#i’d love to make more substantial content but knowing me it's probably not that likely

[fudgecake-charlie]

cosmic harbingers!pearl brainrot YET AGAIN. i literally cannot stop thinking about her!!!!!! an official-ish ref for her outfit and a very old WIP piece that I’m not gonna get round to finishing. I will do some complimentary grian drawings some time! I hope!

I’ve also been thinking a little bit about false’s design and much less on martyn’s but! They both have a solid place in the AU (mumbo too! gem also a little!) and have their own plots sort of worked through. subject to change since this AU has flipped its vibe like 3 times since I first started it.

#as always i love getting asks so i have a better reason to talk about this AU <3 dw if you don't want to though #not tagging her because miss moon has no reason to see this /lh #art out the oven #cosmic harbingers AU #i’d love to make more substantial content but knowing me it's probably not that likely #hey if i give up on trying to write this project i might dump it all somewhere who knows! #[scheduled] #(pacing myself a little so it's not too radio silence! and also it's 4am.)

[bugeyedfreaks]

IT CAME IT IS HERE THE 20-YEAR-OLD PPG SOAP MAKING KIT FOR CHILDREN YAAAY 💖🥳🎉

I saw this being sold online, you all wanted me to buy it, so I did, and now you can all see what horrors you’ve wrought upon me.

The first thing that I noticed when I opened this package up is that it smelled terrible. I didn’t even have to open up the envelope you see in the picture: the actual shipping envelope smelled bad. It was definitely a soap smell gone very wrong. Needless to say, this wasn’t a good sign of what was to come.

… well, spoiler alert, it really doesn’t get any worse. In fact it’s a little underwhelming. 😆 But read on anyway because I do suffer a little while doing this, and I know if you all love at least one thing about me… it’s my suffering. 💖

I opened it up, and the first thing I looked at was the instruction manual that seems to be written in the perspective of the Professor. That’s kind of cute and on brand. I also chuckled because both of the soaps in this kit are named after Buttercup, the Powerpuff Girl who hates bathing the most. Whoever made this knew what they were doing and I love them for it. I hope putting this together made working at the Delta Education company a bit more fun for them.

Here are the instructions for people who like to read 20-year-old instructions of crafts for babbies:

After I looked through all of the instructions, I found some PPG stickers (not shown because I’m already pushing my photo limit for this post) as well as all of the ingredients for our experiments. Oooooh~.

I was actually a little bit disappointed, because I thought there would be more ingredients involved to make these things (you know, like an actual educational science kit would normally have), but this is all it came with. The shampoo base was just premade shampoo without the (apple!) scent in it. The green soap was just premade soap, cut into chunks that you would melt and pour into little heart shaped molds. The little glitter stickers in this picture weren’t PPG themed, and the “PPG trinkets” were straight up just erasers.

So, yeah, it was… underwhelming. From what I can gather from the other kits I saw being sold online, I suppose these were “educational” in the sense that they were used in educational settings. They were probably just little craft kits for kids in classrooms rather than kits that were going to teach them anything substantial (I think the other kits I saw were for making jewelry and door hangers… just fun projects for kids to have fun and learn how to put things together 🤷‍♀️).

Still, I purchased this kit, and I’d be damned if I didn’t actually get some shampoo and soap makin’ out of some of these ingredients. …and I say some because I had to find out whether I should even USE these products, given the warning on the front of the bag that said the contents warranted adult supervision. I mean, I’m an adult and I felt like I needed another adult.

There was absolutely no way that I was going to use the shampoo base, because I am pretty sure that it would make my hair fall out or disintegrate my scalp if I tried using it (or even if I touched it). It looked really slimy, and had a weird, translucent stringy texture to it, so I tossed it. I snipped open the apple scent packet because I was curious to find out if it still had a scent to it… and it was actually sort of pleasant! It had a bit of a chemical after-scent to it, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever smelled. Still, I don’t think I should be putting a 20-year-old scent anywhere near my body (I probably shouldn’t have even smelled it, come to think of it… my chemistry teachers would have been so ashamed of me) so I decided I would not be using it in the final product either.

I opened up the green soap, hoping that that would actually be okay or at least smell normal, and… I actually gagged. BLEEEEECH. That’s where the awful smell had been coming from. Immediately tossed it in the trash. It was AWFUL, and there’s absolutely no way, not even for the sake of comedy, that I would willingly put it in my microwave or even let it come in contact with my skin (although yet again, like an idiot, I smelled it… oh well, my idiocy has its limits, I guess). I looked online later and also found out that, apparently, glycerin soap can produce mold and ferment after 4-5 years… so yeah, it was probably a good call for me to trash it.

That means I now didn’t have any of the actual soap products I was going to use to make these! However, I had a trick up my sleeve (at least for the solid soap) and that trick was called… buying new soap to use. 🤣 I got some dye, grabbed some apple scent to add to the soap, and voila! BUTTERCUP SOAP!

Beautiful! 💚

They’re actually kind of cute, and I’m using them as little dish soaps right now (I’ll probably toss the erasers later though… I don’t think they’ll work after being in glycerin soap that long). The new apple smell I bought is, weirdly enough, not as great as the 20-year-old one, but it’s still something I totally think Buttercup wouldn’t mind using, even if bathtime was still torture for her. I also ended up making some blue soap themed for Bubbles (aka the original Soap). As for the shampoo, I basically just added the apple scent to some shampoo I already had and decorated the bottle that came with the kit accordingly.

…and that’s all she wrote! There it is! Soap and soap for your hair made with help from a kit no one else but me would, in their right mind, ever purchase! I hope you are all now fulfilled, free to live enriched lives knowing what mysteries were enclosed in the kit, and that I successfully made something with it for your enjoyment. It was all… for you! 💖🫵💖

#powerpuff girls #the powerpuff girls #ppg #20 year old soap #weird merch #also if anyone needs apple scented soap lmk I can now provide you with it #hope you enjoy….?????

[third-half]

2023 Self Check

Honestly, having an overall middling year where most of my troubles were my brain’s fault was kind of a breath of fresh air. Being out of commission for most of last year with a fucked up knee at least got me thankful every morning I can get up and walk around without a brace or cane. I don’t really agree with the doctors and my Dad that I’m “young” but I’m apparently still young enough I can heal. That said, I’m kind of let down in myself for letting depression and laziness get the best of me like, worse than usual this year. It hit kind of hard when sitting back and going through old archives of content and realizing that:

Sketch-A-Day was 2015 Eishi and Dixie was before that Revolver Knight ran from 2005-2008 or 2009

Meaning I’d basically failed to really deliver on any of the series/game/etc ideas I’d pitched from 2016 onward with the arguable exception of the dungeon crawler card game’s first version. If anyone was curious as to whether I’d touched on some of that stuff in the meantime the status of my Things right now is:

Angel Dust (The Gatty Thing)- Pretty much axed, as much as I love the character, it was kind of turning into edge for edge’s sake. The thing about Gatty Ling is I’ve had the idea of an erratic, destructive but adorable and well meaning character kicking around for ages but she’s kind of just a blank slate beyond those traits and I’ve tried to plunk her into like three completely unrelated settings with different origins. I was also attempting to kind of do a distinct art… sub…style with her stuff closer to a moe VN look, really pump up the cute to make the dark stuff pop, but well, Madoka already exists and the last iteration was basically Madoka with Robots. I probably wouldn’t rule it out forever but I’ve kind of been using some bits and pieces of the setting to flesh out the Plane Girls Thing

Revolver Knight Reload- I got like three pages into drawing a complete remake of my old webcomic, but kind of got cold feet from a combination of things. I didn’t think I was ready to take on another gigantic long form story, though I promise that the new version was *MUCH* more refined. Like Gatty, I wouldn’t say it’s *impossible* I mess with this, but I think I might look into something closer to a light novel with spot illustrations than a full on comic in the interest of like, finishing before I die.

Critical Heaven (The plane girl thing)- Still active, but having a bit of an identity crisis. It began as a ‘skirmish’ tabletop wargame then I got to thinking about it as more of a shmup-inspired duel game. The format of tabletop/print is also kind of iffy because I know people would be more likely to play it digitally and I have like, zip experience putting a substantial game project together. There’s also a more or less complete ‘campaign’ jotted half in my head and half in my notepad (putting it in a game with multiple endings would save me from deciding which ending to give it, hmmm.) But in short, yeah this is still being picked at.

Irrgarten (The Dungeon Card Thing)- I know I lead off with kind of the downer limbo thing but I’ve actually not totally abandoned this, definitely not the setting. Surprise, Radona is from this world! Really, I could probably bring this back pretty easily by revising the original game rules, the biggest issue we ran into play testing was that items didn’t ‘feel’ very valuable- characters were strong enough on their own not to need them. Maybe I can bump this up in priority.

There are probably other story ideas I’ve mentioned over the years and not followed up on, but characters from axed stuff do tend to surface in other projects if I’m attached enough to them. If there are any particular things that you enjoyed my work in or reading about in the past, do let me know. I’ve had a hard time motivating myself, so a nudge wouldn’t be a bad thing about now. Next year, I would really like to put more effort into having a regular “thing” to work on, maybe I’ll bring back some gag comics. Definitely plan to do more drawing in general because drawing one decent thing then going radio silent for two weeks leads to needing to de-rust like, every time. I’m a creature very vulnerable to inertia.

So, no promises here, but my goals going into 2024:

Put some time into practicing more ‘dynamic’ content like simple animation and game design since I have like three game making programs sitting around

Regular art posting, with a focus on improving quality and speed

Minding my health more since it’s easier to be active when there’s less of me to move

Establish a more regular streaming schedule since it helps me trim down my backlog

This kind of turned into more navel gazing than I had planned to be doing, but I thought this was a good time to touch base on some things since I’m back to posting here… well, okay, ‘regularly’ is a stretch, but there are a lot of things I’ve brought up before and not followed up on in a long time. If anyone has still been reading this- thank you, truly. I hope that with a bit more focus and less dwelling on the gnawing darkness in my gut, we can have some fun here again.

Oh, yeah, by the way- also been kicking around a top X games list I may get to posting soon, but may save for New Years Eve.

#meandering #who reads this

[yeetlegay]

Hi, hope you're having a good day! While I am being completely normal waiting for the kinnporsche final, there is one thought that sticks. I'm pretty sure there won't be any resolution for Timetay - they didn't even set up a proper conflict - but I love Tay fiercely. And so I cannot stop thinking about Tay telling Porsche that he and Kinn should hold each other's hand tightly. And how, in the bar scene at the beginning of the series, Tay is absolutely clinging to Time, even in his sleep. He is the one holding on tightly, the one who had to make a space for himself in Time's arms, while Time intentionally placed his arm around Tem. I love me some angst, but I know we're not getting any more content or resolution for them this season even if the final - thankfully - is "the longest episode". There have been some references in the actors' reaction, but nothing substantial about the characters' feelings of course. I just want Tay to be treated right, to know what Timetay's relationship dynamic is, to know why Tay keeps clinging to Time. If you can spare some thoughts on Timetay I would love to hear them! Ramblings praising Tay and threating Time are also always welcome. Take care!

😭😭😭 We need so much more Tay content, I love that gender icon so much!!! The TimeTayTem thing is so subtle I imagine a lot of people missed most of it, but I love how Tay offers this very veiled parallel or maybe even a foil to Porsche’s character. He’s very comfortable in the mafia world, in his relationship, in his own position, but it’s more like resignation than satisfaction. I wonder if he and Time have some kind of understanding or even an open relationship, or if Time thinks he’s pulling one over on Tay and Tay is letting him rather than rocking the boat. Maybe they were in love in the beginning but grew apart, or they care about each other but their relationship is more about protection and status than romance. Maybe Tay’s feelings are lingering while Time’s have dwindled into something closer to friendship.

I think it would say a lot that Tay chooses to stay with Time despite his apparent sadness/dissatisfaction. He seemed to imply that the mafia life had strained their relationship to a breaking point somewhere along the way, but in this world it’s not as cut and dry as breaking up. Idk who their families are or how involved they are in the Theerapanyakul businesses, but I imagine it’s pretty hard to cut ties when taking into account all the politics. (Also who gets Kinn in the divorce I wonder?) It’s a great hint at the potential conflict that could await Kinn and Porsche once they’re together and (eventually) in charge, bc any crack in their relationship will have massive ripple effects far beyond them.

