#its my first time drawing something so intimate it was surprisingly difficult

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: And There Was Only One Bed (Affectionate) [pt. 2]

(Zzzzzzz…..)

(Alright, second part done :V Not much to say here for now, but I hope you’re excited for the upcoming part to come out next ^^ And my ask box is always open, so feel free to drop in and chat any time! I’ll be seeing you :D)

Basic sleeping hcs with ya boys, and for a part two, outside home life? You’ll see what I mean lol 

Characters: Quackity, George, Badboyhalo.

Warnings: Nightmares in Quackity’s part, but besides that we’re clean <3

Song Recommendation: Metamodernity- Vansire

Up Next- Sapnap, Philza, Fundy, Schlatt. 

Enjoy your day guys! I do hope it be rockin :]

Quackity:

Quackity is one floppy motherfucker. You fall asleep with him spooning you, head nestled between your shoulder blades, hands holding yours in front of your middle, legs entangled, the whole shi-bang, but wake up with him starfishing half on the mattress at a weird angle that makes his neck sore for the rest of the day.

Each day is a new position for you to add to your ammunition of teasing against him, but he takes it in stride. He totally doesn’t wake you up halfway through the night by flinging himself over your middle, ‘asleep’ and snoring like a freight train. When you give up halfway through trying to stop him breathing and just fall asleep lying on his chest, he turns to mush and gets distracted playing with your hair. You don’t know why he seems so exhausted the next morning, and he only giggles dreamily at you when you ask.

While he’ll be the big spoon for as long as you want him to, there’s a special soft place in his heart for being the little spoon. Hold him, please. Pull him to your chest and gently run your fingers through his hair, rub his back and kiss every inch of his face until he’s down for the count. The easiest way to make him feel better after a bad day or an argument is to let him know you want him and love him. Just holding him at night guarantees that he’ll bring you a present the next day (like the inner stardew valley house husband he sometimes longs to be lmao).

It’s a 50/50 chance of waking up with Quackity or after him, seeing as he prefers to get up early to enjoy the quiet mornings before the rest of the smp wakes up. He gets ready, makes the both of you coffee (or tea, something to help wake you up), and watches the sky change color while he waits for you to come sit with him in the kitchen. The two of you try your best to assure a moment together before you go about your separate ways, sitting together and talking about what you have planned or what you might have for dinner later. It’s his favorite part of the day, aside from coming back home to your awaiting arms.

Another citrus-y smelling fellow. More orange than lemon, he bathes in the morning after he wakes up. You typically wake up right after he gets finished washing up, walking into the bathroom to hear him quietly humming while drying off his hair and wings. He’ll give you a small guilty grin and a good smooch on your forehead as an apology.

Another poor fellow with nightmares;; They’re a lot less frequent than they used to be now that you’ve gotten together (having someone to talk to and work through each others issues does WONDERS apparently) but when they hit, they hit him hard. You wake up from him twisting and turning right before he wakes up in tears. He doesn’t like to be touched afterwards, drawn in on himself and facing away from you, hiding his crying. When you leave to get him a glass of water and come back, he’s more grounded, crawling into your arms and accepting the drink gratefully. With his forehead pressed to your throat, taking small sips from his cup, he’ll tell you what his dream was about. Sometimes it’s Technoblade, sometimes Dream, mostly Schlatt though. His ex lingers on his mind more than he likes to admit, a deep sense of abandonment showing through his nightmares. Quackity struggles with sleeping for a few days after, afraid of what he might see when he closes his eyes again.

(You’ve fallen back asleep by now, hand paused in its ministrations and resting snugly in his hair. Things are warm and quiet and soft, and he feels safe again. 

The nightmare still hovers fuzzily in the back of his mind, but for now he can ignore it, focusing on your slow breathing as it lulls him back to sleep. 

His last thought before finally letting himself rest is how much he loves you, giving you one last squeeze in his tight embrace before relaxing into a much more stable slumber. ‘Gracias por todo mi amor.’)

George:

Impeccable skill of just falling asleep wherever and whenever. Before the two of you got close and started sharing a bed together, he really left his sleep schedule up to fate. He’d find a comfy spot and crash there for a few hours till he was awoken and would just repeat that a few hours later. Now that he has you, he makes more of an effort to stay awake during the day so he can sleep through the night next to your side. It more or less works, but occasionally he’ll have slept during the day and he wakes up in the middle of the night. As “punishment”, he sentences himself to waiting it out instead of getting up to do something because he truly wants to keep going to bed with you.

Not big on contact, likes having his space when he’s sleeping. Cuddling is nice every once in a while, but he prefers being able to breathe a little bit when falling asleep. He does, however, actively make the choice to hold your hand while he slips into slumberville. His grip isn’t too strong, nor is it very light, but a gentle mix between the two to try and remind you how much he loves you. You’ll wake up before him and his hand will still be holding yours, pulled to his chin as he sleeps. His breath fans your knuckles slowly, face eased of any stress, absolutely content.

George bathes…… probably. I’m just kidding, he fluctuates between bathing at night or in the morning because he just goes through phases of forgetting to when the time comes. His little mushroom home doesn’t come with a bathroom, seeing as its wholly empty (please if anyone has housing information on George or like. Any character at all please inform me please i beg-), so he’s limited to getting clean at a friend’s or your house. Typically yours. He keeps all of his valuables at your place once you start letting him sleep over there, tucking his clothes into your closet or in your dresser when he thinks you aren’t looking, leaving a toothbrush and his soap in your bathroom, hanging his armor up on an empty armor stand you have tucked away, all due to his inability to straight out ask if he can live with you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to live with you, he practically does anyways, but there’s something in him that worries that you won’t like him if you’re forced to live with him permanently. He knows it can become… a bit much when you have to be around someone 24/7, but doesn’t realize that you pretty much already are around each other 24/7 lmao.

It takes a while but eventually he settles down and over dinner suggest that maybe you two should take it to the next level. His face is flushed pink and he keeps switching which leg he has crossed, but he takes your hand and quietly asks if he could start living with you. It’s a surprisingly sweet moment, even with your confusion (thinking you already DID live together), and of course you say yes.

He looks so relieved when you accept, and is kinda like, “I know this will be a difficult process but I’m very excited to become closer with you.” and then nothing changes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(It’s on the walk home when George finally processes that he now lives with you. It feels heavy on his heart, a mix of nervousness and excitement that makes him swallow hard and tighten his fingers around yours. 

This isn’t the first time he’s spent the night at your place, nor is it the first time he’s crawled into bed with you and slept next to just because you let him, but it is his first night actually living with you. The moment feels brand new, as if it’s his first time visiting your house all over again. 

He begins to wonder if maybe this was a mistake, maybe he’s moved too fast and maybe your regretting letting him live with you already and- He takes a hurried look at your face. You look… unbothered. Happy, even. 

There’s this half hidden smile on your face that soothes his anxieties, drawing out his own fragile smile. He can’t wait to live with you.)

Bad:

Mmmmm, big man warm. A natural heat machine, no need for lots of blankets or heavier pajamas, Bad will take care of all your cold problems. Every night after you finish your shared nightly routine, you curl up in his arms, immediately becoming over come with his toasty embrace. It like when you get clothes out of the drier and just hug them to your chest, the warm, clean, smell good experience that Bad also delivers.

He’s got a pretty ingrained nightly schedule that he sticks to, and he always invites you to join him after you finish up dinner. It starts by cleaning up the house a little, washing the dishes, setting aside clothes for the next day, taking a quick bath, brushing his teeth, reading a few chapters from a new book he’s picked up, and then settling down to go to bed. He won’t push you to do it with him, but he does try to incorporate you into his routine when he can. Usually it’s just by doing something small, like reading together or massaging your shoulders, but sometimes he’ll ask you to join him when he bathes.

Bad bathes pretty often, always at night, and using a nice smelling soap that he makes himself. Like what was said above, he’ll sometimes ask you to join him when bathing. It’s not ever for any naughty means, but because he sees bathing as a very intimate and vulnerable activity for you to share. He won’t push it, understanding that it can be overwhelming to be so open, but if you do choose to join him, he’s so gentle with you. His hands are worked and calloused, but they’re soft when they run soap through your hair, his nails lightly scratching your scalp and running down the back of your neck. He practically purrs when you return the favor, giggling as your hands brush sensitive spots around his sides. Afterwards he becomes so cuddly and attached to your side, you fall asleep with him curled up on YOUR chest, trapped under him.

That being said, most nights he takes to being the big spoon. It’s more for convenience sake, seeing as he’s a good few feet taller than you are, but he also can appreciate being held and loved on after harsher days. He’s a lot like a weighted blanket, a nice heavy weight that keeps you warm and makes you feel loved <3 love this guy.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), you sometimes have.... Visitors. Bad is a hub for the homeless, bored, and nutty members of the smp. They flock to him like birds to the elderly, which means you have “children” to take care of for a day or two at a time :/. Dream and George aren’t regulars, per say, but Bad has a room set aside for either of them when they come over. To their credit, they do try to be polite when they come over, and will help in cooking dinner or cleaning up. Skeppy, however, is unlike Dream or George, in that he’s more of a third partner in your and Bad’s relationship.

Skeppy up and appears at random, no announcement, and makes himself comfortable any place where Bad is. Be it at your home or his, Skeppy eats your food, lounges on your furniture, hell, he even sleeps with you and Bad at night. You two share Bad’s chest whenever Skeppy is over. It’s so jarring at first, having to deal with having another boyfriend (because Skeppy will consider you to be apart of the thrupple after introductions), but he usually only stays for like 3 days before leaving to do whatever else he has planned. You don’t know if you should be worried or upset or what, but after a while it becomes kinda nice to have him around.

All in all Bad is great to sleep with <3

(Bad blows the lantern out on his bedside counter, shuffling under the cover beside you once the room was fully dark. You slung an arm over his chest instinctively, cuddling up into his side when his arm pulled up around your back and held you even closer. 

You shivered pleasantly when he gently pressed a kiss into your hair, becoming sleepier and sleepier with each rise and fall of his wide chest. He sighs quietly and squeezes you, murmuring softly to you as you both fell asleep. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep well.”)

Have a good evening! Do something nice for yourself tonight. You deserve it.

#mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #c: george #c: quackity #c: badboyhalo #georgenotfound x reader #quackity x reader #badboyhalo x reader #hc: and there was only one bed (affectionate) #woof #sorry this took so long to get out guys ^^; #lets hope pt.3 won't take as long!

[whatwillyoudodifferently]

Look, Louts! Lilies! - Yuri For A Hope-Flung Present and Hopeful Future

Look, I’ll be frank. I typically try to keep to a more formal tone when I write for this blog. I’m not in a formal mood. It is June October 2020, and I, like the rest of you, have been under quarantine for a little over three almost seven months now due to the Covid-19 virus. Throw in a eensy, teensy bit of massive political movements and change in response to police violence and racism, and an increase of police violence and racism in response to those movements, and I think it’s fair to say it’s been a tumultuous couple of months. Except, strangely, it also hasn’t been, because so much of this time has been characterized by ennui and isolation. Stressful, yet soul-numbing. In short, it’s been a very weird place to be in.

So, we’ve all found our different ways to cope. My sister’s way has been getting really into succulents(?), and my way has been buying digital manga and video games. I’ve finished stuff I’ve put off for literal years and bought stuff I had heard was good but wasn’t that hyped to get into. And somehow, the one thing I’ve really gotten into has been yuri? 

Now, yuri has a very long and rich history, as well as its own sets of conventions and nuances, so it is with a great, great, GREAT deal of respect that I say that I’m going to simplify it for this essay as “Japanese media with a particular focus on romance between women” for brevity’s sake. If you want to know more, there’s actually quite a lot that’s been written about it in English, but I’m aiming this essay at English-speakers who have had at least a little experience with yuri and more than just passing knowledge.

Because you see, I’ve found that yuri fans have a lot of things to say about yuri! And a lot of those things really bug me!! “Yuri is only fetish quasi-porn written by men,” “yuri is only bland wholesome fluff,” “yuri is only high school drama,” so on, so on. It made me mad, but it also made me realize something: a lot of people simply must not know how big this field of lilies truly is! How else can we get people saying “yuri is oversexualized” and “yuri is sexless” as gospel truth? Something’s not adding up here, guys!

So, all that is to say I’m doing something different for this blog: I’m writing up a recommendation list of yuri. A large chunk of it will be stuff I’ve read and can officially give my seal of approval to, while some of them are just titles I’ve heard of that I think will interest others. All of them have been specifically chosen to counter common untrue things I’ve heard about yuri as a whole. I hope you can find at least a few things on this list that you will enjoy and help you keep your head as the encroaching darkness lurches yet a few inches closer!

1. “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s the sci-fi, the period pieces, the action, the fantasy?”

Otherside Picnic

What It Is: A light novel series written by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by shirakaba). Ongoing, four volumes at time of writing. The story is being adapted into a manga by Eita Mizuno, and an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Satou will be airing in January 2021.

What It’s About: It was on her third trip to the Otherside that Sorawo Kamikoshi almost died, and it was on that same trip she was saved by an angel. Toriko Nishina is a beautiful and confident young woman who also happens to have intimate knowledge of the Otherside, a dangerous yet captivating world that Sorawo can’t help but being drawn to. Toriko convinces Sorawo to join her on her expeditions to the Otherside, fighting off bizarre creatures that have somehow been ripped out of Japanese urban legends and finding strange artifacts in order to make a little extra cash-- all the while keeping an eye out for someone dear to Toriko’s heart.

What I Think: Otherside Picnic is heavily inspired by the novel Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky and features several creatures and scenarios from ghost stories, net lore, and-- there’s no other way to put this-- creepypasta. On paper this sounds deeply unoriginal, so it’s pretty surprising that OP has an incredibly strong identity. The idea of fusing horror with a yuri love story excited me enough the moment I heard about it, so when I finally got to read it for myself, I was delighted to find that the horror elements and the romance elements are both quite strong. 

I will say that thanks to the author’s commitment to following his sources of inspiration to the letter sometimes causes him to undercut his own writing (good example: in one arc there’s an ominous train that keeps being mentioned, causing the reader to dread its arrival with each passing page, but seeing what’s on the train will inevitably fall flat in comparison to the reader’s imagination), but those moments are made up by the more original moments-- the things that are left unseen and unexplained.

The place where the story truly shines is the relationship between the two leads. Sorawo and Toriko are great characters, both incredibly charming and deeply flawed, and they achieve a great chemistry with each other right off the bat. Sorawo is a very interesting protagonist, one who turns out to have a deeply tragic past that has made her into a reclusive, somewhat selfish young woman. What’s great is that Toriko, vivacious and confident, everything Sorawo isn’t, accepts this part of her, in a way. Toriko flat out admits she’s not looking for a particularly virtuous person to accompany her, but an “accomplice.” A big part of the appeal of OP is seeing these two “accomplices” bounce off each other, and eventually come to care about each other, all playing against a background of some genuinely spine-crawling horror. Otherside Picnic is a truly underrated series, and I deeply hope that the anime adaption next year will finally get it all the eyes it deserves (menacing phrasing very much intended).

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores. The manga will be published by Square Enix Books starting May 2021. The anime will start airing on January 4th, 2021.

Goodbye My Rose Garden

What It Is: A manga by Dr. Pepperco. Three volumes, complete. It inspired a stage play that ran for a while in Japan, but not much information is available about it in English. 

What It’s About: Hanako has two goals: to meet Victor Franks, the mysterious author who pens the books she adores, and to become a writer herself. Despite having the mettle to travel to England on her own to pursue her dreams, she soons finds that it’s difficult for a young, unwed Japanese woman to dream in 20th century London. However, her luck seems to turn around when she meets Alice Douglas, a noblewoman who offers her a job as her maid-- as well as a surprisingly warm friendship. Alice even offers Hanako a way to meet her idol… but at the price of a horrifying request.

What I Think: In the afterword of Volume 1, Dr. Pepperco openly admits that Goodbye, My Rose Garden was the result of them trying to marry all of their favorite tropes (“Victorian maids! Loads of frills! An English family manor!” are some standout items), and this is apparent in the best way possible. GMRG is a lush period piece that will likely appeal to fans of movies like The Handmaiden and Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, with loving attention paid to details like clothes and settings. 

The relationship between Alice and Hanako is quite charming, with Alice supporting Hanako as much as she can while still taking every available opportunity to tease her, while Hanako constantly surprises Alice each time she shows her moxie and strength. It’s an adorable, sweet dynamic, yet a dark, melancholy weight lurks in the background in the form of Alice’s request-- in short, it’s a relationship that feels tailor made for me. Still, I believe this “darkness” never threatens to overwhelm the story, only enhance it in such a way that the reader will soldier on, hoping for a happy ending for our two leads. With an engaging plot and gorgeous art, this is a great manga for both longtime yuri fans and newcomers looking for an introduction to the world of yuri.

Where To Get It: Seven Seas Entertainment has translated the first two volumes, with the final one coming to English soon all three volumes into English.

Seabed

What It Is: A visual novel by paleontology, a Japanese doujin circle.

What It’s About: Mizuno Sachiko is a designer who is haunted by visions of Takako, her vivacious childhood friend and former lover. Narasaki Hibiki is a psychiatrist who wants to help Sachiko make sense of these hallucinations. Takako is… confused, trying to figure out why she keeps losing her memory and why she and Sachiko drifted apart despite being so close. Seabed is a story that spans the pasts and presents of these three women as they attempt to find and understand the truth.

What I Think: At first glance, Seabed seems simple, but it’s a bit of a hard story to explain. In a way, there isn’t much to explain-- it’s a very slow, down-to-earth story that gets almost tedious at times. I think it would be a hard sell to someone who isn’t used to visual novels, but I could imagine it being challenging even for fans. All I’ll say is this: if you give Seabed a chance, it will draw you into a surreal, gentle, melancholy tale akin to slowly sinking beneath the water of a strange, yet not unfriendly sea. For its simplicity, it’s got quite a few surprises in its long, long runtime, and any attempt to explain further will just ruin an experience that’s meant to wash over the reader over time. The only thing I’ll say is the one thing I think everyone knows: the climax will make you cry.

Where To Get It: Seabed is published in English through Fruitbat Factory and is available on Steam, Itch.io, and Nintendo Switch.

SHWD

What It Is: A manga by Sono. Ongoing.

What It’s About: Sawada is one of the few women working for the Special Hazardous Waste Disposal, and the only one in her office. But that changes when the stunningly-strong yet staggeringly-sweet Koga is hired, and the two become close in no time. Sawada trains Koga and soon the two go on their first mission to dispose of the “hazardous waste” left after a recent war… the dangerous, organic anti-human weapons known as the Dynamis.

What I Think: SHWD opens with several close-ups of Sawada’s arm muscles as she works out. I have found that page alone is sometimes enough to convince someone to read SHWD, and if not, pictures of Sawada and-- especially-- Koga are often enough to do the job. In all seriousness, what I love about SHWD can be summarized by something Sono said in an interview about the manga:

‘The first motivating force was "I want to write a yuri manga featuring strong women." I was very drawn to strong female characters by watching "PERSON of INTEREST" and "Assassin's Creed Odyssey." However, I felt that I should differentiate myself by doing something other than a "strong woman" and "weak woman" dynamic. So, I thought about coupling women with different types of strength. This is why all of the SHWD main characters are "strong women."’

It’s a mindset I love a lot. Koga is remarkably strong in a physical sense, but her mental fortitude is fragile due to her past experiences with the Dynamis, and as such, it’s Sawada who uses her immense mental strength to support her. Indeed, every character in SHWD so far bears intense trauma born of the Dynamis in some way, and it’s hard to see how their pasts still hurt them in the present. But that just makes it satisfying to see these women come together to support one another. SHWD drew me in with a unique and often dark action-oriented story with horror elements, but it’s this idea of “strong women” who make up for each other’s weaknesses that really makes it dear to me. 

Also, it can’t be stated enough that Sono is so so so so so (etc) good at drawing muscular women. 

On a completely unrelated note, there’s a side story about Koga and Sawada playing sports together. This includes judo. I am saying this for no reason.

Where To Get It: The English translation of the manga is released in chapters by Lilyka Manga.

Sexiled: My Sexist Party Leader Kicked Me Out, So I Teamed Up With a Mythical Sorceress!

What It Is: A two volume light novel series by Ameko Kaeruda, illustrated by Kazutomo Miya. Possibly complete.

What It’s About: Tanya Artemiciov is an absurdly talented Mage. So why the hell was she kicked out of her adventuring party? Her leader and former friend sums it up in four words: “You’re a woman, Tanya.” In a fit of rage, Tanya channels her anger into a “venting” session that involves swearing her head of and casting a volley of Explosion spells into the wasteland… and accidentally releases a legendary sorceress! Luckily, Laplace is actually quite nice, and just as powerful as the legends say, so the two decide to team up so Tanya can have her revenge!

What I Think: So, this is a silly one, but after a couple of darker entries I think it’s a good palate cleanser. Sexiled is a loud, not-even-remotely subtle, unabashedly feminist take on the “power fantasy” light novel, especially the “revenge fantasy” subgenre-- and even if that sounds awesome on paper to you (ex. me), it will probably feel over-the-top at times to you (ex. me). But in a way, that’s actually kind of its charm. 

I like that Kaeruda utterly refuses to let up on what she wants to tell you, especially because the story was inspired by a real case in Japan. One may be tempted to think “this story is ridiculous, no one would ever be this cartoonishly sexist!” and then you read a news article about how in a famous Japanese medical university was found rigging the test scores of women, and you realize, “oh, people are still this cartoonishly sexist.” So I’m fine with Kaeruda letting it all out in this story. At the same time, I think Sexiled is best when it’s focused not on Tanya’s revenge but on her kindness, and the way her compassion, her strength, and yes, her anger inspires the women and girls around her. 

Sexiled is a fun and often very funny romp about assholes getting theirs, with some surprisingly deep and nuanced moments hiding in a very unsubtle story.

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

BONUS: Other titles with sci-fi/fantasy/action elements that may interest you!

The Blank Of Describer: A one-shot manga by kkzt about a pair of two dream-builders. They’ve taken all kinds of commissions in the past, but one job they recieve throws them for a loop: a request for a shinigami that can predict and report death. And then comes the kicker: the customer asks the two of them to give it features that the both of them “adore the most…” (Published in English by Lilyka Manga)

A Lily Blooms In Another World: A light novel by Ameko Kaeruda (illustrated by Shio Sakura), author of Sexiled, about Miyako, a Japanese wage slave reincarnated into another world based on her favorite otome game. However, she’s not interested in her would-be love interest, but in Fuuka Hamilton-- the game’s villainess! After Miyako confesses her love, Fuuka decides to give her a challenge: if Miyako can make her say the words “I’m happy” in fourteen days, she’ll stay by her side! (Published in English through J-Novel Club, available on various platforms)

Superwomen In Love: An ongoing manga by sometime about the sentai villainess Honey Trap and her infatuation with the masked superheroine Rapid Rabbit. After being kicked out of her evil organization, Honey Trap decides to team up with her former nemesis to fight evil-- and hopefully, find romance! (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in April 2021)

2. “Yuri is all stories about teenagers! Where’s the stuff about adults?”

Take a look at the previous section: there’s the stuff about adults! Otherside Picnic, Goodbye My Rose Garden, Seabed, SHWD, Sexiled, The Blank of Describer, A Lily Blooms In Another World, and Superwomen In Love are all stories with adult-aged protagonists! But if you’re searching for a more down-to-earth romance, I’m happy to report there’s quite a bit of options to look into!

Still Sick

What It Is: A manga by Akashi. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: Makoto Shimizu is an office lady with a secret: she’s a yuri fan who draws doujinshi. She’s able to keep her two lives separate, all until the day she comes face-to-face with her co-worker at a convention! To Makoto’s horror, Akane Maekawa is amused by her nerdy secret, but Akane may have some secrets of her own...

