Pour your misery down

INDEFINITE HIATUS Ind. semi-sel. Blackmore About || Rules Anons/OCs welcome! Contains some NSFW Tracking: prismmasked

[uncharnel]

“ Grimly I dig up the turfs To remove the corrupted stiffs Trying to contain my excitement As I desecrate graveolent crypts… ”

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[prismmasked-a-blog]

Indefinite Hiatus Notice

[[As you guys may have noticed, my activity on here has dropped pretty sharply over the last few months and I think it’s time to face the facts.

As much as I love this boy, my muse for him has dwindled and writing him has lost its spark. It makes me a little sad to have to say this because I had so much fun on here, but this is something I’ve been considering for a while and I think it’s for the best to at least take a break.

Secondarily, I’ve always struggled with maintaining more than one blog. I’ve done a lot better here than I have in the past, but that doesn’t change that I feel much happier focusing on one.

Thank you so much to everyone who has interacted with me! You are all awesome! I don’t know if and when I’ll be back on here, but if you’d still like to RP with me, hit me up on @20sep1847 (my Valentine).

And I cannot recommend @whispereddreams enough. Fefe’s Blackmore is so good and they’re an absolute joy to RP with. Go check them out!

Goodbye for now. JOH out.]]

[mea-cuppa]

[debhdesa]

[warizoh]

[rainloneliest]

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scarsandstripesforever‌:

The deep flush of pink spreading across Blackmore’s fair face didn’t go unnoticed by the president, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight smile at the visible embarrassment he’d caused with such a small comment, “Oh, I hardly doubt anybody would mind. You already have a habit of tailing at my heels like a lost puppy. Perhaps a collar would be more fitting?” With a soft chuckle, he released Blackmore’s hair mercifully. He’d teased the poor boy enough already, no sense embarrassing him too much. There would be other chances for that.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, choosing not to draw any unneeded attention to Isaac’s little slip of tongue, “Your offer is very kind, but I’m hardly too fragile to walk unaided.”

   Another thing to fill Blackmore with horrified fascination. He could practically feel it around his throat, just a little too tight for comfort. Accepting he was a dog hadn't been that hard, after the initial shock of realization. Funny liked dogs and there were worse things to be compared too. He probably made a better dog than human, anyway. Still, at the thought of being collared like one, he could managed no more than a small, choked sound. It sounded demeaning. And humiliating. And absolutely wonderful. Before he knew it, Blackmore's hand was already rising to his neck to touch his fingertips to the imaginary collar and he yanked it away guiltily.

   “Oh…” Blackmore's shoulders slumped just the tiniest bit. He was sure he hadn't meant it like that, but the refusal for a hand or even a shoulder was more than a little disappointing. “I didn't mean you're… So-rry, I just thought you might be a little bit tired or… something, not that you're weak. If you'll follow me, I'll walk you down.”

   As he always did, Blackmore scanned the stairwell just in case it was crawling with bomb-wielding anarchists. If there were any, they were very well hidden indeed. The nondescript steps were as empty as they had been when he and Funny had come up. Even the busy sounds drifting up were calm and muffled as the day wound down and Blackmore couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary from a few moments of intent listening. “It should be safe, but… I'll walk in front, if you don't mind. Just in case.”

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wanderingmechanichick‌:

“Do what you have to hun,  I got this end here “ she murmured while stroking mare’s large cheek in order to further sooth her. As much as she was familiar with seeing injuries, blood and what not…she still felt her stomach twist in a knot as he began pulling on the tiny tick. She had a soft spot for horses and it pained her to see one as fine as Salty suffer.

The moment he began pulling out the nasty little stand, the horse almost bucked, but Franky managed to keep her steady even though she could see the faster panting from her mare, hell she even started sweating from stress!

Blessedly it wasn’t long before he pulled out the damn thing. She too began chuckling while frantically stroking mare’s cheeks in an attempt to calm her down further. “There ya go…good girl ya were really good…..nice job sweetheart “ she muttered with small nervous grin crossing her lips. The next step had in mind had perfect sense, from what she had experienced it was true that only stands could defeat other stands….so it was up to her to finish up what he started.

In an instant, she stepped away from the horse, only so the familiar dark blue aura would glow around her body causing the knight like stand appears before them once more. “I think I got an idea how to deal with it …maybe…” Her stand would reach out its massive hand to the tweezer and as it would barely graze it the tweezer still holding onto the tiny stand, quickly reshaped and adjusted its form to suit her own stands fingertips. Now the metal coated fingertips held tightly onto the tiny skull. “Let’s see if we can crush it this way…” with that being said Justice and Metal began applying heavy pressure onto the skull stand, and hopefully that will be enough to crack it….at least she prayed it would be. 

   Not until he saw the telltale aura flare up around Franky did Blackmore realize that he had been looking the world with the narrow view Catch the Rainbow afforded him. He hadn't even thought of letting it disperse and sending it… wherever it went when he didn't need it. Behind his stand, he could be just slightly better, even in a place that looked like it hadn't seen a drop of rain in decades. Adding to that, not knowing he was not the only one with such an ability for 4 years meant he had gotten into the habit of not hiding it. No one could see it, what was the point?

   Even so, he moved it from his face as soon as his hands were free, perching it on his head at what might have been a jaunty angle did it not look so macabre. Without the intense focus, the sweat rolling down his face felt uncomfortably ticklish. The heat could not be blamed for that when the evening had a chill that far surpassed the cold of an autumn evening in D.C. Despite the rock dust that covered it, Blackmore longed for his coat, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him.

   Justice and Metal's sturdy, iron-coated fingertips looked like they should squash the smaller stand in an instant, yet it seemed to be keeping its shape just fine. Its hook-like legs squirmed in the air aimlessly while its face, if you could even call it that, remained unmoving. How tough was this thing? “Uh, Franky?” Blackmore asked, looking over to his companion and trying to politely distract her from her own singular focus on her stand. “What do we do if—”

   Before he could finish, there was a soft sound, hushed and powdery. They were hard to detect in the twilight, but the minuscule skull's jaws tiny teeth were fractured, some now missing entirely. That's when it started.

