#so yeah this is mostly set up and prelude

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 - 𝗭𝗼𝗿𝗼 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Hey, hey! Here's another contribution from the drafts. I meant to get this out earlier but I've been overthinking it haha. I'm still new to writing smut and I tend to write and rewrite, not to mention I've only just recently picked up writing again after years of doing it intermittently. I'll probably do what I always do and edit it for redundancies, mistakes, etc. This is almost pure NSFW but I did add a little prelude and a fluffy ending. Nothing crazy. Hope you enjoy!

CW: NSFW!! Gendered terms for reader (female); breeding kink; creampie; p in v; mention of overstimulation; use of term 'daddy'; actual talk of starting a family

~1.9K words

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Zoro wants kids. You wouldn't think it, given his typical demeanor, the way he interacts with kids, the big goals he has for his life. He's always liked the idea of little children running around, though - sparring with them, arguing, playing games, and telling stories. Yeah, Zoro wants kids. A family.

So, when you laugh at a comment Sanji makes in disgust about ‘a bunch of stupid green-haired babies popping out of you,' you have to do a double-take at Zoro's response. 

“Yeah? What's so funny about that?”

You blink, a stupid smile still stuck on your face from when you were keeling over at Sanji's remarks. The laughter slowly dies, though, as you start to process his words. There’s something deadly serious about Zoro’s tone that makes your smile fade.

“Wait, what?” You ask, your attention fully turned towards the grumpy demeanor of your boyfriend sitting beside you.

You'd both been sitting in the galley of the Sunny, Zoro only following you in because you were insistent on talking to the curly-browed cook to see if he needed help setting up for lunch. Idle conversation and jokes that had been made seemed mostly tuned out by Zoro. You weren't even sure he was listening until the comment he just made.

“I said ‘what's so funny?’ Don't you wanna have my kids?” Zoro retorts. 

Sanji’s just as surprised as you are, but he lets out a small snort before taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Who would want to have your brats, mosshead?” 

“Who asked you, shit cook? Where the hell is lunch, anyway?” 

Sanji grumbles under his breath, something about Zoro being a lazy jackass, but he reluctantly pads back off to the stove where he has food cooking for the upcoming mealtime. Sanji’s reaction isn’t even on your radar, though. You’re still reeling from Zoro’s question and the tone in which he said it.

“Zoro. You're kidding.” You say, your voice even. “What, you mean - you want kids?” 

“Yeah.”

It's so blunt, treated as something so obvious that you almost feel like you’re in a different reality. You stare at each other quietly, and you're not entirely sure but you swear you can see the gears in Zoro's head turning as well. It’s a pretty big step in your relationship, all things considered. You two had barely broached the topic of marriage once or twice, and those conversations weren’t particularly enlightening about what the future holds for you. But…kids. Zoro…wants kids. That much is certain.

With an awkward laugh, you tell him casually that you’d like to talk with him about it another time in an attempt to brush off the topic entirely. It’s obvious by his reaction that he’s not happy, but he decides to drop it at the sight of your other crewmates entering the galley.

So, that’s that. For now.

-----------

Loud moans and the sound of skin slapping leave the walls of the men's quarters, almost making the sock on the door handle obsolete. At this point, the sock was really just a formality to make you feel better. Both you and Zoro knew that if you were going to go at it like you usually did, everyone on the ship would know to steer clear the moment they walked within a fifteen-foot radius. Honestly, it was a joke at this point amongst the crew. Everyone was very well aware of your active - and loud - sex life.

Strong, calloused hands hold your thighs down against your chest, pinning you down into the bed. Zoro's cock slides into you with practiced ease, pumping in a familiar but hungry rhythm. His brows are furrowed as though he's concentrating, and through your sex addled haze, you can see a bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead. 

“Fuuuuck, (y/n). Pussy feels so good for me.” He groans. 

“Zoro, yes!” You gasp. One of your hands grips against his forearm, leaving light clawmarks from your nails against his skin. The sting makes Zoro hiss in delight.

“Yeah? You like that, (y/n), you like that?! Yeah? You want it harder?!” 

Zoro picks up the pace easily, his hands gripping your thighs as he angles and thrusts himself down into you. He loves the fucked out look in your eyes, the way you coo and keen under his touch. It’s something that he’s sure he’s gotten addicted to, and has even gone as far as to tell you on multiple occasions. 

All of this is so overwhelming, agonizingly intoxicating, and the pleasure building in your body isn’t doing much to help placate the frustration. An impulsive horny thought crosses your mind, though. The inkling of an idea. A solution. It could possibly backfire, but you were at the point of desperately needing a release. He had been going at you for almost an hour now, stopping when either of you got too close. Something about ‘wanting to take his time with you.’ You can’t even remember at this point, you’ve been denied that climax so many times that all you can think about is the feeling of Zoro’s cock dragging against your walls and the need to release the aching tension in your pussy. This move was risky, but hey, it's worth a shot. 

“Harder! Fuck-…put a baby in me!” You exclaim.

This sets something in Zoro off, halting him in a way neither of you were prepared for. He pauses all movements of his hips as if trying to process what he thinks he heard you say. It finally seems to click, though. With a devilish grin, he leans forward, his face only inches from yours. His body weighs down on you, pressing you harder into the bed. Without warning, his cock slides into you only once - harder, more deliberate - as his eye flickers over your face. Your eyes are half-lidded, tears prickling just out of the corners, though the way he slams his cock into you widens them.

“Yeah? That what you want? Wanna have my kids?” Zoro asks, his breath brushing over your lips. 

“Fill me up, Zoro…get me pregnant. Please. Need you to come in me.” You sputter breathlessly, your nose just brushing against his. 

Somehow, his grin widens further, and a small chuckle leaves him. You can feel him twitch inside you and you know for certain that this calculated risk has more than paid off.

“Shit, okay.” Zoro huffs, his movements continuing with a new primal urgency. “Yeah, there you go, pretty girl. Take it. Take my cock.” 

There is something profoundly different about the way Zoro is fucking you now. The mating press he has you in seems more firm than before, his hands on your thighs squeezing with the effort of him ramming his cock into you. The head of his length brushes over your g-spot again and again, that perfect amount of pressure causing you to writhe and groan beneath him. Every sound that leaves you, every tremble of your thighs, only makes him double his efforts.

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Keep going. Take it! Gonna put a baby in you!” 

You can hardly believe the words you’re hearing growled at you, the way they’re cut through with the grunts and moans. Zoro has always put what felt like the maximum amount of effort into sex. It’s just who he is - he doesn’t half-ass anything he cares about, and fucking is one of those things. For some reason, though, every pass of his cock feels like it’s igniting some kind of new energy in him. A desperation - a need - that’s making it hard to even think of anything beyond the approaching precipice of orgasm. Your walls clench around him as though trying to keep him there, and the sounds that are leaving the both of you are nearly animalistic as Zoro fervently picks up his pace.

“Fuuuck, I'm gonna fill you up. Fill you up with my come and make you pregnant. You're gonna - nnng - be so fucking hot all swollen with my baby. Can’t wait.” 

Your hands clench the sheets with the effort of trying to hold steady, to focus on the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. His words are only amplifying the building heat, that coil getting tighter and tighter in your cunt. With every pathetic whine and cry that leaves you, Zoro’s hips collide into yours, his balls slapping loudly against your skin. You’re so close, have been chasing this orgasm for so long, and Zoro knows it. And now he wants to get you both there. With no effort on his part, he finally relents, moving a hand down to rest against your lower abdomen. 

“Feel my cock in you, baby? You’re taking it so deep. Just a little more.” Zoro groans, unable to hide his own rapid build-up.

He slides his thumb down from where his hand rests, rubbing up and down against your clit in a steady rhythm. It’s his finishing move, the one that always gets you there, and its effects are damn near immediate. The way he’s bullying your g-spot with his cock, railing his hips into yours, and rubbing over your clit causes the sensations to build and build until-! 

“That's good, baby. Come on my cock. Milk me and make me a daddy.” 

You clamp a hand over your mouth as you ride the high, the ecstasy crashing down again and again. As you’re sent firmly over the edge, you clench hard around his cock which elicits another loud groan from Zoro, his seed spilling into you until it seeps out of your pulsing cunt. You groan and pant together, Zoro’s hips gradually slowing down until both of you have been properly worked through your respective releases.

You barely even register his cock leaving you. The bed shifts with his weight where he collapses beside you, an arm thrown over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. It’s silent for a while, both of you recovering from the intense influx of chemicals and the racing of your hearts. The silence draws on, though, to the point where you're starting to feel a tension settling in your stomach. A conversation needs to happen, that much is clear, and the unspoken words do little to actually let either of you fully soak in the afterglow. It surprises you when Zoro’s the first one to speak.

“You serious about wanting a baby with me?” Zoro finally says, his voice gruff and low. 

You hum as you turn on your side towards him, working hard to find the right words in response. He’s already looking at you, peeking under his thick forearm that rests on his forehead. Zoro looks wrecked, with disheveled green locks poking out in different directions and a thin layer of sweat glistening over his whole body. His chest is heaving significantly less than before, but there’s still a noticeable effort in the way his lungs extend and contract. You find your hand drawn to the broad expanse of his chest, resting gently against his warm skin.

“Yeah. I just didn’t know when to bring it up. Figured in the heat of the moment was as good a time as any.” You reply, a playful smile rising to your lips.

You watch as Zoro grins in return immediately, his eye lighting up in a way that you’ve only seen a handful of times. It’s missing it’s usual devilish charm, instead replaced with a sparkle that shines radiantly. His hand immediately grabs yours on his chest, holding it in place as if intending to keep it. There’s a pure joy growing in your chest that can’t be contained.

“Then you’d better stop taking those stupid birth control pills Chopper gives you. There’s going to be a lot more where that came from.”

[soleminisanction]

I’ve been thinking about Steph and cass lately, especially with my recent re-read of Batgirl 2009. You’re totally right in that Steph does not even once spare Cass a single thought or even speak about her at all in the entire run. But it also got me thinking, didn’t this exact scenario already play out except with Tim? I’ll admit it’s been awhile since I’ve read her run as Robin, but I feel like once she got the mantle of Robin (again, taken from someone else- this time Tim) she never really spared him a second thought either. And then when she gets the Batgirl mantle from Cass, she never spared her a second thought. I know that the writers probably did not intend for this sort of characteristic to shine through, but it’s interesting nonetheless that this has happened twice. Does Steph just view people as disposable? Or as extensions of herself? And that’s why the second she gets what she wants from them or can’t get anything more from them, they drop in importance in her eyes and she doesn’t spare them a second thought? What are you views on it? (Also supergirl showing up in the middle was so damn random lmfao, did they have any previous links before that issue? Or even after that issue? I feel a bit bad for Kara that she constantly has to be besties with whoever the newest batgirl is T-T)

That is how I tend to view her, when I'm not taking steps to deliberately soften her character (like with Batgirl, Repentant). She does think about Tim a few times while she's Robin, but it's mostly in passing -- first explaining to Cass why she's in the Robin suit in Batgirl; then because he got a hold of her over the phone, briefly; and then because her last case involved an assassin, Scarab, who was hired to kill people who looked like him. Once that's established, he's out of her thoughts.

After that she thinks of him again in the lead-up to War Games, namely in the "Prelude," from Batman 12-Cent Adventure #1, which is partially an excuse to do set-up/recap flashbacks for anybody tuning into the event who hasn't been reading Batman regularly, but is also when we actually get to see the Incident that kicks off the gang war -- and it's told from Steph's perspective.

And a little later on when she hears his school got shot up, she's devastated, fully bursts into tears and is terrified that she might've gotten him killed.

That said, her writing in War Games is largely an outlier -- for all the problems with that story (and there are so many problems, don't get me wrong), it legitimately has some of the best, most selfless and heroic characterization Steph has ever been given. It's tragic heroism, but it's still genuine heroism all the same.

The rest of the time... Yeah, she just doesn't really seem to make many connections or think much about other people when they're not directly involved in getting her what she wants. That's the vibe I get, too.

As for Supergirl: they did actually establish that. There was a 4-isuue World's Finest miniseries in 2009 that told one semi-ongoing story but also used each individual issue to team up a member of the new "Batman Reborn" Batfamily up with one of the similarly-revamped "New Krypton"-era Superfam.

Issue #1 was where Tim (as Red Robin) was reintroduced to the 15-year-old Chris Kent Nightwing (and Thara Ak-Var Flamebird). Issue #2 was Damian and the Guardian. Issue #3 had Babs call in Kara to rescue Steph from a death trap and then they teamed up. and Issue #4 had Dick-Bats and Clark come in to bring most of the threads together for a big finale.

The mini overall is... okay, though there's some characterization I'm not fond of, and something about the art style just. Really empathizes how much I fucking hate Steph's ugly Batgirl costume.

(Why. Does she wear her fucking belt so loose. They do it so it'll hang akimbo on her hips but it's made of huge weighted pouches, it'd spin around her waist when she tried to grapple like a goddamn hula hoop!!)

[born-to-riot]

AFTER A LONG ASS DROUGHT I HAVE FINALLY BEEN INSPIRED TO WRITE A FIC AGAIN

I don’t have a title yet but y’all we’re dropping acotar characters into the exy universe. Yes we’re talking aftg

Idea: acotar but in aftg world

Now listen if I do this imma need to reread both series and also need to make a note in the beginning explaining that although I love my aftg babies, this story ain’t about them I’m just taking the set up of exy universe (mostly because I wanna make sure this is done right and I need to focus one on group so I can use the setting to make a juicy ass plot)

Like I want this to be Azris and although I love them I don’t think I can pass them off as andreil aka the feral 5’ gremlins. This is why I don’t want to put any of the og foxes on the team because they all have their own unique stories and imma make new backgrounds for the acotar characters.

I’m still debating whether or not I want to include the events of aftg as a prelude or not

and yes coach Wymack will still be there (or I could make it helion but I feel like Wymack is too grumpy for helion-will come back to this later.)

I want to let them still have magic but why the fuck would they be playing exy if they did so rip that.

So there’s a lot I have to work out but I’m going to reread both series, more importantly acotar so I can get some more canon character influences (specifically for Lucien and Eris)

But yeah I’m really really excited and I’m totally feeel like this is the idea that will get me to write again (I’ve been in like a three year rut of writers block) because like I CAN DO SO MUCH and having them play off each other will be so fun.

I would give more details but I don’t want to spoil or get ahead of myself but stay tuned because this is definetly happening

Also come on Morr and Alison Reynolds give the same energy ugh (although personally I love Allison more, sorry not sorry)

And tell me that Tarquin would be a great Jeremy Knox vibe like puppy in human form everyone else is too bitchy

I also need to figure out the Beron debacle because he gives me Riko vibes but he’s old so idk whether I make him a coach or whether I allow fae age but then these guys would be stuck on the same team for years so idk he’ll probs be a coach

Also the team colors we are just going to have to get over lol imagine the night court being stuck in bright ass orange (I’m doing it because this is aftg universe bitch)

But like yeah stay tuned y’all

[caparrucia]

4, 25, 27, 28?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Mmm, in a good way, petrichor is such a great way to set tone and voice, I love it. Good shit happens when petrichor shows up.

In a bad way, general therapy speak coming out of a character who's not in therapy or speaking about their therapy. It's just jarring, and it's often a prelude of juicy, fun conflict getting hammered out in unsatisfying ways. Like, "haha, you thought there was a plot! But instead everyone is going to communicate and be sensible about it."

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

Cor has never been able to fight a crustacean enemy in sioverse that didn't somehow end with the man in some manner of distress or embarrassment. Fuck the goddamn crabs. He doesn't even like seafood made out of them! Woe is onto him.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Definitely writing Xanxus POV in a fic where Xanxus talks himself into fucking with Yamamoto by fucking Yamamoto. It's definitely non-con, it's definitely torture and it's definitely dark and evil and I took the challenge of writing the POV mostly to see if I could. (The general consensus is yeah, I can, but wow, was that awful all around.) I generally find Xanxus pretty fun to write, but that one fic man. That was a fucking horror.

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Squalo, always and forever. He's so fucking hilarious, both in concept and execution. Anything that involves Squalo is delightful. He's got such a wide range of application, as a character. He fits right into a comedy and a tragedy and anything else in between. I adore the loudmouth Italian fucker. He's great.

[tarantulasagna]

@rustchild

I liked this back in October, found it inspiring, started writing, kept dipping in and out of it, sort-of forgot where I was going with it, and I think it's ended up more magical realist (does that apply to Arthuriana?) than properly surreal, but... Yeah. Here, have a thing.

It was quiet in the marsh, for the most part. There was little there to make noise, beyond the croaking of frogs, the occasional booming of the great black herons that stalked the pools, and the soft sounds of movement of those and other, quieter creatures.

These sounds twisted through the mist, emerging warped, muted, hanging in the air above their damp domain. Then new sounds arrived, disrupting the background hum, and drawing the toads and newts from their muddy beds to turn sullen eyes [footnote: not sullen because they were toads and newts, which are no more naturally sullen than any other animal. Some are quite lively. But these ones were sullen, largely on account of where they lived] to see who disturbed their peace. 

The dull beat of hooves on soft earth joined by the bright jingling of harness, both of horse and platemail, was the prelude to the appearance of two figures.

"Any idea how much further it is?" asked the first figure, 8 foot tall, slender of leg and stout of middle, with three heads rising from their shoulders. As the fog rolled back, this strange sight resolved itself into two people sat on one horse. 

The first of the two rode tall in the saddle, a broad chest bearing bright armour topped with a surcoat emblazoned with an eagle within a sunburst within a shield, clutching 3 arrows in one talon, a lantern in the other, a sword in its beak, and an expression as confused as whatever idea this device was supposed to symbolise. He wore the visor of his helm up, revealing a face that would have been very handsome, had it not been for an ill-advised moustache that drooped down the sides of his mouth. It might have worked on an older man, but on him it simply distracted from his otherwise admirable cheekbones, strong jaw and bright green eyes.