If they do end up with a season 2 though, I’d LOVE a bigger focus on Tay. And. I guess by extension Time and Tem. I like Tem and he probably has no idea what he’s stepping into, but Time can get fucked and not in the fun way. Tay I know you’re aces with a gun and shooting your bitchass bf would be a fantastic way to show it if you’re so inclined. 💖💖💖

#kinnporsche #why don’t queue stay #yeetle asks #timetay

[smolthealmighty]

Spinaraki Week Round 3 Day 4: Family

But I Can Live and Breathe and See the Sun in Wintertime

An old family is given some parting remarks, a new family is spoken into being, and a gravestone gets a half-assed attempt of a clean-up. A continuation of Day 3: I’m Not Expecting to Grow Flowers in a Desert.

~~~~~

“Hm, that’s a grave alright.”

“Yeah… that’s their gravestone.”

Most socially-adjusted people probably wouldn’t use either of those phrases as conversation starters when visiting the cemetery where one’s family was memorialized, but Spinner and Tomura weren’t socially-adjusted period.

“You didn’t bring any incense or flowers right?” Spinner asked, winding his scarf tighter around his neck to keep out the chill.

“Nah, guess I could give it a wipe-down though. Damn thing’s covered in…” Tomura squinted as he tried to identify what he was looking at, “…I don’t know if that’s mold or some funky kind of moss.”

Mind made up, he unscrewed the top of his bootleg Eraserhead water bottle and proceeded to dump the contents onto the Shimura family’s gravestone, then took off his coat and used it to pick at the unknown growth.

“I’d ask if there’s anything you wanna say about them, but what more is there to say about the Shimuras?” Spinner asked rhetorically as he took off his scarf, carefully wrapping it around his boyfriend’s neck as he continued, “From what you’ve told me they lived, they disappointed themselves and everyone they cared about, then they died. Just a dysfunctional disaster all around.”

“That’s true, but if there’s nothing to say about them, I guess I can say something to them.” Tomura replied while giving the stone one last wipe before standing back up, throwing his muck-covered coat over Spinner’s shoulders and throwing his arm around the former swordsman’s waist to share his body heat.

“You guys were awful,” He said to the grave. “Well, Father was awful and the rest of you just let him get away with it. Living in that house, under your rules… Father it felt like… you hated heroes more than you loved me. And Mom, I know you loved me so much, I know that, but it was like the love you held for me seemed to hold less weight on your decisions than your desire to appease him did. Same for you Grandma, Grandpa.”

Tomura took a second to cool down before he went on, “Hana, you’re off the hook purely because I know you were scared of what he’d do, we both were. Hell, I think you’re the only one who ever apologized after hurting me. So yeah, I hope you’re taking care of Mon, and that you pass on some belly rubs for me. Alright, see you later, maybe, I dunno.”

Satisfied, Tomura weaved his way through the others gravestones towards the exit, Spinner keeping pace by his side.

“There’s something else,” Tomura mentioned, “Something I didn’t say it to them, maybe I’ll do so if I go back, but I think I figured out what went wrong, or at least what one of the problems was.”

Spinner turned his head expectantly, letting his boyfriend know he was listening.

“No one made the family a priority. Not in the ways it’s supposed to count. It’s actually kind of cyclic. Grandma Nana placed Father in the first foster family that could take him so she could go play martyr. And because she rushed it, she didn’t think about whether he’d be able to make it through the foster system if the family changed their mind, didn’t wonder if he would’ve wanted an explanation more substantial than ‘mommy needs to fight a bad guy so you have to stay here with these random strangers’, or if he’d keep the last name that made him stick out as a perfect target for All For One to follow. And I don’t have to explain the catastrophe that was Father punishing me while never truly explaining why he thought heroes were bad, and everyone else doing whatever they could to comfort me after the fact instead of confronting the actual problem. Everyone just rejected whatever didn’t fit the image they projected onto the family, and wouldn’t listen to anything that said otherwise.”

Tomura’s eyes were watering -something that was still so rare even after the constant reassurances by the counselors that it was okay to show these emotions- but he quickly rubbed at them and pushed on, “I already lost one family to so much miscommunication and an utter refusal to stop and listen to what each member wants. And I absolutely do not want to repeat those mistakes and lose another one. I not allowed to destroy much -legally that is,” At this Spinner couldn’t help but let out an amused snort, “-but if there’s one thing I get to break, it’s that cycle. I’m gonna keep you and the others safe. I’ll listen and I’ll keep you in the loop and I won’t hide things just to make everything seem okay when we’re in actually about to go over the edge. I will never reject you for who you are; I will never do any of what they did to me. I’ll take their failures, and I’m gonna build a better family than they ever could.”

Tomura’s declaration rang out across the graveyard, and they stood and listened as it bounced off of the stone markers until it finally died out into eerie silence. And when the air was quiet once more, Spinner leaned into Tomura’s slightly bony side and placed his hand on top of the one that was still settled around his waist, giving it a gentle squeeze as he said, “You already did, you know. That better family, the one that you listen to and prioritize; you built it already, and I hope you know how glad I am to be a part of it.”

The weather was getting colder, but the sun shone brightly in the sky, and warmed the pair’s backs as they left the cemetery.

~

I’m not expecting to grow flowers in a desert

But I can live and breathe

And see the sun in wintertime...

Stay alive

#spinarakiweek2022 #spinarakiweekround3 #spinaraki #shigaraki tomura #spinner #shuichi iguchi #smol’s stuff #smol's stories #if you know the ending lines i'm giving you kisses

[moviegroovies]

of all the movies i believed might warrant a moviegroovies revival, i think i speak for all of us when i say that this one was... not at the top of the list. nevertheless: unexpected, unwanted, and unsung: dream a little dream (1989).

mmmmm... i liked it. more than i expected to, anyway. to be honest, this was one i probably wouldn’t have picked up on my own, even for the “two coreys” phenomenon and its tangential connection back to the lost boys (my beloved)--as i’ve indicated before, while i’ll do anything for love (of the lost boys), i won’t do that (watch corey feldman movies)--but my dad got some kind of meredith salenger itch this week, and this was the result. all in all, it was pretty solid? kind of dragged for me, but there were no scenes i’d point to in particular and say “cut this.” plus, they did some interesting things with the bodyswap concept... and, if we’re being honest, i found myself pretty impressed by feldman’s performance.

(said nobody ever. i know, i know.)

what i liked: the body swap is a fairly standard stock plot (although, as i type this, i can’t call to mind NEARLY as many examples as i thought i could. i’ve extolled the virtues of vince vaugn in freaky on this blog before, haven’t i?), but dream a little dream had a fairly unique take on it; most of the movie is corey feldman acting as jason robbards’ character coleman, but we never see robbards as bobby. the justification for the plot is given a lot more screentime than the handwavey explanation which typically accompanies such a story (although i’m not necessarily sure that this is a good thing--sometimes the plot does NOT demand explanation; groundhog day & etc.), too--we devote a substantial amount of the exposition to coleman’s obsession with dreams and the idea that, as we don’t really know what dreams “are,” therein lies the path to eternal life, eternal youth...

sometimes it really is better just to say a wizard did it and have done, i think.

what really stood out to me, though, was whose movie it really was. don’t let the smokescreen of the two coreys fool you--dream a little dream is coleman’s movie, through and through. coleman, not the delinquent teenagers, is the one with a problem to be solved. it’s coleman, and apparently coleman alone, who has to learn a lesson, and while “this was what being young was like--and it wasn’t easy” is a pretty standard one for this genre, it feels... different, as presented. i searched a while for the big why, until it hit me: dream a little dream is a teen comedy about an old man.

bobby, on his own, has plenty of problems, and the introduction, cutting between title cards and a seinfeldian conversation between coreys feldman and haim, serves as something of a red herring in that respect. we gear up for a movie about teenage ne’er-do-wells coming of age, finding themselves, and presumably getting the girl. the thing is, though--that’s not the movie we get. quickly after we’re presented with our presumed protagonists, we’re introduced to another figure: a grumpy old man searching, to the detriment of his relationship with his friends and wife, even, for more. he has a good life, and he’s still deeply in love with gena, but he’s restless and ill-content. it’s already a departure from the role of older figures in such movies (because if our teenage protagonists represent youth and chaos, then older characters, especially much older characters like coleman and gena, are stability, stagnation--they’ve already figured it all out, and are liable to be trapped in their ways)... and then his obsession pays off, with a little help from fate, and he ends up occupying the body of bobby keller, with gena taking up a more backseat role possessing his female counterpart, lainie diamond.

like i said, the reverse is never true. bobby still exists in a spiritual form during coleman’s escapade, making the occasional cameo in coleman’s dreams (and one has to wonder about the influence of a nightmare on elm street on this movie’s final form; at one point, bobby even quips “you were expecting, maybe... freddy krueger?”, the dreams are shot in a similar, fuzzy way to nancy’s, and in the last act not falling asleep becomes an apparently life-or-death matter for gena), but he’s not walking around in coleman’s body, which i do believe the movie is stronger for. bobby might have a takeaway lesson from all of this, but it’s coleman we follow, navigating his way through high school and first love and the mortifying ordeal of trying to pull his wife’s consciousness up through a teenage girl’s mind. and i like that the delineation between lainie and gena and even bobby and coleman isn’t always clear; they’re sharing the bodies. as coleman points out at one point, “we’re them.” there isn’t quite a point where one stops and the other starts--coleman takes on more of bobby’s mannerisms and speech patterns the longer he plays his part, and lainie, when she’s around coleman, acts more and more in accordance to gena’s personal quirks. it’s surprisingly heartfelt, in a way. the end product is sometimes messy, because it’s juggling the body-swapping a-plot with a romantic triangle subplot involving an angry boy with a gun and a minor gang war between rival delinquent groups at the school (although, i will say that the culmination of THAT, the confrontation where coleman urges joel to shoot HIM, was pretty satisfying), but it’s mature in a way you don’t see in a lot of its contemporaries. ultimately, we’re watching an old man face the consequences of his monomania and realize what really matters to him is love. the rest is set dressing.

and as for the rest, hm. corey haim’s role didn’t pan out nearly as much as i expected it to. he sticks around for most of the movie to make faces at coleman when he does out of character shit in bobby’s body, but doesn’t even make it into the final scene when coleman and bobby (in their respective bodies again) come to a final understanding. it was already a pretty long movie, but i can’t help feeling like more could have been done with their friendship, especially with dinger making it onto the cover of the movie (unlike robbards) and into all of the promotional material. toward the end, coleman-as-bobby genuinely thanks dinger for looking out for him during the ordeal, only for dinger to ask if he’s “going fag” for his trouble. (as an aside: was this a thing people said? i’d never really heard it before i watched the warriors last week, but here it popped up again. whatever.) dinger’s character also continuously brought weird, sexualized racial comments to the table (first referring to apache women, then hawai’ian), which served no purpose but white supremacy’s. this, along with the ease with which lainie’s mother makes the decision to have her second husband drug her teenage daughter with a sleeping pill mixed into a glass of wine, can be explained (but not excused) as products of their time, but, y’know, come on. even in 1989, these scenes were written, greenlit, and parroted by people who should have known better.

hey, killer soundtrack, though. all in all, i could watch it again.

#dream a little dream #bobby keller #coleman ettinger #this didn't fit nicely into the above but you know what really killed me about this movie? how gender corey feldman looked #iykyk

[jackstingy]

# JACKSTINGY – an independent, mutuals only, 18+ roleplay blog following the semipiternal woes of a) some nerdy english kid waffling between uni and an internship at the local retirement home and b) the maleficent spirit of a machiavellian drunkard now attempting to permanently possess the body of said nerdy english kid. triggering content such as religious theming + imagery, references to alcohol use + physical violence, and dissociation will make frequent appearances. rules below the read more, though saint peter and satan have one little thing in common and that’s knowing quite thoroughly that the spirit of old stingy jack isn’t reading through shite. 

(you probably should, though. shutting up isn’t quite a part of either of their personal dictionaries, and neither is using parentheses in the manner they were meant to be used.)

THE PLAYER'S HANDBOOK – THE RECORDS IN THE BASEMENT – THE CEALLACH SCRAPBOOK – THE CAT RANDOMIZER

INTERACTING. will not be open to bigots, white-washers, or fetishisers. it will, however, be open to any and all mutuals (which is a status reserved for anyone and everyone who is a cool, respectful, talented writer – id est, you!), regardless of plotting status and whether or not we’ve talked ooc. feel free treat memes as starters, reblog memes and prompts from me instead of the source without sending anything in, delete anything from me that you’re too busy to answer; i’m really just here to have fun and find new people to write with, so as long as you respect my rules and i respect yours, we’re cool.

WRITING. will be tagged with applicable triggers as “trigger tw”, posted using beta editor, and mainly occur in two modes: anxious third person rambling from j.d. and atrocious first person misanthropy from jack with an italicised and bolded transition between them. while my writing may look lengthy, you are in no way obligated to match word count or force replies out quicker than you can handle. basic etiquette applies: no godmodding, no metagaming, and no powerplaying without discussing the parameters of any of these acts beforehand. all this being said, roleplaying is a hobby, and if you ever want to drop a thread or get something a little shorter in your notifications, i am more than willing to oblige you.

SHIPPING. in terms of romance will happen selectively and exclusively with j.d for the foreseeable future, be based on chemistry after a substantial amount of threads and plotting, and in no way be forced on you. i love pre-established relationships of the platonic or hostile kind with reckless disregard for my characters’ established timelines, though, so i’m always open to editing plot points in and out as development happens and stories are made. i’d rather not write smut on this blog, but suggestive content will be tagged as such and fade to blacks may happen.

