#I’ve written bits and pieces but never anything I’ve been able to fully flesh out

[river-of-wine]

I have a primal urge to write an O'Shones fic. The SECOND I get a good idea I’ll be unstoppable

[thosewickedlovelies]

The answer  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader x Santiago Garcia

Summary: Questions are asked and answered. Takes place immediately following “Ask me”

Rating: E for Explicit

Tags: SMUT, threesome, reader is penetrated; best friends who have always been a little bit in love with each other vibes (inspired by this photo)

Word Count: 1,743

A/N: I’ve been kinda wanting to challenge myself to do a gender-neutral smut piece, and I thought this would be a good opportunity to do so :) I’ve never written anything like this before (in terms of both the gender-neutrality and the gay vibes), so I’m open to (gentle) constructive criticism <3

--

“Worry about me later, baby,” Frankie urges. “Right now what I want is to take care of you.” Nectar drips from his voice like that fateful fruit, slicking your descent toward sweet surrender.

"Or watch me take care of you, anyway,” Santiago adds. Still crouched on his knees before you, lips glistening, the round of his spine suggests laser-focus, a predator about to pounce. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but the look in eyes is deferent as he glances over your shoulder to Frankie.

Your partner’s body enfolds you like a silk hammock, a warm, rippling sea in which you have no fear of drowning. Frankie’s chest is bare and smooth against your back, supporting you as if he’s only here to reinforce your pleasure, and not partake of it himself. Although if his words from moments ago were any indication, he was indeed getting his own enjoyment:

“Too good to me, baby,” murmured through sloppy kisses and removing clothes.

“Fuck, you look so good between us,” groaned into your ear while you squirmed, callused fingers on your nipples and Santi's mouth on your neck.

“Yeah, let me hear you,” satisfaction barely audible over the irrepressible moan that Santi drew from you as he slowly worked you open.

Meaningfully Frankie skates his palms down over your hips, dipping tantalizingly close to the burning between them before winging away. Fingers digging into the plush flesh, he spreads your thighs for Santi.

Again. The air vanishes from your lungs at Frankie’s gesture.

He keeps you pinned open as Santiago inches forward and you’re certain you’re trembling, even as fresh arousal wells in anticipation. This feels so much more, somehow- suddenly immediate and undeniable that you’re really here, about to be fucked by your boyfriend’s best friend while said boyfriend holds you open for him.

Perhaps because this isn’t just affecting you. You note, through the throbbing heat demanding your attention, the tension in Frankie’s body framing you. How careful Santi is about where he places his hands- on you or the couch, no longer bold and teasing with Frankie. The skitter of his gaze, like he doesn’t know quite where to focus now that he’s facing both of you so directly. You wonder where Frankie is looking.

When Santi is finally nestled to the base inside you, an inch for every panting breath, you’re not the only shaky one. His muscles quiver with the effort of holding himself over you, the feeling of you engulfing him threatening to overwhelm his good sense. For a moment there is only the strained rise and fall of your chests as both men wait for you to adjust. It’s akin to being rocked by the swells of an ocean, only in this case your anchor is Santiago, keeping his hips flush with yours, keeping you present on the delicious, searing stretch of his cock.

Frankie’s tongue on your neck makes you shiver, and Santi gasps when you clench around him. Smiling, you admire the gleam of sweat at his temples, the desperate lines around his squeezed-shut eyes. It’s difficult to maneuver yourself in this position, but you arch your body into his as best you can, giving him permission to move with a squeeze of his muscular ass.

A raspy laugh slips from him. It’s a bit clumsy at first- accommodating to the weave of limbs in which the three of you are entangled. Possibly this would be easier on a bed or even the floor, but it’s far too late to move now, lost in each other as you are. You know the boys would agree- even if you had the opportunity to be transported with merely a snap of the fingers, it feels right that this should happen here, on a slightly cramped couch, stifling smiles and snorts of laughter but never your eagerness for each other.

Santiago is impossibly beautiful like this. Every hard-earned muscle on display, working in harmony to the cadence that’s always swayed the three of you, however unconsciously. His eyes half-lidded and hazy, his little groans of effort and pleasure complementing Frankie’s caresses. It’s clear from Frankie’s own awed murmurs that he’s experiencing the same bliss you are, and he lets his hands linger on your front so his knuckles brush Santi’s torso. Like strings on a loom pulling gradually tighter, the design you three are creating becomes steadily clearer.

“Damn,” Frankie says hoarsely. The angle of your head prevents you from seeing his expression fully, but you make a wordless sound of wholehearted agreement.

“Mm?” Santiago hums in question despite his own daze, spying something in Frankie’s face that you missed.

“Just…it’s obvious which one of us aged better.”

Frankie’s voice is strained, his body tense. He’s been hard since the moment Santiago said yes, but a tangible slippery patch has grown against your back while the other man rocked in and out of you, long, measured strokes making an easy smear of Frankie’s cock.

Santi looks up, startled. Then his smile crooks. “Shut up, Frank,” he laughs, and the kiss to your shoulder doesn’t feel like it’s for you.

Frankie chuckles, raspy and affectionate, and it’s like the picture is finally identifiable, an outline of this potential future woven clear.

The turn of your head gets their attention. Santiago slows his hips as you stretch your neck toward Frankie, his lips just reachable in this position. But Santi’s thrusts still entirely when you face him next, your kiss brim-full of the same contentment you’d given Frankie. Something fraught flickers between the two men when you pull back; Santiago looks almost shy as, hesitantly and then all at once, he presses his lips to the corner of Frankie’s mouth for a lingering, reverent second.

Frankie’s eyes close and his head tips back as Santi drops his forehead to your shoulder. His curls catch on the bristly hair of Frankie’s jaw, steady, rhythmic again, and you’re not sure of the delineations between your bodies anymore. You feel full, in more ways than one, surrounded both physically and emotionally.

Frankie’s moans are music to your ears as you reach behind you, stroking his cock as best you can while semi-laying on it. Fuck, his husky sounds never fail to heat your blood- a new experience for Santiago, you’re guessing, from the way his eyes flare, fixed on his friend’s dropped-open mouth. There’s been no particular hurry to your activities thus far, but a sense of urgency is growing now, blossoming with every drag of skin on skin, every throaty plea weighting the humid air.

It’s not long before Santi’s grasp on your shoulder slips, flushed with sweat as you are. Fumbling, he braces himself on Frankie’s broader frame, and your partner holds his hand in place, unthinking. Santiago swears. He looks you over, eyes a little wild, then back up at Frankie, imploring.

Obliging, Frankie’s other hand snakes down your front, fingers searching, circling where you’re most sensitive. Distantly you’re aware of him rutting against your back, tiny whines scraping his throat with a familiar desperation. Everything in you tightens around the slick jerk of his fingers.

You cry out as you come, hips arching into Santiago, flattening Frankie’s hand between you. Santi gasps ragged and guttural as you spasm around him, and your rapture careens abruptly higher at the speed and force with which he’s suddenly slamming into you. A jumble of hands hold your shuddering frame in place as Santiago finds his own release, shoving the three of you impossibly deeper into each other.

For a moment it feels as if you’re floating, your body tethered only by the bruising clutch of your hands and theirs. As your awareness returns, you notice that Frankie is rigid behind you, still quivering, his lower half contorted as if to gain as much contact with your skin as possible.

Oh. There’s far too much wetness against your back for it to just be sweat.

A giddy, dreamy laugh wisps from your next exhale. Frankie doesn’t react, but Santi rolls his head to face you with a drowsy hm?

You disentangle one of your hands and lift it to gently rub Frankie’s scalp with your fingertips, tousling the curls as if scratching a pet’s ears. “Just glad we were all able to make it.” Your still-breathless tone carries your meaning. You twist your head to kiss the nearest bit of him, which happens to be his jaw.

Santi lifts his head, his expression somewhere between surprised and smug. Frankie only gives an airy shrug, inclining his head to mouth at your shoulder; the space now shared by both men’s faces.

“Meant what I said,” Frankie offers in his low voice. His gaze flits over what it can reach of Santiago’s naked body.

Surprise completely overtakes the smugness in Santi’s face, his mouth curving up as if he’s powerless to stop it. You observe in delighted disbelief. You know from experience how much it normally takes to make Santiago blush- yet here he is, all afluster at a few words from Frankie. Chuckling, Santi ducks his head again.

You wriggle sideways slightly so as to better see more of Frankie’s face, a shift that results in Santi leaning on him with his whole arm and flank. The thoughtful flicker of his eyes over Frankie’s further exposed torso doesn’t go unnoticed.

“We’ll see,” is all Santiago says; but his contentment is palpable, his tiny smile a confession. Frankie relaxes as the other man collapses again, this time with his head more on Frankie’s shoulder than yours.

The sun is past its peak now, longer shadows interrupting its shine through the windows, but the three of you don’t need it. You can all but see the afterglow illuminating, the way the filaments of a lantern gradually brighten as they warm, casting gentle light on the possibilities presented here.

You regard Santi with an indulgent smile. You sweep it up to Frankie next, softening at the sight of his unruly hair and the relief with which he returns it. There’s an unspeakable kind of gratitude mingling with the adoration in his eyes. As if his thanks could possibly be necessary; as if you would have ever denied either of them the opportunity to explore such long-contained feelings, no matter what your original proposition for this afternoon may have been.

“Next time,” Frankie murmurs, his lips brushing Santiago’s brow, “we’re doing this in a bed.”

--

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb

[swirlynight]

Commander Fox x reader | Burns and scars

Got this idea from @suddenly-clones's idea of what Fox looked like. I just had to do it because I absolutely adore my boy Fox. He deserves love too.

And finally, I've written a longer fic.

---

You stood in front of Fox, your love, with your hands grasping both of his. The room was completely silent, neither of you saying a word. The only noise that could be heard throughout the room was yours and Fox's quiet breathing. He didn't want to be the one to speak first, and you weren't entirely sure what to say.

You looked into his darked T-shaped visor, a bit covered by the sun blocker as his head was tilted downwards, fixed on your hands intertwined with his. He was refusing to take off his helmet, and it worried you. You weren't force-sensitive, but you could feel the mix of emotions radiating off Fox. Emotions of shame and fear, among other negative emotions of the same category, and it broke your heart. You didn't like seeing him upset.

"Fox." You spoke his name gently. Someone was going to have to break the silence sooner or later, even if you still didn't know what to say.

He said nothing. The only reaction you got out of him to let you know he heard what you said was the slight lift of his head. He lifted it up enough where you could now fully see the visor, and you assumed he could fully see your face as well.

"My darling..." You spoke, your voice barley above a whisper. You watched as his head dipped back down, away from you. "What's wrong?"

Still, you got no verbal response. You watched his head move up to look back at you for a fleeting moment, before quickly looking away somewhere else. You had no idea what happened, but you knew it must've been something bad for him to be acting like this.

Fox wanted to give you a response. He really did. He didn't want to just keep quiet like he was ignoring you, but he didn't know what to say. He could open his mouth, but no words would form on his tongue. No sounds would come out of his vocal chords. He was speechless, and not in the good way. He was afraid. Afraid of losing you, either because of what happened or because he won't give you an answer. And neither were good options.

You let go of his hands, sliding them out of his loose grasp. His hands fell down to his lap, his head sinking down further as he found his feet suddenly more interesting than everything else around you two.

"Fox, look at me." You requested gently

He complied with your request, his head slowly moving up to look at your face. You wished you could see the man underneath the helmet and the armor. You brought you hands up to the underside of his white and red helmet, with the intent to pull it up off of his head. However, before you could, Fox's hands shot up to take hold of your wrists and pulling your hands down, preventing you from lifting it up.

"No..." Were the only words that slipped past his mouth. He sounded so defeated, and it only broke your heart further. You hated seeing him like this.

"Please." You begged, wanting to actually be able to see his face. See how much damage had truly been done, and see if there was anyway you could comfort him. Even if he wouldn't speak about what was wrong.

His head tilted downwards slightly, looking away from you again. He still couldn't look at you, not with the shame he was feeling. He knows he should tell you, that everything won't be as bad as his brain thinks it will be. He knows everything won't turn out nearly as bad as his brain thinks, but he just can't find the courage to do it.

"I can't." He said, shaking his head slightly

"Fox..." You pressed lightly, not wanting to take it too far, "please?"

You heard a small sigh escape his lips. Not one of annoyance, or relief, but one of defeat. He knows you'll find out sooner or later, and that he can't hide it forever. He's already hidden it for long enough. He has to face it sooner or later. He didn't give any verbal confirmation, only the nod of his head as he let go of your wrists, his hands falling to his sides.

You lifted your hands back to the base of his helmet, gently gripping the durasteel. You lifted up the helmet off his head, immediately noticing how his eyes immediately dart away from you to look somewhere else. He couldn't even look you in the eyes. He couldn't even look at you.

You discarded the helmet to the side, immediately noticing what was the source of Fox's worry, shame, and fear. It was a new, large burn covering the bottom left side of his face, adding to his ever growing list of scars and burns. You knew he was always self conscious about the multiple scars that adorned his face, but you never knew they could ever affect him this much. As if your heart was broken enough, knowing this only broke it further. You absolutely hated to see him like this. You never wanted him to be sad. Only happy, because that's what he deserved.

You brought your hand up to the burn, and he made no move to stop you. You gently rubbed your thumb over the now red, scarred flesh. It was warm.

"Is this what you were scared over?" You asked gently

Fox didn't say anything, only nodded a little. He still refused to look at you. The wall was much more interesting.

You smiled a small bit, knowing exactly what he needed. You leaned down to gently kiss his forehead, afterwards sitting down next to him on the bed so you could pull him closer to you. You drew different shapes into his red, ginger hair.

"You should know by now that a little scar isn't going to change how I feel about you, love." You said

Throughout this entire conversation, he finally met your gaze for the first time. His golden brown eyes held a bit of disbelief in them, as if he didn't believe what you were saying, "You're...not disgusted or repulsed by it?"

"Of course not." You reassured him, "I still think you're as dashing and handsome as ever."

"Do you really mean that?" He asked quietly, a bit scared of what your response could be. He still wasn't fully convinced.

"Of course..." You said, leaning down and leaving a few kisses along his new scar, "I love everything about you." You ran your fingers through his hair, reaching up to leave a small kiss along his hairline. "I love your cute, ginger hair..." after, your reached down a placed a kiss along the two faded scars, "I love every single scar on your skin." Then, you reached down to hold his hand, placing a kiss on top of the hand piece (he was still in his armor), "I love your hands, because they're warm to hold. I love every single part about you, and I can keep going on if you want." You said, looking up at your flustered lover from all the praise you gave him

"Oh, and there's one more thing." You said, sitting up fully, placing your hands along both his cheeks once you did

"What is it..?" He asked, a bit of fear still inside of him as he looked at you

"Just that I also love those wonderful lips of yours, because it let's me do this."

You then captured his lips with yours in a kiss, pouring all of your love for him into the kiss. He quickly melted into your kiss, deepening it as he pulled your body close to his. Once you pulled away, you leaned your forehead against his, a small smile gracing your features. Any thoughts of fear or shame went completely out the window for Fox. All his focus was on his beautiful lover in front of him, a small bit of guilt inside him for ever thinking you would ever leave just because he got a new scar.

"Thank you." He said, enveloping you into a hug, "I love you." He added, but quieter

"I love you too." You responded

[divinewhimsy]

Ichor (DabixReader) Pt.2

Aaaah. Not that it was mega popular before but I’m having fun writing it. Dabi is more of my view of him rather than what I’ve seen him written like but I’m sure as I write for him more I’ll improve. Nevertheless, enjoy!

As always, Trigger warning for blood!

Part 1: X

Part 3: X

Enjoy~!

    You thought he would attack upon first waking up. That he would spring into action and immediately burn you to a crisp. All that would be left of you would be ashes or crispy pieces of flesh flaking away in the wind for him to season his dinner with. Death should have been imminent.

    What you didn’t expect was him to groan and puke all over your floor. The hot vomit staining your carpet, bile leaking into your hardwood floors as he rolls off the couch and onto the ground. He’s gritting his teeth and panting, squeezing as much air as he can into his lungs before more acid spills from his mouth. 

    And you’re just standing there. Wide eyed and unsure. What were you supposed to do? What are you supposed to do? The man you had healed and then subsequently taken hostage is now puking on your floor and you’re just staring at him. 

    What did you do to him? Could this be the overloading of your quirk? Is he allergic to blood? Can he not stand the taste? 

    Wait- if he couldn’t stand the taste then it would have been evident back when he was still bleeding to death. To have a reaction now is a secondary side effect. You tense as he tugs at the bandages around his head and tears them off. His lips part as he huffs and gulps down unrestricted access to oxygen. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, the clink of the catching staples the only noise beyond his heaving. 

    “Are you just going to stare?” he growls quietly and you meet his gaze. 

    Those cerulean eyes are staring into your soul again. The lively energy ripping away at your insides as he fixes you with a steady glare. He must still be mad. You did do this to him, after all.

    You don’t say anything and instead turn down the small hallway toward the bathroom. You grab the first few towels in the cabinet beneath the sink and rush back to the living room. You mop up the acidic liquid with the fluffy towels, grimacing at the smell and touch as some of it coats the back of your knuckles. The stranger moves out of your way eventually, his knees and the bottom hem of his shirt coated with the bile. He rests his head against the seat of the sofa and closes his eyes. 

    Steadying his breath, he sits still as you pick up the dirtied towels and toss them into the dirty clothes pile near the small washer and dryer you have in the far corner of your small kitchen area. You grab a small washcloth on your way back and wet it with cool water. Ringing it out slightly but keeping it damp you make your way toward the stranger and cautiously dab his mouth. 

    His reflexes are quick to catch you, his hand on your wrist with the same blazing warmth as before. His eyes snap open and the rage within them freezes over the heat he emits. A snarl starts to crawl up his lips as he flicks his gaze to the cloth and back to your face. But just as quickly as he snatched your wrist he lets go with a huff and glances away. 

    You’re not sure if it's a sign to continue or to back away but you’re not about to back down now. You did do this to him, after all. The guilt is writhing in your stomach as you watch him. Even if you’re on your knees beside him and trying to help- the hateful gleam in his eyes makes you feel smaller than even a speck of dust. 

    Despite the fact you kidnapped him. Which he hasn’t seemed to fully process just yet. 

    “You’re starting to stare holes into my face.” he seethes and his gaze glues back to yours. “Out with it.”

    “Oh.” you swallow and back away a bit from him. “I wasn’t sure if you were okay with me still helping or not.”

    He takes a deep breath and runs a hand down his face slowly. After it falls from his chin and to his lap he shoves it toward you, palm up to the ceiling.

    “Give me the damn rag.” he growls quietly and you oblige happily. 

    He runs the damp cloth down his face carefully and you watch as he tenderly dabs at the spots near his staples keeping his burnt skin connected. 

    ‘It must be difficult..’ you think to yourself as you watch him curiously. With all those...Piercings? Staples? Did they really hold his skin up like that? Are they just for show or do they actually have a purpose? Do they hurt as much as it looks like they do? Questions filter through your mind rapidly and you find his gaze torn back to yours begrudgingly. 

    “What?” he sighs.

    “Do they hurt?” you mumble and motion toward his cheekbones and the staples that sit there. “The staples?”

    “Is it any of your damn business?”

    “It was just a question.” you sigh and accept the rag he shoves back to you. 

    He watches as you stand and drop the cloth back with the other towels. You pause near the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from your fridge. You hand it to him as you sit awkwardly to his left on the couch. 

    What are you doing, treating him like a guest and not some hostage? Your damn impulses are going to get you into some serious trouble one day. Maybe that day is actually today. 

    He just grunts as he takes the bottle and tears off the cap. He gulps down the water greedily, streams of the liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth as he doesn’t stop to breathe. 

    He must have been really thirsty. Could it be another side effect? 

    He tosses the empty bottle to the ground and huffs again. You watch as he stretches his legs out underneath the coffee table and rests his head completely against the cushion beside you. His eyes search your face with a bored expression, the dull look in his eyes nothing like the fire that had been burning before. 

    “What did you do to me.” he demands quietly. “Why can’t I use my quirk? Did you erase it?”

    “Erase it?” you quirk a brow. “I can’t do that.”

    “Then what the hell did you do?”

    “I told you before. I healed your dying ass.” you grumble. “I’m not sure why any of...this is happening now.” you motion toward the wooden floor damp with his bile. 

    He falls quiet and rolls his eyes. 

    “You better find a new line, doll. I’m getting tired of the same shit answer.”

    “If I had a better one I might consider giving it to you.” you sneer and cross your arms over your chest. “But here’s the deal. No one can know about my quirk.”

    “Are you really in any position to make demands?”

    “Are you?” you push back. 

    He doesn’t answer.

    “Exactly.” you mumble. “I’ve been hidden too long with this power doing what little I can to help those I get to. If word gets out about it there’s no way I’d be able to continue living my peaceful, dull life. I don’t know what your name or your mission is but I want no part in it. I don’t care if you’re a villain or a hero or a vigilante. All I care about is you keep quiet.”

    “So you kidnap me?” he scuffs. “Not a very heroic thing to do. Sounds a little villainous, doll face.”

    “I never said I was a hero or a villain.” you spit back. “I just want to live my life in peace. If that means I have to keep you here until you agree then so be it.”

    “So my quirk being gone isn’t an accident. You’re keeping me powerless on purpose.” 

    “No. I was telling the truth when I told you this has never happened before. I’ve never had someone’s quirk disappear and I’ve never kidnapped someone.” you mumble the last part and avoid looking at his face. 

    “Well this blows.” he sighs. “Not that I’m buying into your bullshit but let’s pretend I do. What now? You want my silence, I want my quirk back. What are you going to do about it?”

    “I don’t know-”

    “Errrrrrrrrr.” he makes a loud buzzing noise. “Try again.”

    “I already told you that I have no idea why it-”

    Another loud buzzing noise, the error sound pouring from his lips as he jabs a thumb down. You steel your nerves and collect yourself. You can’t let this bastard get to you. Not if you want his silence.

    If he wants his quirk back he’ll have to remain here until it returns. It’s the only way to monitor the differences between him and the others you’ve used your own abilities on. As much as you despise the idea you can’t think of a better one where you’re both satisfied. 

    Compromise. That’s all this is. 

    “Fine. As much as I detest the idea,” you hiss, “the only way I can think to solve both of our issues is for you to stay here so I can monitor the effects. If I keep an eye on your vitals and compare the differences to past recipients I might be able to figure out how to reverse the change. The only way to do that and not attract attention is for you to stay here until I can reverse the...incident.” 

