he feels the same; that he’s permanently lost a vital part of himself. Perhaps that’s why Sirius is so desperate for love; to feel loved. To feel wanted. To fill the void he feels inside himself. To fill the gaping wound inside himself. And, if Sirius is honest with himself, he’s jealous. He’s horribly, dangerously jealous: he’s jealous that Regulus, who grew up in the same loveless environment as him, has found not just one but two people to spend his life with. Sirius couldn’t even hold down one. And if he’s honest with himself, what Alphard had said the day before had been completely right: the love had long worn off between him and Emmeline. He’d clung to her like a raft. The fear of being alone was worse than whatever hadn’t been working between them.

from: tuscany part two

Sirius remembers the way that Walburga’s face would ripple and contort, her mouth a tight, white line as she’d say, ‘Regulus is a good child, quiet. Not like you were.’ Her comments always perplexed Sirius. he doesn’t remember himself ever making much noise at all. In fact, most of Sirius’s childhood memories involve him trying to take up as little space as possible. He remembers the time that they passed Hamleys and he got a bit teary-eyed because Walburga always refused to let him go inside. He remembers her eyes flaring like quicksilver and the tight grasp of her hand around his wrist as she led him to a nearby restaurant bathroom. He remembers how the lemongrass soap had burned on his tongue for hours afterwards. He’s never liked lemon, since. He has plenty of other memories just like it, accompanied by all the others that he tries his best to forget. Even now, Regulus will make the odd comment about how Sirius rebelled, in ways both small and large, quiet and loud. Sirius doesn’t remember those moments. What he does remember is trying to make himself so small, so quiet and insignificant, that he constantly felt like he was bursting at the seams. Sirius remembers trying so hard, all the time. Regulus remembers Sirius not trying at all. He’s always found it strange how people remember the same events. He wonders how it felt when he was even younger and didn’t know any better than to throw himself down on the ground and scream. Sirius wonders if he’s ever really, truly screamed. He feels like he’s stuck there, sometimes. Stuck in that limbo, that precipice, between a child who screams because they don’t know better, and a child who no longer needs to scream because they’ve learnt how to process their emotions in other ways. Yet, Sirius doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t throw a tantrum. Instead, he slouches back in his seat and stares out the window.

from: berlin??? i think..

The pieces start to slot into place. He remembers their uni years, and how Remus would disappear every night for a few hours, always to reappear looking pink cheeked and messy haired. Even when their lives started to become more separate, their flats scattered across different London boroughs, Remus would always find his way back to Sirius’s flat at the end of the night. He remembers Emmeline the first few times it happened, face drawn and tired, answering the door at 4 am. “It’s Remus,” she’d say, tired and annoyed. “Isn’t there somewhere else he can stay? He has his own flat—“ Then, after the twentieth, fiftieth time, nothing. Remus would always be gone in the morning. They never talked about it. It never struck Sirius as odd until now.

#oao #el tag

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maniacwatchestheworld · 4 months

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This isn't meant as an indictment of you as a person but ngl your last post reads pretty ableist. The inability to empathize with people doesn't make someone 'evil' or 'villainous', it doesn't mean that a person with that condition is heartless and can't possibly be sad about their friends getting hurt or dying etc or that it's better if they were 'just tsundere about it'. An inability to (fully) empathize with people can also be a symptom of different 'disorders' and can be a trait of autism too, it's not unlikely that a person with npd and presumably some other form of neurodivergency might have that symptom. It doesn't mean that someone with that trait doesn't or can't care at all, it's just in a different way, and even if that person couldn't care at all that still doesn't make them more evil somehow. I know you probably didn't intend your post to come across that way but it kind of did so I figured I'd let you know

Nods nods. I see. I see. I will definitely try to keep this in mind in the future. But I do think that you misunderstood what I was actually meaning with my post. I wasn't using the term "psychopath" flippantly. I wasn't using the term to be synonymous with "evil" or "villainous" and this was not a case of me armchair diagnosing Eddie with an inability to feel empathy either. I wasn't looking at the Riddler's actions in this podcast and going, "He isn't reacting properly to these scenarios, therefore he must be a psychopath!" I am going to assume that you haven't listened to The Riddler: Secrets in the Dark, because I am not pulling the idea that Eddie is a psychopath in this series out of nowhere. Throughout the podcast, several times Eddie is persistently telling people that he does not care that his friends are dying, that he is only trying to solve these murders because he himself is in danger, and that he is incapable of feeling sad over the idea of people dying! Over and over he emphasizes that he does not feel sorry for their loss and that saying that he is would be lying. The podcast itself was saying over and over that Eddie is incapable of feeling empathy! I'm just trying to use the term that describes what they were very clearly going for! (Which, if there's a different, more preferred term, I would be very grateful to know so that I can change my language in the future!)

Eddie IS neurodivergent. And I would very much expect for him to react to his friends dying in a way that others might think is strange. But at the same time, I would not describe most iterations of the Riddler to be lacking in empathy to a psychopathic degree. But Eddie said it himself repeatedly that he didn't feel sad over it, and so what other conclusion am I supposed to be drawing? I never said that having a lack of empathy makes him more "evil" or "villainous" nor did I mean to imply that anywhere in my post. Additionally, as I was listening to the podcast, his lack of empathy didn't make me think that made him more "evil" or "villainous" either. I just thought that him insisting that he doesn't feel empathy was an odd addition to his character in this podcast and it made me tilt my head a little, because again, it didn't add anything to the story that his narcissism or compulsions wouldn't have had him do anyway. And so since it doesn't really add anything to the story, I don't really know why they had the Riddler bring it up as often as he did.

But you did start making me think about this from a different angle, and it's made me realize... Was the podcast trying to convince the listeners that Eddie is a psychopath in an attempt to make him seem more scary, dangerous, and evil...? Because... Actually... YEAH! That's the only thing that I can think of for why they decided to have him lack empathy! Are they trying to pull on abeist tropes to make us more scared of the Riddler!??? Because let me tell you, I did not find him scary at all throughout this podcast. He's a funny, silly, asshole who can do violent things... But none of it came as a surprise given what I already knew about the character, so it wasn't scary. But to make the audience feel uncomfortable by portraying him as something that the 'ordinary' person can't understand. That's the only thing that I can think of for why they wanted to add it! And it didn't work! (Cause like... I understand that neurodivergent people can express their emotions in ways that are hard to appreciate. I'm neurodivergent too, you know! And I know that people who lack empathy deserve to be understood and treated with compassion and respect just like anyone else and that they are not necessarialy inheriently scary or 'bad' or anything like that.) So maybe that's really what was bothering me about its inclusion. It felt insincere, and if they really did try to put it in to scare the audience, pretty damn ableist too!

In any case, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Do you think there's anything I can do to make my post read as less ableist, possibly?

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #psychopathy #psychopath #the riddler #eddie nygma #edward nygma #riddler #ableism #ableist language cw #batman #batman unburied #the riddler secrets in the dark #the riddler: secrets in the dark

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 10 months

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Trigun Thoughts Vol. 1 Pt. 1

(Note: I have only seen Trigun Stampede - this is my first reading of the manga! I'm very open to discussion but I do ask that you not spoil anything please! :))

Ok so I'm really curious about a few details on this poster, because right off the bat, some of it is odd.

Firstly, I desperately want to know - why that picture? Wouldn't they want to make him look dangerous on a wanted poster? Although, perhaps, given the destruction the poster claims he is capable of causing, making him look harmless and silly is a way of encouraging people to go after him, like, "he doesn't look so tough" kind of way. It's funny, because he really is competent and dangerous, making it misleading, but then, he's also genuinely friendly and a bit silly, making it also honest. So, in a way, this looks like a juxtaposition to the reader but is in fact pretty accurate to at least the surface level of Vash's character. ...but also I want to know why he is posed like that. Did he pose for his mugshot? Hello???

I'm confused about "Appearance: Unclear". Don't we know what he looks like? Is this referencing something else?

"Suspected in the murder of Count Revenant Vasquez." Ohhhhh ok. I won't say anything here, as I don't want to spoil, but needless to say I will be paying very close attention to that going forward.

"$$60 billion double dollars dead or alive!!" First of all. Who has that much money. The only thing I can assume is that the remaining major cities issued a joint bounty to catch him as soon as possible - but then, even that is strange to me, because if it's about eliminating a threat before he has a chance to cause more destruction... wouldn't it just say "dead"? Why would you want him alive? (no offense Vash I am speaking from the perspective of the people who placed the bounty ilu) While I do understand it's probably just a fun little nod to the kinds of wanted posters in westerns, and not that deep, it does kind of have me questioning the rationale of that decision, haha.

"The worst kind of outlaw, and an unrivalled killer." / "Note: Staunch pacifist." Um. ???????

So this is really interesting to me. People know Vash is a pacifist, which again, I'm guessing, emboldens people to go after him despite how dangerous he allegedly is. But if people know he's a pacifist then... doesn't anyone question how strange this contrast is? He's an unrivalled killer but also a pacifist? What is the truth? I wonder if anyone will call attention to that later.

Anyways, especially when taking into consideration the frames where he looks really ominous in Chapter 0, this is such a great character introduction. I know absolutely nothing about this guy and I have multiple questions (some of which I know the answers to from Stampede but I'm trying to read as if I know nothing).