   The sound that came from the garish skull was as small as it was, a low babble like the buzz of a fly. Blackmore had expected it to screech and wail horribly, but this noise was no better. It grated across his nerves at a frequency that sent a shiver down his spine. Either it was not happy or its user wasn't, Blackmore didn't feel like standing around to find out. “Can you keep this up? I think it's cracking, but… I just want it to stop making that sound. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. Just a little longer… it looks like it's about to go.”

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scarsandstripesforever‌:

Fingers gingerly working through a tangle of still slightly sweaty hair, Valentine gave Blackmore’s question a thoughtful hum, “I’m not going to force you into anything, no,” his free hand moved to cradle Blackmore’s jaw, giving it a slight nudge to angle him enough to properly look him in the eyes, “Perhaps it’s simply familiarity but… I’ve grown quite fond of your hair at this length.”

There, that looked… Better? Valentine gave Blackmore’s hair one last comb through with his fingers and tilted his head back to properly appraise his work, “I think it suits you… modest but striking,” Perhaps to emphasize his point, Valentine gave his lover’s ponytail a gentle tug, smiling coyly, “and it makes for a nice handle if I ever need to lead you somewhere.”

   In an automatic response to the gloved hand gently tilting his head, Blackmore's heart beat a little faster and firmer. Maybe he really was insatiable, just as Funny said. He just couldn't help his eyes flitting between those of his employer and his lips in slightly breathless anticipation. “Of course,” he murmured, blindly obedient in his distraction. “Whatever you want. I won't… change anything.”

   Although he knew it was cheeky, he slowly moved to angle his head a little more. He wouldn't dream of making the first move and kissing him when Funny held his jaw like that. Maybe he could just show him that Blackmore was receptive to the idea. Not that it needed to be said, he would have stopped for a kiss even if he was on fire. His lips parted with eager intent, trying to communicate what he wanted with looks rather than words.

   Something he was apparently worse at than even he had expected. Even though the touch was still gentle, Funny angled Blackmore's head to a position that was decidedly less romantic. A cloud of hurt passed briefly over the assassin's face, only to brighten up again when he was paid another compliment. But even that was quickly replaced by embarrassment.

   “Uh… please… don't?” Blackmore's face blushed furiously at the very thought of being led around by his hair. Partially out of shame, partially out of excitement at the idea, which was no less shameful. While it was true that he himself had insisted on taking it slow and gentle last time, the assassin couldn't deny he missed his lover being forceful with him. Treating him like he was a thing, like he felt no pain. No, like he enjoyed his pain as much as Blackmore did and his distress amused him.

   “Actually, I… I might… like that. But please don't do it in front of people. It'd be—” Embarrassing. “—kind of strange.”

   Fully aware that at this point his face probably resembled a ripe tomato, Blackmore cleared his throat uneasily. His stupidity really knew no bounds, did it? Sure as he was that his lover would cringe out of sheer contact embarrassment, the assassin looked down at his shoes, his lips compressed into a rueful line. It didn't matter that Funny had brought it up in the first place, that didn't mean he had run a joking comment into the ground in the clumsiest way possible. So much for being a ‘dashing young assistant.

   “Anyway,” Blackmore went on manfully when he felt he could speak without it turning into a hoarse squeak. “If that's, uh… if that's all, I should take you to bed. I mean— To your bedroom. So you can rest and… So you can rest. If you need to hold onto anything, please… use my hand or my shoulder or… on of those. There's a… a lot of stairs and you're probably sore.”

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jorahgothique‌:

About to reach out and run her hand through long pale hair, trembling lips and shuddering eyes stilled her eager hand. And so her smile faltered, the curve of her lips sinking down and eyes now searching for a cause to his sudden shift in emotions. Lips shaking like he caught in a chill and his eyes wide and bright, Jorah stared into them concerning. Combing through his gaze Jorah soon realized, though his eyes wide, they were so full of hope. That look she had seen before in herself. Powerful, desperate, devoting…all those emotions fit so smooth into his dark eyes. Like the entire world could fit into those blue eyes, the oceans spilling over onto lashes gently, cautiously.

Such a stare and yet the trickles of water clinging to furiously blinking lashes only caused her brow to knit further. Trying to hide those drops of the ocean? His eyes brimming with an ocean of hope but hers only full of empty confusion. -“Isaac…?”- she gently called out for him but she’d receive no answer back, only the continuing stare that shook with tears. And then she heard his voice for the first time what felt like decades. A small simple word, barely there barely heard. No more words would come, just gasps of breaths that sunk her heart. Jorah moved her hand to try and still him, leaning in closer, -“Isaa–!”- her voice cut off, actions stopped when arms wrapped around her. 

Confused eyes now wide and astonished, the sound of sobs ringing in her ear as he held himself against her. Jorah felt a dampness at her neck and trembling against her chest and soon she realized Isaac was crying. Stunned and unable to move, she looked down to him with even more confusion than before.Those apologies of his sticking to her heart, how could she mind if he showed himself so vulnerable. She felt no illness towards him, only a sense of honor that he would reveal such a fragile and tender side.  It was not until his shaken works, stuttered and rushed, did realization hit her. His apologies, the tremble in his voice, pieced together the more he struggled to speak.

I love you. That what he trying to say. So desperate did he sound to her ears the way he struggled to speak and how he wept along the length of her neck. Though his words stumbled over the next she could understand each one. And finally Jorah understood that those words had first been said by her. Her lips parted to gasp but no sound could be made. Those three words, those oh so tender words, she never said them lightly. Said only once before and soon followed by regret. Yet this time words so precious were said without any thought or hesitation. There would have been panic. Panic at whether she should not have said those words or not. Trying to reassure him some lie she’d come with or stating everything about this had been a mistake. But there no need for that. 

He loved her. He loved her too. This wasn’t a mistake. It would never be a mistake. Her darling, her Isaac, her love. No greater words had ever been spoken, and when he said it again so slow and clear Jorah felt her heart cast from her chest and meet his. Finally, her body moved again and she wrapped her arms around him as best she could, clutching onto him with a steady embrace. Quietly she whispered to him small hushes and coos to try and soothe him in whatever way possible. 

