this post has a target audience of exactly one person (me) but it’s actually crazy insane how much edouard from castlevania nocturne looks like percy from the gentleman’s guide to vice and virtue
Very few things in fiction have devastated me more than Adrian looking at Monty and seeing so much of their father in him. Everything from his appearance to his mannerisms. It’s all their father, and he has no idea how much that would hurt if he said it out loud.
Ngl I will follow anyone who talks about The gentleman’s guide to vice and virtue by Mackenzie Lee because that has been my favorite book in the world the past 6 years and it is being forgotten (reblog this if you like tggtvav)
Notes: I don't know if anyone actually knows what this fandom is, but I was utterly obsessed with it when I was 15. I got reminded of it recently and flew into a small mini obsession once more, and so, today's fic was born lol.
Summary: Two times Percy accidentally tickled Monty, and one time it was undeniably on purpose.
1.
All it took was a couple well-placed pokes. A couple of pokes to his side to get his attention and Monty was jumping out of his seat like he’d been electrocuted. A raised eyebrow at the strange reaction. A growing blush over the other man’s features.
“Monty?” Percy asked, watching as his friend grew increasingly nervous. “What was that? Did I hurt you?”
Monty’s blush only deepened at the concern, and he sat back down next to Percy, clearing his throat and trying to act normal and like he hadn’t just jack-rabbited out of his chair.
“Monty?” Percy repeated when he didn’t answer.
Monty cleared his throat. “Ah, no, it didn’t, not exactly.”
Percy furrowed his brow and how Monty loved it when he did that, how it scrunched up all his features in the cutest way. “What does ‘not exactly’ mean? Did I hurt you or—” His sentence broke off and understanding cleared his eyes. “Oh! I tickled you.”
God, was he trying to kill him? Monty ignored the flush on his cheeks, nodding once in agreement. He waited for the smirk, for the wiggling fingers, for the telltale pounce.
But it never came. Instead, Percy leaned back in his chair, holding up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s alright,” Monty assured him, frowning a bit. It wasn’t like he had necessarily expected a whole tickle fight to break out, but he’d expected Percy to pursue the issue at least a little bit. That was what normal friends would do—it was what they did. They ribbed each other so much it was practically a second language to them. He tried to ignore the growing disappointment in his stomach.
Percy continued to drink his coffee, staring at Monty expectantly. Monty vaguely remembered there being a question asked before the whole poking fiasco, but he had been rather distracted by what followed and struggled now to recall it.
Percy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can you pass the sugar?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course.”
Monty fumbled for the sugar and attempted to pass it, but Percy reached for it at the same time, and it collided in their hands, spilling all over the table and their laps. Percy blinked and Monty cringed, waiting for the lecture on how he should be more careful, Monty, honestly. However, when Percy opened his mouth it was laughter that came out instead, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head.
“What?” Monty asked, feeling slightly insulted now. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Percy hummed happily, grinning up at him. “It’s just reassuring to know that no matter how much things change you’re still Monty.”
It felt as though hands were reaching around his heart and squeezing it, the sight of Percy’s carefree grin too much to handle in the early morning. “Oh, sod off,” he muttered, shoving him away and Percy laughed. Monty ruminated over that sentence the rest of the morning, trying to figure out if ‘you’re still Monty’ was meant as a compliment or an insult.
2.
“It’s broken, I know it’s broken!”
“Oh, quit being a baby. It’s probably only sprained.”
“That’s no way to talk to the injured.”
The two stumbled along the streets of the town after having gotten into a rather rowdy fight over a few suspiciously good cards in a game of poker. Monty had tripped in their haste to leave, hitting his ankle at a rather odd angle and leaving the man in a large but probably exaggerated amount of pain. Percy had his arm around him, practically supporting his entire weight. It didn’t help that Monty had been drinking and was therefore adequately tipsy and having a hard time walking.
“It’ll never be the same again,” Monty said mournfully, staring down at his foot. “I’ll have a limp and forever be known as One-Leg-Montague.”
“It’s hardly being amputated,” Percy scoffed. “That’s it.” He dropped Monty and the latter grunted as he hit the ground.
“Rude,” he muttered, rubbing his tailbone.