UNFOLLOWING. will be done with a heads-up through private messages and a softblock on my end unless you’ve stated prior that you’d rather be hard blocked. of course, i don't expect a heads-up from anyone who wishes to unfollow or block me; do what you need to do to keep your corner of the internet comfortable!

FORMATTING. will be minimal, with small text, single spacing, italicised words, and 100x100 static icons. if there is anything you’d like me to change about how i format my posts, please let me know via tumblr ims or discord.

OOC. talk will be attempted! i’m seb, 23, he/him, now kicking it in gmt+11, with ‘it’ being the metaphorical bucket that is writing. i love commenting on posts (i know most of tumblr hates it, but i truly do believe that the reply function was made for me and me alone), sending in asks, and falling to my digital knees at the sheer quality of writing and emotion to be found in this community. i am slightly terrified of returning to indie roleplaying after a long stint in just group rp sectors, but hopefully j.d. and jack can bring some existential fear and festive cheer to you all!

#— will o' the wisp; pinned

[smokeybrandreviews]

Eclipse of my Heart

Man, it feels good to have the Gacha gods back on my side! And it also feels good to have a brand new UR in my fleet; And a Vanguard at that! I definitely need as many goddamn Rainbow Vanguards as I can get because having only San Diego as an option is killing my soul. If you can’t tell what I’m talking about, Azur Lane finally delivered some new Sakura Empire content worth my while. That’s right, there is kind of a pseudo Summer Event tied into whatever the f*ck Effulgence Before Eclipse is supposed to be. Not gonna lie, this new Event feels a little light on content. I mean, there are only five new ships, one of which is a Point Reward and the pother is a Shop item. I feel like, in the past, there were substantially more. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking with the absolute Iron Blood bonanza last year. Still, this year has been a desert for new content, even if I was able to secure myself a New Jersey on the Rerun. Getting a new Event with a UR tagged to the banner has been a real treat and you know I made my run!

In all honesty, I was more into popping Owari the most. I have a thing for that busty, dark skinned, anime girl trope and Owari is right in line for that. The second that update was complete, I hit the Banner with the force of a thousand exploding suns! Interestingly enough, the first ship I popped, on my second roll no less, was Owari! At that point, I had achieved my primary goal and figured, what the hell? I was going to give myself the leeway to burn through about one hundred of my Cube stash chasing the Ultra Rare, Unzen. Any more than that and I had a decision to make. Mostly because I’d probably end up having to open my wallet for more cubed, only had one hundred and sixty at that point, so it felt a little tight. More than that, my average to UR is around sixty-five cubes so that hundred felt acceptable. I was already twenty so I kept going. Literally on the next two attempts, I popped Hatsuzuki (who happens to be the Shop Ship so that was a wash) and Natori, the only Elite ship on the Banner. Seriously, two Super Rares, and Ultra, and an Elite is a very nice mix but I still need that elusive Rainbow. I needed Unzen. It took me four more rolls. Another forty Wisdom Cubes but I finally popped myself Unzen, completing the Banner ship quest! It took me eighty Cubes overall, but I popped every new ship available, even grabbing enough dupes of Owari and Natori to Limit Break both of them three times. I legit cleaned up AND came in under budget. All in all, I am damn pleased. All that’s left is Asanagi but she’s the Point ship. I’ll pop her just grinding my way through the Event maps, looking for those precious Priority Six Blueprints.

Speaking of Priority Six, I just recently finished constructing Kearsarge. Outside of the two Iron Blood offering, she was the only other ship I felt worthy of the grind. Constructing her felt like it went a lot faster than building up her sister P6 Rainbow, Hindenburg, but she was a labor of love. Felix Schultz, less so but if I’m being honest, I still kind of love her, too. She has shades of Meltryllis from Fate/Grand Order, and we all know how much I love me some Sakurafaces! Also, Prinz Rupprecht has a Fate Simulation? I ain’t even know that! He was already one of my favorites and now she is even more powerful! I’m so glad I grinded out tall those Blueprints beforehand. There is very little more satisfying than seeing that development bar flash to full in a matter of seconds instead of who knows how long. Even Chkalov got some of that bonus level love. A little bummed my Priority Four girls haven’t got any of the Fate love but this Event has given me a pretty fantastic costume for Hakuryuu. Flash of Silk and Strings can give Golden Dragon Under Aegir’s Auspicious Clouds, Taihou’s Sweet Time After School, Rupprecht’s The Gate Dragon’s Advent, and Regensberg’s Dark Dragon, Brilliant Beach, a run for their money as my favorite costume. All in all, I am very pleased with this event. I kind of fibbed a little bit in the beginning of this post, I actually have enough UR ships to field an entire Vanguard of Rainbows, without San Diego even. I have, currently, running for the grind, Aegir (who is complete and maxed out at all possible levels), Hindenberg, and Unzen who, through the magic of T1 EXP Packs, is already at level eighty-eight! I have my choice of Main Fleet option, f*cking lousy with Rainbow Main Fleet options, but I am mad content otherwise. Now all I need is a Shimakaze Rerun and I’ll be satisfied. It’s borderline frustrating that I’m missing just one of the Japanese Rainbows. It chaffs the completionist in me like you wouldn’t believe.

#Effulgence Before Eclipse #Azur Lane #Sakura Empire

[smokeybrand]

Eclipse of my Heart

Man, it feels good to have the Gacha gods back on my side! And it also feels good to have a brand new UR in my fleet; And a Vanguard at that! I definitely need as many goddamn Rainbow Vanguards as I can get because having only San Diego as an option is killing my soul. If you can’t tell what I’m talking about, Azur Lane finally delivered some new Sakura Empire content worth my while. That’s right, there is kind of a pseudo Summer Event tied into whatever the f*ck Effulgence Before Eclipse is supposed to be. Not gonna lie, this new Event feels a little light on content. I mean, there are only five new ships, one of which is a Point Reward and the pother is a Shop item. I feel like, in the past, there were substantially more. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking with the absolute Iron Blood bonanza last year. Still, this year has been a desert for new content, even if I was able to secure myself a New Jersey on the Rerun. Getting a new Event with a UR tagged to the banner has been a real treat and you know I made my run!

In all honesty, I was more into popping Owari the most. I have a thing for that busty, dark skinned, anime girl trope and Owari is right in line for that. The second that update was complete, I hit the Banner with the force of a thousand exploding suns! Interestingly enough, the first ship I popped, on my second roll no less, was Owari! At that point, I had achieved my primary goal and figured, what the hell? I was going to give myself the leeway to burn through about one hundred of my Cube stash chasing the Ultra Rare, Unzen. Any more than that and I had a decision to make. Mostly because I’d probably end up having to open my wallet for more cubed, only had one hundred and sixty at that point, so it felt a little tight. More than that, my average to UR is around sixty-five cubes so that hundred felt acceptable. I was already twenty so I kept going. Literally on the next two attempts, I popped Hatsuzuki (who happens to be the Shop Ship so that was a wash) and Natori, the only Elite ship on the Banner. Seriously, two Super Rares, and Ultra, and an Elite is a very nice mix but I still need that elusive Rainbow. I needed Unzen. It took me four more rolls. Another forty Wisdom Cubes but I finally popped myself Unzen, completing the Banner ship quest! It took me eighty Cubes overall, but I popped every new ship available, even grabbing enough dupes of Owari and Natori to Limit Break both of them three times. I legit cleaned up AND came in under budget. All in all, I am damn pleased. All that’s left is Asanagi but she’s the Point ship. I’ll pop her just grinding my way through the Event maps, looking for those precious Priority Six Blueprints.

Speaking of Priority Six, I just recently finished constructing Kearsarge. Outside of the two Iron Blood offering, she was the only other ship I felt worthy of the grind. Constructing her felt like it went a lot faster than building up her sister P6 Rainbow, Hindenburg, but she was a labor of love. Felix Schultz, less so but if I’m being honest, I still kind of love her, too. She has shades of Meltryllis from Fate/Grand Order, and we all know how much I love me some Sakurafaces! Also, Prinz Rupprecht has a Fate Simulation? I ain’t even know that! He was already one of my favorites and now she is even more powerful! I’m so glad I grinded out tall those Blueprints beforehand. There is very little more satisfying than seeing that development bar flash to full in a matter of seconds instead of who knows how long. Even Chkalov got some of that bonus level love. A little bummed my Priority Four girls haven’t got any of the Fate love but this Event has given me a pretty fantastic costume for Hakuryuu. Flash of Silk and Strings can give Golden Dragon Under Aegir’s Auspicious Clouds, Taihou’s Sweet Time After School, Rupprecht’s The Gate Dragon’s Advent, and Regensberg’s Dark Dragon, Brilliant Beach, a run for their money as my favorite costume. All in all, I am very pleased with this event. I kind of fibbed a little bit in the beginning of this post, I actually have enough UR ships to field an entire Vanguard of Rainbows, without San Diego even. I have, currently, running for the grind, Aegir (who is complete and maxed out at all possible levels), Hindenberg, and Unzen who, through the magic of T1 EXP Packs, is already at level eighty-eight! I have my choice of Main Fleet option, f*cking lousy with Rainbow Main Fleet options, but I am mad content otherwise. Now all I need is a Shimakaze Rerun and I’ll be satisfied. It’s borderline frustrating that I’m missing just one of the Japanese Rainbows. It chaffs the completionist in me like you wouldn’t believe.

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Dead Cells

So, I like going with the high-hp builds in Dead Cells. They’re good for learning, and allow you to make a few mistakes without losing the run, even if they also mean you deal less damage and therefore have to spend more time engaging with each enemy.

I had an absolutely stupendous weapon (The Iron Staff already auto-parries melee attacks every 3 hits. This one also had stun on hit. It ripped the Clock Maker to shreds) that probably would have utterly bodied the King side, but I went to the Queen side - the newest expansion.

I wish there were some kind of nudge to let you know which content is new content. If I were new to all this, I’d assume the Lighthouse and Castle were equivalent. They Are Not. The Servants, and the level around them, are a great deal harder to cope with than the Hand of the King, in my opinion.

What I like about the high-hp build is that I have time to go “Oh. Oh! Oh shit! Oh no!” and sometimes even back up, take stock, change tactics, and come back from it. The high-damage builds are like snowboarding, as Eddie Izzard puts it: “There’s only two positions: One is looking cool, the second is DEAD!” I’ll lean that direction later, maybe, once I have the enemies’ movesets ingrained so I know what they’ll do when I just look at them. A substantial number of the enemies I’m meeting are still new to me, and a few have even shifted their moves around since the game was first released (Lookin’ at you, Festering Zombie).

I appreciate how the game gives you that kind of control. I ended the run with over 14,000 max hp. For reference, an hour earlier I started with 100. Dead Cells lets you pull a lot of levers to decide how hard you want the game to be. If you want to cut down the pool of items so you’re more likely to get the item setup you want, you can. If you want to go “top-heavy” and focus almost totally on one color for maximum speed at the cost of hp, you can. If you want to flat out increase the danger of the run and you’ve beaten the final boss of the base game, you can. If you want to make the run harder without beating the final boss, most of the DLC is harder (some of it is merely differently hard) and you can go to those zones. Even within the base game the zones with more prerequisites are generally harder than those without; From the Prisoners’ Quarters the Toxic Sewers are generally going to be tougher than the Promenade, for instance.

(Also I love the Shrimp Baby. Even at full size I don’t get the impression they’re particularly strong, but it’s nice to have a companion along, same as the Great Owl. And this one has achievements!)

#Dead Cells

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

[cloudyevaa]

— warning!!! spoilers for the 2.1 genshin impact archon quest, and a lot of disappointment up ahead. also disclaimer: i am not by any means qualified to give this criticism lol this is just my take and my opinion on the quest's execution, and i need a place to rant.

I can't be the only one who feels very conflicted about the 2.1 archon quest, right??

I think one of the appeals of inazuma's main story was the fact that there was a war, an ongoing conflict between a nation and its deity - the fact that the archons' moralities are not so black and white as we'd thought is hammered home by the dictating reign of the raiden shogun, in contrast to both rex lapis and barbatos, who have directly aided the traveller in their previous endeavours.

the 2.1 archon quest, though?? it feels as if ei is played off to just be a lonely and misunderstood deity, and she so easily changes after... what? yae miko visits her in her realm of euthymia? the shogun knew of the repercussions of the vision hunt decree, the tenryou commission's involvement with the fatui, and even the civil war.

so why was the plot building up to the reveal that the raiden shogun may have just been mislead by false commission reports? what difference does it make that both the tenryou and kanjirou commissions have betrayed the shogun if she already knew they colluded with the fatui?

I hold nothing against ei's character — in fact, I love the way her ideals seem perfect on paper, but works in detriment to the very people she wants to protect. I love that she struggles to understand how eternity is not stagnation, and that growth is the only thing that will stay forever unchanging, because all moments are fleeting, and all life ends.

but mihoyo makes it extremely hard for me to enjoy her story completely when all we do is fight her and rely on the power of friendship vision bearers' ambitions to change her mind about the vision hunt decree. like, ,, what gives?? everything happened so quickly, how could she so easily throw away the ideals she's been so adamantly holding onto for decades?

I haven't done her story quest, but it looks like she's not even being taken accountable for being the spearhead in a literal civil war. all those vision bearers who lost their lives ( including kazuha's friend ), all the common people she has harmed because of her tunnel vision - she lifts the vision hunt decree and she is suddenly absolved? of course, I don't want a perfect morally good character, but at the very least mihoyo can show us that she is not so perfect so as to suddenly change her mind about the vision hunt decree and sporadically feel compassion for the very people she knows she has harmed.

I'm sure people are also really shocked about signora's death - I am too. I was never a fan of signora but her presence was always filled with mystery, intrigue, and an impending sense of doom. she was that antagonist - beautiful, hauntingly cruel, and jam-packed with unknown backstory ( as seen with the crimson witch and pale flame artifact set lore ) that I thought was going to be further explored on future quests. but?? she??? just???? dies???? and for what?