#hi. i am two weeks late. hope this isn't annoying.#trigunbookclub #storyrambles #trigun

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xo-bug-ox · 1 year

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in honor of me officially starting my parks and rec rewatch, you should consider writing a piece for jean-ralphio where he's playing that pocky game thing with the reader :)

-⭐️

AHHH MORE OF MY SILLY LITTLE GUY YES OFC 🫶🫶

I adore Jean-Ralphio good lord that man has my heart so OFC!!

Pocky Sticks

Jean-Ralphio x reader

Warnings: none that im aware of!!

“This is so stupid” you mumbled watching your friend place the stick in his mouth, “its not!” He laughed through his teeth, “its just for fun” Jean-Ralphio smiled shuffling closer to you, you sighed a little seeing the pleasing look in his eyes. This is a situation you never thought you’d find yourself in. You’d always found yourself infatuated with the strange man who was sat in front of you.

He was certainly a character, loud, busy doing nothing and everything, broke but also Rich. He confused you in the best way possible, you were close with Tom as it was so it was only fate that you’d end up developing a relationship with his odd friend, you weren’t sure what it was that drew you towards Jean-Ralphio but whatever it was had driven you to far. As he sat there holding the biscuit end of a pocky stick between hid teeth waiting for you to take the other end you felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears heat up.

You took the chocolate between your teeth watching his eyes light up, you waited for him to start biting down the snack before following his actions. God he was getting dangerously close to your lips, you weren’t sure how you were meant to stop the inevitable, its not like you didn’t want him to kiss you god you’d fantasised about it a hundred times over in your head. You’d always wondered how his lips would feel as they crashed onto yours, would they be soft? Would they be cracked and scarred? Either way you couldn’t care. You wanted to kiss Jean-Ralphio and you hated yourself for it.

You felt his nose bump your own before you continued to bite, there wasn’t much room left between you two. You could feel his face burning up next to you, you kept your eyes away from his own hoping not to catch his gaze as you took the rest into your mouth subsequently smashing your lips onto his own, you felt a jolt of shock go through him after realising what had just happened. You pulled back for a moment, you went to speak but your mouth was filled with biscuit. Quickly swallowing what was in your mouth you uttered out, “I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me”

His smile was bright and wide as he swallowed what was in his mouth, before you could stutter out another apology Jean-Ralphio had thrown his arms around your shoulders pulling you into another kiss, a little deeper this time. You could feel all the scars on his lips from where’d he’d bitten and chewed at them and good lord as it heavenly. You could taste the strawberry pocky on his lips before you pulled away again, “you’re really good at kissing” you mumbled with a nervous laugh, “and you broke the rules, so I guess we have to play again!”

#fluff #fluffy fluff fluff #fluffy fluff #fluffy #jean ralphio saperstein #jean ralphio #jean ralphio x reader #x reader #ben schwartz my beloved #ben schwartz #parks and rec #parks and recreation #screaming crying throwing things #asks #i love this man #he’s so dumb it’s pretty

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helena-and-helena-meta · 3 months

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New light

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I decided to write a little story on Ironwood being resurrected by a Ghost from Destiny 2, featuring my hunter and their ghost, Boiled and Brine. Also, does anyone else hc that Ironwood's neurotransmitter also holds some of his memories like I do? What kind of Guardian would James be btw? I didn't know what to make him so I left it up to interpretation

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t common for ghosts that hadn’t found their guardians to tag along with guardians on a mission, but something about this one gave a ghost, Vanta, a strange feeling like he had to go. The planet the guardian was flying to had been recently discovered in the solar system. It somehow went untouched by the Witness when it took so many planets away from humanity and their allies. This planet was called “Remnant” by its original inhabitants, but now it was plagued by strange creatures attracted to negative emotions.

The creatures weren’t very dangerous compared to what the guardians had faced, energy weapons and heavy weapons easily cut through the large creatures, and super-charges decimated them with ease as they did most of the guardian’s enemies. The claws of the hostile creatures, identified as Grimm by old records, barely scratched armor worn by guardians but could slice through civilians. The Grimm that possessed flight or could release dangerous blasts of energy posed a threat to guardians. Vanta believed the Grimm had caused the death of Remnant’s original inhabitants.

The ruins left behind on the world were strangely comprised of large towers that almost touched the sky, entire cities built into mountain walls, and a city submerged underneath the ocean. That city, or what was above the surface, that city was what the guardian, their ghost, and Vanta were exploring. The way the top part of the large city was dug into the lower city hinted at something almost impossible; that the city once was floating high in the air.

Vanta wondered what the large floating city looked like in its prime. He wondered what it would be like to always wake up in a place so close to the sky. As Vanta and the guardian explored, a nagging feeling kept eating away at him. His shell spun as he tried to brush off the feeling.

“Vanta, is there something wrong?” Brine, the guardian’s ghost, asked him. “No, just an odd feeling,” Vanta answered, though Brine and his guardian, Boiled, still seemed worried about him.

Vanta wondered what it would be like for him and his future guardian. Would they be close and come up with silly names for each other like Brine and Boiled? Or would they be distant like others? The possibilities constantly ate away at the lone ghost’s mind.

As Vanta continued to follow Boiled and Brine, they entered a part of the wreckage of the upper city. Despite most of it being flooded, this part wasn’t, but it was still absolutely ruined, crushed by the fall. Vanta stopped as a feeling washed over him, a feeling many ghosts felt when they found their guardians. “Vanta?” Boiled called his name. They didn’t know why the ghost had stopped, but Brine communicated something to them, causing Boiled to back up and give Vanta space. Vanta’s onyx shell twisted, spun, and glowed as he resurrected his guardian.

Boiled’s long lilac cloak billowed behind them as Vanta’s guardian was resurrected. They blocked the bright light from their eyes. The guardian lowers their arm as the bright light fades, leaving them face to face with Vanta’s newly resurrected guardian. Boiled’s heterochromatic eyes met the new guardian’s deep blue ones. They reminded Brine of what Boiled’s eyes originally looked like before they used the darkness.

Vanta’s guardian was male. He looked older. His hair was semi-short and swept to one side with small grey streaks. He also had what seemed to be a fluffy beard that made Boiled hold back a chuckle.

“Eyes up, guardian,” Vanta spoke as he caught his guardian’s attention. “You’ve been dead for a very long time, I think.” As Vanta began wondering how long his guardian was dead, the New Light spoke, “I… I was dead?” He asked, holding one side of his head as that metal strip, identified as a neurotransmitter by Brine’s scans, activated, causing things to flood into the New Light’s memories. Boiled gently tapped the guardian’s shoulder, catching his attention.

“We should get you to the tower,” Boiled spoke, keeping their voice soft to not stress out the New Light too much, “This place isn’t exactly the safest place to be.” They looked at Vanta. “Vanta, contact the tower and tell them you found your guardian.”

Boiled began walking towards the exit but stopped when they didn’t hear the New Light following them. “What’s wrong?” They asked, turning to face him, “Who… Who are you?”

Brine spoke before their guardian, “Their name is Boiled a Hunter, and most importantly, a guardian like you.” The New Light only looked to them in complete confusion. “We’ll explain as we go.” Boiled spoke, only causing further confusion for the new guardian.

#james ironwood #pro james ironwood #destiny hunter #destiny ghost #destiny 2

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 9 months

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Hi! I noticed requests were open and was wondering if you could possibly do Ciel / Alois with a s/o who can shapeshift ( They can turn into animals/people they’ve seen before only - I’m not massively bothered in what format you do this whatever you want to! - of course you don’t have to do this if you don’t want too I just think it’s a cool idea)

I hope you have and amazing day/night!💕

aaaaaa it's definitely a cool idea!

I did reactions... Alois' makes me cry XD

you have an amazing day/night too!!! <3

… Oh, oh, could they turn into a chicken?? Haha, the visual of them strutting around the parlor and making silly chicken noises and pecking at things is too much to resist, he has to ask! That’s only his first reaction, of course. If they actually do it, he’ll be standing there laughing so hard he’ll have trouble breathing, and trying to get a chuckle out of Claude as well. (Alois, sweetie, it’s never going to happen.) He’s endlessly amused by it, and genuinely thinks it could be useful for his work. However… his emotions also run the gamut of almost wanting to abuse his S/O’s power. Could they turn into… no. No, they won’t have ever seen Luka, so that isn’t possible. He almost asks, but he manages to hold himself back from that. Maybe because that part of himself isn’t something he wants them to know yet, maybe because he feels stupid for even wanting to ask. He does, during a moment of particular weakness, ask if they could… perhaps… turn into Claude. To… to prove to him that he wants them, that they’re better than Claude. That kind of thing is absolutely not what he needs, so upon having that idea rejected, he just… cries in their arms for a bit, and apologizes, and asks if… maybe they’d turn into the chicken again. To make him laugh? It’s complicated; they should just know that he loves them, very much, and as much as he has his baggage, he thinks this unique power of theirs is so much more impressive than anything else in the whole big, wide world. He’ll even say that word for word if they want!

Oh, for the love… does he not have enough supernatural creatures and/or strange abilities around him? Is there some kind of oddness magnet which has been infused into his clothing or something? Somehow, whilst it doesn’t surprise him, it does aggravate him a bit… at first, anyway. He loves them a great deal, but he has enough to contend with and keep in line without a shapeshifter for a beloved. That being said, he can’t change it, nor can he control their actions; all he can do is set clear boundaries. No shapeshifting in the estate, especially. Limited shapeshifting in public. Past that, as long as they don’t cause trouble, well, they’re a grown person, they can do whatever they want. He does hope they’ll help him out, since the power to turn into other things or people would serve him incredibly well. It would take out a lot of danger in many situations, meaning they’d be helping to keep him safe. If that’s alright with them, he truly wishes they’ll consider it. In return, obviously he’ll keep them safe as well. At the end of the day, he’s just interested in surviving alongside them and building a life that’s better for both of them. Although he may not say it in so many words out loud, he wants them by his side the whole time.

#Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Alois #Ciel #reaction #romantic #drama #domestic #UGH SWEET BOYS #one hell of a queue

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adoranoia · 11 months

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under the cut (again to due length) will be some hcs abt the abilities darkners have as a whole, along w/ info abt boss monsters + the magic ralsei and his family possess(ed)!

darkners as a species have a few natural abilities that are, as you can probs assume, mostly to do with being much more adept in the dark, night vision, for example. but, they also have the ability to control their own forms to a extent. while they cannot change their actual appearance, they are capable of things such as: shadow camouflage/shadow stealth, shadow travel, and are able to squish (or ‘melt’) and stretch to their heart’s content when in this state.

this can all be applied to the royal family too, of course. but, due to being able to draw directly from the dark fountain itself because of their boss monster souls, their power is much stronger then an average darkner, resulting in the ability of ‘umbrakinesis’, the ability to manipulate shadow itself, not just their own form.

this is due to was a process that only the old monarch’s were capable of, usually taking place when a related child reached about eight, since that’s around when a monster’s magic really begins to flourish anyway.

it was done by simply placing one’s arms into the fountains shadowy stream for a short amount of time, allowing it’s power to ‘soak in’, so to speak–dw, it doesn’t hurt, it just feels like warm rushing water, if anything! (though, i wouldn’t suggest ur normal everyday non-boss monster go and try this, their souls wouldn’t be able to handle it, rip!)

the purple stain that’s left behind is generally just called the 'the dark fountain’s mark’, or alternatively, 'catnornu’s mark’, catnornu being a personification of the fountain, and deity-type figure along with the three lightners that created the structure in the first place. (but, well, that’s a different hc for a different day.)

anyway, i hc boss monster soul’s are sort of. the middle ground between human soulsand normal monster souls, each member of the family has a different ‘passive’ type of soul magic. (similar to the differences in human souls, just less powerful, of course.)

for the king of spades, it’s a deep set empathy (light blue), a heightened sense and read ability in others emotions, and possible forthcoming danger. as well the ability to take some one’s physical or emotional pain as his own, letting those feelings melt away under his presence so the other may think a bit clearer.

for the queen of diamonds, it’s the power of natural charisma (light yellow), the endearing nature of a full-bellied laugh, or a sing-song voice. the proclaimed shoot -ing star of the dark world, where even the toughest and grumpiest of darkners find it’s hard to resist the infectious energy the queen gives once she enters a room.

for the prince of clubs, it’s a keen eye and a mind that goes a mile a minute, a photographic memory, a walking encyclopedia with a skill in perception (light green), and curiosity. a boy with a knack for digging up the roots of mystery and solving problems, studying the sciences and history of magic and darkners themselves, recording his finding in self-written journals.

and for ralsei, the prince of hearts, his ability is… imagination. (light pink)

as silly as it may sound–for example, ralsei collects weird odds and ends, pencils, lost buttons, rusted keys, hair ribbons, marbles, etc etc. he uses these in potions, in his charms, they hang off his belt and scatter the walls and shelves of his room.

and, he has a lot of items he’s found over the years that seemingly have magical ability tied to them already. sometimes strange things, such as a comb that casts random spells when you brush your hair. sometimes things that are a bit more practical, such as the scarves he wears, which act as a extra appendage. some times things like his wand itself, what he uses for all his spell work; nothing but a strange looking thorny branch he’d found.

but, the thing is, these things weren’t actually magic before ralsei got his hands on them. he, being himself, finds the magic in lost things, in broken things, in the small things, and that itself is makes them magic. he doesn’t realize he’s the one giving the items magic, he just believes they already are, and that itself is what lets them be enchanted. now, this is not something he could simply force if he did ever figure it out, he couldn’t just will something to be magic, no.

it’s based purely off ralsei’s hope and honest belief, and, thats why most of his magic is able to exist !!!

now, about the spells he actually uses in battle, the ones tied to his music magic… don’t mind me, i’m just gonna ramble real quick! <3

>UPGRADE .

>is casted upon a selected party member to aid them by boosting a random stat. attack, defense, magic, etc etc. >you can only have one target with one effect going at one time, the stat boost wears off after two turns, and you may start anew.

>if effected by upgrade, the party member will have a shimmery golden effect around them. >the song itself is something quick and jaunty.

>costs 10 TP.

>PACIFY .

>can be resisted/fought off, and some people are more susceptible ralsei’s song then others. (ie, most people only dozing off when his lullaby is sung to them directly, but susie seems to doze off whenever she hears it.)

>if successful, it lasts about one full round, meaning you have to spare and/or pacify the rest of the enemies in a somewhat timely manner. (if used outside of battle, it takes about for 5~ to 10~ minutes for the target to wake back up.)

>target will come out of their pacified state will gain the ‘dazed’ status effect, where they’ll have a lowered stats for a few turns. until this effect wears off, the target is unable to be pacified again. >the song itself is something much like a child’s lullaby.

>costs 16 TP.

>ENCHANT .

>can be resisted/fought off, and some people are more susceptible ralsei’s song then others. if successful, it lasts one turn, and allows you to command the enemy to fight/act/spare with other enemies. >symptoms of being under the spell are, literal heart eyes, flushing, day-dreaming, fast heart rate, shortness of breath, sweating, etc etc.

>(not actually a love spell, more so a charm/friends spell, the lovey dovey stuff is just aesthetics, him being the prince of hearts and all) >target will come out of their lovesick state, will realize they were charmed, and become ‘enraged’, boosting their stats temporarily. >the song itself is something slow and hypnotizing, a little ethereal.

>costs 16 TP.

>REVIVE .

>just your basic healing spell, nothing too fancy here, just select a injured or downed party member to heal them a certain amount. >it can, ah… go further, if need be. but let’s not get that point, ok? >the song itself is something soft and welcoming.

>costs 32 TP.

bonus, a quick tl;dr of ralsei’s magic abilities.

(SECONDARY)

>darkness adaptation, darkness mimicry, etc etc, a general darkner ability. >umbrakinesis, and its general/basic capabilities, a general darkner (boss monster) ability, and can be cast without the help of a wand, staff, etc etc. >passive pink soul magic (imagination), can’t be purposefully controlled.

(MAIN)

>song magic, tied to his soul magic, casted either via singing or an instrument, often used intertwined with other abilities.

>general witchcraft, ie. spells, potions, charms, sigils, runes, etc etc, cannot be cast without the help of a wand, staff, etc etc. considered ‘old-fashioned’ magic by modern darkners. >along w/ the stuff above, ralsei’s strong suit is divination; tarot cards, palmistry, tasseography, scrying, etc etc!

>necromancy/bone magic, done with collected non-monster animal bones, things that were already deceased when found. again, considered ‘old-fashioned’ magic by modern darkners. >cannot be cast without help of a wand, staff, use of an altar, or other devices.

#* && OOC #* && RALSEI /// AND A PRINCE FROM THE DARK .#long post tw

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sword-dad-fukuzawa · 2 years

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might i add to today's opinion pile?

first off, as a chuuya enjoyer, i actually really liked the fact that we're getting to see actual tension and peril regarding him, cos normally he's so indestructable; like?? its so cool cos it gives a fun "character must get over hurdle" potential, yknow? also seeing trickster-schemer dazai back is just soooo enjoyable; its so fun to see him be quippy and stupid and secretly lethal when nobody's looking; i love that so much

secondly, as to the soukoku thing,,,,,,, idk, like. i know i am in the minority here, but i feel like shipping them actually diminishes the whole point of their characters, and the point of their partnership(s) (and not to get salty on main, but seeing what is, canonically, their team name with a glorious bit of wordplay at the center cough cough used as a ship name,,,, has actually really rubbed me the wrong way for a while? idk why fandom does that, and i cant *quite* define why it bothers me, but maybe it is something to do with the fact that it takes a fun interesting character dynamic that *isnt* inherently romantic, and waters it down to something that *is*)

and in a way? thats also a thing i enjoyed about this chapter that completely runs against what one would assume a soukoku (which i mean in the canon sense) enjoyer would think? the bickering, and the needling, and the teasing, barbed as it may be coming from dazai, was just so good and interesting and reminds me of chapters of old, and i LOVE that we're possibly gonna get more of their almost silent-communication-way-of-working; that just *clenches fists* makes me so happy, that we'll possibly get to see such a strange & fascinating character dynamic again

........i am rambling, and this is running long, but i guess tl;dr, i feel very odd-one-out about chuuya, and soukoku sometimes in this fandom, and 1) it's nice to see ur silly gleefulness abt the situation 2) thank you for being a nice chill blog where nothing's toxic 3) tysm for just being an awesome friend in general :D

YES OKAY YOU'VE HIT IT RIGHT ON THE NOSE, ONE OF THE REASONS THIS CHAPTER IS SO FUN: seeing Chuuya struggle. I don't think we've ever seen Chuuya really struggle before in the manga. Even when the ADA is kicking his ass, it's more comical than anything and he's not really framed as the protagonist in those situations, more the villain, and he's never been in danger of dying before. Which makes this chapter fuckin delicious.