    The man falls back to silence and you wonder if he ever even heard you in the first place. Is he ignoring you? Is he doing this just to get under your skin? If he thinks for one second that being a child and acting so impishly is the way to solve this issue then he’ll have to regain more than just his quirk when you knock him senseless! 

    “Fine.” he groans after several moments. “If you get me my quirk back then I’ll think about not letting your stupid secret slip. Not that I give two shits about it to begin with.” 

    You release a breath you never realized you were holding. Good. So at least he’s intelligent to recognize a good compromise when it falls in his lap. As much as you don’t like the idea of the stranger staying here..

    “I don’t know your name.” you say quietly. “What should I call you?”

    “I never got your name either, sweetheart.” he yawns and casts a lazy glance your way. “You first.”

    UGH.

    “You can call me Ichor. It’s what I tell other people I’ve helped to call me.”

    “Ichor? That’s what you’re going with?” he sneers.

    “Oh? And I suppose you have something better you go by?”

    “Dabi.” he breathes and rests his elbows against the cushion. 

    Well at least he has no trouble making himself at home. Ignoring the admittedly interesting name he gave you to call him you uncross your legs impatiently. 

“Considering you just emptied your stomach I’m going to bank on the fact you don’t want something to eat?” you sigh and stand from the couch. 

“Nah.” he shrugs and you take a deep breath. 

You can do this. Your quirk will probably fade from him in a couple of hours and then everything will go back to normal. No stranger living in your house, no worries about any of your business getting out into the world. 

“Tell me about your quirk.” he pipes up and gets to his feet, following behind you. 

“Take your boots off.” you scuff and look down at his dirty leather boots. 

What sounds like a frustrated breath releases from him before he balances on one foot and tugs his boot off, tossing it toward the door and missing completely. It lands halfway between the kitchen and the living room, dropped on its side. 

You raise a brow and glance back at him as he tugs his other one off and tosses it just as carelessly. You pray his feet won’t stink judging but the amount of dirt in the boots. 

“Your quirk?” he presses and hops onto one of the barstools by the island. 

“I can heal others by them consuming some part of me. It enhances their bodies to repair damage done physically- even mortal wounds that can kill. Beyond that it boosts their bodies. Quirks, senses, it’s like a shot of fast acting steroids. But I have to willingly give them the part they consume. Blood works the best.” 

“So kinda like a reverse vampire?” he mocks and you pointedly ignore the quiet chuckle he gives. 

“If that’s how you wish to see it.” you seethe. “I can over produce blood, as well. My body makes it rapidly so there are times I must take it upon myself to drain the excess.” 

You open your fridge and motion toward the bags of blood waiting to be used. 

“If I were to drink one now would you still have control of it’s boosts?” he nods toward them as you grab a handful of ingredients to start cooking. 

“Yes. They hold my essence. Although they’re not in my body currently they’re still pieces of myself.” 

“What about the effects it has on you?” 

“I can’t give myself a boost, if that’s what you mean.” you furrow your brows as you start filling a pot full of water and bring it over to the stove. 

You set the burner on medium and move to wash the vegetables you grabbed before. You scrub each one diligently as he tosses questions at you. 

“Can you bring someone back to life?” 

“I don’t know.” you sigh. “I’ve never tried. The people I reach are still alive by some standard.” 

You hate giving up this much info about your quirk but you need to. In order to get him out of your hair. 

Although you’re not sure if you can trust him to keep the secret. 

“What if I was dead?” he ponders and you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“No. I would have known.” 

“Oh, so you’re an expert in all things life and death?” he rolls his eyes. “Look sweet cheeks, you’re not a professional. You’re going off of experience. You can’t honestly tell me I wasn’t dead.” 

“Expert or no,” you hiss. “I know death when I see. I know death like the back of my hand. I’ve fought it off with my quirk. I know the fringes of fleeting life well enough to know if someone is capable of being saved or not. I haven’t tried with someone where I didn’t feel those frayed ends. And when I got to you I still could feel the threads there.”

    “Alright so what is different? Did you do something you normally don’t when saving some other poor bastard?”

“No.” you shake your head and pause. “Well, maybe. Normally I bring the bags of extra blood with me. I don’t normally give directly from the source. Maybe it’s too potent? Or maybe it’s the oxidation process that changes it? If the blood in the bags is exposed longer than perhaps without that long of an exposure it’ll change the properties.”

“Well it’s good to know you don’t normally go around bleeding on people.” Dabi scuffs and you sigh. 

“What about you, hm? What's different now compared to when you normally summon your quirk?”

“Besides the fact it doesn’t appear?” he sneers. “When I first woke up my senses were in overdrive. I thought it could have been because of the adrenaline of fighting and waking up after being knocked out. But when my quirk started...acting on it’s own, it flickered outside of my control. I could feel my body temperature rise higher than it normally does but the flames wouldn’t follow. It was suffocating.”

Overdrive.. That was definitely your quirk in action. It’s like steroids on steroids to any quirk user- when it’s not from the source directly. If it was less contained and more chaotic, it’s possible his quirk is too powerful to be contained in the state it put him in.

You turn over your arm to look at the wrist you had sliced open to feed him. The skin is puffy and red with use- and to your surprise- there’s a scar. A large, thin line that pulls from the bottom of your palm to two inches into your forearm. You can see your veins wrap around it unpleasantly, the blood running through you throbbing in your heart. But it’s interesting as you look at it further, noticing branches emitting from the scar. Has it always been so treelike? 

“You can control it, right?” Dabi interrupts your thoughts and you blink back to reality, turning to face him across the island. 

“Yes.” you nod. 

“Take it away from me.” he orders and you furrow your brows. 

“If I do that you could end up right back where you were before-”

“You’ve already done that. You put me out, girlie. But you didn’t take it all away, did you?”

You swallow nervously and hold your breath.

“I won’t take it all.” you shake your head. “I don’t want to be the reason you die if I do.”

“How sweet. But I’m not asking.” he snaps. “Do it.”

You turn your gaze to him but your anger doesn’t rise up. It doesn’t flood your system as it should. You summon your quirk, pulling at the threads that connect Dabi to you. They’re still there. You give one a tug and watch as nothing happens. He doesn’t even blink. Did it drain his energy? Or does he not feel it?

You tug another back into your wrist and watch in silence as he blinks at you.

“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” he grumbles. “Your eyes...they go red.”

You snag three more threads and his body slumps lower, his chest heaving in air as your mind grows dizzy. To pull it back so quickly and twice in one day is beyond what you normally do. Taking it away isn’t something you normally do- it’s requiring much more energy than it does to give it. 

But you push through. 

Three more strings curl back into your arm and your body threatens to give out from under you. You can feel your lungs ache for air but you can’t summon them to pull it in. You can barely focus on the scene before you as your eyelids dip dangerously close to shutting. 

“I can’t-” you gasp and release the threads you took from his body, the snap of them between you two causing both of you to tremble in the aftershocks. 

“Lack of experience or consciousness?” Dabi sucks in a breath. 

“Both?” you murmur and stumble to turn the stove off before you let your body slink to the ground. “I’ve never had to take it back.”

“I think I’m gonna nap.” Dabi grumbles and sluggishly wobbles over to the couch before he drops down on it face first.

You’re inclined to agree but your legs won’t move. Your body is demanding rest as you coil back down into yourself, the taught threads between you and Dabi tangling together into one as you lose yourself to slumber.

[yumeka36]

Frozen 2 review

I’ve seen Frozen 2 twice now and feel like I’m ready to review it (somewhat) objectively. Obviously there will be spoilers so read at your own risk.

I’ve looked at a number of reviews of the movie both from fans and general critics/moviegoers, and it made me realize exactly what kind of movie this is: pretty much all of the criticism I’ve seen has to do with the plot being unfocused and rushed at times, with points made about the convolution of the mythology elements. On the other hand, the praise I’ve seen has to do with the growth of the characters, how appealing Anna and Elsa’s development is, and the overall message of accepting change, righting past wrongs, and being who you’re meant to be. It’s almost like the critics who didn’t like the movie and the fans who did had completely different expectations for what they wanted to see, with the former expecting some intricate fantasy plot that all clicks together and is fully fleshed out, while the latter is expecting to see their favorite characters face new adventures while growing their relationships and personal identities. And this latter interpretation is the defining point of Frozen’s appeal, even more so in the sequel: the franchise is all about the story arcs of Anna and Elsa and how their bond as sisters helps them grow stronger together as well as individually. In Frozen 2, it’s the characters that are driving the plot instead of the plot driving the characters. And because of this, the movie would rather spend more time focusing on character songs and interactions (not just Anna and Elsa but Olaf and Kristoff too) than exposition and fleshing out of story elements. It would rather spend time showing Kristoff singing about his pining for Anna’s love, give Olaf scenes showing how his new-found knowledge has made him view the world, and give Elsa a follow-up to “Let It Go” in “Show Yourself,” than to spend time explaining, say, the Northuldra culture, how the spirits can make decisions like giving Elsa powers, or exactly how the magic of Ahtohallan works. Yes, this does make some story points lacking and hurried, but I feel that the filmmaking team relies on the fact that we’re so in love with these characters that not understanding every detail in the lore and plot won’t ruin our enjoyment. And, from the acclaim the movie’s getting, I’d say they’re right.

Frozen has always been about quality character story arcs as opposed to quality world-building, but the reason this is more prominent in Frozen 2 is because the first movie had a smaller scale story with minimal lore to focus on, so the character arcs stood out more. Because the sequel brings in more world-building elements, it’s easy for someone who’s not invested in the characters to focus on and judge the movie based on the fine details of the plot. Of course it would be nice if we could have both: intricate, solid world-building as well as character development, but that would probably make the movie too long – it could work for an ongoing series but not for a time-restricted Disney movie that only has a degree of creative liberties and still has to adhere to certain story flows and formulas. So then the questions are, did I feel enough was explained in Frozen 2 to make sense of the story even if a handful of things were lacking? Did the quality of the characters and their developments and relationships make up for a plot that was a bit messy and unfocused? I’d say the answer to these questions is yes.

With that in mind, as a fan judging the movie based more on how the characters are handled rather than the plot, and considering the hype the movie had to live up to and the insane number of directions they could have gone with the story, I think the final product turned out to be very good. The few things I had issue with are as follows:

-as I discussed in most of this post, I admit that the movie is a bit rushed at times, with certain scenes and plot points that needed more focus being glossed over. An extra 5-10 minute runtime would have benefited it immensely: a few more scenes of Agnarr and Iduna in Ahtohallan, more discussion in the finale of Anna becoming queen and what Elsa’s role as the fifth spirit is…even just another 30 seconds for each of these would have made a big difference. But at the same time I feel enough is explained to satisfy a general audience and the main appeal of the movie – the character arcs and relationships – is very well done.

-Kristoff’s failed proposal in the wagon felt way too forced. Anna was just way too quick to misunderstand him, making it feel very unrealistic and it only made their relationship look regressing rather than progressing. The other attempt in the forest was a bit forced too but not as bad as this one. These scenes definitely could have benefited from another rewrite. But thankfully they’re short.

-the new characters like Matthias and Honeymaren contributed virtually nothing to the plot: they could have been replaced with just nameless Northuldra and Arendelle soldiers and nothing would have changed in the story. I think the only reason these characters were made is because there’s some rule that Disney sequels have to have new characters and can’t just rely on the strength of the old ones, so these guys were created even if the movie didn’t necessitate them. Even the four spirits were more plot devices than actual characters. As cute as Bruni is, as soon as I saw him I was like “yeah, he’s just there to sell toys, not gonna contribute anything to the narrative flow” and I was right. This again goes back to what I was saying before about how Frozen 2 chooses to focus more on its (star) characters than world-building through new characters. So in a way, having these new characters isn’t a flaw and it actually shows just how good the original Frozen characters are: they still have so much depth and personality that hasn’t been explored that they can carry this new story on their own without the help of new characters.

But other than a few missing and rushed plot pieces and a little poor writing in Kristoff’s scenes, I thought the movie delivered very well. The love Anna has for Elsa is so amazingly conveyed in this movie that you don’t even need to see the first movie to understand it. All of their interactions and conversations felt so genuine. Olaf was very funny even if all of his jokes didn’t hit their mark. Most of the songs were great and really felt like they were written to move the characters and story forward and not just to be earworms kids will always want to sing. “The Next Right Thing” is one of the darkest moments I’ve seen in any Disney movie, but also one of the most emotionally moving and I have to give kudos to the creative team for keeping it in. “Show Yourself” is the true successor to “Let It Go” (why do they keep pushing “Into the Unknown”?) and is such a beautifully sung and beautifully animated sequence. Speaking of the movie’s animation, it’s gorgeous and it’s so amazing how far the technology has come since the first Frozen. There’s so much detail and nuances in the characters’ expressions and actions that only multiple viewings can pick up on.

Of course, I can’t complete this review unless I discuss the elephant in the room – the ending. Anyone who’s been around the fandom the past couple months knows how bent out of shape everyone got once a vague description of the ending leaked online. Now that I’ve seen it for myself and know all the context, I’m okay with the message: Because Iduna did the right thing and saved Agnarr despite him being her enemy, the spirits gifted their child with powers that could be used to correct the past wrong, should she choose to. And because Anna did the right thing by choosing to destroy her kingdom to save the forest, the spirits freed Elsa who, in turn, was able to save Arendelle. Elsa fully embraced herself and is able to live as she wants, but still able to see her family when she wants. It’s not that she didn’t like being queen of Arendelle and living with Anna and the others, but now that she knows exactly what she is – the fifth spirit – she wants to explore that, but is still able to have a life with her family too. Likewise, Anna has found a purpose she never had before. Even though it’s a major change, she’s happy because she knows Elsa is happy and they can still see each other whenever they want. But as I said, exactly what Elsa does as the fifth spirit should have been explained more (hoping it does in future installments). For what we got though, it was a happy ending, but I won’t say it’s satisfying until we get some more information in future books, filmmaker interviews, and, hopefully, future animated shorts and sequels.

I’m still trying to get over the shock, not just of the fact that a movie I’ve been speculating and daydreaming about for six years is finally here and known, but also the fact that it ended up being very different from what I ever imagined in my theories and headcanons. But now that I’ve watched it twice, I understand the direction the filmmakers went and can appreciate the message they wanted to convey even if the execution was a bit messy. I’m hoping I’m high on Frozen 2 for a while because once it wears off and, assuming, there’s no announcement of new Frozen content by then, I’ll have to figure out what to do with my life! This movie is all about coming to grips with change and I’ll definitely be doing that in reality depending on what the future holds for the Frozen franchise. But as of now, I’m still willing to follow Anna and Elsa into the unknown.

Art credited to @pacota22ma on Twitter

*Crossposted from my main blog, Yume Dimension*

[literallyusuk]

Song of the Sea (USUK) Chapter 1

Summary: An unmarked Clubs Queen with a secret. A Spades King that can't help falling in love. A Clubs King desperate to hold onto what is his. A Spades Prince blinded by jealousy.

Oh, and that secret? Big enough to send the two Kingdoms plunging into war if it were to come out.

Notes: Alternate title: Smells Fishy.

Hello hello! Yet another new story that I don't have fully written out yet, but by golly I love this one so much. The beginning chapters are fleshed out and edited from an rp I did with my friend @aziraho. ^0^ I hope you'll enjoy this one! Please let me know what you think!

