#reverence isnt the word im looking for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bedforddanes75 · 11 months ago

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smh back related Filth here...

this isnt good enough for me to post on ao3 have it here instead. 18+ and stuff. ok anyway dont tell me if this sucks just leave and dont ever speak again

back fic? george doesnt wanna think and matty likes georges back. no im not projecting what do you mean. warning (technically) Unfinished and bad and idk man just read and again if u dislike (and i find out about it) then DIE im comign to get you. listne to pink floyd and chiiiillll the fuck out IM SO STRESSED i hate posting so much i cant stop speaking im trying to soften the blow (no blowjobs happen) but like i dont know Girl someone get me a gun I REALLY WANT A GUN oh my god OKok ko koko kok ok kok ok ok ok ok juts GO there its'heere

He gets George laid on his front, face pressed right into the pillows and chest fighting to expand under his weight. George keeps making these quiet, almost pathetic noises, whimper-esque, and delicate, and Matty can tell he’s fighting not to grind into the mattress.

“You can make yourself feel good, darling. Go on.”

George responds immediately with the shaky movement of his hips, and a relieved moan, goosebumps rising.

There’s nothing between them now, George already stretched out and far gone, his only thoughts being of Matty and Matty and Matty and Matty. Who is Matty to deny him that pleasure? He’s in awe at how someone can be so beautiful, staring at George’s back like it’s the sun, and it might as well be, because he’s radiating heat like a fire, so desperate to be touched and to feel good that the only outlet is there. George moves his hips slowly at first, and he’s so overwhelmed he thinks he might come just from that, the friction from the sheets more than enough for him.

But he wants Matty.

Matty runs a cold finger down the length of his spine, reverent and appreciative, and George shivers, the motion pulling another quiet noise from him. It’s silent, bar their breathing, and the rustling of sheets, but Matty’s heart is beating so fast that he doesn’t even notice. George isn’t trying to speak, not trying to beg for anything, because he knows if he tries, all that’ll come out is something garbled and stupid, but he doesn’t care, because Matty isn’t making him do any of that today, he just touches and pleases and makes him feel like he’s in heaven.

It isn’t long before Matty’s leaning down over him, letting himself press against George from behind, and whispering things down his neck.

“You want me to make you come? Want me to fuck you, darling?” And George might just cry. He does want it, but he just cannot form the words. Matty doesn’t make him, but when he doesn’t make any move to get off and start properly touching George, George knows that he won’t do anything until he does. He usually forces George to speak when they do it like this, makes him blush and whine and George lets him and loves it, but this time, he’s letting George do things in his own time, pressure all gone, (except in his groin.)

He’s got his hands on George’s waist, now leaning back just to admire him, and George can’t wait any longer. He tries to speak, just the word please, but it doesn’t come out right, and he’s just so desperate that he can’t think to correct himself.

“Just let me look at you a bit, you’re so gorgeous.” Matty doesn’t sound like he’s aware of the fact he exists anymore, so wrapped up in how beautiful George is that time and space no longer accept him as a being, he is simply a conscience left to its own devices, floating around and latching onto this angelic figure beneath where he should be. “Pretty,” he breathes, “So pretty,” again. He’s still drawing lines on George with his nails, like he’s tracing the muscles and all the marks made over the years.

George tries to keep his breathing steady, content with where he is but simultaneously needing more like he needs air, like it’s his only source of life, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t mind, really, he’s just happy to be touched, because every contact with Matty feels better than anything he’s ever taken, and he can’t imagine feeling any better than this. There’s static in his head, only just about covering the words he needs to make Matty do anything, and he wishes it wasn’t there, but he loves it so, so much.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Matty whispers eventually, after years and seconds and days and hours and George can’t reply. He wants it more than anything, but he’s so focussed on trying to figure out how to express that, that he can’t do it. A nod is all he can muster up, but he knows that Matty won’t let him just do that, he needs words, proper, full words. Then, there it is, “I need you to tell me, sweet. Words.”

He’s moved further down George’s body by now, and George didn’t even realise it was happening, but he’s pressing kisses to the dimples at the base of George’s spine, so he can’t complain. Not one bit.

Then, he moves drastically lower, kisses the very top of the line between his legs, just where the fat of his [ass] starts to rise, where his thighs turn from muscle to something soft, and he just leaves his face there for a while. He’s got his chin pressed into the middle of George’s thighs, and his hands still all over his back. That makes him speak.

“Please,” he manages, and Matty seems shocked at it.

“‘Please’ what? Need you to use words.”

George can’t, and he almost feels like crying, so desperate it’s making him shake, but he tries again.

All he can do is say, “You,” like a prayer, again, again, and Matty breathes something shaky in return. But he still doesn’t make any effort to move, just strokes the back of one of George’s arms. “Please, Matty.” It feels like they’re the only words he knows, now, really.

“Just need you to tell me what you want. I’ll do it, just tell me.”

Matty was always careful not to push boundaries and to be extra nice when George got like this, he wouldn’t push anyway, but he treats George like an ornament when he’s like this. George loves it. He likes being told he’s beautiful and being allowed to not think and just feel and feel and feel. It’s nice. It’s the best.

“You. Matty. Please.” Maybe they are the only words he knows, and he doesn’t care – they’re the only words that are important.

If Matty couldn’t understand it from that, he doesn’t know what he could’ve, but, that’s a useless thought, because he’s nodding against George, whispering “Okay.”

“Tell me if you want me to do anything else. Anything you want, sweet. Do anything. Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.”

George nods.

He has to wait a while, Matty making sure he won't hurt George if he goes too fast, slicking himself up, but then Matty pushes into him gently, gripping George’s hand tightly to keep himself under control, and all of a sudden, it’s all worth it. He’s glad Matty doesn’t have a clear view of his face, then, because he’s bright red, sweating, and he just knows he looks an absolute state. But none of that matters at the moment, because Matty is inside him, and still, and he feels so good, so good, so, so, so, so, so good.

If he thought he couldn’t speak before, that was nothing. He can’t even see, completely taken by the feeling of Matty inside him and touching his back and touching his hair and touching him and touching. Matty is the embodiment of pleasure.

“Feels so good, darling,” Matty breathes, and he must’ve leant down, because George can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He blushes at the praise.

He can’t breathe properly with the pillows covering his face, but he doesn’t have the energy to move, and even the littlest of movements make him completely lose coherency, because Matty’s pressed right up against that spot, and he can’t take it.

Matty thrusts after a while, holding George’s hand and making sure he’s okay every few seconds, but when he does, George sees stars. He’s clearly holding back, because he keeps twitching inside George, and George only wishes he could speak more so he could tell Matty to do what he needs, to take as much as he wants, but, alas, he can’t, and he just settles on letting Matty do what he’s doing now.

The feel of Matty inside him is something he‘ll never get used to, it’s all consuming, feels like he’s turning into a star and becoming something otherworldly and living and dying all at the same time. He can’t word how amazing it is, like knowing he’s safe and letting Matty do whatever he needs, because he knows it’ll be good, and he trusts him.

He, eventually, does start to move properly, but only after multiple weak noises from George, desperate and pleading for anything. Matty grabs his hips, suddenly energised and no longer having the patience to be as gentle as he was, and George loves it. He’ll take whatever Matty gives with an open mouth and a chest left wide open, ribs all snapped to get inside, and this is like a knife made of solid pleasure, because there’s that tiny bit of pain, but it’s covered up by the heat that rushes all down his limbs, right down to his fingers, every single time Matty hits that spot inside him, and then everything is all okay.

Soon enough, Matty’s got his nails in the soft, weak skin of the space just below George’s v-line, digging into the flesh and wanting to claw him apart simply because it’s the only possible way to express how intense everything he’s feeling is. George lets the pain bloom and he whimpers into the bed.

“You okay?” Matty asks, and he nods, enthusiastic and truthful and just wanting more.

That’s all he needs, and he seems to lose some amount of his self control, because he starts fucking into George harder, one hand going back to his waist to keep steady, and the other going to his hair. He doesn’t pull just yet, but George wouldn’t complain if he did, taken by the pleasure. Matty’s nails are pressing slightly, and he welcomes the sting.

The sweet, soft, gentle Matty is almost fully gone now, and he’s changed back into something like what he usually is in just a few minutes, and it’s making George sick with want. He’s tightening his grip on George’s hair more and more by the minute, and by now, it’s starting to sting.

George doesn’t think anything’s going to change after that, just thinks Matty’s going to make him come like this, and he has no reason to think anything else. That is, until Matty yanks George’s head towards himself by the hair, and George can’t help the moan he lets out. It’s loud and undignified, but Matty likes it all the same, apparently, because he holds tighter, and keeps his head there for a second. George thinks he might come just from that, the feel of Matty in his hair, tugging.

Heat ripples from his scalp, and it’s not helped by Matty starting to speak. “Fucking back, so beautiful. Perfect. It’s so pretty, fuck.” He keeps speaking until he finally unthreads his fingers from George’s hair, but George can still feel the ghost of his palm. He fixes his grip properly onto his hips and waist instead.

He’s definitely digging his nails into that pale flesh, and it wouldn’t shock George if, when he moves, there’s skin left beneath them. He’s being gentler than normal, which George is grateful for, because he knows that if Matty did anything that was any more intense than pulling his hair, he’d be coming within a minute of him sinking inside.

He can feel heat building in his stomach, and, all of a sudden, he’s overly aware of the sheets rubbing against himself, hard against them, and he whimpers, eyes squeezing. Matty’s starting to stroke his hair, and ramble.

“You feel so fucking good, Jesus Christ. Fuck, George.” He’s digging his thumb into a space near one of the dimples on George’s back now, almost like he wants it to bruise so he’s got proof of it, like the proof isn’t George’s very existence.

George gets closer a lot sooner than he’d like to, but he just can’t help it, because Matty is telling him how good he feels and how well he’s doing over and over again, and there’s so much happening, like the feel of Matty hitting just where he needs every time and the feel of himself against fabric and the image of what he must look like in his head. It’s all too much. Almost.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Matty slows down, taps him, asks if he’s okay, and he just nods, nods like it’s keeping him alive, manages to turn his head enough to the side to say “Please, please, Matty, please,” and then his eyes roll back.

He’s so close, whining and whimpering nonsense and trying to form words to warn Matty, failing, but not caring, because he’s blinded by how good it feels, and Matty isn’t letting up, in fact, he’s fucking him harder, pulling George’s hips into his own with every thrust, determined to make him come.

It doesn’t take long before he’s right on the edge, just needing a tiny bit more, and then Matty fists a hand into his hair once more, and he’s gone. The combination of Matty fucking him so good, with the sharp pain on his scalp, is better than anything he could’ve imagined, and he cries out as he comes, over and over, moaning into the pillows and clenching his fists, begging with completely incoherent noises. Matty keeps moving for a bit, and George doesn’t have the mind to protest, nor does he want to, he’d rather lie in the afterglow and be only half aware of how overstimulated he’s becoming.

He doesn’t really notice when Matty comes, and he doesn’t notice virtually anything else for a while after, either, just lets himself be moved around as Matty tries his best to clean him, trying to manoeuvre him into some position easier to clean from, and not doing very well, because…well, the size of George.

sorry ending Shit possibly all shit but whatever i wrote most of it. enjoy life

#sorry this is short but also im not sorry i wrote this for MYSELF #if i manage to make it better then it will be promoted to the gods of ao3 #my hair feels soooo nice but i cant brush it 💔💔💔#if you like this you are legally bound to a contract that says you HAVE to tell me. or else #i wrote this in like 2 hours idk if its bad #blah blah!#gatty #BLEEGGGHHHHHH #autism is strong in this one #does this count as being nonverbal. like temporarily whats th word for tha FUCJ #nonspeaking? idk He just cant talk because he is So overwhelmed and pathetic and beautoful #i actually intended for this to be a Lot dirtier than i wrote it like but also idgaf i like it #idk it goes from Sweet nice to like Oh this is SEX #not a specific universe Btw idk if taht was uncelar #matty x george #blegh i hate that tag #ok aNyw #hope u enjoyed or whatever.#my fic tag

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velarisdusk · 3 months ago

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is the intensity of the storm supposed to match the intensity at which they fucked does that make sense

oh it makes PERFECT sense and im SO glad you brought this up >:)

the short answer is yes and no. but i think the long answer is cooler so i wont elaborate anymore on the short answer teehee 🤭

so, when writing, i used the words thunder, wind, rain, and storm a LOT. on purpose. each was supposed to represent something different. the idea was roughly:

thunder: level of tension wind: a pushing force rain: her nerves storm: the air/feeling/vibes between them two windows (used relatively sparingly but still): her resolve

im gonna put some excerpts under the cut bc im nerding out rn

i'll just go over the big ones but there are definitely more in there :) im gonna put them in chronological order to make the progression easier to see :)

01. starting in the tent:

“Your pack, and everything in it—including your sleeping bag—is useless. It won’t dry in this weather. Either we share mine or I watch you freeze to death. I vote the former.” You hesitated [...] then another gust of wind screamed past the tent [...] “Fine.”

wind, the pushing force, is essentially telling her, go! take this opportunity! do it!

02. now in the kitchen, thinking abt the dream she'd just woken up from:

And then—your name. A low murmur against your throat, reverent and rough at once, like it scraped its way out of him. Like it meant something. Like saying it against your skin was the only prayer he knew. Almost a whisper. Almost a plea. Almost— Lightning split the sky—and thunder followed like a war drum, slamming through the silence hard enough to rattle the windows.

girlie has so much sexual tension coiled up in her that her resolve is giving way a bit more..... more chance for a should i shouldnt i....