-“You make those words sound so beautiful, my darling. No matter how you say them they sound so very beautiful.”- Jorah shut her eyes and smiled, leaning her head against him, as if she were cradling him. -“Hearing you say them makes me the happiest woman in world. Your love is the only love I would ever ask for and you have given it to me so generously just now. I am so scared I will wake up and be taken from you. Like this some sort of dream I am having.”-

If Jorah would to suddenly awake in her bed back in Paris nothing would stop the flooding sadness her heart would carry for a dream that so real and a man she loved like no other person in the world. Her little taste of heaven only but a dream that’d take her away each night. A world that never existed but felt like she had been living in it forever. -“Even if this was a dream, what I feel for you is real and how you make me feel is even more so. I am so grateful to have met you, Isaac. I finally get know what love feels like and its all because of you. My darling Isaac…my love.”- she whispered the last words, her smile brightening and now it her eyes that filled with tears. 

-“If I wake up it doesn’t matter. The love I have for you and the happiness you are giving me…no one can never take that from me. No one…”- Jorah whispered, her tears rolling down her cheeks like the first rain of a dry and arid spring. Wind able to carry her up and up until she’d reach him and take his hand in hers. -“I feel so light it’s like I’ll float away. But I will always come back to you. My heart is with you, Isaac. Je t'aime, je t'aime. I love the way you say it. It’s perfect Isaac, so very perfect.”- 

   For a few moments, silence reigned, broken only by his ineffectual sobs and muted sniffles. While it did, Isaac felt certain he had made a mistake, regretted having spoken and more. He lamented the nebulous mission that brought him here, his very employment, the circumstances that had led to it, his birth, that of his parents and all that led to it including the creation of Adam and Even and Earth itself.

   He had misunderstood, he must have. There was no way Jorah would tell him she loved him after barely knowing him for a day. That was a madness that was probably reserved for himself. His always greedy heart was to blame, taking small affections and magnifying them before reflecting them back. Over and over and over, happiness twisting into something with a terrible hunger and a hundred mouths that could never be sated. Not only to be loved but to give love with an all-consuming ferocity, revolving around the object of his affection like a satellite. Not always seen, but there all the same, day or night.

   In the other life that streamed behind this one on a single thread, his fervency had often caused the very love that lay at the root of it to go cold and sour. Again and again, he had gone too far too soon, never learning. No matter how often it had felt like it had shattered beyond repair, his heart always found a way to pull itself back together. It didn't take much. A smile. A touch. A kind word. A drunken kiss. Such small things, yet before he knew it, Isaac would feel that warm, gentle flutter in the presence of whoever had bestowed them on him. Sometimes, that was all it ever was and ever would be, hopeful embers glowing brightly but ultimately fading. Other times they found fuel to feed it but the more he fed it the fiercer it burned, growing quickly out of control until it flared out. Either way, he would be left with nothing but ashes.

   When Jorah's arms wrapped around him, his body gave a small shock, ready to curl up. A sob hitched at his chest as he braced himself for an admonishment he was certain would come. None did, only soft murmurs of comfort, reminiscent of childhood and home. As little sense as it made, that only made the stream of tears flow faster, relief piling up on his already confused rush of emotions.

   Rather than disgust, he received praise, expressions of gratitude and fear. He felt it too, chipping away at the happiness in his heart. Reality denied for now, but impossible to do so forever. Is that how these three days would pass? Like a wonderful dream that would burst like a delicate bubble with the first rays of light? No, surely not. The memories would last, perhaps even a lifetime. But who could say how real they were when the person remembered was too far to touch, too far to even see?

   “Not a… d-dream…” His attempt at reassurance was as weak and halting as his confession of love had been even when he tried to speak clearly. A tear warm as a summer raindrop hit his cheek and mingled with his own. Oh, Jorah. There were so many things he would tell her if he could. How much she meant to him, how much all of this meant to him. How beautiful she was. How kind. So smart, her English so much more refined than his own, the light accent only making it more charming. How being with her made him feel, so happy it was frightening. If only his mind and mouth would join their efforts and let him speak clearly. If only he could go back in time and make sure he got the kind of education that would provide him with the vocabulary to describe any of this in terms that were not shamefully clumsy.

   “You won't… w-wake up.” Like that, for example. Close to what he had meant to say, but how it had come out sounded more like a threat than a comfort. He could taste his own tears when he took a deep, hopefully calming breath, mildly salty. Despite how wet his lips were with them, he gently kissed Jorah's shoulder before he corrected himself. “I… I m-mean you wuh… you will wake up, but I'll sss… still be h-here. If it is a… dream, we must b-be dreaming it t-together, because… I'm not guh— going anywhere.”

   Delicately unwinding one of his arms from around Jorah, Isaac reached into his trouser pocket. The handkerchief she had returned to him this afternoon, innocently white and smelling pleasantly of unfamiliar soap. Ignoring his own tears, he gently dabbed at her flushed cheeks, her sadness no longer something that scared him, only made him feel deep, tender sympathy.

   “A-and I don't… know i-if I'm s-saying it perfectly, but maybe I cuh— could with… puh— practice.” The white square of fabric made a light stroke along Jorah's cheekbone, wiping away the tears as they fell. “I luh… I love you.” And the other, heedless of the flood. “I… I love… y-you.” Moving gently along the line of her jaw as Isaac smiled through his own tears. “I love… you, Jorah.” Carefully blotting glowing cheeks. “I love you so much.”

   Finally, he made a cursory made a pass of his own face, wiping away the worst of the teary mess. His eyes still streamed, but the flood was much more contained, most of the droplets contained by his lashes before grew too heavy and fell lazily. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

   Bunching up the square of unassuming cotton, he pressed it into Jorah's hand, closing her fingers over the cluster of fabric. It wasn't much of a gift, but all her talk of this being a dream made him want to leave her with a tangible memory. A ring would have been better, but she had refused that offer once already. The handkerchief would do, it had brought her back to him, allowed him a taste of this perfect world, no matter how brief it was. “You'll… probably have to wash it again, b-but… keep it this time? Please? I t-think… you've used it more than I have by now and… it's the l-least I c-can do. I made you cry so many times…”

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wanderingmechanichick‌:

It was still boggling her mind,  how did this happen? Who was the one who called a stand in the middle of nowhere? Why? And just when did this happen? Ever since they left their inn they didn't see a single soul along the path! So how in God damn way was this possible? Were they followed from afar? Groaning silently she rubbed her forehead in frustration. She wasn’t even the part of this damn race just to avoid any conflicts which only meant….carefully she gazed at Blackmore’s unmoving shoulder as she was approaching the mount.