What I Think: This one was a roller coaster for me: I loved the premise of the manga, but wasn’t sure about the dynamic between the leads… that is, until near the end of the first volume, where something happened and everything changed. Without giving too much away, I implore people to give Still Sick a chance-- it has a much deeper story than one might initially guess, as well as an interesting character dynamic between the two leads with some surprising turns.

Where To Get It: The first two volumes of Still Sick are published in English by Tokyopop, with the final one coming soon All three volumes have been published in English by Tokyopop.

After Hours

What It Is: A manga by Yuhta Nishio. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: After being ditched by her friend at a club, Emi Ashiana is ready to write the whole night off. All that changes when she meets Kei, a DJ who seems to be everything Emi is not-- cool, confident… employed.... But Kei and Emi hit it off and Emi’s life changes as Kei draws her into the world of Japan’s club scene!

What I Think: It’s hard to explain exactly why I like this manga, but I reeeeally like this manga. 

There’s just something about the sleek art, the amazing atmosphere of the scenes set in nightclubs, the chemistry between Emi and Kei, the focus on more mature topics.... it’s a manga that’s remarkably magnetic for how down-to-earth it is. It’s also just interesting to read stories about subcultures that don’t normally get a spotlight in comics. To sum it up, After Hours is just a lovely manga that’s severely underrated that’s perfect for someone who’s looking for a story that’s both fun and mature.

Where To Get It: All three volumes are published in English by Viz Media.

How Do We Relationship?

What It Is: A manga by Tamifull. Ongoing, five volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Miwa and Saeko’s first meeting is… interesting. But despite that, and despite their clashing personalities, the two of them become fast friends. Well… actually, perhaps more than friends. You see, pretty soon the two of them learn that the other is into women. With that in mind, Saeko suggests they try dating each other-- might as well, right? “Might as well” seems like a strange place to begin a relationship, but perhaps even something like that could end in true love?

What I Think: “Why do romances always end when they decide to start dating?!” That’s the question Tamifull poses in the afterword of Volume 1. And it’s a great question! What makes How Do We Relationship? an interesting manga is how oddly realistic it is, highlighting things like the compromises people make in relationships, people who get into relationships for pragmatic reasons rather than love, the whole “thing” about sex… as well as highlighting the additional issues queer people have to deal with. That may sound like a heavy story, but it’s actually quite light-hearted, as well as very, very funny at times. With a cute art style and surprisingly deep premise, HDWR is a great manga for older yuri fans who are craving a more mature story.

Where To Get It: The first volume has been published in English by Viz Media, with more on the way.

BONUS: Other titles with adult protagonists that may interest you!

Even Though We’re Adults: A manga by Takako Shimura about two women in their thirties. Ayano and Akari meet each other in a bar and almost immediately feel a sense of chemistry between them. There’s just one problem: Ayano is married to someone else. (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in January 2021)

Doughnuts Under A Crescent Moon: A manga by Shio Usui. Uno Hinako wants nothing more than to be seen as a normal young woman, but she just can’t seem to make a “normal” romance work. But maybe Sato Asahi, a woman who works at the same company as her, can show her a new kind of normal? (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in February 2021)

Our Teachers Are Dating: A manga by Pikachi Ohi. Hayama Asuka is a gym teacher, Terano Saki is a biology teacher. One day, they come into work both looking suspiciously happy… because they’ve started dating! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

I Married My Best Friend To Shut My Parents Up: A one-volume manga by Kodama Naoko. Morimoto is sick and tired about constantly being badgered about finding a man to marry, so her kouhai from her high school days offers a solution: marry each other to make her parents back off! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

Now Loading…!: A one-volume manga by Mikan Uji. Takagi has just snagged her dream job at a games publisher, but being put in charge of a mobile game that’s barely pulling in any attention isn’t exactly what she was hoping for. What’s worse, she’s drawn the attention of her strict higher-up Sakurazuki Kaori… who also happened to design her most favorite game of all time?! (Published in English through Seven Seas Entertainment)

3.  “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s- wait, didn’t we already do this one?”

Yes we did. And you know what? I’m making a stand! There’s a lot of really, really good yuri stories set in high schools, and I think more people need to give them a chance! Here are some high school titles that I think are worth a second look for one reason or another!

Bloom Into You

What It Is: A manga by Nakatani Nio. Eight volumes, complete. A twelve episode anime aired in 2018, covering about the first half of the series. A three volume spinoff light novel series written by Hitoma Iruma was also published.

What It’s About: Yuu Koito has long dreamed of the day she’d find That One, Storybook Romance that would make her feel like she was walking on air, but the day that a boy confesses to her, her feet remain firmly planted on the ground. When she meets Touko Nanami, a girl who seems to have the same strange, distant relationship to romance as she does, Yuu feels like she has found a comrade. But what will happen when the next person to confess to Yuu… is Touko?

What I Think: What can I say about Bloom Into You that hasn’t already been said? There’s a reason it’s basically considered a staple of yuri despite being only five years old. The art is beautiful and delicate, the story has a deft mastery of comedy, drama, and romance, and the characters are deeply loveable. Really, the only reason this one is here is to tell you to get to reading this manga (or watching the anime) if you haven’t already. So get to it!

Where To Get It: The entire series-- as well as the spinoff light novel series Regarding Saeki Sayaka-- has been published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime is currently streaming on HiDive.

Yuri Is My Job

What It Is: A manga by Miman. Ongoing, seven volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Hime wants nothing more than to be adored by everyone and to someday bag a rich husband. Of course, being loved by all takes a lot of work, and she prides herself in keeping her perfect, adorable facade so well-maintained. But of course, the one time she slips up, she ends up injuring the manager of a local cafe! Hime finds herself strong-armed into working for this cafe under their star employee, a kind, graceful girl named Mitsuki. But things aren’t quite so simple-- you see, this cafe has a gimmick in which all the employees are constantly acting out yuri-inspired scenes for the customers, so in a way, the employees also have their own facades. And under her facade, Mitsuki… hates Hime’s guts!

What I Think: Yuri Is My Job is an odd duck, but in a good way. It’s advertised and initially framed as a comedy, but it becomes a surprisingly thoughtful drama about the personas people adopt and why they do so (though, luckily, the comedy never truly goes away). There’s an interesting web of relationships between the girls, and having those interactions take place in a setting where they must act out a completely different sort of drama adds an extra level of drama and intrigue. The cute, polished artwork is just the icing on the cake. YIMJ is a good manga for those who are already familiar with yuri tropes and those who are interested in a drama that doesn’t get too heavy.

Where To Get It: Six volumes have been published in English by Kodansha comics, with the seventh on the way.

Riddle Story of Devil

What It Is: A manga written by Yun Kouga and illustrated by Sunao Minakata. Five volumes, complete. A 12 episode anime aired in 2014.

What It’s About: At Myojo Private School, an elite all-girl’s academy, Class Black has a secret. Twelve of the thirteen girls are actually assassins who have been offered a dark deal-- one wish will be granted to whoever manages to kill Haru Ichinose, the thirteenth student. But there’s still hope for Haru in the form of Tokaku Azuma, one of the assassins who has decided to defect to Haru’s side-- and defend her from the other girls at any cost.

What I Think: I’m not sure… if I can say Riddle Story of Devil is “good.” It’s definitely something. Although its premise is vaguely similar to Revolutionary Girl Utena, its tone and atmosphere remind me a lot more of the Dangan Ronpa series. It’s schlocky and ridiculous and often over-the-top and at times exploitative. It’s pure junk food, basically… and I believe that’s where the charm comes from. It’s my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. It may not exactly be good, but more often than not, it’s fun. It’s hard not to be immediately interested in a yuri battle series, you have to admit. 

And if it does have one undeniably good element, it’s Tokaku and Haru’s relationship. They contrast each other nicely, and while one might expect Haru to be boring and helpless, she’s actually quite proactive at times, and some of the most interesting, engaging parts of the series come from seeing how the two work together to fend off the latest assassin. It’s a short read and if anything, it’s worth it to see how each girl ends up. I recommend it for older viewers who are okay with violence and ludicrous battle scenarios.

Where To Get It: All five volumes are available through Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime can be watched through Funimation.*

*Please don’t watch the anime.**

** At the very least, please don’t watch the anime unless you’ve read the entire manga. Riddle Story Of Devil was one of those unfortunate cases where the anime adaption was produced before the manga reached its conclusion, and as such it has a very strange, rushed ending that includes none of what I enjoyed about the actual ending. Several scenes were also changed, and if I recall correctly, fanservice was added in several places where there was none previously. All in all, I’d really only recommend it for big fans of the series.

Side By Side Dreamers

What It Is: A light novel by Iori Miyazawa, illustrated by Akane Malbeni. One volume, complete.

What It’s About: Saya Hokage has been suffering from insomnia, but one day finds relief in the form of Hitsuji Konparu, a strange girl who can put people to sleep. As it turns out, Hitsuji is a person who has the special ability to move freely in their dreams, known as a “Sleepwalker.” The Sleepwalkers have been battling beings that possess people through their dreams, and it turns out they want Saya to join them in the fight.

What I Think: Side By Side Dreamers is short and… well, dreamy. I really enjoyed the premise and I think it’s a good novel for people who think Otherside Picnic may be a little too much for them. I also enjoyed each dream sequence-- I tend to find that the writing in light novels is a little dry, so the use of figurative language to describe these scenes was really refreshing and interesting. SBSD is a fun oneshot that I think is especially ideal for newcomers to yuri.

Where To Get It: Side-by-Side Dreamers is published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

Cocoon Entwined

What It Is: A manga by Yuriko Hara. Three volumes, ongoing.

What It’s About: Hoshimiya Girls' Academy is a strange, almost otherworldly paradise with a peculiar tradition. For all three years, each girl grows out her hair to absurd, breathtaking lengths, in order for it to eventually be cut and weaved into uniforms for future students. Perhaps it is these strange uniforms that seem to whisper about the past that makes the school seem frozen in another time… picturesque, yet stagnant. But one day, a shocking incident shatters the quiet peace of the academy, and the tumultuous feelings that have long been hidden in the hearts of these girls come rushing into the light.

What I Think: Cocoon Entwined is, in a word, eerie. It’s not marketed as a horror story, and I don’t think it’s intended to be one, but I’ve seen some that say they get horror vibes from it. I definitely understand that-- there’s a deep sense of unease that permeates the entire story in a way that’s a bit hard to articulate. The running thread of uniforms made from human hair definitely doesn’t hurt (it does-- I’ve seen many people understandably turned off by this element), but it’s more than that. It’s the sense that everything at Hoshimiya feels frozen and fragile. It’s the sense that everyone is burying their true feelings under countless layers. It’s the fact that in one scene, Saeki reaches out in a dark room full of uniforms and feels her arm touched by countless hands made of hair. 

Cocoon Entwined is a strange manga, and I feel it’s not for everyone-- besides the way many are put off by the central premise, the way that the story jumps around in time can be a bit confusing to follow. But in my opinion, I love it for these elements: the uniforms and their marriage between beauty and grotesque, the sense of frozen time, the delicate artwork that feels like it might be shattered by the weight of your gaze, the strange, airless atmosphere, the girls and their clear exhaustion of having to be ideal women. It’s a strange little series that I think should be given a shot, particularly if you want something a little more out there, or a darker take on Class S tropes.

Where To Get It: Yen Press has currently published two volumes in English.

BONUS: Other high school titles that may interest you!

A Tropical Fish Yearns For Snow: A manga by Makoto Hagino. Konatsu Amano has just moved to a new town by the sea, and must deal with her new school’s mandatory club policy. Luckily, she meets Koyuki Honami, an older girl who runs the Aquarium Club. Recognizing her loneliness, Konatsu decides to join her club. (Published  in English by Viz Media)

Flowers: A four-part series of visual novels published by Innocent Grey. Flowers focuses on Saint Angraecum Academy, a private high school that prides itself on overseeing the growth of proper young ladies. One notable thing about the academy is the Amitié program, a system that pairs students together in order to foster friendships between the girls. But friendship isn’t the only thing blooming… (Available in English from Steam, J-List, and JAST USA)

Adachi And Shimamura: A series of light novels written by Hitoma Iruma and illustrated by Non that has recently received a manga adaptation and an anime adaption. Adachi and Shimamura are two girls who encounter each other one day while cutting class. Little by little, the two girls become a part of each other’s lives, and feelings begin to form. (The light novels are published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, the anime is licensed by Funimation)

And there we go! 24 different yuri titles. I didn’t even go into the series that I tried but personally didn’t like that still might interest other people. I primarily made this list to gush about yuri that I liked, but I also tried to include a fairly wide range of things so that, hopefully, any random person who read this whole list could find at least one new title that interests them. And I hope that includes you!

The yuri scene is quite large and wonderful if you know where to look, and it too often gets a bad rap. I hope that this list could give you a new perspective on what kinds of titles are available, and I hope it gives you something new to try. And remember: if you want something specific, try looking for it! There’s a good chance the story you’re craving is already out there, waiting to be discovered!

#otherside picnic #shwd #goodbye my rose garden #sexiled #seabed #a lily blooms in another world #superwomen in love #the blank of describer #even though we're adults #doughnuts under a crescent moon #how do we relationship #still sick #bloom into you #yuri is my job #riddle story of devil #our teachers are dating! #yuri #cocoon entwined #wwydd #side by side dreamers #a tropical fish dreams of snow #now loading...! #i married my best friend to shut my parents up #adachi and shimamura #after hours #flowers #wwydd?

[buddyfromearth]

Object of Affection

For @gothamsworst​ because your entire penguin tag has put into me a great fire to write a sheepish significant other for him.  Mind you, I haven’t written fanfiction since high school so forgive me if I get something wrong (I’m still getting into DC and my parents think it’s embarrassing because I had a lobo phase out of high school.)

Notes: confessions of love; sfw (some slight implications at the end but it cuts off because that’s not going on this blog here); aw, gee, he brought a bouquet of flowers; hey who ordered flirting because here’s some; several headcanons in one go let’s go people; I can write pretty words I just mostly refuse to in favor of making it all comics instead; idea of flirting is just walking up with a bouquet and going “marry me”; I don’t know what I’m doing I’ve never written this guy before.

EDIT: fixed some things.

 Stuck between yearning for love and the fear of rejection was a difficult place to be. It was at least easier to know rejection than it was to have yearning for love going totally unanswered.  Oh, what pain it was. 

   Oswald Cobblepot, that troublesome Penguin known about Gotham as one hell of a man to cross, was madly in love.  Yes, an unfortunate feeling to have.  But he couldn’t help it.  Not this time, at least. 

   It was someone he’d seen around the lounge, lurking nearby where he’d watch the penguins. When he saw them around and was able to not make it awkward, he couldn’t help but stare at those eyes all green and deep like some dark thicket.  And those venomous eyes did plenty of staring back: he could feel their gaze fixated on him whenever he was working at the lounge. 

   Really, though, what did he know about this crush that had taken his entire heart by a single blow?  Well, he knew enough.  His eyes about Gotham told him that they weren’t much of anything besides a total hermit: mostly stayed home at a ground-floor apartment in a low-rent yet slightly decent part of town (as decent as the city could be, anyway), and had everything that was needed for living delivered to their door.  No car: only ever ventured out on a trike with a headlight on the front and a trunk on the back.  He wasn’t even sure what they did for a living. 

   At the very least Oswald knew he could find them lurking around the lounge.  So, that’s exactly where he went. 

   Of course, such an event was not something to go into completely unprepared.  He pulled out a nice suit, as usual, with all the fine accoutrements he was well-known for.  An umbrella in one hand and a large bouquet of bloody red roses in the other.  Even went out of the way to pick out cologne, albeit he preferred not to.  He wanted to make the best impression he could. 

   It was just that odd hour before the post-work rush.  Oswald hoped he’d not come in on a wrong night.  Trying not to draw too much attention, he made a long sort of awkward path over to where they usually were. 

   There they were, right at that surprisingly bare table he got used to passing by.  There was a pencil case pushed to one side, and it sat next to a tall glass of what he thought might be soda (of course, he wasn’t about to just try it: that would be a bit too much).  They were hunched over something in front of them, and their hands moved quickly with a pencil and a brush. 

   “Excuse me, my dear,” started Oswald, with a soft tone so as to not scare this beloved mystery away, “but is this table taking guests?” 

   They jumped.  Oswald feared he’d gone too fast.  Oh, wonderful, now he’d scared them off! 

   They looked up and met his eyes.  What was once a terrified look behind thick glasses quickly melted into something tender and rather curious.  “Oh.”  Their voice had an astoundingly flat affect, hinting at an origin out in midland farming country with the slight tint to it.  They cleared their throat, and moved their bag to the other side.  “S-sure thing, sir, sure.  Wasn’t expecting anyone to be over here tonight.  Normally people only ever come over to ask for free work from me.”  Their voice was soft and quiet as they spoke: an absolutely adorable sound that hit just right in his ears.  He could listen to it talk forever. 

   “Excellent.”  Oswald sat down directly next to them, putting the umbrella to rest on the seat beside him. 

   Their face quickly changed colors.  It went from a sickly pale in the lowlight to being absolutely taken over with blush.  “R-right, s-sure.  Please, forgive me for asking, but haven’t I seen you around here before?” 

   “Of course you would have seen me here before,” said Oswald, rolling his eyes slightly.  “I own this lounge, after all.” 

   “Oh, I…” They stopped for a moment, and their mouth was slightly agape as they appeared to slowly mentally register the weight of the situation.  Then their eyes shot wide open and they gave up a nervous smile with chattering teeth. “M-Mr. Cobblepot, sir.  I-I-I didn’t think I was something you’d… well, y’know, actually come over to see?” 

   “Quite the contrary,” said Oswald, moving in closer and putting an arm around their shoulder.  “You’ve captured my attention with how much you care about my darlings.  I see you in here and I can’t help but wonder if you’re some kindred soul.”  He gestured just slightly over at the centerpiece of the lounge, the namesake iceberg with a whole group of penguins he often spent hours watching on his days off.

   They looked over to where he gestured, and then they nodded quickly.  The nervousness quickly got itself out of that smile, and their entire posture melted into one of repose.  “Your penguins, right.  Right, the penguins!  Of course! They’re so cute: little communal flipper birds that just waddle around and honk and preen all day.”  They sighed and smiled, leaning forward and putting their head to rest in their hand.   “What I wouldn’t give for a life so carefree.”

   Oswald immediately had a few ideas come to mind.  Oh, he could take care of that: he could just bring them into his life and get them out of that awful apartment, pamper them with anything and everything they could ever want.  Ask them to move in with you.  Ask them for a date.  Ask them to share a drink.  No, no, no, that’s all too fast!  Play it slowly: perhaps they’ll melt into your arms if you go ahead just right.  

   “How often are you around here, hm?”  Oswald looked over from behind his monocle at this mystery figure that had caught his attention and proceeded to hold it in a vice-like grip, taking a moment to look at what he was dealing with.  Their figure was mostly obscured by big, bulky articles of clothing, but what could be made out was all thick and rolled together like some haphazard cake stacked up far too high for its own good.  It was very easy to look at.  “You seem to know enough about my precious little birds.”  “Perhaps a bit too much” was a phrase he wanted to add, but he wasn’t about to murder this feeling. 

   “I don’t really drink alcohol.  I only really come here to draw the iceberg and all the penguins,” said the mystery crush. “They’re so fun to smush together with their little shapes.  Their little flippers are so cute.  And their little feet are surprisingly complex once you get past all the flub and feathers.” 

   Oh, one of those artist types.  Wait, artist type.  Artist. Oh, this could be good: this could actually be really good for several different reasons!  Not just the romantic pursuit reason, either: perhaps their passion for the arts would include, somewhere in there, a passion for him. 

   “I see.” Oswald reached for the pad of paper they were so vigilantly guarding and said, “I can’t help but have a look at someone’s work regarding my darlings.” 

   A sickly pale hand with chewed-down nails shot over and clamped in on Oswald’s wrist. “Just a second there, Mr. Cobblepot. You have to promise me something first.”

   “Anything, my sweet, anything.” 

   “Don’t tell anyone what you see in this book.  It’s a lot of… well, it’s… bad.” 

   “Oh, I will most certainly be the judge of that.”  Oswald picked up the book, and then handed them the bouquet in return.  “Here, something for you to hold in the meantime.”

   Noting their shocked expression as they carefully took the bouquet in their arms, Oswald began to slowly browse through the contents of the book. 

   What they had said was indeed true: there were a lot of penguins in there.  They were doing all sorts of things: preening their coats, honking, spread out on their stomachs staring at each other, ambling across the ice.  They were all partway realistic, but there was some sort of fantastical flair to them. It was cute: just like them. 

   While flipping through the pages, though, he couldn’t help but notice other pieces. Things like the name of the lounge written out in poster type pieces with his penguins and their little iceberg on it.  There was, undeniably, a unique work of a penguin in a suit like his.  Curious, he turned the page. 

   And what he saw there surprised him greatly. 

   It was not only drawings of patrons with little notes about time scrawled around them that occupied the pages, but there were drawings of him as well.  Little notes here and there about the things he’d wear, the way he’d talk, and the way he moved.  Around one particular piece underlaid with purple markings was a portrait of him smiling: the note around this piece said “Handsome guy but who?”  It was surrounded by little scribbled hearts. 

   Oswald, in his stroke of peacock vanity that got to him every now and again, turned his head slightly as he was gently urged by these things.  “I see that you draw more than birds.” 

   The mystery crush looked over.  They caught a look of what pages he’d come to and they grimaced before sighing and hiding their face in their hands.  “Sorry about that.  I-I draw people a lot, just to stay aware of how to do it.” 

   “It seems you’ve become quite taken with me in these intimate studies,” said Oswald, casting a rather tempered gaze and a matching grin over at the object of his affections as he handed back the book.  “I must admit, I came here tonight thinking you wouldn’t reciprocate the feelings that brought me to you in the first place.” 

   “Oh, wow, feelings?”  The mystery crush smiled and chuckled ever so softly, rubbing their hand along the back of their neck as they took the book and put it back on the table.  “Goodness gracious, Mr. Cobblepot, I didn’t expect a gentlemanly type like yourself to be the romantic type.” 

   “Oh, but isn’t a gentleman always the romantic type?”  Oswald, emboldened by such a soft response, couldn’t help but to pull them in closer.  When they began to blush again, he grinned and pressed a gloved finger to their nose. “I can’t exactly help it.  And please, just call me Oswald.” He then picked up one of their hands and pressed a single, fervent kiss to it.

   “Ah, uh, I guess so,” said the mystery crush, “mister… oh, right, Oswald.  Right, first name basis now.”  Their face was getting hotter by the minute, and they began to stammer over all their words as they put the bouquet on the table.  “I, uh… would, would you be offended if I asked you something kinda personal?” 

   Oswald could already picture several personal questions and perfect little answers to go along with them.  He nodded and held their hands in his.  “Oh, but of course, my dear: anything you ask for, you’ll get it from me.” 

   “Oh.” The mystery crush nodded, their glasses falling down their face in the meantime.  When Oswald reached up and pushed them back to their previous position, they cleared their throat and quickly stammered out, “If you feel so strongly about me, would you mind if I moved in?  I, uh… they hiked the rent on my place again and I have to find a new one before the end of the month.  Don’t make enough.” 

   “Would I mind?  Of course not, dearest bird, of course not.  I have far too many places that need a colorful touch like yours.  You can come with me tonight, if it pleases you, my dear.”

   “You don’t have to be so heavy-handed with all the compliments.” 

   “Oh, but I believe you deserve every last one of them.” 