03. [Enter: Rhysand]

“You always brew it with wide eyes and shaking hands?” he asked as he stepped closer, brushing your fingers when he took the mug from your grasp. You huffed a soft laugh. “Only when the thunder sounds like it’s about to rip the sky open.”

wide-eyed and shaky when she thinks about him rocking her shit yeah, shits about to rip HER open

04. that convo abt cass trying to cut az's hair

The silence that followed was the kind that didn’t need filling. You let it stretch, let it settle into your bones like warmth. Outside, the thunder seemed to soften, like it, too, was growing tired.

tension is lessening here, theyre chill, theyre having a nice fun chat like friends do :")

05. this one is arguably the most important one, it's right after rhys asks if she always walks around in shirts that short when she's got the place to herself

“Keep talking and I’ll convince the House to trap you in the bathroom with no toilet paper.” “You won’t, [...] you’d miss me if I left.” You flinched as a particularly loud boom of thunder cracked. The windows trembled in their panes, wind howling against the glass. The faelights dimmed briefly, a flicker like the storm had drawn a breath too deep.

lots in here >:) rhys's dialogue here was a huge push to the progression. bc yeah, she WOULD miss him if he left, and whats worse is that he KNOWS it. that little bit of dialogue did so much in one: the tension between them skyrockets, her resolve is burning to a crisp, the wind is telling her come ON, say something BACK, PLAY with him. the storm drawing a breath too deep is like,, the air between them just got serious

06. they get cozy in bed together

“Don’t spill anything.” “I never do,” [...] Thunder grumbled far off, less urgent now. You let yourself breathe. Then, casually, Rhysand said, “Still humming, by the way.”

tension is even less so. sure, theyre sharing a bed, but theyve been having such easy laid back conversation that it isnt looked at as anything other than what its always been before this: closeness, familiarity, friendship

07. but as soon as the conversation lulls...

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—just full. Full of steam and thunder and the fact that Rhys was here, warm beside you, his presence taking up more space than it had any right to.

tension grows bc there's nothing to take her mind off the fact that theyre in bed.... together..... very close.......

08. rhys telling her she was like,, grinding on him LMFAOOOO i would die of embarrassment, ANYWAY

"Well, what was I going to do? Shove you away?” You sputtered. “Most people would’ve!” His expression didn’t change, but something about the air shifted—like even the storm outside had quieted to hear what he might say. “I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to stop you.” Your breath caught.

after her dialogue, the air between them is kinda in a will-they-wont-they state, so thats the storm quieting to hear the answer. will they? wont they?

09. they're in the "tent" again, rhys above her. after she tells rhys he didn't have to block the storm out, and he stops like ?fr??

Sound returned all at once. Wind shrieking against your bedroom windows. Rain pounding the glass in sheets. Distant thunder rolling deep and endless across the city.

COME ON DO SOMETHING DO IT!!! RESOLVE GONE!!! NERVES ARE AT AN ALL TIME HIGH!!! TENSION!!!

ANYWAY, i know i put a lot in here but believe it or not there are A LOT more of these throughout, these were just the main turning points :) so not specifically the intensity at which they fucked, but definitely the intensity between them in general

#this is likely way more than you were looking for my bad lol #i got excited lol #i just love when details like this get pointed out w my writing #this tempest ours #TTO #asks <3

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nahalism · 2 years ago

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Bonjour!about the anger//don’t animals simply fight physically when they are angry as a part of their adulting? Idrk if we should look at them for examples. In civilization are we not striving to go around what’s in our nature so exactly to: avoid having to fight, kill, harm others when we are not in the best mood, when we want something they have i could go on and on. Maybe pushing against the animalistic side of us in order to hold up our relatively organized world is what creates all those weird ways of behaviors that we call ”traumatized” now? Only speculation. Just not sure if we were meant to be simpler and more ”cruel” and actively going against it is causing what we observe now oooor is there an adult version of a human, admittedly rare in the world as we see it now right, that was supposed to rise above all of it - and like you said - leave those ways (2 sides of pendulum) of behavior in childhood when they served us during a time when we were not as developed) and move on to a more sophisticated tools and states

stay blessed <3 :]

coucouuu, çava? <3

i agree! suppression of our animalistic nature leads to perversion of it and is directly stopping human evolution into maturity. for example, in our society 'a civilised child doesnt throw tantrums'. but a child feels what it feels and has only one language to express it. so if a child has a tantrum (natural) but the adult raising it hasnt learned to teach and speak to a child (unnatural), it will silence instead of teach the child. now the child acts 'civilised' and does what its told, but isnt civilised at all, it is actually just repressed, and instead of learning how to maturely regulate and deal with emotional turmoil, has to find covert ways of meeting its needs. worse than that it has no one to blame or be mad at, cause its just inheriting the sins of the past

& as for animals, nah they dont actually. animals are quite very intelligent and quite sensible (much more than we give them credit for). if you look to nature you'll see they usually only exert force when its warranted, when their hungry, or when they're frightened. and im not just referring to domesticated animals. where im from in nigeria, the tribe my grandmothers from has a 'symbiotic relationship' for lack of a better word with the snakes and crocodiles at the river. the snakes do not attack the humans, the humans dont attack the snakes (they actually rever them). same with the crocs. they have a mutual understanding and unless one crosses a boundary things remain that way.

to my mind the highest form of civilisation is to honour nature and its laws because that is truth and cannot be destroyed. what humans have created currently emulates and is built using the truth, but can be destroyed, so is not truth itself. only study and understanding of nature, which comes from closeness to it, leads humanity to wisdom and self knowledge. as above, so below, as within, is without. & so i believe the reason were so backward is because we forgot these philosophies or we know them and are too fearful to change. were so stuck in our ego and this false world weve created (which we call civilisation) that we forgot how to start humble. how to learn about the earth and the stars before we learn about popularity, working and money. nature was the original teacher of math science and the original source of materials for the arts. etc. so yeah. its just a reflection of our societies priorities. — that said, i also think theres nothing to worry about, every generation is divided amongst the fools and wisemen. we need the contrast to evolve and know the difference. the wisemen pave a path for the youth, and the fools (there r two kinds) help the wisemen. so really everything is as its meant to be, and its possible all of this is happening to propel humanity and the world toward evolution, growth and having more experience (knowledge & wisdom).

this was acc rly interesting so thanks for sending. i love hearing u alls opinions <3 sending my love

#ask

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lemmetreatya · 2 years ago

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movie director!onyankopon isnt much of a man who welcomes the limelight with open arms. he loves his career, don’t get him wrong, but he will always prefer behind the camera as opposed to in front of it.

you on the other hand, loved the cameras. the flashing lights, the throat splitting screams, the pure gluttonous feeling of simply being worshipped. it was all very comfortable with you and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

even better, because movie director!onyankopon loved to worship you — whether it be squeezing and massaging at your flesh during prem nights or whether his hand be hooked right under your thighs during interviews. the way his eyes lit up and his billion watts smile appeared whenever the interviewer spoke about you or how he never failed to sing your saccharine praises. movie director!onyankopon was obsessed with you in such a healthy and loving way that it was almost sickening.

“ony…”

moans of his name were so easy falling off of your lips. even whilst kissing him with reverent fervour and your back cold against the front doors to your house, it was still his name you ought to call.

movie director!onyankopon slides the both of you across the wall of his hallway. needy boy didn’t even want to allow you to get inside properly and ditch your clothes. he was just too, too eager for you.

“you looked so good out there tonight. fuck, ive been waiting so long to just consume you”

movie director!onyankopon gathers you from your ass as he lifts you up with ease, his strong build showing as he’s able to plonk you down onto the waist lengthed drawer within the hallway that was lined with prized awards.

oscars, tonys and grammys — didnt matter! swipped to the side as movie director!onyankopon is in a hurry to have a taste at you. worship you the best way he knows.

“sorry, ive just got to have you.”

“like id ever tell you no.”

movie director!onyankopon tugs your dress upwards but its a struggle. the material made it hug your body so perfectly that the practicality of removing it was tailored to be done from the top, but movie director!onyankopon didn’t have time for that! eventually he got your dress to pool just below your stomach but your panties are in the way and he’s just too impatient to go over this again.

“fuck it…” he mumbles as he crouches down onto his knees and only slips your panties to the side, his fingers taking no liberties as he delves two fingers straight in.

in the process, you lean your head back in pleasure. however, unaware but within that bliss, your head accidentally collides with movie director!onyankopon prized possession — andy warhol’s original chanel no. 4 painting.

movie director!onyankopon hears the crack of the canvas caving in and he knows he’s going to be so pissed about that in the morning but it doesn’t fucking matter. right now he has the closest thing to a god to needs attending to.

“oh my god! ony, im so sorry!”

you try writhing your body round to see the damage but movie director!onyankopon is hooking you in place with his free arm.

“dont worry ‘bout it.” he mumbles, face already between your legs. “ive got way more important things to worry about right now.”

if you had any other objections then they weren’t voiced. the addition of movie director!onyankopon’s mouth suckling at your clit while his fingers pumped long and thick inside of you made you quickly forget the issue at hand.

“shit, shit, shiiiit.”

with your hands coercing the back of his head further between your thighs, you couldn’t help but sinfully smile at how nice it felt to be worshipped. how nice it felt to have someone prove their words in practice. how nice it felt to feel like a deity.

#onyankopon smut #onyankopon aot #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon #aot imagines #aot x black reader #aot imagine #aot headcanons #aot x you #attack on titan

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moriihana · 3 years ago

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we can’t fix each other but we sure as hell can enable each other instead || fifteen: why is there only one elevator

pairing: dabi x disabled!gn!reader

overview: you meet dabi pre-canon because your cat, nugget, literally won’t leave the guy alone. friendship, fluff and (eventual) angst ensue.

chapter summary: the meta liberation army becomes the paranormal liberation front, dabi is possessive over you, and you miss shigaraki.

content: little bit of fluff, little bit of angst

word count: 1931

a/n: the new editor doesnt support blockquotes apparently but the legacy editor doesn’t let me keep a blank line break im gonna fucking kms sorry the formatting isnt the way i wanted it

taglist: @iincandescenttt

AO3 link

← previous ; next →

You gave Boo pets on her head as she laid it on your thigh with a huff. Nugget was curled up against her side, face tucked into her fur. “These little guys are loving it here.” You smiled softly at the animals. “I don’t think they’ve ever had it this nice.”

“Well… ‘no pain, no gain,’ as people like to say.” Compress put a piece of sushi in his mouth, his mask propped up on his head.

Dabi looked at him with a bored expression. “But you didn’t do shit.”

Compress laughed, “Nonsense! I was amazing at running away.”

You grinned at him, laughter shaking your shoulders. “You were very good at running away!”

Spinner looked over at you and Dabi. “You guys not gonna eat this?”

“Go ahead. I hate fish.” Dabi waved his hand.

“Not a huge fan of sushi.” You leaned back against Dabi’s side, soaking up his warmth. “Nugget might like a piece, if he weren’t asleep.” You tuned Twice’s incoherent rambling out for the most part, only zoning back into the conversation when his voice got louder, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I thought he overcame… whatever his issue is…” Dabi grumbled. “Seems like it’s become more severe...”

“Looks like that forced remedy only made things worse.” Spinner looked over at Twice with an inclination of his head.

You looked up when Skeptic walked into the room with Hanabata behind him. “It’s time. Come on.”

“Shaddup! We’re dining on sushi over here!” Twice shouted over his shoulder—though, despite his outburst, everyone still got up and followed the two out of the room.

“It was our money that paid for that fish, yeah? As well as your medical treatments, the video doctoring and Toga’s new coat,” Skeptic nagged, veins jumping out on his face. You snorted at his annoyance.

Twice narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? So what? You’ve got us to thank for your Big Boss Baldy being here in this hideout and not zonked out in a hospital bed!”

“Just let it go, Skeptic. The Grand Comman— ahem—Re-Destro chose these people. And an order from Re-Destro is as good as any from Destro himself.”

“You guys are corny as hell,” you mumbled, wincing as you went down the stairs of the hidden passageway. “This place has too many damn stairs.”

Dabi pat you on the shoulder, a smug smirk on his face. “Want me to carry you, mouse?”

“I will literally bite you,” you deadpanned, earning a chuckle from him. You narrowed your eyes at the elevator you were approaching. “...okay, you fuckers have like fourteen-thousand sets of staircases and only one elevator? You should hire a better architect.”

“We’ll pass your advice on,” Skeptic said dryly.

You all walked down a hallway towards a stage that Re-Destro, Geten and Shigaraki were on, with the surviving members of the Meta Liberation Army gathered below. Hanabata and Skeptic went ahead of them, signalling for the rest of you to stay.

“I thought all of Tomura-kun’s handy-hands got busted up?” Toga asked when she noticed Shigaraki still had Father on his face.

“One of them survived. It’s a miracle it stayed intact in all that chaos.” Spinner frowned.

“Yeah, cus it’s like… his defining gimmick.”

You hummed. “I’m just glad everyone got out alright at the end. I was really concerned about you and Shiggy, Toga.”

“—I now see that Shigaraki Tomura is a true liberator! It is out of reverence and necessity that I abdicate my position!”

“This guy is a real ass-kisser, huh?” You shook your head with a scoff.

“It’s kinda impressive how fuckin’ good at suckin’ up he is,” Dabi drawled, hands in his pockets. “Hey, mouse. You could take a page out of his book.”

A laugh bubbled up out of your mouth. “In your dreams, pretty boy.”

“—The League’s Spinner and I devised this name together—”

“Oh, psst. That’s our cue.” Toga gestured to everyone, walking towards the stage.

“—now, tell them what it is, Shigaraki Tomura!”

You stuck next to Dabi’s side, though it was more like you were hiding behind him instead. “I don’t like crowds…” you mumbled, gripping the back of his trenchcoat. He just chuckled quietly.

“Uh…” Shigaraki lifted up a small piece of paper and read off of it—Spinner and a few of the others made a face at that. “‘We removed the ‘villain’ part and expanded on the concept of liberation. I give you… the Paranormal Liberation Front! Furthermore, I appoint the ten individuals you see here as my lieutenants, who will each be forming teams suited to their separate needs.’” He then scoffed, taking Father off his face. “Hmph… that name’s just a decoration. Kinda like this thing here… we’re gonna do whatever we want!”

As everybody cheered, the members on the stage began to disperse. While everyone else went backstage, you followed Dabi down off of the stage, keeping your tight grip on his trenchcoat. “I really don’t like crowds…” You tugged on the fabric nervously.

“Y’know, you don’t have to come with me to see Hawks, mouse.” Dabi frowned, looking at you.

You immediately shook your head. “Nuh-uh, no way am I going off anywhere without you. Too many people.” Definitely not gonna admit it’s also partially because there are people obviously checking him out and I don’t like it.

Unfortunately, judging by his expression, Dabi caught onto your train of thought. “Uh-huh…” He smirked. You glared halfheartedly at him.

“Shut up,” you grumbled.

Dabi just snorted, stopping when you reached Hawks. “Well, how d’you do, Mr. Number Two? You’re looking pleased as punch.”

“Sure am! Now how about some intros?” Hawks smiled at you both, his eyes lingering on you.