I don't mind if she dies ( in fact, I would like for an opportunity to use traveller to execute her myself ), but the fact that her death brings no substance to the overarching story, especially since scaramouche just. got the gnosis from yae miko. like, mihoyo can do signora MUCH better than this. she deserves a glorious death as a fleshed-out antagonist, yet I felt nothing for her, not even the slightest bit of satisfaction, when she disappeared into ashes.

and scaramouche. I like the guy, he's funny-looking, and kind of sadistic. the fact that he was appearing in inazuma was a welcome surprise. it made sense, considering he was confirmed to be from inazuma, and there were theories about he and the shogun's similar appearamces which I eagerly consumed. but he appears for like, 3 minutes, and then we're KNOCKED OUT???? seriously???????

when yae miko suddenly appeared I actually thought she'd betrayed us and was working with the fatui. but then she wakes us up, tells us nothing about the SINGLE MOST important exchange in the whole quest until AFTER the main conflict is resolved, and just dumps scaramouche's identity on us as a SIDE COMMENT. what is this tomfoolery??? we weren't even there to see it? at least give us a cutscene explaining what went down, because this was LITERALLY one of the most important parts of the entire archon quest, and one of the recurring goals of the traveller.

also, can we talk about the resistance? oh wait a minute, we can't, because they literally did nothing. absolutely nothing. they contributed a total of 0 times the whole quest. only teppei was a memorable figure, and he had more lore than the upcoming 5-star master strategist of the whole army; kokomi.

as a person who loves kokomi, i am devastated by the lack of actual role she holds within the plot. she is a famed strategist and the only reason the resistance has been holding out for so long, as kujou sara said herself. but she's not given so much as a 30-second fight scene, and we never see her cunning wits on the battlefield - we probably never will. why, you may ask? well, because the freaking war is OVER. because baal just decided to stop the vision hunt decree.

i sincerely hope there will be more substantial kokomi content during her banner where we get to see her shine, seeing as it seems that mihoyo is already nerfing her abilities and focusing their efforts into promoting ei instead.

however, seeing as the main inazuma conflict ( the vision hunt decree ) is already over and dealt with... what the frick is kokomi supposed to bring to the table??? 😃 the one character i feel that shone throughout the quest was kujou sara, who had actually had a set-up for potential character development from the previous patch. but even then she's rendered unconscious by signora in front of the archon she is the loyal right-hand of??? like y'all pls tell me I'm not dreaming.

I loved the graphics, the concept, the lore - but the execution fell flat and felt terribly rushed. I wonder if it's because mihoyo is very insistent on hyper-fixating upon the raiden shogun this update.

anyway, that was a long tangent lmao. if you enjoyed the quest, good for you!! I enjoyed it, too; but my enjoyment is far overshadowed by the glaring issues that i had with it. i'd love to hear other people's thoughts about the quest.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin 2.1 #some things about this quest just genuinely confuse me #genshin baal #genshin signora #genshin scaramouche #feel free to discuss/disagree #maybe signora could come back but like lmao look ar her ashes yall. we even got her crown #also soomething i thought was acc interesting was the purple fog scaramouche. Uh. released??? #that sounds weird but #its interesting and i might elaborate in another post lol #genshin archon quest #— genshin anecdotes.

[majolish]

Rant // mild Obey Me! spoilers ahead for those who are behind on lessons.

-

-

I love this game so I really hate to say it, but we desperately need some flavor. At the very least, I wish they’d do something interesting with the pop quizzes and call it non-canon? Give us fun AUs to work with. I’m on the third scene of the current pop quiz and it feels so mundane and fillery. I came here to fuck demon boys, not everyday college students. Hell, even college boys have more going for them than these boys atm lmao. They’re in a constant limbo where nothing of substance occurs.

It feels like we’re in some Disney wizard school now. The narrative is flat and the boys are one-note shells of their former selves. Everything is fluff and vanilla 24/7. It doesn’t feel like a game about demons and angels anymore. While I’d love to be wrong,  it seems they’re afraid of featuring taboo or morally questionable content now in fear of backlash. I had a conversation with another player that’s been around long like myself (since launch) the other day and they shared the same thoughts I did. 

As they said, after the good night pop quiz and Mammon devilgram situation, Solmare/SWD probably wants to avoid certain content now. This comes at a major cost because this stunts the growth and overall potential of the boys. They’re demons, they literally exist as avatars of sin. You can’t avoid dark subjects that might make people uncomfortable and portray compelling demon characters. Some kids on Twitter that don’t even spend money on the game are not the demographic they should be worried about satisfying if they want to stay afloat. 

Even if we give them the benefit of the doubt and say the current tone is intentional because of the peace between realms goal, this plot still doesn’t visibly progress. Every few lesson they introduce a new unsubstantial gimmick or gag that doesn’t advance the story, rinse and repeat. There is literally nothing that makes it feel like there is pushback on Diavolo’s dream of achieving peace. If there are forces standing against him and the boys, SHOW that. 

Hell, let’s say they do push aside the realms and demon stuff for whatever reason. We can still have the characters interact in substantial ways?  They’ve fumbled so many good opportunities that ended up amounting to nothing. The Lucifer vs. Diavolo thing could’ve been a phenomenal arc and they threw it aside like it never happened by the next lesson. That single handedly could’ve started so many possible storylines and it went nowhere. Ridiculous. And yes I will complain about that particular situation forever.

Anyway, idk. It feels like they’re letting the characters and setting waste away. I want better for them and know they can do better. I’m really hoping they get it together for the next season and spice things up with the introduction of the alluded new character(s). They can’t keep people around with pretty art forever. Something has to change and hopefully soon.

#obey me spoilers #obey me #rant #this is long as hell i'm sorry LMAOO

[frevandrest]

Everything Wrong with Saint-Just's Introductory Scene in La Révolution française (1989)

As promised, here is an analysis of Saint-Just’s first scene from La Révolution française (1989). You can watch the scene (with English subtitles) here. It sadly misses the dramatic entrance part, but everything else is there. SPOILER: This analysis will not, in fact, cover everything wrong because there’s so much trash you can’t adequately address it in only 1000 words. 

In the scene, we see a young man with that hair rushing down the steps of the Convention (in what will be his signature dramatic! style). He pushes people way without even looking at them. There is someone at the rostrum, and many people wait to address the Convention. Saint-Just doesn’t give a fuck. “I demand to speak.” Some deputies murmur a weak protest, but they are shit out of luck because it’s time to introduce a new character, and we need to know what a jerk he is. So of course he’s granted the word. 

At first, nobody pays attention, but “just like you, I would die for this Republic”, seems to work. He delivers the speech (which contains maybe two lines from the actual one), and by the end, Marat claps, the Convention claps, Danton and Girondins are suspicious; Robespierre is in love. Camille, oh Camille, does he know he’s just been replaced? Saint-Just pouts slightly (my interpretation) but doesn’t show much emotion. Next scene: Louis receives news that he’s being put on trial. Good job, new boy. 

As first scenes go, this is a good introduction to Saint-Just as depicted in the film. But it’s also very wrong for SJ as a historical personality (what we know of him). Which sucks, because it’s not like it’s impossible to make an unsympathetic yet historically accurate SJ, if one wants to go that route. See, Saint-Just in La Révolution française is a prop; he’s not a character with his own complexities, goals or motivations. He is just there to be pretty and evil, and to take Robespierre away from Camille.

So, why is this introduction wrong? 

Let us remember that this was Saint-Just’s very first speech at the Convention. He got elected days after his 25th birthday; he was the youngest out there. Also, even with Robespierre’s support (that some claim he already enjoyed), he was an unknown; a peasant provincial from Picardie barely out of his adolescence. He wanted to prove himself and demonstrate that he was a worthy representative. Being rude and pushing people away is not really a good way to achieve that. 

Here’s the thing about Saint-Just: despite all stereotypes of the contrary, he respected authority. However, he only respected authority that he felt deserved to be respected. In 1792, “monarchy” was not it. But National Convention? Revolutionary government? Of course he respected it. He fought so much to get there, and he respected the place he was given. 

Throwing his weight around, pushing people away, demanding to speak when someone else is at the rostrum, disobeying order... It was really not Saint-Just. He hated commotion and fights that happened so often at the Jacobin club. Even on 9 Thermidor, when Tallien interrupted him and shit hit the fan, he continued to attempt to deliver the speech. They pushed him, and he kept trying to speak, without, I don’t know, punching someone in the face (La Révolution française Saint-Just totally would, which is, admittedly, one of the many, many many reasons why it sucks that they shortened and condensed Thermidor). 

The film uses “blame Saint-Just for Robespierre’s turn to darkness” approach. SJ is there to encourage Robespierre into cruelty and cold violence, and, if Robespierre starts to doubt even for a moment, to reassure him that yes, this is how things should be done, you are right Max, let’s kill them all, but particularly Camille; I can’t stand that guy for having you first  ridiculing my poetry (wait... SJ’s poetry wasn’t in the film. Why does he hate Camille, again?) Who knows. The only explanation the film provides is that Camille is Good and Saint-Just is Evil, so of course he’d want to get rid of him. 

Now, let us see about the speech itself.

The Speech

The speech Saint-Just delivers in the film contains maybe a few lines from the actual speech (notably: “this man should reign, or die”). I don’t have a problem with them not replicating the speech word for word because it followed on what other deputies talked about (which we didn’t hear)*, and because nobody has time for Antoine’s ramblings about antiquity. (And it would take around 10 minutes to act, which would probably provide us with more glorious shots of Robespierre falling in love being impressed, but it would take too much of the running time. I get that.)

So, in theory, I am fine with shortening the speech and paraphrasing, as long as the meaning and content is there. Which... it did on a surface level while also missing the point substantially.  

*Not showing SJ addressing what others said before him was understandable (condensing runtime), but it’s another thing that made it seem like he didn’t listen nor paid attention what others were doing. Also, it’s a missed opportunity to characterize him as a jerk full of himself, since his real speech basically opened with: “all that the previous guy said is bullshit, and here’s why”. 

Speech in the film: I would die for the Republic and I would fight the enemies of the Republic. We all know the name of the enemy, and I, like none here, am ready to fight against this enemy. Louis is a symbol of traitors among us. We should not hesitate; the king is an usurper. 

In short, speech in the film is, kind of, less about Louis and more about what SJ will be important later: his own sense of revolutionary righteousness and for weeding out “traitors” from the Convention. 

Another issue with the speech is that it wasn’t just about the speech - it was part of Saint-Just’s introductory scene, so we had to learn about his character through the speech. In the film, SJ is rude, cruel and cares only about... well, we are not sure, because there are no motivations whatsoever, but he is there to push Max when something bad needs to be done. I feel that his rudeness during the introductory scene and the way the speech was delivered fulfil this purpose nicely. However, I am not sure that we actually understand what Saint-Just’s speech was about, except vague “we must kill the king” vibe. 

The Aftermath

The scene following Saint-Just’s speech is that of Louis, a doting father, reading a book to his son. Men come and rudely tell him to send the child away. He is to be put on trial. The implication? Saint-Just’s speech won the crowd over and they decided to kill Louis, or at least put him on trial. 

In reality, while Saint-Just’s speech was highly noticed (his real-life dramatic entrance into Convention), the deputies did NOT listen to him. The whole point of the speech was that Louis should not be put on trial - trials are for the citizens, which he is not. Louis’ crime is not treason - the monarchy is a crime in itself. Saint-Just argued against the trial. Yes, his speech was highly influential but presenting it in this way puts way too much weight on this newcomer’s words and implies he was the key factor behind the trial.  

Other Observations

- There is a long debate among historians whether Robespierre was present for Saint-Just’s first speech on 13 November 1792. (I think the conclusion is “probably not”.) But I don’t mind this change, if nothing else, for those glorious shots of Robespierre’s heart eyes and Camille’s “wtf did this guy come from and why is Max looking at him like that?”

- Marat. It is true that he generally praised Saint-Just as an orator, but he disagreed with this speech (Marat was for trial). 

- The reason why this post is dedicated to SJ’s first scene is because I was asked/challenged to write about it. It doesn’t mean that his other scenes were any better (I’d say they were worse). In fact, the entire SJ’s character was a Thermidorized mess. 

- That being said, I don’t hate this SJ. I cannot; LRF was my introduction to the whole Frev thing and will always have a special place. Christopher Thompson was ok, particularly in some aspects of SJ. However, the whole thing was a mess and it should be criticized. 

- Hair. I promised to dedicate one full paragraph to SJ’s hair, but I... can’t. I simply cannot. I am sorry. I tried, but the words failed me. 

- This was more fun that it should have been and there are so many things I didn’t get to say (the entire performance and what this scene means for SJ as a character in the film, a more detailed analysis of the speech and comparison with the real one, etc.) But it did show that I can still vomit write 1000+ words about anything that I have any interest in, which is... good to know, I guess? (Let’s just say that I won’t be winning any SJ contest prizes for laconicism). 

#la revolution francaise #saint-just #french revolution #frev #saint just #movies

[jjkpls]

Mean Yoongi 4 - Finale (M)

> genre : angst (a hell of a lot), smut

> pairing : min yoongi x reader (f)

> total words : 11k+

> warnings/content : takes place post rona quarantine, explicit sexual content (bj, fingering, dirty talk, lowkey cum play), bad writing (it’s been a while, i hope you don’t feel the struggle too much)

> summary : You haven’t talked to Yoongi in so long, now that you’re allowed to see him again, you’re not sure how to do it anymore.

> previous

"Your hair has grown a lot."

I don't say anything. I stare, probably a bit cold, I don't make an effort to answer. There's a lot of things to say but no words seem right. Her attempt sucks anyway. I can tell, from the way she nibbles on her bottom lip, eyes shying away, that she thinks the same.