   “You’re far too kind.”  The mystery crush sighed.  “I hate to tell you this now, after all those compliments and affectionate talk, but I’m kind of a handful, I’m… look, I’m trans and if you’re not into a guy like me, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m- I’m sorry.  We can just go away from this table and never speak about this again.  It… it’ll be fine if we do that.” 

   “Oh, now you just listen to me.”  Oswald put his hands to the mystery crush’s face and leaned it over so they were looking at him. “I don’t rightly care about whether you’re trans or not, and I’ll fund that for you so you can be happy.  You’re just far too pretty of a kindred spirit to be left so alone in such a big city.” 

  “I…” The mystery crush looked baffled. They froze for a moment or two, and Oswald wondered if he had said too much.  After a long silence, they sighed and smiled so big and soft that it couldn’t help but bring him to smile as well.  “Wow.  Thanks.” 

   “Oh, you’re ever so welcome, my dear.”  Oswald pressed his face up to theirs and quickly asked, “May I?” 

   “May you… oh, right.  Right! Yes, you may, Oswald.  You most certainly may!” 

   With that, Oswald couldn’t help but press a kiss to their lips.  Their lips were slightly chapped, and he couldn’t help but nuzzle his face just slightly against theirs in some affectionate attempt to bring intimacy to such a moment.  This move, while unexpected at first, was quickly reciprocated as their hands took hold of his shoulders. 

   Oswald pulled away with a troublesome little grin spread across his lips, and the object of all those affections smiled like this sort of intimacy was brand new to them. “I can’t help but wonder what your name is.” 

   “Look, my name is…”  They stopped for a moment, but then they smiled and just said, “Call me Lou for now. I can’t think of a name that belongs to me.” 

   “Then let’s find that out together.”  Oswald took his umbrella up and moved to stand, offering his hand to Lou.  “Come, I can have a crew bring your things to our home tomorrow.  Tonight, we shall simply be enamored little lovebirds.” 

   Lou laughed.  Their laugh sounded like the call of a bird, with its dragged-out syllables and its pitch. They snorted just slightly as they packed up their things.  “You’re very honest, Oswald.  I like that.  I like that a lot.” 

   “What’s a little honesty between significant others?”  Oswald smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

   Lou put their bag back on their shoulders and put their hand in Oswald’s as they stood up.  They weren’t much taller than him, and those assumptions he had made about their figure were correct.  “It’s a lot. Let’s go.” 

   Oswald only put his arm around them as the two gently went hand-in-hand to where his driver waited. 

   “What are the plans for this evening, Oswald?” 

   “Oh, I do believe I have a few ideas beginning to come to be.  Just you be patient, my sweet, I’ll tell you when we’re alone.” 

#writing #gothamsworst #not going into the tags #too embarrassing and self-inserty for the tags #gave the guy a different name too #just so it's not too self-inserty #I don't like getting rude comments about self-inserting #my writing

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s R&S - My love rival older brother (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (我的情敌哥哥) was part of the Dream Heart Lake event which will unlikely come to EN🍒

More Lucien R&S from this event:

> regarding what books don’t say

> my love rival older brother ♡

> the victim who disappeared

> since that rainy night

[ Chapter One ]

I have a really, really strong rival in love. His name is Lucien.

All the girls in class like him, including Nana. I initially thought she would be different from other girls, but I didn’t expect that she’d start talking about becoming Lucien’s bride all day long lately.

Their starry-eyed infatuation leaves me feeling rather confused and revolted. Isn’t he just a guy who’s slightly taller than I am, a little more dashing than I am, and a little more intelligent than I am right now? When I grow up, I can definitely surpass him.

I’m not saying this groundlessly - the Auntie from the canteen said it. She would secretly give me an extra fruit candy whenever she hears me complain, and will say, “Xiao Kai is still growing. As long as you eat properly, there will be a day when you’ll be even taller and more dashing than Professor Lucien!”

I really wish the girls in my class could be as rational as Auntie Zhang, instead of waking up early to squeeze in front of the mirror to apply make-up when they find out Lucien would be coming.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be the one tying the bow atop Nana’s hair. If I were to acknowledge that I’m the second best in tying bows, no one would dare to acknowledge that they’re the first.

However, ever since Lucien helped Nana tie her hair once, she started getting dissatisfied, commenting that my tying didn’t look good, and would deliberately make things difficult for me. She would wait for that man, who comes once every half a month, to help her tie it. 

That man appears even fewer times than the number of Power Rangers episodes shown on TV over the weekends. But his popularity among the female students is incredibly high. Every time he arrives, he tells us stories, show us the Cat’s Cradle, occasionally adds a small science lesson, performs little magic tricks, and things like that. 

The girls don’t seem to care about what Lucien talks about. After all, I can tell how the words “Lack of Understanding” are written across their faces when they’re listening to the class.

He, on the other hand, teaches very seriously, and explains the originally plain and simple knowledge of those books even more plainly and simply. I don’t know if it counts as a hobby, but the girls seem especially keen on hearing him explain the same learning point three times in different ways.

He’ll be visiting us again tomorrow, and I’ve decided that this time, he’s not going to steal my thunder.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

As usual, the girls get up early to welcome Lucien - including Nana.

What they weren’t expecting was for Lucien to bring a pretty-looking Sister along with him. The both of them are walking very closely, slightly different from people who were brought over as accompanying teachers.

“I know what’s going on. This Big Sister is Brother Lucien’s girlfriend!”

The boys immediately start hollering along with me, while the girls engage in a discussion. Big Sister is at the side, frantically shaking her head in denial. But Lucien just smiles, crinkling his eyes at her. Anyone with clear eyesight can tell that he’s interested in her.

“What nonsense! I’m Brother Lucien’s bride!”

“That’s right, that’s right! Brother Lucien has given me candy before!”

“Everyone received a piece of candy. But I have a brush that Brother Lucien rewarded me with!”

Everybody starts talking, and the scene becomes chaotic, just as I expected. Lucien doesn’t seem affected. Just like what the adults often say, he’s “A Master of Love.”

While everyone is still busy with their fervent discussion, he says something into Big Sister’s ear, without a change in his expression. The red hue on Big Sister’s face turns redder. Even without much thinking involved, one can already tell that he must have said something embarrassing. 

Nana seems to have noticed Lucien’s action, and starts bawling. Thinking that this is a great opportunity for her to let go of Lucien, I tag on a sentence triumphantly. “There’s no use in crying. You’re no longer Brother Lucien’s wife.”

This just makes Nana cry even more fiercely, and her entire face gets red and swollen.

Seeing how upset she is, I feel a twinge of guilt. Thinking that softening my heart at this moment would be equivalent to a loss, I take out the handkerchief I’ve been gripping tightly in my pocket to coax her.

I didn’t expect that Lucien would act before I could. Although he was at Big Sister’s side just a second ago, he immediately moves over to Nana’s side in the next moment. In his hand, he even has a little flower hair tie.

“Here, don’t cry. Nana’s such a cute girl. Next time, there will definitely be many boys who will compete to marry you.” After tying the flower onto her hair, Lucien pats her head.

As though an ‘off’ switch has been clicked, Nana, who was weeping earlier, stops crying instantly, breaking into a smile.

Watching how she has once again revealed a smile to this man - one she has never shown me even half of, I really can’t stand it. In my heart, I decide to win the next round!

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Perhaps due to Big Sister’s request, Lucien is attending the PE class with us for once.

Judging by how gentle and frail he looks, I think this is a great opportunity to reverse the impression Nana has of me.

The regretful thing is, my luck in drawing lots remains as poor as always. I end up drawing a lot which puts me in the same group as Big Sister. And our opponents happen to be Nana and Lucien.

Looking at how Nana is so excited to be holding Lucien’s hand to the point where she’s jumping three feet into the air, I grit my teeth silently, drawing up a plan for the following battle.

Before the competition, I pull on Big Sister’s hand, standing on tip toes as I  tell her the overall strategy for the competition. Surprisingly, Big Sister seems eager, which makes me heave a sigh of relief.

If she were another Lucien enthusiast, my “Concentrate All The Firepower on Lucien's Face” battle proposal would have definitely failed before it could be carried out.

Prior to the official start of the competition, I grip Big Sister’s hand tightly, stating our grand goal. “Pretty Sister, we must definitely win this competition!”

With a blow of the whistle, the two of us focus our firepower on Lucien as we whack the balls. Big Sister is even more cooperative than I expected. But I didn’t expect that Lucien had actually been keeping his abilities hidden. His ability at sports is shockingly good.

He’s as agile as a leaping tiger, dodging and jumping with his long legs. Although we go all out to throw the little balls, not even one hits him. Just as the battle enters its most intense juncture, Big Sister gets carelessly struck by a ball that Nana throws, and has to leave the court regretfully.

At this moment, I had miscalculated and underestimated the battle between women. But this didn’t mean that the showdown between Lucien and I would end.

Standing by myself in the court while carrying the determination of two people, I swing my arm and wave the small ball in my hand. Increasing the speed of the ball would inevitably cause my accuracy to deteriorate. But I didn’t expect for my hand would slip, sending the small ball in Nana’s direction.

“Nana, be careful!”

Although warning your opponent in a competition is an absolute taboo, I couldn’t care less given the circumstances. Poor Nana is scared frozen to the spot as the small ball flies towards her. In the meantime, Lucien rushes over to block it from the other side of the court.

“Nana, are you all right?” 

“Mm, I’m fine. But Brother Lucien has been hit by the ball. Does it hurt a lot... Let Nana blow on it for you. Once I blow on it, the pain will fly away!” While Nana says this, she’s so frantic that she’s on the verge of tears. It’s as though she was the one hit by the ball instead.

“Mm, I’ll have to trouble Nana then.” Lucien places his arm before Nana, letting her hold it carefully and blow on it for a very long time before he leaves the court.

Although Nana is still on the field, her heart has long since ran off with Lucien. When she sees Lucien bringing Big Sister out of the sports hall, she loses her will to fight even more. As though she’s venting her anger, she smashes the ball onto the floor. “I’m not playing anymore. You’ve won!”

When faced with this competition, which I won for no reason, my heart doesn’t feel anything...

I’m thinking - what kind of evidence must I obtain about Lucien before Nana would completely give up on him?

-

[ Chapter Four ]

At noon, everyone has returned to the dormitories for their afternoon rest. But I’m still burdened with an incomplete task, and am unable to sleep!

Secretively, I sneak out of the dormitory when the teacher-on-duty dozes off, looking for Lucien everywhere.

I don’t see any traces of Lucien or Big Sister at the lakeside, the tiny forest, and all the locations suitable to bring a girlfriend to. Without harbouring any hopes, I return to the classroom. I didn't think that i’d discover something unexpected:

I see both my targets, who have completely lost their fighting spirit, laying down on the table, looking as though they’re asleep.

In order to capture such an image which harnesses historical value, I had specially taken the phone the teacher-on-duty had left on the table secretly before heading out. Since what one says isn’t necessarily true, I have to use real evidence to enable Nana to give up on Lucien.

Carefully, I tap on the camera function. After pointing it towards Lucien and Big Sister, I capture a photograph of their intimate moment with a “ka cha”.

Wait a minute, why is there a “ka cha”?!

I frantically fiddle with the phone, but accidentally tap the capture function several more times. The sound of “ka cha”s fills the air. Before I can find the cause of it, Lucien has already woken up.

I meet Lucien’s eyes awkwardly, thinking in my heart that this man was obviously just pretending to be asleep. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been roused awake by such a soft sound!

He places a finger in front of his lips to do a “no sound” gesture, then takes the phone in my hand, flipping through the substantial evidence I had painstakingly captured earlier.

Just when I thought the photographs would be destroyed without a trace, Lucien returns the phone to me, and speaks in a soft voice. “Mm, your photography skills aren’t bad. But this phone - isn’t it Teacher Liu’s?”

In order to protect this evidence with my life, I have no choice but to tell a tiny lie. “T-that’s because I behaved very well today! Teacher rewarded me by letting me play with it!”

“Take a look. Sister is very tired too. If you leave obediently right now, I can give you another reward.”

“Okay! If you can honestly answer a question I have, I’ll leave immediately!” I didn’t expect that there’d come a day where I’d be able to exchange conditions with Lucien. With such a great opportunity, of course I have to ask him something especially important.

“Mm, go on.”

“What’s your view on Nana?” To me, this is an extremely important question.

“She’s a very obedient little girl. And let me tell you a small secret. As compared to pink, she likes lemon yellow even more.”

Lemon yellow.

I remember this quietly in my heart, and recall how Nana does indeed like collecting small, lemon yellow objects. I originally thought she cherished them so much because they were things Lucien gave to her.

As the saying goes, opportunity only knocks once. Seeing that Big Sister wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, I grasp at the chance to push on in the flush of victory. “In that case, is Big Sister your girlfriend?”

But Lucien is an astute man. He doesn’t let anyone take advantage of him. “Didn't we agree that it’d only be one question?”

Hmph, fine. Anyway, I already know that Nana likes lemon yellow, so I’ve got nothing else to fear!

With such a thought in mind, I grip the phone and leave the classroom with huge strides.

When I turn my head once more, Lucien is once again pretending to be asleep next to Big Sister.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc lucien #cncancelled

[what-big-teeth]

Heal (Male Fae ; Fic Raffle)

And done! @serenitydusk requested a story with the female reader being a witch who encounters a male fae. Like I said before, my muse grabbed hold to her wonderful ideas and refused to let go until there was story that incorporated those elements (all 11 eleven pages worth). So I hope you all enjoy this fic!

tw: blood ; injury ; attempted break in Female Reader (POV) x Male Monster The forest is alive in more ways than one.

The verdant green of the trees and underbrush is near blinding. The shade of the rich soil almost appears jet black. And the scent of the fresh blooms is short of addictive; almost mouthwatering.

All signs of the Fae.

You’ve known this fact ever since you moved to the outskirts of your picaresque, rural town. The power ebbing and flowing from the surrounding land told you as much. You haven’t pinpoint the exact source, and you’re fine with not knowing.

Some stones are better left unturned.

You know the land you live on is not your own. So you leave offerings near the thickening edge of the forest, where the old trail has been reclaimed by nature. Today, you offer a small jar of honey, freshly gathered from a nearby hive; untouched, chilled milk in a glass bottle; and healing salves neatly packed and tied in dense cloth. The latter is always gone when you return to give more offerings the next day. 

Since you’ve begun paying your respects, in return, your decrepit cottage has slowly  recovered from the damage caused by time and the elements. The musty scent covered up by the herbal bundles hanging from the ceiling has turned naturally sweet. The molded cracks and leaks in the walls and roof no longer exist. And most importantly, your meager foraging has grown bountiful, leaving you with an excess of ingredients to use. Most of it for your famed healing salves and ointments. You can’t help but smile knowing your work is just as popular among the Good Neighbors as it is among the townsfolk.

Which is why today, you’re able to head into town to answer a house call.

You tuck away another container of pain-relieving ointment then slide the top of your leather satchel in place. After a final glimpse at your cold hearth and sun-filled workshop, you set off.

The main path into town leads eastward, past two, towering rows of conifers. Their citrus, piney scent engulfs you with every step. 

By the time you reach the town’s entrance, the sun is almost high in the sky. The townsfolk are up and about with many greeting you cordially. You do the same, but keep pace towards your destination. A few fallen leaves and pine needles cling to your light cloak; you know the fabric is suffused with the forest’s scent. Your patient won’t mind, but her caretaker may be offended.

Once your feet carry you down a narrow, cobbled street and to a bold, blue door, you lift your hand and give the barrier three solid knocks. There isn’t enough time to pluck away every needle and dust off every leaf before the door wrenches opens.

Roderick regards you with a critical eye, as if the piercing stare will send you scuttling back to your cottage. You stand your ground instead, and give him a pleasant, practiced smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate. I’m here for Mrs. Hale‘s weekly house call.”

You quickly learned to never call Edith anything but Mrs. Hale in his presence. The first time you did, your affront nearly left you without the gold coin and tip she promised you. So you adapted and now tread carefully, letting Roderick hear what he’d prefer. But great god and goddess if he didn’t make your attempts at pleasantries difficult.

Roderick hums low then steps away from the threshold. You swiftly enter in case he decides to change his mind.

“Mother is near the hearth. She insisted on preparing some tea,” he says, voice tightening. “‘For our guest’”, she said. 

Roderick can barely think of you as such thanks to how you’ve proclaimed yourself a witch. You hope, with time, he’ll slowly come around. Just as many of the other townsfolk have.

You thank him and follow him the short distance to the kitchen. Edith sits at their small dining table, her wizened, deep brown hands clutching the steaming mug before her. Her wide nose flares as she inhales the vapors as the fresh scent of peppermint prickles your nose. One of your favorites.

“Roddy, is that the healer?” Her dark, rheumy eyes squint in your direction and her wrinkled face lifts with a smile. “It’s so good to see you, my dear.”

“Likewise, ma’am.”

As much as you wish to greet her properly with a hug or a pat to the back of her hand, you ignore the urge. Roderick could easily kick you out for not treating his mother-in-law with the “proper respect”. Instead, you remove your satchel and take the empty seat across from her.

“Roddy,” she says, “be a dear and pour our guest some tea, will you?”

You glance at Roderick; he looks as if he’s swallowed a bitter draught. But he does as his mother-in-law asks then stands at the kitchen entrance, like a sentinel. No matter. You’re here for Edith and her alone.

As you both chat about summer’s approach and her change in hairstyle, you examine her hands. You carefully bend each finger, checking her expression for any signs of pain. None. You then move on to her wrists and see her twinge at the slight movement.

“It’s better than it was before,” she says.

“That’s good, but I’d still like you to keep using the compress and herbal infusion. Warm the infusion and apply it three times a day, as before.”

“Yes, yes. Roddy will help me, won’t you dear?”

As you place some lengths of cotton wool and dried herbs for the infusion on the table, the crinkle of Roderick’s lips and nose lessens.

“Of course, Mother. You only need to ask.”

Edith smiles beatifically before her mouth falls open.

“Oh, you haven’t finished your tea.” 

With the way Roderick’s nostrils flare, you know you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“What I managed to have was delicious,” you say, patting the back of her free hand. “I should get going.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner? Roddy can walk you back to your cottage afterwards.”

His gritted jaw says otherwise. You kindly decline Edith’s invitation and gather your satchel. 

Roderick leads you to the front door, holding it open as you pass through. A harsh jingling from his person draws your attention.

“Here,” he says, thrusting a leather pouch your way. “Your coin.”

You carefully take it from his tense, outstretched hand.

“Thank—”

The door slams shut.

“...you.”

The bustle from the town’s main square drifts through the air. With a sigh, you turn back the way you came. There are a few items you need to purchase before returning home.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like many times before, your offering of healing salves has vanished from where you’ve left it. But surprisingly, so has the fresh honey and milk. That hasn’t happened before. Believing this to be a good sign, you smile and walk back in the direction of your cottage.

You arrive just as the sun has nearly vanished beneath the horizon, before the more natural denizens of the forest have fully awakened. You slide the wooden security bar in front of the door and light your hearth, as you do every night. Your mouth stretches open in a wide yawn, but you ignore the temptation to bathe and curl up in your bed. There are some herbs that need to be hung for drying and your recent tincture needs to be strained. So first—

You hear a knock at the door.

Your brows knit together; you’re not expecting any company. The townsfolk know better than to venture into the forest so close to nighttime.One knock becomes two. Then three, four, five. Silence. You only hear the chirping and buzzing of the usual nocturnal insects. The tight grip on your cloak loosens. Perhaps the person has—

A dull “thwack” sounds against the door. It’s followed by a creaking wrench and a deep grunt of effort. Then again and again. You know the sounds intimately. You’ve passed by men from the town felling trees for firewood in the fall.

The person outside is breaking in. 

You nearly lose your footing backing away from the source of the sound. Your gaze darts around your workshop. The knives you own aren’t meant for injuring or self-defense. They pale in comparison to a sharpened axe. 

The axe bites into the door with more force. The wood groans. Splinters. The blade hits true again. You see a hint of it through the door. Your stomach roils.

But you manage to swallow your scream. You refuse to give the intruder any pleasure from the palpable fear gripping your chest. Even as your lungs struggle to draw in air, you whip around and grab one of your paring knives. You aim it towards the door and brace yourself for what’s to come next.

There’s a pained yell, mingled with a sharp curse. A growl then an animalistic scream, aimed away from your door. Grunts and groans, which you recognize as signs of struggling. They’re cut off by a weighty ‘thud’ and a lighter one that swiftly follows. The sounds of the forest are muted and you stand unharmed in one piece. But how?

With slow careful steps, you edge towards the damaged door. You place your paring knife on the floor and slide the security bar away, swiftly picking up your knife once the plank is secured.

The would-be intruder lays on the ground in a crumpled heap, their face pressed into the grass. An arrow pierces their flesh just beneath their shoulder, its fletching of hawk feathers ruffling in the night’s breeze. You can’t help but wince; for the shot to have fractured bone, the strength behind such an attack had to be enormous.

Looking up, you see the source of that strength.

Your savior stands half a stone’s throw away, cloaked in shadows. What little light remains from the sinking sun acts as a backlight, revealing his silhouette. You’re able to see the outline of their quiver and longbow. They’re of humanoid shape, but something about his head makes you uncertain.It’s then you realize the odd shapes framing his head are large, curled horns. And see the glowing, green pinpoints staring at you. Not human. But fae.

Neither of you move from where you stand. Part of you wants to, however, not wishing to incur the wrath of this Kindly Neighbor. But you’re frozen where you stand. Perhaps by his power.

“You are unharmed?”

The masculine voice would be soothing if not for the rasping edges surrounding it. He sounds injured, but you have no way of confirming your suspicions. You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

“Yes, I am. I…appreciate your aid and concern.”

The fae scoffs.

“Your thanks is misplaced,” he says. “I’m merely reinforcing the laws of the forest established by its ruler. Nothing more.”

A groan interrupts your thoughts on how to continue the conversation. The bulky, would-be intruder shifts his head against the ground, turning their tanned face away from the dirt. You’re able to make out his features thanks to your lit hearth, and find them familiar.Roderick isn’t the only one in town who is wary of you. But he is the most forward with his actions and words. The man lying near your home is one of his friends.

You stifle the curse building behind your tongue. The fae have never condoned vulgarity and you don’t wish to make things worse in this delicate situation.

“You should return indoors,” the fae says suddenly. “And find a way to deafen your hearing.”

A sharp chill rushes down your spine.

“May I ask why?”

You think you hear his grip clench tighter around his bow.

“This man’s actions have assured his death.”

Your stomach plummets as your mouth opens before you’re able to stop it.

“Please don’t!”

The unnatural silence amplifies the pounding in your head. The fae hisses, his body shifting in a stilted manner as he hunches forward to guard his middle. So he is injured.

“And why should I show him mercy?” he rasps out.

“This man has family and friends,” you say. “If they came to search for him, they could disrupt the peace of the town and the forest in general. I don’t wish for any innocents to accidentally bring the forest’s wrath onto their heads because of him.”

Because not even you, who many of the townsfolk believe to be powerful, wish to incur the wrath of the forest itself.

The fae says nothing in return and you fear he’ll deny your request. After a strong heartbeat, you speak again.

“Please do this and I’ll tend to your wounds until you fully heal.”

Your sense of logic catches up to you and decries your words as dangerous. You know what the Kindly Ones do for anyone must be repaid in kind by their own terms. But you don’t take them back. Because avoiding any harm befalling the townsfolk is better than having it seep into the town or fall upon it like sudden deluge. This thought alone keeps your gaze stalwart as the night settles around you.

“Done.”

The weight of your agreement settles beneath your skin and latches onto your bones. It’s a warning; if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, the oath will find another way. One that’s more grievous.

