#and the stuff i keep hearing about amour eternal

[rin-the-shadow]

Crystal Tokyo Challenge: Day 1

Day 1: Your favorite adaptation of Sailor Moon.

This is usually my knee-jerk reaction to being asked to decide on my favorite Sailor Moon adaptation:

Particularly because I began participating in the fandom around a time that it felt like you were either a “good” Sailor Moon fan who preferred the “right” versions and shipped the “right” ships, or else you were a bad fan suffering from nostalgia for whatever your preferred adaptation was. And which one you were depended on who you were asking. 

My ultimate favorite “adaptation” is probably something of a patchwork of all the different versions. There are things I enjoy from all of them, and things I dislike from all of them as well. And some that I enjoy in one version which I disliked when another version did the same thing.

It may be predictable for people who have read some of my other posts, but I definitely have a strong tendency to gravitate towards the musicals even when I intend to watch/read a different version, especially Saturn Fukkatsu Hen (even though some of the jokes have definitely not aged well) and Eien Densetsu (original and revision), and, most recently, La Reconquista and Petite Etrangere. And I think a big part of this is that, even when they seem to start off more manga-based or more anime-based, they tend to wind up doing their own thing.

Actually, I really like PGSM for that same reason, and the only reason the musicals hedge it out by a very, very slight margin is because of the music and the theater tech/staging elements. And because PGSM doesn’t have the lights come up on Rubeus doing situps in the middle of the stage for no reason.

In spite of that slight preference, if you’re asking about the story and characters themselves, then I would put them on equal footing for similar reasons: love what they did with the characters, what they did with the stories, and the other stuff they added to it as well. (Though Sailor Mercury being my favorite, these versions’ tendencies to emphasize her probably doesn’t hurt, either.)

These two iterations are also the ones which encouraged me to mix and match canons in creating my own AU’s and headcanons, instead of trying to be completely faithful to one version or other. Though I’ll try not to get too into that until I get to that prompt.

So yeah, I would say that probably my favorite adaptations are Seramyu, with PGSM as a very very very close second.

[rosesdrabbleblog]

Doing Time

Pairing: Warden!Sam x Fem!reader

Warnings: smut, 18+ content, cursing.

Note: Everyone (including myself) is simping over Warden!Sam, so I thought I’d write about him to fuel all our thirst.

The prison loomed over you as you walked up to it. It was a rainy day, but you were thankfully prepared with an umbrella. You neared the entrance of the tall building, looking at the intricate architecture. Sam had come home many nights, exhausted over building the damn thing. You were always there with a hug and words of encouragement.

He had asked you to come visit on a work day. In fact, he seemed excited at the prospect. And how could you refuse him when he gave you the warmest smile?

That’s why you were here. You did your best to remind yourself of how to get Sam’s attention before seeing the large button at the entrance hall. You pressed it, waiting for something to happen. Eternity seemed to pass before a voice came over the intercom.

“State your name and business.”

You had never heard Sam sound so serious, or so scary. It kind of frightened you, as you were so used to his rather cheery self.

“Uh, hey love, it’s me? You asked for me to come?”

You waited again before he asked, “are you read to come through?”

“Of course.”

After a moment, the wall in front of you pushed back to reveal an ender portal.

“Walk through the portal, and let me know when you’ve gone through.”

You did so without hesitation.

You were confused when you spawned into a smaller section. “Wait, what? You built a section in the nether? I’ve never seen it...”

“You can go back into the portal again.”

Figures he wouldn’t reveal anything.

You stepped back in, even more confused, expecting to be back at the entrance hall. Instead, you were greeted by Sam in a much larger room. Sam was wearing his amour, along with a mask and helmet covering his face. To be quite honest, it was a bit unnerving.

“Welcome to the prison. Before you enter, you need to do something first. Come forward and I will discuss the waiver with you.”

You stepped forward, glancing down at the waiver in front of you. It wasn’t particularly long, but it sent a chill down your spine that you had to sign it.

“You will read the waiver out loud to me so I know you actually read it. Then-”

You cut him off, “wait, am I visiting Dream? I thought I was visiting you?”