The moment is filled with tension. The bad kind of tension. She's fidgety, feeling awkward. I feel it too but I'm better at hiding it. I've always been. Sitting back in my chair, observing her attentively, I can't help my insides from twisting on themselves, my heart from squeezing painfully in my chest. She's the same, mostly. With a shadow under the eyes she didn't use to have, a pallor I hate on her cheeks -usually painted that lovely shade of crimson, whenever I'm here to watch, as if the colour exists only for me- a slump in her stance. I wonder what I'm like to her. My hair's changed, as she mentioned. It's quite long, it's grown indeed, and enough for my natural colour to take over my whole head. I am tired, both in body and mind. So much so, I don't find the energy to tease her like I would before. And maybe, that's the biggest thing that's changed about me, and this sole thing is turning me into someone else entirely. I may as well be a whole someone else. Not the man who used to, every now and then, sprinkle glimpses of an awkward grin I've never gotten used to wearing but that I know, she loves. Certainly not the one who teased her with a relationship she could graze but not catch, with my fingers deep in her cunt, using crude and harsh words foreign to my lips straight in her ear, because she secretly loves it. Dancing on her feet, playing with her own fingers, gesticulating and waiting, hoping for an easy way out to manifest somehow. Probably for me to grant it to her because no matter how difficult I make myself to be, I've always been good at that. Dictate and guide how things go between us. I am sweet even if I wouldn't ever admit it aloud and it's been convenient, always, for her. I'm sort of curious to see how it'll go, how it can go if for once, I'm not making any effort for the both of us. I raise from my seat, eyes dropping from her. (She's wearing Converse, I note. This probably because she didn't plan on seeing me.) Hands digging deep in my pockets, I'm not sure I can approach her. These weird, implemented reflexes raise in her too. People don't do it so much any more. Getting close. And I can see her flinch in impulse before her eyes grow big and demanding. "I got tested-" She cuts herself short. It sounds weird. To speak in this deafening silence, she can hear it as much as I can. And to say those words too. She doesn't have to finish the sentence, I get the idea and from the shade of her voice, I can tell her results have turned out negative. Maybe I'm a bit irresponsible. Maybe a bit too desperate. In any case, it makes me scoff, roll my eyes. Staring down at my feet, hair hiding most of my face to her, I have to bite back on my tongue the words that almost roll out. Something about not giving a shit about that, and her being ridiculous. I don't really trust my mouth, I have no idea what would come out of it, therefore I don't speak. My hand reaches forward, bony fingers catching the front of her shirt before I'm dragging her to me. Very naturally, as if it hasn't been months since the last time I've touched her, as if even before that we were used to holding unto each other like that, she melts in my arms. "Why didn't you call?" She could, technically, ask me the same thing: I could have done it. I hope she doesn't ask. I wouldn't know what to say to her. How honest to be. I'd probably say that I was waiting for her to do it first. Which sounds ridiculous, childish as hell but couldn't be more true. I'd say, if I had a different tongue, that wouldn't get tied up anytime deep feelings are involved, that I was worried and terrified and sad, like I had not been in a long while. And all this because she wouldn't call, she wouldn't reach out for me and my heart, probably too profound and too serious, couldn't quite comprehend and certainly not accept her silence. Those months drove me crazy. Literally. I came to ask myself if I didn't make it all up. If the special bound between us had ever really existed or if it was just all projection. "You didn't either." She ends up saying. Clearly, she's as speechless as I am when it comes to explaining months, almost half a year, of pure dumbassery. It's not like it's necessary to explain anyway. She should just know how to tell me that she missed me. And I should know to do it too. She's better at that stuff. Not that good but still better than I am, I think. If she can't do it then I'm not sure I can even try. But today I'm different, as I said. And when she accuses me like she just did, I tense but don't let go. I can hear the way her breath catches in her throat, her shoulders rising to her ear. She's probably expecting me to back away and start cursing at her. I only squeeze further though, sliding my chin along her shoulder so to tuck my neck nicely with hers, humming pure appreciation, when it feels as comfortable and warm as it possibly can. She smells wonderful, she's warm and so willing to let me wrap myself around her. "I wasn't at my best so- I thought I'd just wait for you to call when you would-" I found the courage, apparently, to say all the things that's been heavy on my mind. It's easy when she's this tender. Embodiment of warmth, of welcoming, of loving, I can only be serene, voice low and soft. "But you never did." The only reason I allow myself to reproach the things that technically she can also blame me for, is because I know, that pressed that hard and that close against her, she can feel my heart beating insanely, exposing and telling on me. "You should have!" I don't need to say anything for her to gather that I'm not amused. I unwrap from her, deciding she's being too much of a stubborn brat. I sigh, watching her pointedly not watching me. She yelps and finally grants me her pretty eyes when a pinch to the back of her thigh, right under her ass, scalds her. Here's her "Mean Yoongi", as she so calls me, according to the Snapchat conversation she shares with Taehyung. I see her bite back a smile, her pretty lip flushed when she releases it. "What was that for?" She whines as if it's not fair, rubbing the soreness of her thigh with one hand. I smile mostly with my eyes, deciding to ignore the tears that have gathered in her eyes while I wasn't looking. I back away, taking a stand against the top of my desk, arms crossed tight on my chest. "You deserve way more than that. Lucky for you, I feel lazy." Her gaze follows mine, aimed at the leather sofa. The thing presently empty but virtually filled with the substantial memory of that one fateful time I touched her for the first time, her ass made red by my ministrations. I can't do that today. I'm too soft for now. I still enjoy seeing her squirm, blush and shy away while simultaneously loving thinking about it though. "I could tell you the same, Yoongi. You could have-" I'm losing patience. It's not entirely against her. It's more accurately against us. We're playing the same pointless game. The unnecessarily torturing game of denying, of dismissing. I should probably just drop it, even if it hurts and leaves me with too many pressing interrogations. I might look a bit more serious when I start studying her face with great attention. She's beautiful. I missed seeing her. The mental picture I had kept of her, along with the real ones I'd spent months looking at, didn't do her much justice. She looks somewhat surreal. Prettier than I remember, yet printed with the same aura I recognize. "I told you why already." I whisper to her. My own voice surprises me. It's as if my heart, that's been too hurt, has been left tender, exposed and I'm turned weak even in demeanour. I bet it's confusing for her. It is for me. Feels disarming. "But- what's the point then? If when you're down you don't call-" To that, I don't know what to say. I don't know how to admit to her, if she hasn't guessed it yet, the extend of my inability to seek for what I need, for what makes me feel good, for her who I've wanted and craved for. Of course, I needed her. Of course, I wanted her to be here for me -and be needed and wanted by her. I don't know how to say it though therefore I kiss her. A soft press to the corner of her mouth. I smile, probably looking dumb, when I see her wide eyes blinking, sending one lone tiny tear on her cheekbone. Her cheeks turn red because apparently, she's not immune to me and my kisses anymore, her immediate, strong reactions turning out to be the same as the ones she used to have, in the very, very beginning, when she was so putty, so lenient, such a good girl and also, the shyest and most innocent little thing. She needs some time to accommodate, to say the least. She's barely kissing me back. Simply letting me pepper her mouth with kisses, closing her eyes, hands reaching for my sweatshirt yet not so much giving me back.

After too long of not enough, I need to stop. Because what I think I know might not be so right anymore. Maybe I read things wrong, yet again, and she's not in the same place I stand. After looking at her face, and her eyes, who struggle to dry up and look at me, I ask, "What's wrong?", granting her all of my attention. "Wha- you, what's wrong?" I scoff. She looks like she's about to cry while snarking like a brat. "You're really testing my patience." "You're different. You don't have patience normally." I tilt my head to the side, a tiny smile lifting one corner of my lips. I can't say it's not true. "I thought you wanted me sweeter?" She stares, frowning. Confused, embarrassed and almost upset. I know I'm a weird fucking version of myself right now. The one that hasn't come out a lot these past few years and that she'd certainly never met before. I'm scared she doesn't like it. Maybe she hates it. If she liked me before, there's no reason she'd like that one Yoongi, is there? "I'm just messing with you. I'm tired and-" Gentle fingers wrap around her hands, intimating her to walk forward, forward and close enough for me to close my lips on hers again. "It's been a while." I let her look into my eyes, read the longing and probably the sadness. "Sorry if I'm weird. If you don't like me like that just- bear with me for today, hm?" "I bear with you all the time." Well. That's not even the last thing I expected her to say. Pretty mean for a sweet girl like her. "What does that mean?" She shrugs. She knows but she won't say. She has that pout on her mouth. The tilted one she does whenever something's been said loud and clear in that little head of hers but she's not generous enough to indulge in sharing. I stare, disapprovingly, thumb chastising kindly her cheek. "That's rough." "I don't mean it like that-" "Then what do you mean?" My mouth finds her again for an instant. It's a soft gentle kiss that doesn't hint at anything more. She remains silent. "Cats got your tongue? You usually can't shut up but you're so quiet today." Through her cute pout, she mumbles, "I guess I'm weird too today." My phone buzzes where it lays on my desk. With a quick glance, I can tell it's a text from Namjoon. I don't even need to read it. I can guess it. He's probably calling me an idiot while simultaneously demanding me not to be one.

I heard him earlier, I bet she doesn't know, when he held her hostage by telling that I was awake and that she should go say hi. He held her hostage because she was just passing by. From how loud Taehyung and Jimin were when the front door banged opened, half an hour ago, I could tell they were drunk as hell and she had just planned on dropping them off and leave. And Namjoon, being the good man and even better friend that he is, wouldn't let that happen. How could he when he's seen me all those months in states he probably hoped, back when we were young trainees, that he'd never had to see me again in? It hurt and it still does a little, to imagine that for the first time after so long, after finally being freed from the government harsh but necessary restrictions, she would come so close to me yet consider pass by me, without saying hi, without inquiring if I'm here, even. If it were not for the firm, absolutely non-subtle suggestion coming from Namjoon, she would have done it. She would have left ignoring me. Then she knocked gently on my door, I could tell she was terrified when I opened it and faced her, quiet. And maybe it was pure projection but I felt she wanted to be here. She was scared and embarrassed, didn't know what to say, what to do with herself and me, but she wanted to stay and try to untie this shitty intricate ball of knots. The thing is, it's late. It's super fucking late and I'm reminding when the screen of my phone lights up again to remind me to check the text I just received. She arrived too late at the dorms. We wasted, collectively, too much time not saying much and here we are, standing in the dimly lighted studio, facing each other with too much of an ambiguous tension surrounding us. Everything is unclear. The kisses she would allow me to leave on her lips but not give back to me, tasting lovely but with an aftertaste, a bitter taste of confusion, raising questions as far as their meanings – are they greetings or goodbyes. It's past one in the morning but I'm not ready to let her leave, especially when I don't know what she'd be leaving behind. Anxiety is creeping in my bosom. It's pissing me off. Vainly I bend over, to my side, tapping my finger on my phone to have it lit up. Maybe Namjoon is not just insulting me and has left actual practical advice for me to follow and not fuck this up. "Yoongi?" My ears perk up but I don't look up yet. My eyes are messed up from the exhaustion and I struggle to read. I see keywords: idiot (as expected), asshole, chance, upset. I see the word "love" even, that makes me wince. How can he believe he'd help me by sending me this word when she's standing right in front of me? She called yet she still has not talked further. I shut my phone instantly, worried to have been too lowly engaged to her, to have vexed her in any way, to have been an idiot, precisely what Namjoon threatened me into not being. I raise an interested eyebrow, inviting her to talk and she finally does so, fast and barely audible, "Can I spend the night?" She grimaces. I mean to frown but I realise my face is already squished in a scowl. Maybe her grimacing makes sense. "You mean here, at the dorms?" I ask, forcing my expression to quiet down by a tonne because my shock seems wrongly interpreted by her. That seems to help. She looks at me with her big demanding eyes, the ones I know. The ones that beg, unapologetically for my affection. She nods. "With me or- in the spare room...?" She nods again. "That doesn't answer my question, ___." "Yoongi." Here comes the little brat tone half-whining, half-menacing because she doesn't get her way straight away. How lovely to meet her again. I decide to spare her from any torture, for now, shutting the light off and guiding her, with my hands on her waist, through the dark and out my studio. "Why do you even ask? How many times have I invited you to stay?" I whisper in her ear, adoring the way I feel her tremble against me. "It's different now." She huffs, not the least hiding her annoyance. I can admit things are different now. Sort of feels like a whole different fucking life, if you ask me. I wouldn't have imagined that I needed the world to be taken upon such a devastating global catastrophe for my lover to accept spending one full night with me, for the first time. I don't even see the correlation, honestly. I don't even know why she didn't want to before. I forced myself not to dwell on this question too much. Simply accepting that she wouldn't and that's her right to not want to. But that was weird. "Is it?" My arm reaches before her, turn the handle right because she's left lost and awaiting in the dark. There's a gust of her smell coming to me. The sweet, comforting, familiar and magically charming, addicting scent. There's the click of the knob in the dark, and the door opens up on the hallway's bright lightening. No words are exchanged as I lead her, a hand gently pressed to the bottom of her back, so close to her ass the idea that I could just let it slide down can't leave my agitated mind. Most doors are closed shut, there's no much noise being heard in the whole apartment apart from the occasional high pitched giggles from the two drunk kids in the living room. She's too quiet to be entirely at ease with the situation. I don't even think she's ever come inside my and Seokjin's bedroom. Seokjin.