He was the target, wasn’t he? Franky didn’t want to u suspect too much,given his meek nature….but at times she did notice there was something off about him…what was he hiding?

When he asked for her help she quickly focused on task  on hand. “Right right, give me  a moment luv “ she ushered herself while slowly approaching the mare. She did saw signs of anxiety from the horse but Franky herself tried her best to appear calm while slowly reaching her arms to stroke its large head with both of herh ands, tugging Salty’s nuzzle closer to her own cheek. “There now lass, it will be alright, shh…” she spoke in calm, tender voice while keeping her eyes on the horse.

“We will make sure ya aint in pain ..” as she said that she would peer over Blackmore curious to see how will he pull it off. She just hope that the thing did not dig into horses flesh too deep, otherwise that will just extra trouble for the group. One they  are definetly fllowed and two if Salty does sufffer they will have to put her down and continue this trip  with even more difficulties.

   Whether the promise Franky made to his horse was one he could keep was something Blackmore wasn't all that sure of. Even if it was just a tick, pulling it out was never going to be completely painless. In this case, maybe a bit more. He didn't have enough information, any information besides the fact that it was there. It could be barbed or spread burrowing tendrils into Salty's flesh, digging down and holding on. There was only one way to find out. The longer he stood around thinking about it, the more time it had to… do whatever it was doing.

   “Thank you,” he murmured, not forgetting the manners that had been drilled into him. In his concentration, his voice was curiously even, the prongs of the tweezers closing around the tiny stand with the unpleasant sound of the tines of a fork hitting a porcelain plate. That was the easiest part done and Blackmore let out the breath he had been holding in relief. Good. He hadn't been sure he could get a hold of it, half expecting the implement to go straight through it like it was fog.

   “I'm… going to try… pulling it out now. Be careful.” As extraneous as it was, keeping up a stream of comments made the work feel more manageable. They'd laugh about this later, wouldn't they? About defeating a stand with nothing more than a pair of tweezers? It was a little absurd, no matter how nerve-wracking the task was right now.

   Said tweezers slipped a little at the first careful pull, sliding and hitching up to hook under the minuscule cheekbones. There, they stuck, but it was hard to say whether he was making any leeway at all. Even in deep focus, Blackmore didn't want to hurt Salty. She had been such a good horse, so sweet and who knows what might happen if she broke loose from her tether and escaped? Whether the scream-like sound had been mountain lions or something more nefarious, letting Salt-and-Pepper run straight into it could not be good.

   “I think it's coming out,” he remarked, bending closer for a better look. It was only the tiniest bit, but a little more of the thorax seemed to be showing, colored a purple that wasn't as garish like the decorations on the small face, but unpleasantly organic. Steady now, steady…

   Bracing his hand against Salty's neck, he pulled up with a little more force. His mount's skin lifted off her muscle, the damn thing pulling it with it. For a moment, Blackmore feared the tiny stand would tear and separate. That he be left with the skull-shaped body and its head still stuck in Salty's neck, the tiny hooks that were now visible wriggling aimlessly. Seconds seemed to drag out to an eternity, adrenaline making his head pound as the mottled pelt stretched further and was pulled taut…

   …And flattened as the stand came free abruptly, the minute legs squirming against nothing but thin air. Blackmore let out a breathy chuckle that was equal parts surprise and anxiety, sweet alleviation washing over him.

   “I've got it,” he told Franky, maintaining a careful grip on the miniature skull and keeping it away from any skin. It wasn't as inactive as he would have hoped, but as long as it didn't slip from the tweezers, it shouldn't do any more harm. “I'm going to give it to you… very slowly, is that alright? Only stands can harm stands and… Catch the Rainbow can't do anything in this weather. Justice and Metal might, although I think… if we can prevent it from touching your stand, that might be best.”

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scarsandstripesforever‌:

Lord, the resemblance Blackmore shared with an scolded child was nearly uncanny. With his still flushed cheeks and his face scrunched into an offended pout, it would have been cute were it not for the slight sense of guilt Valentine felt.

“Oh, there’s no need to pull that face,” the president tutted, sounding like a mother who’d just refused to give her young child sweets, or something similarly inane, “I can hardly sneeze without them getting overly concerned. I assure you it’s nothing personal.”

Slim fingers worked through Isaac’s disheveled ponytail, gingerly working through whatever slight tangles they met, “Not that bad, no,” Truthfully, Blackmore didn’t look terribly different than he usually did. A bit shaken up but nothing that would be too terribly noticeable, “but you have such lovely hair it’d be a shame to leave it like this all day, wouldn’t it?”

   Slightly shamefaced, Blackmore hung his head, the dismayed pout relaxing into his usual one of vague, harried gloom. He knew he was being just a little bit unreasonable. If the rank-and-file didn't watch Funny's every move like hawks, he would have been honestly incensed at their laxness. In light of his ‘helpfulness’ in that regard, things were already a little tense as it was. Any alliance that existed really only did so because they happened to be on the same side. What they thought of him, the skinny glum man that hovered around being useful in a way that was both timid and defensively snide.

   But they didn't care for Funny like he did. They didn't know him like he did. And they didn't have his skills. It'd be nice to say that was all there was to that, but the truth was he'd never worked well with others. A deeply ingrained sense of inadequacy had made it second nature to compare himself to practically everyone he considered close to an equal, constructing something of a mental totem pole of competence. Every time he could not put himself firmly at the top of it felt like a failure, breeding stubborn resentment. At himself. At them. At the world in general. There was no second place. You could be the best or nothing at all. At some point, some sense of self-preservation had divided the world into black and white with no room for grays.