He looked at you. “Don’t cut me off.”

He went back to discussing the waiver as you questioned to yourself what he was doing. As far as you were concerned, you were getting a tour, not visiting Dream. You had barely spoken to him, and you disliked him after hearing all of the sick and twisted things he had done. Sam had told you late one night, “he tells me all the stuff he did to Tommy. The exile, the manipulation, all of it. I have to hear that twisted fuck talk about the horrible things he did every damn day. It’s so messed up.”

Your thoughts were interrupted when Sam spoke up, “do you understand all that?”

You looked back up into his mask again, searching for a hint of his eyes. “Y-yes.”

“Good. Then read the waiver and we can proceed forward.”

You looked down at the waiver, feeling a bit nervous as you read through it. Why did this situation seem off? You knew Sam had to take his job seriously, but why with you?

You began to read the waiver, “I hereby assume all the risks of of visiting the holding cell, including by way of example and not limitation, any risks that may arise from negligence or carelessness on the part of the Prison guards, prisoners misbehaving, from dangerous or defective equipment or property owned, maintained, or controlled by the Prison Guards. I certify that I waive, release, and discharge the Prison from any and all liability, including but not limited to, death, disability, personal injury, property damage, property theft, or actions of any kind which may hereafter occur to me, including my traveling to and from visiting the Prisoner. Written name, then sign-“

“Do you understand all that?” Sam asked, tilting his head slightly at you.

You nodded,” I understand. I sign it now, yes?” He simply nodded. And with that, you signed your name on the waiver.

“Good. Now if you follow me to the lockers over here...put your belongings in this chest here. I will lock it and you can collect your belongings after your visit. You will take the key after and put it in your ender chest.”

You stared at him,” everything?”

He nodded.

You slowly put everything your had on you in the chest, before locking it with the key that popped out. You followed him out of the room, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. He reminded you what to do with the key again, which your put into the ender chest at the desk.

“Now, what was your relationship with Dream before his imprisonment?”

This question confused you, “I never really had one with him.”

“Tell me what you did have.”

“What’s with these questions Sam? I don’t even want to visit the damn man.”

Even though he wore a mask, you could tell Sam was annoyed.

“Just answer my question.”

You sighed before saying, “we spoke once, where I asked him what happened to Tommy. It was after I went away from L’Manberg for a bit, and came back to find Tommy gone. He told me he had been exiled. And that was all that was said. I hate that bastard for the things he did to people I call friends. To people I call family. I hope he rots.”

If Sam was taken aback by your statement, he didn’t show it. Instead, he asked,” are you willing to submit to any and all physical exams?”

You choked on air,” I���m sorry, what?”

He simply stared at you, waiting for an answer. You thought this was a strange question but responded with a “yes.”

“Do you acknowledge you may not bring anything into the prison with you?”

You patted down your empty pockets, “yes.”

“And do you recognize that I am the ultimate authority on the grounds of the prison?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Whatever I say goes. If I were to tell you to drop on all fours, you would have to do it.”

This sentence made your jaw drop, “wait, what?”

“Do you understand?”

You stared into his mask for a moment, questioning what was happening to yourself. This really wasn’t what you expected when Sam said he wanted to show you the prison.

You realized you hesitated a bit too long, so you simply said, “yes.”

The man nodded, “good, now you can follow me into this room here.” You followed him down a corridor, where a bed was placed in a small section of the wall. “Normally, I would have you set your spawn point here and kill you to make sure you didn’t defy my orders, but this time will be a bit different. Continue to follow me,” he said as he continued to walk down a different hallway. You followed him quietly, taking in your surroundings as you did. He lead you through more sections of the prison, briefly telling you about the sections you passed by. One in particular made him stop,” this is where I’d take visitors to the prisoner, but you’re not here for that, are you?” Sam looked back to glance at you before walking again.

Finally, you were lead to an office area, where a few surveillance screens sat at a large desk. Some cameras were at various hallways, while there was one in the prison cell itself. On the small screen, you could see Dream was writing away in a book, almost as if he wasn’t the most despised man on the entire server.