Dabi narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, placing his hand on your waist and pulling you against him. “Sure thing. Follow me.”

— TWO MONTHS AFTER THE DEIKA CITY INCIDENT…

In the two months following the Deika city incident, you were convinced Hawks never learned the concept of personal space. You were currently hanging out in the sitting room, with him right next to you, his thigh pressing up against yours. He was talking animatedly about something that you were absolutely not interested in. Boo was on the nice dog bed you had ordered for her, asleep. Her body wrapped was protectively around Nugget, who was nestled up against her stomach. (Nugget was also ignoring the fact he also had a nice new bed, instead choosing to cuddle with his sister.)

Boo’s tail thumped against the bed a few times as Dabi walked into the room—you immediately gave him a desperate look. Judging by the way his jaw clenched and nostrils flared, seeing Hawks so close to you pissed him off to no end. “Oi, chicken. Don’t you know not to touch what doesn’t belong to you?”

Hawks just laughed, leaning back and putting his arm behind you. “Last I checked, I don’t think you can own a person.”

You made a face. “I think what pretty boy means is that you should really practise the concept of ‘personal space,’” you laughed awkwardly.

“What can I say? I’m a friendly guy.”

“A little too friendly,” Dabi growled. “I’d appreciate it if you moved away from my partner.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Dabi. We’re all friends here.” Hawks grinned.

Dabi scowled. “Are we?”

“Alright, the testosterone in this room has skyrocketed to dangerous levels,” you groaned, scooting away from Hawks. “Any more and a brawl might break out and I ain’t takin’ responsibility for that shit.” You then looked at Dabi with a mischievous grin. “And I thought how you got with Shiggy was bad,” you teased.

“At least dear ol’ Dusty knew what personal space was and didn’t blatantly flirt with you.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he knows how to flirt.”

“Speaking of your boss, when’ll I get to meet him?” Hawks interjected. You side-eyed him suspiciously.

Dabi gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “In due time. He’s busy right now.”

Ah, yeah… goddamn, I miss Tomura, you thought, frowning a little as your mood dipped, I wish he’d just listened to me and decided to forgo that damn operation. I don’t trust it. At all.

“Tomura, I really don’t think you should go through with this. If All For One had the ability to give his Quirk to you, why would he wait until checkmate? Why wouldn’t he pass it on when he’d be able to help you control it?” You shook your head, pacing back and forth in front of Shigaraki, who was sitting on his bed as he played something on his GameBoy. “And why would he be so willing to put you in such an extreme amount of pain? I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You’re doing it again,” Shigaraki grunted, annoyance lacing his voice.

“Doing what?”

“Worrying about something inconsequential—nothing’s going to happen.”

“What if something does happen?!” You threw your arms into the air in frustration. “You’re my best friend, Tomu. I don’t… I don’t want to see something go wrong.” You practically collapsed next to him on his bed, running a hand down your face.

Shigaraki paused his game. “What do you even think’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t know! What if you die?! What if the Quirk wrecks your body, like Dabi’s does to his?!” You flopped onto your back, putting your arm over your eyes. “It just… doesn’t seem safe. Something’s off.”

“Ujiko is gonna modify my body to be able to withstand multiple Quirks.” Shigaraki sighed, “I get that you’re worried, Y/N, but I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You immediately shot back upright, staring at him. “He’s going to what?!”

“He’s going to make it where the Quirks won’t wreck my body. I’ll be fine.”

“Tomura—” You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I know Ujiko has made the Nomus to where they can have multiple Quirks, but those were corpses. There is a giant fucking difference between a corpse and a living, breathing person! Playing around inside of someone is no joke, Tomu. The possibility of you not even coming back as yourself is higher than you’d think. Please, please rethink this.” “This is the only way to destroy hero society. I’m going through with this operation.”

“Oi, earth to mouse.”

You snapped back to attention when Dabi’s voice cut through your thoughts, looking at him with a tilt of your head. You could see the thinly-veiled concern in his eyes.

“You alright? Ya spaced out for a moment there.” Hawks nudged you with a wing.

“Ah, yeah. Just thinkin’.” You stood with a strained smile. “I’m gonna head back to our room, Dabi. The little guys need to eat soon, and I gotta take a shower.” Boo’s head perked up at ‘eat,’ her tail wagging harder. Nugget woke up at her excitement, getting up and stretching.

Dabi gave you a long look and sighed, “I’ll come with. Keep ya company.”

“Have fun.” Hawks winked, earning a hard glare from you.

“Don’t even start. I have enough of that with pretty boy there,” you grumbled, whistling for Boo and Nugget to follow you back to your room as you walked out.

Before he walked out after you, Dabi narrowed his eyes at Hawks. “Watch yourself, birdbrain. You’re gettin’ a little too comfortable with Y/N.”

He only held his hands up in front of him with a smile, laid-back demeanour never fading. “I’m just bein’ friendly. No need to get all defensive.”

Dabi just sneered, then turned on his heel to follow you to your room.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #todoroki toya x reader #todoroki toya x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #my writing #bnha fanfiction #navi: we cant fix each other #writing.txt

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antiloreolympus · 4 years ago

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7 Anti LO Asks

1. tbh the fact rachel purposely didnt let persephone have any romantic relationships before hades gives the impression that had persephone had any other experience, she'd see right through him and not want him because she had better. not having any other point of reference isnt good. its setting up that hades can get away with whatever he wants because she doesnt know anything else. thats really not a healthy dynamic to have even while dating, much less eternal marriage.

2. You know what’s weird? How Hades is a 2000+ year old being and still has not gone through his trauma. We know that he was eaten by Kronos when he was around 8 and stayed there for like 13 years if i’m correct (in the LO version), so we can assume that when he got out he was in his early to mid twenties. And then he fought in the war which we don’t know how long it was in LO bc there’s no info on that at all but let’s assume that that lasted 100 years.. he’s still pretty young there. So how is it that he’s only now getting help for his traumas? Which we don’t even see actually, it’s just a sentence said by him when he adopts the little dog. We don’t even know how old he actually is bc it’s always assumed it’s 2000+ but 2000+ years old could mean 2030 years old or 2999 years old or even 3000 and more and he has just lost track of time. All of these years and he still has not processed or made any progress?? At all?! Unless therapists are a new thing in the Underworld but we have Chiron who says that she was a physician in the old world but got tired of it so she decided to study the human mind. And that must have been quite some time ago. So why exactly is Hades a 2000+ broken man who needs to be fixed by a 19 year old going through her own trauma?

3. The underworld being an infertile world doesn’t make sense at all. If we compare the underworld with the underground it’s a fact that where there’s decay if is more fertile. Not to mention that in the myths the underworld is in fact considered a fertile land. We know that the underworld is full of souls, and souls are considered what give life to a body or place, so the underworld being a desert still doesn’t make sense at all.

4.If I may also add, just because LO is a “retelling” doesn’t mean it doesn’t harm Greece or Greek people. They still exist, funnily enough, they didn’t all die once Alexander the Great stop conquering. They’re a country full of strong, passionate people who have gone and are still going through massive problems and hardships. They are also a country who are still, at best, ignored, or at worst, mocked for the suffering they must endure by nations that are far from economic instability and from actual war zones like Greece is. Despite all that, their mythos are seen with great reverence to this day, and they don’t “gatekeep” it, you can ask any Greek in here and they’ll tell you they enjoy stuff like the Disney version or PJO just fine, but you have to stop and wonder why LO is a Greek myth product that is almost universally despised to Greeks who know it exists.

It’s pretty obvious why, RS not only butchers the myths completely to where they don’t even resemble what they once were, but her constantly silencing and badmouthing actual Greeks who want to help her make it more accurate is not a great look. She’s acting as if she, a white woman from an island made of literal England reject descendants, somehow not only knows more about Greek myth than actual Greeks, but that she OWNS the mythology and she can do whatever she wants with it, and only those who agree to her biases know what they’re talking about while everyone else is wrong, so obviously Greeks don’t know Greek mythology! Even media products in the same, non-Greek realm as her get her ire. Case in point, we know she’s hostile to PJO, she badmouths the Disney movie all the time, she complained about Blood of Zeus (emphasize on ZEUS) didn’t revolve around HxP, and despite them being heavily promoted by her own employers, she never speaks of Punderworld or HxP ficlets, even when her fans harass them and in Ficlets case purposely got them kicked off Canvas for “copying” LO, meanwhile she will happily promote OSP because they confirm her biases and kissed her butt in their HxP video. What does this tell us? Because it doesn’t seem very nice.

Of course she’s allowed as a creator to play with the mythology as she wants, but even then there are still limits to adhere to, and she never does it because obviously her half-baked concept of the “mythology” is way better than the 3000+ years of texts and interpretations out there. Sure she has people flinging themselves at her to offer her help for free, especially Greeks and academics, but what would they know over her, the self proclaimed master of mythology itself? Obviously she created it all in 2016 when she decided to draw a sexy pink girl and that’s it. Greece and everyone else was just using a fake version this whole time!

It seems from her POV, Greece ands its citizens are, in her own words “haters” who apparently know less about Greece and its own mythology than her, a white woman who uses a fanfic-writing white supremacist as a main source. The ego on this woman is astonishing.

5. May I also add to the age discourse, something like Edward and Bella can get away with it because Edward stopped aging physically, mentally, and emotionally at 17, and even in story there is a logic to them still going to HighSchool after all this time. He may be 117 age wise, but he’s at the same exact level as Bella in every other regard. That doesn’t excuse his creepy actions, of course, but there is in canon logic to it to justify it and make sense.

I’d say LO could use this too, but tbh it wouldn’t work. Either it’d involve making a CEO king as immature and childish as a 19 year old (not great) or it’d have a 19 year old suddenly be way wiser beyond her years which wouldn’t make much narrative sense, but also has some really creepy implications to it. Anyway RS dug herself into a stupid hole and doesn’t know how to get out of it.

6. im in the same boat 😭 i was watching one of those LO critique videos you posted and they were showing panels from early on and i just thought "they photoshopped this, right? theres no way it looked this bad. they're just goofing around with this" and nope, that's exactly how they looked the video didnt change a thing. the bright colors really were distracting your eyes from seeing how bad it looked.

7. Correct me if i’m wrong but in one of the first few episodes wasn’t Hades annoyed with Persephone? Especially at the panel where she wanted to drive his car? Like nothing has really changed in her behaviour with him apart from her being more flirty, but the only change is that Hades started viewing her more sexually. Always thinking about her breasts and butt, and nothing else. Half the time he was thinking about her, he wouldn’t even think of her face. So how exactly is their relationship a romantic and lovely one?

#anti lo art #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lo

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goth-oatmilk-latte · 4 years ago

Note

what happend?

if this is in reference to my education post ill give u the abridged version.

i pay just as much to go to a college for 2 yrs that i do for my pre med 4 yr program and my 2 yr mortuary science degree i feel robbed. my professors didnt teach, i learnt everything from quizlet or teaching myself. they had no respect for our donor cadavers, our lab conditions are abysmal, i was made fun of and told my anorexia made me unprofessional and unemployable, my professor many times laughed that he made the lab days long and grueling for no reason, and the cherry on top is i dont get my diploma because i didnt take the national board exams, which i couldnt have before graduation, because IT ISNT ALLOWED, SO WHAT THEY ARE DOING IS ILLEGAL.

So i wrote an appeal to the school about getting a tuition refund and copied in the state board, who got me on a call today with the state and national board about my email and that brings us to today. the board is EXTREMELY unhappy with what i said and they are going to look into all of it. i sent them the class syllabus, copies of study guides i paired with quizlets made YEARS ago that were word for word copied, and i sent several screenshots of the bare bones requirements our professors had for us bc they are too lazy to teach.

im not sorry if they lose their job or the school loses accreditation. in fact, thats my goal. i dont think anyone should suffer academically bc a school is fighting to stay accredited. i also dont think we should exploit the poor the way the school does and i made that very clear that the college doesnt reverently care for the cadavers and i was always disgusted with myself after i left bc i wouldnt EVER present a family with what my professor approved as "good enough." i take pride in what i do because i love what i do. my colleagues deserved better than the half assed education we received and those donor bodies and their families deserved better than the "care" the school provided at the expense of an overwhelemed and bereaved family.

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xamaxenta · 4 years ago

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Still horribly obsessed with Judai walking past the Kaiba Corp tech labs and seeing Dr Fudo working on the newest duel tech

And he just pauses like

“Hey Mokuba?”

And his boss turns with a questioning look and Judai gestures through the glass at Yusei

“Is he new, never seen him around before.”

“Newish. He started roughly around the same time you did.” Mokuba replies tucking his phone back into his pocket

“Could I ask you a huge favour?” Judai tries and fails to hide his growing smile, Mokuba squints at him suspiciously, glancing back and forth between his guard and the scientist

Then he puts two and two together

“I will not be so biased as to become your wingman.” He says sternly and Judai does his best to appear innocent

“Im not sayin you should be my wingman but youre the boss, you could put in a good word for me.”

“About what, Judai ? He thinks in quantum binaries half the time and writes all his notes in morse and self published code, you, on the other hand don’t think at all.” Mokuba replies exasperated

“Ouch dude. You could just say my protection services are top notch should he ever need em”

“What’s he going to need muscle for to punch a particularly hard equation?” Its a forgettable thing that Mokuba Kaiba can become as scathing and sarcastic as his elder brother and Judai winces

“I just don’t want you to get thoroughly rejected,” Mokuba softens his approach

“What makes you think I’d get rejected?”

“He’s married to his work what can I say, there’s never been a more dedicated person at Kaiba Corp than him.” Mokuba swipes across the holograpic file presented to him by his secretary

“Yeah there is you’re looking at him.” Judai jokes and Mokuba rolls his eyes fondly

“Besides if you got rejected I would never hear the end of it, you’d follow me home like some sad puppy and dramatically request a department transfer.”

“You really have no faith in me and ye olde Yuki courting tactics huh?” Judai retorts mock offended.

“And you want to bet with me on your love life?” Mokuba clicks his fingers and the holograpic folder closes and disintegrates on his snap.

“Yeah loser has to do whatever the winner says for one full day.” Judai grins as if he were already victorious

“Please this isn’t grade school Mr Yuki.” Mokuba scoffs

Its in that moment the pleasant hum of the labs dual sliding doors buzz open and Dr Fudo steps out, halfway out of his lab coat when Judai pivots on his heel with the most dashing smile on his face.