Behind him sat a shorter figure, armoured in ringmail, but without the plumed helm, but with surcoat marking them as a Squire of Camelot in service to this knight- which, unfortunately for them meant that it was quartered, bearing two of the overworked eagles, and two of the royal crest of Camelot. They had delicate features, with a sharp chin and fine nose, and a mass of brown curls peeking out beneath their sallet helm. 

"I believe the villagers said it was two days ride, my liege, and we only set off this morning",

This voice came from behind, and was followed shortly by its speaker; a Monk, riding a donkey. He was tonsured, and wore a simple brown habit, though a heavy mace hung from his white rope belt. He had soft features and a gentle expression, but his loose robes did not conceal his powerful build 

"Did they? Oh. Well, look for somewhere to make camp. An opportunity is not to be missed with ground like this."

The figures receded back in to the mist, and the toads and newts sank back in to the mire.

"Forsooth! A tree! That should mean solid ground, wouldn't you say, Brother?" said the Knight, pointing. The Monk ran a critical eye over the gnarled and twisted thing that stuck out of the ground like a broken bone through flesh.

"So it would seem," he replied cautiously, prodding at the solid-seeming ground with a sandaled foot.

"Though I cannot help but think of certain trees of the Orient which can eat a man whole in his sleep," the Monk continued.

The Knight squinted at the mostly-dead-looking tree, and jabbed at it with his sword, cautiously first, then harder.

"If so, it seems uninclined to defend itself." he said.

"Wouldn't it be too cold?" asked the Squire

"Why would It be any colder here than in the rest of the marsh?" asked the Knight.

"No, I mean for the tree. Isn't it hotter in the Orient? So would it be too cold for their plants to grow here?"

The Monk thought for a moment.

"Quite possibly," He replied "There is some debate as to whether they are strictly vegetable or in some measure deamoniac, so it may depend. Although, even then, depending on the nature of the spirit and where in hell they normally reside…" The Monk and Squire fell to discussing spiritual matters, and the knight smiled at their passionate discussion as they made camp.

Having set up their tents and sundry other requisites, but it being too early yet for the evening meal, they set to on foraging for whatever they could find in the dismal morass to supplement their rations.

The squire stuck their hand into a pale cluster of leaves and pulled a carrot out of the damp earth - then blushed as they saw the rather distinctive shape. The Knight and the Monk coughed and looked away. 

The Monk tried next. "Ah! There, an ordinary potato!"

The Squire made a strangled noise and blushed harder.

The Knight coughed. "Ah... Turn it sideways... No, upright. You see, Brother?"

"I must confess I do not, my liege"

"Well, it strongly resembles a certain... Well, a woman's ah... Well..."

The monk rotated the potato.

"Really?" He glanced reflexively in the direction of the Squire, who was bright pink and staring determinedly in the other direction.

"Hm" He tossed it away, once again wondering about the choices of his fellow men.

"I shall try," announced the Knight

"Surely this wretched marsh must be running out of obscenities with which to taunt us", he said, plunging a mailed gauntlet in to the earth, and pulled out a root, twisted beyond recognition in to the words 'Fuck You', in thick, tuberous, tendril-y letters.

"It seems our tormentor does not possess the wits to fuel their wit," the Knight quipped, pretending to himself that the Monk and Squire started laughing after he said that, not before.

"So… mash?" Suggested the Squire.

"I think that's probably best," agreed the Monk.

A short while later the sun set, pale and watery through the enduring mist, while the three travellers huddled round a smoky campfire, with a simmering pot of stew hanging from an iron tripod above it. The Knight sharpened and honed his sword, the Squire cleaned and polished the Knight's armour, and the Monk hummed a hymn (He Holds The World In Mighty Hands, But Gently Lest He Break It) while tending the fire and the stew.

"What do you make of this marsh, Brother? It seems… unnatural… to me," the Knight asked, not breaking the silence, for the evening was already full of the sounds of the marsh creatures, as well as the activities of the camp. 

The Monk nodded sagely.

"The villagers did say that they lose more farmland every year."

The Knight nodded as well, trying to look as sage as the Monk, and failing as his visor fell down over his face.

"And that's faster than usual?" He asked, pushing it back up.

The Monk and Squire exchanged a familiar glance, encountering another strange gap in their leader's knowledge.

"It does not normally happen at all, my liege." answered the Squire, whose parents were farmers.

"Really? The land doesn't get…used up?"

"Uh… no, my liege"

The Knight accepted a rough wooden bowl of rough tuberous stew, heavily flavoured with dried sage, from the Monk who was now serving it up.

"Then why do cities keep getting bigger? Surely no one builds on good farmland?

And so the Monk and the Squire explained to the Knight that this was not how farming worked or why cities got bigger, and he was much amazed at their words, though he pretended that he was not.

So they finished their supper and rested for the night, the Squire taking the first watch. Soon the Monk and the Knight were fast asleep, and the Squire sat beneath the great canopy of night, and the rather more modest one of the dead tree. The moon was a distant blur behind the mist, which seemed thinner now the sun had set, and the stars were smeared in to a gentle luminous haze. Where pools of water stood they reflected the dim glow of the sky in streaks and splashes, darting the marsh with threads of silver. 

The Squire was just beginning to appreciate the beauty of the scene when a great and terrible groaning rent the night. The Squire shivered as the sound faded away, though the others did not wake. 

As the sound seemed far away, they merely banked the fire to comfort themselves, and left their companions sleeping. 

A little while later a great owl flew down out of the darkness, and settled in the of the tree. Long sharp talons gripped a branch, dark speckled wings were shaken and furled, and two luminous orange eyes were turned towards the Squire. The Squire observed it for a while, but it did nothing else, so they resumed their watch. The Squire did their best to ignore its stare as it remained there, watching the Squire as they kept their watch. Eventually, growing bored, the Squire spoke to the owl, and asked "Good sir owl, what do you want?"

And the owl replied;

"It is not what I want, young Squire, but what you want. Tell me what you most desire"

The Squire was rather surprised by this, and gave the owl a hard look. It looked like a fairly normal owl, though not one of a kind the Squire recognised. 

The Squire pondered on the question, and whether or not to answer a talking owl, and deciding that honesty was never wrong, answered truthfullly; 'To become a knight of virtue and high renown, sir owl'.

The owl hooted and ruffled it's feathers.

"A worthy answer, young Squire. Would you like my guidance on the path to accomplishing this?"

The Squire considered.

"I will hear your guidance," they replied, "though I make no promise of anything in return"

"I ask for nothing," said the owl, "but hear: take up your master's sword, and slay him and the Monk as they sleep. Return to the village, telling them that you confronted the magician, but were overmatched, and that you alone escaped fighting clear of their conjured servants. It will not be a heroes' return, but it will be a return of note, and there will be a seat empty at the Round Table for the taking. If you do this, I guarantee it will be yours."

The Squire was much troubled by this, and looked towards where their companions slept, their gaze falling first and longest on the gently snoring figure of the Monk.

"Sir owl, is there no other way to attain my goal?"

"None so swift or sure," replied the owl.

Then the Squire was heavy of heart, and weighed the owl's words carefully.

"Nay, sir owl, I shall not do this thing. For I would know of my misdeeds, and could not count myself a knight of virtue." The Squire did not speak of their desire for the Monk, though this also stayed their hand.

Then the owl shrieked in anger.

"Do not seek to conceal your desires from me! Since you have refused my wisdom, and tried to conceal for longing for your companion, you shall loose both your desires!" And so saying the owl flew away in to the darkness.

The Monk, stirred from sleep by the shriek of the owl but not having heard the conversation, roused himself, and asked the Squire what was happening. The Squire, much discomfited, reassured the Monk that it had only been an owl, which was not untrue. And they exchanged watches, for the time to do so was near.

Once the Squire was asleep, there came again that great and terrible groan, and like the Squire, the Monk shook with fright, but saw that his companions were undisturbed. And the Monk took up his cross and prayed to Jesus, and Jesus said to him "Don't worry about it. It sounds pretty far off, and I'll protect you from evil magics and conjurations". And the Monk was comforted, and gave thanks, and put a little more wood on the fire for entirely unrelated reasons.

A while later the owl returned, and the Monk greeted it, saying "well now, Brother Owl, are you the same owl the Squire spoke of, or another?" 

And to his amazement the owl replied:

"I am the same, and I say to you as I said to him; what do you desire?"

The Monk was much surprised by this, partly because the owl had spoken, and partly because the Squire had not mentioned this.

And the Monk replied

"That is a good question, for I desire many things. First, I desire to know what manner of spirit are you that goes about in the form of a creature, yet can speak, and asks such questions."

The owl hooted in a manner that may have been a laugh.

"I am no spirit, Brother. Do you not recall Balaam's ass?"

Seeing that the owl knew scripture, the Monk relented.

"in truth, brother owl, I am a man of many small desires. The taste of good food and drink, the comfort of a good bed; the colours of sunrise as the dawn chorus signs, as I join my brothers in prayer, and the fellowship of good companions."

At this he could not help but gaze at the sleeping Knight a little longer than was seemly.

The owl ruffled it's feathers.

"Truly I tell you, if you wish to keep company with your friends, you must persuade them all to turn back, else you shall all surely die at the hands of the sorcerer," it said.

"A dire warning, brother owl. Are they truly so powerful?" asked the Monk, who was in equal part afraid lest it be true, and angry, lest the owl had underestimated the company.

"Verily! I tell you true, there is no hope if you proceed on your quest," the owl answered. 

The Monk paused to consult God, and God said 

"Don't forget that Satan quoted scripture when he tempted Christ in the wilderness. Do not assume a messenger is mine, just because they know my word."

And the Monk, reinvigorated, answered the owl saying:

"Begone, o spirit of discouragement! If we are to die, it shall be as martyrs on a holy quest and to the glory of God; but we shall not, for God is with us, and He has just warned me not to trust you!"

At the saying of this, the owl looked somewhat surprised, then angry, and again screeched and took to the air, saying:

"Then you are all doomed! Doomed!"

As the Monk watched the owl disappear in to the dark, he heard a yawn behind him.

"Good morrow, Brother. Is it time to change watch already?" 

The Monk greeted the Knight, for it was he who had awoken, and informed him that the hour was indeed nigh, for it was so. He said nothing of the owl, for the Knight did not ask, and the Monk ever keen to make a good impression on the Knight, did not wish to appear foolish by speaking of talking animals.

They had the sort of conversation one has at the small hours of the morning while changing watch in a marsh, and the Monk returned to his mat to sleep, while the Knight settled himself to wait for dawn.

Presently the Monk fell asleep, and the same terrible groan rent the air once more, and again those asleep remained undisturbed. The Knight, hearing it, said to himself "It must be some great unknown beast! What a shame I have not my hunting spear, and must keep watch, else I might ride forth to find it. Also, it is cold, and that is the only reason I am shivering just now." He went to bank the fire, but finding the wood running low merely held his sword a little tighter.

Not long after, the owl appeared for the third time. Now the Knight, being less curious about the world than the Squire and less contemplative of the fellowship of all creatures than the Monk, simply noted it's arrival, and said nothing. 

The owl shuffled closer to him on the tree and hooted, and still the Knight ignored.

The owl coughed. The Knight looked up, as he had never heard an owl cough before. Perhaps he had imagined it. 

The owl coughed again. 

"Ahem!" 

But, the Knight thought to himself, he didn't know much about owls, so perhaps that was normal.

"Well, I didn't know they did that," he said to himself. 

"I'll wager you didn't know we could talk either," replied the owl, who had been waiting for an opportunity.

The Knight eyed the owl suspiciously, for he was fairly sure they did not.

"I did not know this, no" he replied

"Ha! Then I have won the wager" said the owl.

"We had agreed no terms," replied the Knight, "but I grant you were correct" 

"The prize I claim will cost you nothing, for it is only this: tell me what you desire"

The Knight thought for a while, then answered

"To capture or kill the sorcerer, and leave this marsh" 

The owl stared at him.

"That is all? What about after that?"

"I don't know. I'll have a new quest then."

"So all you desire is the completion of your quests?"

"I suppose so. I've never really thought about it very much."

"Is that a deeper desire to be good at questing? Or a good Knight in general?" 

"Probably. I don't think I've ever really wanted anything else very much."

The Knight couldn't help but glance briefly at where the Squire was sleeping, thinking of the one other hill of desire in the otherwise flat landscape of his psyche. The owl looked back and forth between the three sleepers, and sighed.

"You don't want to run off with your Squire?"

"What? No! Well, sort of. Yes. It sounds nice, but I don't think they want that," the Knight sighed.

"What if I told you I could make them want that?" asked the owl, slyly.

"How? Woo them with my amazing talking owl? Don't be silly. Anyway, if it isn't real, and I haven't won them over myself, I don't want it. No," said the Knight, folding his arms.

"Surely there is something you want other than to complete your current quest?"

The Knight thought for a while. 

"I would like to do just as well in the next quest, too." 

"I give up, you're all too stupid to tempt", and with that the owl flew off in a sulk, and in to the first pale fingers of dawn, which were stretching over the horizon somewhere behind the fog.

"What a strange animal," said the Knight. And so he began preparing breakfast for the companions, before rousing his fellow questors.

The three ate a simple meal of bread and cheese, as the morning sun struggled to warm them through the pallid veil of the mist. Or, as the Squire contented, fog, and they and the Monk set to debating which it was, and what the differences were. The Knight had no opinion, save that they were both unpleasant and rusted his armour, and simply listened, amused, to the verbal sparring of his companions.

Having finished their meal, the companions broke camp and resumed their journey, though the ground was now firmer underfoot, and the stagnant pools gave way to scrubby shrubbery, and then to a dense wood, as dark as pitch and tangled as corpse-hair. As they crossed the treeline in to the wood, the great groaning shook the air once more, and the three companions rode a little closer together. 

The Squire broke the silence that had descended upon the little troupe, saying

"I heard that same sound last night. Think you it might be some beast of the forest?"

"I think it must. I heard it last night too, and was surprised a beast big enough to make such a noise could live on that marsh; but I'm sure this forest could support such a creature." replied the Knight.

The Monk, who had been troubled since last night by a thought, spoke up.

"I too heard that groaning. It may be a beast, but there are some forms of magic, practiced by the Greeks and Egyptians, that involve a great mystic groaning" 

The Knight chuckled somewhat at the phrase, then stopped and blushed when the Squire gave them a quizzical look.

"Be it beast or conjurer, I have no doubt we shall be a match for it," he said, moving the subject along before he could be asked to explain.

"Lord willing, we shall prevail," concurred the Monk.

The strange sound echoed through the forest again, and the three rode on in tense silence.

After a little while they came to a river, dense with the roots of nearby trees and sluggish with rotting vegetation, a thick grey-green band of decay through the dark wood. Although slow, it was too wide and deep to safely cross, as the Squire proved with a long branch that didn't reach the bottom, but that came back dripping with dank green weed.

Turning upstream to the east, where the river ran closer to their direction of travel 

Where the river curved towards the distant tower.

After travelling a while longer, the three companions came to a broad and shallow ford, where the water ran a little faster over a bed of large loose stones, slick with dank green weed . Seeing no better place to cross, they spurred their horses forward, but as soon as their hooves hit the water, a knight emerged from the woods on the other side, and charged at them so furiously, the hooves of his steed cutting up the ground and foam flying from its mouth, that they were obliged to turn back to face him on solid ground. Yet when they did so, he too turned back, taking up a position on the other side of the ford, water dripping from the ankles of his steed.

"Good sir knight, why do you bar our way?" the Knight hailed the stranger, but answer came there none.

"Very well then," said the Knight, and started toward the ford once more. 

The other horseman made no move until the Knight's horse had all four hooves in the water, then again started to charge, surging forth in to the ford, lance couched and a plain wooden shield raised. The Knight lowered his lance in answer, and the two met so fiercely that both their lances were shivered to pieces, splinters flying and both reeling in the saddle, though neither was unseated. While the Knight's horse struggled to keep her footing in the ford, the stranger's horse had no such problem, and again the Knight was driven back.

No sooner had they returned to the shore, but the stranger dropped the remains of their lance to the ground. There it took root and sprouted in to a tree, which grew fast, tall and slender, reaching up to his outstretched hand, then past. It grew in to a small ash tree, and when the stranger took hold of it the branches fell away, and the trunk split, leaving a perfectly formed lance in his hand.

"Hm. I wish mine did that," said the Knight, ignoring the odd noise the Monk made, simply dismounting and taking up his spear and shield, with his sword in its scabbard at his hip.

He set forth toward the ford, and the Monk and Squire were much alarmed, counselling against such action, saying

"Sir, he is enchanted and horsed, while you are on foot. Surely you cannot face him alone."

And the Knight replied;

"I shall not face him alone, for you are here with me. Squire, be ready to throw me my second spear. And Brother, pray for our success."

As he stepped in to the water the stranger spurred forth his horse and couched his lance, and the Knight crouched behind his shield and made ready to meet him with his spear.

At the last moment, the Knight leapt to the side, and threw his spear the head of his foe's horse, so as to make it shy away.

But the horse did not flinch, and the spear stuck fast in its neck, though there was no blood and it made no sound. The Monk and Squire gasped in shock, but the Knight held firm, calling to the Squire for his second spear. 

The Squire, regaining their nerve, threw the spear to the Knight, who as quick as thought, struck at the stranger, who's horse had started to sink silently beneath him, and dashed him from his saddle.

The Knight allowed the stranger to rise and draw his sword, and asked him

"Now we stand as equals, will you answer me? To what end do you bar our way?", but as the stranger turned they saw that the Knight had struck him so mightily that the visor had been wrenched from his helm. But beneath the helm the stranger had no face, and showed no sign of harm. 

The Faceless Stranger gave no reply and simply struck at the Knight, striking down at his helm, forcing him back in a hurried defence.

The Knight was the faster and more skilled of the two, but the stranger did not tire, and moved as though he were not stood in the ford, but on dry land. The stranger slowly drove the Knight back towards the riverbank, till he was almost out of the water.