Warnings: There’s one curse word in it for now. Will get steamy later tho.

~~~

The Clubs castle had, for a day, become something more vibrant and beautiful than ever before. The cold King of the North had never held celebrations before – no birthdays, no weddings, no holidays or anniversaries – so it was a shock to every royal to receive an invitation, and even more so when they saw the event; the birthday of the Queen of Clubs.

People only knew the Queen’s name, Arthur Kirkland, and that he was a fair man with green eyes. Arthur never travelled outside of Clubs- or even outside of the castle, really. The Queen of Clubs was not even the true Queen, bearing no mark on his body, but since there hadn’t been a Chosen Queen for over a century, no one questioned the arrangement.

It seemed King Ivan had been lucky enough to marry for love…though the other royals couldn’t even remember receiving a wedding announcement.

Clubs Keep glittered in the evening, for once a warm gold instead of the cold blue of ice under the moonlight. The very air seemed warmer as well, though many of the guests still had cloaks and capelets draped over their shoulders. The party was in full swing in the Grand Ballroom, with tables of food and drink lining the walls and a band in the corner and a dance floor taking up the centre of the space. Laughter drifted to the ceiling, perhaps a bit muted for a celebration, but still there.

The Queen of Clubs inclined his head in thanks at yet another murmured congratulations and moved further along the room. He was dressed from head to toe in Clubs green and gold. His trousers and jacket were a deep, hunger green, while his gold-trimmed cloak was a more vibrant hue. Messy blond hair stuck out from underneath a heavy crown, and his gait was as smooth as the rolling waves.

He ignored the false King of Spades’ attempts to get his attention, his eyes rather trained on the similarly dressed figure exiting the room into the hallway. Curiosity piqued, he followed. He made no sound as he left, and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at what he eventually found.

The Spadian had stopped next to a mirror and was, for lack of a better word, peacocking in front of it. Smiling and smirking to himself, running a hand down the side of his long dark blue and silver coat to smooth it down and momentarily allowing the rapier at his hip to be visible.

“The food had better be good,” he muttered, “for why else would I entertain myself with this miserable place? Even the inside seems frozen over.”

Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not a very kingly thing to say, is it?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Of course he knew this man was the true King of Spades, and it wasn’t hard to see exactly what kind of person this King was; pompous, full of himself, a spoilt brat of a royal. “Especially out in the open, where anyone could hear.”

Those blue eyes locked onto Arthur’s figure through the mirror. The King of Spades ran his fingers through his low ponytail nonchalantly and didn’t bother turning around. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he replied, voice playful and recognizing no guilt. “A good King spins pleasant lies, but a great King speaks the truth. At least, that’s what my father always told me.”

“Hmm.” Arthur neither sounded nor looked impressed.

The other man finally turned to face him, offering a polite smile. “He also told me not many royals would agree with that.” The modest grin spread, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin. “The Kingdom of Spades wishes you a happy birthday, even though it seems that you’re not enjoying too much of it. It’s a pleasure, Queen Arthur. Ivan has weaved many tales about you, and you are even lovelier than he gave you credit for.” He reached his hand out to the Queen, palm upward, was the custom.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arthur would refuse the King’s gesture and leave the hand hanging there, but eventually he reached out and delicately placed his hand atop the other man’s. This was definitely a child of a ruler, but Arthur knew he had to be at least polite, or he’d get it from Ivan later. That’s the last thing I need, to top this whole farce off, he thought bitterly, but forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you for your wishes,” he replied, coolly if not a little coldly.

The Spadian King’s touch was surprisingly gentle on the Queen’s hand as he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. He spoke a formality in Old Spadian before releasing the hand, pocketing his own deep into his coat. The bow had released a few strands of hair from his ponytail that now fell into his face- which would have made him look aloof if not for the smile.

Holding himself perfectly still, Arthur didn’t even look like he was breathing until he had been released.

The King kept on grinning. “Has dear King Ivan stepped on your feet one too many times to deserve to be left alone on the dance floor? He did have that habit, at least back when we were young.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I merely wished to step outside for a moment for some air. You need not worry yourself with Ivan’s dancing.” Despite himself, Arthur’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Though knowing your kind, I suppose if I’d given you the opportunity, you would have started waxing on about how great of a dancer you are?”

“I learned my dances from the best,” the King replied, leaning his shoulder against the ice. “It seems I’ve been caught before my escape plan could come to fruition, so I could prove my prowess to you on the dance floor if you’d like, my Queen.”

He was talking, of course, about the false King of Spades that was weaving through the crowd back in the ballroom.

Arthur resisted the urge to snort. Yeah, this King was exactly what he’d expected. “Escape plan, hmm? And are you sure it’s wise to be telling me about that?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arching. “I could very well be offended that you find a party in my honour so dull. It would be the simplest thing to tell my…loving King about the slight you’ve given us.” He completely ignored the offer to dance.

“Oh, that old boy would just laugh it off, don’t I know him,” the other man said, shrugging away the notion that anything bad might have come from his unorthodox behaviour. He glanced to Arthur. “If you want, I could take you with me.”

Arthur did let out a laugh at that. “Stealing away the Queen? You are bold, my dear King of Spades. I can almost appreciate that.” He half-turned, smirking at the other royal and staring at him from half-lidded eyes. He definitely didn’t miss how the Spades King appeared dumbstruck for a moment. “Unfortunately, I will have to decline. I actually have duties to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He started walking back towards the ballroom, though paused after just a few steps. “Pity you won’t be sticking around. Perhaps I would have taken you up on that dance later on. Though, this might be for the best. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me anyway,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he left the bait hanging there in front of the King’s open mouth and continued forward.

Confident that he’d be seeing more of the actual Spades King later on, Arthur weaved easily through the crowd. He ignored both servants and nobility, and took extra care to avoid the King of Diamonds. King Francis was an aggressive flirt with an abrasive personality that reminded Arthur too much of him- the cause of all of Arthur’s troubles. And Arthur really didn’t want to cause a huge scene by punching another royal. Out of the corner of his eye he once again saw the false Spades King trying to get his attention, and was happy to ignore that man too. Though the thought of going up to the imposter did cross his mind briefly, he was just as quick to brush it away. There was no point, really. He’d met the real one already, for all that was worth.

He made a beeline for the refreshment tables instead, and especially the lone platter of salty mackerel and tuna. There were only a few pieces left, to his annoyance, and he was quick to snap them all up. Politeness be damned, saltwater fish were a delicacy. Ivan didn’t often allow them into the castle. Munching away on the last of the tuna, he allowed a neutral, almost content expression to settle over his face.

“Arthur,” a low voice murmured to him a few minutes later.

Arthur turned to meet Ivan’s violet eyes. His back stiffened. “Ivan.”

“Where were you? You vanished.” The Clubs King’s mouth stretched down into a soft pout.

“I didn’t go outside,” Arthur immediately snapped, though he kept his voice low enough that no one else would notice. “The air in here grew stifling.”

“It always gets stifling when you’re pressed into the corners. The dance floor looks like it has more room.” Ivan gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Dance with me, my Queen?”

The request was a simple one. Such a simple one, phrased so innocently, but Arthur knew better, and he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he returned a bland smile to the taller man. “Of course, my King. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Ivan’s smile faded somewhat, though he still took hold of Arthur’s elbow and led him to the dance floor. Some of the murmuring voices hushed as royalty and nobility alike turned to watch the host King and Queen dance. The pair moved well together, if a bit rigidly. Arthur made no excess movements, no effort to dance with grace. He moved mechanically, like an automaton, and a few times it almost seemed like Ivan had to pull and tug him along. The King of Clubs watched him carefully as they spun and twirled.

“Arthur, please,” he whispered when the music shifted to a second song and nothing changed. He leaned in for a kiss.

At the last second, Arthur turned his face so Ivan’s lips pressed against his cheek. “You asked me to dance. I’m dancing.”

His mouth opened, but then Ivan just sighed and pouted again.

Arthur ignored him. His green eyes swept the crowd to where everyone not dancing was looking at them and seemed to be talking amongst themselves. He spotted the two Kings of Spades next to each other, the crown back on the rightful man’s head. Briefly, he wondered what a dance with the other King might look like. Would it be more or less of a farce than this? He waved the thoughts away and focused his gaze on the clasp of Ivan’s cloak as he waited for it to be over.

It seemed as if the man had heard his thoughts, because at the next quick break the musicians used to tune their instruments, there was a touch on his arm. Arthur flinched, then turned to meet the eyes of the King of Spades.

“I believe you owe me a challenge, fair Queen,” the blond man said, ignoring Ivan and the murmuring crowd around them.

Arthur’s expression didn’t betray any emotion. “My, how eager you are to lose,” he murmured. “It hasn’t even been an hour.” Then, seeming to remember himself, he glanced to Ivan. “May I?”

Glancing between the two of them, Ivan eventually nodded. His grip tightened on Arthur’s body. “We will dance more later?”

“…Of course.” Arthur smiled at him and then disentangled himself, stepping closer to the other King. “Very well, King Alfred. Let us see where those dances from the best left you.” He didn’t spare Ivan a glance as the Clubs King retreated to the side of the ballroom.

Alfred accepted Arthur’s hand and confidently led him to the centre of the dance floor. “Say,” he said, before the music started. “I couldn’t help but to notice the tension between you and your King. You are…alright, are you not?”

Arthur couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that coiled in his stomach at Alfred’s question. It was…sweet, even though it was sad that he had to ask it in the first place. “I’m fine,” he replied. “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am unhurt, and this is my home.” He gave Alfred a polite, distant smile.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alfred told him.

The music swelled and the Spadian King immediately took a strong lead in their dance. He moulded his steps to the music rather than a rigid pattern, and Arthur was so surprised that for a moment it was all he could do was follow. His body, lax with shock, was whirled and moved by Alfred’s will alone. Alfred wasn’t too forceful, though, and once Arthur had recovered he was able to push back against him. He spun faster and stepped out further, forcing Alfred to chase after him a little bit.

He didn’t stop there, stepping into Alfred’s personal space to force him in the direction that he wanted to go- almost as if he was trying to take the lead occasionally. To his surprise Alfred was game for it, following for a little while before tugging the lead back. A spin, followed by a dip, and Alfred was leaning over Arthur, smiling down at him warmly.

Arthur very pointedly tried to ignore the way his heart leapt, both at the dip and the sight of Alfred’s bright smile above him. His eyes slid to the side, and he allowed Alfred a few beats of control again while he composed himself. Snap out of it, Arthur. Don’t you dare get any foolish ideas. He rebalanced himself and seized the lead, spinning Alfred out even further than before, then reeling him back in until they all but crashed into each other. He barely gave Alfred time to breathe before they were moving again, whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You’re not doing as badly as I feared you would, I’ll admit,” he said, smirking up at the King. “But this dancing is still nothing special.” The dancing he really loved, really poured his heart and soul into, he hadn’t been able to do in what felt like eons. It was slowly fading from his memory. Arthur roughly dipped the taller man to distract himself, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Alfred replied, his voice teasing, before a ‘whoa’ escaped his lips at the dip. He laughed loudly as he came back up, and smiled even louder. They moved away from one another, hands still linked, and when they came back together Alfred used the opportunity to take back the dance, pulling the Queen a little bit closer than when they had started and adjusting his pace to the slower melody that now played. “My offer to steal you away still stands, Queen Arthur. There are many dances out there to be danced, for fun, not for a good show for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who see us as walking bags of gold.”

At this, however, Arthur’s energy diminished somewhat, and the line of his shoulders grew rigid. Alfred was foolish, true, and childish, and bright and warm, but he was also dangerous. Unquestionably dangerous. The Clubs Queen had forgotten himself, his place. Arthur’s relief was palpable as the music faded, and he stopped his dancing when they were off to the side.

“And how do you know,” he asked quietly, removing himself from Alfred’s hold, “that I haven’t been stolen already?” For the first time in his life, he was glad to see Ivan waving him over. “It seems I’m being summoned. Thank you for the dance, now please excuse me.”

Inclining his head to Alfred, he then spun around on his heel and strode to his King’s side. This time when Ivan’s arm snaked around Arthur’s shoulders, his face didn’t betray any expression at all.

“I wish you’d dance like that with me,” Ivan mused.

Arthur didn’t respond, and luckily Ivan didn’t press him to. Instead, they did another round of the room, Ivan chatting with various nobility and Arthur trying not to look too bored. The Jack of Hearts gave him a sympathetic glance when they passed, though Arthur’s returning look was quite chilly. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need pity. Anger and hatred fuelled him, would keep him going until the time was right.

“Alfred!” Ivan called, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. “Matthew! I haven’t properly introduced my Queen to you- well, at least to one of you.” He glanced curiously to Alfred, and his grip on Arthur was almost possessive.

Turning his attention to Matthew, Arthur gave a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Matthew replied, offering a bow in return.

Alfred stuck his hands into the pockets of his cloak and gave Ivan a questioning look. “King Ivan, I’m perplexed that you didn’t invite us to the wedding! Surely a loving couple like yourselves must have had a grand celebration!”

Sighing softly, Matthew elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What he meant to say,” he said with an apologetic smile, “was that we regret missing such an occasion and wish we could have given our congratulations to the couple at the proper time.”

Ivan shifted on his feet. “Yes, well-”

“There was no wedding,” Arthur said shortly. “We aren’t married.”

“Arthur…” Ivan peered mournfully down at his Queen, and his brows furrowed even more when he was ignored.

“There are also no plans for marriage in the future.” Arthur’s voice was low and firm. “I am Queen in name, and Ivan is my King, but marriage between us is inconceivable.”

The two Spadians glanced between each other for a long while. “Well, I hope your rule is fruitful despite this,” Matthew finally said after a moment.

“Thank you. Ivan isn’t as much of an idiot as his predecessors, so I’m sure that under his rule Clubs will begin to return more to its former glory,” Arthur said sweetly, glancing up at Ivan. “Isn’t that right, love?” His smile was razor sharp.

Ivan looked uncomfortable for a moment, before his eyes hardened. “Where is your coat, Arthur?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. The power play between them was multi-layered and nuanced, but the Queen knew when he he’d stepped out of bounds. “I’m afraid I misplaced it, my King,” he gritted out. “I apologize.” Shifting his attention to Matthew and Alfred, he bowed to them again. His eyes lingered on the Spades King’s features for a touch longer than necessary. “Some of the nobles are looking quite ignored. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go…entertain them.”

He all but wrenched his arm from Ivan’s grip and stalked away, back towards the food tables. There was nothing left that interested him, but if he was at least nibbling on something, most of the nobility would leave him alone. Most.

“Queen Arthur,” someone said.

Arthur’s mood further darkened when he turned around and spotted one of the older Clubs Lords behind him. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would be able to snag a dance with the False Queen before the night was over.”

“Don’t call me that, and you just might,” Arthur replied stiffly.

“Of course, of course, Your Majesty.” The Lord reached out and snatched up Arthur’s hands, dragging him to the dance floor. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been so long since I’ve last danced, and even longer since my last one with you.”

“Not long enough,” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I said, it’s been long enough, since Clubs had something to celebrate.”

“Indeed.” The Lord yanked Arthur more tightly against himself. “Don’t you get bored here?”

Arthur eyed the man sharply. “What’s your point?”

“You seem…agitated. Frustrated.”

“I wonder why.” The Queen bit back a growl as he was pulled even closer to the older man’s body.

“The Blizzard Council still isn’t sure what involvement you might have had in King Petr’s death.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Are you accusing your Queen without proof?”

“You bear no mark. You are not Clubs’ true Queen.”

“And yet I’ve been crowned. I suggest you don’t overstep your boundaries, Lord Morozov.”

The Lord gave a cruel smile. “And I suggest you don’t forget what you are, pet.”

Arthur wrenched himself free. “Don’t you dare call me that,” he spat, no longer able to keep his expression neutral.

Nearly everyone in the room turned to look at them. Disgusted but also embarrassed at the scene, he whirled away and stalked towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Ivan called, hurrying to intercept him and leaving a confused Alfred and Matthew in his wake.

Arthur shot him a glare cold enough to stop the King in his tracks before continuing out of the room. Though part of him was curious as to Alfred’s exact expression, he didn’t allow himself to look. He didn’t allow himself to hope.

His hands clenched tightly at his sides when he finally managed to escape the ballroom. ‘This will be a good opportunity,’ the Blizzard Council had promised. Arthur snorted. Good opportunity for what? Parading him around? Pushing him until he snapped and did something to embarrass Clubs? There was little love lost between the Council and the Queen. They’d always disliked the fact Arthur had been crowned, and he’d always hated them by virtue of their humanity. Ivan’s fondness of him protected Arthur from them, but also kept him trapped in Clubs.

He growled and slammed the door to the royal baths shut behind him. One of the pools was soon filled with lukewarm water and Arthur fell back into it, clothes and all. Only beneath the water was he able to relax a little bit, and time slipped away from him as he soaked. The water was freezing by the time he finally rose out of it. He stripped from the damp clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile by the poolside, and put on a thin white nightgown after rubbing a towel through his hair.

It wasn’t long after that he stalked through the gardens, his sandy hair gleaming almost silver under the light of the full moon. His feet were bare as he stole along the snow-dusted path. The weather had been a touch milder than usual so there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, but it was still enough for him to leave a trail of footprints. The thin fabric of the nightgown shivered and bowed against the wind, but Arthur still walked confidently towards the far corner of the castle grounds.

The old Astronomer’s Tower speared the sky near the joining of the northern and eastern walls. It was also known as the Old Tower and the North Tower; lately, ‘Queen’s Tower’ and ‘Monster’s Tower’ had been added to the list of names. No one stopped Arthur along the way, and there was no one inside the tower to meet him. He’d claimed it as his own, and everyone within the castle walls knew it. The Queen climbed the one hundred and fifty steps alone, lit a few candles in the empty room at the top, and then stepped out onto the balcony to commence his nightly vigil.

“You’ll freeze to your death here yet,” a voice murmured sometime later, warm hands draping a heavy cloak over his shoulders.

Stiffening at the touch, Arthur’s eyes jerked from the far horizon to focus on Alfred’s face. When he recognized the Spadian King he relaxed a little bit, though his expression was still wary as he assessed the situation. His arms moved up, fingers trailing through the fur trimmings. Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the shift in temperature.

“Alfred. What are you doing here? This is yours, you should wear it. You’re not as used to the cold as I am.” He started shrugging the cloak off.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred said, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I basically grew up on the seas and docks. These little inland breezes have nothing on a good ol’ storm out on the open sea.” He reached out, only to pull the cloak tighter around Arthur’s shoulders.

Despite himself, Arthur managed a small smirk. “Oh trust me, I know how rough the seas can get.” Even if he hadn’t felt it in ages, and most certainly had a different perspective. He turned his head to the side, eyes seeking out the horizon once more, though he didn’t step away from Alfred’s body.

“I wanted to check on you, too,” Alfred continued. “I uh- Ivan seemed pretty upset, heh, at me too when I told him he should maybe lay off the awkward attempts at husband emulation. I know he can be a bit rash, so I dunno. I guess I got a bit worried when I saw you marching through snow barefoot.”

Arthur’s hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak. “Ivan seemed upset, did he?” he spat, anger simmering within his expression. “Did Ivan send you here as well? Are you his spy now? If so, then kindly fuck off. I neither need nor want your forced concern.”

“I am nobody’s spy, Queen Arthur. I did not have to leave my nice and warm chambers to trudge through snow and walk up stairs to check on you, and I certainly wouldn’t do all of this if Ivan had asked me to. I am half-blind, my feet are soaked from the snow, and my hair has never seen a worse day- yet I’m still here, offering you my concern.” Alfred ran a hand through his tangled hair. “By the Mage, you are difficult. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go back between my silken sheets and forget I scaled half the castle and most of the courtyard by hearing because – imagine – I was worried about you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. The merriment shook his frame and echoed in the still air. After a moment, he lifted part of the cloak to cover his mouth and try to stifle it. Really, how much more spoilt could someone get? Immediately moaning about silken sheets and damp shoes and a bad hair day. Oh, that had certainly made Arthur’s night. Slowly, his laughs faded away and he took a few deep breaths. His eyes slid over to meet Alfred’s annoyed gaze, then focused on the banister of the balcony.

The Queen released the cloak and placed his hands instead into the inch or so of snow gathered there. “Why were you worried?” he asked softly. “I am not your Queen, so why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Should I not care for my brother because he is not my Queen? Should I not care for my people because they aren’t royalty? Should I turn a deaf ear to the calls of the occupied Kingdoms because they are not on my land? You are not my Queen, but neither are you Ivan’s, and if not him, then there must be someone else to worry about you. Being forgotten is a fate worse than many other.”

Arthur’s fingertips scraped against the stone of the banister. He ignored the burning pain that shot up his forearms. “I am Ivan’s Queen. For better or worse, I am the current Queen of Clubs, so don’t you dare say otherwise. As to being forgotten, well. I think I would prefer that path to the one I’ve been forced to follow.”

“For worse, considering your King is courting a Prince of Spades,” Alfred said, his voice seeping with bitterness. He reached out a moment later, laying his hand softly on Arthur’s. “What’s going on in this castle? It feels like everyone is miserable here.”

The touch startled Arthur out of his thoughts. He shook away questions like It was a good thing, right? and Would he be replaced if Ivan and Matthew took things further? and Would he lose the only bargaining chip he had? and had to avert his gaze. If he looked into those bright blue eyes for too long he might spill everything, and then it really would be the end.

“Everyone is miserable here,” he managed to say with a somewhat steady voice. “After all, we live in eternal winter.” By that point his feet and hands had gone numb from the cold, and his lips were taking on a blue tint.

“Your people make the best of it. Those who remain, anyway,” Arthur said, before gently taking Arthur’s hand off the cold stone and into his own, warm fingers trying to rub some heat back into the frozen skin. “We should get you inside,” he murmured. “The guests are all gone by now and the King is busy in his study. You should be able to relax in the warmth.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.” He shivered at the contact between them, watching how Alfred’s fingers moved against his skin. “I can never relax in there. This is the only place I feel…” Free. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you wish to go back to your comforts, then go ahead.”

“Very well. I’ll stay too, in that case.” The young King took the Queen’s other hand as well and moved closer to him, offering body heat that seemed to outlast any cold weather that Clubs could throw at him. He remained silent after that, watching the stars as his fingers kneaded Arthur’s delicate skin, trying to keep it from completely freezing.

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred’s face then, taking in the planes and shadows of his features under the light of the night sky. “We can at least share the cloak, can we not?” He slipped his hands from Alfred’s and slung the heavy cloth around the taller man’s shoulders as well, then slowly stepped even closer to him until they were nearly flush together. Afterward, he ducked back under the edge of it, and his hands automatically reached for Alfred’s again. “Ah.” He froze before he could touch him, though. “Is this alright?”

Though Alfred had tensed at the closeness, and momentary shock and surprised flitted across his face, he was soon smiling. He positioned Arthur so they could both hide in the cover of the warm fabric. His smile widened and became more encouraging when he saw Arthur’s hesitation, and he closed the distance between their hands himself.

“Quite. Let’s try to keep you warm, hm?” he murmured, thumbs now trailing more meandering patterns into that pale skin, careful and appreciative as if bent on learning all there was to Arthur’s hands.

Warmth coiled in Arthur’s belly the moment his hands were cradled within Alfred’s again. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome. For a while, he watched their joined hands, but before long his gaze was pulled towards the mountains. “If I look long and hard enough,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, “it sometimes feels as though I’m able to see the ocean again from here.”

Alfred followed Arthur’s eyes to the mountains, beyond which the Devil’s Sea lay, frozen over and desolate of life. “Did you live by the sea before?” he asked.