“Hey, did we just share electrons? Because I'm feeling a covalent bond between us.”

Mokuba slaps a hand to his face, partly out of extreme secondhand embarrassment and mostly out of mortification at his bodyguards’ bullheaded audacity.

Dr Fudo sizes Judai up with that brilliant electric blue gaze, one that made you feel light years beneath him, not out of arrogance or self importance, but because Dr Fudo was such a remarkable person it was hard not to feel inferior in his presence.

And of all reactions, quirks a smile as he tucks his glasses into the pocket of his labcoat.

“That was pretty good, have we met?” Dr Fudo extends his hand and Judai reverently takes it because holy shit he did not expect that to work.

Mokuba waits approximately six minutes and twenty three seconds for Judai to exchange numbers with their incomprehensible resident genius. And when his guard finally falls in step with him does he address the smug rogue

“Well I hope you’ve got some spicy things in mind for me whenever you want to cash in the bet winnings.”

Judai predictably isnt listening, hes one step behind Mokuba with his tongue peeked out in concentration whilst he finishes typing out the seventh adorably cute kaomoji beside Dr Yusei Fudo’s name in his phone

Theyre now seven minutes and fifty four seconds late to the meeting. But Mokuba doesn’t have the heart to have Judai explain their tardiness, not when he wears a smile so pure and bright

Mokuba will never understand the youth these days

#haha what is this #sorrey #starshipping stuff #bodyguard au

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goldencuffs · 6 years ago

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I'M HORRIBLE AT PROMPTS. laurent trying to do something really nice for damen&it kind of goes to hell but damen loves him so much&can't quit loving on him for it all? or laurent goes to some university&everyone thinks he's gorgeous but he's kind of a bitch&when he tells them he has a boyfriend everyone is like yeah right then damen comes to pick him up, looking hotter than anyone has any right to be&laurent melts with him? i'll read literally anything you write, it could be a n y t h i n g

@marrieddorkss im so so so sorry this took so fucking long lmao my god. im a mess. hopefully you still like it?? and it isnt such a fucking disaster lol??

Summary: Laurent decides to do something nice for Damen – and then immediately regrets it.

When Laurent comes back from his last class of the day, it’s to find Damen standing outside his dorm room, wearing a nice, oversized tank top and fraying shorts. The duffle bag by his feet is packed full; Laurent can see the sides of it are lumpy.

“Hey.” Damen’s smile is pleasant. It transforms his face and makes him look younger, despite the stubble growing across his face.

Laurent smiles too. “Hello,” he says, and when he’s close enough, he rests his hands on Damen’s hips and goes on his tiptoes to kiss his nose.

Damen’s smile widens, the creases by his eyes deepening. He scans Laurent’s face intently. “I’m guessing that your presentation went well?”

“It went well,” Laurent says. He pauses. “Actually, it went very well. I managed to answer every single question at the end.”

Damen wraps his arms around Laurent’s shoulders in a tight squeeze. “Fuck yeah!” He cheers. His enthusiasm is genuine, and it makes Laurent’s face heat.

“It’s not that big of a deal – I’m sure there are other people who did way better.”

“Stop that,” says Damen. He kisses Laurent’s forehead. “You killed it; I know you did.”

Laurent doesn’t answer. He just tips his head up in a silent request. Damen’s smile softens around the edges, and then he leans down to kiss Laurent fully on his mouth.

The kiss heats up quickly, as usual. Damen licks inside his mouth with vigour, his hand moving down Laurent’s back to grip his ass. Laurent moans into it, tugging on the front of Damen’s shirt to pull him closer.

Damen’s cock is already hard; it presses up against the inside of Laurent’s thigh in a slow, teasing drag. Laurent shifts his own hips forward, his body tight with anticipation.

A door slams shut at the end of the corridor and Damen detaches himself from Laurent in a measured pace, realising at the same moment Laurent does, that they’re in a very open, public setting.

“Come inside,” Laurent tells him.

Damen squeezes his ass again. “Here?” His smirk is sharp and arrogant.

Laurent hates how much he likes it.

He doesn’t let Damen know that though; instead, he rolls his eyes and drags Damen inside to his dorm room. It’s far from its usual pristine condition; Laurent hasn’t made his bed in a week, his dirty clothes are in a pile by the door and his desk is overflowing with papers, textbooks and plastic wrappers from food he’s bought lately.

Laurent grimaces at the mess. Damen doesn’t seem to mind, or even acknowledge it; he flings himself onto the single bed with as much ease as he can, hauling his duffle bag up with him.

“What’s in there?” Laurent asks.

The duffle bag is an expensive, leather one. For years, it had sat alone and dusty in the Revere’s garage, until Laurent had gifted it to Damen over the summer. Now, it’s used constantly; Damen takes it with him to classes and football practice and is rarely seen without it. He takes good care of it too: he diligently cleans it once a week and keeps it stored in his closet, away from sunlight.

Damen waggles his eyebrows in response to Laurent’s question. He sits up again and opens it with an exaggerated amount of fanfare, slowly inching the zipper in small tugs.

It’s amusing; it shouldn’t be, but almost everything Damen does makes Laurent laugh. He likes that.

Inside the lining of the bag, the tag is visible. It used to simply read ‘Revere’, but someone – probably Nikandros – has added, with marker, an apostrophe and the word ‘bitch’, so the entire thing says: ‘Revere’s bitch’.

Laurent also likes that.

Laurent doesn’t focus too long on the tag. The contents of the bag are much more appealing: there’s an assortment of treats packed haphazardly inside. Laurent can see chip packets, chocolate, tubs of ice cream and a four pack of Krispy Kreme donuts.

Laurent taps the lid of one of the ice cream containers; it’s sea salt, his favourite. “Did you rob a grocery store? Is this your first step into the tantalising world of crime?”

Damen’s shrug is uncharacteristically shy. His fingers are still toying with the zipper, but he still manages to look Laurent in the eye as he says, “They’re for you. I figured – depending on how your presentation goes – they’d either be celebratory snacks or conciliatory ones.”

Laurent smiles. There’s a sudden, pressing warmth in his chest. “Really,” he says, touched.

Damen is still shy; it’s a strange yet endearing look on him.

Laurent’s smile doesn’t waver. He pushes the duffle bag a little, so it ends up against the wall, rather than between them. He crosses the now empty space, shifting closer to Damen until Laurent manages to straddle his lap, knees digging into the hard mattress below.

He presses a soft kiss to the corner of Damen’s mouth. He keeps his mouth there, against the stubble across Damen’s jaw, and says: “Thank you. I love how thoughtful you are.”

Damen swallows, eyes darkening. His hands rest on Laurent’s hips. His touch is deceptively light.

This time, Laurent initiates the kiss. He keeps it slow, the way he favours, and Damen lets him. His hands begin to wander over Laurent’s body; even when they’re not fucking, Laurent has come to learn that Damen likes to touch him constantly.

When Damen’s hands settle on Laurent’s ass once more, Laurent shifts his hips a little. Damen’s other hand drops to cup Laurent’s ass cheek.

Laurent’s gasp is a quiet sound; most of it is swallowed by Damen’s mouth.

They begin a slow, steady rut. It reminds Laurent of the first time they did this, a few months ago in a secluded booth in Route, the small club down the road from their campus.

Laurent didn’t know Damen too well at the time, but he was always petering around the Student Life office, where Laurent had been volunteering on and off throughout the semester. He wasn’t sure what Damen did there: sometimes he volunteered to help with administrative tasks, but mostly, from what Laurent saw, Damen seemed to just want to hang around him.

They formed a tentative, shallow relationship that consisted of very poor flirting on Laurent’s part and a lot of unprecedented confidence on Damen’s.

It was obvious to everyone how much Damen wanted to fuck Laurent; he always looked half crazed every time Laurent so much as looked at him. Laurent found that he didn’t exactly mind it; Damen was attractive, receiving his attention was heady, and it wasn’t as though Laurent was swimming in proposals.

So, when Damen had asked him to hang out at Route with him on a Saturday night, Laurent had said yes, fully expecting the outcome of the evening.

Still, Damen had seemed surprised when, after two drinks, Laurent climbed into his lap. Their first kiss had been relatively innocent: just a short, chaste peck. Then Laurent, spurred on by the alcohol, deepened it. Damen responded eagerly, pulling closer Laurent and licking into his mouth with a shocking amount of indecency.

After a while, he’d pulled back. His eyes had been so dark, and he’d gazed at Laurent with awe.

Laurent had said: “If you’re going to keep looking at me like that, you might as well just fuck me here.”

Damen had inhaled sharply; even with all the noise around them, Laurent still managed to hear it.

Twenty minutes later, Laurent had been pressed down into his mattress as Damen licked him open for his cock.

As he’d pushed into him for the first time, Damen panted into his ear, “Fuck, I don’t usually do this on a first date.”

Laurent had laughed.

Afterwards, Laurent had thought he wouldn’t see much of Damen anymore. He knew how one night stands worked. He suspected that now that Damen had been inside him – more than once, actually – he would stop loitering around the Student Life office.

That didn’t happen. Instead, Damen seemed more persistent to hang around Laurent. Laurent let it happen. By this point, he’d grown fond of Damen, the way someone might feel fond over a stray puppy that constantly showed up at their door.

Besides, as the weeks wore on, Laurent discovered that as well as being extremely sexually compatible, Damen and he were also compatible outside of bed; they became fast friends, much to the bemusement of everyone else.

It’s amazing how far they’ve come, Laurent thinks. He doesn’t think he’s been so comfortable with anyone in his entire life.

Now, in the silence of his bedroom, Damen’s lips drag across Laurent’s neck. Laurent shivers, fingers running over Damen’s shoulders. He’s careful as he tugs off Damen’s shirt. Damen’s chest is marvellous – it’s all sculpted pecs and hard planes. There’s a tattoo of a lion roaring on his right pec. It’s the most obnoxious thing Laurent has ever seen, and the first time Laurent had seen it, he’d licked it. He might’ve felt stupid about it at the time, but that feeling quickly evaporated when Damen’s hips stuttered, and he’d spilled his release inside Laurent.

Once Damen’s shirt comes off, the need to get naked becomes a priority for both of them. Damen rolls Laurent onto his back after Laurent takes off his own shirt, mouthing over his collarbone, his nipples, his bellybutton, and then his hipbone.

Laurent is quick to unbuckle his belt when Damen kisses the waistband of his jeans.

Damen is always meticulous in preparing him. It doesn’t matter if it’s been five minutes or five days since they last fucked, Damen never rushes. Laurent’s given up on trying to coax him to be faster.

Laurent’s knee jerks a little when Damen’s fingers, covered in cold lube, circle around his rim in sure strokes. Damen kisses the inside of his thigh, then the crease of his groin as Laurent pants. When his finger breaches Laurent, Laurent turns his head into the pillow, moaning against the silk fabric.

“Please,” he says quietly, and Damen groans, long and loud. He likes it when Laurent begs, a fact that makes Laurent flush.

Damen continues fingering him. The sounds are disgusting, wet and sloppy. Laurent doesn’t understand why he likes it so much.

Finally, finally, Damen pulls away. Laurent’s fingers twist the bedsheets in anticipation. He knows he’s flushed all over; he can feel the colour vining across the bridge of his nose and down his chest.

Damen’s cockhead drags down his crease. It makes Laurent delirious.

“Yeah?” says Damen. His hand grips the base of his cock and his eyes are fixed on Laurent, like he can’t bear to look away. Laurent knows the feeling; Damen looks so good like this.

“Yes,” says Laurent, in Veretian.

That makes Damen groan again. He only gets louder as he pushes into Laurent. Laurent’s eyes go cross eyed at the initial stretch. He loves this: the initial pain of Damen’s cock entering him.

“God, Laurent.” Damen grunts as he starts thrusting, biting down on the column of Laurent’s neck.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Laurent says. His hands slide down Damen’s sweaty back. “Harder – please, I need it.”

“Fuck,” Damen gasps as he complies. He lifts his head from the crook of Laurent’s shoulder and kisses him.

Laurent keens into it. He wraps his legs around Damen’s waist, murmuring encouragements in Veretian against Damen’s mouth.

Damen’s thrusts start to get shallow; his rhythm isn’t synced, but it still makes Laurent’s toes curl.

“Good?” Damen says. His biceps are straining with effort.

“You know it is,” Laurent says.

“I like the confirmation,” Damen says with that terrible smirk, and Laurent closes his eyes and lets himself take it.

Damen comes first. He’s loud when it happens; Laurent is sure his neighbours hate him.

His cock is straining against his stomach when Damen pulls out. Laurent flushes when he feels the wetness inside him, and he darkens further when Damen pulls his ass cheeks apart, watching in awe as his come dribbles out of Laurent’s hole.

“Don’t touch your cock,” says Damen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Laurent arches his back when Damen’s mouth seals over his hole.

Damen slips his tongue in easily, licking into Laurent with enthusiasm. Laurent shakes under his grip. Damen’s stubble rubs against his skin, and Laurent knows it’s steadily pinkening.

He feels on edge. His cock is so hard it hurts. He pulls on Damen’s curls desperately, and Damen buries into him deeper.

Laurent’s mouth falls open. His quiet panting fills the room, joining the cacophony of sounds Damen’s mouth produces as he eats him out.

Laurent feels like crying. He almost asks Damen to stop because it’s too much, too much, too much.

Then Damen slows down to short, tiny licks. When he resurfaces, he gives Laurent a filthy wink. His chin is wet.

Laurent comes.

Every Thursday, Laurent and Damen have lunch at a small brunch place just outside campus. It’s usually packed, but Damen always manages to secure them a table. Laurent suspects this is because Damen has slept with one of the baristas. Damen has never explicitly denied this detail.

Today, their table is outside, along the gravel path leading to the campus gardens. The weather is nice; a rarity in Marlas, and Laurent enjoys the sunshine on his face.

Initially their weekly lunch meetings had been a habit borne out of practicality: last semester, one of the only days they could meet up was on Thursday mornings. After a good, thorough fuck, Damen always needed a cigarette, and Laurent always got hungry, so their solution was to head out to this particular brunch place.

Now, though, it’s become a fixed tradition between them. Damen also refers to it as their place – which Laurent still doesn’t quite understand.

Damen orders his usual – the everything breakfast – and Laurent, pleasantly reminded of this morning’s activities when he moves in his seat, decides to order the same thing.