“This is where we keep tabs on the prisoner. That way, he- wait a moment,” Sam paused, looking at you quizzically, “I never did follow protocol after you agreed to the terms.”

You raised an eyebrow, “protocol?”

He nodded, “I believe I mentioned it to you in passing, about the spawn point and killing you to make sure you didn’t disobey me.” He clicked his tongue, “no no no, this won’t do at all. I’m going to have to give you a pat down. If I find a single item on you, you will have to suffer the consequences for your actions.”

Your face began to heat up at that, “I can assure you dear, I have nothing on me, but you can check if it makes you feel any better.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And with that, he flipped you over to face the desk, running his hands all along your body hungrily. After checking that you didn’t actually have anything on you, he purred, “good girl, listening to what I say. You would do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

This wasn’t how you expected the prison tour to go, but you certainly weren’t complaining. You nodded at his words.

Sam hummed as he dragged his gloved hands along your back, making small circles on it. “Since you’ve done so well for me, I should give you a reward. Would you like that?” He pushed up against you, and you could feel how hard he was through his trousers. You let out a whimper and nodded again.

He pulled down your pants after your affirmation, beginning to tease you through your panties. “Someone’s excited,” he commented, and you could tell he was grinning despite the mask that still covered his face. He pressed his fingers against you harder, before nearly ripping your panties off right after. Sam pushed a finger into you gently, letting out a chuckle at your loud whimper. “Atta girl, that’s it...” he said softly as he added another right after, finally allowing you to adjust. You whimpered again at the intrusion, his praise getting into your head and making you feel warm. He began to thrust his fingers gently, slowly working up to a faster speed. You clung to the desk, moans passing your lips loudly. At one point, you went to grab his hand, but missed entirely and flipped a small switch on the desk. You didn’t even notice, instead finally grabbing his hand to hold as he sped his fingers up even more. You could feel yourself getting close as you whined out, “Sam...Sam please I-“

He grunted, “are you close?” You nodded and let out another whine. Sam pressed his fingers into you harder, “then cum on my fingers. Be a good girl for me.” And with that praise, you came on his fingers, gripping the desk even harder as you came down from your high. Your moment was shortly interrupted.

“If you’re going to do this, please don’t make me listen to it.”

Sam tore off his mask, his eyes glued to one of the small screens. With a realization, he glanced at the small switch you had accidentally flicked. Something dark came over his face as he yanked his pants and boxers off. With a “hang on for me,” he gently thrust inside you. You let out a whimper at that, glancing at the screen in embarrassment. “Sam! He can hear us!” you nearly yelled. Now you could see the wild grin that came across his face, “let him hear you. Let him hear how good I make you feel. I’ve had to listen to him talk about all the shit he’s done, but he’s at my mercy now. And I won’t let him have any. So scream for me.” And with that, he began pounding into you roughly, gripping your throat and squeezing gently. You couldn’t hold back the moans and whimpers, and instead pushed back against him in an attempt to get him to go even faster. You heard Dream make a sound of disgust as he attempted to go back to writing in his book, but you didn’t really care. Maybe Sam was right, maybe Dream did deserve a taste of his own medicine.

Sam, with one hand on your throat and the other on your hips, was biting your neck roughly, desperate to leave dark bruises behind. “So good for me, such a good little thing. You’re going to make me cum feeling this good, “ he groaned into your ear. You whimpered out, nearly hanging onto the desk for dear life as he pounded into you. Sam sped up his thrusts even more, nearing his own release. Doing this did the same for you, and you could feel yourself tighten around him. “You’re close, aren’t you? Need to cum on my cock? Do it, scream for me,” Sam groaned in your ear, letting out a pleased sound as you followed his order. Soon after, he came inside you, taking his time to pull out after. The two of you clung to each other, panting. As you began to get dressed, Sam spoke to Dream, “maybe now we can come to an agreement about what we say over the intercom. Don’t tell me your shit, and you don’t have to hear that again.” Dream made no response, only looking towards the camera, his mask seemingly staring right into his soul.