   “I know,” Blackmore repeated, mollified enough to raise his head from sulking in the general direction of Funny's shoes. Under the care of elegant fingers, he relaxed further, his head tilting towards the touch with a deep, contented breath. Shameful how quickly his mood changed in accordance with his employer's, infirm of will to let himself be diverted so easily by something as simple as this. At least there'd been a positive trend lately, a marked change from the incessant melancholy.

   “Thank you, Mr. Pre— Funny. Thank you, Funny.” The sentence, hastily corrected to reflect their current relationship, rolled off his tongue instinctively. This time, he couldn't really think of any protests to raise anyway. The president had complimented him on his hair more than once, so… maybe it was lovely and Blackmore just couldn't see it. However, that didn't mean there wasn't room for improvement.

   “Would you… like me to do anything with it? I haven't had it cut unless it got too unwieldy for… about 13 years? But… I could, if you want. Or I could… let it grow? I don't mind… it's just hair.” Well, maybe he'd mind just a little, something he hoped didn't reflect in his voice. Not enough to be all that upset if Funny replied ‘yes’ to any of those uncertain questions. It'd be a tiny ping off his thin armor, but it'd be worth it. If Funny liked him more, thought he looked better, thought he looked… the best, he'd go a lot further than cut his hair. Even if it meant giving up something he rather wouldn't. “And… I'll try— I will wear my coat less. I don't… use most of the things I keep in it regularly, so… I don't need to wear it all the time… I guess.”

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jorahgothique‌:

His timid squeeze rose a quieted moan from her pressed lips. A little touch of heaven, just a mild taste of something so beautifully divine. His hands on her felt like satin feathers, smoothing over her untouched skin for the first time, leaving in its wake small, almost transparent, mappings. Mappings that had explored and detailed her skin with tender precision and gentle intent. The way he touched her felt like the sky. Mythical shades ranging from sweet blue to dark obscure mingling and meeting on her pale skin. Painting her body like an artist would paint his canvas. And Jorah would gladly be just that. 

A canvas for him to paint in whatever image he desires, she’s have no qualms with that. The only desire belonging to her was the one to be his. To run her hands through a sky unreachable, to walk on the clouds with him alone, to lay on her back with him and stare up at the heights…what a bliss that would be. Their little room the grassy plains that laid tranquil, his touch the wind that’d carry her up to the sky where she would meet him time and time again. Jorah’d never forget this feeling and if it were the only one she’d remember years and years from now that would not be so horrid. 

And so when he touched her again, the second exploratory squeeze solidified her thought. He made her feel like no one had ever touched her before. Like she were still a maid exploring a man for the first time, blushing and brimming with fresh excitement. But Isaac was no ordinary man. He was special, perfect. Not a man so proud and as dashing as a prince in a book but a simple man with simple wants. A man would fit so perfectly into everything though no one seemed to mind. Humble and kind but soft spoken as if not to boast his traits. A one of kind simple and perfect man. Jorah reminded of how she lucky she was for him to have found her with each exploratory touch. 

Each one more tempting than the others, it steadily rose her excitement. So close he was now to touching her in a way a man would his sweetheart. How wonderful it would feel to have him claim her as such. So when Isaac ceased his travels Jorah felt a wave of disappointment. She terribly greedy for him, for his everything that when his lips pulled from hers she blindly followed. Stopped only by his words, the call of her name. Jorah opened her eyes, gazing down at him quietly. His star, his fairy, his angel…these words so endearing, Jorah felt so undeserving. Yet he the one who spoke as if he did not deserve her. 

-“Oh my darling Isaac,”- Jorah whispered, brushing his cheek, -“You treat me so kindly…”- How was it possible a man like him could exist? Put so much before himself. Viewing her as something divine and he just a meager man who was unfitting of touching her, of being with her. Holding her up on a pedestal while he broke his back. If he wanted more of her then he could, all he had to do was take, ask, anything and she would give him that. 

-“You are the only man I want to touch me. The only man I want to hold me at night. Only you, no one else. I only want to be with you.”- She leaned down to kiss his cheek, lingering there for a moment, tempting to continue their kiss. 

But she pulled back again and smiled. -“I will never ever think this a mistake. I care about you too much to allow that thought to enter my mind. You need not reach the stars you only need to be here with me right now. And right now is the most wonderful moment in my life because I have you to share it with.”- 

Slowly her hand move to his, gently guiding it upwards to what it was so close to reaching. Her heart beat wildly and her cheeks heated like a sparking flame. A light gasped brushed the still air as she felt his palm against her. This really was like the first time, the only time. The times before this disappeared and she could only remember Isaac. 

-“If you want more, Isaac, then have more. Take all that you want from me. I want you to have whatever it is you desire. All you need to do is let yourself do so. I will never run from you. I love you, Isaac.”- The words flowed so smoothly Jorah hadn’t realized she said them. Smiling at him as if she had said those words hundreds of times in the past. -“Take whatever it is you want. Whatever it is I will give it to you.”- 

   Every undeserved bit of praise only increased the frenetic energy that filled him, like he ran on a dynamo powered by the rapid beating of his joyful heart. ‘Only you.’ Words repeated again and again in a whisper that was unbearably sweet. Words that broke through the idea that all this blissful happiness was a celestial joke, raising him up only so the eventual fall would destroy him all the more. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be. As long as he could hold these moments in his heart, nothing could harm him. They would be his shield, whatever pain would come to him would be deflected, reduced to no more than a dull blow that faded within seconds.

   “I am. I'm here. I'm here with you.” Surely he had never smiled like this before, with such honest gladness to be alive. Had he even been alive before today? He could not have been, not truly. He had breathed, his heartbeat, his blood flowed, he had eaten and talked and walked and done all the things that living beings do. But it had all been just a shadow of life, a dim imitation, a puppet moved by unseen strings. Never had he felt this sizzle in the air that seemed to sharpen all his senses. Never had he looked at the world and seen nothing but the beauty of Creation, every small detail a new miracle to discover.

   Before, life had been no more than a hard to shake habit, a burden borne with some resentment and fueled by the blood of others. No more than a long wait for the eventual end. How impossible that sounded now. That couldn't have been him, that slept through all those precious days out of some muted, ill-defined despair. Who was that man unfortunate enough to not know that his roads would lead him here to this bed? What a pitiful creature he was, certainly not the man Jorah wanted to spend her nights with.