Percy kneeled beside him, holding out an expectant hand. “Give me your foot.”
“What? No!”
“I’m just going to look at it, relax. I’m not going to have you whining the whole way back. Besides, you don’t want to go back to your parents and have to explain why you have this, right?” Percy fixed him with a knowing look. “They’ll have your head if they find out you left the grounds this late, let alone what you were up to. And, as a result, they’ll have my head too. I’m just gonna see if it’s broken or not and if we need to try to find a medical practitioner this late at night.”
After a moment of suspicious hesitation Monty complied. Percy held his foot up so he could see better under the moonlight, rolling his eyes when Monty whined pitifully. No obvious breakage that he could detect after feeling around a bit. Possibly it was even sprained, just twisted. Percy frowned, about to dig into the other for making this into such a big deal, when he noticed Monty stifling laughter into his fist. “What?”
“It tickles,” Monty complained, his whole leg trembling from the effort of not jerking back. “Your fingers are too damn light.”
“I think you’re too damn ticklish.” Percy scribbled fingers properly over his foot now and Monty squeaked, nearly falling backwards in his flailing attempt to get away. Percy smiled softly at the soft, easing up and setting his foot down. “And you can relax now. It’s not broken, so you can stop being a baby about it.”
“So cruel, Percy, it’s a wonder the ladies aren’t lined up outside your door,” Monty grumbled, but pulled himself up accordingly. His ankle still twinged slightly, but it was possible that he had been blowing the pain just a tad out of proportion. He shoved his foot back into his boot, trying to shove away the feeling of Percy’s hands on him—another time.
3.
“I propose a bet. A dare, if you’ll allow. A competition between two worthy men, each certain he shall arise the victor and each perilously aware of his potential, dawning defeat.”
Monty was drunk. Not just drunk, in fact, but drunk and perhaps also high. Counter to most others when they turned to drink, Monty became eloquent and spirited when inebriated so that those around him became either charmed or annoyed. Percy had escorted them away from the party to this side room, not wanting Monty’s running mouth to get them trouble yet again. He had meant to be babysitting him while he waited for Monty to either collect himself or pass out. Somewhere along the line, however, he’d allowed himself to indulge in a swig or two out of the bottle Monty had brought with them, and now he was slipping past tipsy himself. A dangerous place to be in when Monty looked so adorably flushed and tempting.
If Percy had been paying more attention, he might have noticed Monty’s thoughts veering in the same direction.
“A dare?” Percy rose one eyebrow from his post lounging against the side of the bed. “I don’t think either of us can afford to do anything spectacular in this state.”
Monty laughed at his companion, pointing a finger accusingly at him from around his bottle. He had already been pacing the room for several minutes, rambling nonsensically. “You wound me! I have half a mind to challenge you to a duel after this for that insult. No, no, this bet is simple. In fact, it requires no moving at all!”
If Percy had been more coherent, his hackles may have risen at that particular statement. “No moving at all? Sounds like a boring challenge.”
Monty’s eyes twinkled. Inwardly, he was aflush with nerves that the alcohol was working hard to dismiss as soon as they arrived. “It is a challenge of self-control; integrity; the perseverance of the human spirit!”
“Monty.”
“Alright, I will get to matter if you only give me a moment.” He took one final swig of his bottle before slamming it dramatically down on the desk and wiping his lips. He dabbed at his face as well, for he noticed he sweating profusely. “We will each tickle each other for an amount of time agreeable to the both of us. The first to move or laugh in that time loses.”
Percy blinked at him. “Tickling?”
“Tickling,” Monty agreed, sounding quite nervous now. “Indeed. Think of how many times we have arm-wrestled or fought, quibbled over cards and chess—you are often the esteemed victor in all these competitions. So, I have devised a challenge that will give me a fighting chance at gaining a triumph of my own.”
Percy shook his head, bemused at the idea. It was true that Monty often came up with silly challenges for the two of them to undertake, usually to pass the time. Nothing quite as ridiculous as this, of course. If he was thinking more clearly, he would have refused the challenge. But he wasn’t, and there was something strange about Monty’s shifty demeanor right now that he wanted to pick at. “Alright. I’ll take you on for that. I’ll have you know, I think you’re fooling yourself. I haven’t been tickled in years, but from my recollection, the tactic wasn’t all that effective on me. And I seem to remember that you are very tickl—”
“In the past, my friend, in the past!” Monty interrupted, a bold definition for the past of events that happened mere months before. “Now, do you have a timeframe?”