At this the Knight, who had been waiting for this opportunity, sprang back on to the firm ground, then leapt forward bearing his foe to the ground and hurling both their swords away behind him.

Pinning the Stranger beneath his own shield, the Knight unlaced his foe's helm with his dagger, and this too was hurled away, yet still the empty armour moved and fought. Cutting away more lacing, the Knight severed the right arm, almost losing his balance in the water and again throwing it behind him. As he began to do the same to the left arm he head a cry behind him, for the severed arm had continued to move, and was now crawling towards the Monk, who had cried out. The Squire leapt forward, seizing the arm and bundling it in to an empty bag, holding it aloft in triumph as the sack writhed and twisted.

"Brother! What manner of sorcery is this?" the Knight called out, throwing the other arm on to the far bank.

"I know not! But I shall pray that we prevail over it," the Monk replied, and began to pray.

The Knight, meanwhile, cut the laces on the cuisses, and flung the legs to the far side of the ford, before wading back with the breastplate and brassart.

Regaining the shore, the Knight threw down the armour, and sat himself down beside it, sore weary from battle.

As he sat, and the Monk and Squire readied to tend to his wounds, they all observed a thick grey smoke coiling from the harness, reaching toward the bag with the severed arm which the Squire had hung from the branch of a nearby tree. The Knight sprang to his feet, hauling away the armour, while the Squire grabbed the bag. The Monk drew forth a vial of holy water and, reciting a prayer of exorcism, dashed it against the breastplate. The smoke twisted and coiled, and quelled, but did not dissipate, lying still and languid, rolling forth in slow lazy coils. At the same time the bag in the Squire's arms stilled and ceased its struggles.

"This is a stubborn foe! Do they not know when they are bested?" said the Squire, returning with the arm in the bag.

"It seems not," replied the Knight, "What do you make of it, Brother?"

"I know not, my liege. It may take some time for me to find the right payers and incantations to release this spirit"                 

"I fear we do not have the time to tarry. Is there anything that you can do that may be quicker?"

The Monk pondered the Knight's question.

"Nothing I can call to mind. I shall pray upon it. One moment…"

And so the Monk knelt in prayer and asked Jesus for guidance.

Jesus sat on a nearby stump.

"Hello. How's it going? I see the problem, but there's nothing more I can do for you with this one right now. There are reasons, but I can't tell you what they are either for… well, the same reasons actually. All a bit circular, I'm afraid. But you're closer to a solution than you might think. Hope that helps!"

The Monk accepted this advice, or lack thereof, with grace.

"The Lord says the answer is at hand, though he has not revealed it to me. Might we tie them up in the meantime?"

"Ah-ha! What if we tie the parts to the trees?" suggested the Squire.

"That's a good idea! Good work, both of you," said the Knight, giving the Squire a squeeze on the shoulder and the Monk a warm look. They set to on tying the more mobile pieces of armour to a number of trees, while the Monk tried to find excuses to be near the Knight in case there was any more physical contact to be had. [Footnote: there was not].

Completing their work swiftly, leaving the twitching limbs and smoking breastplate lashed to a different tree each, and having made sure the Knight's horse was still fit, they resumed travel, the Squire joining the Monk on his donkey for a while arguing that the Knight's horse needed a little rest. The Knight objected somewhat, but judged it unseemly to protest too much, lest his feelings be too plainly known. 

With the tower lost to view behind the canopy of the trees they picked their way through the dense woods, careful to stick to the straightest route, for there was no path here, and the villagers had said nothing about a forest. 

"This must all be the product of some transformative magic. This sorcerer must be potent indeed." The Monk said grimly.

The Knight eyed the trees suspiciously.

"Might any of these be dangerous, as you thought that one in the marsh might have been?" he asked.

"They look like alders to me, and I think there were some willows back by the river," said the Squire. 

"Hmm. Do alders… signify anything?" asked the Knight.

"Wet soil?" suggested the Squire

The Monk cleared his throat.

"Ah, well, ancient tradition says they are a bad omen when travelling, or may be the home of fairies. For example, the tale of one Monffery of Geoffmouth, relates how…" 

Sometime later they emerged from the woods in to a small clearing, and found the tower before them.

"Ha, see, we have found it! Just like your Chilled Romland, or whoever it was, Brother," the Knight exclaimed. While the Monk's tale had kept him from dwelling as they picked their way through the forest, he was glad enough to have an excuse to end it. 

The ground was firmer here, though still soft underfoot, and grass and wildflowers rose to knee-hight across the clearing toward the grey stone tower, six storeys of rough hewn blocks below a pointed red-tiled roof. The tower tapered slightly as it rose, though it seemed sized for only a single large room at each floor, with the walls thinning toward they rose.

Crossing the clearing, they found the stout doors were locked and barred against them, and the only windows were high above.

Picking their way through the dense wood, the tower now lost from sight amid the trees 

They made a circle of the tower, but found no other windows or entrances within reach. After a moment of conference, the Knight knocked hard on the door. There came no answer. The Knight knocked again, this time with the blade of his axe, but the blade sprang from the wood as though it had been rebuffed by , toppling the Knight to the ground.

"I think the door might be enchanted," said the Squire.

"I believe you are correct," said the Knight, sitting up.

"I may be able to break the spell, but it could take some time," the Monk offered.

"What about that window?" suggested the Squire, pointing to a narrow window some way above the door.

"I do not think I can fit through there, even if I could reach it," the Knight replied, shaking his head.

"I can reach it, and I believe I can fit through," said the Squire, swinging their grappling hook and their hips. The Monk eyed both critically, the Knight with curiosity.

"Worth a try," the Knight said, with a careful nonchalance.

The Squire stepped up, whirling the grapple, and threw it up at the window. At the first throw it was too low, and bounced off the sill. The second was true, but found no purchase. The third throw was true and strong, breaking through the pane and finding purchase within.

"There!" the Squire exclaimed triumphantly. They looped the rope around themselves, then turned to the Monk.

"Brother, would you help with the knot? If you could hold that… perfect, thank you."

The Squire stepped back, smiling, while the Monk glanced toward the Knight, who was studiously checking his axe blade for damage from the enchanted door.

The Squire began to climb the tower by means of the rope, while the Knight and the Monk waited below, preparing 

themselves to assist as best they could and checking on their companion's progress without staring at them.

The Squire reached the top, and pulled themselves in, avoiding the broken glass. Finding themselves in an empty room, and no immediate danger, they relaxed, both from the tension of the climb in to the unknown, and at being alone for the first time in many days. While the absence of guards in the room suggested none were present in the tower, it being unlikely that the Squire could have climbed the rope quicker than guards could have used the stairs up or down, it would be folly to assume they were safe. So thinking to themselves, they drew their sword, and took closer stock of their surroundings. The room occupied the whole first floor of the tower, and appeared to be little more than a store room, being full of barrels and boxes stacked around the walls and in the centre. Spying a gap opposite the visible staircase, the Squire reasoned this must be the stairs down, and set forth. Upon descending the stairs, the Squire found themselves not by the door but in a room resembling a kitchen, with a plethora of dried herbs hanging from hooks in the beams, and a large bench following the curve of the wall round fully half the room.

"Curious," thought the Squire. 

"I thought by the height of the rooms there could be only one below. And indeed, this room too has windows, though I entered by the lowest window visible. What trickery is this?" so thinking, they descended again. 

Once again they found themselves not by the door, but this time in a library, with concentric circles of bookshelves filling the space, with just enough width to walk between.

"Well then. This is certainly a most unusual tower. For one thing, I am quite sure there were but three floors, and I have found neither the door, nor the top."

Seeing there were windows above the shelves against the outer wall, the Squire climbed up, taking care not to damage the books, and peered out. They were amazed to see they were high up, at least 6 floors, and could see the Knight and the Monk pacing back and forth below.

Deciding to return to their companions, the Squire went up the stairs back to the window they came in through. As they went to look out and shout down to their companions, a thought occurred to them; if going down the stairs had lead them up, and going up had brought them back down here, what if they continued 'up'? So thinking they tried the other stairs, and found themselves before the door, in a high-ceilinged chamber with two statues of knights stood by the door, and two by the base of the stairs.

Hurrying forth, the Squire removed the bar from the door, an swung it open for their companions.

"Hail, friends! Be welcome, and enter!"

The Knight stepped forth; and having been invited, did not trigger the defensive enchantments.

"Follow me well, for this tower is other than it appears. The stairs up go down, and down goes up, and there are more floors than it first appears" the Squire said to the others.

The Monk and Knight exchanged a look, wondering whether the Squire spoke true and the tower was as they said, or if their mind had been mazed by some strange power. Trusting their companion, the Monk and the Knight followed the Squire to the stairs that seemed to lead down in to an improbably located basement.  down, rather than up.

As they reached the centre of the room, the four statues lurched in to motion, stone joints grinding and scraping, and closed in on the trio.

"Damn, I thought we'd got away with that," said the Squire.

"Oh, is that why you invited us in like that?" asked the Monk, flexing his mace arm.

The Squire shrugged.

"I thought it might help," they answered.

"Less chatting, more chopping!" shouted the Knight. Like the Monk he had chosen a warhammer, rather than risk chipping his sword, and was busy knocking chunks off the closest of the four. They were slower than the hollow knight at the ford, but heavy and implacable, and the Knight had to duck, weave, dip, dive and dodge around the terrible blows they swung.

Seeing their companion hard at work in the fight, the other two dived in. Taking a cue from the others, the Squire reversed their sword and struck with the quillions, though they rapidly concluded this helped little. 

The Knight was slowly but surely overmatching his foe, and the Monk while less adept than the Knight, had managed to break the stone blade of his foe, levelling the field considerably. The Squire, who had been aiding the Monk, now saw the other two closing in. They darted forth to one, jabbing and striking it, then leaping away to distract the other, keeping both from the backs of their friends.

The Monk and Knight dispatched their foes; the Knight struck the head from his, and the statue went still, while the Monk had simply smashed away at the limbs of his adversary until it was harmless. They turned in time to see the Squire run out of space between the two they had been distracting, and for two stone blades to swing inexorably towards them.

The blades struck, stone shattered, and each statue fell to the blade of the other, cut down with a brutal overswing. Monk and Knight cried out for their friend, but were too far away to reach them till the blow was struck.

The pile of rubble which lay between the shattered torsos covered the body of the Squire. Until the pile coughed and shifted, as the Squire crawled forwards, then stood and grinned as they shook the dust from themselves. 

"Ah, good, you two are alright. Well done." they said, then sat down heavily on the floor. 

After a moment of rest, and ensuring they were all uninjured, the Monk and Knight helped the Squire to their feet, and all three headed to the next floor, passing through each till they reached the library. As they passed through the narrow shelves the Monk, overcome by curiosity, paused to inspect one of the books, and gasped in wonder.

"The lost volumes of [Aggripa? Pliny? Any notable antique text will do]!" he exclaimed, waving the book at the others. 

The Knight and the Squire exchanged glances, for both were indifferent to such matters.

"If they're lost, how are they here?" the Knight asked the Monk, who was busy piling books in to his bag. 

"What if they're cursed?" asked the Squire, and the Monk withdrew his hand from the book he had been reaching for, and stared at the shelf for a while.

"Do you recall any mention of this tower before the arrival of the sorcerer?" he asked.

The Knight, who paid no heed to such matters, shrugged and looked to the Squire.

"The villagers made no mention of it. Though that could mean it is - or, was - a normal tower and they did not think it important, or that they knew not of its existence."

The Monk nodded, grimly. 

"Then it could be that the whole tower is a conjuration. We can trust nothing to be as it seems, or even to be real at all," he said through pursed lips.

"Is there a way to check?" asked the Squire

"Not safely," the Monk answered sadly,

"If they truly are cursed, or worse a demonic conjuration, to even open them could be an act of mortal peril." 

"What if you put it on the floor and I tip it open with my sword?" asked the Knight

"That would make no difference, I fear. No, safer by far to leave it. We cannot lose sight of our quest. Perhaps we can return when our work is done." So saying the Monk reluctantly returned the books, and the trio continued. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs up to the next floor, they found another door, this time barred and bolted, and with an elaborate seal painted upon it. The Knight, who was leading, paused.

"Brother? What do you make of this?"

The Monk squeezed past the Knight to the bottom of the stairs, and examined the seal.

"Hmm... It's no maleficium... Geomancy, if I remember my Etymologiae... Theurgic, too I think... Hmm..."

"Well? Can you do something about it?" asked the Knight

The Monk looked around the corridor.

"Nothing to work with here... I shall return shortly!" And hoiking up his habit above his ankles, the Monk headed off up down the stairs.

"Do you need any help?" the Squire called after the Monk.

"Should I go and help?" they asked the Knight, when there was no answer.

The Knight had been hoping to spend a moment or two alone with the Squire, but couldn't think of a good reason to keep them with him, and let them go to follow the Monk.

The Knight stood and waited, staring at the painted symbol on the door, musing on the strange nature of magic, and human relationships, and trying to decide which he found more aggravating.

After a few minutes the Monk returned with a bowl and a small spoon.

"This should serve to deactivate the sigil," he said, stepping up to the door. The Knight stepped back to give the Monk more room. 

"What is that? Some... Magical concoction?" the Knight asked, as the Monk painted a thick green substance with a strong herbal smell through key elements of the seal.

"Hm? Oh, no, I couldn't find any paint, so I took this. I think it's soup."

"I see. What's the Squire still up to then?" asked the Knight. 

"I sent them down to have a look in the store room while I checked the kitchen. I expect they'll be back soon." The Monk said, stepping back from the sigil, tipping their head to one side, then adding one more line.

"I think that should suffice," the Monk said, satisfied with his handiwork.

"Really? That's it?" 

The Monk shrugged. 

"Should have put it on the other side of the door," he replied. 

"Alright. If the Squire isn't back in a minute or two, I'll go find them, then we can go through."

As the Knight said that, the Squire returned, lugging a sizeable barrel. 

"I couldn't find any actual paint, but there's something in here that should work, I think. Not sure what it is, though." they said, a little out of breath. Then they saw the already-modified seal.

"Oh, did you already find something?" they asked with forced cheerfulness. 

"Soup," the Monk replied, holding up the bowl in both explanation and apology. 

"You could have told me," the Squire said a little reproachfully as they set down the barrel. 

"Sorry," said the Monk.

The Knight resisted the temptation to intervene between them, but shot the Squire a conciliatory look.

"Alright. This is it. Let's - Brother, put down that bowl of soup - thank you. Right. Go!" and the Knight slammed through the door, shield raised and a prayer on his lips, ready to ward off whatever surprises they faced on the other side.

The young woman busily tying bedsheets together was probably less surprised than the trio of questors, as it happened, having heard them talking outside some time ago.

"Halt, conjurer!" the Knight shouted, levelling his sword at her as he advanced across the room, the Monk and Squire close behind. The woman froze and dropped the sheets, and the Squire scurried round the edge of the room to where the other end of the improvised rope lay by the window, and kicked it away.

"Stand guard by the window! The rope could be a ruse, she might try to fly away!" the Knight called out, and the Squire stayed in place with their sword drawn. 

"Brother, can you prevent her casting any further spells?" the Knight asked. 

The Monk peered round the Knight at the alarmed and slightly confused woman in the centre of the room. 

"Uh... Probably?" He cleared his throat and started a prayer in Latin. 

The young woman sprang in to action, clapping her hands, and calling out

"Asabove! Sobelow!" and two cats, one white and one black appeared, and leapt on to her shoulders, and began a recitation in Hebrew. The Knight and Squire braced themselves for a wave of magical energy, but felt nothing as the powers before them clashed. The Monk and Sorceress faced each other and continued their chanting. The Knight thought he felt a tingle of energy run through his armour. He exchanged a look with the Squire. The chanting had now risen to a fever pitch, the Monk holding up his crucifix and rosary, the Sorceress making elaborate hand gestures. Then the Squire threw a sheet over the young woman, and the Knight grabbed her before she could untangle herself.

"Watch out!" the Monk shouted, and the Knight suddenly found himself falling to the ground, though he kept his grip on the conjurer as he hit the floor. The cat he had tripped over yowled and bolted, hissing at him from the desk by the window. The other cat jumped up to join it, and avoid the bodies rolling across the floor, one wrapped in armour, the other in a sheet. After a while the Sorceress gave up the struggle and lay still. The Knight sat up, not letting go.

"Right. Let's have no more of that. Surrender to me, and you'll be under my protection when we return to the village" 

The figure slumped, but nodded under the sheet.

"That's better!" The Knight let go, clapped her on the shoulder, and pulled the sheet off her. 

The woman underneath, now somewhat dishevelled, made no attempt to escape and simply stared in alarm at the trio, and the Knight felt it had perhaps been wrong to handle her so roughly. A feeling that only deepened as he took proper notice of her for the first time, her ice-blue eyes wide in fear, and her raven-black hair falling in curls around a pale oval face down to her shoulders left bare by her green velvet dress. 

He glanced at his companions, both of whom looked concerned, but it wasn't clear about what, so he paid it no heed, trusting them to speak up if it was important.

The Knight stood, and retrieved his arms from where he had dropped them before he grappled the Sorcereress. 

He turned back to see the Squire helping her up, while the Monk covered her with his crucifix.

The Knight sheathed his sword and spoke. 

"Now, you've caused a lot of trouble with this magic, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself?" 

The young woman stared back and forth between them. "Um... Sorry?" her voice was familiar, but only the Squire recognised it as the voice of the owl from the previous night. 

"You turned acres of farmland in to a marsh! Do you really think sorry is good enough?" The Monk spluttered.

"Uh... It was an accident?" she replied. 

"How do you do that by accident?" asked the Squire.

"well... I was trying to conjure this tower... Which worked! Well, mostly. And the book said it was angels that would build it, so I thought that would be alright, I wouldn't do black magic! And they did such a good job with this dress, and the other clothes. Anyway, I think I got something wrong, because, well, the tower is all upside down, and well... " She trailed off and waved a hand in the direction of the swamp outside the window.