I wonder how aware she is of the fact that I'm sharing my room with someone else. If she does, she didn't seem to mind when she asked, with her battling lashes and irresistible pout, to spend the night with me. If we do end up making him spend the night elsewhere, he might curse at me or give me the cold shoulder for a minute or two tomorrow, but he'll live. "Is it? Different?" I ask again. We've reached the bedroom and I decide to lock the door for good. If Seokjin were to, perhaps, come to our room to head to bed, he'd be met with a locked door.

She doesn't answer, still. I'm pretty sure she allows herself that because of how lenient I am with her today. She knows I'm not going to force the words out of her. I sigh calmly, resolved, black eyes patient as they fix her. "Of course, it is. Isn't it to you?" "What is?" Hands raised to the sky, eyebrows high in bewilderment, her confusion, so big it's almost revolt, couldn't be more explicit. "I'm asking because I don't know, ___. You don't talk to me, how am I supposed to know?" "Sorry." She mumbles. Blushing from embarrassment, as she lowers her hands, looks down and sinks on herself. "It's ok." My hand leads hers to my lips, I kiss its back. "Why didn't you call?" "Yoongi, sometimes I just don't know how you feel. No, always- I mean, never, I never know how you feel-" I'm not sure how much she means to hurt my feelings. I'm pretty sure she knows, if the way she seeks for words, not to offense me, is any tell. But she sucks at preserving them. Her words sting like hell. "During- I just- I didn't want to force myself into you if that's not what you wanted, that's all." "And that's not what you wanted? Just hearing me, you didn't want that?" I have to ask. It's probably better talking about her feelings than mine, right now. "Course, I did..." She sulks. "Then why not try? At least for yourself, I don't get you." Maybe resentment of a tortured, sensitized heart is unleashing. I don't want to ever harm her but she's done it, a lot. I don't want to believe it but maybe we've parted too long for a cold, unpenetrable wall not to have taken place between us. At least, provisionally. It can't be that unpenetrable. "I'm sorry." She lowers her head, whispering. Looking all saddened. Guilty. Nervous. And of course, I'm too soft. "You used to force yourself into my life all the fucking time, sneaking in my studio like an affection craving puppy, you didn't care back then but now that I like you, you don't want it anymore." Her eyes blink, shift suddenly up. Wide and alarmed. They scrutinize me sitting on the bed, checking my own nails, pretending to be nonchalant about the bitty bomb I've just dropped. "Wouldn't peg you for the heartbreaker type but ok-" "Don't say stuff like that." "Like what? Stuff that I mean?" I roll my eyes because the moron watches me with an emotion in her gaze, anger, she's menacing me. "It's not funny." "It really isn't." I shake my head along. "I talked with a friend and he said the reason you didn't call is probably that I was messing with you too much, not saying anything you wanted to hear. That you got tired of waiting for me." "Namjoon?" I nod. I had to talk to Namjoon. Because I had to talk about her to someone. Taehyung was simply out of the question. He's her best friend. One of the closest of my own friends. He probably knows me too well, knows I'm not that well-off in my personal life, in my heart and mind to be with his non-biological sister. And Namjoon is kind and loves me a lot, even if we wouldn't talk about that. So much so that it makes him genuinely happy to see me excited about someone. "It's not really- that. I'm just a coward, Yoongi. I didn't know how to talk to you and ask you the things I wanted to and-” She's staring down, at her own fingers pkaying with each others. Cute. “Yeah, I don't know, I didn't know how you felt about me." "I thought I was obvious." She shrugs. She shrugs. It should anger me. I'd have the right to be mad. I was obvious. I've been obnoxious. Letting her mess with me and my stuff because she owns me and therefore, by definition, also everything I have. Letting her in. Filling up all the room, all according to her own whims. "Com'here," I demand, rather gently, spreading my legs and leaning back, hands holding me up. She obediently steps forward, takes her seat on my lap, right where I want her. That's perfect. Everything I needed to obliviate the fact that she hasn't confessed liking me back yet. "What is it you wanted to ask me?" She's hovering over me, slightly taller, should feel superior. But her pretty face is turned down, eyes avoiding mines from shame, staring at her hands toying with the strings of my sweatshirt. The bubble, so intimate, is small, very very small and it's hard to live in it. The air she's breathing is mine, the same way the air I'm breathing is hers, and she must be aware of the way all I'm seeing are the tiny, pretty details of her face. "Yoongi. You really like me?" "Course, I do." My cheeks burn from embarrassment. I kind of hate it but I live for the grin she struggles to hide. "Stupid." Totally free and unnecessary but not unjustified, I deem. "Then can you be my boyfriend? Or like would you- would you like to be?" With a hurried press of my lips to the corner of her mouth, I attempt to hide the grin growing on them. "Took you long enough." I fail miserably as I can't help but smile against her mouth, poorly kissing it. "It doesn't answer my question." She points out. I know it doesn't. I hate how happy and rather emotional I felt just having her ask me to be her boyfriend. Who would have thought I would mind this much? Honestly, I wouldn't have guessed it. I never thought it'd move me that much. But I suppose, I should have known by now, that, that's what she does: she moves me. It's a breathtaking kiss, stolen or given while I press her down on her back, body not hovering but laying on hers, every inch of hers pointedly connected to mine, that shuts the conversation down. It does not have to matter. Now that we've found each other back, we believe again we have all the time in the world. Maybe it's a mistake. The state of our world, these days, tend to suggest we don't, we never know how much time we'll have and what exactly it'll be made of. I didn't actually answer but maybe the answer is so fucking evident, she should trust my lips and my hands and my eyes each time they linger on a part of her they seem to have a liking for. And perhaps, she could just accept me and everything else along and assume rightfully that if I wasn't saying it all, it wasn't because I didn't feel it, didn't want to, didn't have anything to say but because I could not. "The gears in that head of yours are killing the mood," I mumble against her cheek, bothered by her loss of commitment, here again, to make me feel lonely when she's just right fucking here. "What is it?" I ask in a gentle whisper.

Here above her, close enough to still share breath but far enough to see her face, it's impossible to act like a dick. Her eyes are shiny, dripping emotions. I can see them clearly without knowing exactly how to read them. She's held back by so many things but as always a timid mouth won't let them slip. I've yet, after all this time, to decide if I love or hate that about her. She can be so open, in appearance, she's animated, she's enthusiastic, she's bright and welcoming. But at the same time, the corridor she lets you in hides a door at the end that she simply cannot allow to let you slide through. I've caught glimpses of this room when she left the door ajar a few times, mostly when I'm balls deep in and maybe a bit too soft when I whisper sweet words in the shell of her ear. She's mostly a mirror of myself, a better version though. When my eyes can look bored, uninterested and sometimes borderline mean, hers are always soft, always kind. It doesn't matter what or who they are set on. Even when she's upset, when I've said something she didn't like to hear, when she's been teased one too many times by Taehyung or her boss has been a fucking asshole all day long, she'll have her eyebrows cutely dropping down, mimicking anger and failing poorly because the eyes, right under it, are still as tender and bright and beautiful. Right now the door is ajar and from what I can see in her eyes, she looks like she's in love with me. It's pure torture because I know, and I can see that too, that even if it were to be the case she wouldn't say, she wouldn't say the words, not to me, not like that anyway, she couldn't. Perhaps I'm seeing things. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, or worse, my own reflection I catch in her eyes without recognising it. After a few seconds of her deliberately ignoring my question and me not getting impatient because I get to just watch her, I decide it doesn't really matter if she is or not in love with me if she keeps looking at me like that. The illusion so realistic, shocking my heart with delicious waves of electricity, I could live with that. "Yoongi?" And if she keeps saying my name like that, like a whine, like a shy little girl, I'll be spoiled forever. She says my name a lot today, I realise, as my spine is taken by an umpteenth wave of chill. Maybe she missed saying it. I surely missed hearing it. "Yeah?" I'm even more breathless than she is. Hovering above yet hanging from her mouth. I must look desperate to her. Even if this has the potential to tickle me the wrong way, I decide not to mind. It's pointless to fight back innate facts, isn't it? I am desperate for her, have been for fucking months, before even circumstances distanced us, I thought it could even end up killing me at some point. It was bad after a couple of weeks when I realised she'd still not called me. Not even a text or a word passed through Taehyung. Nothing at all and I had the sickening feeling growing in my stomach that it wouldn't change. After making sure she was ok, wherever she was, with whoever or maybe alone, she was fine and she was simply not reaching out for me, the torture really started. I just didn't get it. How could she, the most annoying little bug, stop doing what I thought her to like best, it is to say, bugging me? The last time we saw each other was fantastic. She had left slamming my door but with the pretty shade of infatuation on her cheeks, I had no doubt, even if things were not entirely cleared out yet -because I thought the cat and mouse game was entertaining to her as much as it was to me, and because at the time, we still felt like we had all the time in the world for this and for everything else- that we were good, better than good actually. I was confused, utterly lost. Too coward and too upset to reach out myself. If she wanted to talk to me, she would have done it, wouldn't she? She used to before. "Can you lie down? On your back, I mean." The request makes me raise an eyebrow. "You're always sorta on top of me, and I-" The sentence is never finished. She's embarrassed if the cute button of a mouth she wears along with the stealthy avoiding eyes are any teller. For some reasons, my heart beats faster in my chest in an uncomfortable thumping. Maybe I'm a grumpy old man. A grumpy control freak of an old man who's terrified by the least changement. Because Change to me, in all honesty, sounds horrifying -which sounds ridiculous given chances were bet on changes that ended up bringing the life that I now live, some rollercoaster, made of the worst up and downs sitting on top of the least trustworthy, stable ground. It's scary, feels ominous even when it's just my now-girlfriend sweetly starting to ask, and demand for things in my bed. Maybe I need to chill. Match better the chaos that's inside with the unbothered, emotionless exteriors. All I can think about is how lame her justification sounds given, "I can recall quite a good amount of times when you were on top.", and therefore, freak out about what's really behind her request. She frowns then glares, right in my eyes, at last, and sighs. She's being the snarky little girl who doesn't want to discuss and that's cute. That's adorable because I'm on top and I decide but she thinks she can control, demand from me. And she'd be right. She can ask anything from me. She always could. Rolling my eyes like I don't care, lazily rolling on my back like I'm not nervous as hell to just lay there for her, I watch carefully and savour the way she bites on her smiling lips, ecstatic as she is to have been granted an upperhand over me. She takes the seat she owns on my thighs, a mischievous glint decorating her gaze. "Do you remember our first time?" It does the trick. Her ephemeral sense of confidence flatters and she sinks down a little on herself -conveniently on my crotch-, flushing darkly. "I'm not senile, 'course I remember." Softly, the pads of my fingers press on her covered thighs. My eyes fixed on her lively face. She can't really bear it, they might burn her a little. She tries to flee, falling over, hiding her face in the crook of my neck. Her lips brush my skin, she sighs there, it's a wonderful, dip into her. "Remember the first time?" "I just said yes." She whispers the same way I do. I pinch very lightly the back of her thigh, not to hurt, just to warn her because she has a little edge to her tone. Of course, she'd be so impatient when I find myself able to be patient. "When we met for the first time." She leans back, curious eyes peeking at me. A lock of hair is brushing her cheek, I drag it behind her ear, kissing her lips with my thumb because I'm too lazy and laid too comfortably to try and raise up to her mouth. She frowns for a second before she shrugs. I can see she doesn't get where I'm going with that. If she can't even remember, she surely won't see. "You were in the kitchen with Tae, being loud as hell until I came in and you just stopped talking altogether." She rolls her eyes. "I thought you hated me." "I was just shy." She's a bit vexed that I'm bringing it up. I know that she hates that, when it's pointed out, that she gets shy and embarrassed and timid. I understand because I'm the same. The difference between us is that I hide pretty well my inner turmoil with a mask made of coldness, of confidence or disinterest. "You were, weren't you? Now, look at you..." Her eyes don't quit mine. She knows damn well what I mean. "Sitting on me like you're sitting on a throne." She actually giggles at that, tilts her head to the side, gaze going up to the skies as if she's considering the thought, a blatant giddy feeling of importance and timid pretension written all over. She knows it's right. I'm not sure to what extent she understands how much she owns me but she knows there's something big that's unsaid if she's allowed to just have me like that just from asking -only mildly politely. "Could have imagined that, princess?" She's too honest, shakes her head no. I smile lightly, amused because now that I've raised the question, I realise I couldn't have imagined that either. I didn't like her too much at the beginning. Or to be more precise, she gave me a bad first impression. I'm never good with new people but this girl, it just went wrong. I'd been chanted so many praises about her and when finally, I got to meet her because she was for once hanging out at the dorms when other people than Taehyung and Jimin were here, she shut off as soon as I walked in, for some reasons I didn't get at the time, decided to be unfair and that I was not deserving of her infamous sweetness. The stark contrast between her bright boisterous peals of laughter before I entered the room and heavy mean silence once I'd sat on one of the bar stools made me livid. I thought it'd be the end of it. I wouldn't get to know the person, the "amazing person", I've been told about because I wasn't meriting somehow. And after months of forced proximity, because she kept being invited over, involved with outings, something clicked within her and she became the annoying little brat I've known her to be and just had to grow fond of -because it was easier than to just stay reluctant to her advances and become mad each time she'd come to me. It didn't take too long, if I'm being totally honest, to go from deeply confused vexation to an out of character giddy fondness. I've never said it. Don't really plan on doing it. Even now that I'm feeling all mellow and sappy as fuck. She doesn't need to be told from my mouth anyway. I'm pretty sure Namjoon, if he hasn't had a word about this yet, will do later. And from her ever insistence, her never flattering determination even when I, from self-admission, had been harsh or mean in the way I could have told her off, I suspect she knows, she's always known. Her dizzying smile tastes the sweetest and her annoying voice is addicting, as if dipped in a thick layer of dopamine. And I'm too weak for pretty smiles