The fae stalks over to the fallen man. His ram skull mask and long, inky, black hair coming into view. He slowly hefts Roderick’s friend up onto his feet with a claw-tipped hand. If it weren’t for the bloodied slash interrupting the pale white skin of his torso, you believe he could do so without effort. Surprisingly, Roderick’s friend groans then startles, crying out as he agitates his injury. 

“Listen to me.”

An otherworldly reverberation bolster’s the fae voice. Roderick’s friend goes ramrod straight.

“You will run back home like the cur you are. You will tell the one who sent you how displeased I am. And if he should step foot in this forest, my hounds will hunt him down and rend him apart. Then come for you.”

The man screams as if facing death incarnate. And in a way, he is. The fae releases him and he runs down the path into town. The fae snorts at the sight, swaying unsteadily.

“One last thing,” he says, his gaze finding yours. “Do not remove my mask.”

He then falls over in a heap. 

The forest comes to life again moments later, as if the last few occurrences never happened. You curse freely, the reality of your situation becoming apparent. Clenching your jaw so as not to hear your teeth chatter, you rush over towards the fae. The rhythmic rise and fall of his bloodstained chest makes you sigh with relief. 

It takes a great deal of strength and energy—neither which you barely have due to the long day—to drag him inside. It’s only after securing your home again that you keep hauling him towards the rug before the hearth. Sweat beads your brow once you finish. One obstacle done. Checking over his injury reveals some stemming thanks to the clumpings of dried blood. That gives you enough time to create a makeshift bed and gather what you need. Warm water, pieces of cotton cloth, ointment and healing salve…

The blood that once stained his skin now clings to your hands. But thanks to your attentiveness, the injury is concealed beneath a generous amount of medicine and two layers of cotton cloth. Your patient shifts against the thick quilt and pillows beneath him. A good sign.

“You’ll need to remain here for a few days for the wound to heal properly.” You rub your clean forearm against your clammy brow. “Is that alright?”

“Whatever it takes to hide my moment of weakness,” he rumbles curtly. 

You resist the urge to curl your lip. He’ll be just fine. 

“Shall I leave the hearth lit for you?”

“No need. I can sleep without it.”

With an accepting hum, you place a blanket onto his brown breeches, ensuring it doesn’t touch his wound. 

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Pleasant dreams.”

A sense of wrongness almost overcomes you with him inside your home. Luckily, you’re able to stave it off. You know you’ve done the right thing. You’ve saved an innocent family from the attention of the fae. You’ve saved a guilty if foolish man from a pain worse than death. These realizations bolster you, becoming a calming mantra.As you finish straining your tincture and hanging your herbal bundles to dry, you feel as if you’re being watched. You refuse to turn and confirm this, your shoulders hunching.

“Conall,” he says.

You nearly drop the damp, clean sieve in your hand. 

“Pardon?”

“You may call me Conall. It should help make my temporary stay easier.”

He falls silent immediately after. It’s only after ensuring the green pinpoints have vanished that you heat up your bathing water, douse the hearth, and retreat to your room.You hope he heals and leaves soon; time cannot pass fast enough. But you know it won’t.

Slumber pricks at your mind and it coaxes you into unawareness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The awkward tension between you and Conall rears its head the next day. He accepts the food, drink, and aid you provide without a word. Which you are more than satisfied with. The only thing that stirs your annoyance is his staring.

Perhaps Conall hasn’t seen a human up close going through their usual routine. Or he hasn’t been inside of a human home. Either way, you feel the vivid pinpoints that are his eyes follow you when your back is turned. The strain comes to a head two days later, when Conall’s injury has begun scaring.

“What is it?” you snap. 

If Conall is surprised by your tense words, you can’t tell due to his mask. It only serves to infuriate you more.

“You’ve stared at me as if trying to look right through me, even though I’m doing what I can to ensure your health. Yes, this is part of our original bargain. But I will not be made into some object in my own home! Why is it that you stare so much?”

Hints of frigid fear attempt to douse your building irritation. You stifle them easily, expecting a snide response.

“You are worth looking at,” he says. “Especially in my eyes.”

A new heat replaces your searing temper. One that floods your cheeks and heats your blood. Your mouth snaps shut and you swiftly finish wrapping cotton cloth around his torso. 

“Y-Your injury is nearly healed,” you say, standing up and hurrying towards your filled basin. Thrusting your hands into the chilly water does nothing to help. “You should be able to move easily now. Perhaps leave in a few more days.”

“That is good to know, healer.” You hear something akin to mirth in his tone. “Perhaps I will get to see more of that fire you have hidden before then.”

You flee moments later, as much as you’re later loathed to admit. Even worse, his words stay lodged in your thoughts even into the next day. But that isn’t the only change you notice.

Conall begins to compliment your cooking, sincerely stating how comforting it is. He even aids you while you wrap his torso with fresh cotton cloth by holding it in place. During one long day after a promised house call, you find him asleep before the lit hearth. As expected. But the bundle of vivid, wildflowers awaiting you at the table is new. 

So is the smile it brings to your lips and how you welcome it. 

Soon enough, Conall begins to ask you about your house calls. About seeing Edith weekly. About Lucas, the little boy with golden-brown skin whose illness you’re monitoring. It isn’t surprising when the talks veer into more personal territory. He asks about your favored places in the forest and in town. What sweets you prefer. How you gather the offerings you leave near the forest’s edge. 

“But how did you…”

Your voice trails off as his gaze darts away from yours. You smile and place your spoon into your cooling stew.

“I take it my healing salve is of the greatest use to you?”

Conall hums, lifting another bite of dinner underneath the pointed edge of his mask. 

“The honey and milk are not unwelcomed,” he murmurs. “Perhaps that can be said about other things as well.”

This time, his eyes meet yours. And with a small thrill, you realize the sight of them no longer frightens you. Before your bravery leaves, you reach across your table and place your hand on the back of his.

“I agree.”

Your smile falters. As much as you wish to not ruin this peaceful moment, reality nudges at your mind like always.

“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you?”

Conall pulls his hand away. Only to gently thread his fingers through yours, being careful of his claws. But he still skims your skin with them, making your shiver.

“Yes. But I will return, if you wish to wait for me.”

The breath you take is silent, but heavy. You release it as you laugh, happiness bubbling up from inside you.

“I do. For however long it takes.”

That night, before bed, Conall calls for you. As you kneel beside his makeshift bed in your nightshirt, he lifts his hand and cups your cheek. With his other hand slowly lifting his mask, he closes the distance between you. His lips press against your skin, then trail down the side of your neck before resting at your pulse. He lingers there, then gently scrapes his sharp teeth against the area. Your self-control nearly shatters then and there as he pulls away, replacing his mask.

“When the morning comes, I will be gone.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “But when I return, I plan to continue where I left off.”

You lift your own hand to touch the back of his. 

“Can I know one thing before you go?”

He nods. 

“Why is it you can’t remove your mask?”

His thumb stroking the warm skin of your cheek pauses stiffly before resuming.

“This...is my punishment for my recklessness,” he says. “It’s one of many shackles binding me to the Queen who rules over these lands and lands beneath the hills. As long as she holds them, I’ll never truly be free. All of my being will solely belong to her. My thoughts, my appearance, my strength, my skill. Anyone who attempts to remove those bindings will face her wrath. But no more.

“I have something precious to fight for and see again. Even if I have to challenge every member of her Hunt; even if I have to face her head on, I promise I will prevail. So that one day, you’ll find me standing before you, utterly freed.”

Hot tears slip from your eyes and he patiently wipes them away. 

“I accept your bargain,” you say. He coaxes you closer, pulling you into a warm embrace. Even with your nightshirt acting as a barrier, you commit the feeling of what skin touches yours to memory. 

Morning wakes you with a slight chill in the air. You lay on Conall’s makeshift bed a bit longer, inhaling the fading scent of him: deep and heady like the forest after a strong rain. This, too, you lock away in your heart as you stand to your feet. All that’s left to do is to wait. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days become weeks. And weeks turn into months. Soon enough, the harvesting festival is nearly here with the townsfolk preparing for the festivities. You still make your usual house calls, some to newer patients and others to familiar ones. 

Little Lucas has long overcome his illness and is happy to play with the other children again. Edith always has a cup of herbal tea with honey ready for you, glad to talk to you about anything and everything. Roderick is nowhere to be found during these visits. But the few times you do glimpse him, he looks at you with muted fear. He may never change. 

But at least now, he knows you aren’t to be trifled with. 

That evening, after the festival, you finish creating another batch of ointment as the harvest moon illuminates the night sky. Fatigue slows your attempts at cleaning your tools, but you manage to finish the task. A series of knocks on your door startles you. Forgetfulness and drowsiness are to blame for you not securing your door.

Wary, you silently take the sharp dagger gifted to you by Edith a few weeks ago. You slowly walk towards the door and open it.

A shirtless man with vivid green pupils surrounded by black peers down at you. The scar running against the bridge of his straight, pale white nose nearly interrupts his entire face. One of the pointed tips of his ears is missing, replaced by a healing scab. But it and its twin are framed by familiar curling horns as is his head. His ragged yet long inky, black hair shifts as he sways. A wet gasp tears from your throat as he pitches forward and you break his fall.

“Conall!”

He buries his nose into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The hot breath he releases is tempered with a soft kiss on your skin. 

“How I’ve missed this scent.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You hold him close, sniffling against your tears. 

“It seems I’m injured yet again,” he mutters wryly, sounding tired.

You place a hand against your beloved Conall’s cheek as he grins, being careful of the green bruising.

“I’ll take care of you,” you say. “If you’ll let me.”

The weight of your promise settles into your bones, palpable but not unpleasant. It even sends a shiver down your spine. Or is that caused by Conall’s warm smile?

You’re not sure. But at this moment, you don’t mind not knowing. Not as you close the distance between the two of you. Before the warmth of his kiss is all you know, he whispers against your skin.

“As long as I can do the same for you.”

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #exophilia #fae boyfriend #fairy #fair folk #200 follower raffle #I hope you all enjoy! #fem reader #female reader

[isis-astarte-diana]

With Teeth (Part 4)

Part 1 ‖ Part 2 ‖ Part 3 ‖ Part 4 

Summary: “I do like this game. Don’t you?” Missy gets stuck in.

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dark!Missy. Consensual non!con roleplay with hints of dodgy relationship dynamics. More threats of physical and sexual violence and mutilation (let’s be real, that’s what you’re here for). Boot worship/trampling.  Spit swallowing (yeah, I went there). Dehumanisation/use of “puppy” as a pet name. generally just Missy getting to fulfil her (and my) nastiest dominatrix fantasies lmao

Word Count: 2784

NB: this fic was never supposed to be so long but I’m having too much fun. I hope think you can all guess what direction this is going in.

For a moment, Missy lets you get your bearings.

It’s not a mercy; far from it. In the brief stillness and silence, save for your own ragged breaths and choked whimpers, the true extent of your position is finally allowed to sink in. It’s a sobering reality to which she draws your attention.

With her knees braced on your biceps, you can barely move your arms, and since her weight in the small of your back keeps you pinned to the ground you have no hope of rising up onto your knees. You can squirm, a bit, and kick your legs - attempting it now, you hear her chuckle above you, the point of the hatpin pushing harder against your neck until your feeble struggling ceases - but to no end.

The silk slip is bunched up around your waist, leaving you as good as naked. Your bare breasts are crushed into the cold floor. Your thighs, your arse, your cunt are all exposed completely and you draw your legs tightly together in an effort to preserve some modicum of decency. Even so, you can feel slippery arousal in your inner thighs, belying the game, revealing your enjoyment. 

“Well, then.” She rocks her hips, pushing your breasts and stomach harder into the ground, emphasising the weight of her on your back. It knocks you breathless with a huffed groan. “Shall we proceed?”

A merciless tug on your hair, tight enough to your scalp that you can feel the tension right through into your forehead, lifts your face once more. Missy sets the hatpin down just out of reach of your restrained arms. It sits directly in your line of sight, a silent threat, a constant reminder of how tentatively your safety hangs in the balance.

No hitting with a closed fist. No scars. Nothing you’ve never tried before.

Her rules, not yours; rules that you suspect may be susceptible to her caprice. Even assuming, as you hesitate to do, that she won’t deviate from them in the slightest, they leave her more than enough leeway to make you suffer for any misdeeds, real or imagined. Suffering is entrenched in the game already - you need not invite more.

“You’re probably pretty, aren’t you?” Her mouth lowers towards your ear, and your skin prickles at her tone. The cool leather covering her other hand smacks roughly against your cheek, leaving sharp heat in its wake, making you wince. “Such a lovely, soft mouth. I wonder,” two gloved fingers slide between the teeth parted to allow your gasping breaths, “how much can you fit in there?”

With that she thrusts them deep enough to make you retch, dragging the supple leather uncomfortably at the back of your mouth, letting you taste the earth and smoke musk of it. You jerk in her hands, igniting your scalp with pain as you wrestle with her grip on your hair. She laughs, sweet and melodic.

“It’s fairly roomy, isn’t it? I should think I can probably...”

The pressure leaves the back of your throat as she twists her hand, forcing a third and then, awkwardly but with determination, a fourth finger inside. Fitting her thumb is more difficult; she has to tuck it in against her other fingers, stretching the corner of your mouth wider with the motion. The skin there stings in protest when she pushes against it, her knuckles resting against the outside of your teeth, no room left for more.

You ease your head back as far as her grip on your hair will allow. She follows this tiniest of movements, granting you no escape. The depth of her reach into your mouth is hindered by the breadth of her hand, leaving just enough distance between the soft, fluttering membrane of your throat and the tips of her fingers for you to breathe around them. Saliva pools beneath your restrained tongue, a thin line of it trickling over your bottom lip in the space between her thumb and forefinger. It slicks your chin on its path to the floor.

“There we go! My goodness. I do like this game. Don’t you?”

Missy rolls her hips again, crushing the breath from your chest, choking your cry with her gloved hand so that it’s barely audible. She hums as if in agreement.

“I have to admit, I’m curious. If I just kept going, which would give first, do you think?” She pushes again, letting you feel the threat in her fist, the strength of her hand where it sits between the weakest points of your skull. “Does the broken jaw come before or after the Glasgow smile?” Her grasping fingers wrap around your tongue, the disturbance liberating another rush of spittle from your stuffed and gaping mouth. “It’s sort of a chicken or the egg problem, I suppose, but a bit more interesting.”

She squeezes your tongue between her fingers.

It’s surprisingly painful, and you react instinctively, trying to slide it free and drag it further back in your mouth where she can’t reach it. Her fingers tighten in response. Even with your mouth flooded with saliva as it is there’s too much friction from the leather gloves for your tongue to wriggle loose, and the punishing way she pinches down on it has all the sharp, aching pressure of a bite. It has you squirming, writhing underneath her weight, pulling loose a muffled wail of protest as your eyes screw closed and fresh tears begin to well there. She doesn’t let up.

All that you can do is sink your teeth into her gloved fingers and hope for mercy in the face of such a trespass.

It is a hope quickly extinguished.

Missy yanks her hand free of your mouth, tugging uncomfortably on your tongue as she does so, and clamps her palm down over where your lips are still parted from the cruel violation. With her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger she crushes your nostrils to stop your breath.

“How many teeth do you have again, poppet?” She asks, a thin layer of sweetness in her voice failing to conceal the razor edge beneath. “Thirty-something, was it?”

You attempt to suck in a breath and succeed only in fastening your lips vacuum-tight to the leather that covers her palm. Her fingers are wet from your mouth where they press hard into the soft flesh of your cheek.

“At any rate, enough to string a necklace with, I’m sure.” 

Another grinding shift of her hips, crushing out a breath that can’t escape while her hand smothers you. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, feeling your lungs beginning to burn with need. She doesn’t pause, circling her hips, flexing her thighs, riding you like a broken filly. It takes a moment for you to realise that she must be stimulating herself like this.

The wool skirt, its thin lining, and the linen chemise beneath it are all gathered between and around her legs, creased into folds and ridges of fabric that she can drag herself against. You, bordering on inanimate underneath her, form the perfect surface. Your every squirming movement must press sweetly at the apex of her thighs.

The thought is impossibly arousing.

You squeak, breathless, pitiful, into the suffocating leather. Bucking weakly underneath her you don’t know if you’re more keen to unseat her or to help her along with her pleasure. It crosses your mind that she might stay here, might slowly press the life from you with her hand blocking your airways and her rolling hips crushing your lungs, until she comes. What could you do? What choice would you have but to serve, but to be the warm body against which she could grind and rut herself to orgasm?

It won’t come to that. You know that it won’t. Missy knows your tells, knows the limits of your body better than you do, is intimately aware of just how far she can push you without breaking anything that doesn’t want to be broken.

Nevertheless, it’s starting to hurt.

Battling for breath like this would be hard enough at the best of times, but the writhing pressure on your back has your temples throbbing, your eyes aching behind their closed lids, your throat alive with a screaming pulse that works fruitlessly to keep you conscious and fighting. Your upper body is seized with it. Adrenaline begins as a prickle over your scalp, colder and crueller than the sting of her fingers in your hair, and works its way further down, over your face, washing through you like frigid water save for the sweat that beads on your forehead.

“I suppose you need to breathe, don’t you?” Missy’s voice is harsh, rendered rough by her own ministrations, desperation of a different kind thickening the words. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the fun too soon.”

The noise rattling from your open mouth is barely audible. Again, you clench your thighs, shift your hips as best you can, the need for breath and the need for touch tangling together until you don’t know where they meet.

“I am going to stand up now,” she warns, punctuating the words with a punishing jerk of her hips that sends light sparking behind your eyes. “And you are going to stay still.”

You manage another weak sound, scraping your palms over the floor until they sting, unable to nod or to promise obedience. You would offer her anything for the mercy of breathing.

You would offer her anything if she would let loose your hair and reach back, behind her, to slide her gloved fingers just once through the flooded folds of your cunt, oxygen be damned.

When she moves her hands it’s as though the dam that held back your cries has burst. Your breaths are loud, juddering, forced in and out by shrieking sobs. Along with them comes a fresh flood of saliva, puddling obscenely in the palm of her glove. She scrubs it off with a rough drag of her hand across your face, smearing your skin with your own lukewarm spittle. It dries cold and sticky.

She rises to her feet with startling grace.

The absence of her weight, of the warm pool of fabric that had cushioned her, leaves you shivering. Your arms are sore where her knees had been. Without thinking, you move your hands, reaching to soothe the ache in your biceps.

“Stay,” Missy snaps, her boot landing between your shoulder blades by way of reminder. She doesn’t press much weight into it; just enough that you can feel the sharp edge of that Edwardian heel, digging in with needle precision. You fall still immediately, pressing your forehead back to the floor, letting the strain ease from your neck where it had been craned. Your fingers flex uselessly in the empty air while the pain slowly dissipates from your arms.

“Now roll over.” She lifts her foot, nudging your side now with the toe of her boot. You obey without hesitation, shifting onto your back, eyes closed against the sight of her. The rush of cool air against your breasts and stomach makes you wince and it’s nigh on impossible to resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“Good girl,” she coos, bitterly patronising. Nonetheless, the praise inflames you. “If we can do something about the biting, we’ll make a show puppy of you yet.”

Your eyes snap open at the press of cold, rough leather across your mouth.

Smiling sweetly, Missy grinds the sole of her boot into your face. It doesn’t hurt - she’s careful, no weight in the pressure, no force behind the heel that pokes your cheek - but it’s uncomfortable, deforming your lips, the friction burning your skin. You can imagine the angry pink marks it will leave behind.

She looks more beautiful than ever.

“I’ll let you keep your teeth,” she teases, her nose crinkling with a sharp and mocking sneer. “Where you keep them is up to you.”

You can’t turn the muffled noise you make into anything resembling horror.

“And your tongue?” Encouraged by the way you react to her threats, she presses just that bit harder, just enough to pinch your mouth with biting discomfort. “Should I cut that out, do you think? Make a lovely stew?”

Unravelling beneath her boot, your breaths harsh and unsteady, you reach up to grasp her ankle. The leather is supple beneath your sweaty palm. It occurs to you to try and push her away and, in the same instant, to tug her weight down harder. Caught between the desires you let your hand fall limply back to the ground, whining.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She grinds her heel into your cheek again, and this time the sharp, twisting pain makes you groan. “Speak up, now.”

“Please,” you cry, distorted and pitiful underfoot.

“No, still didn’t catch that, I’m afraid.” When she lifts her foot the rush of blood back into your flesh is prickling and painful. There’s a faint taste of metal from your lower lip where she’s dragged it against your teeth. “Try again.”

“Please.” It’s a keening rasp. You wet your lips and swallow hard, painting for breath. “Please, don’t.”

“Oh, why not?” She pouts like she’s been denied a treat. “I think it sounds like jolly good fun.”

With a playful flounce of her skirt she crouches over you, standing above your head so that her face is a dizzying upside-down image of glistening teeth in a too-red mouth.

“I’ll tell you what,” she catches your jaw in her hand and squeezes, gloved fingers pressing into your sore cheek, forcing your mouth open as you croak a miserable noise of protest. “If you can convince me you know how to use it, I’ll leave your pretty mouth intact.”

She works her jaw and purses her lips in an all-too-familiar way.

Degradation, in all its forms, is Missy’s favourite pastime. It is one in which you are only too happy to indulge her, for the most part, though there undeniably are things you do solely to please her rather than out of any organic desire of your own. Watching her draw saliva into her mouth has your eyes widening, a choked gasp spilling from your throat.

The wave of revulsion that you expect never comes.

Perhaps it’s the freedom of the game, the way it liberates you from reality, this role of the subjugated captive taking hold deeper in your mind than you’d expected. Perhaps it’s the prospect of taking her inside you, in whatever way she will allow, after being used as little more than furniture for so many torturous minutes. It could simply be the aching loveliness of her face above yours like this.

Either way, when she spits directly into the back of your gaping mouth, your dripping cunt clenches around the empty air.

The noise you make has her grinning, smiling too genuinely for the part that she plays. She suppresses it quickly.

“Swallow,” she orders, and your thighs snap shut as if she’d caressed you.

It’s with an obscene gulp that you obey.

“That’s a good puppy.” The heat that rises into your face comes with another desperate gasp. “Now kiss your Mistress.”

It’s not until her lips meet yours that you realise that she hasn’t even kissed you yet; she takes advantage of your shock, ransacking your mouth with her pointed little tongue. She tastes the backs of your teeth, irritates your hard palate until you whine at the ticklish insistence, throbs slick and cool and powerful inside you. It’s restless, greedy, inelegant, and almost painfully erotic.

Her breaths are heavy in your mouth, her hand sliding further to cover your throat so that you scarcely even notice when she catches your tongue between her teeth until she’s biting it.

You cry out, jerking, tears springing to your eyes in an instant at the sudden and vicious pain of it. Missy presses her fingers down either side of your windpipe, stilling your squirming shoulders with the threat of a tighter grip. Unthinking, conscious of nothing but the sharp teeth sinking into your tongue, you claw at her hand and her hair.

She lets go, practically shrieking with delight, apparently unbothered by your scrabbling attempt to move her. You pull your tongue back into your mouth and fasten your lips tightly, whimpering, looking up at her with wounded eyes.

“Oh, I'm going to like this,” she purrs. When she releases your neck and begins to gather her skirt higher, you forget the pain entirely. Plum wool and thin white linen brush your forehead on their path up her thighs. “It’s been too long since I broke in a new pet.”

#mine #missy x reader #the master x reader #gomez!master x reader #nsfwork

[kyotakumrau]

2020.09.27 Rolling Stone Japan - interview with SUGIZO - translation (selection)

SUGIZO talkes about how he met his friends and why was it important to him now to release a live album

Original text: Joe Yokomizo

Photos by Keiko Tanabe

Translation: kyotaku

SUGIZO is releasing the first live album in his solo career, 'LIVE IN TOKYO', on September 30th. This work delivers the two day birthday performance 'SUGIZO 聖誕半世紀祭～HALF CENTURY ANNIVERSARY FES.～' that was held last year on July 7th and August 2nd at Nakano Sunplaza, giving you a chance to not only enjoy the live atmosphere but also the magnificent collaboration with his sworn musician friends.