There was a moment of quiet while they processed this.

The Monk coughed 

"Sorry, you mentioned a book? Could I see it?"

The Sorceress brightened slightly. 

"Oh, yes, it's here, it's very interesting -" her face fell again as she turned round, holding the book she had just retrieved from the desk 

"- I suppose you're going to take it away?"

"Ah. Yes, probably. Sorry." The young woman seemed so crestfallen that the Monk couldn't help but apologise. He gently took the book from her hands, and examined it.

"What do you make of it, Brother?" the Squire asked after a while. 

"It's definitely unusual... And in need of further study. The young lady may be right about the angelic nature of this tome... Where on earth did you find this?"

The young woman coughed, embarrassed. 

"I found it in a tree stump. Uh, Brother." She added a small curtsey for good measure.

"A tree..." The Monk shook his head, and turned to the Knight.

"I'll need to take this back to the monastery and consult the Scriptorum. This is quite the mystery." 

"Then we had best get going. Squire, would you tie her hands together?"

"What? But I said I'm sorry!" 

"yes, I know, but you need to apologise to the people of your village as well, and I'd look very silly if I let you get away on the way back." 

"But you have a horse, I could never outrun you!" 

"Well, you could summon a magical steed or something, I expect." 

"or steal one of ours" 

"yes, or that! So, yes. Very sorry, but it really is necessary."

Despite her protestations, the Sorceress had allowed the Squire to bind her hands, raising an eyebrow at the expertise they did it with. The Squire pretended not to notice. The Monk coughed. The Knight was vaguely aware he had missed something.

The Squire stepped away from the Sorceress, handing the other end of the rope to the Knight.

"good work. Anyone need anything before we go? No? Let's get going, then."

None of the questors were prepared to be the first to suggest loosing half a day of travel for the comforts present, but by unspoken consensus they agreed onlunch before departing. After some discussion with the Sorcereress, the Monk decided that the food in the kitchen should be safe to eat, even if it was conjured, and prepared a meal of pottage, served with crusty bread and honeyed purple carrots. They untied one of the Sorceress' hands that she might eat before they left. The Knight apologised for the indignity, and acknowledged that she was being very co-operative, but they had only just captured her and really couldn't take any risks.

After dining they departed, the Sorcereress sat sidesaddle in front of the Knight, her hands tied to his pommel, while the Squire now sat behind the Monk on the donkey. 

Returning by the same route, it was not long until they came to the ford where the smoking armour was still tied to the trees.

"Oh, that's how you defeated it," said the Sorceress, upon seeing the still-moving armour.

"It was a formidable opponent," said the Knight.

"Are you able to dispel the enchantment?" asked the Monk. 

The Sorceress was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Maybe? I don't recall anything in the book about how to do that, though I suppose there must be a way." she replied.

"You… you haven't read it all?" asked the Monk, concerned.

"Well... No. I took a while to teach myself to read it all. But the sigils made it quicker once I had worked out how to use those. I haven't got to the bit about undoing spells yet." The Sorceress replied, somewhat bashful. 

"And yet you mastered conjuration, enchantment, and wards?"

"Well, I don't know about mastered. The tower was all weird, never mind the marsh, and you beat the armour. Oh, and the ward on the door was just something I copied ou  as a distraction. If I'd wanted it to stop you I'd have put it on the inside of the door, but I hadn't got to that bit. But. Um. Thank you? "

"That's not... Well... You're welcome. But you don't know how to undo any of these enchantments?"

The sorceress shook her head. 

"No, sorry. I'd be more than happy to help you work it out, though." 

"Ah. Why would we..." The Monk caught the eye of the Knight and Squire, who were both gesturing for him to not say anything that might give her reason to try and escape.

"I mean. Thank you. I'm sure we can arrange something back at the village." 

The rest of the return to the village passed without event, spending the night by the same tree, untroubled by mysterious groaning or talking owls. As they went, the young woman explained how she had found the book, and begun by practicing the summoning of small, trivial things, like clothes and kitchenware to find the limits of what she could do. As the villagers became suspicious, she realised she'd either have to stop, or do something dramatic. And, reasoning that they had occasional trouble with outlaws from the north, a tower for herself that also guarded the village should keep her safe from both parties, and give her the freedom to experiment further. The Monk and Squire were not convinced, but to their mutual concern the Knight appeared quite prepared to accept it all. 

A path slowly rose out of the marsh as the pools receded into the mist, and the questors and their prisoner- who now rode unbound before the Knight, having promised very nicely that she wouldn't try and run away- saw the wooden palisade of the village rising up before them.

The Knight hailed the guard at the gate.

"Ho there! We return successful, with your sorceress captive."

The guard looked over at the Sorceress, who was now sat behind the Knight on his horse with her arms around his armoured waist.

"She doesn't look very captive," he said, suspiciously.

"Well, she's said sorry." 

"Sorry? Sorry? She conjured up a tower and turned our best fields into a swamp and now she says she's sorry? I bet she doesn't even mean it!" 

There was a whispered conversation. 

"she says she does!" 

There was another whispered conversation, this time on the other side of the wall. 

"Alright then, you can come in. But she'd better be very sorry!"

The Knight looked back at the Sorceress behind him, who looked back with wide, hopeful eyes, and a slight smile. 

He smiled back.

"She is!" he called out, and the Monk 'harrumphed', as they rode in to the village through the opening gates. 

desperately craving weird surrealist arthurania. Knights with no faces wandering through the mists. Seams between Christian and pre-Christian Britain gaping like open wounds. Beafts and visions. Maybe a monk. Maybe the monk is gay

[everydaydg]

It is my eternal goal to be the best Fantasy Zone 2 16c player or at least be comparable to a good player by achieving a 4+ loop (or at least beating the game on max diff.)

A bit of an explanation of what makes this special and a bit of my planing behind how I play the game

To start my main release of the game is the 3DS due its implementation of analog control and widescreen

I have done some runs on the arcade version before and its def doable but I simply prefer the wider view and analog (it actually brings and incredibly useful technique).

Ive made it to a third loop a few times on arcade but sadly kept dying on it (two clears is not half bad).

So

Loop = 1 Clear

The game lets you clear the game as many times as you can as it resets after beating evil Opa-Opa

The game takes all your lives and it converts them into score and the game increases the difficulty by 1 (max of 5, usually I start out at 3), the increase in difficulty brings faster bullets and more enemy spawns (which means more bullets)

Its also worth keeping in mind that the price inflation between runs stays, if you bought the laser beam twice it will increase in price slight. the game will keep the increased price for the second run.

so those are the main things to keep in mind. now onto my usual loadouts for each stage

Base Build = Jet Engine/Turbo Engine, Twin Shot, Double Big Bombs

When possible/necesary: Laser, 3 Way, Wide, Twin Big Shot

to tank one hit and have a higher damage output... mostly the former. they are all relatively cheap options too.

Loadout/Changes to loadout per stage:

Stage 1 = Jet Engine + Double Bombs (not enought gold for engine, big bombs not selectable on stage 1)

Stage 2 = Heavy Bomb

Stage 3 = Fire Bomb/Heavy Bomb (I usually replace heavy bomb with fire bomb in advance to prepare for stage 4)

Stage 4, 5 and 6= Same set up as stage 3 (stage 5 prefferable with 7 way shot... theres no real advantage from using it lol, I just like using it when I can. You can save your cash on that)

Stage 7 = Laser + Fire Bomb

If you can tell, fire bomb is the best bomb in the entire game.

it does HUGE damage, can be used as many times as you want, its useful for nearly all bosses.

Even on the boss rush the quick kill on the round 2 boss can be neglected in order to just stay with fire bombs

The boss rush is kinda just keeping fire bomb and sometimes equiping laser.

Super important note if you are shooting for constant bright endings... dont buy drop tears when the boss rush starts. Kill yourself with a nenon on the prelude to the final boss and THEN buy it... do buy a laser shot there too, it helps with the nenons and if you are fast enought it can do big damage to evil opa.

So yeah thats the usual idea. I do tend to buy guns for the sake of it at times... I never need fire shot but its always fun to use hehe.

Regarding the price increasing per purchase

There are some things that are always affordadble (which is why loops in this game are even possible- I genuinelly refuse to believe someone can casualy beat the game with small wings)

Stuff like the jet engine always staying at a comfy 1000g is a huge help.

Wide Beam is always an affordable choise. Due to me never buying triple bombs (unless I die on a late stage), I often find them a great tool for second-third loops.

Oh yeah real quick, regarding that technique I mentioned that was introduced on the 3DS ver. you can move backwards while shooting foward. If you move your circle pad slightly back you can just move backwards without changing directions, this makes the stage 1 and 3 bosses a complete breeze with bomb and shot spam.

I could go on and on in more detail about certain things about the game but at a certain point you just have to figure things out yourself... and im a bit tired of typing, its kinda late.

Good luck.

[musikat18]

Light of Valhalla, Fire of Hel: Prologue (Skurge x Reader)

Pairing: Skurge/Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of combat, meet-cute and other fluff, SLOW BURN

Summary: You’re the best friend of Thor and Sif, a high-born Asgardian lady with a penchant for running off into battle, enchanted halberd blazing. The battle of Vanaheim brings your secret close to being discovered, but when the goddess of death arrives in Asgard, you must examine how far you are willing to go to preserve both of your lives when her new assistant happens to be the one man outside the Royal Family who knows the truth about how you spend your time.

AN: Soooooo...I accidentally posted this, deleted it, finished it, and now here it is for real this time with a promise for more in the future, since I came up with an idea to flesh it out into a longer multipart story. That Would Be Enough’s next part will likely be up before Christmas, so keep an eye out for that, too!

Prologue: Day Breaks In Vanaheim

-- Next>

“I’ve got this completely under control!”

“Is that why everything’s on fire?”

“There’s a lot of reasons for that, Thor!”

The prince of Asgard did not quite understand what his warrior friend was referring to until he saw you storming the battlefield. He smiled and shook his head, not sure what else he expected as he watched you decapitate and dismantle monster after monster.

Your father was the head of Odin’s Council of Defense. Lovely and elegant, you had more than your fair share of suitors chasing after you-- Thor once remembered a time, long ago when he was a younger man, when his mother spoke of a possible betrothal to the distinguished daughter of Asgard’s finest strategist, kindly assuring him it would certainly work out.

Oh, how he had been sorely mistaken.

“I REFUSE, FATHER!!!”

He remembered hearing the shouting match from the other side of the door, and stepped closer upon hearing the clanging of some metal object on the wall.

“Prince Thor is the heir to the throne of Asgard!” he heard your father pleading. “There is scarcely a more worthy husband. If you marry the prince, you’ll-”

“I’ll be forced to live and die as a lady of the court, making no greater impact than the courtly gossip over my feast dresses, while you get to call yourself the Queenfather of Asgard!” you snapped. “Your intentions may be pure, but I will not marry anyone without having a say in it, and my say of Prince Thor is no! I cannot sit idly by as a courtly trophy, Father. I refuse to. I want to forge my own path.”

“Y/N-”

Your father’s voice quieted as he saw the door open to reveal the young prince.

Blond and blank as ever, you thought to yourself with some bitterness.

“Prince Thor...” your father bowed his head. “My daughter, Y/N, Lady of Light.”

Thor noticed how you made no motion to acknowledge him. Prideful, defiant you, wrapped in gold and white, stood firmly in place. 

“If she protests, I won’t ask for her hand,” Thor insisted. “Her calling lies...elsewhere, it seems.”

Your Y/E/C eyes widened only slightly at this. Thor seemed to notice this, offering you only a friendly smile and a nod of camaraderie; a bow of the head reserved only for the warriors of Asgard.

You smirked in your pride. Perhaps the prince wasn’t as blond and blank as you thought.

“ARE YOU DAFT, THOR?!” you yelled across the battlefield at the reminiscing prince, swinging your halberd around your body as it burned through your attackers and pulling back your hood to properly express your fury. “What happened to the God of Thunder?!”

“You do realize your father would have my head if he found out I let you come here,” he chuckled as you crossed the field to meet your closest companions. 

“Nobody lets me do anything,” you quipped. “Why do you think I stowed away?”

“I let you do plenty of things,” Sif offered.

“You know I’ve always beaten you fair and square,” you said, “because I am the only one who is able to think any sort of plan through.”

Thor and Sif were holding back laughter. You, in turn, did not hesitate to let loose your impending eye roll.

“We just need to get this mess cleared up in time for me to get home before the council dinner,” you pointed at the prince and the warrior before you ran off to the next cluster of creatures. Pulling your hood back up, you sprinted at a small band of warriors that all dispersed when you launched your weapon through the monster, save for a man with tattoos on his head and an ax in hand.

“Oy!” he yelled as you roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “I had that under control!” The creature behind him teetered, seeing as it was no longer operating with a heart or head, and moved to come crashing down. With a swift motion, you grabbed the man and rolled to the side with him, your hood falling out of place in the process. 

“And what, pray tell, was your grand plan for having that under control?” you asked. He let out a gasp as he recognized you and dropped to his knees.

“Lady Y/N...I didn’t...wait, what are you even doing here?” he stood again. “Shouldn’t you be back in Asgard having a fancy garden party or something?”

The look you shot him told him you weren’t amused.

“Say nothing,” you glowered, replaced your hood, and returned to battle.

You felt striking hazel eyes on your back, ignoring the stare as you went. You had more important things to worry about.

Skurge stood among the wreckage, watching you converse with the Prince of Asgard, arms crossed and stance defiant.

The day had been won, of course, but something was sticking in the man’s stomach. Even as the people of Vanaheim were reuniting, gathering their belongings that had survived the struggle, it wasn’t all sitting right with him.

“Hey,” he stopped one of his passing comrades. “What’s the deal with the masked soldier? The tiny one?”

“The wielder of Daybreaker?”

Skurge watched as his fellow warrior pointed along your back at the halberd strapped to it, gleaming gold and even giving off a rich shimmer in the sunlight. The ax-wielder nodded in confirmation.

“No one knows. Some say he’s the champion of the head of the Council of Defense. His identity is unknown, so that’s what we call him. Daybreaker.” The warrior chuckled, “A kindly name for so fierce a warrior.”

Skurge remembered the ferocity in your eyes. He was certain he was getting the right information.

“And you’re certain it’s a he.”

“The Valkyrior are long extinct, Skurge,” his companion said, “and Lady Sif is a rare case. Who else could Daybreaker possibly be?”

Out of the corner of Skurge’s eye, he noticed Thor gesturing his way. A dreadful sickness settled in the tall man’s stomach when he saw your frown set harder on your face.

“I pray for your soul, Skurge.”

Not even the words of his comrade could comfort him for what he knew was to come.

Many an Asgardian warrior would be up to the challenge if there was ever a conflict brewing, but Skurge felt his apprehension was justified by the very dangerous position he was in.

You were staring him down, fury burning through your eyelashes as you looked up at him. Even though your hood was down, it didn’t stop you from appearing intimidating. You were shorter than him, yes, but with toned arms set on defiant hips and legs planted like the roots of Yggdrasil, it would be hard for even the fiercest warrior to not be a little chastened.

“You understand I can’t allow you to tell anyone that I do this,” you insisted. “I can’t have my father finding out I steal his great ancestral weapon to run amok with the great warriors of Asgard.”

“’S not stealing if it’s your family’s.”

“I’ll have you know--” you paused as you processed his words. “Pardon?”

“I said what I said,” he shrugged. “Don’t believe me?”

“It’s not like this is a standard hobby for high-born ladies.”

“It’s easier to just let you do what you want and not say anything.”

You frowned at his words.

“So, that’s it then,” you said. “You’re not going to tell anyone because you’re more afraid of me for insulting a lady than you are of me for me.”

“D’you want me to be afraid of you? ‘Cause that’s not hard, either, angel.”

“I never said-”

“That’s basically what you said.”

“Well, it’s not what I meant!”

“I told you, I can be scared of you, if you’d like, m’lady,” he offered. “But I’m not gonna run around spilling your secret. Some people are into kinkier stuff than others, and that’s alright by me.”

“I’m not playing around! Do you think I’d be in battle if I just wanted to play at war?”

“You’re pretty. Pretty people get what they want more easily than others.”

His tone had gone from understanding to stony, and you set your jaw hard.

“If you think I’m just doing this because I’m a bored heiress, you’re sorely mistaken,” you snarled.

“All the more reason to believe you may as well be, angel,” he shot back.

Your hand clenched Daybreaker for a moment, but you thought better of yourself. It would be much harder to hide your activity if you were caught with the blood of a warrior on your father’s supposedly-retired weapon.

“Tell a soul, and I’ll give you reason to take me seriously.”

His eyes burned into your back again, but this time, you weren’t so sure it was something you were happy about.

Tagging: @boldlywritingtrek @skosmo @dirajunara @goodnightwife @waterbabybel @gladheonreads @annathewitch @atomicdna @aubinkey @space-helen @lauuerodz @goingknowherewastaken @bkwrm523 @eyeofdionysus @andfeelmyroarrrr @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse

(Let me know if it didn’t work for you b/c tumblr is weird about tagging people sometimes)

[industriallyinsecure]

I know you're not taking nsfw request but is it okay if it's implied? Like, the request is not nsfw but the "prelude" is? (If you feel uncomfortable please feel free to ignore!) So about the actual idea: What if the La Squadra men ended up being some strangers rebound for the night that slipped away while they weren't paying attention (asleep/showering/gone for a smoke/...), and the only trace left is a little "thank you" note. But they can't seem to forget that stranger... what would they do?

Yeah, that’s totally fine! I just stay away from nsfw in general because I don’t like it and on occasion it can trigger me,but implied stuff is alright. In this case I’m just writing the day after, rather than the coitus itself. Thank you for asking though!