Halfway through their meal, they’re interrupted by Nikandros, one of Damen’s teammates. Nikandros is wearing his letterman jacket, but he shrugs it off as he pulls up a seat at their table. He steals a chorizo sausage off of Laurent’s plate, despite Laurent’s protests.

Nikandros starts talking to Damen about the statistics of their latest game while Laurent finishes up his food. Once he’s done, he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He manages to finish half of it; he offers Nikandros the rest. Nikandros eyes fall on the cigarette, then Laurent’s mouth, before he forcibly tears his eyes away and shakes his head.

He addresses Damen again, his voice slightly hoarse, “Hey! I just remembered – guess who I saw coming out the law library today?”

“Who?” Damen takes Laurent’s cigarette.

Nikandros pauses for dramatic effect. His smirk is not as attractive as Damen’s. “Lykaios.”

Damen drops his cigarette. He doesn’t pay it much mind; instead, he leans forward in his seat, eyes alight. “Wait – seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

“Nah,” Nikandros shakes his head, looking pleased. “Asked her what she’s doing here, apparently she’s starting postgrad law this semester.” Nikandros pauses again. “Like you.”

“Wow.” Damen’s expression is brittle with disbelief. “What are the chances?”

“Seems like fate.”

“Who’s Lykaios?” Laurent asks.

“Oh,” says Damen. “She’s an old friend from when I still lived in Ios.”

“A friend,” says Nikandros. His expression is amused. “Oh, come on, you two were practically together.”

“That’s not true,” Damen says quickly. He casts Laurent a reassuring look. “It honestly isn’t.”

Laurent doesn’t understand why Damen is being so defensive; it’s not news to him that Damen has been with other people.

“You were pretty much in love with her, dude.” Nikandros picks a sausage off Damen’s plate this time.

“Oh,” Laurent says before he can help it. The statement takes him by surprise. One of the first things Damen had told him when they’d first started hooking up was: I don’t know what it’s like to be in love. In the stillness of the night, Damen had been vulnerable and open; it was the first time Laurent realised the person in his bed might be more multifaceted than he let on.

“No,” Damen gives Laurent another reassuring look. His foot presses against Laurent’s underneath the table. “I wasn’t.” His voice is firm. “There was a time I thought I was, but I was wrong.”

Nikandros clearly doesn’t believe him. He rolls his eyes and utters a small, “Whatever.”

Laurent pulls out another cigarette, thinking.

Later that night, Laurent is contemplative. It’s late: almost two in the morning and the rain outside is a welcome, soothing noise.

Laurent is so sore, he almost regrets the last round, as short as it was. It doesn’t keep him from draping himself over Damen’s chest, fingers lazily tracing over the tattoo on his pec.

Damen keeps running his fingers through Laurent’s sweat soaked hair, his fingernails gently scratching against his scalp. It’s so relaxing, Laurent feels like he could fall asleep like this. Practically, he knows he shouldn’t: there’s dry come on his stomach and between his thighs. He’s also sweaty, and Damen is too.

But instead of getting up, Laurent asks into the stillness of the night: “What is she like?”

Damen jerks a little; his eyes have been closed for a while now.

“Hm?”

“Lykaios,” Laurent says. “I want to know what she’s like.”

There’s a small pause. Damen shifts again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like she means a lot to you – and I’m interested.”

“She meant a lot to me. As in, past tense.”

“It didn’t seem that way during lunch,” Laurent points out. He doesn’t know why Damen is being so evasive and why it’s bothering him so much. “You seemed excited to hear about her.”

“Well yeah,” Damen says. In the darkness, it’s hard to read his usually expressive face, but Laurent can still sense a growing tightness in Damen’s body. “But that’s only because it’s been a while since any of us have heard from her. She sort of disappeared after first year.”

Laurent pinches Damen’s bicep. “Tell me.”

Damen sighs. He rolls over, so Laurent is unfairly jostled aside. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table. As the room is washed in a dull yellow light, Laurent can see how matted Damen’s hair has become, as well as the fingernail indentations along his shoulders.

“There’s honestly not much to say,” Damen says. His voice is very quiet, mindful of the neighbouring dorm rooms. “We were family friends for years, and in my senior year I realised I liked her a lot – more than I thought I did. But she had a boyfriend, so I never did anything about it. And then she dumped him because she liked me, but this time I was seeing someone. So, in the end, nothing happened.”

“That’s it?” Laurent frowns. In his mind, he keeps replaying Damen’s reaction at lunch; surely, there must be more to the story. Damen huffs. It almost seems like he’s pouting. He pokes Laurent’s stomach, hard. “You’re being very annoying.”

Laurent swats his hand away. “Are you still in love with her?”

“I already told you I never was. I just thought I could be because I was a horny eighteen year old.”

That makes Laurent laugh. It’s an unintentional sound, but it makes Damen smile.

“I’m not interested in anyone but you,” Damen says, too sincerely. The words hang heavy in the air.

Laurent doesn’t know what to make of it – not just the words, but Damen’s tone as well. It makes his stomach clamp up. He thinks Damen is making a point about how attractive he finds Laurent; in bed, the subject of Laurent’s body is always a welcoming topic.

So, Laurent says, a little awkwardly, “Thank you.”

Damen snorts. He looks fond. He kisses Laurent, and Laurent gladly welcomes it.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss. Damen keeps mapping out Laurent’s body with his hands, fingertips tracing over the veins across Laurent’s wrist, his chest.

“Think you can go again?” Damen says against his mouth. Pressed to each other like this, Laurent can feel Damen’s erection. It’s hot, he thinks to himself, how Damen physically reacts to him, even when Laurent hasn’t done anything to particularly excite him.

He’s still sore, sweaty and gross, but Laurent says: “Yes.”

Laurent is late to his study session with Damen on Wednesday. They normally don’t study together; tonight is an exception. Damen is apparently tired of being cooped in his room alone as he pours over his essays.

Outside the study room, Laurent pauses. Through the clear glass, he can see Damen is already seated, textbooks placed carelessly over the wooden tabletop. But he’s not alone. There’s someone seated on the edge of the table, in the one corner free of Damen’s things.

It’s Lykaios. Laurent knows it must be; Damen’s face is exuberant, creased with warmth. His smile is filled with teeth, white and straight, and there’s a lingering softness there. Laurent’s chest clenches with a foreign feeling. He’s unsure what it is, but then deduces it must be relief at seeing Damen so happy.

Laurent almost turns back. He wants to give Damen and his not-quite ex-girlfriend time to catch up. The thought of intruding on them with his presence fills him with anxiety. But he remains rooted on the spot because, for some strange reason, the thought of leaving them alone also fills him with anxiety.

Luckily – or perhaps, unluckily; Laurent still hasn’t made up his mind – Damen spots him through the glass. His smile, now directed at Laurent, changes instantly; it dissolves into a steady kind of fondness. His eyes seem to shine brighter.

It completely baffles Laurent.

His chest tightens again; this time, it’s much more pleasant.

Laurent supposes he should enter now. Damen seems to have forgotten about Lykaios; his eyes remain on Laurent as Laurent fumbles with the doorknob and steps into the room.

“Hey,” he says. His smile – and voice – wobble. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Damen’s smile, impossibly, widens even more. Laurent’s gaze is helplessly drawn to it.

They stare at each other for a few moments longer than necessary until Damen seems to remember they’re not alone. He fumbles over the introductions, face flushed.

Lykaios is unbelievably gorgeous. Like most Akielons, she’s very tall; even wearing flats she’s a few inches taller than Laurent. Laurent tries not to be bitter about it. Her hair isn’t as blonde as Laurent’s, but it’s long and shiny. Her eyes are amazing; long lashed and an intriguing colour, somewhere between green and blue.

Standing next to Damen, the two of them look like a regal painting. They look good together. They complement each other.

Laurent – unexpectedly, painfully – feels inadequate.

Lykaios rounds the table and shakes Laurent’s hand with vigour. Her smile is kind and open; her enthusiasm is genuine. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Damen has managed to mention your name about a hundred times in the last half an hour.”

Damen flushes at that, suddenly busying himself with rearranging his textbooks.

Laurent smiles. He can feel the heat travel across his face. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your study session.” Her voice is so sweet, Laurent thinks he could listen to her talk all day. “I was literally just walking past and saw Damen in here. I almost couldn’t believe it.” She turns to Damen and gives him in an assessing look. “It’s been what – six years?”

“Fuck off,” Damen says, with little heat. “I don’t want to be reminded of how old I am.”

Lykaios laughs at that. Her laugh is sweet too.

Laurent says, “You guys will probably see more of each other now. You’re in the same course, right?”

Lykaios beams. “Yep! Another weird coincidence.”

“Or fate,” Laurent points out.

Damen gives him a strange look. “Definitely just a coincidence.”

“Ah, who knows the mysterious ways of the universe,” says Lykaios. She gives Laurent a wink.

Laurent decides he likes her, despite the twisting in his gut.

It’s why he says: “Did you want to stay and study with us? We were also going to grab some dinner afterwards. You could join us for that too.”

Damen gives him another strange look; this one is brittle with disbelief.

Laurent ignores it. He keeps his eyes on Lykaios, who smiles at him.

“Thank you for the very kind offer, but I’ve already got plans tonight, I’m afraid.” She seems genuinely sorry, and it makes Laurent like her even more.

“Maybe next time,” Laurent says.

Damen frowns.

Lykaios doesn’t stay too long after that; she claims she needs to start getting ready for her night out. When she leaves, she kisses Damen’s cheek. Laurent bristles a little at that.

But his annoyance morphs into pleasantness when she hugs him goodbye – like Damen, she is very touchy, Laurent notices.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Damen kisses Laurent, hard and open mouthed. It’s a terrible kiss; Laurent isn’t expecting it, and he almost topples backwards with the force of it. Then he starts laughing, so Damen’s mouth mostly meets his teeth.

The second one is much, much better.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past ten minutes,” says Damen. “Next time, kissing first, and then we move on to having a conversation.”

“Shut up,” says Laurent. He pulls out his textbooks, trying not to laugh. After a few moments, he says, “She seems really nice. I can see why you liked her so much.”

He imagines Damen at eighteen, maybe a little naïve and cocky, completely enamoured by Lykaios’ sweetness.

Damen rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He squints at Laurent. “You’re not still hung up on that are you?” His mouth deepens into a smirk. He waggles his eyebrows. “Need me to prove my loyalty, baby?”

Laurent flushes. It’s not the first time Damen has used that endearment – he mostly says it in bed – but it still catches Laurent off guard every time.

His mouth is suddenly very dry. The only thing he can manage to say is: “Shut up.” And then he gets to work, smiling into his shoulder when Damen’s foot wraps around his underneath the table.

Lykaios’ Instagram is an explosion of colour: she likes wearing a lot of red and green and purple. Her entire profile is filled with her travels, charity work, her friends, and some shots of her eyelids coated in glitter. The more Laurent scrolls, the more careful he is not to like anything.

There are plenty of pictures of her from high school; Damen is in most of them, fresh faced and youthful. It’s strange to look at: nothing about Damen is boyish, but these pictures prove otherwise.

Laurent comes across a photo of Lykaios and Damen from six years ago. In it, Damen has his arm around her waist while Lykaios rests her head on his shoulder.

The caption is: hbd to this guy aka my soulmate #finally18

Soulmate, Laurent thinks. His mouth purses.

Damen’s comment is the first comment. It reads: love u ly!

Laurent puts his phone down.

His thoughts come too fast: he starts to think of all the ways Damen and Lykaios fit together, how connected they seemed even after so much time apart. He thinks of how nice they looked together.

Then, Laurent starts thinking of all the nice things Damen has done for him over the last few months. The duffel bag full of his favourite snacks comes to mind, as does the time Damen took him to a fancy restaurant when Laurent had averaged a high distinction last semester. Damen had even driven him almost forty minutes to the dentist once, even though he had an assessment due in the afternoon.

Damen is always doing nice things for him, and Laurent realises, guiltily, that he’s never quite returned the favour. His own gestures have often been small and unnoteworthy; they’ve never possessed the grandeur of Damen’s actions.

Laurent knows exactly how to change that.

Laurent isn’t the most forthcoming person. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to gather enough courage to message Lykaios on Instagram. But once he makes it past his awkward introduction – hey this is laurent in case you don’t remember me – to which Lykaios had responded ofc i do silly!, their conversations are light and easy.

The more Laurent talks to her over the week, the more he’s convinced of his plan. Lykaios is everything Damen needs and vice versa. It’s crazy how similar their personalities are: they’re both incredibly sweet, intelligent and interested in almost all the same things, from okton to hiking.

The next week, Laurent invites Lykaios to his and Damen’s weekly lunch outing.

Damen smiles when he sees him. He doesn’t lose the smile on his face when he sees Lykaios, but his eyes snap to Laurent’s in confusion.

“This is a nice surprise,” he says, although his tone is dry.

Laurent pretends not to notice it. Lykaios kisses Damen’s cheek in greeting and Laurent scratches at his chest as he sits down.

Damen leans over the table to kiss him, but Laurent quickly picks out the menu and starts to read it, even though he’s practically memorised it by now. He doesn’t want Damen to kiss him now – especially in front of Lykaios – and ruin his plan before it’s had the chance to even formulate.

When he puts the menu back, Damen is openly frowning.

It disappears as Lykaios begins talking. The transformation is amazing; Damen is instantly captivated by her. Laurent swallows. This is good, he reminds himself.

Laurent waits about ten minutes. He’s started to notice that even though Damen is laughing along to all of Lykaios’ jokes, he’s still shooting Laurent glances every few seconds.

The question on his face is clear: why is she here?

Laurent plays with his phone for a while. He tries to make it look like he’s texting something important; he keeps his brows furrowed in concentration.

Laurent isn’t the best actor, but even he’s proud of himself as he lets out a small gasp.

“What is it?” says Damen, instantly alert.

“Nothing,” Laurent waves him off. “It’s just that I completely forgot I had a study session right now.” He stands up, grabs his bag. “I should go.”

“Wait –” Damen’s face pinches. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m sorry, but this is really important.” Laurent turns to Lykaios and smiles. “You two stay and have fun.”

“But –”

“Bye!” Laurent says it too enthusiastically, cutting Damen off. He walks out of the brunch place with hurried steps. He turns back at the end of the gravel path just to check if –

His chest tightens with pleasure – yes, pleasure, although he’s not sure why it doesn’t feel like it – when he sees his absence has made little disturbance. Damen and Lykaios are laughing together, mouths open in delight.