“Yes, you could say I did.”

“It’s gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

“I…think I remember it being so. I haven’t seen it in so long I confess it’s fading from my memory.”

Alfred hummed. “The fish swim so close to the surface that the water looks as if it were made of pure silver, and the spring storms clean away any filth. It smells fresh, like a new beginning. Like home.” He then chuckled, squeezing Arthur’s freezing hands more tightly. “A bit like you.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched, and one of his eyebrows arched high as he tilted his head up to glance at Alfred’s face again. “I smell like home? Well that’s highly unlikely. Are you sure the cold isn’t getting to you?”

Alfred laughed. “You smell like the sea, Art,” he said, grinning. “Y’know, a little fishy.”

“How rude of you,” Arthur said, though his tone was still light. He smiled a bit more as he eased one of his hands free and used it to scoop up some snow. In a flash he had deposited it onto Alfred’s face, practically cupping the Spades King’s cheek as he pressed the snow to his skin. “Also, my name is not ‘Art’.”

Alfred, master of all combat, failed to see the attack coming. He gasped, quickly scraping the freezing snow off his skin and pressing what he could salvage against Arthur instead. He grinned at Arthur’s gasp. “Your nickname is,” he said, chuckling and, a little sheepishly, took to brushing the rest of the snow off Arthur’s cheek. “King Alfred the Rude? Sounds as good as anything.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing at their antics. What were they, children? The whole situation was foolish, but…he found he didn’t really mind. “It certainly fits you,” he teased, leaning the tiniest bit into Alfred’s fingers while they were still against his skin.

They seemed to curl a little more, caressing him, before Alfred took his hand away. “but really, why not visit it then, if you’re forgetting what the sea is like? Surely you could take a diplomatic trip to the Spades shores? It’s beautiful there, and the people are nice.”

As warm as his insides had gotten from the nickname and the gentle brush of Alfred’s fingers against his cheek, Arthur’s core flared hotter still at the offer. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; it had been a long, long while since spending time, alone, in such close quarters with a man had left him so relaxed. So…longing for more. He adjusted the edge of the cloak so it rose higher around his shoulders, covering his cheeks reddened from the snow and the warmth he felt inside.

But…

“As tempting as your offer of a visit sounds, it would be impossible. I’m not- I’m unable to leave here.” The Queen bit down on his lip. Well that sounds suspicious- shit. “I made…a promise to Ivan, and I intend to keep it. But thank you.” He offered Alfred a small, slightly sad smile.

Alfred’s own smile dulled as he averted his gaze, as if realizing the intimate atmosphere between them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have the magic to gift you a likeness of the sea,” he said, slipping back into a more formal manner, “but I will remember to bring you something back from it when I return to Clubs.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. After so long of being so observant of the men around him, he caught the shift within the King instantly. The realization was like a handful of snow shoved against his back, and his own smile fell away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he told him, stepping out from underneath the cloak. “I tend to stay up here for hours. Really, you should return to your chambers now. You’ll have a long journey home tomorrow.”

Alfred sighed when he found himself alone against the cold once more. “Arthur,” he began, then hesitated, then stepped after the Queen, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. “I wish our circumstances were different, my Queen, but I will come back for you, even if just to lay my eyes on you again,” he vowed, releasing Arthur once he’d finished speaking. He threw his cloak over Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a dashing Spadian smile as he moved towards the stairs. “Just give it back to me next time, kay?”

This time it was Arthur who moved after Alfred, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. His eyes were wider than usual, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. What was he doing, what was he doing? “My King, I-”

In a moment of selfishness, he adjusted the cloak more snugly around his shoulders instead of giving it back. He wanted Alfred to return for him. He wanted what Alfred was promising, despite the fear humming in his veins. In his heart. As Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur leaned up and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the King’s cheek. His cold lips brushed more against beard than skin, and were gone after not even a second had passed.

“Thank you, for both your concern and your company. It wasn’t awful spending time with you, I suppose,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“I guess I didn’t have too awful of a time, either,” he replied, resting his hand on Arthur’s for a moment. Then, as if the King had been left behind so easily, he grinned and in a thick accent more suited for the fields than a castle said, “I’ll see ya ‘round, Art.” With a wave over his shoulder he was then gone, trudging back towards the main castle.

Oh heavens above, Alfred would actually be the end of him. Arthur buried his face into the warm cloak and let out a groan. That accent, and that goddamn nickname. It was infuriating and somewhat frightening how quickly Alfred was slipping past all of his carefully erected and maintained barriers. The Queen watched the King’s small figure on the ground until he was gone from sight, and then let out a sigh as he once more turned towards the mountains. The sea was there, just beyond them. Arthur could almost feel it singing to him, but he could neither hear it nor leave his gilded cage to answer.

He only left the tower when the moon started sinking low in the sky and slipped back into the castle with only a few guards for witnesses. The heavy cloak was stowed in the very back of his wardrobe, and when he finally slid into bed, he fell asleep to the burn in his limbs as warmth returned to them.

In the morning he watched from his bedroom balcony as the Spadian procession left. Matthew led the small column, the King’s prize war steed tied to the Prince’s young Arabian. The King himself was draped over the neck of his mount, as if an exotic pelt that snored very, very loudly. Arthur could even hear a few from his balcony before the group left the castle grounds, and he smiled.

If he allowed himself to think that Alfred’s tired state was due to him, well, there was no one there to bear witness or argue.

[sethrine-writes]

Decadence Divine

Pairing:  Vergil (Dmc5) x Reader

Rating:  Explicit

Words:  2581

Warnings:  Sex, Smut, The Good Shit, A bit rough, Spicy Stuff, Not meant for Children

Summary:  For someone who seems the proud, quiet type, Vergil’s rather loud when it comes to wanting or needing intimacy. When he gets in one of those moods, it’s not that hard to tell.

A/N:  This is the first time in YEARS that I've written full-on smut, no stops, all the good shit. I blame my lovely Pizza Thots for their ideas and contributions. This one especially goes out to my dear friend @mysticalkhfan, whose love for the trash husband knows no bounds. I hope you like it, dear!

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For someone who seems the proud, quiet type, Vergil’s rather loud when it comes to wanting or needing intimacy. Perhaps it’s because he was starved of much needed physical affection for so long, or he just finds the most comfort with you, but when he gets in one of those moods, it’s not that hard to tell.

He starts with a bit more physical contact over the course of several days, hands persistent at the small of your back or your hips, even in more public places where he usually remained more reserved. It’s a tame change, but one to take note of.

His kisses linger, as well, his usual short, restrained pecks changing to longer, more intimate exchanges that leave you breathless.

A final sign of his usual restraint leaving him, however, is a single, thoughtful gift he leaves out for you to stumble upon, usually ranging anywhere from a lovely collection of poems to some form of jewelry. It’s always something sweet and well-thought-out, but it is merely a distraction that allows him the quickest way to get his hands on you.

This time, he leaves a box of chocolates for you on the dining table, the embroidery and accompanying bow both lined with gold and looking every bit as extravagant as you’re sure the sweet treats are inside.

“Thank you, Vergil,” you say sincerely, only marginally surprised when you feel a single arm wrap around your middle from behind.

He hums in acknowledgment as you open the box, revealing the delicate chocolates hidden within, each individually encased in a frilly, open-top wrapper. There is an assortment of flavors, a small card within detailing each careful ingredient hidden within the middles, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed at the choices.

“Will you have one?” he asks, leaning in to leave a tiny kiss against your cheek.

“Maybe I should wait until after dinner,” you respond, your heartbeat quickening as Vergil leaves a persistent trail of light pecks to your neck, the sensation sending pleasant tingles across your skin.

“Just one,” he presses, and you find yourself quickly falling under his spell of a mood.

“Pick for me?”

He leaves another touch of his lips to your skin before plucking the flavor card from your weak fingers, eyes scanning over the choices for the briefest of moments. He shifts to drop the card on the table, reaching for the chocolates and pulling out a small, unassuming piece with a drizzle of white across its dark, rounded surface.

You don’t ask the flavor he’s chosen, fully intending to guess it on your own as you reach up to take the treat from his hand. Vergil is one step quicker and moves the chocolate to your lips, prompting you to open them. He pops the morsel into your mouth, fingers just grazing your bottom lip on the retreat, and you find yourself making an effort not to let out a whimper at the tingle such a brief caress leaves behind.

The chocolate melts against your tongue after only a few seconds, bitter and dark, but pleasant and smooth. Breaking the shell, you’re immediately surprised by the burst of flavor that greets your taste buds as well as the even silkier cream of the inside. You hum your astonishment, savoring the taste as it continues to melt against your pallet until all that remains is the bitter-sweet aftertaste.

“It’s vanilla, right?” you take a guess, turning with a smile in place. It would be just like Vergil to choose something so simple, but so decadent.

The atmosphere shifts with your change in position, and before you can say anything else, you’re being pushed against the table’s edge by Vergil’s body pressing snuggly against yours. His hands are cupping your jawline, pulling you up just as he swoops in for a devouring kiss. His tongue is instantly against yours without any preamble, licking against soft tissue and teeth and lips in long, languid strokes that leave you whimpering for more when he pulls away momentarily to kiss along your jawline.

“French vanilla,” he corrects, your ears just barely picking up his words through the fog that was quickly overriding your thoughts.

“It’s good,” you say, gasping at the barely-there graze of teeth against your earlobe.

“Even better on your tongue,” he says, voice pitched lower and words very nearly a growl, and he shifts to overwhelm you anew.

Things begin to move so quickly, but far too slow. Your clothes fall from your body with little effort on your part, some ripped from Vergil’s excitement at getting at more of your flesh. You barely have time to mourn yet another of your favorite shirts laid to waste before Vergil is biting at your revealed skin, creating blooming marks of red that were sure to get darker as the next few hours passed.

Your hands are not idle; as Vergil devours your very being, your grasp at his shoulders, his hair, his clothes, keening and panting and squirming under his ministrations. Cold, polished wood presses against your back, and it takes you out of the fog for just the barest second to register that you’re now flat against the dining room table before Vergil is on you again, suddenly void of any clothing on his person.

He’s insistent as he presses against you, hips rolling against yours and kisses sinfully distracting from the hands now ridding you of the remainder of your clothing.

“Sh-should we…should we move this to – ah!”

You’re shushed by Vergil literally dropping to the floor, hands spreading your legs and mouth immediately where you wanted him most. It’s such a shocking move that you very nearly come off the table, all-together, back arching violently and thighs simultaneously bracketing Vergil’s head.

He is seemingly unfazed, perhaps even welcoming the pressure of your thighs against his face as his hands grab your hips and pull you even closer to the edge of the table, allowing him more room to access you entirely. He growls against you when your hands find their way into his silver-white hair and pull, the sound vibrating against sensitive flesh and causing a shout to leave your kiss-swollen lips.

He is almost voracious in his appetite for you, building your pleasure higher and higher with each touch of his lips and stroke of his tongue. Questing fingers soon join the mix, and you’re finding it increasingly harder to keep your noises at a somewhat respectable level. Every time you quiet down, however, Vergil’s tongue strokes harder, his fingers twist just so, and you’re shouting your praises to the heavens above, which only eggs him on.

It’s no wonder how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens, how you are both excited by the messy sounds from your body and Vergil’s mouth. There’s no surprise when your first orgasm hits you suddenly and without warning, your vision whiting out for mere seconds as a sharp cry escapes you.

You’re only aware of the bruising press of fingers into the flesh of your hips when you’re finally able to make a coherent thought, aware of the harsh, gasping pants coming from Vergil as he rises and presses against you once more.

His excitement is evident, cock hot and hard as it presses between your legs. You jump at the touch, sensitive from his ministrations. Vergil takes a moment of pity and runs his hands down your shaking thighs, trailing them back up and continuing up your body. As he does this, he angles his hips just right and pushes into the snug embrace of your body with little effort, following the flow of his hands as he moves ever closer.

Below him, you’re already a wreck, gasping his name and all but clinging to his hands as his fingers thread with yours. He follows up with nibbling kisses against your neck, tongue dragging against blooming marks before sinking teeth once more into the hypersensitive areas.

A sudden, sharp thrust has him seated fully within you, a blessing as it is complete torture, and for what feels like an eternity, he is still. Had you any capability for thought, you would have wondered why he stopped then; his oddly labored breathing and the nearly crushing grip of his hands against yours should have been enough signs.

Vergil was losing his control.

“P-please,” you whisper, voice high-strung and almost whiny as you lean into your beloved. “Please, Vergil, p-ah, please!”

You are silenced with a low growl against your ear, only for your voice to ring throughout your home as his hips push harshly into yours. It was a warning, but your one-track mind was unable to comprehend it.

“You have me,” you continued, tongue poking out to lick at the shell of his ear. “You have me, so do whatever you want. Fuck me, Vergil.”

He snarls against your ear, bodily pressing you into the table for all of three seconds before his hips are pulling back, cockhead just barely keeping snug within you-

His hips thrust forward swiftly, and you shout for all to hear as he finds his pace, fast and hard and devastating. All you can do is wrap your legs around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back to help pull him impossibly closer.

There is a sheen of sweat forming along the press of your bodies, though you hardly mind. You’re barely aware of it, or anything, for that matter. There is only Vergil as well as the constant press and pull of his body, a tide that washes you ashore and pulls you back to sea in a never-ending loop. You’re drowning in the sensation that his him, body wound up and muscles pulling tight with ever hard press of his cock within you.

Your second peak is upon you when Vergil suddenly tears himself away from you, a surprised, startled cry leaving you as you are left empty and nearly sobbing for him to come back. Clarity comes back to you swiftly in the form of a low, demonic growl, and you’re aware that the very atmosphere has shifted and changed before impossibly large hands are pulling you up and flipping you around.

For a moment, your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, your body overly sensitized and vulnerable just as your mind was still trying to pick up the frayed pieces left in the dust of passion that had consumed you. Those same hands wander the expanse of your back, one pressing you against the cool tabletop as the other roams downward to grasp at your hip.

“Still,” he says, and you’re very aware that Vergil wasn’t quite himself, but more.

Your body relaxes almost instantly against the table, heart drumming against your chest and heated breaths nearly leaving a fog against the shine of the wooden surface below you. There’s a rumble not unlike a deep purr that shakes the air about you, and then you feel him pressing closer.

In his triggered form, Vergil is much larger in every sense of the word.

His cockhead presses against your entrance, and you can’t help but shake and gasp as he presses forward in small increments. A devil he may be, but Vergil prided himself in being careful with you, especially in your current predicament.

You gasp and groan with each increment he presses in, his hips undulating in slow strokes that continue to fill you. He’s so much bigger, so much deeper that you can practically feel him in your throat. An exaggeration, sure, but it feels as if he’ll never stop filling you until suddenly he does with a rumbling growl that feels as if it vibrates from within you.

Vergil has effectively rendered you mindless, and when he finally begins moving slowly in a show of stunning control, all you are capable of are mindless sentences and praises, whimpers and pitchy moans as your damp fingers attempt to hang on to something, anything to ground yourself.

It doesn’t take long for him to start off a brutal pace, one that has you seeing stars in a matter of seconds as the coil within you breaks. The pleasure is deep and profound and has you shaking against him.

Suddenly, you’re being shifted, body nearly limp as you let him do with you as he pleases. You’re in his lap, now, legs spread impossibly wide around the sheer girth that is his demonic form’s thighs. The new angle allows him an even deeper penetration, if it’s even possible, and it allows him to grope at the flesh of your body as much as he pleases without the hindrance of a table.

Whatever control he had is just as suddenly gone, and he’s slamming into you with brutal precision that has you sobbing his name, begging him for more, please, Vergil, more!!

Your nerves are oversensitive, limbs jumping with each pass of his cock through the channel of your body. Tears spring to your eyes, a confused mix of extreme pleasure bordering on pain, but you can endure.

Vergil’s close, if the increasing, growling grunts leaving his closed maw and the sharp pinpricks of his claws against your sweaty flesh are anything to go by. You do your best to hang on for the ride, trembling arms reaching back so that your hands can grasp at the soft, leathery feel of his skin.

Your touch is apparently exactly what he needs. His thrusts become just on the side of too hard, and then his hands are practically bruising your skin as he grips you tight against him. A final handful of thrusts has you screaming hoarsely, the sound of your own pleasure being drowned out by the near-deafening roar of Vergil’s own orgasm.

There’s a moment where you’re sure you blacked out, a blissful peace that lasts all of ten seconds before you’re aware of your surroundings. You’re still crying, your body trying to catch up to the sheer emotional experience you just had.

You can feel Vergil’s chest heaving beneath you, his body having already reverted back to its human form after finding release. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, though he doesn’t seem to mind, instead focusing what energy he has in nuzzling against your neck.

He shifts slightly, and you make a tiny sound of distress at feeling him shift within you, as well. There’s a slick feeling between your legs, and chancing a glance down proves exactly what you already knew.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” Vergil breathes against your damp skin, damn near feeling his satisfied smirk press itself into your shoulder.

You shiver at the feeling of questing fingers ghosting down your body, jerking and whining in your beloved’s hold as they press and prod against where you’re both still connected. He shushes you gently and pulls his hand away, holding it before you so that you can see the utter mess of his actions.

“In half an hour,” he growls suddenly, teeth gently grazing your earlobe and sending prickly sparks of pleasure down your spine, “after I’ve cleaned you up, I’ll have you again in our bed.”

You already knew how the night was going to play out, and though you were worn out, at that moment, you would be ready to go again, soon enough.

When Vergil was in one of those moods, it wasn’t that hard to tell, and you were prepared for whatever he had in store.

[yshai-tia]

thanks to @house-vexile​‘s idea about spreading some appreciation with reckless abandon in honour of the holiday season, here’s my attempt at being obnoxiously sappy towards all the folk who’ve extended their kindness my way, and just in general, since i made this blog some odd few months ago. time to spread some good cheer and all that, leggo.

first section is dedicated to the folk who’ve written with me/are currently writing with me. not to sound like some hot popular bitch but you all reached out to me and right off the bat i’m stupidly grateful for that because it cannot always be easy to just straight up contact a complete stranger like ‘H-HEY WRITE WITH ME MAYBE?!?!’ ya’ll got stones. own that shit.

@ayice-tia​ of course you gotta be first ‘cause you were the first person to contact me not too long after i threw that messy LFRP post to the winds. i still get a laugh out of the fact that you thought i wouldn’t respond back to you u fewl, now we’ve been writing for months, surprise!! where to start. you’re the first person to sit down and dedicate to long-term writing with me and it’s thanks to you that i’ve been able (and am still currently doing so, let’s be real) to flesh out so much of Shai’s character. like i go back and reread our first posts and i barely even have a grasp on his manner of speech yet let alone most other things. between writing with you and constantly shooting the shit with you on discord he’s been able to rapidly take form into a fully fledged character with a lot more depth than I ever expected-- i’m especially appreciative of all the long talks we’ve had about brainstorming tribal lore, to toss ideas back and forth about our catte’s respective homes and their people has been some of the best manner of character building.

you already know how much I adore Yice, being able to watch him grow into a complex character in his own right has been such a treat, how he grows into his confidence yet never loses his good heart in the process. i love how you are able to so perfectly write a character who’s an absolute ray of sunshine yet has this undeniable simmering fire underneath. when i think of the trope ‘my kindness is not weakness’ Yice comes to mind instantly, and you nail that essence with aplomb. anyway, i hope to continue writing with you for a long time to come!! thank you for reaching out to me and sticking around this entire time. also p.s. never stop sending me photos of your dog

@further-ruin​ we may not have written all that much together yet (yet™!!!) but it’d be remiss for me not to talk about how lovely your writing is. your attention for detail, especially character-wise, is so good and goes such a length to really add liveliness to a scene. even if the scene is two frozen cattes talking in a cave somewhere in godsforsaken Coerthas, i’m still into it, and the effort you put in really shows because i may not be all too familiar with Izzy just yet but i’m already invested in his mannerisms, his potential, what could be brought forth from behind that carefully maintained icy facade. he already has Shai’s curiosity piqued that’s for damn certain. i can’t wait to see where things go and, in the mean time, enjoy your vacation! man i wish i was on a beach right now.... i bet they do too, if they weather this storm Shai is gonna drag Izzy’s ass to Costa

@hiraethwyl​ oh Lyrin’a. Lyrin’a is such a cutie. Writing with you is definitely such a nice relaxing reprieve, you’re the first, and still the only, person to approach me with the rp hook of ‘hey build something for my character!’ and that alone made me stupidly happy, for 1) getting to write out a scene that involves Shai’s normal-ass day job, and 2) because someone read enough about his character to realize “oh he could probably do this thing i need.” and, of course, you already saw ICly how ecstatic Shai was at the chance of getting to build Lyrin’a a new brace, he cannot wait to get started. your writing has such a gentle lilt to it, i can easily get lost in reading those stand alone pieces you post on your blog, i love them. i’m eager to see him flourish more as a character, maybe Shai will be able to convince him to show him around the Shroud a bit? share some of his Keeper culture with him? we shall see!

@swordmens​ you i specifically left for last because i could talk about your writing until the year rolls over and then some. holy shit. where do i even begin? your meticulous care for detail, the way you build a scene, the atmosphere, everything. you just fucking nail it again and again without fail and it leaves me in awe. honestly in the beginning i was so stupidly intimidated, some legit real writer’s fear, like ‘they are so good at this?? oh my god??? i don’t think i can keep up????? does this drivel i send their way even compare??????’ absolute terror. at this point the intimidation is mostly abated (still kinda there little bit ngl) but my adoration of your writing has not, i could never tire of reading everything you put out there. there’s this inherent level of thrill knowing you’re writing with someone that, no matter how exactly you toss up the ball, they will in some way or another spike that shit with intensity. i just. so damn good. please never stop writing. ultimately, in the long-run, the intimidation was a beneficial thing because rising to the challenge of wanting to keep up with your writing went from ‘oh shit i’m scared, every word’s gotta be perfect’ to ‘oh fuck this is a lot of fun actually???’ and i’d like to imagine my own writing has benefited from it, if anything my confidence as a writer absolutely has and i have you to thank for that. as far as collaborative writing goes, i don’t think you can ask for much more than a rp partner that you both genuinely enjoy writing with and actively challenges you. i’m extremely grateful for the chance to write with you.

tl;dr i adore your writing, i adore writing with you, i adore Castor. i’m sorry i didn’t take your initial offer of having them meet in a more laid-back fashion and now they’re both beat forty different shades of shit from sunday while simultaneously trying to row up shit’s creek without a paddle LMAO as sorry as i feel for them it’s been fun every single step of the way

@silvernsteel​ @eorzeanincubus​ @nikoto-n​ @kytir​ @amahrigold​ @xavi-ffxiv​ @twelveswood​ @confusedtia​ @miqojak​ @placesyoucallhome​ @a-corsairs-chorus​ @gayhaurchefant​ @lightdevoid​ @sola-ffxiv​ @ishgard​ @voidwife​ @sand-seeks-sun​ @wondereverlasting​ @ivyffxiv​ @alphadrg​ @az-ffxiv​ @mai-takeda​ @vylette-elakha​ @dravaniia​ @gatheredfates​ @aife-ffxiv @lordittetsu

ya’ll are no doubt like, oh sweet jesus why is he tagging me, leave me out of this nonsense. tough nuts. your ass is getting tagged for one of the following reasons: we’ve talked about writing together but haven’t quite yet, i’ve noticed how often you reblog my photosets, you say nice things about my stupid cat boy, you tag me in shit, you’re just a general, overall positive presence whomst’ve i adore seeing on my dash, you said one (1) nice thing to me last month and i still haven’t forgotten it, you deserve to be called out for being great, etc etc. appreciate yourselves, ‘cause i appreciate ya’ll. also write with me sometime :dagger:

[mossander]

How the MK kast reacts to Reader seeing them NSFW Part Dos

Wow, more than 100 Likes on the last post! That’s the most I’ve ever had on this blog. Thank you so much guys! I’m glad you like me fooling around with writing as much as I do. I always like a bit of controlled chaos in a fandom. I’ve been feeling stuck lately coming up with ideas so I don’t have a lot to contribute for now. I was able to write a few more for this prompt though. This time it’s Ladies Night! Cetrion, D’vorah, Frost and Jacqui are up. 