Tw: suggestive themes (nothing outright said)

No Pesci bc he’s not a fuckboy like the others

Risotto never usually indulges himself, but last night he slipped. He wakes up with his feet dangling off the bed, clothes missing, and a pounding headache from the liquor. Of course his first reaction is to rip the covers off and check if his kidneys (among other things) are still there, which they were. His clothes were folded neatly and placed in a stack on the bedside table, his loafers lined up on the floor. Next to his clothes was a bottle of pain reliever, a glass of water, and a handwritten note thanking him for the previous night. A man of few emotions, Risotto could feel the heat creep up his throat and face. He hadn’t had something this considerate done for him in a while. Small doubts lingered as he tugged his clothes on and exited quickly, but they were overshadowed by the need to know more.

Ghiaccio tried to convince himself that it was a mistake or that he was too drunk to fully comprehend the situation. He’s not really a fan of a relationship with no emotional attachment or chemistry. Of course he knew very well that he hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol last night. He’s too upset with himself to really notice the money they had left him to take a cab, or the small snack set out for him on the counter. Even as he stomps back home, he’s still berating himself. Berating himself for not getting their number, that is.

Melone, contrary to what most believe, doesn’t have casual sex very often. He’s mostly embroiled in his work or too interested in the scientific aspects of procreation to consider the sexual and romantic sides of it. Genetic probabilities, the chances of a parent’s personality being transferred, just about anything relating to genetics. But he wouldn’t beat himself up over having a one night stand, not at all. He would, however, beat himself up for letting you get away from him without even asking for your number. It was nothing that Babyface couldn’t fix, what with your hair (among other things) being left in his bed, but he would’ve preferred to go about this the pragmatic way.

Prosciutto had gone off for a smoke but came back to find the bed barren and your clothes and shoes gone. He wasn’t surprised, but he was a little disappointed. Normally, he didn’t give himself to just anybody. Usually he intended to make plans for future rendezvous with them. His standards were high, so anyone who caught his eye was definitely worth seeing again. But you seemed to linger in the bedsheets, filling his smoky lungs as he dressed himself. The allure of a stranger captivating him so much likely came from one of the romance novels he read on occasion. Prosciutto is a no nonsense man that takes what he wants, and the way you ran around in his mind was just irritating enough that he had to seek you out again.

Illuso refuses to believe he’s captivated by a total stranger. Outright denies his feelings for you even after searching extensively to try to meet you again but coming up empty. He had never thought he’d be this enamored in his whole life, but here he was searching through Passione’s many civilian files in the off chance you had appeared somewhere. No one had ever done him the kindness of leaving out a Tylenol and glass of water for his hangover. He could tell there was something special about you. But, no, he definitely didn’t have a crush. No way.

Formaggio has so many one night stands that the others have taken to betting on what type of person he’ll bring home. Only this time he went home with the other person instead. He didn’t remember much, he hardly ever did, but he remembered enjoying the other person’s company as well as their body. He’s not quick to redress and exit, but instead takes his time to browse the various things in their room. He finds himself wanting to know more and shirks his work to try to find them again.

[shinobisage09]

B - rank.

The tier where it was good, but a lot minor nitpicky issues, mainly with pacing to be honest. Or in some cases, some events could have been done better.

Edolas is a great arc. It was nice to see a "bizarro" world where the people in Ishgar are either opposites or just different in some ways. I liked seeing Mystogan's origins, and his farewell is still one of the hardest ones for me to see because despite us not seeing him so much, he's done so much for the guild he loves. Also seeing Happy get some major development, as well as his and Carla's/Charle's origins is great. I just wasn't a fan of how long and dragged out the "we're so helpless" part was. I mean it's a change, but still.

Eisenwald Arc is where we're introduced to Erza Scarlet for the first time, and boy, she's just as crazy as the others in her own quirky way. It was also a nice intro to see what her and Gray could do in a fight as we've already seen Natsu and Lucy fight, the fact too that Makarov thinks of them as a horrible team Due to mass damage being done because of them together is only a foreshadow of all the craziness to come. However another favorite scene is the episode where Natsu tries bailing Erza out of jail,... and utterly fails. It was cute and hilarious and does a great job setting up the idea of ‘Dragon Force’ and Jellal we would later see after the upcoming arc.

Battle of Fairy Tail. It was the first time we finally actually see Laxus do something other than being an arrogant jerk in the guild, and…. the first thing he does is enforce Civil war and turn the entire city into a battlefield. Yeah he has his reasons, and part of it was out of spite, but it was still a nice arc to see the guild Most try to fight Laxus. We're also shown who Mystogan is under that mask as well as the foreshadowing regarding Natsu and Gajeel. One of the best scenes is that we see Mirajane use her 'actual' magic for the first time on screen and… really? Satan Soul? Totally demolishing Fried? Amazing. It also served as the starting point for both Juvia's and Gajeel's "official" atoning for their crimes. While Juvia played a good role in the ToH, her sacrifice for Cana really cemented her as a person who wants to atone and show she does love her new family. Gajeel on the other hand did FAR worse things, but it was still a nice start by not only allowing jet and droy, the two people he wronged out of three, assault him full force without retaliating, but he also defended them from bipolar Laxus AFTER Laxus himself nearly eradicated him. I like seeing characters on screen trying to actively fix their mess. They may never fully be forgiven, but they still want to atone for their mess. It was fun, but a small segment where we're just seeing Guildmates attack eachother was eh. Especially Alzack.

Phantom Lord. Okay I'll just start it out. I think there are a bit too much parts where it dragged out a bit. Okay that's over, let's talk about the things I liked. I liked the introduction of other guilds and how some can be antagonistic… just because. We also get sorta a backstory of Lucy's but… I feel it was a bit shortened and we could have gotten more. I mean we get a lot more later on, but I feel this was the arc we could have gotten more. Don't get me wrong it's still a nice prelude and beginning, I just wished it was extended beyond what we got. It was also a nice showing of what kind of Guild Fairy Tail is, that stacks on from the Macao arc, a Guild that's a family and family doesn't surrender. Everyone is on the front lines because that's how Fairy tail rolls when one of their family members are in danger. We're also introduced to two of my favorites, Juvia and Gajeel. Elfman also gets an amazing character development as we extend on from the Lisanna backstory that was half given.

C-Rank. These were mostly okay, not bad, but not amazing either.

Starry Sky arc, while controversial as its state, is probably the only good and interesting filler arc that's bogged down by it feeling like its a bit longer than it actually is. I enjoyed the initial set up with a religious group being told one thing and them being literally the Ishgar versions of the Edolas generals is equally fun to see. It was also nice to see the Oracion Seis again and given a power boost. Although. the whole Michelle thing felt… Anyways. It wasn't terrible, and if I ever rewatch the series again I definitely wouldn't mind seeing it again. We're introduced to also a couple of quirky characters that are funny. Oh, and I also have a love-hate with the JBG. I don't think its funny half the time, I think it's kinda gross. Like. Seriously. I never understood fart humor and it's taken to like. 10 billion. The jiggly asses? I could deal with. The giant cloud of particles-you don't wanna know- is a different story.

Loke Arc. Yeah it's like, what, 2 or 3 episodes? It was a nice little backstory for out womanizer Loke, and his story of how he came to Fairy Tail, and of course the reason is because of an abuser named "Karen". xD I'm not too much of a fan of dragged out dramas. I get he's going to "die", but it also seems a bit wishy washy. Like. He didn't kill Karen, and like. I guess because he didn't close his gate she still decided to take a job? I kinda feel like she could have just been anyone random and. Yeah. moving on.

Nirvana/Oracion Seis Arc. Okay, learning and meeting the Oracion Seis was pretty awesome. We met another 2nd Generation Dragon slayer, another Celestial Mage, some awesome guy with bending magic and genjutsu powers, and the man ICHIYA. xD The only kryptonite to Erza. Not to mention we first meet Wendy, someone that gravity despises as it will be the first of many times she trips over air. It's pretty straight forward, the fights were amazing, and the idea of guild combining into one so we get interesting tag-teams were cool. Oh, and Jellal is back. Because. Yes yes no one dies in Fairy tail. I suppose the biggest gripe is just… I'm not a fan of characters who are always self pitying and suicidal out of…. desperation? despair? Whatever it is, it really… idk. I feel you could write him out of the arc, and still write something to replace what he contributes to, which… which was just opening nirvana. and feeding natsu special dragon force fire? I mean Natsu used DF through sheer emotion during the tartaros arc, so. Yeah. The biggest thing I wish is that we actually GET an onscreen redemption arc. As I mentioned, Gajeel on screen had been seeking redemption for all the ills he caused, and even Laxus believed he had no right to defeat Hades as he 'only a Fairy tail member can avenge them'. But he was still there for Makarov despite his Exile. Jellal giving the fire… and that's it for his onscreen redemption, Erza cries again, and he kinda just sits around until he willingly accpets being broken out of jail…. despite…. trying to fix his crimes…. by willingly be a fugitive… Mashima needed to work this one better. I feel another set back is the typical "oh the TRUE leader of evil is here!" and then we spent a bit longer with him until he's defeated like, 5-10 maybe episodes later.

|| Oh look, a Fairy Tail story arc tier ranking. I had something bigger in mind but I thought to start with just this. I'll be reblogging with reasons why each arc is in each tier, so if you're curious they will be labeled. The overall explanation wound up to be like. Five pages. So. Yeah I had a lot to say for some. Also to clear things up, I combined the first set of episodes up until the introduction of Erza into one arc because.... they're all very short and I felt it was easier talking about the entire segments as one as they sorta still count as an 'introduction' arc. Also this is strictly going by the anime as I've just rewatched it and I had to use the wikia to remind me which story arcs because I wasn't keeping track. Lol For the rundown: S-Tier: Alvarez Arc, Tartaros Arc, GMG Arc, Avatar Arc. A-Tier: Sun Village Arc, Tenrou Arc, Macao/Homecoming Arc, Fairy Tail Zero Arc, Galuna Arc, Tower of Heaven arc. B-Tier: Edolas Arc, Eisewald arc, Battle of Fairy Tail arc, Phantom Lord arc. C-Tier: Starry Sky/Infinity Clock arc, Loke arc, Oracion Seis/Nirvana Arc. D-Tier: Daphne Arc. F-Tier: Eclipse Celestial Spirits Arc.

[rayatii]

Raya Recounts: a brand-new series of overly-detailed opera summaries with unsolicited commentary!

Yeah, I have pulled yet another massive hiatus on these, but hopefully you’ll forgive me.

Episode 4: I puritani

I puritani (“The Puritans”) is a 3-act opera by Vincenzo Bellini. Bellini was one of the big BIG names among composers of the bel canto era, which also include Gioachino Rossini and Gaetano Donizetti (the composer for our first selection). Bel canto is Italian for “beautiful singing”, and Bellini was no stranger to that; in the world of opera, he is mostly applauded for the vocal lines he wrote, which tend to be absolutely beautiful, especially compared to his instrumentals (subjective opinion, sorry). Bellini’s works are significantly more obscure to the general public than those of the previous composers I have covered, but some people might be familiar with the aria “Casta diva” from his opera Norma.

Today’s opera was Bellini’s final work before his untimely death at age 33.

The libretto was written by Carlo Pepoli, based on the play Têtes rondes et cavaliers (“Roundheads and Cavaliers”) by Jacques-François Ancelot and Xavier Boniface Saintine (GOD, they have like sixty million different forms of their names on their works, so I went with IMSLP’s input). There doesn’t seem to be anything else that these three guys came up with that is less obscure than today’s selection.

The plot is known for being kind of flimsy, but the quality of the vocal music definitely makes up for it, and for the longest time it has been, and still remains, a favorite of the big opera houses to put on to show off their greatest stars’ vocal virtuosity.

You know the drill, same as always: bolding the solo characters’ names and giving potentially bad Italian translations for the important numbers. They are a bit more difficult to divide than the previous installment, so please bear with me.

This is for @carlodivarga-s, who suggested this title. Let me know if any of you have an opera you would like me to give the Raya Recounts treatment to!

Spoilers, of course!

Because this is a historical opera, let me clarify the historical context before I start; this is set in England during the English Civil War, which was a conflict between “Cavaliers/Royalists”, i.e., supporters of King Charles I, and supporters of the Parliament of England (or “Roundheads”, named such because of the cropped hairstyles that many Puritans, who formed a important number of members of that group, tended to sport, in contrast to the long ringlets that were fashionable at the royal court at the time). As you may have guessed, the conflict was about whether or not England should continue to be a monarchy and ruled by the so-called “divine right of kings”, and the whole shtick was followed by the monarchy being overthrown in favor of the Parliament, Oliver Cromwell ruling as Lord Protector for nearly 5 years, and the monarchy being restored years later with Charles II, son of Charles I.

You may have noticed that I am very much anti-monarchy (this is Tumblr, this is hardly going to get me cancelled), but please know that Puritans in this time and place remain known today for being humongous killjoys, who outlawed things such as theatre and Christmas on the grounds of these practices being supposedly sinful and whatnot. No wonder the term “puritanical” nowadays represents unreasonably rigid strictness. So historically, I'm not sure I would want to stand on either side.

I have to admit that I got most of that historical knowledge from the show “Horrible Histories”, though I did use more than this as a source in my research!

Anyway, back to our opera!

After a prelude in D major (which I noticed is a key very frequently used throughout the opera), Act 1, Scene 1 opens on a fortress in England, sometime in the 1640s or so, at dawn. According to the libretto, there are sentinels marching. We hear an offstage chorus setting the scene (Chorus: All’erta! All’erta! L’alba appari; “On your guard! On your guard! The dawn is appearing” or something like that). Then, the reveille sounds, represented in the orchestra by French horns; it is followed by a lengthy drumroll, after which a chorus of soldiers, led by Bruno, a tenor who somehow never gets a description in other summaries of this opera beside his name (I’ll assume he is a leader of the soldiers), enter while carrying weapons and anticipating a victory over the Stuart clan (i.e., the Royalist side). We now know that these people are Puritans.

Church bells and some organ music are heard. As the soldiers kneel down in prayer, singers offstage (who are somehow listed in the score as the principals) praise God and all his glory and stuff (O, di Cromvèl guerrieri; “O, warriors of Cromwell”. Yeah, we’ll get a bunch more of English names Italianized to a pretty ridiculous degree throughout this opera).

After that, a chorus of people from the castle come onstage, mingling with the soldiers and calling for celebrations; everyone present then sings the praises of one Elvira, a young maiden who has found true love and is to be married today (A festa!; “Let us celebrate!” or something like that).

Everyone leaves except Bruno. Riccardo, a baritone and a leader of the castle’s army, comes onstage and starts lamenting the loss of his beloved Elvira. Bruno encourages him to tell him about his troubles. Riccardo explains that before he went off to fight, Elvira’s father promised him her hand in marriage, but when he returned the evening before, he was told that Elvira is in love with a Cavalier named Talbo (an Italianized form of “Talbot”), and that nothing can change her heart, meaning that he had to be released from his engagement (Recitative: Or dove fuggo io mai?; “Now where shall I flee to?”).

Bruno tries to get Riccardo to chill, but Riccardo insists on wallowing in his heartbreak (Aria: Ah! per sempre io ti perdei; “Ah! I have lost you forever”. Unusually for a baritone, he doesn’t seem to have any thoughts of vengeance and murder, at least so far, which is quite a massive relief).

After some vocal acrobatics woven rather well in a mournful tune, some horns and trumpets sound. Bruno tells Riccardo that it’s the army calling him (Riccardo), and tries, to not much avail, to get him to forget about his love issues for now and instead focus on the fire of glory and patriotism. They both leave.

Scene 2 switches the scene to Elvira’s bedroom (I forgot to mention that she is the daughter of whoever owns the castle, but it’s rather easy to figure it out). Present there are Elvira, a coloratura soprano (i.e., a soprano who specializes in crazy vocal acrobatics) who is moping around sorrowfully, and Giorgio, a bass and her uncle, whom she very close to. So close, in fact, that she literally calls him her second father in her first line. As he embraces her, Giorgio asks Elvira the reason for her mopey-ness, and when he brings up her upcoming wedding, she immediately recoils and goes on about how she will go insane and die of grief if she has to be dragged to the altar against her will (hmmmmm, foreshadowing of some kind???) (Aria: Sai com’arde; “You know how it blazes”).

Okay, so we now know that Elvira hasn’t been told yet of the last-minute bridegroom switch, but when Giorgio tells her that she will get to be with her beloved Arturo (said Talbo guy mentioned earlier), she absolutely rejoices and embraces him. She asks him how this came to be, and he explains that the night before, her tears and prayers touched his soul to the point that he managed to tearfully convince his brother, i.e., her father, that she would die if she were to marry someone other than Arturo (Aria (at least listed as an aria for Giorgio in the libretto, though Elvira has a few lines): Piangi, o figlia; “Cry, o daughter”).

Horns are heard; it’s a signal of the guards. Elvira and Giorgio listen carefully as an offstage male chorus announces the arrival of Arturo Talbo. Elvira is so absolutely overjoyed that she claims not to be able to believe it (Duet: A quel nome; “At this name”).

Scene 3 takes us to a weapons room, where Elvira, Giorgio, Valton (Italianized form of “Walton”), Elvira’s father and a bass just like his brother, as well as a chorus of the people from the castle all gather to welcome Arturo. The chorus sings in praise of Elvira’s beauty and Arturo’s valor and the love match between them (Chorus: Ad Arturo onore; “Honor to Arturo”).

Then in comes the long-expected Arturo, a noble tenor, accompanied by squires and pages carrying wedding presents, including a veil. Arturo starts singing to Elvira all about his happiness stemming from his love for her, which used to make him sad back when they were not an approved match (Aria (tho with quite a few lines from the principals and the chorus, which makes it often labeled as a quartet in some sources): A te, o cara; “To you, o darling”, one of the most famous bits in the whole opera. It actually contains a written high C-sharp (C#5) for Arturo!!! Tenors gotta have some flexible highs to sing this role, and that will only become more prominent the farther we go). Elvira and Arturo express their joy, Giorgio and Valton ask for not a single shadow of sadness to cloud this happy moment, and everyone, including the chorus, calls on Heaven to smile upon this union.