matching pretty eyes, and for brats harassing me with their affection. Therefore when she starts peeling my shirt off of me and spreading her kisses everywhere she can reach, I don't say anything even though I half-hate it. I hate feeling exposed like that when she's fully clothed and on top of me. I don't really like in general being too naked especially for her knowing what she has for me compared to what I've got for her. And she's touching me, one of her hand pressing my wrist onto the mattress and I know what it means, she doesn't want me to protest or try and touch her. I don't because I want to be good for her, for once, not be an ass and impose everything because she seems to want peculiar things today and I can do that for her. But I adore the way she's humming against my skin, smiling uncontrollably against it and sprinkling the most tender kisses. For once, I'm letting her have her way, and won't thrash and push her over to get the upper hand I prefer to hold, bear with the flush burning my cheeks and speeding my heart. It is nice to have her being so willing to take her time with me, with loving me, as if she really wants me. She's also very much hot precisely where she presses her centre to my cock and my patience, if exceptionally efficient today, has limits. "You-" I'm cut off by a strong shudder born from her tongue swiping along my jaw and the little suckle on my ear that follows. "Undress." I groan once half of my composure found back. "No." The short but firm answer triggers me, without taking a second to think, my hand, the one she hasn't been holding hostage, raises and seizes the back of her thigh meanly. "What do you mean no?" "Yoongi, listen. I think I'm tired of you bossing me around." My eyes grow wide at that. She has the acutely tiny singing edge to her voice, the one that I know well for it rings louder every time she's embarrassed or doesn't feel the most confidence. But she's standing straight and tall on her throne, pressing steadily on my crotch as she slowly explains how this will go, her way. "Now that I come to think of it-" A hard grind stealing a huff from me. "You couldn't even- you couldn't even ask me out properly! I did it! I do everything all the time and you still get to choose? That's not fair." "If I remember correctly I always make sure you come first, don't I? So how unfair is that, princess?" She pouts. Stops moving altogether. I can picture her in a second raise her arms to her chest and cross them tight there, frowning and sulking. The little girl is upset. She's adorable. I suppose she hopes to intimidate me somehow or to make me swoon enough to give in. It does the opposite though. The more she pouts, the brattier she gets, the more she tickles my fancy. And I always want more. She's all the more fun when she's feisty too. "I have something in mind, Yoongi." I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Hers lower down, condescending, unwilling to give up her position. "I want to take care of you." She says, voice quieter from her prior disdainful approach. The Adam apple seems to double in size in my throat when I try to swallow this time, struggling so much so it's audible. I think I knew. I suspected something the moment she started to stare at me with those eyes. I just thought I could get away somehow, I managed to many times before. She's pretty easy to manipulate, a firm precise press of my fingers, a hot whisper to tease her core and she'd let it go. I'm pretty weak today though and here she is saying words that set me off, reach someplace dusty and far, so far away hidden within me that it feels uncomfortable. The trigger is uncomfortable. It's scary. I don't know what it'll be. I don't know how I'll handle it. I don't know if I ever want to try. Sincerely, the greatest and easiest pleasure I've ever had to indulge in has been hers. In her pleasure and her body. Her orgasms I tasted on my tongue, the ones that hug me tight, have always been the most spectacular. "You don't need to take care of me." I need to take care of you. I'm not sure where it comes from. I've come a long way in my own personal journey, I now know I deserve more than I used to believe I did. Yet I don't, I can't imagine her being the one taking care of me. It needs to be me. I need to spoil her. "You don't like that? When someone... focuses on you?" I think about a lie or a little distractive thing to say. I choose to be frank. If there's a day to be and a moment and a person with whom to be, it must be it. "Not really." "Maybe because you're not used to it. Wouldn't you like that? Because I want to. I thought about it a lot." That's the issue with her. She owns the power. Ultimately she does. Even if she doesn't feel like it, she does. Always. Today it shows in more ways than one. She's so eager, so excited, I don't know how to disappoint her. Reluctant but kindly enough, I ask. "What did you think about?" My mouth is dry as hell. I don't understand how I can be filled with so much anxiety, still. When I feel this old and this wise, and so pleased and spoiled yet, still, terrified. It should just be heaven. I don't get why sometimes the sweetest things have to be so scary to take a bite of. She smiles to herself, satisfied to find me willing to hear her. It's a shadow of promise. I will judge later on if she'll get what she wants or not. For now, I'm just hearing her out. She's sweet and she deserves to express herself. In no time, she meets me centimetres away. She's leaned over, forearms pressing a bit on my chest to keep herself from crashing completely onto me. She's beaming through her eyes, mostly, shining intensely in the dim light as she observes my face from up close. There's the scent of her shampoo, the vanilla coconut mix that I used to be obsessed with, smelling around me even when she wasn't there. It's awfully comforting to have that too sweet smell again, for real this time, teasing my senses and waking up a lovely nostalgia. With the tips of her hair brushing slightly the bare skin of my neck, how am I supposed to refuse anything she asks me. "I realised that we've never- I've never got to- taste you." The last words are not even pronounced out loud. There's the t I read on her teeth biting slightly her pink tongue, the rest of the syllabus she just gives up on and it's for me to read on her lips. Given how obsessed I am with them, the task is not that demanding, her request couldn't be clearer to me. I should be ecstatic, shouldn't I? I'm not. I'm nervous as hell. I don't know what's wrong with me. "That's what you thought about a lot? My dick in your mouth?" She flushes bright pink but doesn't waver. She decided she's a big girl and gets to fantasise about what she wants and she won't be shamed for it, not now that's she's grown the courage to ask aloud. I chuckle humourlessly. "Princess." I can almost see her ears point out at the pet name. She seems to like it. I think I'm keeping it. "You're too pretty to have a dick in your mouth." Her face twists in the loudest mask of indignation and revolt. Straightening her back again to stand tall over me, she looks down on me under her severe set of frown eyebrows. "What does that even-" Her hand falls flat on my chest, meeting the skin hard enough for a sharp slapping sound to resonate in the quiet room. "Yoongi! It doesn't make anyone any less pretty to- what are you even saying? How can you- Why are you diverting? You're always diverting-" She raises her hands to the sky in pure bewilderment. Her face is still contorted in anguish though, I can tell she's not done arguing about this. "I'm telling you I want you in my mouth and you- what do you say to me?" I can't really hold back the cackling laughter erupting straight from my bosom. She's startled by it, upset still but unsure of how serious I am and for some reason, when she stares at me laughing, the tiny shadow of a smile colours the corner of her mouth. The tempting beautiful thing suddenly appears only a few centimetres from my face. She looks down on me with all the seriousness she can gather, eyes squinted tight. "Are you serious, Yoongi? Do you really not like that?" How honest should I be? The ever same existential question. How honest can I be? "Because you- like everything else and I thought you liked going down on me but- do you not like receiving?" Because my own personal question is loud, louder than the soft whisper of her voice, and so much more pressing because finding the answer seems to be more essential, it'd answer her questions and a lot more, the ones she may have but never dare ask. I hope to find the answer or at least a hint of it in her eyes. I don't know any other more evident places where to look for it. My quiet gaze shuts her off a little, I see how she doesn't physically back away but there is something in her eyes wavering and suddenly she looks kind of sad. She might just be disappointed but the effect is immediate, I feel my heart cracks. "I just," I raise for a second just to find some courage on her mouth. "I'm better at giving, it's all. I feel weird just sitting here and taking, it's just weird." It's just hard. "But it's the very principle of Lo-" She cuts herself off before she finishes but too late for me not to make out the last syllable. "Of what?" I ask, a growing crooked grin teasing. I allow myself that because I know that I can't get her there. She might even be more scared than I am. That's funny how I find ease in teasing her in those places yet I know that if we really do get there and start being serious about it, or if she'd dare tease me back, I'd lose my shit. I can hardly handle her calling my name in a whine as if she needs me so much she can't handle me not being a constant part of her. "Do you really not like that? Like not want it?" She asks, eyes boring in mine, looking all serious and grave. I can't disappoint her when she looks at me like that. I don't want to. "I don't want to do anything you wouldn't want or like but-" Gently, the pad of my thumb caresses her soft cheek. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve her. I'm pretty sure there's been a mistake somewhere, an error in the matrix. While I'm not bad, I'm quite good as a person, I'm persuaded that pretty girls with hearts that gentle can't be for me. I can't even tell her how beautiful she is. "Actually no buts. Just, do you want it or not?" How could I say no? When she asks so nicely, so many times to and of course, she looks the way she does. I might be a huge hypocrite. Turning this into her using her charms to get what she wants rather than me accepting to be selfish because it's easier that way. Nonetheless, it's almost reluctantly, with a fat lump in my throat that I let out a tiny, "'Kay." She leans over, eyebrows high. "Was it a yes?" I hum, rolling my eyes a bit. I'm feeling embarrassed, too embarrassed, and she's bouncing on my cock like it's the most exciting news she's heard all year -which might actually be given the circumstances.

It's nice but confusing.

Does she like me that much or is she just really into giving heads? Suddenly I have flashbacks of all those times she got on her knees to fetch something from a low hanging shelf, or under the coffee table. I just thought, innocently, that she had no sense of adulthood and she didn't realise, that once adults are grown they don't get on their knees like children, looking up to you talking like it's not weird at all. Like it's not suggestive at all. Like if I were just to ask nicely she'd probably say yes and I'd be the opening of a pants' fly away from sitting comfortably on her tongue. I can't lie and say that I've never thought about it. Evidently. I have. Probably each and every time she's done that little supposedly innocent thing, and then, a few other times in between. She's giddy when she leans even further, sliding off to the side of my lips when she tries to smooch them. She's even giddier when she crawls down my body, hoping to the side so that she can start unfastening my belt and jeans. She's giddy but quiet when she starts pulling my pants off of me. She's feeling timid, I can read it on her cheeks, but she can't possibly be as much as I am. I don't think I've ever had her undress me like that, in the open, when the light is too bright for comfort and her eyes so focused on me. Now that I come to think of it, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been naked with her. And it's never been like that. With her not fucked out enough to not pay so much attention. With her eyes roaming over me, and every now and then glimpses to my face, gaze smiling and tender. The gaze doesn't leave me as her tiny hand tentatively reaches for my covered shaft. It still remains there, attached, for the longest time, while her fingers pressingly roam over it. I twitch under the touch, heart pounding harder, full of anticipation and anxiety. "Don't drag this shit forever." Maybe I could be nicer. Maybe I could show more patience -if I hadn't been so challenged all evening, I'd probably have some left but clearly, I don't. Maybe I could be less of an ass, I could precisely be the sweet, lovely boyfriend she deserves when she's moments and centimetres away from swallowing me down her throat. Probably I should make more efforts. Or learn how and when to make them. I'm probably not the most practical right now. Being rough when I should be sweet and sweet when she needs me to push her a bit. "But I wanna take my time." She says that with a smile on her pink lips, not vexed at all. And here she proves once again that maybe I don't know shit about her and women in general. Because when I feel like she should get offended or at least aggravated, she just takes me in and finds something that she likes in my insufferable self. I simply bite on my lip, pensive. Doesn't say much to her but she sees it and translates it a way that fits me well. A lazy blink later, I have the ghost of a new kiss on the corner of my mouth and then her lips tightly wrapped around my tip, concealing the fresh breeze of air that her undressing me completely brought. It's undefinable, the sensation of her hot wetness wrapped around me. She doesn't waste a second, visibly having changed her mind about taking her time, trying to have me as far as she can. Bobbing her head and sucking me in with so much enthusiasm, I have red flushing my cheeks when I hear the sounds that she makes, wondering if I seem as desperate, as voluntary, as messy when I do eat her cunt - and the rash comes directly from the blatant, easy answer: a big fat yes. Of course, it would feel that good. When her pussy feels like some Heaven, naturally her mouth would have me like that. In no time, my cock is rock hard and balls tight and ready to blow. It's been months since I've felt this good and even then, I didn't have that treatment. Having someone and her, at that, giving so much of herself, I see the way she tries to catch back some air, frowning because I'm pretty sure her jaw is hurting a bit, jerking me off fast to compensate the lack of warmth and her pretty, pretty eyes, smiling at me, doing the most. My thighs are tensing, my right leg keeps jerking upward uncontrollably, fists holding tight onto the sheets, overwhelmed. I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this. And maybe I'm going to doubt the universe placing this stupid princess on my way even more now that I've had her been so good to me, by just being herself, especially given that she's turned out to be an expert and a passionate at sucking my cock. "Fuck" Here goes my tip hitting the back of her throat again. And her hands, soft and encouraging, playing with my balls, pad of her thumb pressing sometimes between my perineum. "S-stop, I need to-" "You'll fuck me later, come in my mouth." She demands, breathlessly, diving back in before I even get to protest. "You can't say shit like that." I whiningly stutter, she's brought fucking tears to my eyes. I see blurry as I stare at the ceiling, vainly trying to hold back my climax. It makes her chuckle a bit, hum something I can't possibly understand with her mouth full and bells ringing in my ears, all I capture is the vibration it sends to my whole shaft, tickling along my spine, making me bent it embarrassingly. "Really wan'you to come-" She mumbles, lips making out with my tip in the process. "Then swallow me down." It comes out before I plan on it, before I mean to say it, through gritted teeth. She slides down my length, taking me in, like my every word is her command. The unexpected rush of pleasure, like an electric shock, seizes my hand