Check below the cut for written nudes 

Cetrion

It is barely sunrise when you notice your medallion from across the room blink and glow in a bright white light. The medallion was given to you a long time ago, made to represent your dedication towards your patron, the Elder God Cetrion. You had it on you for years but expected nothing to come out of it until now. You hear nothing but you feel a pervasive buzzing inside your ears. A series of unconscious thoughts flow through your mind. “Come child. Follow your heart and the medallion to me. I beckon you to my presence.” You hold it in your hands and stare into it intently, watching the light dance around the grooves, flowing towards a certain direction. You understand that it's trying to guide you to somewhere. You navigate a few miles by foot until it is midday, and you are lost in a deep forest. The medallion has ceased to guide you in a certain direction; Now only the jewel in the middle is shining brightly. Feeling overwhelmed, you search around you in a circle, pushing bushes and branches around until you see a different reaction from the medallion. Finally, you see a path of freshly grown flowers that lead you to what you are seeking. You see your patron god Cetrion in the middle of an open area of grass. She is in the shape and size of a tall woman, considerably taller and larger than you are, but not enough to appear inhuman. She's lying in a brushed over bed of grass, bare skinned with nothing but flowers in her hair. “You are here. I have been expecting you. Come lie with me.” She beckons you with her fingers. Nervously you approach her bed and kneel by her side. You are mystified and awestruck of seeing the woman you worshiped for years in the flesh. Unsure of what to do, you close your eyes and bow your head gracefully. “My lady, it honors me to be in your presence,” you spurt out awkwardly. “Have no fear, child. I have left the heavens momentarily to be by your side.” She caresses your cheek and wipes your eye open, giving you the command to look upon her face. “You have proven yourself worthy to become one with your God. Now come. Disrobe and lie with me.” Without question or hesitation, you disrobe and take your place in her grass bed. You only touch her when she holds you in her arms and wraps you around with her vine-like hair. She hugs you tight against her bosom and you bury yourself in them, letting her warmth and light overtake you.

D'Vorah

For D'vorah, nudity doesn't mean sans clothing like it does for humanoids. In place of clothes or man-made armor, she is protected by her exoskeletons and carapaces. While humans see what they think is her “bare skin”,  it is merely a single layer of protection covering many other layers, so no one has truly seen what she considers being naked. Until of course, you come along. You walk into her hive covered in the essence of her children so you wouldn't be seen as a hostile entity. She sent you a message beforehand requesting your help in a dire situation. You expect to see her wounded or injured, but instead you see her on the ground, in the middle of molting her old exoskeleton. You see her half stuck from the waist down into her old piece, while her top half is struggling to pull herself out. Her inner skin is bright blue like her blood and her upper half is humanoid. You even see mounds on her chest resembling human breasts with nipples. She hisses loudly and spits acid in your direction. “Don't stare at me, filthy human! Get behind the cover!” You quickly make your way behind a room divider and land yourself onto a chair she had prepared for you. “I'm sorry for looking, I was just-” you told her. “I don't want your excuses! Just hear what I have to say.” You spend the rest of your time there behind the divider, hearing her strained voice and sounds of nauseating bodily struggle. You leave quickly after receiving your assignment, never looking back. You don’t know if she got out of there during the talk, and you don’t know if you want to know.

Frost

She doesn't have a human body anymore. Not since becoming a cyborg in service of Kronika. The only human parts of her left are her brain and sections of her spine. She sometimes has painful phantom sensations in the places where her human body parts should have been. More painfully, she has a serious case of body dysphoria from having to switch between many robot bodies with different shapes and levels of sensation. She's not sure what she's supposed to feel or supposed to look like anymore. She gets by without losing her sanity by having you continuously design her new robot bodies. With you, she discusses and goes into details about her fantasies of how her ideal body would look, what the measurements should be, how small or large the bust should be, the height of certain limbs, so on. She lets you deal with the boring technical details like where her cybernetic implants should go and what the inner tech design should be. The two of you have cycled through many designs and body types, only for her to become unhappy after a time and ask you to make another design. This time, she asks for a unique idea. “Make me a naked girl body.” She demands of you. “You mean, like a bare skeletal body?” You ask her dumbfoundedly, thinking of only the technical aspect. “No! I mean like, make me look like a real human girl again. You know, like, make a... sex robot or something.” She palms her face and shakes her head in embarrassment as soon as she hears what she just said. You continue to listen at her without judgment. “Not because I want to- Well, you know what I mean! Help me out here, doc. Please” She's exasperated but you can infer what she wants. You nod your head approvingly. “You want a body with human like skin and features. I understand.” She smiles and nods frantically before the two of you go into design details. A week later, you bring her into the workshop to showcase your latest creation. You pull the curtain to reveal a naked human form factor that's remarkably like her old body. You had the idea to take details from her old body intake form for direct reference, thinking she might appreciate it. And she did, she jumps around and shouts in excitement. “I have to try this on. Now!” You nod and call a robotic arm to bring her in for transfer. She wakes up shortly after the procedure to witness herself in the body in front of a large mirror. She takes her time caressing her skin all over, which is obviously not real but made of a similar feeling material. She squeezes parts of her body that aren't solid like her buttocks and her breasts (as per her request) and sighs in satisfaction. She exercises and rotates some of her joints, upon which she frowns. “It's not totally human like. I still feel like a robot.” She tells you disappointingly. “I couldn't meet all of your requests. I took out a lot of components as we discussed, but I couldn't let you be completely defenseless.” You tell her calmly. She looks at you blankly before replying, “Sure, whatever. ” You stay with her as you watch her go back to admiring herself and gushing about the clothes she wants to put on her new body.

Jacqui Briggs

You're nervous, sitting in a chair in Jacqui's quarters. When she called you over to meet in private, you thought she would chew you out for a workplace-related failure. But when you reached her room, she assured you there was nothing wrong, and she wanted to give you a surprise. Then she winked and shoved you towards a chair while she went behind a curtain. It's been a few minutes and all you hear is ruffling, shifting objects, and an occasional mutter from Jacqui. You have no idea what could be behind there and you spend the time brainstorming possibilities in your head. What's behind here; a congratulatory gift basket? A shiny new weapon? A puppy? Could be anything, really. You're equally flattered and confused why she would take the effort to reward you outside of an official ceremony. “I'm all set! You ready?” She said loudly from behind the curtain. It made you jolt and took you out of your head space. “Whenever you're ready, Jacqui!” As if on command, she swings the curtain open clumsily, taking three pulls to spread them fully open. You see what she wants to show you and... wow. Your mouth is completely ajar and you're speechless. She presents herself to you in a lacy maroon bodysuit that's sheer enough to reveal her most private areas. She's holding an uncharacteristically posh pose, with one hand on her tilted hip and the other raised above the mirror next to her. Her hair is tied up with a golden hair tie and her face is heavily painted in sensual makeup. She's holding an awkward smile, making kissy faces and winking at you. It's clear to you that this is not her usual style and that she wanted to try something new for you. She seems nervous, and she's trying hard to look good. You smile and approach her to hug her. “Aww, babe. You don't have to do all of this to impress me. I think you're sexy just the way you are.” She loosens up in your arms and hugs back. “I know, hun. I just wanted to try something different. Break the mold, you know?” You look at her and nod. “This wasn't Cass' idea, was it?” She purses her lips. “All she did was hand me a copy of Cosmo.” You smile again and softly kiss her lips. “Did you read up on any good sex tips while you were at it?”

[letterboxd]

Trustworthy: The Lynn Shelton Q&A.

“I wanted to let myself have a bit of fun.” Filmmaker and actor Lynn Shelton chats with Letterboxd about the improvisational joy of her new film Sword of Trust, the “mixed bag” of streaming services, and the power of Claire Denis.

Lynn Shelton is a trusted director in the world of TV comedy, having helmed episodes of GLOW, Fresh off the Boat, Shameless, New Girl, The Good Place and many more. Along the way, she has written and directed several feature films that together form a smart, gently praised mumblecore-meets-naturalism oeuvre.

Shelton’s films are small delights, with low stakes and a human scale to them; introspective, contemporary chamber pieces that give her actors plenty of space to improvise. Your Sister’s Sister, which she wrote and directed, has been hailed on Letterboxd as a “terrific little character piece from three superb actors” (Mark Duplass, Emily Blunt and Rosemarie DeWitt), and her earlier mumblecore arthouse porno comedy Humpday (also starring Duplass, with a turn from Shelton as well) has received love for being “absolutely hilarious and deeply awkward”.

Her latest, Sword of Trust, which she co-wrote with Mike O’Brien (a.k.a. Pat the Pizza Guy from Booksmart), is a screwball inheritance comedy starring comedian and podcaster Marc Maron as Mel, a pawn shop owner. He teams up with a couple (Jillian Bell and Michaela Watkins), who are trying to hawk a Civil War-era sword. Together with Mel’s man-child shop assistant (Jon Bass), they are drawn into an absurd world of conspiracy theories.

Shelton’s association with Maron began in 2015 when she appeared on an episode of his exemplary podcast, WTF with Marc Maron. The following year, Shelton directed the first two episodes of the fourth and final season of the IFC series Maron (she also had an on-screen role in episode 11), and in 2017, she directed Maron’s Netflix special, Too Real. He is, it turns out, not only the star, but also the muse for Sword of Trust. “Since the first time I worked with him, I felt he had untapped depth that I wanted the world to see on-screen.”

Marc Maron as Mel and Jon Bass as Nathaniel in ‘Sword of Trust’.

What inspired the premise of Sword of Trust? Lynn Shelton: [Marc and I] started writing a script for a different movie but it was hard to make progress on it because we’re both so busy. I was getting frustrated since I wanted to get on set with him, until he told me he would show up for any part I wrote for him. For Sword of Trust, I was inspired by seeing a pawn shop and thinking he would be a great pawn shop owner and that it would be a great place for a narrative to unfold.

I knew that I wanted to give myself the opportunity to explore a new genre and do a screwball caper. It would be emotionally grounded and have authentic characters who resonated as real people, but goes on a misadventure; a comedy that allows itself to go into slightly unrealistic territories. That was something I’ve never allowed myself to do. Before this I always wanted to make sure that every single minute was completely realistic.

I wanted to let myself have a bit of fun. I also wanted to return to improvisation, which I haven’t really done since Your Sister’s Sister, which was nearly ten years ago. I was excited to return to that territory and I started to assemble a cast of people I knew that would be really good at improvising around Marc.

Lastly, I really wanted it to involve some sort of a con that was relevant to what’s going on in our cultural political situation. One thing I’ve been obsessed with right now is this peak moment we’re having in society of conspiracy theories and the idea of alternative facts. I wanted to make a film that would point it out, but also one that wouldn’t make you want to slit your wrists as you walk out of the theater. That’s where the whole conspiracy theory premise came from.

When you direct with improvisation, what structures do you have in place to ensure you and the cast keep the characters and the story consistent, yet also make sure you stick to the schedule? I built those characters with and for the actors, especially Marc’s character Mel. With improvisation in general, it’s important to have clear back-stories and relationships between the characters going in, even weeks before you arrive on set. I asked the actors to get together with the people they were supposed to have relationships with to get the wheels turning about who these people were. By the time we got there they were able to start spinning out some sort of narrative that reflected all of that work we put into their back-stories.

This is a very plot-heavy movie, which was tightly pre-constructed, so it wasn’t the kind of improvisational movie where you show up and wonder ‘what will happen to these people today?’. I knew exactly what had to happen in each scene to map out into the final narrative. In this case we had a 50-page scriptment, where some scenes are written out in terms of dialogue but actors were always free to toss the specific words out the window and come up with their own replacements. There’s a lot of room for embellishments or improvised little side roads.

There’s a moment I always think of: when Jillian Bell picks up a sale item she was inspired by in the pawn shop we were shooting at and she created a whole little funny side thing about it. People are inspired by the environment they’re in and something will just come out of their mouths and they’ll just go down that road. It’s a beautiful thing.

I ask them to do a lot of heavy lifting in terms of getting some exposition out while planting seeds, but outside of that they can really play and have the freedom to find their own way through the beats of the scene and add their own little grace notes to how the scene plays out.

Jillian Bell as Cynthia and Michaela Watkins as Mary.

Did anything significantly change between the initial treatment and final film? How does it transform on set from the core essence of what you have on the page? There were a couple scenes that ended up getting thrown out on the cutting-room floor after we had a few feedback screenings. We had multiple endings and we got rid of a lot of them, which didn’t seem to hurt the film at all. We also had some great scenes that were added along the way. Halfway through the shoot we had a little break and Marc suggested a new scene that helped round out a couple of the side characters that we hadn’t gotten a chance to get to know very well.

I had planned for the confederate thug characters (who try to get the sword from Mel in the pawn shop) to turn up again later when the four characters are at the farm, but it was Marc’s idea for Mel to recognise them from when they were kids and embarrass them about how they would come into his shop when they were younger. It’s a tragic story Marc paints about them and it really shifts your perception of these two bozos and gives you a sense of sympathy for them even while they’re trying to be tough guys.

I love when you can take a couple of characters who seem to initially be two-dimensional and then you find out some extra facts about them and you’re able to turn them into fully fleshed-out human beings, even if they don’t get a lot of screen time. It’s a wonderful thing to humanize characters like that.

The scene in the back of the van—which I think is really the heart of the movie—also developed over time. In the script itself it just said: “they get to know each other in the back of the van.” That’s all it said. That was the most fully improvised scene in the film. I left it open-ended because I had a feeling it would fulfil a really important role in the movie but I didn’t know exactly what it was until we got going.

It became clear there was an emotional journey with Mel as he starts out very shut-down and he opens up a little bit by the end. I realized this scene needed to be used in the service of that arc, so I told the actors that I needed them to open up to each other and be vulnerable to each other so the characters could become more intimate. A lot of the time they drew from real life, drawing from first- or second-hand experiences to build those back-stories.

You’ve settled into a real groove with directing television. Your resume in that area is really impressive. What keeps you circling back to film when you could keep making a career out of being a TV director? Most of my income is from television and I really enjoy the extra-collaborative nature of television. It’s almost a pathology with filmmaking—I can’t stop doing it! This is my eighth movie and I just love it so much. I love the little family you develop. Obviously there’s a lot of overlap in the process of making film and television since it’s basically the same thing, but when I’m writing and directing I have more of an opportunity to set the tone and really create from the top-down of what I want the culture of the production to be like.

I can be the creative visionary in a way that, until I create my own television show, is not going to be possible. If I’m the director on a show, I’m ultimately in the service of other people. Luckily, I keep working with really visionary and talented people. This film, I sort of willed it into existence and it’s nice. I really wanted it to happen, so I asked a bunch of friends if they would join me, and it ended up becoming reality and there’s something really lovely about that.

Your last two films and your Marc Maron stand-up special are on Netflix. Anyone can (and should) watch them at any time, and streaming has completely transformed indie cinema in this way over the past decade. Yet, there are so many films that they can all still get lost in the shuffle. How do you feel about the way streaming has changed low-budget cinema? What work needs to be done to support them? This is a constant topic of conversation between filmmaker friends of mine. I know a lot of friends who were able to get films made that wouldn’t have been able to if not for Netflix, for instance. I don’t know if that’s even going to continue being the case because they seem to be shifting their paradigm in the kinds of films they’re producing, but for a while there they were almost the last bastion of producing films of a certain size that weren’t just giant tentpole movies.

Obviously films are still being made, little- to medium-sized films, but the issue of them getting lost in the shuffle because of this vast ocean of content that’s out there—unless you have this big machine waving flags to say: “look at this over here”—they will continue to disappear into the ether. It can be disheartening for sure.

My last film Outside In [one of Shelton’s more highly rated films on Letterboxd] had a very tiny theatrical run and basically went straight to Netflix, so I don’t really have any sense of who is seeing the film. But it’s interesting how I do have people reaching out to me saying they didn’t know I directed it but watched it because of Edie Falco, or they were recommended it. People do seem to see the movie, I just don’t know exactly what the numbers are. You just don’t know, so it’s a very strange feeling.

On the other hand, it’s very nice that it’s accessible and it can be discovered. If I wanted to point somebody to one of my films on Netflix, I know they can easily access it anytime. Streaming is a real mixed bag for independent filmmakers. Right now I have about 30 theaters showing Sword of Trust and I’m so thrilled that even if it’s just a weekend, at least a good chunk of folks will be able to see the film and have the communal experience the way I wanted in the first place.

Lynn Shelton turns up on screen as well as behind the scenes, playing Mel’s ex, Deirdre, in ‘Sword of Trust’.

Finally, a favorite Letterboxd question: what was the film that got you into films? I could go to different points in my life. My mother was a huge fan of Jules et Jim so I saw that at a really early age and it had a big effect on me. It was the first time where I was ever aware of the filmmaker’s hand. I never started thinking about it until the one sequence where Jeanne Moreau is singing and it freezes and then it plays and then it freezes again and then it plays again and it made me realize there was a director who made that decision to do that. What does that mean? That got me thinking about filmmaking when I was really young.

Then later in life I heard Claire Denis speak when her film Friday Night was coming out. I remember finding out that she was 40 when she made her first feature and Friday Night was her sixth or seventh film. I had an epiphany that I could start making movies and it wasn’t too late for me because I didn’t make movies in my 20s and 30s. I didn’t make my first feature [We Go Way Back] until my late 30s. That was the film and filmmaker that really made me feel like ‘I can do this too’. Those would be my two bookends about being inspired to be a filmmaker.

‘Sword of Trust’ is on streaming services and playing in select US cinemas now. Images courtesy of IFC Films.

[writer-and-artist27]

The Start of Something Else

Written late at night to flesh out an idea originally encouraged by @owlsofstarlight and inspired by CYB 81. I don’t know when this’d take place in S&S, probably before October Tenth where things go to shit, but it’s been something.

A final send-off, I suppose, to my old crush on @langwrites. Because I still love her, but not in that way. She’s my best friend and one of my greatest friends ever, and nothing more, nothing less. Friend is honestly the best title I can give. Kei and Tomo are the same.

Please go along and play Tomo He from Cardcaptor Sakura for the second half of this piece. Since I find that the song is beautiful and fitting, more so when looking at the translated lyrics.

“So, are you two dating?”

The question was completely out of the blue, and to be honest, not expected in the slightest. Kei had tensed first with the way her shoulders stood, and my feet were already freezing in my sandals as it took all I had to swivel my head back towards the person who had asked. It seemed to be a curious civilian I hadn’t seen around the cafe before, her brown eyes earnest as she leaned in to look at us. Curtains matched the eyes with her tied-back curly brown hair too. In a ponytail. The only things keeping her away from Hisako’s exact appearance (specifically of my past self) was the obvious Japanese-inspired clothing that Konoha had as a standard, the curly ends of said ponytail, and a lack of glasses.

Hisako, though…

Did she seriously ask that? My Nobody was raising Oblivion like a hammer as her jaw clenched. Did this person seriously ask that?! While you two are hanging out!? THE NERVE!

At least she was expressing it better than me when it came to the brutal side of honesty.

“Um,” I started, feeling my voice crack. “Not to be rude, but uh. Wh-What brought that on, if I could ask?”

“It’s because you two always walk together!” the girl didn’t even seem deterred, leaning in enough to burst some kind of bubble with the sparkles in her eyes. Earnest, sure, but to be on the receiving end of that… “And the way you two talk so openly, with the hugs! It’s so cute!”

“Um,” my face was already starting to feel hot, because what. We were already attracting a crowd from the girl’s loud voice, and this entire scene being out in public daylight did not stop the sudden marathon my heart was riding on. “Th-Thank you?” It came out as an unsure squeak than anything else. “But, um.”

The wayward stares were painful.

Why couldn’t I say anything. Why couldn’t I say anything.

Why couldn’t my heart stop, whycouldn’tmyheartstop—

“Hey, about that.”

Thank god for Kei.

“Sorry to rain down on your train, ma’am,” she said coolly, arms crossed while turning back to face the road in front of us. “But we’re not in that kind of relationship. Tomo and I have been childhood friends, and she’s still my best friend now. Nothing else to share.” An arm went around my shoulders, and my breath hitched as soon as my feet were moving again. Kei was — she was pushing me forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving.”

She was helping me get out of the situation. Of course.

Hisako stayed silent, letting out a single sigh of relief.

“Huh?” A pause. “W-Wait, I still have a question!” the girl yelled after us, the gravel scratchy in sound as she took a few quick steps forward. She was still going on about this? Even though she wasn’t even bothering to introduce herself? “Are you two really not dating?!”

A single second was all it took. My best friend turned her head.

“No,” Kei said flatly. “Now mind your own business.”

And with one more push, we were walking out of the crowd, and I just had the smallest sliver of time to look back and mouth an apology, bowing my head apologetically. Judging by Kei’s grip, she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, at least until we got out of the situation without any stragglers, so all I could catch was the girl’s shocked brown eyes before getting pulled away.

“Fucking hell,” Kei muttered, and my mouth still felt dry as soon as the familiar visage of Nagareboshi Cafe loomed in the distance. “What kind of question was that? Out in public too, just when we were walking to fucking relax…” she trailed off, and it only vaguely registered in my head that she was giving me a confused side-eye. “Tomo?”

When did I stop breathing?

Better question. When did I stop responding? Why was my heart still—

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

I put a hand to my chest, over my Wayfinder necklace to squeeze. I ended up taking up some part of the front of my dress, but the grip was comforting. Relieving.

The hand on my shoulders squeezed too. “Tomo-chan?” The gruff voice from before was gone, exchanged for the softness that I already knew as something safe.

Kei was always someone safe.

I took in what felt like my first breath this entire afternoon before looking up at Kei apologetically. “I-I’m sorry. Thinking. Or, something.” The smile on my face felt forced this time as I instinctively shrugged my shoulders, my Wayfinder still clutched in-between my fingers. “I’m sorry.” There wasn’t anything else to say but that.

“Tomo, what are you apologizing for?” Kei said incredulously, eyes wide. “You didn’t do anything — Oh.” The realization was quick, probably because of the mess my chakra was making right now. The controls weren’t even in hand now because of my heart beating so hard. She immediately pulled me into the cafe, walking past all the customers and the hubbub before opening the backdoor that led to the stairs up to the place I knew as home, closing the door behind us without too much trouble. “Hey, Tomo, you don’t have to overthink it. We can talk about it. It might help.”

That sounds nice. Hisako said softly. She gave me a nudge. Go on, Tomoko-chan.

“Fweh,” was the little noise that left my throat, because now my heart was beating again, I was nervous again, and I didn’t want to mess up again. This was starting to sound like something else I remembered, and the last time—

“What?”

That last time, I never saw Ty ever again.

“Just, Kei, I…” I gulped, ducking my head, because making eye contact with her would be hard, and the way my heart was going was not a good sign. This was starting to look like that day all over again, and I hated it. I hated me. “It’s hard to talk right now, and… and I don’t want to make you feel bad. Or just ruin things. I… I’m scared.”

Tears were already starting to come up to my eyes with the snot budding in my nose.

“What did you just say?”

The parallels were too much. My heart was too much.

Kei took a breath, and the hand lifted itself off my shoulders. A few steps was all it took, and then I could see the front of her green flak jacket. “Tomoko. You can talk to me about anything. There’s nothing to be scared of. At least, I hope so.” She paused before reaching over, and I tried not to jolt when the same hand from before reached over to squeeze my right shoulder. “If I can, I can kinda poke at things and you can tell me when I can shut up.”

What.

What? “N-No, Kei, it’s not—” the protest was already dying on my lips as soon as I raised my head and made eye contact, and the heat was coming back. Everything was coming back. The warmth, the pain, the dryness. All of it. “You… you don’t have to do that. I-I can talk. Or try. I have to. I—”

The first tear slid down my cheek and fell to the floor before I could finish my sentence.