After that, Valton says that he won’t be able to attend the ceremony, and gives Arturo a pass that will grant him safe conduct up till the church (the libretto calls it “tempio” (“temple”), which I know is a name for a Protestant church in some contexts, but I’m not really sure when it comes to the Church of England specifically), asking Giorgio to accompany them. He then addresses some unknown lady, telling her that the Parliament is asking for her, and that he is to escort her there. Said woman, a mezzo, despairs internally, then asks what the Parliament wants from her. Valton replies that he must obey this order without question.

Arturo asks Giorgio about her, and Giorgio explains that she is a prisoner who is believed to be a spy for the Stuarts. Arturo is struck with pity for the mysterious lady, and she internally notices his pitiful expression. Valton calls for the wedding preparations, as well as his departure, to proceed, and everyone leaves except for Arturo (after making sure he is not seen) and the unknown lady.

After briefly assessing him internally, the lady addresses Arturo, who tells her that if she needs anything, she can trust him. She confesses that she is in danger of dying soon, and he mentions that his father died supporting the Stuarts, and affirms his intention of saving her. She says her fate is already sealed, as she is none other than Enrichetta (Henrietta Maria), daughter of Henry IV of France and the widow of Charles I of England, which makes her the (former) Queen of England!!

Arturo, ever faithful to his Royalist duties, immediately insists on escorting Enrichetta to safety (man, it’s rare to see a tenor who puts duty above love), but she firmly believes that there is no hope left for her, and begs him to think of the danger, and especially of Elvira, whom he is literally meant to marry in mere minutes. Arturo begs her not to weaken his courage by mentioning the one he loves, and both go on and on about all this, until they are interrupted by an incredibly cheerful Elvira, who comes in all dressed in her wedding clothes and carrying her veil.

Elvira compares herself to an April lily and basically just describes her appearance, which includes roses in her hair and a pearl necklace (Polonaise (in this case, an aria in the style of a polonaise, which is a type of Polish folk dance with a 3/4 time signature (i.e., like a waltz)): Son vergin vezzosa; “I am a charming virgin”. Vocal acrobatics galore). As she sings, Arturo, Enrichetta and Giorgio (who has also come by this time, I guess) compare her disposition to a nightingale and the moon appearing through clouds at night.

Elvira asks Enrichetta to help her with the ringlets of her hair, and places her veil on Enrichetta’s head as Arturo and Giorgio ask her (Enrichetta) to excuse Elvira’s playful behavior. As Elvira continues to fool around, Enrichetta and Arturo continue praying for safety while Giorgio internally compares Elvira to a zephyr, a rainbow and a sylph. Then, Valton and the chorus come in calling for Elvira to get ready. She entrusts Arturo to give her back the veil later, before she leaves with Giorgio and nearly everyone else.

As Arturo and Enrichetta are left alone, Arturo notices that the veil hiding Enrichetta’s face might just be the thing that will help her escape safely, but before they can make a move, in comes Riccardo to stop Arturo from stealing his beloved (he thinks the woman under the veil is Elvira; ah, the operatic classic of not recognizing someone with a concealed face!), and he challenges Arturo to a duel to the death by swords, which he smugly accepts (Trio: Fermi! Invan, invan rapir pretendi; “Stop! In vain, in vain you try to kidnap” or something like that. This one was difficult to translate so I copied it from the aria-database). But Enrichetta steps in between them to stop them from fighting, at which point her disguise gets shed and Riccardo recognizes her as the prisoner.

Riccardo suddenly decides to let the two of them escape, and as Arturo bids an internal farewell to Elvira, we hear Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the chorus approaching. Of course, given the situation (opposing clans, rivals in love, etc.), Arturo asks Riccardo if he’s gonna snitch on them before they go beyond the walls of the fortress, and Riccardo swears that he won’t. Well, as the three characters briefly speak to themselves internally, we learn that Riccardo does not intend on keeping this promise and looks forward to Arturo’s downfall, while Arturo himself internally proclaims his everlasting love for Elvira, and Enrichetta looks forward to seeing her son (Charles II, I guess??). Arturo and Enrichetta finally leave, and Riccardo watches them escape (this is a fortress, after all).

Then in come Elvira, Bruno, Giorgio, Valton and the Chorus. Everyone asks Riccardo where Arturo is, and OF COURSE, the jealous snitch tells everyone that he is long gone, and everyone else sees that he has escaped with the prisoner. As Elvira cries out in despair, Riccardo and Giorgio call for soldiers to catch the two traitors, and everyone else joins in the call to arms.

But then, Elvira notices that the woman with Arturo in the distance is wearing a white veil, and that he is treating her as his bride and calling her Elvira, and this messes with her mind and makes her really, REALLY upset. Everyone around becomes incredibly worried about her. Then, she hallucinates Arturo coming back and she repeatedly tells him to come with her to the church. It becomes clear to everyone that Elvira has officially lost her mind in true operatic fashion, and they all pity her. Of course, they blame that traitor Arturo for this whole fiasco, and remark on how pure Elvira’s heart is for her to still love him as much as she does.

Then, Elvira’s mood suddenly switches again, and she sees (here, I’m not sure of she actually sees or “sees”) Arturo fleeing, and starts cursing him for abandoning her. As she expresses a delirious sort of rage growing inside her, everyone else continues cursing Arturo, and the curtain falls as they swear revenge.

And then Elvira dies of her insanity because it is a known fact that sopranos who have a mad scene in an opera ALWAYS die. :)

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you-

Raya, stop messing around and misleading your readers, this is only the first act, no one has died, the opera is far from finished.

Sorry, sorry. Anyway, here it goes:

Act 2 (only one scene this time) opens in some random room in that same fortress. A chorus of people of the castle sing (to a tune that’s a slight tad joyful imo) in sadness about poor Elvira’s (who hasn’t died, by the way) insanity; she is crying all the time, and at one point she was seen wandering in nature, screaming “Have mercy! Have mercy!” (Chorus: Ah dolor! Ah terror!; “Ah, what pain! Ah, what terror!”).

Giorgio then comes in, and the chorus people ask him for updates on Elvira’s condition; she is currently resting, her mood keeps switching between sadness and happiness, and she sometimes has temporary moments of clarity. The chorus asks for more details, and Giorgio initially refuses out of sadness, but at the chorus’ insistence, he describes Elvira’s behavior, including wandering around with flowers around her hair while crying out “Where has Elvira gone? Where has Elvira gone?”, hallucinating herself getting married and then crying for Arturo to come back, as well as mistaking other people for Arturo, then realizing her error and crying and wishing for death, ye typical operatic mad scene stuff (Aria: Cinta di fiori; “Garlanded with flowers”). *Sighs in psychology ho*. Of course, everyone continues cursing Arturo.

Then Riccardo comes in with news that Arturo has been sentenced to death by the Parliament. Everyone considers this a rightful punishment for his betrayal, and Riccardo adds that Valton has been declared innocent of the whole thing. Riccardo asks Giorgio about Elvira, and Giorgio explains that according to doctors, only a sudden emotional shock, joyful or tragic, will restore Elvira’s state of mind (wait, isn’t that how amnesia is represented in media??). Riccardo gives orders that should Arturo (who is still on the run) ever be seen around here, he must be treated with no mercy.

The chorus leaves, and we hear Elvira offstage, asking to either be given back hope or to die. Riccardo and Giorgio pity her, of course. Then Elvira comes onstage, looking disheveled and clearly disturbed. She angsts about Arturo’s betrayal as Giorgio and Riccardo continue pitying her (damn, half of this opera is basically people crying for Elvira!!) (Aria: Qui la voce; “Here, the voice”). Then, Elvira notices Giorgio, whom she doesn’t recognize at first but then mistakes for her father, and joyfully assumes that he’s here to take her to get married. Then, she notices Riccardo (whom she seemingly mistakes for Arturo? I’m not sure) weeping. Their brief conversation leads her to acutely remember her heartbreak.

Then, Elvira smiles suddenly, and she hallucinates Arturo being here and calls for him to come back to her, seemingly in a mix of joy and pain, as Riccardo and Giorgio continue pitying her (Cabaletta (as we said 2 episodes ago, the more animated section of an aria, complete with vocal acrobatics): Vien, diletto; “Come, beloved”). The men tell her she should go rest, and she eventually leaves.

Giorgio tells Riccardo that he must save Arturo (Duet: Il rival salvar tu dèi; “You must save your rival”, still not 100% sure if this is how to spell the Italian “dèi”). Riccardo replies that he cannot, that it’s in the Parliament’s will for Arturo to die, and that he does not abhor him in any way. But Giorgio correctly guesses that Riccardo doesn’t actually want to save Arturo, because he is still jealous. Giorgio continues to insist on his point, saying that if Arturo were to go down, Elvira would go down with him, and that their ghosts would haunt him (Riccardo), but this does not move Riccardo.

Eventually, Giorgio manages to win Riccardo over, because of the fact that patriotism comes hand in hand with mercy. But they also agree that should Arturo ever come armed among the enemy ranks (there is a battle scheduled at dawn on the next day), he will perish at Riccardo’s hand. Both end the act singing a duet all about patriotism and the glory of dying in the name of freedom for the nation (Duet: Suoni la tromba; “Sound the trumpet”, another of the more famous bits of the opera).

(Fun fact: the melody of Suoni la tromba was used in my first school’s anthem, tho taken one half-step down. For privacy reasons, I obviously won’t make you listen to the school anthem, so have instead the whole actual Act 2 finale from Il rival salvar tu dèi to Suoni la tromba, sung by Samuel Ramey and Sherril Milnes. I used this specific recording in my 5th “Opera(s) as Vines” video. But just so you know, they take a few cuts.)

(Also, I think I read somewhere that this opera was meant to be only 2 acts, but the second act was split into two after Suoni la tromba. But I’m not sure, tho this might explain why Act 1 is longer than Acts 2 and 3.)

After a brief prelude in D minor that alludes to a hurricane (at least according to the score), Act 3 (also only one scene) opens in a wooded area near the fortress. We may or may not see some armed people walking around at some point, looking for someone, but they leave soon enough. Finally, a very exhausted Arturo runs in onstage. Seeing that he is all alone, he allows himself to take a break (Recitative: Son salvo, alfin son salvo; “I am safe, finally I am safe”). We learn that he is still on the run, and so far he has managed to outrun his pursuers. He expresses deep love for his homeland, which he remarks is especially prominent for him as an exile.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of a harp, followed by Elvira’s offstage voice, singing a song about a sad troubadour sitting at a fountain and singing a love song (Aria: A una fonte afflitto e solo; “At a fountain, afflicted and along”). Arturo immediately recognizes this tune as a song they used to sing in these woods back in the days of their still-not-really-approved courtship. He calls for her, but no one responds, so he resorts to singing that same song about that same, constantly-depressed troubadour sitting at a fountain, striking a harp and singing a sad song.

Suddenly, Arturo hears drumrolls and a military march, as well as an offstage male chorus, and he realizes that he is still being pursued, so he hides away as a bunch of men-at-arms come onstage, looking around for him, and he manages to remain unseen until they leave.

As soon as the men are gone, Arturo comes out of hiding, and he considers entering Elvira’s place and telling her everything, but then he realizes that doing that would be too dangerous for both himself and Elvira, so he decides instead to continue singing their song, hoping that it will reach her somehow. He now sings about an exiled pilgrim who is also constantly depressed, and whose story seems to mirror Arturo’s own situation, at least in my opinion.

At some point either during or after the song, depending on the director’s choices, Elvira shows up. She gets sad when the singing stops, and goes back to longing for Arturo, at which point he shows up in front of her, asking for her forgiveness. A joyful reunion between the lovebirds ensues.

Arturo goes on about how happy he is to behold her once more after such a long time (three months, to be exact). Elvira describes all the pain she experienced during his absence, which felt like not three months but three centuries for her. He then explains to her the whole shtick with the prisoner woman from Act 1, who was none other than the Queen herself, and about how he ran away with her in order to save her from a death sentence. Elvira is so struck by this piece of info that she feels a sudden clarity in her mind. He assures her that he loves her with all his heart and they sing a passionate love duet together, reaffirming their love for each other over and over, and promising to stay together forever (Duet: Vieni, vieni fra queste braccia; “Come, come into these arms”. It contains 2 written high D’s (D5) for Arturo!!! the latter of which can be shared with Elvira, depending on the singer). They may or may not kiss at the end, depending on the production, because, I mean. The music.

But this moment of ecstasy is short-lived for our lovers, as we hear a horn followed by some more drumrolls and that same military march from earlier. Arturo immediately knows it’s his pursuers, and Elvira starts speaking incoherently, which makes him realize her state of Operatic Insanity™. We hear a male chorus from offstage singing in praise of Cromwell’s England, and Arturo tries to get Elvira to go hide with him, but she believes that he’s trying to leave her again for that woman he ran away with, and so she physically blocks him and calls for reinforcements while he tells her to be quiet.

The entire chorus of soldiers and castle-people, as well as Riccardo and Giorgio, show up onstage, and when Riccardo and the soldiers announce that Arturo has been sentenced to death, Elvira’s shock is so intense that literally everyone notices; this seems to be the emotional shock required to cure her insanity.

One of those large ensembles typical of bel canto operas, where everyone is singing something different, starts: Arturo announces that he’d be happy to die alongside Elvira, Elvira basically says the same thing, and Giorgio, the female chorus and even fucking Riccardo himself all feel pity towards the lovers (Quartet with chorus: Credeasi, misera; “She believed, the wretched one”). But the soldiers demand to proceed with the execution, much to everyone else’s despair. After embracing Elvira and bidding her farewell, Arturo chides the soldiers for upsetting Elvira and begs them to keep it together for just one moment, to not much avail.

(Fun fact: this piece is known to contain a high F (F5) for Arturo. Yeah, you read it right, a fucking high F!!!!! It’s so borderline impossible to hit that most tenors resort to singing a D-flat (Db 5) instead, which is already pretty high. Even so, those who can reach the high F usually sing it falsetto. Listen for example to the ever-legendary Luciano Pavarotti sing it (high F at 4:51).)

But then, we hear the sound of horns, announcing the arrival of a herald, and therefore a message (Finale: Suon d’araldi?; “The sound of heralds?”). Letters are brought in, and after reading them, Giorgio and Riccardo announce to everybody that the Stuarts have been defeated, and the Royal(ist) prisoners have all been pardoned; England has been liberated! (well, I mean... given, well. Everything that Puritans at this time and place stood for, I’m kinda calling this into question. But for the sake of the opera, I’m gonna allow myself some suspension of disbelief.)

Wait, what?? A happy ending??? In my non-comic bel canto opera????? More likely than you think!!!!! Anyway, everyone celebrates and sings the praises of Cromwell, before wishing long days of happiness to the extremely joyful and more-in-love-than-ever Elvira and Arturo (who has therefore now been freed of his death sentence), the curtain drops of these joyous festivities and everyone lives happily ever after as far as we know, given that I’m not super-familiar with more of the deeper details of the historical context.

The end! ❤❤❤ This has been an overly-detailed opera summary with unsolicited commentary, I hope you enjoyed ;)

- Raya / rayatii

(PS: I wanna give a quick shoutout to the production of this opera by the Opéra Royal de Wallonie-Liège from 2004, which was the first (and so far only) production of this opera that I watched, and which really helped me with the making of this post. Having only watched one production while writing this made it more difficult than the previous installments, and I had my doubt at times, but I’m really glad I pulled through.)

(PPS: fun fact: okay, I hate the British royalty just as much as the next Tumblr user, but this was apparently Queen Victoria’s favorite opera, and she would refer to it as “dear Puritani”. It also apparently the first opera that she and her beloved Prince Albert attended together before marrying.)

(PPPS: while I was doing some deeply detailed translation research for this post, I accidentally learned that the Italian word “pompa”, as well as meaning “pump”, also means “blowjob”. I probably will never be able to look at this opera the same way again, and I’m really frustrated that Tumblr doesn’t have a spoiler option like Discord, meaning that I won’t be able to protect your eyes from this...)

[autumnslance]

Enclosed Letter: A long time ago, Master Louisoix left a little troublemaker in my care. At his behest, I taught the boy everything I knew in the ways of survival and infiltration. Enclosed Letter: After years away from these shores, the boy has returned a man. By the set of his face alone, 'tis plain he has matured greatly. Enclosed Letter: A product of his time with the Scions, I do not doubt. I thank you for being there for him, and ask that you continue to do so. Enclosed Letter: Lastly, I ask that you forgive me for not saying this directly. In spite of myself, I've never been good at expressing heartfelt sentiments in person, hence this letter. The manner of its delivery, at the very least, I wished to make interesting, and I hope you derived some enjoyment from it.

Someone was talking about the “Secret in the Box” quest on twitter, an Old Sharlayan side quest without map hints where you must solve some riddles and do a couple tasks to resolve it…and it turns out to be from a certain Scion’s former instructor, who taught and greatly influenced him.

And it’s one of those things that when I realized what it was, I had to snicker a bit, as I have that entire story of Thancred writing letters to express his thoughts and feelings, to go along with my long-held headcanon (from my childhood backstory fic for him, even) that with his “bard” cover, he’s always used writing, usually to himself, that way as expressing and discussing emotions is difficult (and his friends know something is wrong when he isn’t composing poems, songs, or just writing anything in general).

So now added to that headcanon is that Thancred learned a bit about writing as a means to express himself while keeping safe emotional distance from his instructor. Especially in a way young Thancred wouldn't really have realized he was doing yet perhaps, in his childish scrawl in my "Rogue's Prelude" fic (where he mostly wrote made up stories and poems for others' amusement).

Also yeah; Thancred was roughly seventeen when he first went to Ul'dah and experienced all those events around the parade where he first met Minfilia and F'lhaminn, set fifteen years before ARR began. Left a boy and returned a man, indeed. Especially after what MSQ's thrown at him each expac, particularly Shadowbringers.