AND YES!! I HAVE MISSED GLEEFUL JACKASS DAZAI LIKE YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE. Depressing, so-smart-he's-a-plot-device Dazai is just. Not what I loved him for when I started watching. I've missed him so much.

And hell yea! I get the most enjoyment out of soukoku when they're platonic/vaguely homoerotic but never outright romantic. Romantic soukoku, as you've said, can feel almost reductive; to me, it feels incredibly OOC to the point where it's barely Chuuya and Dazai anymore, so I rarely read it. I feel like they're the epitome of this young-closeted-queer-experience, when you have this intense, fraught, and indescribably queer relationship with someone in your teens that sticks with you as you grow up (and often ends badly). Non-romantic soukoku is so important to me in a way I can't describe and you are SO VALID for enjoying them that way.

And. And. UNO REVERSE REYNI YOU ARE ALSO LOVELY AND AWESOME AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SO :))))

#ryeni :0 #hehe i love being able to talk about bsd without getting attacked #its such a nice change of pace from other fandoms

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elstreem · 2 years

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Out of curiosity, I checked the Diamond Round Beach scene in the Servant Fest event to see if the pirate's dialogue would change if you were using male Ritsuka/Gudao. Turns out they don't, they still say he's cute up close regardless of gender.

But one thing does change about that scene depending on which Master you're using, oddly enough.

On the left is male Ritsuka/Gudao's response, on the right is female Ritsuka/Gudako's response. I didn't know it was possible for the player dialogue options to even change since I pretty much use Gudako all the time.

...ngl, when I first unlocked this scene I was shocked myself because I ship BediGuda and what are the chances that the game worsens my brain rot by saying Gudako's response is to be speechless and have dilated pupils specifically at Bedivere's appearance. (I suppose the game means to imply that was the collective response to the KoTR in summer outfits, but it's still a little odd, because Ritsuka was talking normally to Lancelot, Gawain and Tristan before Bedi appears.)

Gudao's response seems more like he's scolding the KotR for their crazy antics. The rest of the scene still plays out the same though, so I find it a little strange that one line changes depending on the Master you're using.

Also I just find it hilarious that Bedivere casually admits he would have probably murdered his fellow knights if he ever found them in circumstances that indicate they were harassing Ritsuka. Calm, collected, "will slap your existence clean off the earth if you ever put Master in danger" Bedivere. This is played more seriously in Tristan's Interlude though, I noticed there that Bedivere is very quick to resort to fighting once Tristan openly threatened Ritsuka

All brain rot aside, this really is one of my favorite scenarios in any event. It's such a mood whiplash going from "ohh silly KotR in their summer outfits" to "Bedivere indirectly admits he's got hang-ups from his 1500 years of life, is probably processing it still, but just brushes the matter off" and back to silliness with "the pirates actually want your autograph."

#...well I guess I'm bediposting now #no escape from the brain rot for me

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yeleltaan · 2 years

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HEYSEL

Recommend romantic candidates for my muses and see their reaction! | accepting! | mentioned: @yellowfingcr

“Ah, Heysel... I’ve grown exceedingly fond of her, and it’d be silly of me try to deny it. Can you imagine it? If I went silent for a few, endless seconds, then responded ‘no’ out of nowhere? Straight out of a melodrama, proper pacing and satisfactory development sacrificed for a cheap twist, memorable and contentious. I assure you that’s not a role I intend to play, not with her."

It was at this moment that he pondered if she would have labelled herself as such. Perhaps ‘romantic’ was a word compelling enough, and sufficiently ample in its possible implications that she would have readily spoken it in playful tone, a boisterous jest that wouldn’t necessarily make the statement any less genuine. Whatever the case, Cayin saw it clearly enough in his dear scholar’s demeanor, a hesitance to acknowledge certain aspects of their relationship. Ultimately no consideration of semantics would erase the evident: their emotions were hopelessly entangled, and the affection which resulted from that, intimate and intense regardless of what name it was given, was one they were willing to convey in displays of vulnerable trust and bold ecstasy.

If anything, perhaps the word ‘candidate’ fell short by now. His gaze fell as he recalled waves of memories and sensations, bringing forth a soft smile he couldn’t contain.

“...She’s extraordinary. She makes me think things and in ways that are unfamiliar to me. It’s... strange, but also weirdly exciting. It feels fresh. As reticent as I once was, I find myself thinking back to our conversations, wondering when we’ll have the next, I even look forward to her... frankly bizarre sense of humor. And that almost menacing optimism she carries with her, and that, that wicked brilliance of hers she could rightfully boast about but rather keeps a deadly surprise for her prey. I could go on and on, and I haven’t even got started on what a sight she is to behold regardless of the shape she chooses to assume. So expressive and captivating.” Maddeningly absorbing, addictively sweet. Unpredictable, dangerous and spectacular, like loving a natural disaster. Strange, the odd allure that inspired in him.

“There is so much I’d like to know of her still, and she must think the same. I think that we’re both simply... wary. A little scared, maybe. Yharnam isn’t keen on remaining one way or the other, it didn’t come to be what it is by staying still and, well, neither did we. It’s not that we don’t want to walk the way together, we just don’t know if or when our paths may split. And Heysel... she isn’t someone you can move away from hers, not against whatever will her ambition motivates. She simply wouldn’t be Heysel otherwise.”

But that was only one side of the coin. The other, which he chose not to elaborate on, posed a mirror problem: Cayin had an immutable path of his own without which he wouldn’t be Cayin. And even if their tracks remained parallel and never crossed or split the question remained, what would she think of ‘the gentleman’, as she liked to call him, when his character ceased to reflect that title? The two of them were perceptive enough to know, there was more to the other than even what they had revealed to each other already. No matter how unconventional or unrepenting, kinship of mind was not guaranteed.

“I would merely want her to walk by my side, without renouncing who she is. That is all I could ever ask.”

#yellowfingcr #AWFULLY MEAN OF MY BRAIN TO GET BLOCKED WHEN I HAD 85% OF THIS DONE #took a few rewrites to reach a point where I felt it did them justice but it was lovely to look back on how their dynamic developed #and where he is mentally in relation to said bond #thank you Cat for the ask!

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sweetkingdomstarlight-blog · 3 years

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they were roommates

Warnings - non consensual sex, anal sex, somnophilia, forced drug use

Pairings - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words - over 2k

A/N - READ THE WARNINGS - I can’t stress this enough. Also if you are under 18 just shoo, bugger off. I wrote this from a prompt on @darkficsyouneveraskedfor stalker writing challenge, the prompt was your roommate isn’t who you thought they were. I’m still super new to writing and this is new territory for me, as always a huge massive thankyou to my beautiful wife @buckyownsmylife she helped me a lot and continues to hype me up.

It’s been six weeks since your friend got a new job upstate and moved out,. You’ve had an advert out for a new roommate but so far everyone who’s applied has either been rude or hasn’t shown up. You’re running low on your savings and would probably accept Satan himself if he could pay his fair share. That’s when your latest applicant knocked on your door.

James was polite and charming, he offered to pay a month up front to secure the room and could move in as soon as possible. You felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when he moved in later that week, it was a bit odd that he had no friends to help him but he didn’t seem to have a lot of stuff and had himself sorted while you worked in your home office.

The first night he offered to buy pizza and beers so you could get to know each other better, it turns out you two had a lot of things in common and he was easy to get along with. You must have had a few too many beers because your head felt fuzzy, deciding it was time to go to bed. You said goodnight to James and stood up but felt so dizzy you had to immediately sit back down. James was so sweet though, looking after you, he actually picked you up and put you to bed so you didn't have to walk the short distance to your room.

Waking up the next morning you realised you were wearing a t-shirt you didn’t recognise but you didn’t remember getting changed, your mouth felt strangely dry so you got up for a drink. That’s when the soreness hit you, in between your legs, rushing to the bathroom you were confused that you weren’t getting your period and nothing seemed to be different. You assumed you were getting sick and went for hot tea to soothe yourself.

Sitting at the kitchen counter drinking and nibbling on some dry toast, James walks in looking like he’s just been for a run. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to you giggling “you can’t possibly be hungover you only had three drinks last night” you look up at him smirking and sarcastically respond, “yeah, well, maybe I’m just a lightweight”.

As you get up to clear away your mess he clears his throat making you turn. “Should we have a system for when we have people over in the future?” You look at him confused. “I’m sorry what do you mean? Do you want to bring someone over tonight?”

He chuckles at you, “Well no, not tonight but if you want your friend from last night to come back I can make sure you have some privacy,” he offers you, smirking at the confused look on your face.

“I’m sorry, I don't understand, I went to sleep last night. I didn’t have anyone over.” Taking a step closer, he leans on the counter separating you both. “Then who did I hear you with last night and who did I kick out this morning?” You stare at him open mouthed and scurry off to your room to check your phone for some clues, you feel your chest tighten when you see that you matched with someone last night and invited him over. How could you not remember? You were absolutely mortified, what is James going to think of you now?

Sitting in your home office talking to idiot customers on the phone all day, you try to take your mind off what happened last night. How can you have invited someone over, had sex and apparently stolen his t-shirt without even knowing? You vow there and then you aren’t drinking ever again. However, the end of the week rolls by and it's been the absolute worst, your boss is a dick, your customers are all idiots and to top it off your best friend hasn’t responded to your calls all week and you don’t know why.