Over the next few days, Laurent organises more and more outings with Damen and Lykaios. Damen never seems to stop looking confused whenever Laurent invites Lykaios, but he also seems happy to see her, so Laurent counts it as a win. During each outing, Laurent manages to come up with a different excuse each time as to why he needed to leave early. Damen always looks disappointed. Laurent is weak for it; he can’t count how many times that look has almost made him stay, but he doesn’t, because it would be detrimental to his plan.

Laurent makes sure to text Damen whether or not he enjoyed his time with Lykaios. Damen’s responses are pretty much the same every time: Yes, but it would’ve been better if you were there too.

It frustrates Laurent. Damen isn’t supposed to still be thinking of him while he’s hanging out with his potential soulmate.

Lykaios is the first to grow suspicious. She confronts him at the next outing. They’re in an idyllic little bar in the city, with a cosy atmosphere. It’s a perfect date venue.

Damen heads to the bathroom, and Laurent stands up, ready to leave, when Lykaios stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Laurent,” she says. “Is there a reason you keep depriving us of your company?”

Laurent manages a sheepish smile. He wonders if he should say anything at all. Then, he decides he should: he feels like Lykaios would appreciate his directive.

Laurent plays with the little sugar packets on the table. “I’ve been trying to get you and Damen to spend more time together. Alone,” he adds, when he sees her confusion.

“Why?”

“Well…” Laurent hesitates; he’s just now beginning to realise how awkward this is. “I think you two would be good together…romantically.”

Lykaios raises her eyebrows.

Laurent continues, fingers still fidgeting. “It’s just…Damen mentioned how much you two liked each other a few years ago. And I think Damen still regards you very highly. Plus, you two are so alike – I just think it makes sense.”

Lykaios’ eyebrows don’t lower, but she casts a backward glance towards where Damen has disappeared to.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about Damen and I…” she begins, and Laurent’s gut twists with…relief? Yes, he’s sure it’s relief. It’s a good – great – thing that Lykaios is interested in Damen. “But I thought –” Lykaios pauses for a few seconds. “I mean, I was under the impression that you and Damen were together.”

Laurent laughs, and then he realises she’s being serious. “You – no. We’re not. We’re friends.” Friends who spent a lot of time sleeping together, sure, but Laurent doesn’t think mentioning that now will do him any favours.

Lykaios’ face instantly changes. Her smile takes up her entire face; it’s stunning. She’s stunning.

Laurent shifts in his seat. He clears his throat. “So – you…you want to date him?”

She flushes, and it only makes her look more beautiful. “Like I said…I’ve definitely thought about it.”

“Oh – good. That’s awesome. Damen will be so happy.” He stands up. “So, I’ll leave you two alone?”

Lykaios nods. “Thank you, Laurent.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He turns around to leave. Everything in his body is screaming not to.

He keeps reminding himself that he’s doing something nice for Damen: that Damen will appreciate the fact that Laurent set him up with someone like Lykaios, a brilliant woman he has a past with. His mouth is dry, and Laurent’s palms are suddenly sweaty. Briefly, he wonders if this is always what happens when people do nice things for another. If it is…he might have to limit his niceness.

Laurent doesn’t mean to start ignoring Damen’s calls or texts. It just happens. He isn’t in the mood to listen to Damen go on about Lykaios; Laurent already knows she’s amazing.

He’s also confident that they’re dating now – or at least getting there. Lykaios posted a lot of snaps from the last night Laurent left them alone, and all of them had been of Damen smiling, drinking, smirking at the camera. They’d been there until three in the morning; Laurent knows because he’d stayed up until then, refreshing his Instagram feed to see any updates on Lykaios’ story.

What had they even been doing for so long anyway? Damen had called him until eleven, before he presumably gave up. Had Lykaios pulled a move on him? Had they gone back to Damen’s room, fucked on his bed? Had Damen thought of how he’d fucked Laurent on that same bed just last week? Or had he been so consumed by Lykaios and her pleasantness that Damen hadn’t even thought of Laurent?

Laurent had had the worst night of sleep.

And then a few nights ago, Nikandros had posted an image of the football team hanging around at his dorm room. (Laurent vaguely remembers being invited to that). In the photo, Laurent’s eyes had immediately been drawn to Damen in the corner, his head bent down as he said something to Lykaios, who had been smiling widely. It had looked very intimate. Laurent had turned his phone off when he saw it.

Alone in his room, Laurent lies on his bed, heart constricting. He should be happy for Damen. It’s frustrating him that he isn’t. And worst of all, he doesn’t know why.

He thinks it might be because he’s gotten so used to having Damen around all the time. If Damen starts seeing someone, then he’d obviously start spending less time with Laurent.

Laurent doesn’t want Damen to spend less time with him. If anything, they should be spending more time together. He only sees Damen about four times a week! That’s too little. Laurent should talk to Damen about that. He should tell him, Damen, even though you have a girlfriend now, I still want you to spend all your time with me, and I still want you to take me to fancy restaurants and then fuck me hard when we get home.

Horrified, Laurent rolls over and screams into his pillow.

A few hours later, while Laurent is trying to clean out his desk drawers, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a rapid set of knocks, loud and urgent.

Laurent frowns. He opens the door and his heart jumps when he sees Damen there, wearing a shirt Laurent had gifted him in the summer. Damen’s face is annoyed; it’s not an expression Laurent has seen often on Damen - and even rarely directed towards him.

Damen pushes past Laurent into the room. He takes up most of the space in it. Laurent’s heart still hasn’t calmed down.

“Tell me,” says Damen.

“What?”

“Tell me what I did wrong. I don’t like this passive aggressive bullshit.”

“What?” Laurent says again.

Damen crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You haven’t returned a single one of my calls or texts. You don’t want to hang out with me anymore. And I waited all night for you to show up to Nikandros’ and you didn’t.” When Laurent doesn’t say anything, he presses on. “Well? What did I do to piss you off?”

“I – nothing,” Laurent shakes his head, shocked. “I’m not mad at you.“

"Please,” Damen scoffs. “You -”

"I’m not,“ Laurent says. “I was just giving you some space.”

”Space. Why?“

"Well…” Laurent finds himself hesitating. “So you and Lykaios can spend more time together.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

“Um. She didn’t tell you?”

Damen’s eyes harden. His mouth presses into a tight line. “Can you please just give me a straight answer?”

“I’m – I’ve been trying to set you and Lykaios up.” Damen’s mouth drops open. Laurent quickly adds, “I talked to her about it and she said she’s been thinking of dating you too! So you know…” He trails off weakly.

There’s a sudden, pressing silence. It engulfs the small space of Laurent’s room.

In a very quiet, measured voice, Damen says, “What makes you think I would want to date Lykaios?”

“She really likes you Damen. And I think you two would be a good match. I mean – you’re so compatible.”

“No.” Damen’s voice is hard. “I meant: why the fuck do you think I would want to date Lykaios when I’m already dating you?”

Laurent’s eyes widen. His breath stutters in his chest. There’s a strange ringing in his ears. “We’re not dating.” His voice is too quiet; he can’t bring himself to repeat himself any louder.

Damen’s eyes bulge. It would be a comical expression if the atmosphere in the room wasn’t so deadly.

“Not. Dating.” Damen repeats between his teeth. “You – You really believe that?”

Damen’s mouth loosens around the edges. He looks like he’s received the worst news of his life.

“I –” Laurent fumbles with his words. The back of his neck prickles with discomfort. “We’re friends.”

“Is that what we are?” Damen scoffs. “My mistake, then.”

Laurent still feels wrongfooted. It’s almost like he’s not even experiencing this conversation, just watching himself have it.

“I don’t understand,” says Laurent. “I was just trying to do something nice for you. I thought it’d be good for you if you had a girlfriend like Lykaios.”

“For fuck’s sake, Laurent.” All of Damen’s anger melts away. His tone now is sullen. “I’ve literally been obsessed with you for the last six months – are you seriously just realising this now?”

“I’m –” Laurent swallows. “But you’ve never asked me out or called me your…boyfriend.” His tongue dries up around the world.

“I asked you out to Route all those months ago!” Damen says.

“No. You said: ‘do you want to go out with me to –’” Laurent cuts himself off. Now that he thinks about it, he’s sure that Damen did ask him out on a date. He’d also said, I don’t usually do this on a first date while they’d been in bed together, hadn’t he?

The realisation stumps Laurent.

“Oh,” he says.

Damen sits down on the edge of the bed, groaning. He buries his head in his hands. “Oh my god, Laurent. How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

Laurent supposes he should feel offended by that. He isn’t, though, because he genuinely feels stupid.

“You still didn’t make anything official.” Laurent says after a while.

Damen looks up. “Fuck you.” His eyebrows furrow. “What was stopping you from asking me?”

“Why would I say anything?! I thought you were only interested in fucking me!”

Damen groans again. He sounds like he’s dying. “If that were true, then why would I –” He gestures around the room. Laurent knows what he means. He thinks of all the…dates Damen has taken him on, all the gifts he’s been given, the fact that Damen doesn’t leave his side when they go to parties together.

Laurent closes his eyes. This is too much. He’s shocked by the anger that overtakes him – anger at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

Damen looks at him steadily. He gathers his thoughts. “Do you still think I should date Lykaios? Because you seem pretty invested in the idea and I –” Damen sighs. “I don’t want to – I don’t think I can be with you if you don’t feel the same as I do.”

“How do you feel about me?” Laurent asks softly.

Damen’s gaze is burning. Laurent is pinned beneath it. “Laurent, I love you.”

Laurent gasps. It’s a soft sound, but in the stillness of the room it rattles against the walls. His throat closes.

When a few silent moments pass, Damen sighs. He stands up, mouth drooping and fingers tense by his thighs. “Alright…That’s.” He stops. He gives Laurent a small nod. “I’ll just go then.”

Laurent blocks his path with a shrill, “Wait!”

Damen stops.

Laurent’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch Damen. But he knows he should – “I don’t want you to date Lykaios. I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking, alright? You just – you seemed so into her Damen, and I thought it would be nice if I did you a favour and set you up with her because you’re always doing nice things for me but then I got so sad and angry and confused every time you were together and then I felt guilty for feeling those things and I just –”

“Okay, slow down,” Damen’s hands grip his shoulders.

Laurent shakes his head. His chest is bubbling with all these emotions he’s refused to acknowledge. “I don’t want you to date Lykaios,” he repeats. “I want you to date me.” He pauses. “Only me.”

Damen snorts. “Easy. I’ve already been doing that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Laurent says. His throat is still tight with emotion.

“We’ll work on communicating better,” Damen says. He peers down at Laurent until their eyes meet. “I only want you, Laurent.”

Laurent collapses into Damen. He buries his head against Damen’s chest, weak in his relief. He even sniffles a little, something Damen thankfully ignores. “I only want you, too.”

Damen’s body loosens; he exhales and squeezes Laurent in his embrace. He kisses Laurent’s temple. “That makes me so happy.”

“Me too,” Laurent says.

Guiltily, he thinks of Lykaios. He remembers her excitement at the thought of being with Damen. Laurent needs to make it up to her, somehow, if she’ll let him. Maybe he could buy her flowers? Laurent has never bought flowers for anyone in his life, but he thinks Lykaios might like roses – unless that’s too romantic? Or maybe he could –

“Hey,” Damen says, interrupting his thought process.

Laurent looks up at him. Damen’s smile is radiant; it’s all white teeth and creased eyes. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favour.”

“Anything.”

Damen kisses him. Laurent smiles into it as his entire body fills with an unparalleled warmth. He’s not sure if he loves Damen back…but he’s confident he’s getting there.

Damen pulls back. He assesses Laurent with a stern frown. “Don’t ever do anything nice for me.”

Laurent huffs. He hides his face in Damen’s chest again. “Shut up.”

#captive prince #this is 7.5k lol i dont understand the concept of a drabble clearly #please lmk if read more doesnt work i dont want ppl to scroll through such a long post #@marrieddorks im very sorry for this lol #my fic #my writing

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thecastcompany · 5 years ago

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Been awhile since we shared some of our prompts, where was a writing prompt from last week! We had skipped a writing prompt and gave them two

1. What is your biggest regret? 2. What were you doing last scourge invasion?

Here are the answers from Jam, Rathfana, Cyliaa, Fyre, Lora, Sam and Vida

"Man I really wish I had some more cookies. They were super tasty. Oh the Scooge? Yah, last timeded I was attacked by one of those I'I'I'I'I was climbin' up a tree in Kill Tearass an'an'and I fell in a bee house an'and it was super sticky an BIG! And then i kept on fallin an' rollin and got lots of dirt and rocks and stuffs stuck to me so when I got home Roo attackeded me with a Scooge and said you needs a bath" @ciirianshandralin

Rathfana ponders it a moment. "Biggest regret? Probably being unable to save my adoptive mother from having to give her life so i could stay safe...which kinda leads us to the answer of your other question." she holds up one of his pistols. "Sending those hellspawn undead back to their graves in pieces."

There are two empty boxes of cake on the table in front of Cyliaa; along with various different papers, letters, bottles, and trinkets all scattered about. She thinks for a long moment, filling the silence with the scratching of a quill pen on paper before finally the cogs in her head start working. "Oh! I was in Darkshore when the whole ghoul thing happened. It was also the first time I met my master! I guess my mother knew her and they were the best of friends. Honestly I don't remember much about that whole thing! The sentinels protected us and that's why I want to be a sentinel too! So I can protect people again from all of this mess!" She smiles so brightly, but for a split moment her smile falters ever so slightly. "Biggest regret. . .mmm. . .too many to really list off! I guess I still feel bad about leaving home so suddenly. Oooh! I wonder if Miss Dyllie has any more cake left!" With a push away from the table, she walks out of the house. One last quick look at the table and one might notice how there was only one fork instead of two. . .

Fyre decided to show her face for the first time since the night of the scourge. She still didnt seem all there. "My biggest regret? The void. I followed a man in there thinking he loved me, and all I wanted was to be loved. He introduced me to the void, its powers and I became intoxicated. At one point, I was addicted. I can still till this day sense dark presences and void magic from a long ways away.... Im drawn to it and I hate it. Once I am there, in the void I lose all self control. I know what happens but I am not in charge of how it happens. Now, the ability to take a life and be able to have them experience pure bliss instead of regret and pain isnt so bad because it helps people... but when I see their lives flash before me, I repeat it in my head over and over... and it sucks sometimes because the people you thought were good...usually arent. The man I killed the night of the scourge? He was begging to die for more than once reason. And I get to relive that over and over until I take another life. As for where I was during the last invasion? Working, apparently death and violence makes people want sex and they are willing to pay well.