Sam flicked the switch back before turning to you, face red and sweaty. “I’ll be honest, I was originally going to give you a proper tour,” he joked with a smile. You laughed, happy to see regular Sam back. “Were you?” you teased. “I was!” he said defensively. He began to get dressed again as well, everything besides his mask at least. He led you out of his office, directing you how to exit the prison properly. “You’re not coming back with me?” you asked. Sam shook his head, “my shift won’t be taken over until later. But I promise I’ll make it up to you later.” With that, he kissed you gently before escorting you out, whispering praises into your ear as he did so.

Oh how you loved that man.

[lumiereswig]

What if plumette left the castle shortly before the curse, and then returned after everyone was cursed? (Yeah I saw you wanted to write that)

i did want to write it, ive wanted to write it for years, i’ve never had the balls to write it because it was such a fabulous concept to play with. but here what the hell, why not here it is:

it’s pre-curse times and plumette gets a message from her sister, peregrine, that she NEEDS to be the godmother of her baby and thus has to haul ass to the christening. this is awesome but also fuckkkkkk because her sister lives in Sweden like FUCK thats SO far away in eighteenth century times

so she hops on a plane—an eighteenth century style plane—so that’s a rowboat—and waves goodbye to lumiere and douche canoe prince and mrs. p and all the rest, and she bippity-bops her way up to scandinavia to snack on some lutefisk and hold her first little itty-bitty niece. This being Sweden everything takes ages, like first the baby has to be born and then they have to plan the baby shower and then they have to do all this other stuff, so it’s months and months, all of which Plumette spends sending letters to Lumiere and eagerly waiting to hear back from him.

“mon cherie today the prince spent the entire day taking portraits off the wall and throwing them across the room because the painting style was apparently too ‘swishy’! And now Cogsworth has banned me from every serving him sangria at three in the morning ever again. Please be back soon mon ange, my heart cannot beat without you. Lumiere”

“mon chou today there was a fuss in the village, the prince has raised taxes again, I know, quelle horror!,  Mrs. Potts says a person can’t even afford jam anymore if you haven’t got a steady job! but i really doubt that, I mean how much does a jar of jam even cost, ten dollars? please hurry back mon amour, my breath fades so I can’t hear it, waiting for you to come into the light. Lumiere”

“mon coeur we are holding such a ball tonight! every eligible princess and countess will be there—as well as Chapeau’s little sister, we’re slipping her in with a borrowed old dress of the Queen’s—the lights will glitter and every taper will shine, but none as bright as you. Are you coming home yet? I cannot stand the waiting—I shall go quite still without you to dance with. I wait, eternally yours. Lumiere”

And then silence. Silence for a long, long time.

She writes letters, first funny— “what has happened? has Cogsworth run away with you at last?”—then alarmed, then jealous, then furious. “Why so silent, mon amour? have your hands fallen off entirely, do I count so little to your heart?” But she doesn’t get a response, even though she waits, she waits in the same place for weeks just so the letter will not miss her. but a month passes, and no note. Not even Chapeau responds, nor Cogsworth. she throws her hands in the air and stays on longer, just to show him; if he can’t bother to write, what’s a year? What’s two years?

She doesn’t make it quite two years; her heart throbs with missing him, despite her anger, despite her hurt. she gets on the boat, waves goodbye to little Plume nestled safe in Peregrine’s arms, and arrives back in France so, so long after she left.

The ride to Villeneuve is long. She breathes in the heady air, enjoying France’s roses; she forgot how much she missed this sort of spring! she cannot wait to be home, and hug them all close again. she can make peace with lumiere at last. perhaps some other accident prevented him sending her letters.

villeneuve looks disused, when she hops off the carriage; the taxes must have gone up again, she thinks, but doesn’t worry all too much. She doesn’t like riding, so she walks through the woods, ordering for her luggage to be left at the tavern to be called for later. She’s surprised how overgrown the ordinary road to the palace is. She’s surprised how the people in Villeneuve looked at her.

She’s extremely surprised when she starts walking through snow.