It's a masterpiece I'd love many people to listen to, but it might be surprising to people who only know SUGIZO from LUNA SEA and X JAPAN and not his solo work.

In this interview we will get to the bottom of it, discussing the live album, the foundations of SUGIZO's solo work and his music, and the history with the artists who joined the project.

ー It's the first time in your career you're releasing a live album, which is very unusual now that the video releases are so common. You were that happy with how those 2 days turned out?

I was planning to release a live album from before. I heard from my staff they wanted to release the material from this half century celebration, but because I've released live video works so many times I thought it's time to change my approach.

I feel that young people nowadays are not really familiar with live albums. These times we can easily watch live videos everywhere including YouTube. But back in our childhood the live album from the artist we were indulging in was a real prize. For me it was YMO, JAPAN and PiL. Miles Davids or Frank Zappa also had quite a few live releases. And, Deep Purple or Peter Framptom also had famous live albums, even as I wasn't influenced by them. With such artists, live albums in 70s and 80s were treated as extremely valuable. I have a lot of admiration for those times, so I was hoping to eventually be able do it myself.

－ I see. Before we talk about the content, I wanted to ask you when did you encounter the so called psychodelic trance music that is the foundation of your solo music?

In the mid 90s. First, I was really into hardcore techno or minimal techno in early 90s, speaking of the ambient world like The Orb or 808 STATE, I really love the scene of that time. And few years later, at the same time when I started my solo activity, European drum n bass or abstract hip hop were very popular, I was quite influenced by the club culture and music around then, and then naturally I gave myself to trance.

The first rave I went to see was Vision Quest in 2001, and from then I got even more into it. The feeling of life in the perfectly linked music and the flow of universe, like dancing with the rising sun and chilling in the afternoon, my instincts were telling me that people had a connection with this kind of music from the ancient times. Not the music from the cities, the music with roots in nature. Kind of primitive music. I found great value for music there.

◆Then they discuss JUNO REACTOR, learning what kind of rhythm feels good, how working with a South African percussion team Amampondo helped them grow spiritually, especially thanks to the drummer Mabi, SUGIZO's chase of the 'black groove' to finally understand East has its own good points; he can be proud as Japanese and SUGIZO's solo activity reflects everything he's learnt.

Next, Joe asks SUGIZO for a primer of his solo work, SUGIZO lists 'Misogi', 'FATIMA', 'DO-FUNK DANCE' and 'Lux Aeterna'◆

meeting Kyo（DIR EN GREY/sukekiyo)

－ Remarkably for each of two days you invited guest vocalists. All of them are musicians you're very familiar with, could you tell us first about how you got to know Kyo (from DIR EN GREY/sukekiyo)?

From the start I was close with some people they know and their staff members. So I went to see their show and we were introduced. It was surprisingly recently, like around 2005 or 2006.

－ What was your impression when you saw DIR EN GREY for the first time?

It was the first time I felt threatened by a younger band. I'm sorry for saying this, but I haven't felt threatened or impacted by any of the younger artists, within this genre. That's why I was quite surprised with how great they are. What they're expressing, their worldview are incredible. At that time I could feel that their performance or sound are not there yet, but I could already feel the intensity of what was pouring out of them, the endless possibilities.

I was especially looking at Kyo thinking 'he's a genius'. There's no theory or detailed reasoning with him. He's just doing things by instinct. But he's good with words, good at drawing, as an artist he can express himself in so many different ways. Then, when I met him in person he was just so pure and innocent, doesn't it seem like he's not greedy at all? So it was a shock of 'a genius like this exists?'.

－ It was Kyo who wrote the lyrics for your collaboration song 'Zessai', was it a request from you?

Yes. Thinking to sing the best it'd be better if that person writes the lyrics, and when I asked [Kyo] he happily did. When I sent him a 2nd stage Mix demo asking 'it will be like this, what do you think?', he already had the singing (melody) put in. And the lyrics have been done too, when I asked 'woah, that's the actual thing?', he replied 'yup, I've done them'. It's the same with DIR. Thus, he's a genius. When an image comes to his mind he cannot wait. It all felt so fast. He's really a phenomenal creator.

－ How was the performance at the Half Century Anniversary?

I felt he definitely is someone who follows his instincts. When you stand on the stage and things get serious it totally doesn't matter if you're younger or older (as in how long you've been working in a music business). Of course there was no stage fright, I felt as a performer he's just huge, and at the same time it felt like there was mutual respect. It felt like it would be a waste to let it just finish like that. That's why I'm very happy that we can release the collaboration from the stage [on the live album].

◆Next, they talk about TERU and TAKURO (from GLAY), followed by Kiyoharu (I'm skipping here a lot)◆

－Kiyoharu said 'I've performed on various stages so I can't imagine myself losing, but when playing together with SUGIZO the pressure is very different'. Often when two different performers stand on stage together sparks will fly.

The same thing can be said about RYUICHI and SUGIZO, the spark/heat of the collision of a guitarist and a vocalist is often very attractive. In a way there's also the aesthetics of traditional rock, that the combination of Kiyoharu and SUGIZO might be able to embody this spark's attractiveness. That's why the collision on the stage makes me shudder, but also it's possible to blend together. With [the combination of] Kyo and SUGIZO there's no blending together, it feels different. And with TAKURO・TERU we're different type of people. When Kiyoharu is on stage I feel he's the same species as me.

－ It's interesting that the character of all those three groups of musicians is totally different.

That's true. I think it's amazing I could have a line-up like that, it's really by chance that they are my good friends coming from the same genre.

◆they finish the interview talking about the sound and working with Dub Master X, sound mixing for the album, SUGIZO wants the live sound to have intimate, close feeling◆

一 So how was it to complete a live album without compromising on anything?

It's a live album, but it it makes me feel like I was able to create a 'SUGIZO's Best Album'. 2 years I go I released what was meant to be my biggest compilation, but obviously the sound from the studio and from the concert have totally different types of energy. As someone who's been performing on the stage for a very long time, I'm really glad to able to pack that energy for the first time officially on an album. Of course live performance has less precision than the studio album, but performance has way more energy.

Another thing is that as you know it is difficult now to perform due to the pandemic. I haven't played live for half a year, when thinking about it, it's the first time in my music career to not play any shows for this long. That's why I'm really yearning for the stage performance, the live show. When I was still doing them it was something obvious, but now that I can't, making this album made me keenly aware how important concerts are in my life and how much I need them; and to tell the truth working on this live album was like saving myself in a way. Obviously a live album can't rival the real thing. Not even a live dvd nor a live stream can match the excitement of being there [at the show], but I worked on this album hoping to let you feel at least some percent of that feeling. At any rate, I'm really grateful to be able to create a work like a live album that inspired me so much as a child.

Btw 絶彩 feat. 京 [LIVE IN TOKYO] available here

#sukekiyo #kyo #京 #sugizo #interview #translation #kinda #絶彩 #dir en grey #sugizo half century anniversary fes

[a-libra-writes]

🌸⛅🥊💋💖🏥 for Ramsay boy 😏 (sorry if it's too much, lol, I don't know if I can send several at the same time, you can just choose one, I just really liked these 😅😅)

(oh my, this is a lot! tho tbf I didn’t give a limit! 😂 okay, putting this under a cut bc its a long boi)

🌸 Kissing

Ramsay kisses you like he wants to steal your breath. It’s always so sudden, so rough, and he brings you close to him like you might run away. It’s crushing, really, so you have to push him back and breathlessly tell him to slow down.

... Does he listen? Not really. 

You usually end up pressed against his firm chest and the cold wall, holding onto him as he bites at your lips and eagerly takes your lips. He’s just as breathless as you as he bites and kisses down your neck, and you wonder what’s gotten into him this time.

In bed, it’s just as desperate, but he’ll leave hickeys and rough kisses across your neck, breasts and thighs. He’ll bite where he pleases, even drawing blood if that makes you cry out and gasp louder. 

If you sleepily give him a chaste kiss in the morning, or a sudden one on his cheek in the day, he isn’t sure what to make of it. He’ll try to initiate something deeper sometimes, but other days, he looks at you with those intense eyes, trying to puzzle you out.

⛅ Sunset

Dreary as the Dreadfort was, it was still a proper castle, and you could climb to the top of the ramparts to watch the sunset, like you used to do at your old home. When you first married Ramsay, it was one of your many escapes. You hid in one of the older parts that was crumbling and wasn’t guarded well. You could disappear for hours up here.

Ramsay ended up finding your little hiding spot, though by that point, you had learned to handle him and live with him. He didn’t understand the appeal of just sitting still and watching a sunset. He was more interested in watching you.

He used to say and do things just to upset you, to annoy you, to make you cry or scream, but you never rewarded his behavior with a response. He hated when you would ignore him, and when your attention was taken away by a sunset, he became agitated and impatient.

“Just go back to the hall, Ramsay. I’ll be there shortly for dinner.” Gods, he was so stubborn, but you wouldn’t let him take this from you.

Finally, you lost your patience and took his hand. You command him to sit and put his head in your lap. He was confused, but finally obeyed. Like a spoiled child - maybe dog was a more accurate word - he was content to sit there while you pet his hair and freely watched the sky again. You can’t believe it worked.

Sometimes that didn’t work, and he brought his bow up to shoot targets he set up below. You weren’t sure when he did that. It was hard not to be impressed with his skill, especially considering how far away they were, and he was always pleased when you paid attention to his abilities. 

🥊 Exercise/Workout

You already know the sort of things he gets up to in the forest, and you’ll have no part of it. As a result of his wild upbringing and those “hunting trips”, he’s very fit and athletic. Ramsay has a lot of energy, you learned. Not even the rain and snow will keep him cooped up.

He would be so insistent on teaching you how to use a bow. If you already knew, he’d be delighted, demanding you show him and hunt with him. But if you didn’t ... You’d find yourself in the middle of several private lessons that were almost impossible to squirrel away from. Ramsay would stand behind you, giving you surprisingly clear instructions as you learned to notch arrows and aim just right. He’d even have a bow made for your size and strength.

A good way to keep Ramsay in good spirits was to endure the lessons and shoot with him. He preferred you to kill something, like a rabbit, but shooting targets was fine enough, especially as you began to improve. 

Roose didn’t think a lady should learn such things, but you were keeping his bastard out of his hair, so he didn’t complain.

💋 Intimacy 

He is rough and there’s rarely a reprieve from that. He always holds you a little too tight, kisses a little too hard, leaves one too many marks along your neck and collarbone. It doesn’t help that he has the energy level of a terrier, so he wants to keep going well after your legs are jelly. 

It surprised you how close he wanted you, how he wanted your hands on him - he’d put them there himself if he had to. He’d want you to kiss him back, to bite him, drag your nails down his back until he bleeds. Almost like with the kissing, it was like he worried you’d just disappear into the air if he let you go for a moment.

His favorite is when you’re facing him or in his lap, so he can trap you and keep you from squirming away. He doesn’t care about children or heirs, so if you don’t want him finishing inside you, he’ll listen and do it elsewhere which is fine because he likes to lick it off you.

When you try to slow him down, try to be a little more tender, it confuses him. He gets an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, and he wonders what to do. When you hold his face gently, or brush his hair away from his sweaty brow, or gently apologize for the bright red scratches you left on him... He doesn’t know what to do. It isn’t familiar... It isn’t bad, but ... 

The nights you’re most in control is when he’s utterly exhausted, totally physically spent, but still insists on being intimate with you. That’s when you can push him on his back and tell him what you want, and he’ll go along, too intrigued and tired to argue with you.

💖 Pregnancy

No surprise, Ramsay doesn’t heed his father at all when Roose goes on about producing an heir. Seven hells, he’s only a lord in title, it’s you and Roose who are doing a majority of running the Dreadfort. Roose often directed his frustrations at you - should you fail to do your duty as a proper wife, he’d find a way for you to be ... replaced.

It’s not like it was difficult to end up with child, given how often Ramsay wanted you. It happened, and when you told him, he was confused for only a moment. Ramsay simply shrugged, saying his father would finally stop bothering the two of you about it. So that was that.

He continued to not think much about it, but then you became tired. You were so tired, so fatigued, and often forgetful. You had even less patience for his shenanigans, and when he went looking for you, a handmaiden would inform him that you retired early. As you began to show, and your fatigue increased, Ramsay finally began to accept the reality. He still didn’t think much of what it meant, he thought of it more as “Y/N will be back to her regular self once that damn pup is out of her.”

(Honestly, he had so little parental love growing up, the entire idea of parenthood and children was just ... foreign. Something he couldn’t imagine.)

Ramsay hates seeing you in distress and pain. He doesn’t understand it, and it angers him that he has these feelings, but it’s true. So when you begin to really get along in the third trimester, he frightens the servants and handmaidens into making you completely comfortable, not upsetting you, walking and talking quietly, getting you whatever you need. He’d busy himself with even more hunting, getting food you especially liked, making sure it was totally cooked so the smell wouldn’t make you sick.

Roose was surprised, but pleased. At one point he made a cold, off-hand comment about how you could die in childbirth - but as long as you had a son, it didn’t matter. Ramsay turned on him so quickly, a guard almost stepped between them. Roose blinked, unaffected, but made a mental note to ensure the maester had all the tools and supplies he needed.

🏥 Taking Care of Injuries

As stated before, Ramsay hates you being hurt. He hates that he hates this. Sometimes it makes him so angry, he has to walk away. He doesn’t understand the sick feeling he gets when you’re hurt. 

The first time you cried, he was startled. For all the times he tried to do it himself, it happened when you took a bad fall from your horse. The maester was tying your ankle, worried it was broken, and you were quietly crying as he wrapped it. Ramsay was so upset, he barked at the maester to move and did it himself. 

Ramsay is very adept at first aid, actually. He has steady hands to sew up injuries, he knows how to disinfect and change out bandages or stitches. It helped keep his victims alive, after all.

When your hands were blistered from all the archery lessons, he took them in his rough, totally calloused hands and carefully popped the blisters. You flinched and tears sprang to your eyes, and he fought back the angry bile in his throat as he patiently cleaned them and bandaged them. 

Now that you thought about it, tending to your wounds was the only time Ramsay sat still and quiet.

When you pricked your finger badly from a sewing needle or a small knife, he’d hear your quiet curse and instantly go to your side. Ramsay just had to take your finger in his mouth. He always did, looking at you with those mischievous blue eyes the whole time. 

Whenever you have a bruise from something silly, like hitting a piece of furniture, he likes to press on it. He likes the discoloration on your skin, but he doesn’t like the frown you give him. So he kisses it, playing at being sweet, only to kiss up the rest of your body and take you in a needy kiss.

#ramsay snow x reader #ramsay bolton x reader #libra headcanons #whew! That was a long boy

[ghoste-catte]

multiples of 3 ✌🏼-sgmdrcklee

@sagemoderocklee you’re really trying to kill me lol

This got long as heck so I’m throwing it behind a cut. Read on for answers and fic recs! (Mostly the fic recs)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

This is a tough one to answer for me generally because I tend to spit words onto the page and once I have written them I no longer remember writing them. And 2020 has stretched on so long that as I’m looking at some of the stuff I wrote in the beginning of this year, I hardly remember what’s even in it. I think at one point someone (@goblin-draws maybe?) mentioned a line in Sleeptalk with Me where the innkeeper calls Kankuro “chubby boy”, and I was like “Oh ... did I write that? Yeah, sounds like something I’d have someone say to Kankuro ...” 

It might be easier to talk about this in other terms. One of the scenes I worked the hardest on this year was the fight scene in Chapter 3 of Skeleton Key. The original draft of the scene was a lot shorter, and a lot of the backstory for Misaki’s revenge quest was elided. The scene as originally written was clunky, confusing, and as my lovely wife/beta put it sounded “like a Naruto villain” was doing the dialogue, when previously she’d found Misaki sinister and intriguing. Which wasn’t what I wanted. I basically entirely overhauled the scene and re-wrote it several times. I wouldn’t call it a ‘favorite’ scene (I hate writing fight scenes generally; having chosen to immerse myself in a fandom about ninja where much of the drama comes from battle is my eternal regret), but it is a scene that I put a lot of effort into, and I’m moderately satisfied with the improved product that resulted.  

6. least popular fic this year

By far my least popular fic by kudos ever is Pitch Perfect. Which makes complete sense to me. It’s a fic where I’ve written 2 characters who are men in canon as cis women, which pushes a lot of uncomfortable buttons for a lot of people. It contains F/F smut, which is something that a lot of people who choose to read GaaLee probably aren’t out there looking for. And people comment and kudos less on smutfics, I assume because they don’t want their username attached to porn or because they’re embarrassed (which I totally get, no shame there). It’s a modern AU with a sports twist, and AUs are often less popular than canonverse in my experience. I will say though that it has a surprisingly high number of private bookmarks compared to other fics with comparable hit and kudos counts. So I assume people are just a bit more shy because the premise is so ‘out there’. I will say as far as my fics go, it’s one of my personal favorites and probably one of the most intimate and true-to-life things I’ve written? So it actually is a little comforting to know that something so vulnerable has relatively little attention. 

9. longest wip of the year

If we’re going based on stuff that’s partially published but not complete, my Gaara-adopts-Shinki fic On My Way Home is my longest in-progress fic at just over 20k words, although technically I started it in 2019. It will probably end up being right around 40-50k when it’s complete, which might end up situating it as my longest fic ever? 

12. favorite character to write about this year

Okay, this is an easy one. I love writing Kankuro. I think he is hilarious. He is the devil on my shoulder and a creature of pure id, and every time I write a line of dialogue for him it’s the summation of my rudest thoughts about a situation put in the crudest possible terms. If there were a megaphone directly from my unfiltered brain giving running commentary, that would be Kankuro.

15. something you learned this year

I have learned SO much this year! This is only my 2nd year properly ‘focusing’ on writing fic and investing any substantial time into it. I think the biggest thing I have learned, though, is how to overcome a lot of my self-consciousness about writing stories with NSFW elements in them. Starting out, I was so extremely shy and mortified about writing fic at all, much less things like hugging or (god forbid!) kissing. So taking on the smut prompts I took this year and really buckling down on learning to write the mechanics and emotions of sex has been a massive learning experience. (And sorry, by the way, if I haven’t gotten to a prompt you sent me in January yet. I do intend to write all of them eventually!) 

18. current number of WIPs

Ah. The call-out question. My general fic process is idea -> outline -> wip -> edit -> ready to post (where the final draft sits in my docs until I gin up the courage to actually post it). So skipping fics that are just “ideas” on the big mega-list, I have 3 fics in the “outline” stage, 13 fics in the partially written “wip” stage, 1 fic in the “editing” stage, and 2 that are complete but yet-to-be-posted. So, like, 19 total in the offing. (The “ideas” list is even worse lol.)

21. most memorable comment/review

This is such a difficult question because every single comment I get makes me do a little dance for joy. That’s not an exaggeration btw I really sit there and like bounce around in my seat for a moment before I open the Ao3 email. I am not an especially emotive person irl, but there have been times I’ve been brought near tears by comments. I’ll also occasionally show them to my wife like !! look at this nice thing this person said !! and she’s indulgent enough to actually read them. There have been a couple comments that have really stuck with me, that I starred in my inbox and return to frequently, but I don’t want to bring attention to someone else without their permission. I will say there was one person recently who mentioned (not in the comments on one of my fics) that they had found someone who does physical binding of fanfiction and they were about to ask my permission to do that, but then the person who does the binding only does certain ships that she likes ... so that, just, absolutely floored me. The idea that someone might actual want a physical copy of my stupid little ninja fanfictions is, like, so truly immense and completely overwhelming?

24. favorite fic you read this year

You can’t make me pick just one!! (For reference, I have bookmarked right around 180 fics in the past year, and that’s not including fics that I just read, really enjoyed, but didn’t think I could ‘handle’ a second time around.) So, skipping over the ones that AREN’T Naruto ... here is a brief sampling of some faves:

Silica by deepestbluest (rated E, GaaLee, ShikaTema, and Kankiba) - An absolute emotional powerhouse of a fic that manages to skillfully interweave three complex relationship dynamics, satisfactorily resolve them, and give you ALL the sandsibs feels in just over 10k words. 

Childhood Not-Friends (series) by MegaWallflower (rated G, KakaGai) - @megawallflower is a KakaGai god for good reason. Absolutely adorable relationship development fics (five of them!) with the premise that Kakashi thinks he and Gai have been dating since they were kids ... Gai just hasn’t been clued into it yet. These stories will give you heart-eyes.

The Bright Side by gidget_goes (rated T, GaaLee) - This is the Buffy AU I never knew I needed, because I’ve never seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But truly you don’t need any Buffy knowledge to enjoy this fic. @gidget-goes command of imagery is masterful, and the way they manage to snap from snark to tugging at your heartstrings is awe-inspiring. Gaara breaks my heart in this. And did I mention Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat? Because Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat. 

Nature vs. Nurture by Bidiza (rated T, GaaLee) - So introspective and so poetic. This looks like a WIP but it’s actually multiple oneshots, although by the end of the second one you’ll be dying for the rest of the promised series. 

I’m a Fool to Want You by BeelieveRosemarie (rated M, GaaLee) - Turns out @tuttiefruttiegaalee isn’t just an amazing artist, they’re a writer, too! Slow-dancing that will break your heart. Listen to the Frank Sinatra song while you read this for extra tear-jerking effect.

Let Love be Known (series) by TenTomatoes (rated G, GaaLee) - This is the twist on the arranged marriage trope and Beauty and the Beast that I didn’t realize this fandom was missing. I’m absolutely obsessed with their concept of Gaara as the Beast

I Could Be by LilacNoctua (rated T, GaaLee) - I know I big up @lilac-writes Worthwhile series a lot (deservedly so, because it’s so good it makes you look at the series and go “Why the fuck didn’t Kishimoto make this canon exactly like this?”), but this story made me absolutely die between the butterflies in my stomach and how hard I was laughing. There’s one line--you’ll know it when you read it--that absolutely bowls me over every time I re-read this. 

And Then Continue by EgregiousDerp (rated E, GaaLee) - Obviously I’m biased because this was a gift, but @egregiousderp writes some of the the best characterized porn I’ve ever read. You will read this and go “Wow! This is exactly how it would happen!” It’s such a tender, beautiful exploration of Gaara’s insecurities and a very real feeling first time, for all its soft edges. 

Cake by citronelle (rated E, KanKiba) - I don’t even know what to say about this one other than ... phew, this is extremely well written, extremely hot, and extremely in character. Just read it. I promise it’s worth it. 

Saudade by YumKiwiDelicious (rated M, GaaLee) - I’ve run around reccing this to just about every person on the face of the earth at this point. If you’re in the GaaLee Discord you probably saw everyone salivating over every new update of this fic and with good reason. The twists and turns of this fic will have you on the edge of your seat, second guessing every single moment. And it will break your heart in the meantime. What more could you want?

the love potion commotion by floating_cats (rated T, NejiSasu with background GaaLee) - One of those fics where you wish the author’s sense of humor was your own. So many hilarious moments in this story, and it brought me a new appreciation for a ship I never would have even considered. 

Finger Lickin’ Good by whazzername (rated E, GaaLee) - Whazz is another one of those authors where I literally want to rec every single thing she’s ever written, she’s just that good. (Speaking of which, if you haven’t read Fools Rush In and its sequel Degrees of Separation, you’re missing out on the best possible Metal origin story of all time. Don’t deprive yourself of this.) But this story is just ... so incredibly in character for a situation that reads like crack. It’s handled with the utmost straight-facedness and it’s so. freakin’. good. 

heart lines by winterberry_holly (rated M, NejiTen and GaaLee) - I don’t even have the words to describe how perfect this fic is. It’s a truly beautiful exploration of Tenten’s relationship with her palmistry hobby and with the people in her life. My heart ached with every single line. 