You have a quick shower and decide to spend the night binge watching whatever you can find on Netflix when James sits next to you handing you a gin and tonic. “Thanks but I’m not drinking for a little while.” You go to put the drink down but he pushes it up to your mouth

“Don’t be silly, you’ve had a hard week. One drink won’t hurt” smiling at him you take a sip and he’s right, you instantly relax and get cosy on the sofa, ordering chinese and laughing at the show you both decide on. Waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth again, you find yourself laying on your bed but this time you have your own clothes on which is a relief. Standing up, you feel a bit weird round the back like you’ve been stretched out with one of your plugs but that’s not possible, they’re hidden in your box under the bed.

You drink a big glass of water and sit on the kitchen counter, a little uncomfortably, but quietly and relax. Something has been off the last week and you can’t put your finger on it, it's always weird when you get a new roommate and you’ve put it down to that but you just sense something isn’t quite right. You lean your head back on the wall behind you and get a surprise when James walks round the corner. “Hey doll, you feeling ok? You looked a bit sickly earlier and went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You nod at how sweet he was and drink some more water before hopping down. “I’m fine just going to sleep it off.” He takes your glass for you, offering to wash it and says goodnight, watching you walk away very closely and licking his lips as his eyes roam over your body.

It’s been a few weeks now since James moved in, he’s got to be the best roommate you’ve ever had. He pays his bills on time, keeps the place spotless and he’s such a good cook, always making food and drinks for you. It's lucky that he’s so kind because none of your friends seem to be in touch anymore, you message them and even try calling them but no one ever replies.

You sit watching your usual Friday night film with drinks and Chinese takeout, talking to James about both your weeks, tonight though he sits closer than usual and his face seems to light up when you talk to him. He’s possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in real life, you’ve never looked at him that way before because not only is he your roommate but he’s so far out of your league it's laughable. You tell one of your stupid jokes and he laughs with his whole body, his arm goes around the back of the sofa and he pulls you in close, hugging into him, you relax biting your lip when he kisses the top of your head.

That was the beginning of it for you both. You had daily movie nights, he cooked for you every day, listened when you got upset that your friends seemed to have dropped you and even encouraged you to start running with him. Everything felt perfect, you still occasionally woke up sore with a dry mouth but James told you it was just your body getting used to all the exercise you were now doing. Both of you had really found each other, loners who just needed someone to listen.

You went down to collect your mail one day and stood talking to your elderly neighbour when she told you how familiar James looked, she couldn’t work out where she knew him from but she praised you on finding such a nice young man who apparently had carried her groceries up the stairs for her when the elevator was broken. Smiling at her you told her to have a good morning and went back to your apartment looking at the thick brown envelope addressed to you, you never really got anything in the post except the occasional leaflet. James had made you a coffee and you smiled at him taking the package in your room to open while you got ready to have a shower.

In the shower you decided tonight would be the night with James, you shaved yourself from head to toe and used your best lotions. Winking at him as you walked to your room, he had a weird look on his face and couldn’t seem to look at you. In your room the envelope had been moved, it looked like it was open too. Bending down to pick it up you hear James behind you but before you can turn around you feel a pain in your neck and everything goes dark.

You wake up with a blinding headache and go to move but your body feels too heavy. “Ssshh sweetheart, don’t move, I had to tie you up for your own safety.” You look at him confused, trying to pull on your wrists but you can’t move.

“James, what’s happening?” Sitting next to you he slips some ice chips in your mouth to ease your dry throat and takes a deep breath.

“You can blame your friend, we were so happy and she had to try and take you away from me.” A tear runs down your cheek, you’ve never heard him talk like this and it’s terrifying. “I told your little friends to leave you alone or I’d take care of them all but they just didn’t listen.” He throws the envelope down and slowly shows you the newspaper clippings and articles they had sent you, apparently he was on the run and considered dangerous, something to do with what happened with the helicarriers that crashed a few months ago.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” he says with a smirk, wiping your tears away and tutting. “Don’t be scared of me, I’m doing this for you, for us!” Pulling on the restraints on your feet and arms again he shouts, “Enough!” You stop immediately, scared of what he‘ll do if you don’t. “You were so nice to me on the phone when I first got free, you helped me hire that car that brought me to New York. I hacked into your company's database and found you. Your roommate was easy to convince with a little bit of money and I hired all those people to come and see you so when I finally got my chance you’d want me as much as I’ve wanted you”

“Why didn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?” You managed to stutter out, trying not to sound too pathetic.

“You never leave the house, you stay home all day working then sit watching TV all night, I saw you through the webcam. You really should be more careful.” He smirks before running his fingers over your naked body. Feeling how smooth and soft your skin is he smiles. “Did you do all this for me? Sweetheart, I’ve already had all of you, you don’t have to do anything special for me. I love you just the way you are”.

The realisation hits you and you sob loudly. “Have you been touching me while I sleep?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at you with so much admiration.

“You’re so smart, I’ve been preparing you to be mine. I didn’t know how long it's been since you’ve been with a real man, not those silly little toys under your bed and I wanted our first time to be special. I even set up that fake dating account so you would think you had a guy over on that first night.” He strokes your cheek and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying.

“James I’m cold, can you untie me and we can talk properly, please.” He studies your face for a brief moment before leaning forward and chuckling in your ear.

“You can’t think I’m that stupid baby, oh and you can call me Bucky now. If you’re going to be mine forever we need to get better acquainted.” He drops his sweatpants and straddles your hips. “We’re going to have so much fun”.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier

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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years

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DaveFarts - Episode 9 “Trapped In The Closet” [Episode List] Following the most blatant sit-com tropes you can think of, Dave decides to spy on his girlfriend, Dana, because he thinks she’s hiding something. Tim reluctantly decides to join his friend, but the two end up stuck in the girl’s closet, which will eventually turn into a gas chamber.

Trapped In The Closet

“Yeah Dana. Sure. No problem.”

Tim was working on some college tasks, but couldn’t help but to eavesdrop Dave’s conversation with his girlfriend, Dana, on the phone. He could only hear his friend’s replies, which being only the 50% of what they were talking about, it didn’t make a lot of sense. Not that he was interested: Dave was simply hanging out in his room because he had nothing better to do during that warm Summer evening, apparently, and so he simply showed up to Tim’s place with a couple of beers and a remarkable amount of procrastination powers.

Despite being relatively hot outside, Dave was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of long, grey levi jeans, kinda loose as usual. Something that Tim hated about his kink is how quickly he checked his friend’s outfit, something that he always did since Dave is now basically his “fart bud”, against all odds.

“Yeah… yeah… I love you. No… I love you more!”

Kinda funny how Dave, 24, would revert back to an awkward teenager at times whenever he and his girlfriend were on the phone. They probably even acted like that on purpose, because love is doing stupid things together after all.

“Tim. Car. Now!”

Dave hung up and turned weirdly serious, got up and walked downstairs, saying something about getting in the car.

“Wait, what?” Tim asked, questioning whether his friend was being serious or not, but he did follow him to wherever he was going.

“We don’t have much time, Tim. Dana will come back soon. She’s out with her own friends and we have… like… 15 minutes.”

The two walked outside and headed towards the girls’ house, actually only a few blocks away from Tim’s. Tim himself reluctantly followed his bro into this, knowing that, at best, it may turn into a funny mishap to tell to their other pals while being drunk and laugh about it.

“I’ll just pretend your words make any sense, like I usually do…” Tim chuckled, sarcastically, but still following his friend.

“I think she’s hiding something.” Dave explained, walking at a fast pace, Tim right behind him. “She’s been strangely elusive lately and I want to check her room for clues.”

Tim just chuckled in response. “Dave, you do realize that this is not a 90s sit-com, right? Her room? Really? What are you hoping to find out, exactly, anyway? That she’s having some kind of affair behind your back?” he asked, trying to reason with him.

“An affair? You think I’m that kind of guy?” Dave answered, looking surprisingly offended by Tim’s question. “I just want to make sure she’s fine. She seemed worried about something and she’s like this organized haf-woman/half-machine hybrid who keeps sticky notes in her room to keep an eye on her busy life.”

“Oh…” Tim replied, rather sarcastically. “Now that makes a lot of sense.”

“Leave your sassiness for later, dork. Can we take your car?” Dave asked.

“Why? We’re already right in front of her house…”

Dave realized that he was so worried that they did, in fact, walked for a couple of blocks and found themselves stepping in Dana’s backyard without even noticing. He just laughed a bit about it.

“Sorry. Love makes me blind.” he joked, knowing that it was a rather silly thing to say anyway.

“Not the words I would have used, but ok.” Tim answered.

“Come on, let’s get inside.” his bro said, with a smirk.

“Alright… but please, let’s keep a low profile and no awkwa-”

But as they approached to the girl’s house, Dave awkwardly started muttering some kind of theme song that was oddly reminiscent of the Mission Impossibile’s most iconic soundtrack. This guy has a girlfriend, everyone.

“So much for keeping a low profile, Ethan Hunt…” Tim joked.

Dana’s room, following the usual “average american house tropes” that the writer of this story grew up with in the 90s, was on the second floor. Luckily, the house was empty, so both Tim and Dave could easily climb it without fearing of someone noticing their totally legal actions.

“Look at Tim, such a rebel! Such a fast climber!” Dave whispered, noticing how good Tim was at climbing the girl’s house.

“Thanks. I learned it when I visited your mom.” he joked.

“I thought you’d prefer my dad, you know.” Dave played along, with a rather noticeable reference to Tim’s homosexuality.

“Just… just let’s get done with this.”