“Tomoko.” Kei’s voice was still soft, this time tinged with shock as the hand around my shoulder wound around and my cheek was resting on her shoulder. “It’s all right. You don’t have to push yourself. It’s okay.”

No, no, nonono, it’s not—

My arms were limp against my sides. Why couldn’t I move, why couldn’t I be better— “You’re… you’re not going to ask?”

“I could guess,” Kei said instead, still hugging me even when I wasn’t responding like I should’ve been. “But I wasn’t going to. It’s all up to you, Tomo. Your problems are yours, and if you don’t want to say them, I wasn’t gonna pry.”

Still saying my nickname like that. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve her at all. A weak chuckle left my lips. “Y-You know me. I’m the worrywart. I can’t help it. I’ve had a lot of people try to pry… back then.”

Kei was already guiding me towards the staircase so that we could sit down at the steps, nodding quietly. “‘S why I said I wasn’t going to pry. But I can listen too, if you want.”

The girl’s question from before was still echoing in my head. “Dating”... was that really how things were always going to turn out? That same question, even when…

“I’d go to hell and back, just for you. I love you, Vy.”

My mind couldn’t forget Leo, so then why did my heart…

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

“I’m sorry, Kei.” The next tear slid down my face, and I reached up to wipe at my eyes before it could escalate into a waterfall. “I’m so sorry. F-For making it awkward. For feeling like this. That…” I gulped a breath as soon as Hisako raised a small sign saying, You can do it. There was no turning back. “What happened earlier, I-I’m glad that you stood up for both of us, y’know? For doing that. I-I don’t think I would’ve been able to.”

Kei sighed before nodding, squeezing my shoulders all over again. “That lady was just fucking rude. But I’m guessing that’s not the only thing?”

I clutched my Wayfinder a bit harder. “Y-Yeah. Because, when she asked, ‘are we dating…’ for some reason, a small part of me hoped it was true.” My mouth was moving without me willing it anymore. “And I know it’s not, I know you’re not into that, but for some reason, my heart’s been beating harder, I don’t know what to do anymore, and there’s the fact that I—” the tears were coming back with a vengeance. “I left Leo all alone. And I don’t feel like, like I-I deserve feeling like this. Like I deserve you.”

I said it. I freakin’ said it.

“I-I, I just,” my voice was cracking. “I don’t know. I still love you, Kei, but I never fully saw you in that way. We’ve been together for so long, it just became natural to say. To express. And, the way she said it, like that, it just made me feel so…” the tears were starting to trickle down onto my necklace. Unsure, conflicted, worried. Detestable. “I don’t know. I’m just scared, of losing you. Because of this shit.” The sob was already close to tearing itself out of my throat and emerging into the world. “Because past me lost people from it before.”

Because I pushed Ty away. Because I died and left Leo all alone to suffer.

Kei was silent the entire time I rambled, the only indication she was listening being the hand still wrapped around my shoulders. I wasn’t expecting to be pulled close all over again like when we were kids, a cheek gently landing on top of my head. “You’re not going to lose me. Ever. For the other stuff...” Kei paused, contemplating. “I don’t know, Tomoko. I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer for you. My brain doesn’t work that way, and I’ve never fallen in love before, here and back then.”

I didn’t even know where the curiosity came from until it was already seeping into my voice. “R-Really?”

The hand on my shoulders moved upwards to gently rest on the side of my head. “Yeah. Crushes, sure, but not love. So I can’t fully sympathize with what you went through, as Vy.” Kei made a small noise in the back of her throat, something between a huff and a hum, as she started brushing through my hair. “But I’m not going to tell you to stop caring. Or to stop being you. It’s not about whether you ‘deserve’ something or not. Whatever happened back then, I get that it hurts, but you’re not just Vy anymore. You’re Tomoko, the pianist who played Kingdom Hearts music for a brat that needed a friend.”

The beginnings of a laugh replaced the sob in my throat as soon as the memory was said and done with. “References? Now?”

“There’s no better time but now, Tomo.” I could even hear the smirk in her voice. “But hey. I get it. I… I can’t love anyone like that yet, but you being there, the way you are, it makes me glad to have you.” She paused before adding a quiet, “I can guess what I’d be like alone, which is why I’m so thankful.”

The relief was sudden. It was warm and cold and sudden, and I felt like I was going to burst from how much my heart was expanding to fill my ribcage. “You… you really mean that? You don’t mind?”

“We’re not going to stop being friends just because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut, Tomo.” As if to emphasize it, Kei bonked my head with her cheek. Ow. “We promised, after that first nightmare in the Academy Days, remember?”

Of course. Of freakin’ course. “I-I wouldn’t forget that… I was crying like an elephant that day.” But the laughter was real, and Kei was grinning too, from what I could tell of our close proximity. “I’m sorry for ruining your clothes with so much snot and tears.”

“Eh,” Kei waved it off with her free hand. “It comes with being friends.” She paused before slowly standing up from the stairs, stretching. “Welp.” With one hand in her nearest pocket, it did not take long for her to pull out a handkerchief, turning around to promptly offer it in my direction. “For cleaning up?”

Dork, Hisako said softly.

I took it, wiping at the waterfalls before they could grow anymore. The smile this time was wobbly, but still real. “D-Dork.”

“I’m a born dork, Tomo.” She paused before kneeling down to my sitting height. The glint in her black eyes was something I couldn’t put a finger to, but it was at least warm. Understanding. “But hey. Do you feel better now?”

Judging by how much my cheeks were starting to hurt? Yes. “Yeah, yeah.”

The smile on her face dropped for a hesitant frown. “I’m sorry, Tomo. Again.”

Shaking my head was natural. It wasn’t her fault at all. It was just my anxiety. All over again. A soft, tired giggle left me instead. “It’s fine. But, Kei?”

“Yeah?” she inclined her head, cowlicks batting her cheeks all the while. “What is it?”

I wiped at my face one last time before folding up the handkerchief to place onto the stairs. Then, out of some kind of childish instinct or what have you, I opened my arms in her direction. “C-Could I get a hug? Just a big, big hug.” Those same black eyes widened, and the heat was coming back to my cheeks this time, but I continued on. Clarification was necessary. “Carrying is okay too. I… I just want to feel a hug. Encompassing, friendly, snuggly. Like, like when we were kids.”

It took one second. “Goof. You don’t even have to ask.” My best friend then smiled, rolled her eyes, and reached over.

Kei didn’t even hesitate in lifting me up by the waist to squeeze in what could’ve been the tightest hug in existence. I could feel my ribs creak to the point of bumping with each other, but my sandals weren’t touching the floor, the grip was firm, and my best friend was hugging me. I reached over to wrap my arms around her neck, resting my cheek atop her hitai-ite bandana.

Ink and mochi. The same scent.

This was how it started, and this was how I was hoping it was always going to be.

“Hey, Kei?”

She hummed softly. “Yeah?”

The last question left my lips naturally, with no crack in my voice. “It’s okay to be happy with friends, right? Without romance?”

A single pause. Kei proceeded to put me back down onto the ground, but didn’t let go of the hug, bumping the side of my head with her cheek. “Yeah,” she said, voice still soft. “It is.”

For the first time that afternoon, I could faintly hear the notes behind Kairi’s Theme as a true, steadier smile covered my face. I couldn’t help but hug back tighter.

It finally felt like something changed for the better.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Do Not Open

Case: 9982211

Name: Joshua Gillespie Subject: His time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket Date: November 22nd, 1998 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

It started when I was in Amsterdam for a holiday with a few of my friends. Everything you’re thinking right now, you’re right. We were all early twenties, just graduated and decided to spend a couple of weeks going crazy on the continent, so you can almost certainly fill in all the blanks yourself. There were very few points where I’d say that I was entirely sober and even fewer where I acted like it, though I wasn’t quite as bad as some of my friends who had a hard time handling themselves at times. This may have been why I headed out alone that morning – no idea of the exact date but it was sometime in mid-May. The others were sleeping off their assorted hangovers and I decided to head out into the beautiful sunshine of that Netherlands morning and take a walk. Before graduating from Cardiff with the others, I had been studying Architecture, so was looking forward to spending a few hours by myself to wander, and really take in the buildings of central Amsterdam. I was not disappointed – it’s a beautiful city, but I realised too late that I hadn’t taken any map or guidebook with me, and an hour or two later I was thoroughly lost. 

I wasn’t particularly worried, as it was still mid-afternoon at this point, and getting lost in the backstreets had kind of been what I was trying to do, but I still decided I’d better make an actual effort to find my way back to where my friends and I were staying off Elandsstraat. I managed it eventually, but my inability to speak Dutch meant I spent a good hour riding the wrong way on the various trams. By the time I got back to Elandsstraat it was starting to get dark and I was feeling quite stressed, so I decided to pop into one of the cafés to relax before joining up with my friends. I couldn’t say for sure exactly how long I was in there, but I do know it had gotten fully dark by the time I noticed I wasn’t sat at my table alone. I’ve tried to describe the man who now sat opposite me many times, but it’s difficult. He was short, very short, and felt like he had an odd density to him. His hair was brownish, I think, cut quite short, and he was clean shaven.

His face and dress was utterly unremarkable, and the more I try to think of exactly what he looked like, the harder it is to picture him clearly. To be honest, though, I’m inclined to blame that on the drugs.

The man introduced himself as John, and asked how I was. I replied as best I could, and he nodded, saying he also was an Englishman inside a foreign land. I remember he used that exact phrase because it struck me at the time as very odd. He said he was from Liverpool, though I don’t recall him having any sort of accent, and that he was looking for a friend who he could rely on for a favour.

Now, high as I was, I got suspicious as soon as he said that last part and I started to shake my head. John said it was nothing too onerous, just looking after a package for him until he had some friends pick it up, and that he would pay well. I thought he was talking about smuggling, and was about to refuse again when he reached into his... jacket, I think? and pulled out an envelope. Inside was £10,000. I know; I counted it. I knew it was a stupid move but I kept remembering my friend Richard telling me how easy it had been to get a pound of hash through customs on his first trip to Holland, and holding that much cash in my hands... I said yes. John smiled, thanked me, and said that he would be in touch. He left the coffee shop and I immediately started panicking about what I had agreed to. I wanted to chase after him and return the money, but something weighed me down, kept me locked into my seat. I just sat there for a long time.

I don’t remember much about the next few days except worrying about when I’d see John again. I was careful not to spend any of the money he’d given me, and had decided to return it as soon as he turned up. I’d say I had made a mistake and couldn’t take his money or look after anything from him. I tried to enjoy myself, but it was like this shadow hanging over me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I waited for days, right up until the end of our trip, but he never showed up. I obsessively checked my suitcase before boarding the plane home, just in case someone had snuck something into it, but there was nothing new in there. I flew back to England with my friends still high and £10,000 tucked into my coat pocket. It was surreal.

It wasn’t until almost a year later that I felt confident enough to actually spend any of the money. I’d moved down to work for a small architects’ firm in Bournemouth on the south coast. It was an entry level job and the pay wasn’t great, but it was the only offer I got in my chosen field, so I moved down there with the hopes of getting some experience and a better position in a year or two. Bournemouth was a decent-size seaside town, though much less idyllic than I’d assumed it would have been, but rents for a place on my own were a little bit out of my price range, given my starting pay grade. I didn’t know anyone else down there, and wasn’t keen to share my space with strangers, so I decided to use some of the money I’d been given in Amsterdam the previous year. I reasoned they were unlikely to find me at this stage – I’d not given John any of my details when he spoke to me, not even my name, and if they hadn’t been able to find me over the course of the last year, it was doubtful they’d be able to track me here. Also, if it had been drug smuggling, as I suspected, £10,000 probably wasn’t so much money to them that they’d track me this far over it. Also, and looking back this sounds stupid, but I’d just grown a beard and thought it would be hard for anyone to recognise me as the same guy. So I spent a bit of John’s money on renting a nice one-bedroom flat in the Triangle, near the town centre, and moved in almost immediately.

About a week later, I was in my kitchen cutting up some fruit for breakfast, and I heard the doorbell ring. I answered it to see two red-faced delivery men. Between them they carried an immense package, which they’d clearly had to manoeuvre up the narrow stairs of the building I lived in. They asked if I was Joshua Gillespie, and when I said yes they said they had a delivery addressed to me and pushed past into the hall. They didn’t seem to be from any delivery company I knew and they weren’t wearing any uniforms. I tried to ask them some questions, but as soon as they’d placed the box on the floor, they turned around and walked out. They were both well over six feet tall and very imposing, so there was little I could have done to stop them leaving even if I’d wanted to. The door slammed behind them, and I was left alone with this package.

It was about two metres long, maybe one metre wide and roughly the same deep. It was sealed with parcel tape and written on the top was my name and address in thick curving letters but there was no return address or postmark of any sort. I was starting to risk being late for work at this point, but I decided I couldn’t bring myself to leave without seeing what was inside, so I fetched the knife from my kitchen counter and cut the tape keeping the box closed.

Inside was a coffin. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t that. My knife fell to the floor and I just stared at it in mute surprise. It was made of unvarnished, pale yellow wood and had a thick metal chain wrapped around it, which was closed at the top with a heavy iron padlock. The lock was closed but had the key sitting inside it. I started to reach for it, when I noticed two other things on the coffin lid. The first was a piece of paper, folded in half and tucked under the chain, which I took. The other was the presence of three words, scratched deep into the wood of the casket in letters three inches high. They read: DO NOT OPEN.

I withdrew my hand from the padlock slowly, unsure what I was supposed to do. At some point I must have sat down, as I found myself on the floor, propped up against the wall, staring at this bizarre thing that had inexplicably turned up at my home. I remembered the piece of paper at this point and unfolded it, but it simply read “Delivered with gratitude – J”. Strange as it sounds, it was only then I made the connection with the man I’d met in Amsterdam. He’d told me he wanted someone to look after a package for a while. Was this the package he was talking about? Was I to be looking after a corpse? Who was coming to pick it up? When?

I called in sick to work, and just sat there, watching the coffin for what might have been minutes or might have been hours. I just had no idea what to do. Eventually I steeled myself and moved towards it, until my face was just inches away from the lid. I took a deep breath, trying to see if I could smell anything from inside. Nothing. If there was a dead body in there, it hadn’t started to smell yet. Not that I really knew what a dead body smelled like. It was early summer at this point, which would mean they must have died recently. If there was a body in there at all. As I got up, my hand brushed the wood of the coffin and I realised it was warm. Very warm, like it had been lying in the sun for hours. Something about it made my flesh crawl slightly and I withdrew my hand quickly. 

I decided to make a cup of tea. It was something of a relief, standing next to the kettle, as from that angle I couldn’t see the thing out in the hall. I could just ignore it. I didn’t move even after I’d filled my mug; I just stood there sipping my tea, not even noticing that it was still far too hot to drink comfortably. When I finally got the nerve to step back out into the hall, the coffin still lay there, unmoving.

I finally made a decision and, firmly gripping the padlock, I removed the key, and placed it on the hall table next to the door. I then took hold of the coffin and chain and started to pull it further into my flat. It was weird to touch it: the wood still had that unsettling warmth to it, but the chain was as cold as you’d expect from a thick piece of iron, and apparently hadn’t taken on any of the heat. I didn’t have any cupboards with enough space to hold the thing, so in the end I just dragged it into my living room and pushed it up against the wall, as out of the way as possible. I cut up the cardboard box it had been sealed in and put it with the rubbish outside. And just like that I had, apparently, started storing a coffin in my home. 

At the time I think I assumed it was full of drugs, at least as far as I assumed anything about thesituation. Why anyone would store something in such a noticeable way or with a total strangerlike me, these weren’t questions I could even guess at an answer to, but I decided it was best tothink about it as little as possible. For the next few days I avoided my living room, as I found being so close to the thing made me nervous. I was also staying alert for the smell of any sort ofrot, which might indicate there was something dead inside the coffin after all. I never smelled anything, though, and as the days passed I found myself noticing my mysterious charge less and less.

About a week after it arrived, I finally started using my living room again. I’d watch TV, mostly, and keep half an eye on the unmoving casket. At one point I got so cocky as to actually use it as a table. I was drinking a glass of orange juice at the time and absent-mindedly placed it on top of the lid, not really realising exactly what I had done. At least not until I heard movement from underneath it. I froze, listening intently and staring, willing myself to have been imagining things. But then it came again – a soft but insistent scratching, just below where I had placed my glass. It was slow and deliberate and caused gently ripples to spread across the surface of my juice. Needless to say I was terrified. More than that, I was confused. The coffin had been lying in my living room, chained and unmoving, for well over a week at this point. If there had been anything living in there when it was delivered, it seemed unlikely it would still be alive. And why hadn’t it made any sound before if there was something in there capable of movement? I gently picked up my glass and immediately the scratching stopped. I waited for some time, considering my options, before I placed it back down on the other end of the lid. It took about four seconds for the scratching to start up again, now more insistently. When I took the glass away this time, it didn’t stop for another five minutes. I decided against doing any further experiments, and instead made the very deliberate decision to ignore it. I felt at that point I either needed to use the heavy iron key to open it and see for myself what was in there, or follow the gouged instruction and resolve myself to never look inside. Some might call me a coward, but I decided on the latter, that I would interact with it as little as possible while it lived in my house. Well, I guess lived may be the wrong term.

I knew I’d made the right decision the next time it rained, and I heard the box begin to moan. It was a Saturday, and I was spending the day staying in and doing some light reading. I had few friends in Bournemouth, something about having a mysterious coffin lying in my living room made me reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to people coming round, and so I spent most of my free time alone. I didn’t watch a lot of television even before my living room was taken over with storing this thing, and so I now found myself sat in my room reading quite a lot. I remember I had just started Michael Crichton’s The Lost World at the time, and it started raining outside. It was a hard, heavy rain, the sort that falls straight down with no wind to disturb it, until everything is dark and wet. It was barely past midday, but I remember the sky was so overcast and gloomy that I had to get up to turn on the light. And that was when I heard it.

It was a low, gentle sound. I’ve seen Dawn of the Dead, I know what the groans of the undead are meant to sound like, but it wasn’t that at all. It was almost... melodious. It sounded almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil. At first I thought it might have been coming from one of the other flats in my building, but as it went on, and the hairs on my arms began to stand on end I knew, I just knew, where it was coming from. I walked to the living room and stood in the doorway, watching as the sealed wooden box continued to moan its soft, musical sound out at the rain. There was nothing to be done, I’d made my decision not to open it, and this certainly did not make me want to reconsider that. So I just went back to my bedroom, put on some music and turned it up loud enough to drown out the sounds.

And so it continued for a few months. Whatever was in the casket would scratch at anything placed on top of it and moan whenever it rained, and that was that. I suppose it goes to show that you can get used to anything if you have to, no matter how bizarre. I occasionally considered trying to get rid of it, or finding people like you guys to investigate, but in the end I decided that I was actually more afraid of whoever was responsible for entrusting me with the coffin than I was of the actual coffin itself. So I kept it secret.

The only thing that worried me was sleeping. I think it gave me bad dreams. I don’t remember my dreams, never have, and if I was getting nightmares, they were no different – I didn’t remember them and I certainly don’t now. But I know I kept waking up in a panic, clutching at my throat and struggling to breath. I also started sleepwalking. The first time that happened it was the cold that woke me up. It was the middle of winter and I tend not to keep the heating on when I’m asleep. It took me a few seconds to fully process where I was. I was standing in the dark, in my living room, over the coffin. What concerned me more about the situation was the fact that, when I awoke, I seemed to be holding the key to it in my hand.

Obviously this worried me. I even went to my GP about it, who referred me to the sleep clinic at the nearby hospital, but the problems never recurred in a clinical setting. I decided to hide the key in more and more difficult to access places, but still I kept waking up with it, and I was starting to panic. When I awoke one morning to find I’d actually placed the key within the lock and was, as far as I could tell, moments from opening it, I knew I had to find a solution. In the end what I took to doing was perhaps a bit elaborate, but it seemed to work: I would place the key within a bowl of water and then put it in the freezer, encasing it in a solid block of ice. I still sometimes found myself trying to get to the key in my sleep, but the chill of the ice always woke me up long before I could do anything with it. And in the end it just became yet another part of my routine. 

I lived like that for almost a year and a half. It’s funny how fear can just become as routine as hunger – at a certain point I just accepted it. My first clue that my time keeping the coffin was coming to an end was when it began to rain and there was silence. I didn’t notice at first, as my habit at that point had been to put on the music as soon as the weather began to turn, but after a few minutes I realised that there wasn’t anything to drown out. I turned off my music and went to check. The living room was silent. Then came a knock at the door. The sound was light and unobtrusive but it rang out like thunder in the quiet flat. I knew what I’d see as soon as I opened the door and I was right. John and the two delivery men stood there. I wasn’t surprised to see them, as I say, but they actually seemed quite surprised to see me. John had to take a second to look me up and down, almost in disbelief, as I asked if they’d come to collect their coffin. 

He said that they had, and he hoped it hadn’t been too much trouble. I told him where he could stick it and he didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He did seem genuinely impressed, however, when I got the key out of the freezer. I didn’t even try to thaw it – I was so eager to have this thing out of my life that I just dropped the bowl of ice on the floor and shattered it. I watched as John picked the icy key off the floor and I told them it was in the living room. I didn’t follow them. I didn’t want to see what they did with the coffin. I didn’t want to see if they opened it. And when the screaming started, I didn’t want to see who was screaming or why. I only left the kitchen when the two delivery men carried the coffin past the door. I followed them down the stairs, and watched in the pouring rain as they locked it into a small van marked “Breekon and Hope deliveries”. Then they drove away. There was no sign of John.

That was the last I heard of it. I got a new job and moved to London shortly afterwards, and now I just try not to think about it too much.

Archivist Notes:

It’s always nice to hear that my hometown is not entirely devoid of odd occurrences and eerie stories. Ice cream, beaches and boredom are all very well, but I’m glad to hear Bournemouth has at least a few apparitions to call its own. That said, the fact is Mr. Gillespie’s statement starts with drug use and continues on with the lack of corroborating witnesses being a central theme, which means that an eerie story is all that it is. When the Institute first investigated, it doesn’t look like they were able to find a single piece of evidence to support the existence of this scratched coffin, and to be honest I didn’t think it was worth wasting anyone’s time over now, nearly twenty years later.

That said, I did mention it to Tim yesterday, and apparently he did some digging of his own. Breekon and Hope did, in fact, exist, and were a courier service that operated until 2009, when they went into liquidation. They were based in Nottingham, however, significantly north of Bournemouth, and if they kept records of their deliveries, they are no longer available. What is interesting, however, is the address Mr. Gillespie provided for the flat this all took place in. The housing association that ran it does keep extensive records on the tenants that have lived in their buildings going back some forty or fifty years. From what Tim could find, it appears that for the two years of his residence, Mr. Gillespie was the only person living in that entire building, with the other seven flats being utterly vacant. Nobody moved in following his departure, and the building was sold to a developer and demolished shortly after this statement was originally given. Predictably, no-one who worked for that housing association in the 90s is still there, and despite Tim’s best efforts, we could get no explanation for why, in a building of that size, Mr. Gillespie spent almost two years living alone, save for an old wooden coffin.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 2 Do Not Open)

[sabrinaleethings]

Writer’s Block: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Howdy internet!

I haven’t always been a writer, in fact only within the past few years I’ve started doubling down and taking writing seriously.

I went to college for illustration back in 2015, and it was then I hit my first mental block when it came to artistic inspiration. It sucked! I remember distinctly two separate pieces I had to do where I couldn’t for the life of me get the pencil on my sketchbook, and ended up handing in my assignments late because I couldn’t for the life of me get through whatever artistic block I was struck in.