Lora tilts her head with a curious look. "The last scourge invasion? When was that? I...uh well I was alone up until a few months ago, in Vol'dun, I don't remember anything like this happening there..." She just gives a shrug at the other question. "Why do you ask hard questions? My biggest regret? The fact that I couldn't save my sister, I was too weak, I didn't understand how to heal with my Niki. The fact that I ran." She pauses briefly, her oversized hat falling to cover her face. "I know Nika told me to run, but I still regret it. That's why I'm training, so I don't regret losing another loved on." With a sigh, she hops down from the chair that was far too big for her. "Maybe get some Vulpera friendly chairs if you're gonna keep bringing up bad memories, huh?" With that she walks off.

Sam rotates his shoulder, which still stung from the frost wyrm attack. The scar over his left eye made him look even more menacing to the questioner than usual. The scars over his body, at least the ones that could be seen, made him look beastly. Sam growls, "My biggest regret is not stopping Azshara before the Legion came through the Well of Eternity. If I had perhaps we wouldn't be in our current predicament, though I suppose the silver lining is that without that happening I would have never met the people I have. The funny thing about regrets is that even though they are usually decisions you look back on negatively, they usually have a silver lining that would have never happened had you not made that decision. Though as you have just heard, we usually don't realize it until some self reflection. We tend to only see the bad results of our decisions and not the good, only the truly evil can view their decisions without seeing the bad, because they do not have the capacity for empathy. Normal people see the bad, because they empathize with those who were hurt by their decisions."

He sighs as he gets up, "As for the first Scourge invasion I was on the front lines fighting them back and then again on the front lines in Icecrown. Now if you will excuse me."

Coming from Vida:

Vida would sigh as she had a sad look on her face. "Yeah....I got a regret...." she said as she sat up straight and cleared her throat. "It was durin the scourge attack back then. I was in a beauty pagent, the Miss Ashenvale pagent. I remember it clearly....." she said as she smiled "My parents invited my whole family, I've been preparing a month in advance for this, I mean I was in my element!" She said as was excited " I mean I was ready to kick some serious ass and take home a win! I was the only goblin in it so I had a lot riding on me, plus all the other girls were so tall...." she said as she laughed a bit.

"So we were in the talent portion of it, my special skill was to take apart a motor cycle and re assemble in 10 minutes or less! Trust me standard issue basic bikes are child play for a goblin like me. The custom shit takes hours!" She said with cocky ness in her voice. "So when my turn came up, right before I could even grab my wrench, the scourge attacked! I mean people were in danger, and the other contestants were in trouble! So I picked up my tools and started attacking ghouls!" She said proudly as she hopped on a table and started doing random fighting motions. " I was like bam, and whack! People were shocked that I could kick ass despite my short stature! "She laughed

"I saved all those contestants lives! But there was one whom I saved personally; my wrench was stuck in the head of a ghoul so I ran up to save her by popping the ghoul in the head with my fist!" She said as she looked at her hand "Sadly i fractured my hand in the process but all in a days work for a hero like me !" [12:07 PM] She said as she was sad again "the next day the announced the show must go on, and with a busted hand, the disqualified me!!!" She shouted with anger " those tall bitches all shot glares at me and treated me like shit after saving thier ass's! You wanna know what I regret? I regret not letting those tree huggers die that day!" She shouted as she hopped off the table a flipped it out of rage before walking away.

Vida left put one important detail. She was revered as a hero for saving the contestants during the pagent. However prior to the scourge attack she had thrown a glass bottle of Kaja'cola at a contestant giving her a concussion. Her reason? In her words "She looked at me funny so I have her somethin to look at except I missed her eyes!"

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angrylizardjacket · 7 years ago

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ask your destiny to dance [17] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

It takes Roger exactly two weeks to realise he doesn’t know Ash nearly as well as he thought he did. There’s a lot to glean about a person from their room, and what they say, but not everything, not even close to everything.

“So I guess you’re working tomorrow?” Roger asks, leaning against the bar as Ash polishes a glass. It comes as a surprise when she makes a face, shaking her head. “We’re going on a pub crawl, if you wanna come along then.”

Ash takes her time before answering, hanging up the glass and pulling another from the rack before she finally speaks.

“I can’t, I’m busy, sorry.” And she sounds... uncomfortable about it. Roger’s never known her to be uncomfortable about anything that didn’t relate to her home life, and she can see the moment he jumps to that conclusion. “I’m going to Paris in the afternoon,” she says quickly, and Roger’s taken aback, “I don’t get home until late; train times, you know?”

“A day trip to Paris?” He asks, and Maureen leans over to Ash with a small smile.

“Is that where you go on those Saturdays? That’s cute, Ash, little routine trips to France.” She flicks Ash with the end of her tea towel, to which Ash smiles despite herself, blushing and flicking Maureen back.

“Oi, I’m just going to Paris, nothing cute about it. I’m allowed to have hobbies, you know.” She argued back, and Maureen snickered, smiling fondly at the ginger before she tucked her tea towel into her back pocket and went back to cutting lime wedges. “I’m going to The Louvre.” Ash explained to Roger, cheeks still faintly pink.

“The Louvre?” There was a surprise in his voice that Ash had expected, and when she looks up at him, she still seems a bit defensive.

“There’s free entry once per month; first Saturday at six.” She pauses, and when his expression brightens, hers falls and she feels like she’s said too much.

“Do you go every month?” He sounds delighted at the prospect, and Ash wants to defend herself, but then he says, “you shouldn’t be catching the train so late, it’s dark even at six, love, you must get home at like midnight; just let me drive you.”

“Rog, you don’t need to do that,” but her grin is more relieved than anything else, the tension leaving her shoulders as she goes back to her work, “you guys are going out tomorrow, and besides, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

“I can get on the piss with them any time; this only happens once a month.” And the way his words make Ash smile, quietly pleased, he’s already pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.

Things between them have been... weird. Good weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them less weird. They haven’t really had time for an actual date yet, they just sort of show up at each other’s homes and watch TV and make out whenever they don’t have work or rehearsals of a night. It’s been good, it’s felt safe.

When Ash sits on the curb outside of her dorm, she feels nervous more than anything else. It’s not a feeling she’s used to; she’s never been nervous around Roger before; it takes her probably too long to realise how much she wants this to go well. When he shows up, just after midday, he’s beaming from the second hand station wagon that he’d gotten since recording the album. There’s a map in the passenger seat.

“I’ve driven there before, but not for a while, you’re going to have to direct me.” He advises as she buckles her seat belt, putting her sketchbook and thermos by her feet and unfolding the map.

It’s a long drive, just over five hours, and Ash is nervous for about three of them, which is only compounded by getting lost twice, and eventually Roger pulls over.

“You’ve been tense since I showed up; what’s wrong?” He asks, and Ash sighs heavily, picking up her thermos and pouring herself a small cup of tea.

“I don’t exactly go blabbing about the fact that I make semi-frequent trips to Paris, alright?” Ash admits, and she takes a sip of her drink, looking out through the windshield. Roger’s not sure what that means, how to respond, and after a minute, she adds, “Freddie doesn’t even really know.” And she finishes the tea, putting the thermos back, and Roger’s still quiet. When she finally looks at him, his expression is fondly amused.

“You’ve made me feel all special.” It’s far too genuine to be a joke, and Ash lets herself smile back, rolling her eyes at him.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She warned, and Roger’s smile sharpened as he pulled back onto the road.

“Too late.” But he reaches over to rest his hand on her knee as she opens the map up again, and her heart grows warm, her anxiety easing. They turn up the radio for the rest of the trip; Ash hums along to the songs she only knows the tune of without too much hassle, yet somehow can’t seem to actually sing a note to save her life. She finishes butchering Elton’s Crocodile Rock at the top of her lungs, and Roger’s sides hurt from laughing, and she’s grinning in a way that means she knows exactly how terrible she is and how much it amuses Roger.

“I have other skills.” She says dismissively, grinning with her nose in the air as the radio host announces another song, and instead of answering, Roger sings along to the radio like he’d written the melody himself. “Showoff.” Ash laughed, and Roger’s eyes crease as he grins.

“I don’t have other skills, I gotta make use of this one.” He replied, lightly, and Ash’s expression softened.

“Oh shut it, you’ve got at least two other skills, probably.” She played along with his joke, watching him as he sings along to the rock song blaring from the radio, and it’s relaxed and easy, and she finds herself wondering why she’d been so worried just a few hours before.

They hit Paris at a quarter to six, and grab some fast food before heading to the gallery. There’s people everywhere, and the line isn’t exactly short to get in, more than a few of them are uni students like them, looking to get in for free, and Ash says hi to a few; the fact that she goes here enough to know other people who do this regularly to is still something that baffles Roger a little. He’s worried she’s getting nervous again when she takes his hand - they’re not the sort of people who hold hands - but when he looks at her, her eyes are shinning and bright as she looks up at the building; she’s excited.

Ash goes quiet in the gallery, looking around with wide-eyed reverence at the works around them. They move past the entrance slowly; Ash gazes at the works with their plaques memorised, while Roger reads them, fingers laced with hers.

“Oh, hello.” Voice reverential, Ash greets a statue at the end of the hall like an old friend, and introduces Roger as such. “This is the Venus de Milo, she’s almost two thousand years old, god, look at that marble work, imagine how sharp it would have looked back then,” and then it’s like she’s opened a floodgate, and she’s tugging him along, rambling along the way about each piece they pass, little facts not on the plaques, things she can cite from the top of her head. Above everything, she’s passionate, pulling out of his grip to clutch her hands to her chest and looking up at headless sculpture of what Roger thinks is an angel, and what Ash clarifies to be The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ash’s moon-eyed gaze was focused on the statue’s marble garments, but Roger’s only got eyes for her. When he doesn’t answer, she looks to him, catches the way he’s smiling at her, and she feels her cheeks heat up. “What?”

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” It’s a sincere question, and it’s as if he can see her responses flit through her mind, sarcastic, dismissive, an eye roll, flippant, she passes them all, takes a moment to really look at him, taking her time to breathe in the whole situation before responding.

“More than anything.” It’s a sincere answer, and it catches him off-guard. Ash is many things, but unapologetically enthusiastic is not one Roger’s familiar with.

Turning on her heel, Ash leads further in to the gallery, but it’s finally hits him how much this means to her, this place, these works, bringing him here. They’d been together for barely a fortnight, but they both know it’s felt so much longer than that; she’d taken a gamble, bringing him, he has no doubt she’d have left him in London if she didn’t want him to come along, and something tightens in his chest.

He doesn’t dwell on it, he takes it in stride well enough, peppering her with questions along the way that she seems thrilled to answer. Tucking her arm into his, they make their way through the building, the babbling turning to banter easily as Roger provides his own commentary on each piece as they pass, which serves to make Ash laugh.

They get to a small painting on the top floor with a border that looks bigger than the picture itself, and Ash has gotten quiet again.

“Who’s this?” Roger asks, the two of them stepping close to get a closer look.

“The Lacemaker.” Ash sounds a little awed, and when he looks down at her, Roger sees how fondly she’s smiling at the little painting. “She’s my favourite.”

“’course she is, she’s like you.” Roger answers easily, and Ash makes a face, laughing a little self consciously.

“No she’s not, shut up.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him, a bit of a laugh in her words, but she’s resting her head against Roger’s shoulder and he wraps an arm around her.

“Same focus.” Roger muses, and when Ash looks to him, surprise and confusion on her face, he just grins. “When you sew, you’ve got the same look on your face, same focus.” He explains, and there’s something in Ash’s awed expression that he can’t place, and she pulls away from him too fast for him to really identify it.

She’s pretty sure she loves him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

She can’t look at him, stepping out of his grip as she feels tears well in her eyes as her emotions overwhelm her, not that it’s an uncommon occurrence, Ash has never set foot in an art gallery and not cried, but Roger didn’t need to know that. She’d really been doing well today, too. Usually she gets lost in the scope and detail of The Wedding at Cana, or even comes to obsess over the little details of The Lacemaker, but she’s also usually alone and can get away with it.

“That’s- Rog, that’s really sweet of you to say.” And he can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to believe him, that she can’t let herself believe him. And when she turns back, she’s wiping at her eyes, and he wants to try and comfort her, but she’s already walking past him briskly, leading to the next painting.

“There’s something I’ve... well, I’ve always wanted to try here.” He hears her say, voice firm as if she’s trying to move quickly past whatever the moment she’d just had was. She leads not to the painting, but to one of the weirdly low, backless sofas that are scattered around for people to view the paintings from. This one’s empty; Ash looks around for security, and seeing none, steps up onto it.

“And what’s that?” He asks with a smirk, the sofa giving her only about two inches of height on him. He doesn’t ask why she’d almost started crying, and for that she’s thankful. Instead, his hands come to rest on her hips, and he’s smiling at her in that way that sets her heart aflutter.

“Don’t ruin this.” She warns very quietly, amused smile on her lips, and Roger quirks an eyebrow.

“Ruin what?” He asks, shooting for innocent, a million different things running through his mind that could make her smile, but would definitely ruin the moment; he bites his tongue.

Ash cups his face in her hands, and she can’t help but laugh as she leans in to kiss him. It starts sweet and tender, her lips soft against his, but he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. There’s people moving around them, most ignoring them, some stare, but neither of them seem to care. She tastes mostly like the tea she’d sculled in the car when they’d arrived, and she’s got a hand in his hair when he presses kisses from her jaw, trailing down her neck, and she laughs, a little giddy. He pulls back, if only to see her bright eyed and blushing.

“Let’s go home.” She says softly, and Roger’s never agreed to something so quickly, his heart elated to see Ash giggling and mischievous as they backtrack through the gallery, knowing that he and the art were the things that made her smile like that.

“I didn’t ruin it.” He sounds a little smug when he says it as they walk through the streets of Paris back to his car, and Ash glances at him out of the corner of her eye, snorting.

“I could see you holding yourself back from a one-liner about pinning masterpieces to walls or something like that; I appreciate your discretion.” She tells him, deadpan, and Roger gives her a self-satisfied grin.