After some awkward climbing, the two found themselves in front of a window leading to Dana’s room. The duo was sitting on a small portion of slanted roof, wondering how to get inside.

“Alright. I could just punch through the window and open it. But you know I don’t like violence against windows.” Dave said, somewhat joking, but really trying to come up with a way to get through this final obstacle.

“Never mind, it’s open.” Tim said, as his hand passed right through the window. “Or, you know, I got ghost powers all of the sudden, but I doubt it.”

“You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.” Dave commented, as he got inside his girlfriend’s room, making sure no one was there, immediately followed by his sassy friend.

The room was fairly big and messy, books and magazines scattered all around the floor and the bed. Dana was a busy woman: she got a degree in economics but, given the tough times, she had troubles finding a decent job lately. Dave actually suspected that this was the reason she was being nervous about, well, everything, understandably.

“Why don’t you just ask her instead of acting like the perfect boyfriend material that you are?” Tim stated, in his usual snarky tone, noticing Dave basically rummaging through Dana’s more personal stuff.

“Just… let me do my thing ok?” he was serious again, trying to find something that could be clue, deep down knowing that all of that was quite non-sense and even ridiculous, but his stubbornness was showing. “Wait…”

Something drew his attention. A red (therefore important, according to Dana’s code) sticky note on the nightstand. Something was written on it.

“Oh… I guess I was right…” Dave whispered, eyes glued on the note.

“Something about her job?”

But Tim didn’t get an answer, as they heard someone coming from downstairs. They probably were so focused on their mission that didn’t even notice how someone got inside the house minutes after them. They went silent and tried to listen to the person’s footsteps.

“Yeah. I’ll keep you posted.”

They heard a muffled female voice getting closer, probably talking on her phone. A voice that was very familiar.

“Fuck! It’s Dana!” Dave whispered.

The two looked around, looking for a quick solution or a place to hide, blatantly ignoring the window they used to get inside in the first place.

“The closet!” Dave said.

Without even questioning whether this was a good idea or not, the duo sneaked inside Dana’s closet and closed themselves inside just as the girl came into her room, still talking on the phone about something.

Tim and Dave managed to mess things up however, as they ended up in a very small section of that apparently big, spacious closet, so they had to arrange themselves in a weird position. Dave was standing up, towering over Tim, who found himself sitting on the floor instead, right behind his friend… with his face perfectly aligned with his loose jeans butt. As his eyes got adjusted to the dark, Tim started to distinguish the seams and texture’s on Dave’s jeans ass, and the tiny red Levi tag on the right back pocket. He couldn’t help but take a look, which he felt really unnecessary, given the context.

“So… this is where you lived for most of your life…” Dave joked, looking around, as if the closet was some kind of fancy mansion.

“Haha! Another gay joke! Great timing, Dave!” Tim muttered instead. The last thing they had to do was talk.

The two waited for a couple of minutes, hoping that Dana would just leave again or even just go downstairs, so they’d have enough time to get out of there in the hopes that Dave didn’t leave any clue of his presence.

“As long a we remain silent…” Tim whispered. “We have nothing to worry about.”

Only moments after saying that, he felt a very familiar sound greeting his face. It was a long, rumbling sound coming from Dave’s denim ass. It was one of his usual, well-known loud farts, a fart that he was desperately trying to keep as silent as possible. Luckily, Dana was too busy with her phone to even notice the weird noise coming from inside of her closet.

“Dave! What the fuck?!” Tim hissed.

The gassy friend tried not to laugh, realizing how idiotic the whole situation was. “I’m sorry dude.” he murmured. “You know what happens when I’m nervous!”

The smell was unbearable already. Being in a such small space didn’t certainly help. Those were probably some of the smelliest farts Dave ever managed to rip in Tim’s face, although this time was, against all odds, more like an accident.

“Tim…” Dave whispered, carefully placing his butt closer to his friend’s face.

Another fart erupted, sounding dangerously louder than the previous one. The rough surface of Dave’s denim gently caressed Tim’s nose. The blast of gas then turned into something much more subtle, but still otherwise bubbly. Tim felt his nose burn, as really he had no choice but to breath all of that in.

“Dave I swear. If you don’t stop, Dana’s gonna–”

But another “slow-paced” rumbly fart cut him off. Dave was seriously trying to contain his well-known farting abilities. Tim, instead, was trying to remain calm, feeling like the Universe was somehow messing with him. That was an insane situation: he certainly wasn’t new to Dave’s farts, but in that context, it felt almost like one of his weird dreams about his fart fetish.

“Tim I’m sorry, at least I know you don’t mind… I hope”

Funnily enough, despite the slightly amused tone in his whispering voice, Dave sounded genuinely sorry. Yet he was right: Tim was insanely enjoying it, but knowing that Dana was out there made the whole thing almost surreal. And, once again, as much as Dave always proved so chill about this stuff, he couldn’t help but feel somehow awkward about having his friend face-farting him so non-chalantly.

And yet another “ninja” fart was ripped all over his face. Being nervous really turned Dave’s stomach into a messy cloud of gas, and Tim’s nose was there to vacuum it all up, completely defenseless, standing before the sheer power of the gassy friend’s powerful denim-covered anus.

Even though the situation was absurd, Dave couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. After all, the smell hit him too, and it was getting insane even for the farter himself, whose gas just didn’t stop building up.

“Sorry bro… I have to do this.” he whispered.

Tim felt Dave’s hands gently grabbing the back of his head, holding it still, as he pulled him in the clutches of his denim butt. The warm fabric of the jeans was soaking in that unbearable smell. The sniffer then felt the weight of his gassy friend almost crushing his skull. Despite being dark, Tim realized that Dave was basically sitting on him, using his head as some kind of human stool.

The fart was directly ripped in Tim’s mouth at that point, that rumbly sound once again renewing the already destructive stench. It was supposed to be loud, so loud, that Dave had to basically use his friend’s face to deadpan its impressive thunderous noise. The gassy bro was trying to rip it in the form of a long series, hoping that Dana would fail to hear (or even recognize) his well-known gross, but rather impressive talent.

Tim heard his friend’s sighs of relief after each, rumbling fart, but Dave was also trying not to burst into a laughter that could blow their cover. Fart fetish or not, he couldn’t help but to find it more hilarious than gross.

As much as the lack of space in that closet wouldn’t really allow it, Dave even lifted his right leg a bit, while still “sitting” on his stool-friend, as a way to facilitate the impressive amount of gas gushing out from his anus. It’s not like he had to worry about Tim passing out or finding it too gross, anyway.

That fart itself was lasting longer than both of them anticipated. They lost count of how much time passed, probably a full minute. Tim’s face was warm and sweaty now, still trapped in the clutches of his gassy bro’s denim butt, directly living in person that thin line between Fart Heaven and Fart Hell.

A final sigh of relief, followed by a louder toot and a chuckle. “Sorry, bud.” Dave muttered, hoping that his plan worked.

Indeed, Dana didn’t hear a thing. She hung up and left the room, her footsteps slowly turning into a far, muffled sound, until silence announced that the duo was now free to get the heck out of there, especially considering how they were almost both choking on farts.

Tim forgot what fresh, non-fart air felt like in his nostrils and so took a deep, refreshing breath the moment he stepped out of that gas closet. Ironically, Dave did the same, maybe even wondering how would Tim even endure something as overwhelming as his farts, but he didn’t really mind anyway. Despite everything, that was oddly hilarious, as the two stared at each other and then bursted into a laughter.

“Now let’s get out of here…” the farter suggested.

But before the two could even walk towards the window, Dana showed up again in her own room. She didn’t even startle.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked, sounding more like an inquisitive mom than an angry girlfriend. She was fairly mature, after all. “I don’t know what you Dumb and Dumber are up to, but I swear if you–”

“I heard the news, Dana. We were just outside your window…” Dave explained, slightly tweaking the truth. “We wanted to play a stupid scary prank but then I heard it, while you were on the phone you know…”

Dana shook her head and laughed a bit. She hugged her boyfriend and kissed him.

“Yes! I got the job!” she giggled. “Sorry I’ve been so cold lately. The job interview made me so nervous…”

“It’s fine, Dana. You’ve always been stone-cold anyway!” Dave joked, earning a playful slap on his chest by his girlfriend.

“Yes, that’s a very import–wait what’s that smell?” the girl asked, sniffling loudly the air around him.

Tim’s heart almost stopped while Dave did his best to not just laugh like an immature prankster. His hair, clothes, skin, were completely “soaked” in his gassy bro’s gas, so naturally he’d himself smell like flatulence.

“Never mind. It must be you, Dave. He farts like crazy when he’s nervous, Tim, I swear.” she said, disgusted but slightly amused as well.

“Ow… it’s part of my charm, babe.” Dave replied, using what he would have considered an irresistible flirty tone of voice, which was super awkward instead.

“And yeah. Tim’s very aware of my skills, right?” he joked, winking at him, like the big teasing bastard he’s always been since he found out about his fart kink.

Tim just shrugged, faking a disgusted look, his heart racing fast, knowing that all he had to do after that was take the biggest shower in the hope that such unbearable stench didn’t fuse with the atoms in his body.

“Well, it’s gonna be a wild ride!” Dana exulted, happy about her new job offer.

“How about a round of beers to celebrate?” Tim suggested. “It’s on me, no worries.”

“Great idea, but I’m paying. I got the job, you dumb-dumbs get to drink!” Dana replied. She was in a very good mood.

“It’s fine, Dana! It’s the least we can do after-“ but Dave interrupted him.