Standing on Ceremony by kuroashi (rated E, GaaLee) - This is just ... such a beautiful wedding story. So lovely, like getting the best possible warm hug from someone you love. If that love one was slightly strange and socially inept, because, well. It’s still Gaara doing Gaara-things. @baphometsss is another one of those authors whose handling of smut scenes is so stupendous it makes me wildly jealous. 

Thrall by RokiRiot (rated T, GaaLee) - Idiots-to-lovers with a magic AU twist! This is such a wonderful story, and Gaara’s internal monologue is absolutely amazing. And Lee is Deaf in this fic, which I never ever get to see and which absolutely made my entire day/week/month/life. 

Make-Out Consequences by LuxaLucifer (rated M, KakaGai with background canon Boruto ships) - I laughed so hard reading this that I had to take a breather to stop crying. That’s not an exaggeration. The characterization in this fic is impeccable and the humor is to die for. Naruto’s buffoonery truly shines here, and the author’s wit is just beyond anything I could even properly summarize. Hysterical. A++. 

Thirteen Strokes by Luna_Lee (rated T, GaaLee) - Again, like, if you aren’t reading literally everything @sagemoderocklee writes, are you even really a GaaLee fan? But this fic is beyond even for one of Eeri’s incredibly excellent writings. The worldbuilding in this, the cultural notes, the imagery ... it’s all so lush and so fulfilling and so beautiful. It’s a story about love and it’s a story that you can tell has love poured into every single line. I can’t recommend it enough. 

Checkmate by shadowstrangle (rated G, GaaLee) - The pettiness vibes ... this is so funny. Such a cute story and I love Gaara’s sense of humor here. Not a lot of writers give him a sense of humor, but I love how @shadowstrangle gives him a slightly odd, slightly left-of-center take on humor that still manages to be so funny. 

To Court a Village by FanFictionEngineer (rated G, GaaLee) - Another one where my bias is perhaps slightly obvious, but the premise of this fic is amazing. I love cultural misunderstandings, and the idea of Lee trying his hardest to court Gaara ineptly is just so perfect. 

affliction of feeling by theformerone (rated E, SakuHina) - One of those ships that it would never have occurred to me to seek out but that absolutely works with how the author’s set it up. The dynamics here are delicious. It’s so rare to find good F/F porn but this is one of them for sure. 

Tried and Tested by twentysomething (Rated M, KakaIru with background canon Boruto ships and GaaLee) - Iruka’s narration in this story is just incredible. I haven’t laughed this hard reading a fic in ages. And the concept alone (that Naruto can’t be promoted to Hokage until he passes his chuunin exams ... as an adult ... and Sasuke gets dragged along for the ride) is just brilliant. Amazing concept, amazingly executed. 

a fireside waltz by winterberry_holly (rated M, GaaLee) - I really tried not to rec a single author more than once here but for this one I had to. I got about halfway through this fic and immediately started running around ringing the town crier bell like READ THIS FIC! READ THIS FIC! An absolutely smoldering Regency AU with such beautiful, intimate dance scenes. My heart was racing every single time their fingers brushed. If you don’t read anything else on this list, at the very least read this. 

27. favorite fanfic author of the year

I really can’t pick just one. I am lucky enough that @egregiousderp passes me her drafts under the table before (or without) publishing, and getting to read those is a private treat of unparalleled proportions. Some of my favorite things I’ve read this year I can’t even rec because they’re her unpublished stuff. 

30. favorite fandom to read fic from this year

This is gonna come off strange because I just wrote such a long Naruto reclist, but I recently watched What We Do in the Shadows, and found an incredibly talented group of authors in that fandom with really amazingly good dialogue and narrative voice. I also read a lot of fic for the new It movies (even though I couldn’t watch the 2nd one for ~reasons~), and damn if there isn’t a talented crop of authors in that fandom, too. And finally with ATLA making its way onto Netflix, I had the chance to start watching that for the first time and found a ton of really good fic there as well! 

fanfic end of the year asks!

#answered #ask meme #sagemoderocklee #Anonymous

[jeremys-blogs]

Gravity Falls: Disney’s Perfect Show

Now, the number of people who have loved, enjoyed and praised this programme are legion, and it's worth stating up front that I am no professional reviewer by a long stretch. As such it's unlikely that anything I come up with here will be anything that hasn't been said a thousand times before by people far more qualified to talk about this stuff than me. Even so, it's still a show I'd like to talk about, so instead of some amateur attempt to some across like some highbrow writer, I'll just discuss my personal feelings as they pop into my head as I'm writing. And apologies in advance if this makes the whole thing seem like a jumbled mess.

Now, the first thing to really get across here is that I've been watching Disney shows for a very long time, for as far back as I can remember. I recall the days when my brother and I would watch and enjoy the likes of the original DuckTales or the forever-awesome Gargoyles, and even though my feelings towards Disney TV has fluctuated a lot over the decades, there's always been something to enjoy about them. When it comes to Gravity Falls, something that just immediately popped into my head as I was watching it was just the general tone and feel of it. Many of the earlier Disney shows I'd see tended to fit into one of two categories. There were the darker and more serious stories (like the aforementioned Gargoyles), and then there were the lighter and more zany outings, like the early seasons of Star Vs the Forces of Evil. Both of these are varieties I enjoy, but Gravity Falls somehow managed to feel like it's an ideal blend of the two sides. A show that gave a great deal of humour and smile-inducing moments while also showcasing its fair share of heavier themes. Usually, whenever I see shows try to put both together, they either eventually descend into one side at the expense of the other, or they simply feel confused and unsure of what they want to be. So Gravity Falls gets praise from me straight away just for the skill needed to walk that razor's edge.

But saying that a show has great tone and atmosphere is all well and good, but unless its story is decent then it'll all be in service of nothing. And thankfully, Gravity Falls has one heck of a story to its name. Now, I'm not going to risk spoiling things for those who haven't seen it, but suffice to say there is an overall arc that takes place over the course of the show's forty episodes, but it still has more than a few episodic tales to keep it from going completely serialised. It's another one of those things that makes it feel well-balanced. Go too far in the direction of serialisation, and the show would have the notorious downside of making you wait until the very end before you can decide if you enjoyed it or not. Adding various problem-of-the-week scenarios helps to keep it from straying too far, yet always manages to make each individual story all contribute to the greater whole. That greater whole being, of course, the bizarre happenings of the titular town and its citizens. This is a story about a very weird locale, yet allows itself to show not only the weirdness at its most blatant, but also at its smallest. The day-to-day oddities that come about as a result of the grander strangeness brewing in the background.

The characters are, of course, a massive draw of this show for me, as every single one of the main cast is some degree of entertaining, interesting or likeable. We have Dipper, thirsty for knowledge and answers about the town and its mysteries. We have Mabel, the bright-eyed optimist who always brings a smile to my face. We have Stan, the grouchy old-timer with a knack for scams and getting cash. And we have Wendy and Soos, the sort-of side-characters who prove to be just as good to have around as our main trio. But what I love about each of these people is how they all prove to have depth beyond what they all first appear to be. Dipper's a smart kid, yet he's capable of doing incredibly dumb and short-sighted things. Mabel's a sweetheart, but she also manages to have a bit of a selfish streak. Stan is gruff and standoffish, but when push comes to shove he's utterly devoted to his family and their well-being. Wendy and Soos come off as the cool girl and doofus respectively, yet were more than able to have traits like sentimentality and unexpected intelligence to offset those first impressions. There's nuance to this cast, making them seem far more believable as the kinds of people you might actually know in real life, rather than just cartoon cutouts.

In the time before I started watching this show, I often heard people describe it as "X-Files for kids", and while I can certainly understand the comparison, I think there's plenty of differences to the two, most notably the greater emphasis on comedy over seriousness. But don't let that lead you to think this show pulls its punches, because it can definitely go to some dark places. I won't say there's anything here that's inappropriate for children, but there are times when it definitely goes into full-on nightmare fuel territory. Still, those moments do show off a great deal of imagination and enjoyably creepy weirdness when it comes to just the general design of things. If you have kids who have the constitution for some scary monsters here and there, this is something that'll probably enrapture them. And it certainly helps that, as I said before, there's a good deal of humour here. Whenever things looked like they were going to get too intense or terrifying for kids, there was always something goofy or funny to help lighten the mood. So yeah, I'd definitely call this an all-ages programme, and if you were the kind of person who grew up on old 80s movies and TV shows, chances are you'll see Gravity Falls as fitting in nicely with that crowd.

But despite all the big visuals and big scares, Gravity Falls gets surprisingly small and intimate when it comes to the main idea and theme of the whole thing. And that idea is the difficulty of growing up. Without going into too much detail, the main two characters, Dipper and Mabel, go through some pretty serious growing pains over the course of the series, and there's always this sense of looming worry when you watch it, that the good times won't last forever. It's a very personable and relatable worry that, to one degree or another, every single one of us has felt at some point. And that fear of the future is reflected pretty effectively in another pair of characters who, in many ways, serve to heighten the worries the children feel about their own road ahead by giving them a potential "what if". It's pretty heavy, yet Gravity Falls, as ever, has a light at the end of the tunnel. It acknowledges that growing up can be difficult, but unlike so many other stories that might tackle such a theme, it shows too that the future can be just as happy as our nostalgic past. That greater age doesn't mean giving up the things, or more importantly the people we care about. It's a sweet and hopeful message that gives the show a real beating heart.

I think it's safe to say that anyone who chose to click on this and read it will already be a fan of this show themselves, but I hope this has helped to show why I enjoyed it myself. The show simply had everything going for it, from its characters, to its art, to its music, to the way every episode managed to be its own thing while also managing to fit together perfectly like the pieces of a jigsaw, and of course that phenomenal, heartbreaking and heartwarming finale. Right from the start Gravity Falls sprinkles in clues and foreshadowing that you don't recognise on your first watch but provide a mountain of "oh yeah" feelings when you go back to watch and re-watch it however many times you want. Are there some episodes I like more than others? Sure, but I'd still be happy no matter which episode was shown to me, and it's rare that I get to say that about anything on TV. Disney has produced a lot of things I like, both in the past and in the present, and they'll likely continue to do so into the future. But Gravity Falls was truly something special, and Disney's future shows will have to do a lot to meet this high bar they've now set for themselves

#disney #gravity falls #essay #writing #my stuff #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan pines #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez

[drooliasnott]

Return To Dust, My Love

Very recently, the last few evenings of my relaxation time have been spent languorously re-digesting my views as an adult on the Barry Sonnenfeld feature films, The Addams Family (1991) and The Addams Family Values (1993), based on the original characters by artist Charles Addams. Although there have been many adaptations over the years of the distinctly macabre and darkly wonderful family life of the Addams clan, no other cinematic versions grasp the mythology quite like these movies do. And in light of the brand spanking new trailer for the 2019 animated feature, which I admit had caught me completely off guard and a little alarmed, I thought no better time exists than now to delve back into exactly what kind of black magic it is that makes this source material just so enjoyable and unique. 

Though the Sonnenfeld films are nearly undeniably the jewel of the franchise, one cannot examine the Addams Family appropriately without appreciation for its origin. The energy and attitude generated at its inception by Charles (Chas) Addams for The New Yorker in the late 30′s feels unique even for the time. At 150 single panels, the original comic was a divisive satire on the modern 20th century family that was not only cheeky and clever, but also at times very beautifully rendered. Chas himself was an enthusiastic if not sometimes obsessive artist, often described as drawing with “a happy vengeance.” The through line of the story continues to this day to be positive relationships found within a family. All this plus a heavy splash of aristocratic dignity thrown into the mix, and The Addams Family has proven from the beginning to be a very distinct and sometimes even delightfully surprising blend of flavors. 

 Despite the fact that Chas Addams had already well established his characters by the time he came in contact with writer Ray Bradbury, their connection is felt in every further adaptation of the title. While Addams continued to serialize his strip in The New Yorker, Bradbury separately had begun his own endeavor in creating a monster family of sorts, The Elliotts, beginning their narrative with the short story “Homecoming” in 1946. All tales concerning the Elliotts involve the clan slowly gathering together in a mysterious house at the top of a hill, while each short focuses more intimately on the powers of a different, particular family relative. All Elliot stories were later collected in a book, From The Dust Returned, published in 2001, but portions of it have existed in different publications long before then, most notably Bradbury’s famous The October Country. Finding a kinship between them, Addams and Bradbury discussed a potential long-format collaboration, though unfortunately this never came to fruition. However, Addams did supply an original illustration for Bradbury’s “Homecoming”, which is still in use as a dust cover today. The striking resemblance the Elliott House shares with the Addams house is but one of many aesthetic touch points which will last for the rest of the series.  

The groundwork for the series was strong enough to launch several adaptations over the subsequent several decades, finding more palatable viewing content in the mostly forgettable and very safe 60′s television show, which was plain enough to get the Addams Family strip banned from The New Yorker for banal taste, until editor William Shawn’s retirement in 1987. Meanwhile, the 70′s offered an explosion of further efforts to market the title to children and average american joes, producing TV specials and animated crossovers to mixed results.  

It wasn’t until the 90′s when Orion, who by then had inherited the production rights, decided to begin work on a feature film. With a simple return to the story’s roots, the company assigned first timer Barry Sonnenfeld to direct 1991′s The Addams Family. The process was fraught with setbacks and pitfalls, and when the budget rose too high for the struggling company to justify continuing further, the decision was made to sell the film to Paramount, who finished the production and handled distribution. Though it was also met with mixed reviews, it was commercially successful enough to merit the stranger, longer, and bizarrely even brighter sequel, The Addams Family Values. 

Returning to the core of what made the original content special, both 90′s films focused heavily, if not borderline exclusively on matters of familial struggle. However, unlike many of the earlier adaptations, the 90′s films also took great care to place special emphasis on elements of the family which do function well, something which is delightfully counter-intuitive overall. A particular portion of that credit goes to the fantastic casting of the films, the warm and vivacious Raul Julia as the erratic, sensual, and often charmingly innocent Gomez, Anjelica Houston as the ageless, witchy, white-marbled Morticia, Christina Ricci as the irreverent, sharp-witted outlier Wednesday, and Christopher Loyd as the bug-eyed, emotionally un-tethered uncle Fester all make for a very difficult call on whose performance is best above all. Dana Ivey is a delight to hate as Margaret, and Judith Malina is a joy to laugh at as Grandma, but it is really the core cast that shines beyond any previous actors, and it is because of this chemistry that the family relationships can really resonate. Two dynamics in particular stand out as specifically exceptional;

GOMEZ AND MORTICIA ADDAMS

Opposite most long term monogamous relationships portrayed in media, Gomez and Morticia have a sustained romance which continues to burn more and more fiercely as time goes on. However, what makes their marriage unique as a film element is not necessarily their passion (and subsequently very active sex life,) but the equality found present within the marriage. They not only share common interests, (and possibly distant relatives?) but also take into consideration the same moral and social obligations. They value each other’s opinions, and both seek to create situations where the other can live as their best possible self. They are uninhibited in their public declarations of affection, and are adamantly devoted to their children, the family as a whole, and preserving the generations-long Addams way of doing things. They strongly adhere to old traditions, but as a couple they also are surprisingly malleable, attempting to navigate difficulties as a unit, though admittedly Gomez is occasionally a bit less good at doing this.

Gomez and Morticia consistently present a unified front to the Addams clan, and serve as the centerpiece in any scene they inhabit together, even in the very Ray Bradbury-esque gathering of Addamses for Uncle Fester’s surprise party during the finale of The Addams Family. The party is in celebration of Fester, but it is really Gomez and Morticia who serve as the jewels of the scene. It is the strength of their affection on which the emotional crux of the finale swings. What further enhances the succor of this particular relationship again falls to the actors, as time and time again Raul Julia shows a rending vulnerability in the way he portrays Gomez. It seems Gomez is still half-stuck in childhood, or maybe he lives in some tumultuous place inbetween as his innocent heart tet-a-tets with the passionate desires of a man. Morticia in turn seems ageless and timeless, a solid rock on which Gomez can throw his emotions again and again, and it is their intense and unique personality peculiarities that in the end fit them together in perfect harmony.  For a family as bizarre as the Addamses, their relationship is healthier than any other relationship found in canon, or in general just in film at large. 

   WEDNESDAY ADDAMS 

An interesting blend of sociopathy, pragmatism, nihilism, isolationism, and just plain attitude exists in tandem inside Wednesday Addams. It would be too basic to call her an outsider, because though she is aware of her differences, she makes no effort to enhance, emphasize, or change them in any way. She differs even from the Addamses in her nuclear family, citing specifically in The Addams Family Values to her dorky crush Joel that if a man were to ever love her unconditionally, to devote his life completely to her, that she would pity him. This seems a direct call-out of her father Gomez, the coldness of which is both cutting and fitting. She follows up by rebuffing Joel’s clumsy advances with saying she would murder that same, loving man. A literal death threat is as true to her character as much as it is a dime-turn from her behavior towards Joel in the film leading up to that moment. As a young woman, she has already begun to clearly define herself as free and independent, even within the context of the family.

 Wednesday’s views on the relationship her parents share is one of cautious distance, while she also still has her own loving, healthy relationships with both parents individually. Though they love one another, in almost every case Wednesday tends to slant slightly darker, taking the more macabre path of her own accord in a family already well-suited to that kind of thinking. She is both sharper and wittier than her father, and crueler than her mother, and often interacts with Pugsley as if he were a sort of accessory at worst, or sidekick at best. She shows him solidarity as an Addams, but also constantly tries to expunge him so she can be the only child, which is a vendetta she furthers at the birth of Pubert in The Addams Family Values. Many comparisons have been drawn to similar characters of the time, of Lydia from Beetlejuice and Nancy from The Craft, but I would argue Wesnesday’s alignment falls closer to the Daria camp, as she is already firmly established in her thoughts about the neutral impact of family, the trouble with idiot boys, and the negative experience of outside society. Wednesday is purely independent, and resonates a sense of deep internal knowledge and self-worth that extends beyond the parameters of her identity as merely an Addams, and in that way she makes a strangely excellent role model. 

Following the success of both The Addams Family and The Addams Family Values, the series moved on to a saturday morning cartoon of parallel quality with the animated Beetlejuice cartoon. A following additional live TV series, The New Addams Family, also made it to broadcast, but the opinion of most viewers is that the entirety of it should be thrown in a river and destroyed forever. A cancelled Tim Burton adaptation also briefly existed, counteracting the 90′s film aesthetic which seemed pretty much already to be a restrained version of his personal flavor of set design. This leads to today, and the beginning of this meta, when this afternoon I saw the trailer for the 2019 CG animated reboot of the franchise, inexplicably also titled The Addams Family.

Though I respect the nature of some reboots, stylistic updates for one thing seeming somewhat necessary to keep old content fresh, the new trailer immediately had me skeptical. Though the new designs very closely resemble Chas Addam’s orginal designs from The New Yorker strip, something vital seems to be missing, and there is a strange liberty taken with some of the new character models which feels disharmonious, and even borderline disrespectful. And though The Addams Family has a rich and storied history of zany one-liners and satirical cheekiness, the lines delivered in the trailer seem to fall flat. Though many series in this franchise in past have been saltine cracker level boring, one would expect a reboot this late in the game in the popular Pixar-launched CG style would be an opportunity to inject new life back into the old series. But something seems off, and this in turn brings me at last finally back around to the 90′s films. 

The reason the Sonnenfeld 90′s films were good is easy; they have a subterranean classiness. Pulling Bradbury back into it, the earliest and best iteration of the series is infused with a rich, sensual, and genuine darkness. Bradbury's stink is all over the films, from the set design to the Addams Family reunion ball, to the serious performances given to obscene, ludicrous roles and a questionably weak script, by very talented actors. The suburbs seem more ridiculous when the pastel, unfeeling beastliness of uniformity is stood up next to dark, dank, meaty, loving weirdness of oddballs. To make satire work, one has to play a game of balance. Without salty, sweet will never taste quite right, but balance in storytelling has many levels. Visual balance is one thing, but one must also have careful emotional balance. The 90′s films maintain an underlying level of sincerity and integrity, which is what is required to counter the punchy, often goofy scripts and scenarios. The films were good because they had just as much heart as the Addamses themselves, and without heart, a movie will never have any true substance. 

The track record this franchise has with creatively successful projects is pretty poor, but one can hope the example of cult excellence set by the 90′s movies will infuse into some part of the future film, and maybe into further projects later down the line. Voicing your opinion on pop culture subject material is something I believe in as a means to guide new content created in the future, so if you have thoughts on the new movie after it airs, let the world know! Help create the kind of content you want to see in the world by building a healthy, respectful discourse. Only time will tell if the 2019 Addams Family will be any good, but I’ll keep watching till then.

If you enjoyed reading this, drop me a line and let me know! I’m considering writing more meta for other films, and have dabbled up until this point with TV meta, so if you’d like more content in this vein I’d be glad to hear it. Suggestions welcome, though no timetable is attached. Thanks for reading!

#the addams family #the addams family values #the addams family 2019 #wednesday addams #gomez addams #morticia addams #chas addams #ray bradbury #from the dust returned #the october country #the new yorker #meta #movie meta

[izzyovercoffee]

Prompt number: 23. “You can’t give more than yourself.” Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic Rating: PG Warnings/Tags: none that I can tell, ask to tag if need Summary: [Revan] and [the Exile] share some tea and watch the dawn arrive.  Notes: featuring m!Revan and f!Exile from long before the Mandalorian Wars, when they were both young Jedi in The Jedi Order. I avoided naming either of them, for hopefully obvious reasons

##. but he would not call her a delight to her face

  Green.

More green in all the scenery than he’d been familiar with in his youth. More foliage, and breathing life in this immediate vicinity than he would have seen over the course of a lifetime from before.

A lifetime, it felt, of space and distance between himself and the place, the life, the family, the person he was.

He’s earned his tea and silence at dawn. A moment to gather himself, and taste the bitter cold of the evening passed, and feel neither required nor accidentally prone to divulge any ulterior or deeper insight to any who asked.

Who made their question innocently probing, in the way the masters all do.

He could not say he’s sick of it. He could not be… ungrateful. He could not be frustrated, or irritated, or annoyed. Thankful---that’s what’s acceptable. The range of emotion that fell within boundaries of “safe” and did not ask for closer inspection was a small one.

It chafed for some. For most, even.

He’d been intimately familiar with tempering his reactions so as not to call attention to himself, in another life.

“I didn’t ask for company,” he says.

“I did not come here to seek yours,” she answers.

He shifts from his position on the stone he’d taken to sitting on for several weeks now, on unbroken mornings.

He could feel her presence from a great distance---and knew she approached him, long before she reached the foot of the mountain he’d taken his tea so often. And yet, he hadn’t moved, hasn’t moved still.

If he so desired, he could have left long before she arrived. So why didn’t he?

Curiosity.

“If not mine,” he asks, and sets down his tea beside himself, “then whose?”

“No one,” she says. She watches him with critical eyes, unpainted face pale under the early morning light that just barely breaks between the boughs of the trees overhead. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

He finds that hard to believe.

“Well,” he says, and despite the interruption he finds amusement in it. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” she agrees. She lingers by the line of the trees, still observing him from a careful distance, as if expecting him to bite, or lash out, or some other such thing. She looks as she does before every fight---observant, silent, calculating.

Before every conversation, too, if he’s to be honest.