“It certainly wasn’t easy.” He agrees, but she still reaches out and takes his hand. When they get to his car, he goes to head around to the driver’s side, but she pulls him back for a moment, pressing a kiss to his lips. After a moment, he’s got a hand on her hips, pressing her against the side of the car, and she sighs against his lips, her arms around his neck. Her legs slide open easily as she pulls him closer, letting him slide a knee between her thighs.

“Christ,” Roger breaks away from the kiss, murmuring the word against her neck as her nails graze his scalp.

“Thank you for today.” She whispers softly, and he can hear the smile in her words. He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Any time, love.” He steps back from her, enough to see her fond smile, and to give one in return, before he heads around to the driver’s side and they both get in the car.

It’s well past midnight by the time they get back, and Ash follows Roger up to his flat with a yawn, flinching as the door opens and Brian, Freddie, and John all greet them with a cheer, obviously taking a pit stop in the middle of their pub crawl.

“I was starting to sober up; the walk between the last pub and the next is directly smack bang in the middle of here.” Freddie claims with a surprising amount of confidence considering his words make no sense.

“No- this place is on the way to the next pub.” John corrects, and Ash has to giggle at the sight and sound of a drunk John Deacon. It never fails to amuse her, he’s surprisingly confident and well spoken.

“Yes! Deaky is right! You two can join us!” Freddie brandishes and subsequently spills on Brian, who’s sitting beside him.

“Go if you want, I’m knackered.” Ash yawns, giving Roger’s shoulder a nudge, moving past him to his room.

“Actually, I think I’m right, I’ve been driving for a while,” Roger says, making to follow Ash, only to hear Freddie boo loudly, and John call out after them.

“Where’d you guys go?” He asks, and Roger answers over his shoulder.

“Art gallery.” He answers, and he hears Ash snort from his bedroom.

“That’s... Rog, that’s surprisingly cute, didn’t know you had it in you.” Brian smiles at him, and Roger feels a little patronised by the pride in his flatmate’s voice. He flips Brian off, along with the rest of them, since John was grinning like the cat who got the cream and Freddie looked like he was three seconds away from actually ‘awe’ing.

“Did you kids have fun?” Freddie calls, sounding nothing so much like his own mother, wearing a shiteating grin, which only got wider as Roger told him to piss off, slamming the door once he got into his room.

Ash was standing by his bed, pulling off the shorts she’d been wearing all day, already wearing one of his shirts. Roger can hear the others on the other side of the door already laughing and talking about something else, all three of them trying to convince themselves to get up and move on to the next pub. She gives him an amused smile and Roger just rolls his eyes at his friends’ whole situation.

They don’t speak, though Ash’s yawn triggers one in Roger, and when he’s stripped down to his boxers, she’s waiting for him beneath the covers. When he kisses her, it’s a thank you for the day, and she hums a soft, contented noise against his lips. They’re too tired to even fool around, and Ash wraps her arm around him as he turns to lay on his side, pressing her chest to his back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade before they fall asleep.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile @cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe @florencewelchismybiggod

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #queen #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #ask your destiny to dance fic #the angry lizard writes

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neotericbitch · 7 years ago

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a sequel to DarqAnon

part the first

It’s quite abusive, there I said it, how you’re allowed to force a ritual onto a child, whether it be reciting an anthem or staring at the sun, before their brain has developed enough to comprehend the significance. In fact, doing so makes it more likely that as the child grows up, they will never truly find meaning in the action! How sad is that? I’d never force anything on my son.

Growing up, staring into the sun was something I never understood. For a long time I didn’t, I couldn’t conceive of the satisfaction or happiness my family derived from it. It meant something to them, so they tried to teach it to me, but it never meant anything to me. I understood that the sun was their god, but because I never truly believed, I couldn’t grasp how or why it would be important to them to stare up at it, burning their eyeballs out of their sockets. Their god was sending a clear message, do not look at me. Why would they do it anyway?

Oh, but - do keep in mind that that’s all in the past. I understand now. I understand perfectly.

Valkyrie Cain has the most brilliant black eyes. Truly, her every feature is marvellous, her sharp nose, her expressive mouth - but I always go back to the eyes. For Crandall, it’s her hands. They’ve shared many times over many meetings, to the point where I find it very annoying, that they want nothing more than to feel her hands on the sides of their head before she crushes it. I think it’s a nice little fantasy to have, just stop telling us about it. I have only ever shared what I wanted two, maybe three times. That’s an acceptable amount of times! Any more is overdoing it, Crandall! Crandall, I know you’re listening. I’ve been able to feel it even when a very good Sensitive is in my head, Crandall, and you are not a very good Sensitive.

Beside me they turn their head away. Why would they want to listen to my thoughts, anyway, when Valkyrie is here? I suppose I understand their hesitance. Darquesse, goodness - Darquesse wouldn’t stand for anyone hearing her thoughts, absolutely not! To attempt it on her would be a high offence. But Crandall, if you’re still listening, I’d say go ahead for the time being. Darquesse isn’t here. Not yet.

Looking at her, it all makes sense. I want to call up my mother and tell her I understand, I understand wanting - needing! - to look at something, even if it does not want you to. The sun may try to blind you. Valkyrie may glare and scream and curse. But you simply cannot look away.

I cannot call up my mother, of course. She has been dead for a hundred years, and I’m busy right now - and I don’t think there’s mobile phone reception here anyway.

For this week’s Thursday meeting, 6 to 7:30, we have made a temporary move from the community hall to the vault, generously donated for DA’s use by Nicki, who we had to murder. Dear girl, she didn’t want to let me hold the meeting here this week. I suggested it at the end of last week’s meeting and everyone was very excited. A hundred meters beneath the spot where Darquesse opened her portal to another dimension and disappeared - we’re so lucky to have this place! Of course everyone wants to come here whenever we have the opportunity! But Nicki said no. Nicki said to me, “Isserley, these meetings have been really great, you are a good organiser and I’m very happy to have met everyone, but I think what you’re planning is wrong. Please return the vault key to me.” So we had to kill her.

And here we are tonight, and I almost wish Nicki were here so I could say, to think you didn’t want this! The meeting is going very well, I think it’s our best one yet. 6:40 and we’re just about to finish setting up, we’re a neat little group of people. We won’t go over time at all! I’d like to say that I, being an incredibly organised person, have been a good influence on my fellow DA-goers.

Salma finishes painting the symbol on the ground. Her designs are ugly, but she has a steady hand and knows how best to use the petrol paste, a very special concoction. No one else could have done this job - though I must admit, I am a bit envious. Easy, Isserley! Remember, your job is the most important. Without you, this wouldn’t work. Without you, Valkyrie would not even be here.

Salma reaches for Valkyrie. She thrashes wildly - and I can’t say I blame her! I wouldn’t want Salma to touch me, either! Haha. But it really won’t do for her to behave this way, we really need her complete cooperation, so I motion to Respite at the wall and he turns the crank, tightening the chains attached to the bound cuffs at her every limb. She is pulled tight, and by the sounds of it it’s not a very comfortable experience, but now she is tense and mostly still - perfect for Salma to draw the symbol on her wrists and stomach.

She puts up a hell of a fight when Respite disconnects the chains from the wall and reconnects them to the floor, at each corner of where the symbol has been painted so she is now seated in the centre. I can’t help but smile! She reminds me of one of those beautiful shrine maidens. If only I’d thought of that earlier. I would have put this off one more week and gotten an outfit made. But the clothes she put on herself this morning are more than lovely. Darquesse will like them. Darquesse will like being back.

Valkyrie keeps straining and trying to get up, the poor dear! I wish I could go over there and pat her face, like I used to pat my son’s when he was resisting me - I wish I could tell her everything will be alright. But I know, even chained and without magic, she could certainly find a way to kill me if I were within reach. And I don’t want her to kill me until the ritual is complete, of course! Otherwise what would be the point?

“I don’t even know,” Valkyrie growls - what a good word for it! Indeed, she is doing her very best to sound deep, dark and scary. Soon it will come naturally. “I don’t even know what you think this will do. It’s not a full moon, or a blood moon, or any kind of moon. It’s not a magical day, it’s not a holiday, it’s not even a day that means anything to me.”

It’s my birthday, but don’t tell anyone that. It’s my special little secret, my gift to myself.

“This sigil is totally made-up. It’s not going to do anything.” She tries to raise her hand to her face to wipe off some sweat, but the chain is too short. “Let me go and I’ll make it quick - because when Skulduggery gets here, he certainly fucking won’t.”

I crouch down to be on her level, and I’m filled with such...reverence. I understand. I understand. This is what I was supposed to feel kneeling in the sweltering heat for hours on end. I’m glad I feel it here instead.

“You will kill us,” I say. “But we’re not going to uncuff you, you’ll do that yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” She is so exasperated and so irritated and so wonderful. “These cuffs are bound. It doesn’t matter how great you think I am, I’m not that strong.”

“You will be! You will be.” In the corner of my vision I see Salma fidgeting. Salma!!! You’re ruining this!! To make her stop, I gesture at her so she can speak and stop annoying everyone with her movements.

“The sigil you’re sitting on,” she fires off in her horrible, grating voice, “and the sigils that are on you are my own designs. Just because you haven’t seen them before doesn’t mean they won’t work. They’ll work.” Her lip trembles and she bows her head. “I’m sorry you don’t...believe in me.”

Valkyrie stares for a moment. “You’re completely nuts.” Nuts! Aah! That’s the word I use to describe her! How exciting!

“They’ll work, I swear. I promise. We only need to activate them, and...” Salma looks to me. Unfortunately, I have to stand up now and go back to looking down on Valkyrie. It’s okay, though. It’s okay. Soon she’ll be looking down on me.

For now, she doesn’t look at me at all. She looks down at where she’s put her arms on her knees, wrists facing out. Perhaps Supreme Mage Sorrows once gave her a lesson on what certain strokes can mean, perhaps she’s trying to work out how to counteract our symbol.

She’s fabulous and smart, yes, but she won’t be able to work it out. I am confident. I snap my fingers, summoning a bright, orange flame into my hand. She lifts her head, looks me directly in the eye, and I smile widely. Very widely. Not widely enough. I hope, before Darquesse kills me, she at least takes the time to appreciate what I’m doing for her. I hope she recognises how much I love her. No - I don’t hope. I know. She will. She must.

I take a step forward and crouch again, reaching my hand out to the edge of the symbol on the ground. My flame will catch onto the petrol paste and spread immediately. Valkyrie will be burned, but only a little bit! Just a little bit. Long enough for the fire to catch the symbols on her skin, and she will be protected - and Darquesse will be summoned back into her. She will be complete again.

Before my flame touches the paste, Valkyrie shoots her hand out and smudges the line, which gives me just about the fright of my life! Thank goodness I have such incredible reflexes, otherwise I wouldn’t have jerked my hand away in time. The paste would have caught on fire and surely burned her to death! She rubs her wrists together, wiping away the symbols written there, then kicks her legs out from under her so she’s in a more traditional butt-to-ground position, but that means she’s made the ground symbol worse and displaced dirt into my face.

It’s hard to love her when she has literally blinded me. That whole thing about the sun and everything, it was more of a metaphor. I still love her of course! I’m only taken aback. Anything I may say as I fall backwards isn’t really my fault, since she’s the one who kicked dirt in my eyes. It's more of my reflexes. I never would say anything of the sort to her under normal circumstances. Never.

“You bitch!”

What an inconvenience. I don’t get to see any of what happens next! I only hear the door flying open and gunshots, the sounds of my people yelling and trying to fight. Punches, kicks, bodies falling to the ground. When I hear Salma scream and feel her blood land on my face, I can’t help it! I can’t help it but think, serves you right for putting a cent in the collection tray every week!

“Skulduggery, the-”

“Valkyrie. Are you alright?” Is that him getting on his knees? Maybe he understands after all. “Are you hurt?”

“My skin’s burning, let me loose so I can get this shit off me. The crank on the wall, I think that controls the cuffs.”

I roll onto my side and wipe the dirt from my eyes. I hear Pleasant at the wall, turning the crank back and hitting the release. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but I can open my eyes and see well enough - and what I see is Crandall dead next to me! It’s such a shock, my heart skips at least three beats. That rotten Pleasant. What a barbarian. I lift my head as carefully as I can, so I won’t be noticed. Valkyrie has lifted her shirt to get the symbol off her stomach and cannot see me.

This is so unfair. I put so much work into this plan. It was so hard to trap her! I was going to bring Darquesse back. Me. Not Crandall, not Salma. Not Nicki. Her black eyes would have bored into my skull and killed me and I would have been good and happy. Huh! Maybe I'm not too different to those Faceless worshippers who go blowing themselves up in public places.

“Isserley. I thought that was you.” Pleasant. Pleasant is talking to me. “How have you been?”

Valkyrie snaps her head up at him. “You know her?”

“We’ve seen her in the High Sanctuary.”

“Jesus. Is there anyone you don’t remember.”

“No.” He reaches out and wipes the rest of the symbol off her stomach in one motion. I have dirt in my eyes but I see how her tummy kind of curls in a bit as she drops her shirt down.

That should be me. That should be me. I love her more than anyone. I burst into tears.

“She tried to set me on fire.”

“I think a list of people who haven’t tried to set you on fire would be shorter than a list of those who have.” I hear the clink of handcuffs. “Come on, now, Isserley.”

I let my head drop back onto the ground and stare up at the ceiling. I do not take one more look at Valkyrie. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I failed. “Why don’t you just kill me.” I’m not even aware of myself saying it, to be honest! Just one of those things that...slips out...

“She makes a good point, Skulduggery.”

“Can’t be done. We should leave at least one cultist alive to arrest, so why not take the woman in charge?”

“How do you know she’s the one in charge?”

His terrible skull fills my vision as he looks down at me. You know, hearing him talk this much at one time has jogged my memory. And he does happen to wear very beautiful suits. My mouth falls open. “You’re-”

Valkyrie was startled for a moment by the sudden gunshot. Shoulders tensed, she looked over to Skulduggery standing over the woman, gun still pointed into a face that didn’t really exist anymore.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked as he put the revolver away. Skulduggery came over to her and brushed some hair out of her face, went back to fussing over the injuries she sustained on her way here.

“Too talkative,” he said, and she laughed and teased him about being a hypocrite.

#skulduggery pleasant #thanks for subscribing

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