That leads me to now- artist block and writers block varies from person to person. Sometimes mental health issues like depression or anxiety causes people to avoid writing (or drawing etc.) - and sometimes make it physically impossible get anything done. If you know that this is one of the main factors in keeping you from doing what you want to do, please talk to someone! Seek help from someone you trust, whether it be a friend, your family, or even a doctor!

Now, if there’s more to your story (pun fully intended) and somehow you’re finding yourself stuck in the middle of a scene or a random dialogue, or terrified to write very beginning of your piece, I’ve got a few tips and tricks I use to bust through the mental wall and create some kick-ass products!  

Let’s do this!

Let’s Start at the Beginning, shall we?

So, before you’ve even started anything. Let’s say your given a task or you have the itch to write- you know the one where your hands are BEGGING you to type something, or write something, but you just....can’t? 

Happens to me all the freaking time. Here’s what I do:

If I sit down somewhere to type or write and my mind is like a huge bowl of pudding, I move my booty. 

Sometimes changing your work space, or even the physical location of your body can clear up some of the gunk in your brain. 

Instead of sitting in your bed (like I usually do) move to your desk, take a notebook outside on your porch, sit on the couch (with the TV turned off), go to your local library or bookstore, become a hermit in a cafe somewhere- you’d be surprised at how well this works!

Skim through some of your favorite books for inspiration

This gets your brain moving in a “writers” kind-of way!

I like to flip through my Maggie Stiefvater books and read random scenes, or (my favorite) read some poetry (My go-to being “Our Numbered Days” by Neil Hilborn) 

Check out some art or fanart from your favorite fandoms or artists!

Now, don’t let this be your excuse to procrastinate and get stuck on tumblr for hours on end (*cough cough* @me) 

The key here is to yes, scroll through tumblr artists, instagram drawings, or even your favorite art book, BUT while doing this, let your mind wander. Imagine your own scenes or scenarios in your head while you do so-you’d be surprised how easy it is to clear the clutter in your head when you let yourself zone out and relax! 

Now, the ugly sorta trick that I do sometimes (even though it’s gonna sound awful). 

Just do it. *Insert Shia LaBeouf*

Put your hand to the paper, put your fingers on the keys, turn on your audio recording device and just bullshit something. 

If I’m sitting at my computer with severe mental block about a scene I’m writing, and I can’t seem to break the funk, I just start typing something. Alot of the time it’s a “what would happen if...” and I write it. Usually it begins like a rusty machine, rough and crappy, but once you get your fingers moving and your thoughts begin to just lay themselves down on the paper or on the screen, most of the time your good to go and the mental block is gonzo! 

White Space Anxiety

Whatchu talking about, Sabrina? Wellllll have you ever got a new notebook and you just, cant wait to start writing something in it, but suddenly nothing seems worthy to be written down? Have you ever opened a new word or google docs document and suddenly your fingers forgot how to word? 

Lots of peeps, (me included) suffer from this type of writer’s anxiety and it prevents us from actually writing anything- total writer’s block!

Whelp let me help with what I’ve found that works:

Skip the first page!

If you got yourself a fancy new leather bound, engraved, blessed journal, or a fresh new staple’s notebook with the fancy cloth cover, just flip past the first page (the one where a bookplate or “title page” would go-) and start from page 2 or on.(If you’re super desperate like me, start five or six pages in!) By doing so, you’re tricking your brain that you’ve already written in said journal and most of the anxiety about making things “perfect” go away!

If your typing on a document, turn the font to like, a hundred!

I sometimes do this if I feel I keep focusing on the quantity of words I’m able to pump out on the first page, rather than what I should be writing. 

By super pumping up that font size, you’ll fill the first few pages faster and almost immediately, and the happy hormones in your brain are gonna be like, “yes! you’re writing, good job-keep going!”

Once you’ve written like six or seven pages (maybe more depending if you went for the 150 pt font) reset the size back to normal when you feel like stopping or you feel like you’re on a roll, and voila! You’re on your way to a productive (and self-satisfying) day!

Okay, now that you’ve gotten at least something written and you find yourself in the middle of an idea or scene and suddenly ... dun dun dun You’re mind is drawing a blank. Writer’s block has fully set itself inside your noggin right in the middle of all your hard work, what do you do now!? 

Writer’s Block Right in the Dang Middle

It sucks, and it happens.

Sometimes if you’ve been working a lot, and you’re not realizing how exhausted your mind actually is - it can feel like it turns off sometimes. 

If you don’t have a strict deadline, and you’ve gotten a bunch done, sometimes taking a break is what you need. It sucks, because I know how much you want to write, but your mental health comes first and you deserve a break too! 

Whether you just take a walk, or go grab some wine or juice, give your brain a break!

Do something other than writing- go stimulate other parts of your brain, come back, and see the difference!

Along the same line, if you do indeed have a deadline sneaking up on you and you’ve got yourself a bunch more to do but get stuck, try these things:

Take a short break.

Short meaning don’t spend hours and the rest of your day/night trolling through the internet or lose yourself neck deep in conspiracy theories on YouTube (I feel personally attacked here)

Save your work, get up from your spot, and leave the room if possible.

Leaving your room and physically moving your body, gets your blood pumping again and wakes you up subconsciously and that alone can help! 

Drink water. H2O. Agua.

Sometimes, after I’ve been typing for what feels like forever, I don’t realize how much time passes, and suddenly realizes it’s been four hours and I haven’t had anything to eat/drink.

It’s easy to get dehydrated and as living beings on this place called Earth, we need water. Sometimes drinking a big glass of ice-cold refreshing water is just what your body needs to do its job! (Did I make you thirst? Good, drink some water! Take care of yourself!) 

If you’re in the middle of a scene and can’t physically put into words what happens next:

Skip the scene!

Don’t stress yourself too badly on it if it’s not coming to you naturally. Move on to the next part in your piece, and start with a fresh idea! (You can always go back after, and finish/include the part you skipped!) 

Re-read the last couple paragraphs you’ve written, and change up the last couple sentences (sometimes even paragraphs). Completely re-write them, or get rid of em!

Sometimes a writer’s block in the middle of the scene can quite possibly be your own novel or piece’s way of telling you that you’ve dug yourself into a little bit of a ditch and now you have to climb out of it. Meaning the way you’ve ended things in the previous sentences, don’t allow for a good, fluid transition into the next part of the scene.

Totally re-write the scene or idea that your working on!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve deleted entire pages of crap that I could not continue to write, because I kept getting stuck.

Sometimes after fleshing out a scene or idea so perfectly, things become stale and unable to be continued simply because there’s something, some element or transitioning, just doesn’t work. Taking a great big hypothetical rubber eraser and getting rid of everything might just be the way to go!

More simple things to do if you find yourself with a writer’s block in the middle of your piece

Plan out what you’re going to write.

If you’re a ‘pantser’ (someone who writes without any, or very minimal planning beforehand) sometimes you need to plan your next moves - not only will it allow you to better flesh out your plot, but it can show you possible plot holes that you’re stuck in at the moment. It can also give you a very specific direction to move in if you know what happens next. 

Change the music you’re listening to/ put on some tunes if your not!

Google “inspirational quotes for writers” ... trust me on this one.

Go make some food... and then come back quickly after!

*Make sure it isn’t a super carb-heavy or ‘thick’ food- you don’t wanna be sleepy afterwards!

And along with the previous point-brew some coffee or tea!

Curse. Heavily. Outloud.

Of course this all depends where you’re located.

And if you can’t curse, or don’t like to, sing loudly to yourself or yell random things out loud!

Ideas include: “Let it go, LET IT GO...” “I will write this fudgning piece of doo doo even if it kills me! You got this, you lovely, talented writer, JUST DO IT.”

In conclusion to this super long, probably-never-will-be-read-post- writer’s block happens, and it is something that can be overcome if you allow yourself to try something different! 

Holy guacamole that was a long one- sorry about that.

Anything I’m missing? What have you tried that has actually worked? Let me know!

[theolddarkmachine]

Cather All Our Ghosts- Ch. 10/Epilogue

Death was oddly comforting. Nothing like the cold darkness that Shiro had always imagined it to be. Instead, it was warm. It lay across him like a heavy blanket, lulling him into a deep sense of safety that felt a lot like a pillowy bed. The flat black of it cradled him as it eased him into its feathery hold before it settled him into something that felt a lot like sleep.

A sleep that he could let himself float away in if it weren’t for the tether around his hand that seemed to anchor him.

Heat radiated from the point as it spilled across his palm and worked its way over his wrist.

Wake up, Shiro, it said, the voice sounding both foreign and altogether familiar. The heat coiled around his hand tighter, pulling him through the darkness towards it as it spoke.

Wake up.

He knew that voice, didn’t he?

For @sheithreversebang

Partners: @dyedgreyillusion and @dudettemal

Part 10 of 10

AO3 (Artwork Included!)

Link to Art!

Tags: Inugami, Kitsune, Tengu oh my; Magic and Curses; Slow Burn; Mild Action and Gore

A/N- Can I just be super sappy and sling some love towards Kai and Mal? Y’all were awesome partners and made my first bang experience a pretty good time. Also, big love to you, dearest readers, for giving this a chance! But uh, don’t expected anything of mine to ever update and finish this quickly ever again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this experience, it’s that I can’t sit on what I’ve written XD Anyway, without further ado, I hope this ending makes the ride worth it!

******************

Death was oddly comforting. Nothing like the cold darkness that Shiro had always imagined it to be. Instead, it was warm. It lay across him like a heavy blanket, lulling him into a deep sense of safety that felt a lot like a pillowy bed. The flat black of it cradled him as it eased him into its feathery hold before it settled him into something that felt a lot like sleep.

A sleep that he could let himself float away in if it weren’t for the tether around his hand that seemed to anchor him.

Heat radiated from the point as it spilled across his palm and worked its way over his wrist.

Wake up, Shiro, it said, the voice sounding both foreign and altogether familiar. The heat coiled around his hand tighter, pulling him through the darkness towards it as it spoke.

Wake up.

He knew that voice, didn’t he?

Shiro.

A static hum of electricity grew at a center point just above his heart until it became almost painful, disrupting the quiet solitude of the death he’d thought he’d found. It threatened the very peace that had folded in around him, making it shake and tremble as bits and pieces of the dark began to fall away, exposing fine cracks of light.

Please, Shiro.

Illumination bled out across the black, turning it a soft morning grey as the voice grew louder. Grew clearer.

Keith? His mouth moved around the silent syllable of his name as pain rippled across his chest. He had found him, hadn’t he?

And then—

And then he’d died, hadn’t he?

Shiro, Keith’s voice came through louder, cutting through the din of his thoughts as he felt the soft brush of fingertips against his cheek. An ache rolled along the lines of his ribcage as Shiro found himself fighting against the hold of the darkness to get to his voice.

He’d come so close. He couldn’t lose him again. Not so soon.

No like this.

Come back to me.

Air burst into his lungs as pure white shattered the black as he gripped at the hand within his. Colors crested across his vision, mixing whites and reds and blacks and the deepest of purples in a swirl of blurred shapes. A quiet shush welcomed him as his mouth cracked wide around his gasps as his sight evened out, filling with nothing more than the bright light of Keith’s purple crystal eyes.

A vice-like hold wrapped itself through his fingers, the pressure of it almost painful until he realized that it was Keith’s hand.

“Hey,” the kitsune breathed, the greeting turned into silk as he looked over Shiro with a steady gaze. It was just a single word, but it sent his pulse racing through his body as his fingers tightened instinctively around Keith’s.

“Hi,” he returned, his own voice barely a whisper as he looked over Keith as if it were the first time. It felt like it could have been with the way his heart pounded against his sternum in tempo with the golden flicker of the lamplight that painted Keith’s skin with something warm. The weight of Keith’s stare pushed into his own flesh as he watched the kitsune look over him, his gaze pausing over his right arm momentarily before flashing back up to meet his stare.

Sorrow dampened the purple as his lips turned down. Pulling his own brows together, Shiro turned his eyes down to catch what had turned Keith’s expression sour.

Bright metal sat within Keith’s hand, running up from his grasp and over Shiro’s forearm. Light etched in lines through the strange metal, racing up to the ball of his shoulder, turning all that had been dulled and dead black into brilliant silver.

Moments passed before Shiro realized that it was his arm.

Awe filled him as he followed the lines, trying to make sense of the way they cut along the metallic surface, creating a beautiful pattern of geometric shapes in the place of the ill purple veins that had once been there. Squeezing Keith’s hand once more, he reveled in the feel of his skin against his metallic palm.

It didn’t make sense that he should be able to feel it as he did, but he did all the same and it left him breathless.

Keith had done it.

He had saved him.

“Keith,” Shiro started, tearing his stare from their joined hands in time to see the way he flinched as he misunderstood the sudden exclamation.

Turning away, Keith let his bangs fall as a shield between them as he looked down at the silver that crafted his new arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his cheeks coloring the quietest shade of pink as he drew a finger across the illuminated lines that cut through the silver.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith continued, keeping his eyes down as his ears flicked back, pressing into the black of his hair as he avoided Shiro’s gaze.

With his voice wrought with pain, the inugami felt a twinge in his chest as his heart cracked at the sound of it. He didn’t say what he was apologizing for, but he didn’t need to. Shiro could feel the slight tremble in his touch as he continued to run lines along his new limb.

Steadily, he pulled his arm from Keith’s grasp, slowly moving it before him before he placed his shining palm to the strong curve of his chin. Gently brushing his thumb across the crest of his cheek, he couldn’t help but admire the way the silver stood out against Keith’s tanned skin, its faint light casting a glow across his freckles and turning them to stars.

“You don’t have to be,” Shiro said, tone brushed with the same tenderness that filled his touch. Amethyst flared as Keith’s gaze snapped up, catching his as he smiled. Guiding him forward gently, he let his metallic fingers dip into the soft waves of Keith’s hair.

“You saved me,” he breathed, bumping their foreheads together. “And that’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Keith’s lips parted beneath his as he closed their distance. It spread warmth through his chest that eased itself out through his limbs as he put pressure into it, turning it from something chaste to something a bit more as his thumb continued to draw lines along the kitsune’s cheekbone. Catching the soft sound of his gasp between his teeth, Shiro held there just breathing him in as he lost his thoughts to the feel of Keith’s life beneath his hand.

He was was alive, and so was Keith, and though he knew their fight with the Galra was far from over, for now this was enough.

“Keith,” Shiro pushed the name between them, his lips moving with it as he brushed them along his mate’s. It earned him a soft keen as he felt fingers grip at the loose linen shirt he’d been put in, the needy pull of them dragging the curve of his smile higher.

“I love you, Takashi,” Keith hummed, sending the sentiment feathering across Shiro’s skin as he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his grin. His ribs cracked against the expansion of his heart as it swelled, overwhelming him with the ferocity of expanding sun within his chest. It incinerated everything in its wake as it glowed within him, turning all else to dust as he tried to breathe around the gravity of it.

White glowed bright in the lines of his arm, casting shadows that caught along Keith’s edges where his hand met his skin.

“I love you,” he returned, each one of his words brushing along the darkened pink of Keith’s cupid bow. “Keith, I love you.”

Sealing his thoughts between them, Shiro kept his hold on Keith as he slowly moved back, settling his back into his pillows as he rested him against his chest, never once breaking their contact. Sighing contentedly, the kitsune melted against him as his petal soft lips opened and moved against his.

This is enough, he thought to himself as he heard his own content rumble deep within his chest. It’s everything I could ever need.

The sharp sound of wood against wood snapped them apart, a thrill rushing through him as heat raced across his cheeks and down his neck. A sheepish look pulled across Keith’s face as he cut his eyes away, pulling back further.

“Shiro!” Lance’s voice shot through the quiet that had filled the room as he entered the room with Hunk and Pidge trailing behind him.

“Oh man, it’s good to see you up!” Hunk joined in, both tengu seemingly ignoring his and Keith’s position as the kitsune fully pulled away.

“How are you feeling?” Lance asked as he dropped into Keith’s abandoned seat. Cutting his gaze to the side to where the kitsune was making his way towards Pidge, he dropped his voice low, hiding it behind his hand as he leant in close.

“Keith didn’t mess you up with his purification did he? You can tell me if he did.”

“Lance,” Shiro sighed, his grin betraying his exasperated tone as he felt the foot of his bed dip beneath Hunk’s weight.

“I told you he knew what he was doing,” Hunk said, shaking his head at his friend before he turned his own attention to Shiro. “Though, it was pretty alarming to see him stabbing your arm like that.”

An exaggerated shiver ran down Hunk’s spine, earning him a laugh from Lance as Shiro looked toward Keith with widened eyes.

Later, he mouthed.  

“He wouldn’t have had to if I could have helped,” Pidge’s voice silenced the chatter of the room as four sets of eyes turned to them. Their mouth was set in a scowl as they kept their golden eyes fixed on the ground. Shiro watched as Keith put a reassuring hand on their shoulder, his fingers pressing gently into their skin.

“It all worked out, Pidge,” he said slowly as his thumb rubbed a circle into their arm.

“I’m okay,” Shiro added with his gaze fixed on the smaller tengu. “We’re all okay, and that’s what matters.”

Sniffling loudly, they looked up, their golden gaze turned to liquid behind a sheen of tears as they stepped further into the room. Offering a smile, Shiro nodded toward them in a show of his own reassurance.

Keith’s hand slipped from their shoulder as they took another step forward, running the back of their wrist across their eyes.

“Besides, you’re still way cooler than Keith,” Lance butted in, shrugging with the statement as a sharp smile curled into the corner of his mouth. The sound of a smack punctuated the air as Keith slapped the back of his head.

Pidge’s mouth opened around bright laughter as they fell onto the bed beside Hunk, rocking against him with their mirth.

Smiling over the their group, Shiro settled himself back as he watched Lance swat at Keith’s hand, and Hunk and Pidge as they giggled against each other while they watched the pair.

This, he rectified as he sank further into the down of his pillows, was everything he could ever need.

***********************

Epilogue.

In the months that passed, life returned to something close to normal. Pidge was welcomed into the Marmora clan, their knowledge of the Galra and Haggar’s magic earning them a position as an advisor to Kolivan as he began to craft their plan of attack. Hunk and Lance returned to Allura shortly after Shiro had awakened, leaving behind a promise to return quickly and with an alliance that would strengthen their numbers tenfold.

Keith had returned to his training, and now that his heart was back, he had harnessed the light’s power with singleminded focus.

And Shiro? 

Shiro was happy. Even with the heavy handed threat of war looming over them, he found himself hopelessly lost to the joy that constantly filled his veins, making him feel light as he lived day-to-day with his mate and their clan.

Breathing deeply, Shiro smiled up towards the sky as he broke through the line of the trees, his mind lost amongst his thoughts as he made his way into the clearing.

Keith would be done with his training soon, and until then, he would wait for him by their pond. It had always been a place they’d loved, but now it had quickly become his favorite as he found himself there more often than not as he worked on harnessing his own powers.

Settling down next to the water, Shiro folded his legs beneath him as he looked over the edge to see his own silvered gaze staring back up at him. Around it, was the painted colors of the sunset sky.

A smile that was nothing more than a gentle flick upwards wormed its way across Shiro’s lips as he placed a careful hand against the unmoving mirror surface of the pond, breaking apart his reflection. Barely there ripples crested from beneath it as he let out a slow breath, watching carefully as a ring of light flowed outwards from the point.

It wasn’t very bright, but it was there all the same as he concentrated on the tickle that buzzed just beneath the skin of his newly made palm. Another ripple flowed out across the pond, its light stronger as it grew outwards toward the edges of its confines. Shiro’s smile grew with it as he watched it race for the grassy edge opposite him like a slice of moonlight on a quickened crash course for the earth.

The trick was nothing more than a slight manipulation of the very light that gave his arm power, but there was something calming about the way that it twisted and moved with his touch. It left a warmth wrapping around the white metal arm that grounded it, leaving him feeling whole, as if it was always meant to be his.

Pushing just hard enough for the water to lap up around his nails, the light grew brighter as the ring eased itself from his palm, riding the waves of the ripple lazily as he watched.

“At this rate, you won’t even need me anymore,” Keith’s voice was painted in husking laughter as he broke Shiro from deep within his thoughts, dropping him back to reality and the edge of the pond. His eyes were bright, dancing with the dying illumination that rolled along the water’s surface as he dropped down beside Shiro.

Shiro’s own smile cracked, breaking into a fully formed crescent as he turned his attentions away from the water and toward Keith. In all this time, he still couldn’t help the way his heart stalled hopelessly whenever he found himself pinned beneath the kitsune’s stare.

He’d often found himself wondering if he ever would stop feeling the affects of Keith’s carefully crafted smiles, or the gentle brush of his fingertips, or the subtle hush of his breath against his skin during sleep. More often, he found himself praying that he wouldn’t.

Biting at the corner of his lip to keep his features from breaking beneath the weight of his happiness, Shiro reached his hand toward Keith fisting his fingers in the silk of his top. It earned him a wide eyed look as he laughed.

“Shut up,” he breathed before he yanked the kitsune forward, sealing the brightness of their future between them with a kiss.

*************

[springawoken]

No One is As They Seem- An Analysis of Undertale’s Ruins