Her little satin slippers are drenched by the time she gets to the palace, and her hair is slipping out of her little summer straw hat, and she’s clutching her arms to keep from freezing in the gray, deep snow. Her teeth chatter as she climbs up the steps. Her little hand can barely push open the door.

She sinks in, with relief, and leaps up again when she realizes the marble is covered in a thin, deadly mirror of ice. The tapers are not lit. Not a sound comes out of the silent hall, but faraway up the stairs she thinks she hears a low, long grumble, like someone pushing a heavy chair across a stone-paved floor.

“Hello?” she calls. “Hello?”

Have they all left? Is it the plague again? she wonders. She tip-toes in, calling, and picks up a candle on the table to light her way. Into the drawing room, into the music room. A new harpsichord in the corner. The dining room sits empty, cobwebs on the chairs.

“Is anyone here left for me?”

“Mon amour,” whispers a voice, too too close, and the candelabra burns scathing in her hand.

she leaps back, clutching her hand, the candle on the floor righting itself and dusting itself off and murmuring soothing nothings, like she stepped on its foot at a ball or accidentally stole a sip from its wine glass instead of hers. It is talking, quite ordinarily, and calling in other furniture, and a hulking harpsicord is coming in and a squeaking tea tray and a hatstand with hammers for hands, and they gather round Plumette to gape and stare and cut off her escape, they don’t stop from crowding toward her until she screams “Lumiere, help!” and then it’s very, very silent in the dining room.

“Mon ange? You do not recognize me?” says the candle from the floor, and she comes close to fainting and then she is, the last thing she sees before falling into the swoon being Lumiere’s face, too little and too close, blazing gold, with hard yellow eyes creased in concern.

she wakes to cold, her hands draped in water, somebody kind laying a cool, wet handkerchief across her face. she relaxes, for a moment, then remembers the nightmare. the yellow eyes, where blue should be. the voice in the last place she expected it.

“look at me slow, now, dearie,” says Mrs. Potts, just beyond where she can see her. Another cold compress is laid on her hands. “I turned away from mirrors plenty of times before I got used to it. Slow, now, and breathe in—in through the mouth and out through the nose, that’s the way I used to tell Chip to do it.”

She looks, slowly, and then realizes turning slowly only adds to the horror of it, and she looks quick and bites back the scream before Mrs. Potts can quite pretend she hasn’t heard it. They both recover, fast, and look away. Mrs. Potts busies herself pouring hot water into a dish, and nudging the dish to Plumette’s fingertips until she can smell the lavender wafting gently up.

“Soothing,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, but Plumette notices she doesn’t look at her again.

It takes a long time to explain it. They all do it, in stages—Mrs. Potts, and then Cogsworth, so funny with his little clock face staring up at her, Cuisinier with a rattle and bang and Chapeau with tidy words, sparse but clean, painting a picture of the hag’s hand stretching toward them, the spell hovering on her fingertips. But Lumiere does not come to explain. He does not want to frighten her. He does not want to cause the pain.

Only when she can look at them evenly does she let him come in. He comes slowly, shyly, and her heart breaks—her Lumiere, shy! Her Lumiere, heavy and slow, his golden feet dragging him along, his candles barely flickering. He’s hot and ashamed and brave, looking her up in the face, love pouring out of him as he whispers, “you have not changed a day.”

they are frightened to show her the Beast, but they have to; he knows she’s there, his was the deep and wounded growl she heard from the first, echoing down the halls from his hiding place behind the stairs. She thinks she will be terrified, but then she sees him and oh!

the prince is terrified of her—of seeing his face reflected in the eyes of someone who knew him in his pride. terrified of seeing that someone shriek and run away in fear.

She reaches out and strokes the matted fur. “Do you know,” she says to him, “you have blonde hairs here, right in the pattern of the sun blaze I used to paint on you for special occasions.”

“I tried to do it myself that night,” he rumbles, the sound coming from deep in his chest through what sounds like miles of hair and thorn and tusks and teeth. “I didn’t do as good a job as you do, though.”

She brushes the fur with her hand and smiles at him, the curls descending down her cheeks, her battered straw hat still trickling snow.