   “With you, I'm already in the stars. You've brought me here, where you belong and everything shines. Just you and me, looking down at the world, much higher even than the Eiffel Tower or anything that was ever built. As long as you hold me, I can fly where even birds—” Any further mushy professions of adoration tried up when Jorah took his hand and guided it where it had not dared to go. Isaac let himself be led meekly, his smile taking on an air of amazed gratitude, lips parting in silent wonder.

   The first touch was unlike anything he had felt before, no matter how whisper-light his timid touch. ‘Soft’ was too simple a word for how Jorah's breast felt against his palm, but if another word existed that could describe the sensation of pliant suppleness, he did not know it. Maybe none did exist. Bashfully, he let his thumb explore the giving outer curve, a soft swipe with the barest of pressure that enticed him to press the wonderfully yielding flesh tenderly into his palm.

   Without a doubt, he wanted more, to touch her like a lover while looking into her fond smile, her glowing cheeks lighting up his world. Emboldened by her encouragement, he squeezed the flesh in his fingers with gentle insistence and rolled it under his palm. Some of the inner heat had shifted, burning brightest in his underbelly, spreading a devilish warmth through his thighs and groin.

   Anything he wanted. Whatever it was he desired, free for the taking. His eyes were drawn to where his hand kneaded her through thin fabric, watching it rumple and smooth out as his fingers moved. Tentatively, the pad of his thumb wandered to where her nipple would be, circling it slowly. An unhurried spiral, closing in with every pass. Coming to a stop just before finding its goal, frozen in place by words he had not expected to hear.

   With a sharp, shocked exhale, his head shot up to catch her eyes again, roaming over her features like he was searching for something. Some clue that she had been joking. Some clue that she had been truthful. His eyes blatantly hopeful, shining with intense emotion, his lips trembling. Even said so casually, three small words among many, they had come so suddenly, despite how fervently he now knew he had hoped to hear them.

   “I…” he stammered, wanting nothing more than to say those same words, the ones that had been so hard to quiet earlier. He could not find them now, only harsh gulps of breath and a prickling in his eyes. Blinking furiously did nothing to alleviate the threat of tears, nor did a silent prayer to please, please not let Jorah see him like this. His tears dried up long ago and he had never had a right to cry them in the first place. Why now? Why when he was so happy?

   The first sob was powerful enough to shake his slim body violently, the tears that had been so delicately balanced on his lower lid overflowing all at once. Even against his flushed cheeks, they felt warm, leaving wet, shining trails. Overcome, he embraced Jorah with a desperate grip, burying his wet face in the crook of her neck. “I'm suh— I'm s—” The turmoil brought back the stutter he knew he would never be fully rid of, leaving his apologies stuck in his throat no matter how he tried to force them out. “I— I luh— love y-you. I love you s-so m-much! Juh— Jorah, I—”

   He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and tried to take a deep breath through the sobs that wracked him. Slowly. He needed to speak slowly and he could do it. Just like he'd taught himself. Slowly. “I… love… you.”

[prismmasked-a-blog]

scarsandstripesforever‌:

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  For a few stunned seconds, Blackmore stopped his attempt to insert the key into the lock in the least efficient way possible. His mouth open in shock and his shoulders set stiffly as what Funny said sunk in. Nobody would actually think that, right? He would be the last person to try and harm the president. Besides, they would be walking around together like nothing happened, which was unlikely if he'd tried to hurt Funny.

   Or was it? Blackmore wasn't sure how many people knew about the circumstances of their meeting. For security purposes, it would be safest if the guards did, in case he ever tried anything like that again. But he wouldn't! Even Funny said so. He'd proven that by himself, hadn't he? It seemed a little unfair that one mistake would follow him his entire life, especially when he needed no assistance in reminding himself of it.

   “I know,” he admitted reluctantly, unable to keep the petulant pout from his face. Half-heartedly poking at the lock finally produce a result, the key turning with a final ‘click’. “It's my job too, I… understand. But if I wanted to kill you here, I would have… pushed you off the roof… probably. I'm so-rry… that's not very helpful now either.”

   After stowing the key, Blackmore ran a doubtful hand through his ponytail. It didn't feel like it looked that bad, a few tangles here and there, a few strands more out of place than they usually were. And his hood was down, but maybe he just got a little overheated. Even so, he padded over to Funny obediently, standing in front of him looking slightly abashed, like a little boy called over by his mother so she could wipe his dirty face. “Ah, yes, I'm so-rry… I don't think about how I look that much. Is it… Is it that bad?”

[prismmasked-a-blog]

jorahgothique‌:

-“Oh Isaac…”- Jorah laughed delicately, shaking her head in the process. If she had known Isaac her entire life she care for him all the same. His kindness would still be present, surely. Jorah could imagine now other Isaac but the one who held her right now. Not a smug man but a modest one. Timid and gentle, she wold have enjoyed knowing him through out her life. Perhaps it’d be she who was different. Maybe they would travel together? See the world and wonders of their homes. It may all have been different if she born in a town called Lynn and he born in a city called Paris. 

Would she see this country any different than she did now? Not a place so terribly drab and bleak but a place to love and nourish? This land of nothing turned into a home? Jorah nearly laughed again thinking of such foolery. And yet, to her, Isaac already felt like home. The kindness, the warmth…so much like the beginnings of springs she remembered so fondly at home. Isaac was a fresh breeze of spring air that had made its way into her heart. Even if she were a girl not from Paris but from Lynn he would still be the same to her. Jorah’s darling Isaac, there no other way to see him. Now when he was the man he had been and always would be. 

And if Isaac had been from her city where would they have met? In the park? In the cafe? Wherever it had been it would have been special, memorable. Though hopefully he would have met her under happier circumstances instead of him seeing her ugly tears and reddened flushed cheeks. Then again, maybe they would not have seen each other if the circumstances had been different? Maybe they were destined to meet in the way they did. Whether it be Paris or Lynn, meeting through tears may be their fate in every story. To know the man that captured her heart so tenderly…if it must begin in tears then so be it. Jorah cry a river of broken tears if it gave her the chance to see him again. Meant to be together, just as he said it. 