It’s no secret that Undertale is one of the most popular games of the last decade. It’s touched hearts, touched lives, and made fans all over the world recontextualize their understanding of what it means to play a video game. As anyone who has played the game will tell you, the reasons for this can only be gleaned by actually playing the game, so go ahead and buy it on steam for $10 and make your life a little bit more meaningful. This post will only cover the first area of the game, the Ruins, so you’ll be able to understand it even without playing, but I still recommend you play the game before reading. This piece is, at its most basic, an analysis of this area and how Toby Fox uses all the (free) tools at his disposal to create atmosphere in his game. The very first thing that stood out to me about Undertale as soon as I booted it up was the cheery chiptune soundtrack. Though the first three notes of the melody are simple, an octave up followed by a fifth down, we already hear dissonance creeping into the accompaniment with dissonant harmonies. These first few moments were far too subtle for me to notice on my first trek through the game, but in retrospect I see that the connection between the broader themes of the game and the musical choices is too spot on to be a coincidence, namely that people are not always as they seem. The melody established in this first number, called the “Undertale” theme by most, is elaborated on and experimented with throughout the rest of the game, but its theme is most often used at safe zones, or anywhere that feels like home. The brief introduction introduces you to the War Between Monsters and Humans, and explains that your character has fallen down a mountain into the Monster World. After this, you are escorted to the menu, where you name your character and, after a slightly unsettling transition, begin the game. You gain control of your character and are greeted by pixel graphics and utter silence. Past a hallway, you encounter a door, and a happy looking flower named “Flowey the Flower.” Immediately, super chipper music kicks in to let you know “Don’t worry, this guy is super nice and cool!” The theme is set in a major key, high above where music usually is played, to emphasize this. The theme also directly references the F.U.N. song from Spongebob, as if to further drive this point home. All seems to be going well until… well, until Flowey tries to kill you. The happy music is replaced with silence and aggressive text scrolling noises as Flowey laughs at your imminent death. Just as all hope is lost, though, you’re saved by the anthropomorphic goat Toriel, and are greeted with the best theme in the game, Fallen Down. Before we continue, let’s analyze the quick 1-2 punch that’s pulled with the music and character development here. Gamers are used to music playing over just about everything in an RPG, so its absence through the first room of the game is noticeable, or at least was to me. The silence is uncomfortable, just as it would be if you were to fall down a hole and wind up in a dark scary place. A talking, smiling flower would be a welcome sight in such a situation, and the music reflects this. Flowey’s betrayal is a gut punch because we’ve been trained, as gamers, to believe that what we’re shown through character design and music is what it seems at face value. In this case, though, the cute flower is evil, and the mildly creepy Goat Mom is on your side. Flowey bucks many trends when he stops his happy theme dead in its tracks and tries to kill you. When Toriel appears to save the day, her theme at first might seem like a trap as well, meant to lull the player into a second twist, but the music tells us otherwise. Whereas Flowey’s theme is obnoxiously cheerful after a while, due to the high tessitura, “Fallen Down” is played in a soothing middle register, with much softer instrumentation and a triple meter. The song is reminiscent of a lullaby, with plenty of repetition at regular intervals to comfort the listener. It is also more fully realized than Flowey’s stark, heavily EQed melody and accompaniment. After this encounter, Toriel leads the protagonist through the beginning of the ruins, where we hear the second most important theme in the game, what I call the “World” theme and ostinato. This theme is repeated and expanded upon throughout every area of the game, with one exception, as detailed in Jason Yu’s Undertale Leitmotif analysis (linked below). When we first hear it, though, all we can tell is that it creates a good deal of mystery. The melody is seemingly always ascending higher and higher, creating an atmosphere of constant anticipation. It creates a great background to explore and solve puzzles against as you navigate your way through the ruins, both with and without Toriel. This is the atmosphere we have throughout the entire first area, with the exception of a few joke tunes (brushing over them for time), and the battle theme, which we’ll get to now. Undertale has a slightly different encounter system than most other Role Playing Games. The gist of it, to wildly simplify things, is that every encounter can be resolved either through combat or through peaceful means. The challenge comes not from the attacking, but from the defending, which takes place in a “Bullet Hell” like screen where your heart must avoid enemy projectiles. The battles are always intense, and the “Enemy Approaching” theme demonstrates this. The tune is brisk, with a good old accent on 2 and 4 from the powerful percussion. It creates a constant feeling of anticipation, keeping you on your toes, ready for anything. This tune, though, is only the generic enemy theme. Boss themes are where things get fun. Your first boss encounter, after plenty of fights with frogs and butterflies, is with a sad ghost named Napstablook. As we’ve covered, no one in Undertale needs to die, and Napstablook is one of the enemies that sold me on that concept. In fact, it’s so hard to even take damage in his fight that the first time I played, I felt bad even thinking about killing him. His personality is so lacking in self-esteem that one would have to be truly heartless to do anything but cheer him up. This was coupled with his theme, “Ghost Fight.” This theme is a jaunty swing number, accentuating the fun of his battle, with a fascinating reverb effect on the off beats. It truly sounds like you’re fighting a sad ghost. As Napstablook does progressively sillier things, one can’t help but smile. After beating Napstablook, the emotional core of the game begins. The player reaches Toriel’s house, at which point she gives him a home, a bed, and some Butterscotch-Cinnamon Pie. The music that plays over this sequence, fittingly, is called “Home,” and utilizes the Undertale theme liberally. It is a gentle guitar track, almost like a lullaby. When the player finally goes to bed, the instrumentation changes from guitar to a music box. This instrumentation choice in particular was what struck me most about this moment, and genuinely made me tear up. The gentle nature of the track contrasts sharply with the severity of the moment. It brought to mind what this poor child must be feeling, having been given solace in a foreign land so far away from home. When the player asks her to go home, Toriel becomes agitated and runs to the basement. The music cuts away as the player descends and Toriel expresses her fear and concern for the player’s safety. She decides to seal the Ruins off so that the child can never leave. The only choice is to fight her. Right? Cue “Heartache,” my personal favorite track in the game. The motif of 4 16th notes followed by an 8th is repeated later in the game at another pivotal moment, but for now all the player knows is that things just got crazy intense. Part of this intensity comes from the fact that this is the first track written in compound meter, which immediately ramps up the interest curve for this fight. This track also is the most complex of anything we’ve seen in the game thus, with a virtuosic quality to its rhythms and incredibly quick harmonic motion. The most fascinating part of the track for me is the pseudo-ostinato Toby creates with the low bass tone every beat, almost emulating a heartbeat. This motif carries through the entire song, being present even as the supporting harmonies fly up and down the staff. This song is EPIC, and really makes it seem like Toriel means business now. As has been the case this whole game, though, things are not always as they seem. This fight is a crash course in narrative through gameplay, so let’s talk quickly about something that Toby Fox does to completely mess with the player and make Toriel a fully fleshed out character at the same time. Every enemy up to this point in the game has allowed you to spare them by dropping their HP low enough, and then hitting the yellow “Spare” button. With Toriel, though this is impossible. When you get her to about ¼ hp, your next attack will kill her no matter what. ACTing, which has been the other way to spare enemies in this game, also does nothing to turn the Spare button yellow. As it turns out, the only way to make Toriel sparable is to choose the Spare action repeatedly, until she gives up out of love for the player. Everyone I’ve ever met who played the game blind, including myself, killed Toriel on their first run because we couldn’t think of anything else to do. The plot twist that most of us realized on our second playthroughs is that, despite the epic boss music, Toriel will not attack you if there is any chance of you dying. This is something that triple A game designers might take note of. In Undertale, characterization and gameplay are one and the same. As we can see just from the first area, Undertale is a game that makes no moves lightly. Every choice, be it in the graphics, music, or gameplay, is a conscious choice that adds to the world-building and character development. This aspect of the game is what is so endearing about it, because everything, especially the music, feels like it was made with love. Unlike Wagner’s operas, which use rather heavy handed methodologies to enforce the meanings of their leitmotifs, Undertale’s messages are simpler and subtler, leaving far more room for interpretation while being simultaneously more enjoyable to explore. Those who fail to see video games as a consummate art form need only look to this classic game to see all the ways in which games can express our human condition.

Leitmotifs in Undertale: http://jasonyu.me/undertale-part-1/

Full Soundtrack on Spotify and at the following link: https://tobyfox.bandcamp.com/album/undertale-soundtrack

Purchase the game on Steam!

[daily-pokemon-family]

Caliber and Meredith's Year Anniversary has finally come!

((Hey guys! Posting the quick update of Caliber and Meredith’s year anniversary!! Story Written by @violet-the-braixen 

Fog was all that could be seen out of the tattered dusty shades that covered over the windows in a layer, protecting a small house in the middle of the forest from getting any foggy light inside. Inside the house, a large male bisharp with his arms on the back of a couch, laid there alone, waiting for his precious wife to arrive home. With a small swig of berry juice in one of his large hands, and a remote in the other, the bisharp clicked over and over, trying to find something to watch; truly just anything to watch. There were a couple good shows as he flicked through, eyes glancing as a number in the corner slowly increased, but due to the mood he was in on this gloomy night, there really wasn’t anything that could make him go “Wow!”. The house was silent like normal, something that he was used to one some days more than others, it always was when his wife wasn’t around. Without her, a piece of him seemed to be constantly missing, as if there was a shard of his soul wondering about that he needed to be with. He continued watching the television and taking some few sips now and then, his mind slowly floating into thought about his life decisions and current situations. As for the past, he didn’t like to think about it. However unlike the past, the present to him was called present for a reason. Life was like a constant gift that kept gifting him chocolate covered love in the form of a fluffy zoroark. A small knock erupted from the door, causing him to stumble from a sacred state, some of the drink spilling onto the floor, tainting the prestige carpet that blanketed the floor below. He quickly blew it off as he glanced at it, knowing he would have time to clean it up before anyone would possibly see it. Stumbling from the tiredness of the night, he cautiously opened the door, revealing a beautiful zoroark, his beloved wife Meredith standing at the door, a small gash in her leg as she smiles weakly and says nothing, before falling into his arms. In the split seconds of that action, thoughts begin to fill up in his head, causing him to panic. Did someone hurt her, was she hunted by someone, a rude encounter, anything? Before he can even get any sort of word out of his mouth, a small peep erupts from the zoroark in his arms “Caliber… we really need to install lights outside…” she says softly, letting him know that nothing terrible happened to her, as it was only a small accident that resulted in her bloody leg. The Bisharp’s mouth let off a large sigh of relief as he heard his wife talk lightly of what had happened, it must of been either her messing with him, or her feeling faint due to the blood. It caused him to calm down ever so slightly, making it much easier to help the zoroark. Looking around Caliber made sure that a path was clear, and he held his wife close. Hopping with the Bisharp, Meredith continued to smile as she was held by her lover, their matching pace in feet leading them to the couch that Caliber was sitting at just moments ago. She flops onto the couch, watching her husband dash out of the room and looks down with a small sigh. Her eyes dance over the large spill on the carpet. “You know honey, next time you stay here drinking, please be more careful…” she says in a somewhat sassy yet loving tone as she leans back to sit in the same space her lover previously was. “Why…is the seat warm.” A disgusted but amused look revealing onto her face as she scoots off of it, realising that Caliber must of been sitting there for a good while. She looks up to see the television on an even more oddity of a show, some sort of foreign kids show that she’s never seen before in her life. As he walks back in, he sees the zoroarks arms crossed, and her little foot tapping softly against the floor. “Took you long enough sugar” she says in a sassy tone, but meaningful love behind it. The small remark caused Caliber to look at her and roll his eyes, not able to hide his small smile at the comment either. Looking down she watches as he places the large bandage, the material wrapping in circles around her fluffy leg. It caused her to twitch a little bit now and then, as the pain from it seemed to spike slightly as the bandage touched the flesh of her leg. Looking up into her eyes he puts a small smirk on his face, tapping her on the cheek before standing back up slowly, moving right back where he was, the seat still warm from his rump. “You should seriously watch where you’re going, if you ask me, it’s not that it’s dark, it’s all that thick fluff you’re growing… that stuff can be a real pain in my tush.” He says, grinning as he leans hard against her, his arms wrapping around her in a side hug. Patting his thigh in a response, Meredith sighs happily and reaches to her side, picking up the glass that her husband had, and taking a sip before watching the television. Not much is said after that, as the two sit in boredom, only a light snicker of playfulness escapes the two now and then as they sit there almost silently. Only the cold air and the light of the television was the “party” of the room, other that that it was the silence of the breaths and the beating of two lovers hearts. Through all of this, it didn’t take caliber long at all to feel something arise inside of him. The bisharps legs begin to tingle and he jumps up, somewhat spooking Meredith out of the chair, causing her to spill the drink that was shared between them. “Seriously Caliber I ought to stab you with one of these nails” she says as she lifts her hand up, giving him a hard poke in his gut with one of her sharp nails. The two bickered now and then, but both knew none of it would last, and their relationship was much stronger. Sometimes it would be Meredith making a cute and sassy comment, and other times it was Caliber being just as much of a butt right back to the girl. He grins back at her, before pointing at the television. “Okay, so before you got here this was this like, night festival they were advertising… I know you just got home and all but I was thinking… perhaps you’d like to go?” He says before huffing. “I mean look at us, we’re damn couch potatoes at the moment, not like we have anything else to do!” His arms fling up as he states it with a sarcastic tone, looking around as his face still kept that light up of a smile. Meredith lightly giggles to herself as she thinks. Seems like Caliber has another little plan he’s thought of, last time she went along with it, it was an amazing ride of joy and love for the both of them. It was about time the two got out she agreed inside of her head. The fluffy zoroark’s arms uncross and her face becomes distant for a second before she nods happily in agreement. “Can’t disagree with you there honey, I mean besides the occasional stroll, I don’t really get much free time out… it really sucks but I mean hey, I know for a fact that we’ve got some spare cash and seeing there isn’t much else to do, why not!” Her response only makes him smile wider, before the large arms of the Bisharp grab ahold of the Zoroark in a large loving hug before a small kiss is planet onto her forehead. “You won’t regret this money, I’ve heard it’s super fun! Today is it’s last day open, and it’s the only day it’s open at night, so let’s grab a bag and get going!” He says rather excitedly, almost like a young child spurting out of him as passion lights up in his eyes. The two get up and each enter their shared bedroom, grabbing clothing and other things that they wanted to dress up in. Nothing special for either of them, just both of them wearing simple attire to a simple place to have a little bit of fun. After a while of getting ready, Meredith picks up her small tote bag and opens the door, the fog seeming to lighten, as small shimmering lights are able to be seen from the far away distance of their little home. She turns around to see her husband right behind her, a smile on his face as he takes her hand. His arms surround her once more in an embraceable hug as the two smile and stand with each other, taking in each other’s embrace with a large smile on each of their faces. Looking down at the much shorter girl, Caliber pats her on the head. “I think we’re both as ready as can be, so how about the two of us have some well deserved fun hmm!” He says happily. Meredith instantly unwraps from him and makes a little leap of happiness. “I totally agree with you there, it’s about darn time we got some us fun time… I really hope you’re right about this place!” She says optically, really hoping she’ll have fun. Both of the lover minds race with different ideas, one more lovey, one more flirty, but they both had a small idea of fun and romance brewing in there. Each of them giggling they smiled together and in hand and arm in arm. With a small clunk and emptying sounds, the house was now close with nobody inside, only a trail of footsteps proceeded out of it, leading to a a couple holding hands as they walked to the lights that glistened from afar. — Not too much time had passed and the two were still hand in hand, following a small dirt path that the two guessed had been there ever since the house was built. The night sky and the night stars shimmered like lost diamonds in the sky, shining down on the two lovers in a glistened light of romance between the two. The town seemed almost fully packed, and they were still just a couple miles away. From the soft fog dampening their view, they could make out magic shows of different creatures from across the world, showing off their tricks as the smoke filled flames were scarred into the eyes of the viewers from beyond the stage. There were rides to be seen from the distance as well, each and every one of them with a branded color of lights showing off different types of elements. As the couple inched closer to the town, they could now make up that the festival seemed to be livid with people of all ages, couples of different species, ages, kids, adults, and even some elderly too came to join the fun. Pitter patter of feet could be heard as they nearly reached the town, large lights everywhere as the couple still hand in hand began walking into the mass of the crowd. “Wow… you told me this thing was big, but I had no clue it was this… exotic!” Meredith let out a small gasp of excitement sprinkled with a spice of shock. With eyes still sparkling from the first glimmer of excitement, Caliber nodded agreeing full heartedly. “Yeah, the news thing said it would be a town fair, but I seriously didn’t believe that the entire like, town would be here.” He says in a taste of shock as he looked around, wondering what his wife would want to do first. Each of them looked around, still having their eyes caught by different attractions. One in particular grabbing Calibers, a large ferris wheel, something that he truly didn’t want want to ride, hoping that meredith would choose something much more relaxing as well as much more easier for the both of them. The question resonating in his head got an answer before he could think away, his fluffy wife tugging him to the side, forcing him to walk along with her as she dragged him along. Meredith’s eyes eyes glowed a small color as the lights of the small tent lit up, it seemed to be some sort of art game from what he could see, though it also seemed like a game of targets, a small paintball gun was attached to part of it. Lips opening up to ask a question, Meredith was soon cut off by a Raichu that smiled with a welcoming look. “‘Iya there miss!” He said with a smile before waving a stick at a canvas. “Y’see that there painting canvas! Well this game is rather simple, you take that there object-” he points at a small paint shooter, aimed on a pole towards the canvas “- and you’ve got to match at least 80% of it with this outline here!” He moved over revealing another canvas with a sketch of his own face. “Oh-hoho!” She says grinning, taking some money out of her bag and handing it to the Raichu. “You’re on.” Caliber just chuckled, walking over to the side of her and resting his arm on the paintball stand. “You’ve got this sugar” he says carefully, but a small playful “Oh I know I do” is all that was returned to him, which only made him grin more at her positivity and confidence. Meredith took in a large breath and gave received a good luck kiss on the cheek from her lover. her Mind racing a little bit as she wondered if she was able to beat this contraption or not. However with one small decision, she pressed her finger on the trigger of the paintball gun. Globs of paint flew onto the large canvas, almost completely mirroring the image before her. The raichu looked at her with a smile, one of those “I know you’ll lose” kind of smiles. Caliber, taking notice of that, grinned and slyly pointed to the painting, causing the Raichu’s jaw to drop, as the glob painting was almost a 100% match to the one right next to it. “Well… I’ll be uh… wow.” The Raichu said slowly, still a little in shock, seemed like despite the gun being slightly rigged, she was still able to 100% aim it perfectly and win. “Well… Here’s the prize” he said, before reaching in a large bin and pulling out a plushie. It seemed to be a shiny braixen, though it looked a little funny and had a scarf as well. Meredith assumed it was based off of some celebrity or something, before the Raichu tapped her on the shoulder. “Oh, all the prizes are submitted by sponsors, but this one was anonymous, hope you like it!” He says happily, before going on to advertise his game to the next passer by. Caliber looked down at it and let off a small chuckle realising who it was, the same Braixen girl that he had mer a couple days ago in the town’s coffee shop. “Small world” he chuckled to himself, making sure to mess with her the next time he sees the braixen. The rest of the night seemed to be nothing but fun for the two of them, lights flashing all around each other and the rides, games, and plushies that they kept winning began to stack up larger and larger. One even looked like her uncle, which was fairly odd to her, but still a cute fluffy plush nonetheless. Caliber taking notice of the plush looking like his wife’s uncle, he knew he had to take the chance of nabbing the thing before anyone else did. Meredith watched as her husband put down a good 20$ just to win the plush that seemed to just resemble her uncle. Soon enough as Meredith stood their watching her husband, he was able to win it. Grabbing it tightly and turning it around, wiggling it in front of meredith as he made a deep goofy voice.”Ooo look at me, I’m mysterious and edgy” The small taunt caused Meredith to giggle, softly punching the Bisharp on the shoulder as she smiled, wrapping her arm around him once more as they carried the two plushies together, looking around for the next ride that they were able to spot. They reached one of the ends of the festival and cane face to face with a large ferris wheel, the large feet of Caliber slowly were turning around, before being stopped like an anchor by meredith, her large fluffy hands grabbing him as she waved her finger. “You. Me. Ferris wheel. Kiss.” She said playfully as she tugged him along. Caliber looked up and let down a slight gulp travel into his stomach. He really wasn’t sure about this thing whatsoever, but at the same time he didn’t want to disappoint Meredith. Meredith on the other hand, looked up at the machine with eyes of awe and wonder, the complete opposite experience and feelings of her husband. Despite being unafraid of most things, for whatever reason the Bisharp did not trust this machine contraption, knowing that at any given moment something horrible could happening ending up injuring the both of them. Meredith, looking over towards Caliber smiled and gave a soft Rockruff eyed face. “Pweaaaase Cali! You know I love these things, and the last one I went on was with grumpy plushie, so pleaaase” she said, trying her best to hold down a chuckle as she talked. Seeing just how much his wife cared of the whole ordeal, he took a deep breath. “Fine, but you know this is just because I love you, if any other person in the world asked me to do this, i would definitely say no, so you’re lucky I love ya.” Sucking it up as he grabbed an overpriced carnie ticket for the two of them, and stepped aboard to the dome shaped room for two. Despite being the most startled, he made sure he was the first in as he needed to know it was safe for entering before his wife were to enter. He may be terrified of his thing, but if it has any sort of potential of hurting someone he’d rather have himself get injured than his beloved. Meredith seemed to almost carelessly hop into the ride, despite her hurt leg. Taking a seat on the bench that was sealed down inside, she patted the side of it, wanting her lover to sit next to her as they were soon taking off into the sky. Knowing they’d be there for a good 10 minutes. The Bisharps eyes made sure to scan the room all around, seeing if anything seemed oddly out of place or dangerous. However, nothing seemed wrong and everything seemed safe and okay for the two of them. Looking over at the somewhat raggedy seat, he smiled as he walked over next to his wife taking a seat and leaning jo against her ever so softly. Leaning up against her heavily he wrapped his arm around her and continued to smile, the ride seemed to be slowly starting up as they could both feel the momentum of the ride picking up. They were slowly carried into the air and then stopped for the first view out of the many to come. Caliber noticed that the way the ride worked unlike what he thought, was whenever a pod would reach the bottom, the users of that pos would switch, and they would be moved up again slowly. His thinking of the machine was interrupted as meredith looked over to him, a small smile forming on her face as she looked deeply into his eyes. “You know hun, I know things can sometimes be hard with the life we live… but moments like these, when It’s just me and you, nobody else around… those are the moments I cherish.” She says softly. The Bisharp can’t help but agree, hugging her on the side lightly, the comment of love causing him to chuckle happily for a moment, before giving her a small kiss as the ride seemed to move a little bit upwards once more. Caliber couldn’t help but feel his face grow red, the love as well as the deep passion for his wife only continuing to grow after these many years with the soft loving words she provides. Meredith and her fluffy form continues to hug him from the side, thoughts of love and romance flowing through her head as the ride buckled once more, lifting them around the top. Stopping what she was doing, she slowly stood up, taking Caliber with her as she looked out the window towards the moonlight. The soft light of the moonlit sky piercing through the windows and applying a blanket of white to the both of them. Silence seemed to pierce the both of them for what seemed like ages, the two gazed out the window, seeing the happy families, diverse groups of pokemon, and even those they had never seen before, all with smiles on their faces just because of this one small fair. Unaware to Caliber, a small of happiness flowed from Meredith’s eye, landing in the floor of the ride to be instantly lost. “Caliber…” she said softly to get his attention. Her body turning the the side so that she could see him better. Caliber responded instantly, turning to his side as well, reaching out and taking both of her hands and looking her deep into her eyes, both of them sparkling with millions of words of love. “Yes dear..?” He asked slowly and lovingly. Meredith paused for a split second before opening her mouth slowly, another small tear of happiness floating out of her eye, dripping through her fur, only to be stopped by Calibers finger wiping it away. She closed her eyes hard for a moment, before opening them up once more. “Caliber… I think I want to..” She said softly before being choked up with emotion. Caliber stood there still, forgetting about the world around him and only focusing in her, it was if nothing existed around him, and the only thing there was, was this Zoroark. The Zoroark girl smiled, taking his hand and lowering it to her stomach, placing it on there and still smiling. It didn’t take long at all for Caliber to understand what she wanted to do, and he felt a small tear fall out if his eye as well, only to be wiped away just like he did for her. The two stood their silently again, before they both started tearing up, tears of true happiness and love escaping the both of them, ideas of this new step in their life forming. Meredith reached up and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into one of the hardest kisses she’s ever given to him. One that states “Never leave me.” Rattling slightly, the large ferris wheel seemed to turn all of a sudden, causing the two lovers to land softly in a seat together, Meredith on top of her hard but soft hearted lover. “Why would I ever leave you goofball, no need to say such silly things like that…” he says softly, a small tear of happiness flowing down his eyes as he feels her soft hand rub it off his cheek. A small light seems to sparkle as they both look to the side, the tough glass doors of their containment sparkling as the night sky shimmers in front of them. As they laid there, awkward in a position that’s not comfortable at all, each of their eyes had that same exact glimmer back as they looked into the stars. “These skies are almost as beautiful as you Caliber” Meredith said with a soft voice as she rubbed the chest of her lover softly, watching as in her eyes, the sparkling of the stars seemed to form an image of love. The image looked like some sort of omen almost, as two globs of stars looked like two mon’s dancing in the sky, as if their souls were dancing in the moonlight. Grabbing her soft and squishy thighs, Caliber lifted her up softly as he placed the zoroark in his hard but comforting lap. It seemed as if the zoroark fit nearly into place, almost as if his lap was shaped perfectly for her rump to sit nicely on. Wrapping his arms around her he began to giggle like a child, kissing her neck as well. “I’ll admit Mere, I knew this was gonna be stupid fun, but I had absolutely no clue it would be this perfectly fun.” The soft fur of Meredith’s hair rubbed softly as it was planted against Calibers chest and stomach, the woman rubbing back into him to snuggle up as they continued on the ride that seemed an hour long. The funny thing was, when she thought about it, this whole thing had only been about 5 to 6 minutes in total… though it seemed almost like hours to her. Caliber closed his eyes for only a few seconds, though it seemed like hours before his softly closed lens were interrupted by the sliding of glass. The door in front of them was open before they even realised it, the Decidueye carnie blushing before the two of them cuddling. With an equally shared blush the two of them instantly stood up, brushing each other off, and walking out not saying a word, almost too embarrassed to do anything but leave the area red faced. Taking each others hands once more the two began following the exit signs, agreeing that the two of them had had enough of this fun situation all together. The two hand in hand laughed, chuckled, and blushed red as they did, giggling like two school children as they talked about what had just happened. Soon enough and after a while, the night had gone quiet and the two lovers had returned home to their small house in the forest. Much like they left it, it was quite, solid, and lifeless, though with the two lovers inside, the house pulsed with energy of love and happiness.