He wonders, often, if the others noticed it. If any of the others in that Temple a long, long way below them now have ever wondered at her potential and thought, perhaps, to crush it. They certainly go out of their way to minimize the full breadth of her impact in simply existing.

Unfortunate.

That’s what his latest master says, often. Deeply unfortunate.

But she cannot, will not, intervene on her behalf, and he finds himself wondering why. Or, perhaps more importantly: why not.

It’s neither here nor there.

“Now that you’ve found me,” he breaks the quiet between them, “perhaps you’d like to join me? Or would you prefer to linger by the trees?”

He watches her remain cautious, though something passes behind her eyes that resembles something akin to softening. Despite himself, or perhaps not with any spite involved at all, he feels the draw of her presence and simply allows himself to bend to it.

These delicate chords of connection, through personal, interpersonal, the force, or so on, all work in many directions and acts of give, and take. Certainly it isn’t the first time he’s felt unburdened by her presence, as if a soothing air’s come over him by simply allowing her to be within his vicinity.

And even so, he still finds it difficult to understand what roils behind her eyes.

It’s a guess---a gut feeling, a supposition. Something churns and storms within her, beyond the touch or reach or awareness of any of the masters.

But, as he’s heard said once, a lifetime ago---like recognizes like.

“I did not come to interrupt your tea,” she says, finally, and turns away from him.

“Perhaps not,” he replies to her back, “but now that I have company, I don’t wish to lose it.”

At that she stills. She turns, as if she was not expecting that---and, perhaps, she wasn’t.

He can’t know her heart, after all. So segmented she keeps everything. So compartmentalized. So separated, and distant, even when warm and connected and present.

Like recognizes like.

“Join me,” he says, again. “I have more tea, if that would tempt you.”

“I suppose I am easily tempted,” she says, voice dry as the deserts he’s left at his heel, and he can’t help but smile.

“Good,” he says, and watches as she finds a seat upon an old stone not far from him. Then he looks forward, to the overlook that bears down into the forest below them, and the distant Temple that only barely breaches the forest’s ceiling some, long, distance away.

They sat at a camp upon a cliff, though he could call it less of a camp and simply an adequate place to rest, with a safe center in which to burn fuel and boil water for tea.

She helps herself to some, without his insistence.

“I don’t come up here to think,” he says, “before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she replies, once more a hint of dry sarcasm underpinning her tone. “For all you know, I’ve come for free tea.”

A fair assessment. One he suspects isn’t true, but still. Fair.

“Most would.” He finds himself smiling in her direction, and is met with a barely-muted smirk from her.

“I know better than to fasten any suppositions on you.”

“Most don’t,” he says.

She raises her mug of tea to him, in a silent toast. He finds himself smiling wider as she drinks.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says, “that I am unlike most---or that would get me in further trouble.”

“Further trouble?” he asks. “From what I understand, everyone holds you in very high regard.”

Her smirk takes an edge that feels wholly unsuitable to a pleasant conversation.

“Ah, yes, I forgot---I am doing very well, and I’m not to worry for a single thing I can control.” She takes another sip of the tea, and peers past the overlook. He does not follow her gaze, and instead admires her profile in the slowly dawning light.

Not to worry for a single thing she can control.

Now that is the frightening perceptiveness the masters were right to fear. Should be afraid of.

“All things done can be undone,” he says. “With some effort.”

 Though her face does not move from its position towards the overlook, her gaze shifts to peer at him through the corners of her eyes.

And then her gaze drifts back to the overlook. She takes another sip of her tea.

“With the right attitude,” she says, and sets the mug down in her lap, held between both hands. The heat of the tea rises over the mug in long lines of curling steam into the early morning air, and he remembers his---in time to realize it is cold, now.

“But I didn’t come to bother you with my anxieties,” she says.

“Perhaps not,” he says, and drinks from his now-tepid tea. “But, I can empathize.”

“Can you?” she asks, and to his surprise her question is not sharp, not laced with biting sarcasm, not high and disbelieving. She asks and there’s a note of loneliness, of desperation and isolation hand-in-hand and heart-over-heart.

“I do,” he says, rather than I can. It is a confirmation, rather than a possibility.

It is too strong a statement for them who barely know each other, and yet…

And yet he feels it, as deeply as he can know it---they share a future, uncertain and tenuous as that future might be. From how, or why, he cannot say. The Force, in that way, is strange and un-malleable, revealing only what it wishes to only the most discerning, and even now… even now, even here, he holds uncertainty and certainty with equal measure in his heart with and for all things---save this one.

“I do,” he says again.

She continues to watch the scenery, the view, the breeze and the low-flying clouds that choke the sky of the forest below. The fog rolls in as suddenly as it dissipates, and it is a sight that arrests even the most bitter and jaded at a moment’s notice.

“That’s not a relief,” she says.

It is a statement he’s not expecting, and it wounds him in a way he cannot prepare for. He schools his temper as tepid as the tea he drinks, and simply draws from his half-empty cup between his hands as he waits for her elaboration.

Why does that wound? Why does it hurt?

He has no time to consider it.

“It’s not something two people should feel, much less just me.”

And as quickly as the hurt pierced him, it dissolves away with the last of his tea. He wonders, momentarily, if the hurt he felt was even his own, or if she bled into him in some, sudden, vulnerable moment.

If, in understanding, he scraped apart the dust and fog of distance and peered into that roiling storm hidden away within her---there and gone like a cool breath on the early morning wind.

Oh. The masters did not, truly, understand the depth of fear they should have held at all, did they?

“I like to think,” he says, and finds his voice misbehaving in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time---and even that is cause for alarm, though he dismisses it just as easily. “I like to think that misery, in shared company, is a lighter burden.”

“Mm,” she hums, noncommittal, as she takes another sip of her tea. “Or the burden is doubled.”

He nearly laughs.

“You’re surprisingly negative for all the praise otherwise that surrounds you,” he says, and shifts on his seat to face her fully. “Do you reserve this only for those with empathy?”

“Perish the thought,” she says, and turns to face him, too. The pot of water, kept warm by the heat beneath it, remains between them. “I don’t reserve negativity for just anyone---only honesty.”

Only honesty.

Curious.

“Shall I thank you?” he asks.

“No need,” she says, and motions with her mug to the kettle between them. “The tea is thanks enough.”

At that, he finally allows a laugh---and helps himself to more tea.

What a delight, he thinks.

What a shame he kept his distance for so long.

#writing: mine #writing: fictober19 #writing: kotor #writing: star wars #c: the exile #c: revan #c: the jedi exile #v: kotor #v: tor

[colorofmymindposts]

The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter Seven

Chapter Title: Comme Amis, Madame? 

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete Word Count: 1727 for this chapter, 9444 for the entire work thus far Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets, Bickering Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3. You can also read chapter one here and chapter two here, chapter three here, chapter four here and chapter five here and chapter six here. 

Story:

It was in a truly spinning, colored daze that Holmes managed to stumble up the stairs to his rooms, not once turning back to the door from where Watson had just departed. If he stole one glance, he thought he might run out into the street after the man, raving like a lunatic. It was better that he review the facts before jumping to conclusions at any rate.

Although, even solely as a detective, he could not wrap his head around what had transpired. Watson had kissed him. It was a gesture totally unexpected, at least at this point, when their more...amorous relationship had drawn its abrupt conclusion several years ago.

Of course, it could have been meant platonically. It was, after all, just on the cheek, a kiss much more innocent than previous ones they’d shared. The French were known to exchange kisses comme amis. Or perhaps Watson was just attempting to finally recognize their past together, just enough to acknowledge it, and could therefore move forward in his marriage.

Why would that be necessary, however? Surely after all this time, the old boy had gotten over Holmes. In fact, Holmes would have thought that all of Watson’s romantic feelings expired when he had packed up all things without a word to Holmes, rented out another flat, and had a girl on his arm within a month of leaving. If Watson had ever felt anything for him at all.

Those words...those parting words troubled his mind still. He turned them over, the three sentences, as though they were separate pages in a book. They danced in front of his eyes, and he burned them into his memory before they flared and faded in favor of another distraction. As if another distraction could successfully steer him away from Watson.

I’ve behaved remarkably badly.

Forgive me.  

And thank you.

None of the parts added up to a cohesive whole, ultimately. Behaved badly to whom? Forgive Watson for what? Thank Holmes for what deed? The whole matter was quite puzzling, and Holmes was beginning to ascertain that Watson either had no idea what he himself meant when he imparted those words or intentionally belied Holmes into investigating them so he would not think too much over the...child conundrum.

Holmes growled in frustration at it all. Never had a case provided such obstacles in his typical methodology. The personal element involved made it all very difficult to process, categorize in his normal way. With Watson by his side, Holmes had never experienced such clarity in his work, having finally found the pathway to the solutions through all the noise and clutter of the rest of the world. Now that Watson was not at his side but at the centre of this case, it was becoming harder to distinguish fact versus theory.

It was more difficult than ever; any time Holmes tried to think, his fingers traced the ghost-like touch of Watson’s lips to his cheek in awe and wonder, a feeling he had locked away in the deep recesses of his mind.

When they had been lovers, Watson had always been gentle. His doctor’s training had controlled how his hands caressed, his abundant care and precision had been merely a luxurious extension of his bedside manner whenever Holmes had hit the ring too hard. Though he doubted that Watson called his patients “ungrateful bastards” as he sewed them back together. It was equally unlikely that he ever finished the job with an impassioned kiss on the lips and a plea to act more carefully. Perhaps if Holmes had followed through on that advice, he would never have awoken to a half-empty bed as he had for the last three years.

In those years of Watson’s absence, Irene had been particularly special. At first, Holmes had admired nothing more than her brilliant mind, able to keep up with his own, a rarity in a person of any sex. Eventually, even he had found he could appreciate her beauty for what it was: flawless. She had been flippant as the change of the tide, however; and though her antics were amusing, she would gladly leave Holmes penniless and beaten to a pulp if it ensured her own safety. In spite of this, Holmes had been willing to try something with Irene, something more real when he had finally accepted that Watson had deserted him, when she had died.

And here he was now. Alone. And more bewildered than ever.

Without warning, the door to the flat opened. Holmes scrambled up from his bed, where he had lain for hours if not days, and rushed to greet the man he’d been waiting for in great anticipation.

“Watson!” he cried out upon entering the parlor.

He halted where he stood on the bearskin rug when he realized he had mistaken the identity of his guest.

“I must say Mr. Holmes, I am amazed as ever by your deductive powers,” Mrs. Watson remarked a touch snidely, though not enough to seem outright rude. “Despite all of what John writes, he can never do your talents justice.”  

“Yes, well he struggles with the quantitative details. Your husband is quite...the romantic—with his words,” Holmes replied, his voice slightly shrinking at the end. He coughed deliberately to compensate.

“I know he is. And I know you hadn’t been expecting to see me again quite so soon,” Mrs. Watson attested. “Truly neither had I. But I must speak with you about my husband.”

Holmes’ heart plunged into his stomach. Did she know? Had Watson confided his illicit action to his wife out of guilt? Oh Providence above, this could be the undoing of both of them alike.

“...must you?”

“It is not easy for me to say this, as I have been married to my John for some time now,” she began.

Holmes’ breath caught in his chest and could not escape. But the woman, surprisingly, looked at him pleadingly instead of in disgust.

She calmly continued, “But you have known John for nearly twenty years and I only for three. I can tell he has told you of our troubles, maybe more so than he has told me. I must ask for your advice on how to proceed.”

While she was more collected than her previous visit, the desperation was still very much present. The pads of her fingers were dry with the turning of pages, books, perhaps old letters as well, easily deduced from the tired lingering redness in her eyes that even she could not conceal. Gladstone had clearly seen it fit to comfort her if his hairs clinging to the hem of her dress were any indication.

He wandered over to his desk, not looking at her now, and rifled through some papers aimlessly in search of a more interesting task to occupy him.

“Mrs. Watson, I shall make this brief then for both our sakes. I advise you to speak with your husband,” he laid out rather plainly, proceeding to pop a macadamia nut from the bowl on the desk in his mouth. “These are delicious. Would you like one?”

“No, I have no appetite at present,” she replied with little disguise of her distaste.

He smirked rougely at the thought of his next barb. “Perhaps you should consult a doctor in that case.”

“You are trying to irritate me, draw me away. Did John tell you to do that?”

“Watson has tried to instruct me to do many things, and he has yet to be successful in any of his attempts,” he countered dismissively.

Damn the woman was persistent. He almost wished that Watson hadn’t told him anything of the matter.

“For your information, I have tried to talk to my husband all in vain. Last night, he chose his bed in favor of discussing anything with me. In every other instance, he has either been with you or in town,” said Mrs. Watson, her frustration and confusion evident in her speech. “I...it’s almost like he is suffering one of those black moods of yours that he described to me.”

“Hmph! Watson suffering a black mood! I would truly be worried if we ever saw that day,” he said through a mouthful of macadamia nuts.

Holmes crossed the room, going to face Mrs. Watson for the first time in this conversation. He stood right in front of her, leaving very little personal space between the two of them. Her eyes bulged somewhat in anxiety, and he purposefully tilted his head to one side to illustrate a more disturbing picture for the woman.

“I was hoping to be left alone to organize my thoughts, but I see that this...issue shall not leave my life unless I clarify it for you.”

“I would like nothing more than to leave you alone, Mr. Holmes,” she retorted, which almost made him laugh.

He turned from her, starting to pace toward the window overlooking Baker Street.

“Your husband, Mrs. Watson, suffers from an affliction that many men possess. He belongs to a crowd of men who desire the companionship of a woman but not her product, the thrill of a romance without its baggage. He is atypical in that he genuinely cares for you unlike most with those desires, but he cannot deviate from what he wants or rather what he does not want,” he explained. He swiveled back to address her. “Have I made myself clear?”

The woman’s face in that moment was astonishingly unreadable. Then she bit her lower lip, and he knew instantly he had struck a nerve.

“Do you consider yourself to be one of those men?” She asked, voice quavering.

“Not in the slightest. I do not desire the company of anyone.”  

“Except for John,” Mrs. Watson rebutted, contemplative in her gaze. “And have you any other friends besides him?”

“I have found no other worthy as him, no. I dare say I never shall,” he answered honestly. “I feel we are drifting slightly from your initial point of inquiry.”

“No, no Mr. Holmes, you have provided me with more than enough answers to go off of,” she replied, bitterness very obviously sinking into her tone. She stormed out of his rooms without so much as a half-hearted farewell as though he had deeply offended her.

At the very least this time she hadn’t thrown a glass of wine in his face.

#holmes x watson #consulting husbands #sherlock holmes #mary morstan #my writing #rdj holmes #sherlock holmes movies #fanfiction

[safrona-shadowsun]

Borrowed this neat little list from @ask-iraiel.

01. Oldest OC: This would be the departed @lady-handhour, who started off as a human (Gilnean) Warlock character in Vanilla WoW, and my very first heavily Rp’d character. She is now a banshee that is bound to the Ghostlands and surprisingly is still fun and interesting for me to write after all these years. 

02. Newest OC: @wraithsongs is my newest character, a Dark Ranger. I haven’t written very much for her or introduced her to RP, her blog just merely aesthetics now, so I haven’t done a lot of advertising, but she will be getting some stand alone stories very soon.

03: Favorite OC: A hard question, as I like something about each character I was inspired to create and develop. My favorite to write for and develop has been @echoesofthelight lately, I think, though who I end up writing/rping for is really influenced on my daily mood and the interest shown in a character by others.

 04 Favorite OC Design: I really love sketching out my more supernatural-looking characters, and of them @gravekeeper-anna has been the most fun to play around with. Though she recently had a more darkly whimsical look to her, she’s recently going through some revisions to her design, and its been an interesting challenge to try to put together what she looks like now as I take my group’s Rp contributions into consideration. (Truly some amazing writing occurred and I love the people that support my little forsaken lady so much. )

05 Main Reason for Making OC’s: Rolling a character and developing an OC are two very different things for me, and usually an OC comes out of an idea that haunts me or one that is built through a bridge of stories on one of my already existing characters. Inspiration is a very large motivator for me, and I usually can’t go on playing a toon I create unless they really come alive for me in my mind.

06. Describe Your Character Creating Process: This is probably intertwined a lot with the answer for number 5...it all starts with being inspired by something, being haunted by a concept for days or weeks that I can’t shake. Usually I’ll start writing some the concept, sketch out things for myself, and then I’ll share my ideas with an Rp friend I trust to see if it sounds...well, sound. Then if I’m lucky and confident with my idea, I can see it flourish into stories and Rp, and maybe even more grounded art.

07: Character Ships: The word ‘ship’ has a few meanings for me, as they can mean different types of relationships continuously written with a regular rp partner that for me, revolve around character exploration and development. I currently have a romantically-inclined ‘ship’ between Safrona here and @thefirstperished. On @echoesofthelight I tend to do a lot of character developing with @renwyck’s writer, a platonic relationship. And @roselyn-ravenblade has a mentor/mentee relationtionship with @asharinhun, and she also has a fine friendship building with @natereising. 

08: My favorite OC ship has been what has developed between Safrona and @thefirstperished. It was something that was organically Rp’d and a little unexpected, but has been very satisfying. There is a rich intimate exploration into both of our very not normal characters that always pulls me right in and keeps me and Saf both on our toes, or sinking in a sea of feels or even snickering to myself. Throw in there that I just admire The First as an amazingly written character in his own right, I’m just always looking forward to see this deeply bonded relationship develop however the way it does. 

09. Weirdest OC: I think the majority of my characters have a little ‘weirdness’ to them, and that is what makes them enjoyable for me to write. I think the weirdest concept I have is my Forsaken Monk at @danseindeath which is possibly too off kilter to even legitimately RP. I love her twisted, violent aesthetic though, so I keep her blog around. That’s where the most disturbing of my inspiration goes, likely.

10. Villains? @danseindeath was supposed to be the most villainous of my roster, but not sure anymore, as I’m not actively writing that character. I honestly have trouble writing a clear hero, or a clear villain. I usually play with moralities, dancing in a grey area. There is always a reason for the things one does. I suppose right now @lady-handhour is my most ‘lawful evil’ of my characters, but on the whole, most consider undead and their motivations to be ‘evil’.

11. Would you consider yourself nice to your OCS? I didn’t used to be. I think I liked writing tragic characters much too much. Many of my characters don’t have great orgins, and some characters, by the gods, did I put them through the wringer. But I’m coming to a point that some of these characters I’ve written for so long falling into pitfall after pitfall of ruin (some ten years rl in running) deserve some positive development for once, or having things work in their favor.

12. An OC you’ve killed (if you havent killed anyone, who would you kill?) Most recently I tried to permanently retire @gravekeeper-anna after the assault on Lordaeron by the Alliance after Teldrassil’s burning with her execution, but some dear writer friends weren’t having that at all, so she is returning, slowly but surely. :) A grateful nod must go to @sanguinesorceress, @duraxxor, @silvertonguedaggermaw and @nixalegos for inspiring her recreation. 

13. Are any of your OC’s parents? Safrona has had terrible luck being a parent, but she can remember some semblence of what it felt to have a child, somehow. As can @lady-handhour. @gravekeeper-anna is the a motherly guardian to the Lost of Lordaeron in a way, but right now, it is @wraithsongs that has had a child survive her, and sadly, it probably breaks her brain. Maybe one day one of my characters will get to have a healthy parent-child relationship, who knows?

14. Are there any OC’s you find yourself neglecting? I find I’m neglecting @delaurac a lot mostly because his story has fell flat on its face for me and I think I’ve fallen into making him a punching bag, and I probably don’t want to go that route again with ANOTHER character. Just lack of steady inspiration for me when it comes to Quint.

15. An OC that is difficult to write/draw/rp: That would be Saraj the Ethereal. I have always, always wanted an Ethereal character, but he falls into all those categories of being a highly intelligent, centuries? old entity that I just don’t have enough lore on to a point that I don’t know if I can ever deeply write him, while also being very hard to draw as a space mummy, and being someone that just shows up as cameos for the Courier. I dearly love this character though.

16: Tallest/Shortest OC: Shortest: @roselyn-handhour, tallest is Safrona’s Shivarra, that I sometimes bring in as an IC interation.

17: Oldest and Youngest OCs: Youngest OC is @roselyn-ravenblade in her early-mid twenties and the oldest is Saraj who is...who knows how old Ethereals are.

18: Do you dislike any of your OCs? Well. I wouldn’t ever want to meet @danseindeath in real life, but the idea of her intrigued my horror-appreciating brain.

19: Have you ever made a self-insert? I think there are aspects we identify with or that intrigue us as writers that we put into characters to make them relatable to us and therefore inspire us to write, but I stayed away for a long time from really putting big chunks of my personality into my characters. They were for a long time art that I released into the world, subjects that I subjected to stories, environs, and the impact of other characters on their existences. That changed a little with @roselyn-ravenblade, as I just started writing her half the time with my own reactions in a social environment. And its made her feel more of a real character to me as an effect, and its all kinda amusing.

20: An OC regret: I regret sometimes letting myself get too carried with making characters. I feel like I sometimes don’t have the brain to keep up with them all. Its often a feeling that makes me want to shelf a character, or retire them, but I never can pick who. And then I just feel like I’m giving up on one of my creations.

21: An OC you didn’t expect to be popular: I honestly did not expect Safrona to be so popular. She is a courier. There should have been nothing very interesting about that. She was my very first Tumblr account though, and she’s been around for a time here, and I was fairly active in having her interact with people. Am still a little stunned at the follower count she has, and moreover that it isn't dropping. I don't feel she is as popular with people now despite all this, just an old account and characterization I haven't shelved. This of course does not wither my massive love and gratitude for those that have written with Saf, ever liked her posts or reblogged, complimented and supported this character somehow. Just still pleasantly surprised.

22: An OC you didn’t expect to love: Many years ago, there was this gnomish warlock I knew in Vanilla Wow that really grew on me that I cant even remember the name of. He completely stuttered through his every word consistently, and while reading his text may have been annoying to some, I just appreciated the time he put into his characterization so much and how well he was rp'd with anyone and everyone that any group rp function we ever had felt a little empty if he was not attending. He is probably the reason for near automatically loving gnome rpers when I see/read about them. Strangely, I never really had a good gnome character that I could think of rping myself.

#ooc #OC prompt meme

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Jennoasis!

Read on AO3

*****

Tattoo My Heart

Stiles was born with the phases of the moon tattooed down his spine. Most of the earliest pictures of his existence were of him laying on his stomach with his back on display. Sometimes he was on his father, sometimes on his mother, sometimes sleeping, sometimes not. As he grew older, he would wonder what it meant.

He would wonder whether his soulmate would be whimsical and free-spirited. Whether it meant his soulmate would be prone to pessimism and hopeless thoughts and contemplations about the vastness of the universe. Whether they would know all the constellations and prefer the darkness to light. Whether they would be brilliant in a soft, muted way, or ever-changing, or have the ability to make slow but constant impact on vast things, the way the moon affected the ocean.

Stiles would lay awake at night wondering.

Why the moon?

And when Scott got bitten, he laughed until he cried. And then laughed some more.

-

Derek grew up knowing his soulmate had an insatiable curiosity and an extremely short attention span.

Images flitted over his skin constantly.

Peter teased him about having a soulmate so entirely different from him. Someone capricious, that tended to lean toward dangerous things.

He howled with laughter when a wolf settled onto Derek’s skin, only to replaced by a panther the very next day.

Even if Derek were at all inclined to tell his uncle secrets the man hadn’t already figured out for himself, he still would never have explained that the wolf had simply moved from his bicep to curl up with its head on its paws just underneath his collar bone.

Peter found out anyway, because it was impossible for two wolves in the same pack to never see each other shirtless at the very least. Peter waited for the wolf to really disappear so he could tease, but had to content himself with mocking the way the wolf shrunk until it was just a small little thing in the pocket of Derek’s shoulder.