-“Together…”- she whispered, the breath nearly lost between his lips. A sweet touch, light and quick. That alone would have been enough to make her heart content but then he kissed her again. Pulling her close, his hands exploring her back, yes this was pure bliss. A bliss she would share with no one other than him. It felt special this way, he felt special. His lips a strong memory, one Jorah remembered forever. She hummed into the the kiss, guiding herself to press into him tightly. Together her lips moved with his, like a dance practiced and rehearsed thousands of times. A kiss meant to be, a pair made perfectly for the other. Special and unique, her darling Isaac. 

To think just one kiss could fill her heart an impossibility now. Yet he pulled himself away from her. Naturally Jorah went to follow his lips but was stopped by his words. Words laced with honey, addicting and lovely, his energy still booming. Could not stop himself and hoping she didn’t mind. Jorah didn’t, not in the slightest. 

-“I do not mind.”- interjecting in haste the moment he stopped speaking, -“I will never mind that Isaac. If I must stay up a hundred nights to make you believe you are worth something and that you are truly special then I will. I want you to know that, Isaac. The only person who I have met and thought was truly special is you. I want to be with you and feel you just like I am now. So please, please do not think for a moment that I mind this. I want this, Isaac, and I want you.”- Closing the distance between them, her head rested against the crook of his neck and she cuddled up to him like he the only source of affection in the world.

-“You are not just good enough, Isaac. You are perfect. My darling Isaac who I was meant to meet and stay with. Just as you said, our maps were drawn together for us to eventually meet in this barren town and lay together in this bed. I have questioned fate over the years but it is means I am meant to be with you then I will believe in it forever.”- She kissed his neck, holding her lips for a moment and closing her eyes. How was it possible for something to feel so right? 

Lips traveled further, exploring the length of his neck until they found his jaw and soon his lips again. Jorah clutched onto him as she kissed him passionately, wanting this moment to stay like this forever. Moving her leg to tentatively hook around his she pressed further into the kiss, allowing her tongue to gently swipe over his bottom lip before bashfully retreating Tilting her head further to the side Jorah hummed his name into the kiss. 

   Quick words quelled any lingering doubt, a pleasant, calming tingle spreading out from the base of Isaac's neck. The warmth he felt was nothing like the heat of the day that had made pearls of sweat break out under his stifling coat. Nor did it have anything to do with the breeze that made the curtains sway. Whether it was his slender build or something he was born with, the slightest bit of chilliness had a tendency to make him break out in goosebumps. As night fell, the air wafting in from the open window felt cool on his skin, yet it hardly seemed to touch him, glancing off his glowing skin. Whatever it was that heated him from within was too strong for the cold to touch.

   With the heat came a restless energy he could not quite place. It ran through him like an electrical current, the tips of his fingers twitching arrhythmically, pressing gently and releasing without any conscious input. A compulsion he could not help even if he wished to, a soft, testing touch, fingers spread out along Jorah's spine delicately like he was holding the bow of a cello. Even through her nightgown, his fingers found every dip and ridge, sliding along them with fitful aimlessness.

   “I want this too,” he admitted, the volume of his voice hardly rising above a whisper. His eyes that had been downcast to gaze at Jorah's face nestles against his neck through pale lashes flitted away at such a selfish enormity. They explored the wall, the swinging curtains, and the ceiling, never lingering anywhere for very long. Up they roamed and down again to catch her eyes, only to flee again like a startled deer. And still, they returned to her every time, drawn in by how beautiful she looked in the twilight. How content. How happy. “I want…”

   Before he could put voice to a desire that was only nebulously defined, velvety lips found his neck and wiped his mind of pointless pondering of what it was he wanted. So much simpler to just give in, let himself be carried away by the sensation of gentle affection. What more was there to want? What else could he ask besides than this? Nothing could feel as right as this, the stiff mattress transformed into a bed of air on which he floated. Lips on his skin, so gentle and sweet. All the turmoil that plagued his mind stilled to leave a satisfied calm. Like he was dreaming. No, like that strange place he only found some mornings. Those dozing moments he was just awake enough to know he was still happily asleep.

   “Fate… It must be…” Isaac all but breathed, his eyes slowly falling to a relaxed close. “If you hadn't been crying… If I saw you cross the street or… across a common room… I would have tried to avoid you. Not because… I wouldn't think you're beautiful. I would and that's just why. Someone like you… to someone like me… even talking to you would be like… Like… trying to grasp a star. It's impossible. I've walked… a long way, but… I can't even reach the clouds… stars are beyond my reach.”

   How nonsensical that must sound never occurred to him, his brain seemed to be directly wired to his mouth, thoughts spoken aloud as soon as they arose. Above the clouds, that was no place for him. It never rained up there where the moon dwelled. He'd end up like that one story he once heard and vaguely remembered about some old man and his son escaping from… somewhere on home-made wings. Hickaruss or something like that his name was, so joyful at being able to fly that he went too far, too high and plummeted into the sea. Isaac couldn't blame him, so many times had he been too jubilant to walk above the world of men and in his inattentiveness, found nothing to stand on.

   But even true flight must pale in comparison to the kiss Jorah bestowed on him and he let himself be swept away without a struggle. His arm tightened around her with as much force as he could muster in an attempt to close a distance that no longer existed. Even so, he pulled at her as she at him, the feel of her soft body pressing against him more addictive than the poppy had ever been. Nor had he ever been so desperate for another dose than now, the pressure of her breasts against his chest so enchantingly soft even with the fabric of her nightgown between them.

   In response to her leg draping over his, his hand finally moved from the place her heart beat under fragile skin to glide down her neck. Fingers described the curve of its nape with haphazard elegance and followed its curve to her shoulder. It found nothing to satisfy it there, only the smooth covering of her sleeve. Hesitance was forgotten when her tongue brushed against his lip, his hand smoothed upward to explore where skin and garment met with delicate strokes.

   A single fingertip slipped beneath for just a moment as he murmured a wordless reply to his name against her lips before retreating. That felt like too far yet, a tempting minefield. But still, he sought out this bewitching danger, his touch now making its way down her arm to slip underneath it and treat her side to a tentative squeeze. A little higher and another squeeze. Repeated twice more and coming to a shuddering halt. Isaac knew full well what he would find if he dared to go further. Something soft and sweet as a ripe peach, something that would fit into his hand as perfectly as their lips fit together.