“Come on Tim, stop living in outdated gender roles and let the pretty girl buy you a drink.” he said, faking a serious tone.

The girlfriend simply rolled her eyes and left the room “Just… meet me downstairs when you’re done saving the world, ok?”

As Dana was nowhere in sight, Dave simply turned to Tim and let another huge, long one rip.

“Shhh. Just tying up some loose ends here.” he said, shushing the gay friend, blasting what was left of his gas out.

“Are you finish-“ “Not yet” he simply said, as if he was making sure no particle of gas was left behind.

With one high pitched final note that was met with some immature laughter, Dave sighed in relief.

“With that said” he chuckled “You might want to take a shower.”

Tim simply nodded with an unamused expression.

“Oh, and you might want to leave the other closet you’ve been hiding.”

That was out of nowhere.

“No pressure bro, just know that we’re all always more than happy to have a beer with you.”

“Thanks Da-“

“Despite your bigoted views on gender roles of course.”

“I’m going to punch you now.”

The duo then headed downstairs and no one got punched luckily.

Tim thought about his friend’s words and how it was probably time to leave that metaphorical stuffy closet soon or later, not that he felt forced or anything.

Dana’s closet, however, that’s probably the only one he enjoyed being trapped into…

End of Episode 9

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

Unbreakable Bond

Pairing: Vampire!Din Djarin x GN!Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings: Horror-ish. Mentions of blood. Not much else.

Words: 1288

A/N: This is for this week's Writer Wednesday challenge held by the wonderful @autumnleaves1991-blog & @clydesducktape. I'm writing a longer Vampire!Din piece so I'm in a mood. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments please and thank you :D

As the snowstorm raged against the walls of the mansion, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over you at how awfully quiet the hallways were this night. Ever since you were hired to care for the estate, you had to acclimate to the strange guests that arrived during odd hours, and because of how often they came, there was seldom this much silence across the floors.

As you made your rounds to ensure that the servants weren’t in places they shouldn’t be, you noticed a faint light coming from one of the rooms you yourself were warned to never set foot past. You almost walked past the door, knowing well that your master would be disappointed had you disobeyed one of his few rules. But then you noticed a handprint just above the knob and your heart ceased to beat for a moment.

There was blood on the brass knob that dripped down from the handprint on the wood. You learned early on that you should never question your master’s choices but as you looked at the fresh viscous material as it dripped down to the floor, you couldn’t help but feel responsible for whatever might occur tonight.

Going against your better judgment, you pushed open the door slowly and stepped in, never once daring to call out for your master as you shut the door behind you and moved around the room.

Unlike the rest of the household, which was covered with pastels and the newest furniture, this room seemed...older. More minimalistic than the main guest hall, the large room seemed to absorb whatever light that shone from the lamps across the space. As you continued to walk around and inspect the dark ottomans and what appeared to be ancient artifacts on the shelves of the walls, you failed to notice the looming form standing behind the spiraling staircase that lead to the second-floor library.

You come to a halt when you hear the sound of glass breaking underneath your foot and as you take a step back and lean down to inspect the photo, a familiar hint of fear washes over you.

It cannot be.

As you look at the almost faded picture in between your fingers, you never once hear the footsteps approaching you from behind the staircase. As soon as your mind finally catches up with the implications behind the photo, you place the old picture on the small table near the couch and turn around to leave.

You almost drop to your knees when you find a pair of black orbs staring right into your soul, and even though you never knew him to be dangerous, you can’t help but feel more afraid of him than of the raging storm outside.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He growls down at you and your throat tightens when you notice two canines peaking from beneath his lips.

“I- I’m so sorry sir I- I wasn’t sure if…” You don’t even know what you’re trying to tell him and he must sense how terrified you are of him because he stumbles back and allows himself to fall on one of the larger chairs.

It takes you a few moments to allow your eyes to move past his abnormal features and when you notice the large gash on his chest, you somehow manage to snap out of your haze and approach him. As you try to kneel down in front of him, he flinches back and growls, actually growls, at your wandering hands.

“Do not touch me!” Your hands are shaking but you ignore him and push open his coat and vest to inspect the wound.

“Sir...allow me to help you. Please I- I can call a doctor or-” You stutter through some options and try to figure out what could have possible caused such a deep wound. But nothing comes to mind, nothing sane at least.

“No, n-no doctors...no one can- ffuck,” he cranes his head back and cries out in pain before digging his nails into the fabric beneath him. The ripping sound he causes makes you shake in fear and when you finally meet his eyes again, you find them much more contained and calmer than a moment ago.

“I- I would never hurt you mesh’la, you- you must know that.” You cannot recognize the word he calls you and you figure it must be his native language.

“I know sir,” for some odd reason, you believe your own words as they break the silence of the room and when you see a faint smile take over his handsome, rugged features, you decide to just ask him the silly question that may or may not end up saving his life.

“Sir, do you need...blood? To- to heal?” It sounds even more pathetic now that you’ve said it out loud but when his smile drops and he attempts to move away from you, you already know the answer.

“No- not you...not from you, I- I can’t ask that of you.” You’re shocked by how much more afraid he seems to be at the realization of what you’re willing to do and you realize that perhaps your previous words weren’t a lie after all.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” You don’t leave much room for debate as you stand up and rid yourself of your coat. He shakes his head and pleads for you to leave as you sit as close to him as possible and crane your neck to the side.

“Please...not you.” He begs one last time and you clench your jaw as you move the collar of your shirt down to your shoulder to give him better access to your skin.

“I’m offering sir, willingly.” You repeat one last time and hope he finds the will to believe you. A small breath of relief leaves your lips when he begins to move and lean towards you and you don’t have a moment’s warning before he pushes you down beneath him and sinks his fangs into the space between your shoulder and your neck.

You didn’t really have time to think of how you might feel from this...act...but as you hear the loud sound of him gulping down your blood, you allow yourself to surrender to him and push back on the thoughts swimming through your mind of finding some way to escape. He’s much gentler in his touches than you initially thought, and frankly, dreamt of, but the more he drinks from you, the more bruising his roaming hands become, and before you know it, he’s making space for himself between your thighs and growling in wanton at how willing and submissive you’ve become for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain entangled and you hiss in pain when you feel his sharp fangs retract from your skin before his tongue laps at the blood continuing to ooze out of the two puncture wounds he’s marked you with.

A haze falls over you and as your eyes begin to flutter closed, you look up and see the familiar brown eyes you’ve grown so fond of over the past few months staring back at you.

“Mesh’la,” he whispers down to you and frowns in fear when he caresses the side of your cheeks and gains a tired smile from you.

“I owe you my life,” he says as he wipes his mouth so he could lean down and kiss your forehead.

“N-no need sir…” You barely manage to breathe out to him and just as your head collapses to the side in exhaustion, you hear him call for you one last time.

“You are mine now ner kar’ta...rest.”

#Writer Wednesday #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian x reader #gn!reader #pedro pascal #vampire din djarin #vampire mandalorian #vampire!din djarin

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all-things-fic · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 8 months

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Can I get amazonite, apatite, cat's eye, citrine, diamond, diopside, emerald, fluorite, iolite, jasper, kyanite, onyx, opal, peridot, rose quartz, spinel, tiger's eye, tourmaline, and zircon for Peter? I hope this is fine.

yes, totally fine! I love our short king so much <3

Gemstone Headcanons

Amazonite: How do they go about comforting or calming down others? Are they good at it?

This is something he struggles with, unfortunately. His usual response to someone being upset is along the lines of, “Calm down, it ain’t that bad, is it?” He knows that isn’t helpful or comforting, but he’s usually frustrated with other people’s distress, especially if they’re close to him. He’s someone who, when a person he cares about is upset, wants to find a way to fix it. Feelings aren’t something he can punch in the face or shove out of the way, though. So he just… doesn’t usually know what to do. He’s not bad at being comforting if he’d focus on simply being there instead of trying to find a solution. If he sits there and is just with someone, if he listens, he’s actually half decent at being a comfort.

Apatite: Do they find it easy to communicate with new people, or do they avoid it as much as possible?

He doesn’t so much avoid it as he’s… wary around new people. Even other new members of the circus, he doesn’t trust. That makes it more difficult for him to form any real bonds with them. However, he can boss them around just fine. Tell them to get over to the practice tents? Absolutely. Shout that it’s their turn to cook supper for the troupe? Sure. Any meaningful talk with newbies is like pulling teeth; hell, it’s like pulling teeth when he likes someone. He definitely doesn’t think doing it with anyone new is easy unless he’s barking orders.

Cat’s Eye: What sorts of things soothes them when they’re worked up?

Good luck finding much, honestly. When Peter is worked up, he wants to be worked up. It’s a battle getting him to calm down. (Yes, he’s a huge hypocrite.) It also depends on what exactly he’s worked up about. If he’s just annoyed by something, his sister telling him to hush or his S/O putting a hand on his shoulder will probably get him to relax. At the very least, it’ll keep him from lashing out at anyone. If he’s in pain or extremely upset about something deeper, however, he often tries to shove away all attempts at soothing him. It all feels like stupid, cheap placation, something that doesn’t solve the real problem. Once he does let someone offer him a gesture of comfort, he finds that even if it doesn’t ‘fix’ anything, he… feels a little better just because someone cares. Pff, how strange.

Citrine: How open are they to new ideas or cultures?