She stays with them for days before they mention anything about her choice. She busies herself with tidying, in attempting to bring order to the darkness—“If only one of you could fly, we could get that dust out of the topmost chandelier,” she complains—and spends time with Lumiere, tentatively finding him out again, catching herself laughing at his bizarre jokes. She almost thinks he’s really there when he comes into a room behind her, and she looks up to the wall and sees that human-sized shadow drawing up....and then the disappointment when she turns, and he’s only there in soul, so tiny behind her she has to crouch to catch his face.

But the days cannot wear on forever, and soon she notes the looks the servants give her, and one night as she climbs up to bed she hears the stark sounds of an argument ringing up from the kitchen below. The next day, they corner her—much as they did her first day, but now she knows the names to match the faces, even the new ones she never knew before, like kind Madame de Garderobe and finicky Mr. Cadenza.

“Why so serious?” she teases Cogsworth. His hands tic-tic gloomily across his face, and his eyes search the room, and her eyes follow. Lumiere isn’t here. Cadenza paces near the door.

“It’s just...well, we don’t know how long it’s been on the outside,” says Mrs. Potts. “But here inside the palace, we’ve kept careful track of the days, and it’s been like to ten years. Not quite, you understand, but it’s been ten years almost to the dot. And we’re not figuring she’s ever going to come.”

“Who?”

“In the curse, when she laid the curse, the witch mentioned true love for the Prince,” says Cogsworth. “Reckoning, I suppose, that a parade of eligible young ladies would come lining up to the palace every morning looking to play croquet with the unfortunate Master. Well, there hasn’t been a one. Not even enough to invite in for a glass of water and a game of piquet. And if it goes on much longer like this I don’t fancy we shan’t become antiques.”

“What do you mean, antiques?”

“Never mind about that now, dear.” Mrs. Potts nudges Cogsworth aside and went on. “What he’s trying to get at, I think, is that we’re worried there won’t be anyone for the Prince. No young ladies have really stopped by once it snowed.”

“And if it goes on like this,” moans Cadenza, “I will never see my wife again. The spell will be complete. I’ll go kaput, coda, to resting beat; the symphony ends, no one applauds. The rose sits in silence. The diva, likewise.”

“This is—what will happen to all of you?”

“We’ll fade,” says Chapeau. “We don’t know what that’s like, exactly; it’s not quite death, but it isn’t living.”

“And why are you telling me this? So I can go get help?”

“There isn’t time,” says Mrs. Potts, gently. “There’s only a few petals left on the rose. We need...we need you to do something else.”

And then Plumette realizes why Lumiere isn’t allowed in the room.

She lies in her bed that night, cradled in the spot in the mattress where he used to sleep—his slippers still sit right next to the bed, covered in cobwebs, the gold brocade barely blinking out from the dust. She stuck her foot in one of them when she first arrived, but took it out in a hurry; the webs felt cold on her toes.

I have to fall in love with the Beast. She could hear them telling it to her, over and over, and she’d retold herself the same story so many times she could hear it in each of their voices, whether or not they had truly said so. “If you don’t fall in love with him, dear, Chip will remain a cup forever. My dear, that is my son.” “You’re the only eligible young lady we’ve had, Plumette, though I doubt the Prince will care much for your rank; but we can scrape up a baronetcy for you, it shouldn’t be too difficult, and then add some ranks and qualifications once you’ve married—” “Plumette, I know it’s hard. But help isn’t coming anytime soon. You’re the only hope we have.”

Fall in love with the Beast. Fall in love with the Prince. Fall in love not to love him, but to save every friend that had ever counted for her, every person who had ever treated her as family. Fall in love, and not with Lumiere.

Fall in love, to save Lumiere.

[lordzuuko]

Gods, that Adamms Family au tho. Do you have more headcanons??? Cause I def need more, lmao. :"))) I can only imagine Keith and Shiro dancing dramatically, Shiro dipping Keith down, gracefully and flawlessly spinning him and after the dance, kissing each other without missing a beat. ♡ :"D

It started as a joke but the more I think about it the funnier it gets and the more I want it to happen HAHAHAAHHHA but yes what you said YES!