   The headiness of the kiss was too much and he freed himself from it reluctantly, heaving a sigh of disappointment against her lips. His heart raced as if to make up for all the years it had beaten so dully. He could almost believe she could feel how strongly it pounded, the desperate power with which it seemed to throw itself against his ribcage. “Jorah… You are a star… To me, you are. A star and a fairy and an angel. Bright and perfect. You belong in the heavens where no man can touch you, but… you're here. You came down for… for me. I'm not sure I could believe it if I… if I wasn't holding you. If you didn’t let me… I don't want you to think this was a mistake… It’s just hard to not want… more.”

[prismmasked-a-blog]

wanderingmechanichick‌:

While the mask began to materialize upon his features she rose a brow, surprised by such unique stand. Then again beside herself, she has only met 3 stand users and 2 of them had a similar form as her own the last one was a bit more like a parasite that would infect his host and change his form. His, on the other hand, seemed a bit more passive. 

Thankfully like her, he chose to share his own abilities with her. It was rather interesting but she could see the small downside of it, too much dependence on nature. “Tsk, that sounds like a real bitch of a stand to face off against, glad ya are on my side luv” she added with nervous snicker while tucking her hand into the pouch she carried with her searching for ideal scrap.

During his guesses on what this strange tick-looking stand was capable off, she shook her head at the part where he mentioned it might spread a plague. “I doubt its somethin like that, horses are sensetive animals remember that. If something as terrible as that was approachin Danger Zone  would be far more agressive then he is now “ she said while glancing at her chesnut stalion.

Finally she managed to find ideal long scrap of metal, her stand leaned forward from behind her  only to grasp the scrap in its large palm. Silent screeching of metal was heard from brief moment and soon a metal tweezer was in her palm and she offered it to Blackmore. “Alright if ya can do that delicate work then go for it……somethin is tellin me that thing might lead more  trouble in our direction if we leave it on her for too long..”

   Behind Catch the Rainbow's impassive barrier, calm was easier to find. It always was, even when Blackmore knew it would do nothing for him. With most people, it didn't even hide his face, yet through its eye holes, the world always seemed less intimidating. Almost like he was someone else or— No, not another person, just another part of himself, hidden beneath many layers of self-doubt and guilt. The part that came out when he was at work, and work and his stand were so closely intertwined they might as well be one and the same.

   “Delicate…” he mused as he accepted the tweezers. Thoughtfully, he turned them over in his hand a few times, closed them and let them open, testing the force needed. “I don't know about delicate, but… precise, maybe. You could say I… like to get things done in the simplest way possible. The way that takes the least effort. And I'm patient. Waiting for the rain to be able to do anything kind of makes you be.”

   As he spoke, Blackmore approached his mount, the sharp sound of the tweezers' tips coming together accompanying every dusty step. With slow movements that were almost dreamy, he brushed her mane out of the way to study the miniature stand. On second thought, it didn't so much remind of a hatpin as it did a molar, small and white and bony. The sound of someone's teeth hitting their fork always made his skin crawl and he wondered vaguely if the implement clamping down on the tiny skull would sound the same, but that thought was distant, floating somewhere outside the void of concentration.

   Unorthodox as it was to do it like this, he was eliminating a stand. This was what the president had hired him for or at last part of it. Slipping into the space of mind he occupied when on the job was all too easy, like stepping into a pair of well-worn shoes. All he needed was to find the right angle, the right place to grasp it and the stand might come out. Or it might not… hadn't someone mentioned once that only stand could fight stands? It didn't matter, they'd try something else if this wouldn't work. In the end, it had burrowed into Salty's skin. If Justice and Metal could make something as fine as the tweezers he was opening and closing rhythmically in his hand, it could make something close enough to a scalpel to cut out where it was embedded.

   Click. Click. Click. Click…

   It had to be where the thorax was showing, the skull itself was too rounded to find purchase. At approximately the same speed as tectonic plates colliding, the tweezers came down, carefully avoiding touching the stand itself until the metal ends brushed against Salty's coat. The mare didn't like all this fuss one bit, rolling her eyes anxiously in Blackmore's direction. At this rate, she might buck or try to run. No good.

   “Franky, you know a lot more about horses than I do,” Blackmore said, not taking his eyes off the tiny skull. It still wasn't moving. A good sign, with any luck it was as soulless and static as the mask covering his face. Even if he couldn't see what was happening beneath the surface of his horse's skin, he was more than happy to accept that as fact for now. “Can you try to keep her calm? I think I can get a grip on it, but… this will probably hurt a bit and she might try to get away from me.”

[prismmasked-a-blog]

scarsandstripesforever‌:

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  “You never look terrible, Funny… Not that I've seen, anyway,” Blackmore said with complete, disarming honesty. He'd be willing to admit under duress that it might just be him, but even now, his employer looked as perfect as ever. Well, maybe not perfect, but beautiful. The assassin's eyes roamed over Funny's disheveled form, his jacket and shirt still hanging open to reveal his torso. Good Lord, there was no way Blackmore deserved a man like this with such a broad chest and chiseled stomach and…

   Tearing his eyes away, Blackmore turned before his lover could see his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. That Funny hadn't noticed that Blackmore had been staring — and what he had been staring at — was pretty farfetched, but maybe if he looked busy, he wouldn't comment on it.

   A little stiffly, the assassin marched over to the hutch, fishing around in his coat for the key. One last time, he peeked inside, the smile returning to his face, boyish and joyful. Jeremiah was just where he— where she had been. They hadn't disturbed her. Good. Hopefully, they hadn't disturbed anyone else either. Speaking of which…

   “I'm so-rry, but… worse than one would expect when?” Blackmore looked back over his shoulder as he jiggled the key in the lock. It did have a tendency to stick annoyingly and the question threw him off so he may have used a bit more force than necessary. It didn't help his locking up efforts at all, but it did make him feel a bit better. “If… You do look a little like were doing… exactly what we were doing. Unless we were… I don't know, running laps on here? Well, you may have still been less sweaty…”