Anyway, it was one of those “this expac was written for/validated me” moments so many of us seem to have had with Endwalker!

[devildomimagines]

Asmodeus Reacts to MC Getting in a Fight

Prelude

Asmo jumped and gasped, “MC!?”

He looked you over and tears gathered in his eyes, angrily he asked, “Who did this to you?” Looking around as if they were nearby.

You hated seeing Asmo cry, it’s like his tears had some kind of magical effect on you. “Uh, I guess it’s kind of my fault, I’m ok though.”

He recounted your injuries and guessed, “Were you in a fight?” All signs of tears gone.

You looked down ashamed at his accusing question. He wasn’t wrong so you nodded.

“I can’t believe that!” Asmo shouted.

“Sh!” You hush, not wanting to make a scene and have one of the other brothers see and get involved.

“Don’t shush me MC!” Asmo pointed a finger at you.

“Sorry,” you placated, “I just don’t want to make a big deal of it, I’m fine.”

“MC,” He whined but did quiet down. He started really looking at your wounds. As a tactile person, he runs a gentle hand over your cheek and the other down your arm to your hand where he inspected your knuckles.

You wanted to pull away from his prying eyes and gentle touch, not feeling worthy of his worry.

He sensed your hesitation and pulled you closer.

You stumbled slightly, not expecting the pull and Asmo caught you with a smile, having played right into his game. That is until you wince away from his hand at your side.

“Ah,” you look up at him and try to recover, “Ha hah ha, that tickles?”

Asmo frowned deeply, not buying it. He takes your wrist to drag you to his room. As soon as the door is closed, he’s close again.

“A-Asmo!” You shouted as he began pulling at the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up just enough to see the dark discoloration on your abdomen.

He reaches out to touch it and you flinch away. “I-I’m fine, just don’t touch it for now, ok?”

Asmo nods and steps away. You let out a sigh of relief as he went to his bathroom and looked at a shelf of what you thought were all perfumes. He picked out three bottles and brought them back to you. He placed them on his desk and then picked one back up. 

“Here, smell this,” He uncorked it and extended it to you.

You tilted your head, then leaned in trusting him.

“It’ll help with pain,” and as he said that you felt an uncanny abatement of the throbbing pains throughout your body. You eased forward to get a second whiff but Asmo pulled it away. “Not too much though,” he looked away, “don’t want to overdose.”

The next bottle was small and he uncorked it and smelled it himself, like how one would check for spoiled milk. “Drink this one,” You placed it gently in your hands.

“What does this one do?” You’d like to know before putting it in your body.

“It will help promote healing.”

You shrugged, you trusted him and threw the drink back. “Ugh!” the terrible taste lingered.

Asmo giggled, “Yeah, not the best tasting sorry I didn’t say anything. Consider it part of your punishment.” He winked.

“That’s fair.” You sighed as you sat down on the edge of his bed. Truly exhausted from the day. “What’s the rest of the punishment?” You eyed the last bottle on his desk.

“I’ll think about it while you rest,” Asmo teased, “This one is topical, for the cuts.” He pointed to his own face to remind you of the busted lip and scratch.

“Thanks,” you held the bottle while you thought for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Asmo came to sit with you.

“Nothing!” you chirped. “You’re really kind Asmo, do you know that?”

He sat up straight, surprised. He’d been called many things, mostly related to his good looks, not often did he get such a genuine compliment.

“I didn’t ask for all this, and I certainly don’t deserve it for getting into a fight, but I appreciate you taking care of me,” You smiled sweetly at him.

His heart melted, “Oh MC… I’m happy to help but I’d rather you not get into fights in the first place.”

“Hahaha, me too but you should have heard what they were saying! They were trash talking your family, the exchange students, even Lord Diavolo!”

“No way! There are some pretty extreme consequences for openly contesting the royals.” He absentmindedly took the bottle from your hands and opened it. He began applying the liquid to your scratch, “What did the demon look like? Someone important?” He had you describe everything you remember about the demon and decided to share the information with Barbatos later for handling.

With the pain taken away and Asmo’s caring hands working away, tiredness swept over you, your eyes drooping. Asmo chuckled as he offered, “You’re welcome to stay here for a nap but let’s get that dirty uniform off, ok?” You nodded as you removed the jacket and Asmo got you a pajama set. 

You came back from the bathroom and collapsed into bed, almost instantly asleep. Asmo laughed as he set to work cleaning your clothes of the dirt and blood and mending the tears.

[blossom-hwa]

Skipping Stones - KEVIN

This was the second full scenario I ever finished for The Boyz and I think it was pretty nice to start with some soft Kevin :D THANK YOU KAI FOR LETTING ME YELL TO YOU ABOUT THIS ONE I HOPE IT LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS. 

Anyway! Happy (slightly early but only by a couple hours??) birthday to one of the best boys in the world, the one and only wonderful beautiful lovely Kevin Moon! I hope you all enjoy this <3 please reblog if you did!

Pairing: Kevin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, teacher!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.8k

Falling in love with you, Kevin thinks, is a bit like skipping stones. 

Alternatively:

Five times Kevin felt himself falling deeper in love with you, and the one time he knew he was gone.

TBZ Masterlist | Touching Stars | Breathe, and Live

prelude.

Kevin knows he exists to be clowned. His sister says it’s something about his face – there’s something undeniably meme-y about his reactions, apparently, that makes him very clownable. His students tell him it’s in his demeanor – he comes off as pretty chill, according to them, which makes him easy to tease because they know he’ll react in some hilarious way, but it won’t affect him too deeply.

(Changmin just says he’s stupid, which makes him clownable to the highest degree, but Kevin refuses to take information from the teacher who still scares him every other week with whichever horror movie mask has recently caught his fancy.)

So Kevin knows he’s just a clownable human being, and he’s resigned himself to that fate for the rest of his life. But around you? His calm, collected, hilarious, wonderful partner? He expected a little less clownery and a little more loving.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, trying to get Kevin to turn around. Honestly, he’s already feeling the effects of withdrawal from not seeing your smile for more than a few minutes, but he refuses to budge, lips curved downwards in a semi-permanent pout. He knows he won’t be able to keep this up for long (he’ll miss looking at your face too much, and really, he can’t be mad at you about anything), but he can make a scene. “Kevin!”

“You’re so mean,” he whines, still resisting your efforts to make him look at you. “I just poured out a very embarrassing part of my childhood to you and instead of comforting me, you laugh?” His pout deepens. “I don’t know why we’re dating.”

Your hands leave the back of his shoulders. For a second, Kevin thinks you’ve given up and he’s about to start whining about that too, but then you appear in front of him, fingers clasped placatingly. “All right, all right, Kevin.” Still grinning, you grab his hands. “I won’t tease anymore. But seriously, how could you expect me not to laugh my ass off when you told me you learned to skip stones for the –” you make jazz hands, presumably to emphasize your point – “aesthetic?”

Kevin sticks his lip out childishly. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mumbles.

“It’s not, not really.” You squeeze his hands. “But it’s a move that’s got Kevin Moon stamped all over it.” As if to accentuate your point, you snort. “Of course you’d learn to skip stones for the aesthetic.”

“Y/N,” he whines.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Your teasing grin melts into an eager smile. “Hey, teach me?”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

It feels like Kevin’s physically crumbling to pieces with the way your hopeful voice and sparkling eyes just attack him from all angles. Grudgingly, the deep pout on his lips stretches into a smile, the starstruck smile that all of his friends like to tease him for. “Fine, let’s go.”

He spends the rest of the afternoon stepping around small children and younger couples, trying to find suitable rocks for skipping and teaching you the right angles, the right stance, the right way to hold the stone in your hand before sending it into the water. You learn fast, something he envies – where it took him at least a couple of weeks to perfect the art, you (mostly) pick it up in a matter of hours – but he can’t feel too jealous or too bad when you look up at him after your stone skips once on the water. “Kevin, I did it!” You shake him slightly. “Did you see that?”

The softest smile spreads across Kevin’s face as he kisses your forehead softly “Yeah, I did.”

When he pulls away, you give him the brightest grin before scrambling away to find more stones to skip. Kevin just watches, taking in the way your figure looks against the setting sun, bright gold and pale pink light streaming over your body, almost making you glow.

This is why he fell in love with you, he thinks. Your character, your tenacity, the way you throw yourself into every task you’ve been assigned so that you can complete it as best as you can. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to treat a new cancer case at the hospital or trying to skip a stupid rock across the water. You always give it your all.

Idly, Kevin picks up a stone of his own. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it goes sailing onto the lake, skipping three, four, five times before sinking beneath the surface.

Falling in love with you is a bit like skipping stones, he thinks, watching the stone disappear from sight. Someone had to force him into that first blind date with you, much like making the first toss of the stone into the water, but every skip after that was quick, effortless, the way he felt himself falling for you, step by stumbling step, until his heart finally gave in and sank below the waves of your warmth.

It’s hard to imagine a time when he wasn’t in love with you, even though such a time did at one point exist. But the way you make him feel with the smallest things you do – the way you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, the way you rest your chin on your hand in thought – it feels like he’s known you for an eternity and loved you even longer, loved you before time existed.

Your stone skips twice across the water and you shout with joy, racing up to Kevin to celebrate. He catches you when you leap at him, arms wrapping around your waist automatically, smiling into your shining face. Yes, he thinks, he’s in love.

He’s so in love with you.

. . . . .

i.

Kevin, by all definitions of the word, is panicking.

He’s been dreading this blind date for almost a month now, circling the day on his calendar and marking it D-Day, begging Jacob and Changmin to come along and hide in case he needs to be bailed out, relentlessly praying that he’ll be able to leave the stupid date in one piece.

(Look, as much as he appreciates Mrs. Park’s kindness and her brownies, she can be… a little overbearing. To say the least.)

Just a few hours ago, he was putting on his yellow sweater and bemoaning the existence of his pushy coworker. Just a few hours ago, he was lamenting his fate to his two friends (friends is a term he will use loosely for today – all they did was laugh at him). Just a few hours ago, he was cursing the existence of Mrs. Park and her brownies for getting him locked into this date with her sister’s kid. Wait, was it her sister? Or her brother?

(“Yes, her sister,” Changmin says, rolling his eyes. “Pay more attention, won’t you, Kev?”

Kevin groans. “Why couldn’t either of you be chosen by Mrs. Park, huh? Why me?”

“Because I have a partner and Jacob is good at disappearing.” Changmin grins that evil, evil grin he always has on just before he’s about to execute a prank on someone (usually Kevin).

“More like the two of you are good at leaving me to fend for myself against Mrs. Park, even though you know I can’t say no to shit,” Kevin grumbles.

“Give up her brownies,” Jacob suggests.

Kevin gasps. “No way in hell.”)

But now, he’s actually sitting across from you in a café not too far from his apartment, holding a cup of coffee between his (visibly shaking) hands. And he can’t even think of why he was dreading this date so much because you’re just… really, really perfect.

Why are you so sweet? he’s screaming inside. Why are you so funny? Why are you literally the perfect mix of snark and kindness and just – everything?

“So my aunt told me you work with her,” you say, seemingly oblivious to Kevin’s jitters. The smile on your face is really sending electricity racing through his heart. “I know the children must be fun, but I know she can be a bit… overbearing.” There’s a hint of apology in your eyes, like you know your aunt must have pressured him into this and you’re sorry that he had to come on a date with you.

Kevin’s stomach flip-flops. Okay, so Mrs. Park maybe did severely pressure and sweetly blackmail Kevin into a blind date. But Kevin also doesn’t want you to feel bad for it because it’s not your fault at all, so as usual, when he finds himself in a tight spot, his mouth decides it’s time to run.

“No, your aunt is really nice,” he starts. “I really mean it – she’s always very kind to the kids and to the rest of us teachers. I’m still kind of new compared to the rest of them – I’ve only been at the school for a few years now – but she helped me feel welcome that first year when I was still figuring things out. And she also likes Beyonce! You know, the greatest female artist there is? She let me play my entire playlist of Beyonce songs for her last year and she liked every single one of them!”

Kevin’s babbling now. Rambling. Whatever he wants to call it. His brain is screaming for him to stop talking but his mouth won’t stop running because this is what he does when he’s nervous. He talks. Endlessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the table where Changmin and Jacob are situated in case they need to rescue him from mental or physical harm. The top of Changmin’s head is barely visible behind a huge menu so Kevin can barely see his friend, but somewhere in his babbling haze, he notices a phone camera poking out from behind the menu.

If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.

Finally, his mouth listens to his brain and he trails off on his last thought on why Beyonce is the best artist in the entire world. There’s a second of silence.

“Sorry,” Kevin finally squeaks. “I… tend to ramble when I get nervous. Or when I talk about Beyonce.”

Your smile flashes even wider. Kevin is torn between wanting to melt into the ground out of embarrassment and staying upright to keep seeing that grin on your face. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you laugh, fiddling with your cup of coffee. “I thought it was cute.”

Kevin’s face burns so much that he misses what you say next. “Sorry?”

You grin. “I’m always interested in hearing about a new artist to add to my playlist.”

Kevin lets out a theatrical gasp. “You don’t have Beyonce in your music library?”

A sheepish look spreads across your face. “… No?”

“Oh my God.” Kevin pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m about to educate you on the artist of our time.”

The afternoon, then, passes in a flash. Changmin and Jacob eventually just up and exit the café (presumably with enough blackmail to last the rest of Kevin’s life – he knows he was acting like a complete fool, but luckily, you didn’t seem to care), leaving him alone with you. Under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve started crying, but you’re so sweet and so interesting that Kevin thinks he could stay and talk to you in this café forever.

He learns you’re an oncologist at a nearby children’s hospital, that even though the work is hard and tiring and sometimes overwhelmingly depressing, the strength of the children and the families you work with inspire you to keep going every day. He learns that you don’t have too much of a sweet tooth (though you won’t say no to ice cream or cheesecake, both of which he notes in his head), he learns that you love coffee, and he learns that you like to take walks in the park whenever you have a little bit of free time.

He also learns that you’re snarky, intelligent, driven, hardworking. He learns that you’re something far beyond the beauty of your face – that underneath your skin, there’s a heart that’s warmer than the sun.

Kevin understands that this is only the first date and that he maybe shouldn’t be making judgments so quickly. But he’s been told that he’s a relatively good judge of character, and the genuine look in your eyes when you talks speaks volumes about the person deep inside.

Even though you live further away, Kevin takes the bus with you to your home, citing that it’s only polite to walk one’s date to the door (in reality, he just wants to spend a little more time with you). As the bus rattles along the road, Kevin lets you listen to the songs on his phone, delighting in the way your head bobs to the beat of his favorite tracks.

Kevin’s a bit sad when you reach your apartment, sad that your time together is over for the day. He lingers outside the building for a moment, trying to work up the courage to ask about a second date.

Suddenly, you lean forward. Kevin jerks back – he briefly wonders if you’re trying to kiss him – but you just pat a spot on his sweater, frowning slightly at your fingers. “Is that… paint?”

Oh my God.

Kevin tugs the material of his sweater forward so he can see the spot you’re pointing at. Sure enough, there’s a small patch of red paint on the yellow fuzz. He groans. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, that’s what people like us get for working with children.” You roll your eyes comically, and Kevin bursts into laughter that’s definitely too loud for the small joke you made. Then silence falls again.

You break it. “Listen, Kevin.”

He perks up. “Hmm?”

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this date because my aunt has been trying to set me up with people my age for several years now.” For the first time today, you look shy. “She was probably really pushy with you too, so I’m sorry about that. But I really enjoyed this afternoon.” You meet Kevin’s eyes. “If you’d like, I’d love to go on a second date.”

Kevin’s heart explodes. It really does. Sheer excitement courses through his veins, and he has to stop himself from smiling widely enough to mimic a god damn clown. “I’d love that,” he says trying to hide how eager he really is. “Um, I’ll say that I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this either, mostly because my experience with blind dates has had… limited success. But I’m really glad I met you. You’re a wonderful person.”

Your smile grows wider at Kevin’s admission. “Thank you, Kevin. You’re wonderful too.”

“Do you kiss on the first date?” he blurts out because his brain has no filter. Then he backtracks. “Um, it’s totally okay if you don’t, I was just asking, please don’t think I’m a creep –”

You briefly press your lips to his. Kevin shuts up.

When you break away, Kevin honestly thinks you’re glowing. “Does that answer your question?” you ask, bravely trying to hide something – is that embarrassment? Whatever it is, he thinks it’s adorable.

Kevin blushes. “Yes.”

People probably think he’s insane with the way he’s smiling on the bus ride back to his apartment. He can’t help it, though – the tingling touch of your lips, gentle against his, plays over and over in his mind, along with memories of your lovely voice and your lovely smile and your lovely, lovely disposition. Some people are giving him weird looks, and Jacob and Changmin are sure to tease him to no end when he comes in to work tomorrow.

But who cares? Kevin’s got a second date in the works with one of the most wonderful people he’s ever met.

In his mind, he’s on top of the world.

. . . . .

ii.

Usually, when Kevin gets lucky and scores a second date or a third, he suggests taking his date somewhere with children to gauge how they feel about small toddlers tearing up the place. Children are a huge part of Kevin’s life – he teaches elementary school and knows he wants kids when he gets a bit older – so one of the silent standards he’s set for potential significant others is that they have to like and be good with children.

You work at a children’s hospital, Kevin knows, so you must at least be good with kids, even if you might not like them (hey, it’s possible – Kevin has known many people who are good at things they hate). That fulfills half of the standard. He just needs to gauge the other half.

There aren’t many events at the school coming up, though – no plays, no art exhibitions, nothing he can really invite you to. He’s racking his brains for a third date somehow involving children when you unexpectedly call him about an event at the hospital.

“I know it’s last minute,” you apologize profusely, “but the guy who was supposed to come today for the kids’ music hour called in sick. I don’t want to cancel the event because they always look forward to it and I know you play the piano – would it be possible for you to fill in?”