But his scathing comments barely registered to Derek, because it was what let him know that when his soulmate truly loved something they never let it go.

-

A cello appeared on Stiles. At first, it was a lovely instrument. The burnished teak color contrasted beautifully with his pale skin. The bow leaned gracefully against the cello, and one could almost hear the soft strains of soothing music.

And then one day, not that long after its first appearance, the instrument had snapped strings and warped wood. The hair of the bow lost its sheen and was cut in half to hang loosely. There were deep gouges.

Stiles didn’t realize they were claw marks until much, much later.

-

Derek had a sand castle on his skin. It looked like a child’s drawing of a sand castle mostly.

Did his soulmate love the beach? Did it represent a cherished memory?

Derek had the sense it had to be something specific. He felt that if it was about his soulmate loving the beach, he would be marked with something representing the ocean.

They seemed like that to him. Tempestuous and wild. Ever-changing. A chaotic surface and boundless depths. Peter said making assumptions about his soulmate would only lead to disappointment.

Still, Derek wondered if ocean waves ever appeared on his soulmate’s skin.

-

Siles had a basketball on him. He wondered whether his soulmate was on a team or whether they just liked the game. Did they play for their school? Was it something for fun, just to let loose?

What if they were more athletic than him? It wouldn't exactly be hard after all. Stiles could already tell he was going to grow up scrawny with barely any muscle at all. He wondered if his soulmate would laugh at how different they were.

-

“Your soulmate is so weird,” Laura murmured. Her eyes were on the picture of a brain scan that colored Derek’s skin.

Derek shrugged. He thought the same thing, though with much more fondness than Laura did.

Peter stared for a while, but didn’t say anything. Not even the slightest teasing comment.

Laura and Derek shared a glance.

“What is it?” Derek asked.

“Nothing,” Peter said with a casual shrug. “It’s probably not their brain.”

Laura’s spine went straight. She placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “What if it was?” she demanded to know.

Peter shook his head. “All I know is the colors are in the wrong places.”

Derek tried to convince himself that his soulmate was just learning something new, had found some new obsession to explore with their boundless curiosity. But the days passed by and the scan didn’t move or shrink or fade.

Derek was torn about how to feel.

Because if the scan didn’t belong to his soulmate, it certainly belonged to someone they loved dearly.

-

There was a necklace on a bed of purple flowers.

After research, Stiles figured out it was aconite.

Wolfsbane.

He didn’t really understand the necklace. But the wolfsbane made him wonder. Was his soulmate into mythical lore? Or was this some kind of oblique reference to being poisoned?

The way the necklace was settled into the petals, the subtle twist of the chain. It seemed intimate. Stiles thought of poison and how love could hurt. He thought of his obsession with wolves in the fifth grade. He wondered.

Stiles knew a lot about werewolves long before his best friend became one. And he wasn’t that surprised they existed. Not really.

-

There was a star on his skin. It appeared not long after the brain scan faded. It wasn't gone, but the colors had lost their luster in a way that made Derek think whoever it represented was gone forever.

The star was big, five pointed, and gold. It looked like a sheriff star from old western movies. Unlike most other things that appeared the star never grew smaller. It was in a strange minority with the brain scan and the sandcastle. In fact, sometimes the star would even grow bigger.

But it lost some of its brilliance over the years. It was difficult to explain how the image had its own overall vibrancy that stayed the same, and even grew at times, but the star itself got a bit dull. A bit scuffed, the points not as sharp.

Derek wondered if the star represented a person. If it was that person that was deteriorating. Or if his soulmate’s perception of them was becoming disillusioned.

-

Stiles woke up with a symbol on his chest one day. It was a triskele, he found. It seemed different than his other marks somehow. More vivid. A deep red in the center that faded to black. He would get caught up staring at it in the mirror.

He would think of the broken cello, the intimate poison, and this symbol pulsing blood red in the center like a weeping wound.

He knew his soulmate had been hurt. Was still hurting.

His dad caught sight of his chest one day and paused with wide eyes.

“There is something different about it!” Stiles exclaimed.

John checked his expression, but it was too late.

“Your soulmate got a tattoo,” he said.

Stiles blinked at him. “Tattoos show up?”

“Not always,” John said, “Not usually.”

Stiles stared at his father, trying to beam the full force of his curiosity out of his eyes.

John sighed. “Stiles, I told you to stop doing that. You look demented.”

Stiles shrugged. It worked to get him the information he wanted more often than not, so it was all good as far as he was concerned.

John studied his son. Stiles would only go look it up himself if John didn’t tell him. “Tattoos don't usually show up unless the bond is particularly strong.”

Stiles began to smile. It faded when he took a closer look at his dad’s expression.

“Isn’t that good?” he asked uncertainly.

John shook his head. “Intensity isn’t always a good thing when it comes to soulmate relationships.”

Stiles thought of the case descriptions that had trickled through to him over the years. Vicious abuse cycles. Codependency. Murders because of jealousy. Suicides because someone’s soulmate died.

He nodded at his dad to show he understood.

Intensity wasn’t always a good thing.

“Will it be on the same place on them?” he asked.

“Not necessarily,” John said. “It might not even be that color.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Over time, he found out the triskele absolutely would not be the same color, since the outer edges seemed to change according to his soulmate’s most prevalent and constant mood.

The center always stayed that fresh-cut red.

-

Derek didn't like Stiles when they first met. He knew his own inability to protect people. He didn't want someone like Stiles involved in what was going on. Someone so pretty and fragile, with such wide innocent eyes.

He soon learned Stiles was beautiful like the ocean, and even less likely to be tamed.He had a steel spine, an iron will, and those innocent eyes sparked with fiery passion at the slightest provocation.

Derek knew the dangers of fire by now, knew how easy it was to get burned. And yet there he still was, drawn like a moth, fluttering at the edges of a light he knew he was not allowed to have. A light that would only deepen the darkness around him, in him, if it were ever to go out.

The most he would allow himself was a slight suspicion and a resolute indifference to confirmation.

-

Stiles suspected Derek Hale was his soulmate from that first time in the woods. Even though Derek clearly didn’t like him, everything about the man made Stiles hum. From his cheekbones to his hostile glare, his leather jacket to his surprisingly soft voice.

And then he thought Derek was a murderer and he was still pretty sure, but he was hoping he was wrong because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life hiding bodies.He would do it, and more, for his soulmate but he didn't actually want to.

Stiles would always be surprised at his own reaction when he found out for sure.

He saw the triskele first, right in the center of Derek’s back.

Stiles had the fleeting thought of how they would match up and maybe Derek preferred being the little spoon, before the wolf turned around.

Stiles caught sight of his mom’s brain scan and mentally noped the fuck out. He stayed mostly silent through the following interaction, as blank as he could possibly be out of sheer self-preservation.

He didn’t have a panic attack until he got home.

It was hours later when Scott called him to assure him that just because they both had triskeles didn’t mean Derek was Stiles’s soulmate. They weren’t even the same color or in the same place.

-

In the end it was Boyd who spilled the beans, though Jackson was the trigger.

“Shut the hell up, Stilinski. Who wants to listen to you? You can't even get your soulmate to look twice at you. You really think he doesn't know it's you? That he's not ignoring you on purpose because he would rather have anyone but you?”

Stiles went white. He stared at Jackson for a moment and then promptly left, pointedly not looking at anyone else in the room. Derek slowly turned to stare at Jackson with crimson eyes until the young wolf left also.

After a drawn out moment of silence, Boyd said, “You're the reason he can throw shit like that in Stiles’s face.”

Derek looked at him with wide eyes, the confirmation he hadn't wanted suddenly given to him.

But he had a different perspective of his reticence as selfishness now, and he couldn't bear the hurt he could clearly see he had caused his soulmate. The sense of embarrassment and shame lingered where Stiles had been standing.

-

Stiles made it home only to find Derek in his room waiting to command him to take his shirt off.

“Fuck off, Derek Hale. Get out of my room.”

“Stiles,” Derek said standing from where he was leaning against the window sill. He stared intently at the human boy. “Take off your shirt.”

Stiles wanted to argue. He wanted to demand an explanation for why Derek had come here, now, to order him to do this. He wanted to yell some more, tell Derek to get out and to not expect to see him for at least two weeks. But he was tired of knowing who he belonged to and knowing that person didn't want him back without getting to say anything at all about it. If Derek wanted to have it all out right here, right now, then that's what they would do.

So he took off his shirt. And he watched as Derek took in his own life and love and hurts on Stiles's skin. He could practically see Derek thinking, “It's true.” But he wasn't prepared for the wolf to just whip his own shirt off. He’d seen Derek shirtless before, but it was different now.

Now it was to prove that they were made for each other. That they'd been marked by what made each other.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Derek asked.

“What was I supposed to say?” Stiles scoffed, “You didn't even like me when we first met.”

Derek looked away. Of course Stiles knew that.

“Plus, I thought you were a murderer,” Stiles added.

Derek raised an eyebrow. They both knew that point didn’t matter nearly as much as it probably should have.

“I love you,” Derek said.

Stiles scoffed at him again. He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling with pursed lips like he was trying to hold back laughter. Or tears. When he looked at Derek again, he was smirking, but his eyes were bleak.

“Because I’m your soulmate?”

“Because I love you.”

Stiles closed his eyes. This was too much.

“Derek,” he murmured brokenly. He opened his eyes and his soulmate was right there in front of him, close enough to touch.

Derek reached up and cupped his cheek.

“I love you, Stiles,” he said.

Stiles gave up fighting, and fell into his other half.

-

They found each other, and all their questions were answered.

#Jennoasis #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

[rosahope-a]

G E N E R A L  —

HEIGHT.         Chibiusa  stands  at  a  petite  149  cm  (  4’11  ).  At  14,  she’s  short  for  her  age  and  one  of  the  smallest  girls  in  her  grade,  lending  credibility  to  the  affectionate  nickname  given  to  her  by  her  parents,  “Small  Lady”.  With  heels,  she  stands  anywhere  from  154  cm (  5’1  ) to  160  cm  (  5’3  ).  As  she  gets  older,  she  does  not  get  any  taller,  and  therefore  remains  the  same  height  even  as  an  adult,  much  to  her  chagrin.  

WEIGHT.         Chibiusa  is  43  kg  (  95  lbs  );  slight  and  petite,  she  is  often  mistaken  by  enemies  as  being  an  easy  target,  however  her  training  as  a  Senshi  and  general  activeness  has  given  her  toned  muscle  hidden  beneath  her  clothing.  Despite  her  size,  she  can  pack  a  punch  and  is  surprisingly  agile.  

ETHNICITY.         Japanese;  Chibiusa  was  born  in  CRYSTAL TOKYO,  the  epicenter  of  Japan  in  the  30th  century.  However,  given  her  mother’s  lineage  as  heir  to  the  original  Moon  Kingdom,  this  also  means  that  Chibiusa  is  HALF-LUNARIAN.  

OCCUPATION.         Chibiusa  is  the  CROWN  PRINCESS  of  Crystal  Tokyo  when  she’s  at  home.  However,  in  my  main  verse  she  lives  with  the  Tsukinos  in  present-day  Tokyo,  Japan.  There,  she’s  an  EIGHTH-GRADER  at  Juuban  Middle  School.  Aside  from  this,  she  keeps  the  city  safe  under  the  guise  of  ETERNAL  SAILOR  CHIBIMOON,  a  pretty-suited  soldier  of  love  and  justice.  As  she  gets  older,  this  carries  over  and  Chibiusa  takes  up  the  mantle  of  Neo  Sailor  Moon  when  she  returns  to  Crystal  Tokyo  permanently.    Later  in  life,  she  ascends  the  throne  as  Queen  Lady  Serenity.  

GENDER.         Cis-female.

SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.         Chibiusa  is  demisexual,  meaning  that  she  often  requires  having  a  deep  connection  with  someone  before  she  can  be  intimate  with  them;  while  she  can  pursue  intimacy  with  someone  without  that  personal  connection,  Chibiusa  would  find  it  difficult  not  to  develop  some  level  of  emotional  attachment  to  a  partner  she  gives  her  all  to.  That  being  said,  Chibiusa  is  also  panromantic,  finding  that  anyone—no  matter  what  they  choose  to  identify  as—are  perfectly  capable  of  being  potential  candidates  for  lovers.  Chibiusa  is  a  romantic  at  heart,  and  finds  it  very  easy  to  get  attached  to  people.  

MBTI.         ENFP,  The  Campaigner  –  The  Campaigner  personality  is  a  true  free  spirit.  They  are  often  the  life  of  the  party,  but  unlike  types  in  the  Explorer  Role  group,  Campaigners  are  less  interested  in  the  sheer  excitement  and  pleasure  of  the  moment  than  they  are  in  enjoying  the  social  and  emotional  connections  they  make  with  others.  CHARMING,  INDEPENDENT,  ENERGETIC  and  COMPASSIONATE,  the  7%  of  the  population  that  they  comprise  can  certainly  be  felt  in  any  crowd.

S P E C I F I C S  —

FAVOURITE  FOOD.          Shocking  absolutely  no  one,  Chibiusa  has  a  voracious  sweet  tooth.  Her  favourite  foods  are  often  high  in  sugar—things  like  pancakes,  puddings,  ice  cream.  She’ll  eat  just  about  anything  if  it’s  sweet,  but  her  absolute  favourite  is  STRAWBERRY  PUDDING.  

FAVOURITE  DRINK.         Chibiusa  is  a  big  milk  drinker.  Her  favourite,  of  course,  being  strawberry  milk.  When  she’s  not  drinking  milk,  she’s  either  drinking  tea  or  water;  but  she  always  tends  to  default  to  milk  if  she  can  help  it.  Despite  her  love  for  sweet  things,  she’s  not  a  huge  soda  drinker  as  the  carbonation  tends  to  upset  her  stomach.  

FAVOURITE  HOBBY.         Chibiusa’s  biggest  hobby  is  ART.  You  can  almost  always  find  her  with  a  sketchbook  in  hand  and  some  kind  of  pen  or  pencil,  drawing  away  in  her  notebook.  School  notes  are  often  littered  with  doodles  in  the  margins  and  even  her  diary  has  artistic  drawings  throughout  the  pages  to  accompany  whatever  event  happened  that  day.  Besides  drawing,  she  loves  to  paint  and  has  a  particular  fondness  for  watercolour.  Besides  art,  Chibiusa  is  also  very  fond  of  VIDEO  GAMES  and  is  very  good  at  them.  Living  for  over  900  years  has  given  her  plenty  of  time  to  practise  and  she  can  beat  just  about  any  game  you  give  her.  

FAVOURITE  SCENT.            Flowers;  specifically  roses.  One  of  her  favourite  places  in  the  Crystal  Palace  is  its  gardens,  where  she  spends  most  of  her  free  time  just  sitting  among  the  flowers  and  sketching  the  day  away  in  her  sketchbook  or  diary.  On  a  more  personal  note,  she  loves  the  smell  of  her  mother’s  perfume.  The  backpack  she  carries  when  she  travels  to  the  past  is  often  spritzed  with  this  perfume  so  that  any  time  she  feels  homesick,  she  can  smell  the  perfume  and  feel  like  she’s  close  to  her  mother  again.  

FAVOURITE  PERSON.         It  would  be  impossible  to  ask  her  to  name  her  favourite  person,  as  there  are  numerous  people  who  hold  a  special  place  in  her  heart—Usagi,  Mamoru,  her  parents,  Hotaru,  Pluto.  Even  Helios  has  taken  up  valuable  space  in  her  life,  despite  the  briefness  of  their  meeting.  

T E N   F A C T S  —

Besides  her  interest  in  art,  Chibiusa  is  also  active  in  the  GARDENING  CLUB at  Juuban  Middle  School.  She  loves  working  with  different  flowers  and  planting  them  around  the  school  with  the  other  kids  in  her  club.  Because  of  this,  she’s  developed  quite  a  talent  for  naming  flowers  and  their  meanings,  a  feat  she’s  accomplished  with  help  from  Makoto.

Unlike  Usagi’s,  Chibiusa’s  hair  is  very  thick,  meaning  that  it  takes  longer  for  it  to  grow  out.  Usagi’s  hair  was  already  ankle  length  by  the  time  she  was  fourteen,  but  it  will  take  Chibiusa  several  more  years  before  her  hair  reaches  the  same  length.  

As  a  child,  Chibiusa  would  often  go  to  the  park  to  sit  on  the  swingset  when  she  was  particularly  upset  or  sad  about  something.  Several  times  throughout  the  manga  and  anime,  she’s  depicted  sitting  on  the  swingset  during  moments  of  duress.  This  becomes  somewhat  of  a  tradition  as  she  gets  older;  the  swingset  becoming  her  own  quiet,  personal  space  to  think  about  things  that  are  troubling  her  and  unwind.  

Though  she  remembers  Wiseman  approaching  her,  Chibiusa  has no  recollection of  her  time  as  Black  Lady.  There  is  a  gap  in  her  memory  from  the  time  Wiseman  approached  her  to  her  awakening  as  Sailor  Chibimoon.  No  one  has  brought  it  up  to  her,  and  so  she  remains  oblivious  to  her  actions  under  Wiseman’s  control.  

Chibiusa  has  a  varying  degree  of  fluency  in  FIVE  DIFFERENT  LANGUAGES,  including  Japanese,  English,  French  and  reading  and  writing  fluency  in  Latin and  Greek.  Given  her  age  and  the  sheer  number  of  years  she’s  had  to  study,  she  finds  languages  fascinating  and  would  certainly  be  interested  in  learning  more.  She’s  particularly  interested  in  learning  Korean,  and  has  picked  up  bits  and  pieces  from  listening  to  music,  but  isn’t  fluent  enough  to  hold  any  level  of  conversation.  

Chibiusa’s  Ennagram  is  Type  4,  The  Individualist.  Fours  are  self-aware,  sensitive,  and  reserved.  They  are  emotionally  honest,  creative,  and  personal,  but  can  also  be  moody  and  self-conscious.  Withholding  themselves  from  others  due  to  feeling  vulnerable  and  defective,  they  can  also  feel  disdainful  and  exempt  from  ordinary  ways  of  living.  They  typically  have  problems  with  melancholy,  self-indulgence,  and  self-pity.  At  their  Best:  inspired  and  highly  creative,  they  are  able  to  renew  themselves  and  transform  their  experiences.  Type  Fours  have  a  desire  to  create  an  identity  for  themselves and  fear  having  no  personal  significance.  

Chibiusa  ascends  the  throne  of  Crystal  Tokyo  as  Queen  when  she  is  20  years  old,  taking  on  the  title  of  QUEEN  LADY  SERENITY,  or  SERENITY  III.  By  this  time,  King  Endymion  has  passed  away  and  Neo  Queen  Serenity  has  either  sent  her  Star  Seed  back  to  the  Galaxy  Cauldron  to  be  reincarnated  with  Endymion,  or  has  chosen  the  path  of  becoming  Sailor  Cosmos.  Regardless,  Neo  Queen  Serenity  worked  tirelessly  to  create  a  kingdom  that  would  love  her  daughter  once  she  inherited  it  and  thus,  Chibiusa’s  reign  as  queen  becomes  known  as  the  AURORA  MILLENNIUM.  

Each  of  the  Inner  Senshi  had  a  hand  in  personally  training  Chibiusa  as  a  Senshi  during  her  time  in  Crystal  Tokyo;  Mercury  taught  her  battle  tactics  and  basic  first  aid,  Mars  handled  the  humanitarian  side  of  things,  Jupiter  physically  trained  with  Chibiusa  to  build  up  her  strength,  and  Venus  mentored  her  in  the  ways  of  diplomacy  and  leadership.  

While  Chibiusa  no  longer  holds  the  fear  of  never  being  able  to  grow  up,  she  still  struggles  daily  with  INSECURITY  over  whether  or  not  she  can  really  live  up  to  Sailor  Moon’s  legacy.  Chibiusa  understands  that  she  is  her  own  person,  and  therefore  doesn’t  need  to  emulate  Sailor  Moon  or  her  mother;  but  making  her  proud  is  very,  very  important  to  her.  Often,  when  she  isn’t  sure  what  to  do  in  a  situation,  she  asks  herself  what  her  mother  would  do,  what  Usagi  would  do,  what  Sailor  Moon  would  do,  and  can  usually  find  her  way  from  there.  

Regardless  of  whether  they  end  up  together  or  not,  Chibiusa  more  or  less  considers  Helios  to  be  her  FIRST  LOVE.  He  was  one  of  the  few  she  felt  comfortable  enough  confiding  in  about  her  deepest  fears  and  concerns  and  he  never  treated  her  any  less  for  how  young  she  was  or  how  little  she  was.  Though  their  time  together  was  short,  she  will  always  be  grateful  for  the  way  he  treated  her  like  a  normal  girl  and  not  a  princess  who  needed  to  live  up  to  impossibly  high  expectations.  

FIVE  THINGS  SHE  LIKES.

Going out for MILKSHAKES with Hotaru and the Quartet.

RABBIT memorabilia.

COOKING lessons with Makoto.

Bubblegum pop music, particularly J-POP and K-POP.

Trashy ROMANCE manga.

FIVE  THINGS  SHE  DISLIKES.

Being UNDERESTIMATED because of her size.

Anyone HURTING her friends or family.

MIRRORS, especially in the dark. ( Thanks, Nehellenia. )

Generally rude, offensive or MISOGYNYSTIC behaviour.

Waiting – she’s very impatient.

COMMON  WORDS / PHRASES  THAT  ANNOY  THEM.          Anyone  insinuating  that  she  can’t  do  something  because  she’s  too  young  or too  little  is  a  sure  fire  way  to  dampen  her  mood.  Chibiusa  is  fiercely  independent,  and  will  make  it  a  matter  of  pride  to  prove  that  she  can  do  anything  she  sets  her  mind  to  regardless  of  her  age  or  size.  

PERSONALITY  TYPES  THEY  PREFER.         Chibiusa  gravitates  towards  calming,  reserved  personalities  like  Hotaru,  Mamoru,  or  Helios.  Boisterous  personalities,  like  Usagi,  she  tends  to  butt  heads  with  a  lot  because  of  their  personality  similarities.  She  needs  someone  to  balance  out  her  own  loud  personality.  In  other  words,  Chibiusa  can  dish  it  out,  but  she  can’t  take  her  own  medicine.  

PERSONALITY  TYPES  THEY  AVOID.         Chibiusa  immediately  avoids  anyone  with  discriminatory  or  offensive  views  such  as  racism,  homophobia,  sexism,  etc.  She  also  tends  to  avoid  people  who  are  openly  arrogant  or  conceited  as  that  kind  of  behaviour  grates  on  her  nerves.  For  the  most  part,  Chibiusa  can  get  along  with  just  about  anyone;  but  these  personality  types  are  definitely  people  she’d  rather  stay  away  from.  

WHAT  DO  YOU  FIND  DIFFERENT / DISTINCT  ABOUT  YOUR  PORTRAYAL?          I  think  I  definitely  take  to  exploring  Chibiusa  as  a  teenager/adult  way  more  than  the  average  person  in  the  fandom  does.  Most  of  the  information  and  interactions  on  this  blog  are  centered  around  a  post-canon  setting  that  lets  me  flesh  out  Chibiusa’s  life  beyond  what  Naoko  laid  out,  so  I  think  that’s  pretty  unique.  I  also  don’t  equate  Chibiusa  to  Usagi  nearly  as  much  as  she  is  in  actual  canon  or  the  fandom.  Chibiusa  is  more  than  a  carbon-copy  of  Usagi,  and  I  try  to  portray  that  and  expound  on  their  differences  any  chance  I  get;  also  showing  the  ways  that  she’s  similar  to  Mamoru/Endymion.      

#✧ — to become an elegant lady ╱ character study.