Percy considered. “Fifteen minutes.”
Monty blanched. “Three. I’m supposed to be winning this, remember?”
“Ten.”
“Four.”
“Five?”
“...Fine. Five it is.”
A few minutes later, Monty lay on the bed with his hands over his head and his jacket tossed over an armchair so that he had only a thin, white undershirt to protect him. He’d insisted on going first to get it over with, but now he was beginning to regret that decision. He should have picked different terms. Only not laughing or not moving, but definitely not both. He swallowed when Percy straddled his waist.
“You’re quite red,” Percy noted curiously.
“It’s the wine. I have a horribly pale complexion, it makes all the blood stick out like a sore thumb.” It was only a half-lie, though he couldn’t have said what was flustering him more, the knowledge of what they were about to or the heat of Percy pressing into him, so close Monty could hardly breathe.
This had been a horrible dare to suggest. And a wonderful one. And most importantly, a stupid, obvious one. But Monty couldn’t take it anymore. Over and over again throughout these past few months, Percy had managed to find a way to accidentally tickle the other and it was driving Monty insane. Not exactly because it kept happening. But because whenever it did, Percy would simply apologize and back off, leaving Monty frustrated and on edge. He wouldn’t have said that he wanted to be tickled, per se. Of course not. But there was an obsession that had been steadily growing with each moment until now Monty thought that he might crawl out of his own skin if Percy didn’t sit down and just properly tickle him already.
So. The dare. He hadn’t planned to announce it, but Monty had found over the years that he had very little control over what came out of his mouth on most occasions, even more so when he’d had something to drink.
Now, with Percy touching him and staring down with that adorably teasing grin of his that made his nose wrinkle on one side, Monty thought that this might actually be worse than the waiting.
Percy placed his hands—just placed them!—on Monty’s stomach and the other jumped as though he’d been electrocuted. Percy raised a brow. “Ready to lose early, are you?"
“Your hands are cold,” Monty hissed. “You should warn a guy before plunging him into the Antarctic.”
He was being dramatic, a ploy that Percy could see right through. Thankfully, he didn’t comment on it. He glanced at his pocket watch, noting the time. “It’s a quarter to nine right now. I’ll start keeping track from there. Are you ready?”
Monty opened his mouth to make some kind of scathing, witty reply, but all he could come up with in the end was a weak nod.
Percy began slowly to his credit, though Monty suspected it was only because he wanted to draw out the other’s torment. His movements were clumsy, and Monty got the sense that he didn’t do this regularly. His fingers bumped and prodded over his shirt, a hesitant trek across his stomach that still tickled horribly, nonetheless. Monty pursed his lips in concentration, fingers tightening into fists above him.
“You’re doing well,” Percy said, and could it be, was the other impressed with his efforts? Monty flushed at the praise, though he quickly tried to school his features away from the grin they had just turned into. “For the first twenty seconds anyway.”
Monty had waited for this for so long, and now that he had it, he found it was more than exceeding expectations. His nerves sang out in protest though his body arched subtly into the other’s hands with the delighted mantra of Percy, Percy, Percy, Percy. He hadn’t allowed himself to get this close to Percy in ages and this moment of weakness was a greater drug than any he had allowed himself to indulge in before.
And the tickling was an exquisite, new pleasure. Sure, he had been tickled by lovers before and family when he was younger, but this was different. This was Percy. Each brush of his fingers made him want to squirm and curl up, but the helplessness was freeing now where before it might have been annoying. He even began to grow irritated that Percy was only sticking to his stomach thus far, a spot that was ticklish but certainly not as bad as it could have been.
“T-Taking an awfully safe approach,” Monty risked, each word pronounced carefully so that he could maintain perfect control over any potential laughter that wanted to slip out.
“Aren’t you supposed to be quiet?”
“I’m not supposed to laugh, if you remember. And it looks like I have this competition in the bag if this is all you got.”