Sheith The Addams Family AU PART 02  [PART 01][PART 03]

They dine like normal rich people. Four chandeliers in the room, longass obsidian table darker than the human soul with six candelabra, black and red utensils, black goblets, a dead boar’s head hanging on the wall, a guillotine in a corner. Yknow, the usual… stuff.

Their car is the 1938 Packard Hearse. Fricking beautiful lmao Of course they get weird looks. Who in the right mind would have a funeral car for family use? Apparently they do. Pidge (Wednesday): Father, kids at school make fun of our car.Keith: Oh, they’re just jealous they don’t carry the dead with them wherever they go, my dear. Now run along.

Every morning, Pidge would try to do something to Lance (Pugsley) before breakfast when he’s asleep.Lance: Father! Pidge tried to suffocate me again in my sleep!Shiro: *sighs and turns to Pidge* Pidge, my darling, what did I tell you?Pidge: To use a pillowcase with a rope instead of my own hands.Shiro: Good. *smiles* We’re not barbarians you know. Pidge: *frowns*Keith: Poor thing, she’s lost all her desires to strangle her brother. 

When they are receiving visitors, Shiro is usually the first one introduced. And when Keith walks in, Shiro just couldn’t keep his eyes off him, pretty much ignoring everyone else in the room.Shiro: Mon amour. *walks up to Keith and pulls him closer* *takes his hand and kisses it* *kisses Keith’s neck*Keith: *tilts head to give Shiro more room* *hums in pleasure* *sees the visitors and smiles* Forgive my husband. He’s like a desperate howling demon. Especially when I wear this suit. It brings back memories. Shiro: *cups Keith’s face* My little bat. I remember that night as if it was only yesterday. Keith: Mon chéri.Shiro: Oh, Keith. The things you do to me when you speak French.Keith: *whispers and kisses Shiro’s jaw* I know. Visitor: *to the family’s butler* *coughs* S-should we um… come another time? They seem so busy with… each other.

They get called to school when one of their kids had done something. Keith would walk in the school hallway and get stared at.Kid: *looks at Keith funny* Did someone die?Keith: I can only hope. *sighs*Kid: You’re weird.Keith: *raises an eyebrow* And you’re wearing colours. Teacher: Ah, you must be Lance’s Dad.Keith: *nods* I am his father, yes. What did my precious devil do?Teacher: He had a fight with one of his classmates.Keith: *eyes widens* Did he win?Teacher: *shock* Mr. Shirogane, he punched a boy in the face. A boy named Hunk.Keith: *sighs* I told him to aim for a bloody nose if he liked someone. Don’t you worry. I’ll have a talk with him.Teacher: Mr. Shirogane, Hunk was crying and Lance was pleased.Keith: Well, what did you expect? Life if not all lovely thorns and singing vultures you know? They like each other. Give it time.

Love declarations all the time! Shiro and Keith doesn’t give a damn about the time and place. If there’s one thing certain about them, it’s the fact they are so in love with each other.Shiro: To live without you, only that would be torture. *leans in*Keith: A day alone, only that would be death. *leans in*Shiro: Someday we’ll be buried here, side by side, six feet under, in matching coffins… *lips almost touching*Keith: …our lifeless bodies rotting together for all eternity.PTA Meeting head: *clear throat* Umm, Mr. and Mr. Shirogane. If you please, we’re having *cough* a meeting and would like to hear your opinion and not your… *gestures at them* whatever inappropriate thing you are doing in front of us right now. *flushes*

They are very very dramatic. Slow dancing with so much kisses here and there, teasing each other that other people at the formal restaurant couldn’t help but just stare at them in awe. They don’t even break a sweat after such intense dancing.Person 1: Who the hell invited Dracula?Shiro: *perks up* What? Is our cousin around here? *looks around*Keith: *caresses Shiro’s face* Oh, my darling. We could only hope he died after what you did to him.Shiro: *looks at the person* *grins* Cyanide poisoning. 

I NEED FICS SO BAD LMAO