which jumps to her head and decides to stay there, fingers fighting against the very weak remain of my brain cells to grab and clench and tear the head of hair they laid on. It's when I meet the back one more time and she decides to swallow down just then that I reach it, spilling down her throat, growling aloud without meaning too, spurring few words I probably wouldn't say to her if my mind wasn't so cloudy. I'm somewhere else. Body empty of any tension and I realize that a blowjob is exactly all I needed all those months. I haven't felt this relaxed and satiated and satisfied in so long, I feel dizzy and a bit lost. Even my own bed feels foreign, maybe it's just because she's on it. Smiling down on me with her small fingers painting shape on my skin and her pretty smile kissing my chest. She kisses her way up, leaving a path of warm sprouts, takes her time right on my drumming heart, smooches my cheeks with a tiny giggle that blooms probably from the red dots I assume are on them. She looks down on me, eyes sparkly and lips stuck in an upward curve. I see her hesitating. She's unsure of something I don't get because she just blew my mind off. My fingers knead gently the flesh of her thighs, inviting her to speak if there's something she needs to say. Her soft finger presses on my lips and she raises an eyebrow. "I don't know if I can kiss you..." "Why?" I ask, probably a bit too abruptly because I'm stupid right now and I don't understand under what circumstances she couldn't press her mouth to mine. She rolls her eyes evidently, scoffs and finally points at my crotch then her mouth, flushed all over her cheeks, when she sees me still struggling to understand. "Course you can. You always can." She shrugs, eyes fleeing away. I kiss her hard on the mouth, the hand buried in her hair pressing her further onto me. I consider vaguely how gross she might believe me to be when really, I'm just a bit too whipped for her and cum, no matter if it's mine or hers and shockingly enough I realise anyone else's too, I don't fucking care, any of her kisses are kisses that I want to consume. I roll her over on the bed and kiss her harder, licking and sucking her tongue until she's just wide eyes glinting up to me. "You can always kiss me." She nods, swollen lips tilting up. She doesn't find me too gross, it seems. Good. "And thanks." One kiss. "Was really nice." She tries to bite back her grin but fails, tittering even as I pinch lightly the side of her waist. "Was it nice for you?" I kiss the side of her jaw, smiling against her as I continue, purring close to her ear, "Just like you imagined?" I can feel her frustration before she even expresses it by raising a fist ready to punch me. It makes me chuckle. That's what she deserves for putting me in this situation anyway. I can't be the only one embarrassed, especially when I made an effort to content her -even if to content her was to content me but it doesn't matter. When my hand slides so naturally down her stomach, fingers strumming teasingly along the hem of her pants, the nagging and the arguing should be postponed for now. "You're an-" I slide easily under her clothes, palm cupping perfectly her cunt, it cuts her off. She gasps, eyes growing wide as they stare off at the ceiling, biting on her lip. "I'm what?" "Nothing." She grunts between tight jaws, both mad and horny and that's just too funny. I'm enjoying this immensely, torturing her kindly, while my fingers dip in her soaked heat, with her lips centimetres away so that I can kiss them as much as I want. She responds to all of my kisses. Tense her neck every time I part away for a second to take a look at what I'm doing, at her overall form, her laying in my bed with her twitching legs parting to give me more access. "I'm nothing? That's mean." "Yoongi, not now." I catch the curse she doesn't spit in my face before she gets to swallow it back down. The prospect that things should be cleared out now and that this will happen again, and again, and again until the day she decides she's tired of me drives me wild with excitement. It means I'll get to push her buttons and piss her off enough she'll curse at me the way she rarely ever does Taehyung when he's reaching her very limits of patience. Maybe I'm a bit gross, at least a bit freaky, if the idea of her mad beyond herself, calling me names yet simultaneously letting me play with her body like that turns me on so much. "When if not now, princess?" She pulsates around my fingers at that. It has to be the name. How lovely. How adorable. So adorable I can't help but grin giddily, effectively hiding my face in the crook of her neck so she doesn't catch me when I do. "You're so close already." "Shut up." "All worked up just from having my cock in your mouth." She groans, closes her eyes tight as if she's trying to focus all her attention on my fingers fucking her. "So easy to please, I'm a lucky bastard, am I not?" I keep mumbling next to her ear because I don't care what she pretends, I know she loves hearing me and I can bet with great confidence on what she loves to hear me say. "Having a girlfriend like you-" "Oh my Go- Yoongi-" "Come for your man." So easy to please. I know I'm not reaching the spot she likes best because her fucking pants are in the way. I've learned that the stretching is something she enjoys thoroughly and from how tense and on edge she got herself, my three fingers are doing wonders, dragging the ring along with every thrust. But I'm sure, I know, what's triggering her. She's too much like me. Probably worse than me. So desperate to feel the love, and here she is, coming around my fingers but mainly around my words when I'm just calling her mine. It takes her ages to come back to her senses, to stop desperately drinking my love straight from my mouth, and for her sweet cunt to stop kissing the tip of my fingers and let me slip them out. She's fucked out when she's back. Hair I barely touched all over the fucking place, eyelids heavy, mouth red and swollen, eyebrows low and eyes wet the way they get when the pleasure is so good she becomes a bit too soft and sensible and sometimes a tear or two escape. I get to clean her up a bit, rearranged her clothes and then realise that she's actually spending the night with me so I might as well get her pants off, throw my own pants away and put some shorts on, turn off the lights, and catch her in the most comfortable spooning session I've personally ever had before I feel her alert and with me entirely. "You okay?" She nods her head, blinking a few times more than necessary when she watches me raise my fingers to my mouth and mechanically lick them clean. In a whisper, after too long of laying quietly in the dark -apart from the angry stomping going on in the hallway along with mumbled curses that can only come from Seokjin and that we both decide to ignore- she timidly asks, "So we're dating, Min Yoongi?" "We've always been dating, dumbass." Which is not exactly true, not exactly false. To me, anyway, if she'd ever come to decide that the whole thing was just a fling then, it would have been just that. But I'm pretty sure she's always liked me as much as I have and even if I never expressed it clearly, I don't just fuck around like that. Especially with girls as sweet as her. And I don't really get that words define what we are anyway. Nothing changes now that I've said that. Maybe she's happier with the situation and that's all I want therefore I can give them to her, but honestly, yeah, to me we've always been each other's. "You're an asshole." "I'm your asshole." I don't know if she can hear my grin but the exasperated sigh suggests she does. "That's- gross." She still kisses my cheek and then my chest, huddling to my side, humming to herself when my arms wrapped around her squeeze a little harder. She's warm and soft and all mine, and when the realisation hits, that just a few hours ago she was infinitely far away from me, and now she's here in my arms, in my bed, (kind of) officially just mine to please and enjoy, my heart swells. That's all I've needed.

A/N: Guess what, it’s one of my new year resolutions to STOP taking a break from writing and this blog. *clown*

I hope it wasn’t too bad, too stiff. I meant to give this couple a nice ending because I got attached to them as quite a lot of you have. Hopefully, you’re not disappointed and sorry if it was so angsty but I guess, my heart felt a bit heavy writing it. SOZ

I'm already working on another story I’m really excited about and inspired for. I’ll try to have it release very soon. 

If you’ve come this far, THANK YOU immensely. I LOVE you.

I hope all of you and your loved ones are doing fine. My best wishes for this new year. Let’s meet here more often.

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[yandere-daydreams]

Clingy soft Darling and Beelzebub? Darling knows she should be spending time iwth ALL the brothers just like Lucifer’s stupid schedule told her too, but she can’t help it. Beel is nice and kind enough to not get mad at her over the stupidest things or try to force her into the common room where all the brothers start getting Testy because its nearly their turn, or they “went too long” without her attention

I really do love the idea of each brother feeling so /entitled/ to their collective Darling’s attention, despite the fact that they’re all terrible in their own, special ways. I’d really like to say Beel is the least terrible, though. I’d really like to.

TW: Dehumanization and Graphic Violence. 

~

You liked Beelzebub. He made you feel safe.

There were other reasons. There had to be other reasons, lest your preference towards self-preservation becomes a singular goal. You liked how honest he was, how he seemed to be the only person in the House of Lamentation without an ulterior motive. He made you happy, too, and you adored the way he looked at you, like you were the most valuable thing in the world. But, more than that, you liked that he wasn’t controlling, like Satan, or clingy and demanding like Mammon. You liked that you wouldn’t have to deal with Lucifer’s rules or Leviathan’s ‘costumes’, and even if you still had the occasional moment alone with Belphegor, he made himself scarce whenever Beelzebub came to check on you. Beelzebub made you feel safe when it felt like every demon in the kingdom wanted to tear you limb-from-limb and mutilate whatever was left. Beelzebub made you feel protected.

You liked to feel protected. It was nice to feel protected.

You couldn’t help but lean into the feeling more and more, these days. Even now, straddling his waist, your arms strung around his neck and your face buried in his chest, you could hear the others arguing, bickering, fighting, your name echoing through the thin stone walls. You almost regretted not dragging Beelzebub to your room, his being closer to the common area than yours, but your lock had been ‘accidently’ broken months ago, and you doubted anyone would pause to knock before barging in with whatever urgent qualm or debate they thought only you could handle. You burrowed into him in an attempt to block out the noise, slotting yourself against his chest as snuggly as you could, but the voices only seemed to grow louder, more undeniable. As if they wanted to make their disapproval of your favoritism known, even if they couldn’t be close enough to witness it.

Beezlebub took notice of your discontent with a sigh, dropping whatever topic he’d been going on about as he positioned himself to lean against the headboard, sitting up and forcing you to do the same. You weren’t sure whether or not to be thankful for the attention. You appreciated his attentiveness, but it meant he already knew there was a problem. And problems meant conversations.

You didn’t care for conversations.

His voice was gentle, when he started, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “I don’t like it either,” He admitted. “It feels like we should be down there, or... it feels wrong not to be, at least. I know it probably wouldn’t make things better. If anything, they’d probably just be angrier if we show up now. This makes it feel like we’re ignoring them, though.”

“I think we are.” Your response was no more hopeful than his, but you had a feeling you shouldn’t try to be. This wasn’t a hopeful situation, and you shouldn’t try to make it one. “That’s not a bad thing, though, is it? Everyone here is important to me, but…” You trailed off, shaking your head. More for yourself than for him. “I don’t like being tossed around, Beel. Lucifer tries to make it seem like a schedule and some ground rules will make it fair, but I don’t like it. I don’t want a sheet of paper to tell me who I have to spend time with. They’ll try to convince me I do, if I go out there.”

“And I don’t want to share.” With that, his tone shifted, taking a turn towards cheerful as he nuzzled into you. Laughing, you pushed him away playfully, but he only held you down, keeping you in place as his teeth ghosted over your exposed skin. He nipped every so often, but each love-bite was harmless, leaving you pouting for something more substantial as he continued. “I’ll have to keep my distance too, right? They’ll want me to stand back and wait for my turn, like they aren’t lucky to be with you.” Any other time, you might’ve teased him, but it was all you could do to grin as he pawed at your hips. You moved back, trying to untangle yourself properly, but Beelzebub just held you tighter, not seeming to like the idea of distance as much as you did. “They’ll try to take you away from me.”

“Only if we let them,” You assured, smiling and pecking his cheek. It was hard to get that far away, though, considering how tightly he seemed content to hold you. “You don’t have anything to worry about, not yet.”

There was a scowl, a narrowed gaze, but a concerned question had barely reached your tongue before prominent, pointed canines dug into your jugular, lodging themselves into your flesh as one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you still as he free arm rose, a strong hand soon caught in your hair, keeping your back straight while he bit into you. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t jealous, it was careless, violent, gluttonous, the way a predator would clamp their teeth around a slab of dead meat. The same way a blood-thirsty monster would bite into its victim. 

A scream caught in your throat, tears welling in the corners of your eyes and blurring your vision, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, you couldn’t bring yourself to think. You couldn’t have struggled if you wanted to, not with how tight Beelzbub’s hold had become, how sharp his blunt nails suddenly seemed against your scalp. You whimpered, the noise something between a sob and a plea, and Beelzebub hesitated, the reality of his actions hit him a moment after the pain hit you. Even then, he didn’t stop, cementing his resolve and letting his teeth tear into you, a deep growl reverberating into your skin as his lips pressed against your neck, his progress impeded by his own physical limitations. You had a feeling he wouldn’t be as kind, if his retreat was based on an appeal to his mercy.

You shut your eyes, shoving your shoulders forward and balling your fists around his shirt, but that did little to stifle the sensation of blood running down from the gaping wound in your throat, or the flat, wet appendage soon licking the excess away, no doubt leaving a pink stain smeared across its path. The burn faded quickly, a steady, throbbing soreness taking its place, leaving you to bite the inside of your cheek and slump forward. You didn’t want to cry, and yet, your concentration was abruptly dedicated to holding back an impending flood. “Sorry,” He mumbled, but the apology wasn’t genuine. If he felt bad, it was only because you were in pain. He didn’t seem to care about the reason for it. “I was hungry. I didn’t mean for it to hurt.”

You didn’t answer, just curling into his warmth. His arms were quick to wrap around you, forming a protective, encircling blanket, letting you rest underneath its comforting weight. You could’ve gotten away, pushed him off and expressed your discontent, but… you didn’t. You didn’t want to. You just nodded, attempting to settle against him and enjoy the soft, fleeting kisses soon being pressed into the top of your head.

He was dangerous. Letting him get closer than his brothers didn’t change that.

But, he was safer. You were sure of it.

He had to be, when you felt so secure in his arms.  

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