Percy’s eyes flashed with something dark that made Monty’s insides squirm. “Oh? I was trying to extend a show of mercy, but perhaps you’re right.”
Placing his hands on Monty’s hips, Percy arched his fingers into an approximation of spider’s legs. Then, he methodically crawled them up from his hips, along his sides, over his ribs, and just underneath his armpits before moving back to his hips. He then did this over. And over. And over again. And as he did, Monty’s eyes widened and then squeezed shut as he realized just how thoroughly he had fucked himself over. Because it really tickled. And Monty wasn’t allowed to protect himself.
Percy noticed the change. “Something the matter, Montague?”
Monty was doing a horrible job of concealing the wide grin on his face. “No.”
“You seem awfully tense.”
“Must be your imagination.”
“Is there something you want from me, Monty? Perhaps to stop?”
Monty shook his head, breathing heavily in a manner that was almost concerning. His arms trembled. Percy’s hands reached right below his arms again. Monty nearly screamed, certain this time Percy would go in for the kill. But he didn’t. He restarted again, a move that only filled Monty with more dread rather than comfort him.
“How much time?”
“Why? Hoping you’re almost done?”
And oh, how that look in Percy’s eyes made Monty’s heart swoop and the rest of his body heat with longing. He regretted how Percy was sitting on his hips and hoped and prayed that some of his more visceral reactions would remain in his head. It took him so much off guard that he didn’t risk answering for fear of doing something embarrassing like giggling, or worse, begging.
His resolve lasted for another fifteen seconds until Percy changed his tactics. This time, when he moved up to his armpit he did not go back down. Instead, he reached behind him for Monty’s knees instead and began squeezing as though he were trying to dissemble them. Monty screeched, arms crashing down and large, uproarious laughter spilling out as his legs kicked frantically for freedom.
“Three minutes and twenty seconds,” Percy informed him over the sound of his laughter. “That’s how long you lasted. Which is honestly a lot better than I’d thought you do, so congratulations.”
“PEHEHEHERCY!”
“Oh, did you want me to stop?”
Monty blushed and cackled instead of replying. He’d been wishing for the use of his hands all this time, and now that he could finally move them, all he did was bang on the mattress and grip the sheets to keep himself sane. In fact, he made no move to push Percy off as the other continued to tickle him for the rest of his remaining time and a little over. Instead, he rolled over like an obedient dog happily receiving attention from their master. This did not go unnoticed to Percy, but he decided not to comment on it at that moment. It felt like something best left unspoken.
He continued to tickle him until Monty’s face began to turn a concerning shade of red before backing off. Monty offered him a weak glare, but it was clear he wasn’t nearly as put out as he was acting. “I thought the point was to stop once the other laughed.”
Percy shrugged. “I decided to take some creative liberties with the rules.”
Monty sputtered and blustered about integrity and good sportsmanship while Percy watched him with that unflinchingly amused smirk. Finally, he concluded, “Well. I think I’m going to acquire something to wet my throat with after that. But when I return, I hope you’re prepared for revenge.”
Percy’s face had grown a tad brighter in hue, stance stiffening. “I told you. I’m not ticklish.”
Monty grinned. “Sure. I’m sure three minutes and twenty seconds will feel a lot longer when you’re on the other end of it.”
As he sauntered off to retrieve hopefully water but probably wine, Percy was left to stew in his own anticipation this time and he began to wonder whether the satisfaction of destroying Monty had been worth it after all.
So I just read a gentleman’s guide device and virtue by McKenzie, and it was amazing, hilarious and full of adventure, but throughout the whole thing I got a very Wolfstar vibe from the main couple. Like, a privileged boy from an abusive aristocratic family, who is impulsive, selfish, stubborn, arrogant, but lovable same. He has a strange relationship with a sibling and discovers that he is not his family . He is also desperately in love with his best friend he seems to keep mucking things up with. Said Best Friend is a boy who is physically different from everyone else also has a secret condition. He is faced with bias and comes from a less privileged standing and forces our main character to see the privileges he takes for granted. (we also also have a short main character in love with his taller best friend. )I don’t know, Did anyone else pick up on this? Am I crazy? (it is entirely possible that I read too much fanfiction)