In general, he tries to be open to the fact that different people from different parts of the world, well, do things different. Just because it seems odd to him doesn’t mean he can’t respect it. After all, he and his family have to do things differently than the rest of society because of their various conditions and disabilities. Why shouldn’t that apply to everyone else, as long as they aren’t being rude or obnoxious about it? He doesn’t really care. He might poke a bit of fun here and there, the same as he does with his family, but he doesn’t really care. As for new ideas… well… that’s largely dependent on the idea. There are plenty of ideas he might think are brilliant, and plenty he thinks are rubbish. Much as he tries to keep an open mind, he certainly can’t stop himself from laughing at ideas which he thinks are silly.

Diamond: Do they find themselves getting sick often or do they have a relatively strong immune system?

Well… as a result of his stunted growth, he’s got an underdeveloped respiratory system. It’s usually not dangerous, as the rest of his immune system is pretty sturdy and will fight off serious threats. However, it does mean that he has a tendency to catch colds. A lot. Over the years his body seems to have learned how to react ― whenever he gets sick, it’s not that severe. Coughing, sneezing, stuffy nose… no bad fevers or debilitating symptoms. It’s most prominent during the winter when he catches nearly cold that comes his way. The average person catches one or two colds a year; Peter normally gets five or six during the winter and maybe three or four the rest of the year.

Diopside: Are they a creative person in any way? How so?

Not particularly, although he does have his moments. He just doesn’t much have the drive for things like art or writing… and even when he does get a good idea like that, he doesn’t have the time or skill to execute it. He’s not a great artist, although the bones of a talent are there; he doesn’t have access to any decent quality materials, and he doesn’t consider that a priority over things like food and supplies for the circus, so he never asks for a little extra money. Though, he’s got a good mind for stories. Sometimes he’ll lie down with his S/O at night and start talking about, “Oi, y’know, thought struck me earlier t’day. ‘N’ I was wonderin’, do y’ think this’d make a good story? I mean, would y’ read it?” and he proceeds to tell them about whatever idea it was that he had. Honestly, if they wrote down some of the ideas he has, and helped him write something, he’d probably have the workings of a pretty good book.

Emerald: Do they suffer from any sort of mental illness?

Possibly post-traumatic stress disorder, from living on the streets for so long and being othered? It would be a mild case if it didn’t also come with not insignificant anger issues. He didn’t used to be like that, when he was younger; so angry at the world and bitter and thinking everyone outside his family can’t be trusted. The anger may have already been there, at a low boil, but it snapped into something worse after how much time he spent on the streets, being passed by and mocked and treated like dirt for daring to exist in a (very visibly) different way. The PTSD doesn’t look like a typical case… because it’s paired with his anger. He just appears to everyone else as an angry person. His triggers are ones which aren’t readily apparent, and it’s managed alright since he’s in a more stable situation. Hit one of his triggers, or take away his security, and his mild PTSD becomes noticeable.

Fluorite: Are they able to concentrate easily no matter where they are, or do they need a quiet space with little distracts?

He can, and he can’t. He can concentrate on practicing his act even if things are noisy and busy, because, well, he has to. It’s a circus, and if one can’t rehearse among a multitude of distractions, he’ll do poorly. Whether that’s always been the case or whether he adapted after his family started the circus, no one can say. If he’s trying to do something else, like think about a certain topic or carry on a conversation, he needs a quieter environment to do that. How can a man be expected to speak and listen to another person if he can’t even hear himself think?! This is one of the things to make him snap a bit, someone trying to talk to him if they’re surrounded by other people.

Iolite: Are they financially responsible or do they tend to blow their money as soon as they have it?

Being financially responsible is something that sort of comes with having been on the streets. Back then he and his family didn’t have anything. A couple of pennies, some farthings, they were lucky if they had a single thing to eat on any given day. They definitely didn’t have money for any luxuries. He’s held onto that feeling, reminding himself that he never wants to be in that position again, and he doesn’t want to put his family in that position again. Although Joker is the one who collects and manages money in general for the circus, the performers do sometimes get a few coins tossed their way after shows as a sort of ‘tip’ when people want to give recognition to a certain act. Peter keeps the small stash he has safe, rarely spending it; he thinks of it as a safety net, just in case the troupe as a whole starts to struggle.

Jasper: What do they typically do to relax?

… Sleep? The only time aside from sleeping when he gets to relax is in between shows, when he sits and shares some small snack with Wendy for a makeshift afternoon tea. One of them will buy something from a street vendor, and come back to split it with their sibling. He doesn’t necessarily think of it as ‘relaxation time’, but it’s pretty close. He and Wendy sit next to each other, eat their snack and chat about the day’s goings-on, and then they sort of mill about for a few minutes, walking among the audience who just watched their performance. It’s actually something that, surprisingly, manages his stress a bit.

Kyanite: What is their temper like?

It’s basically like a stick of dynamite waiting to detonate, and always with the fuse lit. It may be slow sometimes; his anger is just forever fueling his bad temper. He can handle so much prodding at, then he blows up, only to start the cycle over after the explosion. Honestly, he knows he’s got problems with his temper, so he tries very hard to keep a lid on it. Unfortunately, there’s only so much control he can exercise before the spark at the end of his fuse reaches the explosive.

Onyx: How do they handle hostility from others, whether verbally or physically?

Oh, boy, he does not handle it well at all. If someone is just hurling vitriol at him, he effectively adds fuel to the fire by shouting back at them. Many a man has insulted Wendy (or worse) only to find a four-foot, overprotective big brother suddenly screaming in his face. Although it does depend on what exactly is being said, Peter will sometimes even shove the other person backward with all the strength he can muster. Physical hostility gets an equally aggressive reaction; Peter returns such things in kind. Being able to punch back is something he relishes, and he’ll keep going for as long as the other person keeps coming at him. It’s the sad truth that, as satisfying as it is, Peter’s reactions to both do nothing to deescalate the situation.

Opal: Are they the emotional sort?

Yes, and he tries so, so hard not to be. He does his very best to keep a leash on his emotions, although this sadly means the only one which escapes, typically, is his anger, because that one is too powerful for him to hold back most of the time. Especially when he’s trying to tie down the others, he’s too tired and lets his anger leak out. While he doesn’t feel as strongly as, say, Joker, there’s no denying that Peter isn’t really a simple man when it comes to emotions. His are complex and many, and he has to put in a lot of effort to stop them from spilling out as he feels them.

Peridot: Are they open to new growth and change in any way, or are they resistant to it?

He would tell you he’s a fairly open-minded bloke and not terribly afraid of change, that he’s the kind of person who can go with it. He’s not. Change scares him, so he digs his heels in against it. ‘Better the devil you know,’ as they say, and if things change, who knows how much worse they could get? He’s also scared of growing as a person, even if he doesn’t know that’s exactly what his fear is, because it means coming face to face with the worst parts of himself. That’s something he absolutely doesn’t want to do. It may also have something to do with the fact that he’s been living the way he has for so long now, he’s terrified that he can’t exist in any other way.

Rose Quartz: Do they typically hold grudges? Are they the type to compromise as best they can during a conflict?

Oh, grudges are probably the best thing Peter is good at holding. The only exceptions are for his family and his S/O, though even they’re not entirely immune. He feels that if someone has done something that upsets him, they deserve to suffer for it for a little while. Why shouldn’t he give them some tough treatment for a week or two? Or maybe longer, depending on why he’s holding a grudge. There’s no way at all he wants to compromise during fights or anything like that, unless it’s with his sister or S/O. He wants to be right, or he wants to be angry; there’s apparently no in-between with him.

Spinel: Are they a worry-wort or are they carefree?

On the surface, it seems like he hasn’t got a care in the world. During performances, he’s all smiles and acts as if this is the life for him. Even while not acting, he pretends like he has no worries at all. On the average day, he doesn’t worry much during the day. Come nightfall, after they have to do the Baron’s bidding, he lets various anxieties run through his mind on the way back to the fairground. Once in a while, his bigger cares catch up with him, and on those days, he worries about everything.

Tiger’s Eye: Are they self-confident or wracked with doubt?

Much like the above, he appears incredibly sure of himself. When one looks at Peter, one sees a man who’s perhaps quite hotheaded, but above all fairly confident. He carries himself maturely, he walks with the gait of someone who knows what he wants and won’t be swayed by anything. Under that, though… he’s cripplingly insecure. He doesn’t genuinely think he’s got any kind of use, purpose, or value, and he doesn’t think he’s a good person. It’s not unheard of for these doubts to keep him up at night. Those things haunt him, making it difficult to simply live his life, and sometimes he just drowns in them.

Tourmaline: Are they the understanding sort or do they have trouble connecting with others?

He… connects and understands most easily with those he loves. The rest of the world is a problem for him, because he never knows who he can trust or if people are going to look at him as ‘less than’. He’s not nearly as understanding with the rest of the world as he is with his family or his S/O. Everyone else can go stuff it, and he barely makes an effort to think about others’ perspectives with most people outside his circle. Even with people he cares about, he can struggle to connect and relate sometimes since he doesn’t always let his emotions out freely.

Zircon: How wise are they?

Being older than he looks, you’d think he was probably at least mildly sage. However, all his hardship has just made him bitter instead of wise. He’s not wise enough to keep himself from getting worked up and angry, he’s not wise enough to come up with a permanent solution to everyone’s problems, he’s not wise enough to have a little patience with himself. He’s not stupid, but he’s not the wisest among his family either.

#onehellofashadynerd #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Peter #headcanons #general #romantic #platonic #drama #angst #slice of life #MY BOY!!!#one hell of a queue

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