It is possible, it turns out. He may not be able to pack his Yamaha upright into the back of your car, but he does have an electronic keyboard that fits into your trunk. The whole way there, you’re apologizing, but between reassurances that it’s totally fine, Kevin can’t help but anticipate how you’ll act around the children once the two of you arrive.

Setting up takes more time than he’d like (the extension cord that comes with his keyboard is too short, so you disappear on a twenty-minute manhunt for a longer one while Kevin just stands there awkwardly), which makes him feel slightly like a burden on the rest of your coworkers. They’re so polite, though, so genuine and kind, that Kevin eventually starts to feel more at ease.

(He’s still endlessly grateful when you return, extension cord clasped victoriously in one hand.)

Then the kids start trickling in, and Kevin’s heart immediately both breaks and melts. Some are in wheelchairs, others have lost their hair, but they’re all smiling with so much excitement, chattering to their parents and the staff around them as they settle on beanbags and pillows on the floor. Several look at him curiously and he smiles at them, prompting several questions about who he is, why there’s a keyboard and not a guitar, and why the normal guy isn’t here.

“The usual guy got sick and couldn’t come,” Kevin says to one sweet girl with chubby cheeks and shining eyes. “I’m just here to replace him for a day.”

“Do you play the piano?” she asks, shyly pointing at the keyboard, which more than a few curious souls are standing around.

Kevin smiles. “Yes, I do.” He would say more, maybe offer to show her the instrument a little, but then you’re walking over, and her eyes brighten. “Dr. L/N!” she cheers.

With a loud laugh, you swoop her up carefully, cradling the girl against your shoulder. “How are you, Daeun?” you ask, lips spread in a smile that Kevin knows can’t be faked.

The girl – Daeun – grins. “I’ve been good!” she announces proudly. “Are we going to start soon?”

You laugh again, settling her back down on the floor. Kevin thinks his heart melts with the way your eyes sparkle. “Yes, we are,” you say. “I see you’ve already met Kevin?”

“Your name is Kevin?” Daeun looks at him curiously. “Your name is strange.”

Kevin has to force himself not to coo. “I was born in Canada,” he says. “My Korean name is Hyungseo.”

Daeun’s nose scrunches. “I like Kevin more,” she decides with finality.

Kevin feels brave enough to pat her on the head. “Then you can call me Kevin.”

“All right, Daeun. Go find your mom, okay? Kevin and I are going to finish setting up, and then we’ll get started.” With a soft kiss on the forehead (Kevin makes a sound he really hopes you don’t hear – the scene is just too adorable), you send the small girl off, turning back to Kevin. “Shall we get started?” you ask, grinning widely.

It may only be the third date, but he’s falling in love, Kevin thinks, falling in love with your shining face and sparkling eyes, with the way you shower love upon the children you’ve placed under your care. Right now, you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a future partner – beautiful in character, kind, gentle, fiercely loving.

His heart pounds a little faster.

Belatedly, Kevin realizes you’re waiting for a response and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he breathes, eyes glancing over the sea of children waiting (somewhat) patiently. A smile to rival yours spreads across his face. “Let’s get started.”

. . . . .

iii.

Kevin loves the last Friday of every month, he really does. It’s been tradition for several years now to go out with Changmin and Jacob on what he calls nights for “the boyz” to eat cheap food and get drunk. And no matter how much the others complain about the stupid name (Kevin will admit it sounds stupid now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll change it), he knows they enjoy the nights all the same.

Sometimes, though, Kevin just wishes he had more of a filter on his mouth. If not that, then maybe his brain could stop remembering every single dumb thing he said or did on drunk nights out. It would make his life a lot easier if he could just forget being stupid.

But no, God decided to be mean when making Kevin Moon. So Kevin, as a result, is an emotional drunk. He cries a lot when he hears about sad or adorable things, he says a lot of stupid stuff to (badly) express his overwhelming feelings, and worst of all, he remembers all of it when he wakes up hungover the next morning.

(None of this stops him from getting drunk anyway. Kevin Moon doesn’t learn lessons when it comes to alcohol. When he falls on his face (sometimes literally), he just gets up again, even if it’s with a bloody nose.)

Luckily, the night doesn’t end in chaos. Even though Jacob, who’s half of Kevin’s impulse control, leaves after an hour (he’s meeting with his family the next day, so Kevin is obligated call him a noob – it’s like a law of physics or something), Changmin doesn’t seem to be in the mood to do weird things without Jacob there to stop him, so the night passes relatively smoothly without Kevin throwing, like, a tantrum or anything.

He gets close, though. Because damn, if Changmin isn’t so fucking adorable when talking about his partner. Buried in his purple hoodie, black hair peeking softly over the top, it’s impossible for Kevin not to tear up when Changmin begins gushing over his beautiful, amazing, wonderful significant other whom he just compared to stardust.

Stardust.

Kevin wants to scream, that’s so romantic.

When you come to pick him and Changmin up, Kevin can’t resist relaying all of this to you as soon as he gets in the car. Vaguely, he thinks he should be worried about Changmin hearing it and hitting him, but the boy is mostly asleep in the back, eyes only fluttering slightly when you go over a bump or something. After Changmin gets dropped off at his apartment, Kevin turns the gushing on full force.

“Y/N, the love of my life, he called her stardust,” he’s still babbling even as you strongarm him up to his own apartment. “He’s so adorable. Changmin is so adorable. Oh my God.”

He thinks you snort. Probably. It would be a normal response. “Didn’t you call him the spawn of Satan just a few days ago?”

Definitely a snort, Kevin thinks, but he’s too invested in Changmin’s loveliness to whine about you making fun of him. “Y/N,” he pouts instead, “listen to meeeeee.”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.” You grunt, catching him just as he misses the next step and almost falls forward. “Hey, be careful.”

“’M trying.” Kevin manfully does his best to stop the world from tilting on its side. “But Changminnie.”

“Yes, yes, Changminnie.” Even drunk, Kevin can make out the playful exasperation in your voice. “Keep going.”

“Thank you, love of my life.” Kevin tries to give you a kiss but his lips hit air instead of your cheek. “Heck.”

You burst into loud laughter. “Kevin Moon, you never told me you were this adorable when drunk.”

“Changminnie,” he says more insistently.

“Okay, yes, I’m listening.” You kiss his cheek instead, and Kevin almost topples over right then and there. “Hey, you can’t fall over whenever I kiss you. Tell me about Changmin.”

Kevin starts flailing his arms around as best he can. “He’s so cute!” he half-yells. “He told me his partner was like stardust because she’s so perfect and warm, but she’s also like stardust because… because…”

His lip juts out.

“Oh, no, don’t cry, Kev.” You stop moving, then Kevin registers you bundling him into a hug, patting his head. “I know you’re a sad emotional drunk, but don’t cry.”

“Not crying,” Kevin protests, visibly crying.

“Mhm.” You pat his head one last time before letting go. “Hey, give me a second, I’m going to unlock your door.”

There’s some fumbling and a quiet snick, then Kevin obediently follows you through the door of his apartment. Once inside, you press a thumb to the side of his face, brushing a tear away. “Tell me what Changmin said to make you sad.”

“Changminnie said he’s afraid she’ll… she’ll… slip away between his fingers. Like stardust.” Kevin feels like he’s going to start sobbing any moment now. “He’s afraid she’s going to leave him eventually because she’s too perfect and he’s not good enough.”

“Oh my God.” You sit down on the couch. Kevin follows suit, albeit a lot more ungracefully as he collapses onto a cushion in a tangle of limbs. “Oh my God, that’s so sad and cute at the same time.”

“I said he should call her his star,” Kevin mumbles, turning slightly so he can burrow into your side. “Because stardust. Texted them about it. Both of them.”

Your laugh sounds like music even to the drunken haze of his brain. “Wonder what they’ll think when they see a drunken keysmash on their phones first thing tomorrow morning.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit. Kevin feels his eyes beginning to get droopy, and he almost falls asleep before a thought strikes him with lightning force.

“I need to give you a nickname!” he almost yells, sitting bolt upright. The movement makes the room spin, but he doesn’t care. This is urgent. “Changmin’s going to call her his star, but I haven’t given you a nickname yet!”

“Kev, Kev.” You hold him by the shoulders, and he relaxes a little. “You can come up with a nickname for me in the morning. Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

“No,” he whines, shifting in your grip. “This is important. You need a nickname.” He sinks into deep, drunken thoughts, the kinds of thoughts he has when he ignores everything around him in favor of getting philosophical after having drunk too much alcohol.

Then it hits him.

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “Oh my God.” It’s his turn to grab you by the shoulders, now. “Oh my God. You’re the sun. Because I’m the moon. Get it? Kevin Moon?”

Through his drunken haze, Kevin thinks he sees you smile, maybe. It looks like a smile.

Your eyes are sparkling. You look happy.

Probably a smile.

“I’m a genius,” he whispers. A genius for coming up with the nickname and for making you happy.

“Sure, Kevin.” You grunt a little as he shifts his weight. “Come on, get up. We’ll see if you’re still a genius tomorrow if you wake up and remember all of this.”

Kevin doesn’t register much for the rest of the night, just remembers falling into his bed and forcing you to lie down next to him. The next morning, he wakes up with a throbbing headache and the vague, ever-present worry that he said something stupid last night.

You’re not in the bed with him anymore. Kevin blinks once, twice, before trying to sit up so to figure out where you went. Then he remembers you don’t live here. You probably went home.

Which is why he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you appear in his doorway, holding a mug of coffee and a glass of water.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. Kevin’s not sure what thoughts are running through your head, but he knows he’s trying to piece together what happened last night, and whether or not he should be hiding under the covers out of embarrassment.

Then it hits him.

Sun.

Moon.

Genius.

Oh, God.

Kevin wants to die.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, using your new nickname in the desperate hope that it’ll distract you from remembering the rest of what he said last night.

A catlike smirk curls your lips as you walk over, pressing the glass of water into his hands. A feeling of dread fills Kevin’s heart as he takes it.

“Morning, genius,” you say with enough evil delight to power Changmin for a year.

Kevin groans. “I was drunk.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Your teasing smile melts into something gentler as you place your mug on the bedside table, turning to bring the glass of water in his hands to his lips. “Coffee’s mine, don’t touch it or I’ll break a bone. Drink the water. I made some breakfast, so come into the kitchen whenever you feel up to it. After you’ve brushed your teeth.”

Warmth courses through Kevin’s body, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol from last night and everything to do with how you’re here in body and mind, sweetly helping him recover from a stupid hangover even when it’s definitely not your problem to take care of and you probably have better things to do. His heart thumps, loud enough that he thinks you could probably hear it.

In this moment, Kevin doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than you coming into his life.

“Got it.” He awkwardly tries to salute, but he does it with the hand holding the glass and the water nearly spills onto the bed. As his cheeks flush, you break into snorting giggles.

Even though it’s at his expense, Kevin thinks he would do anything, anything in the world, to keep that wonderful smile on your face and that musical laughter in the air.

. . . . .

iv.

Only when you move in together does Kevin realize just how taxing your job is. He had an idea from when you sometimes had to cancel or move around dates, but when you did meet up, you were usually energetic and cheerful. Of course, there were the token dates where you just came over to Kevin’s apartment or he came over to yours and you just flopped around for a few hours. Outside, though, you always showed a bright face.

But that was because dates were mostly on your days off or when your hours were short, and as a result, you felt good enough, energized enough to show Kevin your brilliant smile. When you first moved in together, Kevin felt a bit surprised – well, maybe not surprised, but saddened – that you didn’t have the energy to smile as brightly as he saw before.

It’s fine by Kevin, though. You smile often enough, and if your teeth don’t show as much as they used to, there’s something beautiful, something calming and sweet in the slower curve of your lips, the gentle, lethargic way you lean up for a kiss. After all, Kevin has enough energy to compensate for when you might lack some of yours.

(It helps that he can cook, he thinks. Even when the kids at school sometimes wear him out, the brief sparkle in your eye that spreads across your lips when you walk through the door to see him stirring something on the stove is more than enough to make up for it.)

You’re cute, too, when you’re tired. Though Kevin loves it when you’re energetic and ready for whatever the day has decided to throw in your path, there’s something so peaceful, so pleasant about feeling you lying lethargically against his side on the couch, scrolling through your phone or reading a book or just resting, doing nothing but breathing softly. Kevin cherishes those small moments, the soft atmosphere where he kisses your hair and you smile, reach up, and press a kiss of your own to his cheek.

Tonight is one of those nights, a night of soft, comforting silence, words few and far between. It’s been a bit warm lately, so Kevin’s elected to wear one of the tank tops he keeps for the warmer months instead of his usual sweater.

You sit next to him on the couch, back pressed to his side as you send off emails on your phone. Kevin’s working too, inputting grades on his laptop. He hums a little under his breath to take his mind off of the monotony of his task.

At some point, you finish, putting down your phone with a sigh and slumping into his ribs. Kevin starts at the sudden movement. “Sunshine,” he whines, even though he could really care less.

“Moon boy,” you parrot in the same tone of voice.

Kevin’s attention turns back to his laptop, so he barely registers you shifting on the couch to a new position. He does notice it, though, when your fingers start trailing along his skin, exposed by the lack of sleeves on his tank top, because your touch tickles.

You completely ignore his resulting twitch of surprise, only keep tracing the skin of his rib cage. Kevin looks down, confused as to what’s caught your attention.

Oh. His tattoos.

“Sunshine?” he asks softly, watching your fingers shift along his skin.

“Mm,” you hum, eyes still fixated on the ink decorating his side.

“Sleepy?”

Slowly, you shake your head, fingers paused on the image of Mickey Mouse. “Not yet.”

He goes back to inputting grades, all the while still aware of your fingers tracing the lines, the curls, the swirls of black ink along his side. When he finishes, he looks over before closing his laptop to see your eyes still focused on his skin.

Something in his heart explodes, spreading a tingly, comforting warmth throughout his body. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with your presence, a feeling of absolute security, absolute trust, absolute warmth that comes with falling in love with you.

You look up, noticing his lack of movement. “Finished, moonbeams?”

“First moon boy, now moonbeams?” Kevin teases you lightly, picking up the hand you were using to trace his skin and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Just like every other time he’s ever done it, a wide smile spreads across your face and a shyness sparkles in your eyes, as though you still can’t believe the bliss of the moment.

(At least, that’s what Kevin feels every time you do something to remind him that he’s yours.)

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Can’t call you moonshine, that’s an alcohol.” You shrug as best as you can in your stretched-out position. “Moonbeams, moon boy… whatever feels right.”

Kevin puts his laptop on the coffee table. As he leans back into the couch, you curl up into him, one hand still lingering against the Mickey Mouse tattoo on his side. “Tell me about these?” you ask, pressing your fingers a bit more firmly against the ink.

His tattoos are personal, serving as reminders of the past and inspiration to keep moving. Rarely does he share their meanings with anyone (not that people usually ask, because the tattoos are mostly covered by his clothes), and only with those who mean the world to him.

Kevin thinks you qualify as one of them.

Touching your shoulders, he turns you around slightly, just enough to press a short, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Of course, sunshine.” He smiles, gazing into your eyes, feeling the warmth of your love travel through his limbs. “Which one first?”

. . . . .

v.

Kevin Moon, for the majority of his life, has hovered in between being classified as a morning person or a night owl. Yes, he gets up at six in the morning for a cup of coffee, but he also stays up past midnight doing… stuff. Grading, writing reports, watching cat videos, wasting time.

(When Changmin judges his lifestyle, Kevin just reminds him that he fell in love with his roommate’s hookup and is on a dance team with the parent of one of his students.)

Honestly, if Kevin didn’t remind himself every so often that he’s currently a full adult, his lifestyle would make him think he was still in college. He certainly still acts like it when he isn’t working. Procrastinating? Check. Crying over reports he needs to submit at three a.m.? Check. Flopping around on the floor when life is going badly? Check.

And most importantly: nonexistent sleep schedule? Check.

You put a stop to that real quick when you move in, both directly and indirectly. Directly, you make an appointment for him at a sleep clinic after figuring out his shitty sleep patterns, and Kevin finds out he probably has mild insomnia. The aftermath is horrible – you put him on a strict sleep schedule and all but ban caffeine from his diet (goodbye, morning coffee) – but it helps, after a couple of weeks. He sleeps better. Perks of having a partner who works in medicine.

Indirectly, though, you probably make a bigger difference.

See, the way Kevin thinks about it, he just never had a lot of reasons to stay in bed very long. Even though he appreciates sleep, really appreciates it on long days, it’s just that he can’t really force it if it doesn’t want to come. He’d also rather be doing something productive (or not productive, depends on the asker’s perspective) than lying awake for hours, anyway.

But now that he’s waking up to a face he loves?

Well, even if you sometimes disappear before he wakes (hospital hours are whack as hell, but sadly, you can’t ignore your job), Kevin will just say your warmth is a powerful incentive to stay huddled under the covers, even if he can’t fall back asleep.

He still wakes up every morning to grey light beginning to peek through the window. No matter how hard he tries to sleep in just a little longer, his body can’t seem to stay unconscious past six in the morning, so both of you have just resigned yourselves to the fact that Kevin will always be an early riser.

Before you walked into his life, he would’ve rolled out of bed almost immediately, stumbled to the bathroom (and maybe knocked his knee against the doorframe, who knows), then started brewing coffee in the kitchen to start the day.

Now?

A drowsy smile begins to make its way across Kevin’s face, soft as the morning light, when his brain catches up to the present and he registers your warmth under the covers. Sleepily, he blinks, taking in the sight of your peaceful face buried halfway in the sheets.

You shouldn’t look this beautiful, Kevin thinks, not with your hair strewn all over the pillow, blankets rumpled around your shoulders, arms outstretched so that one sort of curls over his body while the other is held up to your chest. It’s the morning – no one should look pretty and put-together. That isn’t natural.

(Unless you happy to be Kim Younghoon, but that’s another story.)

Yet you somehow look like a sleeping deity in Kevin’s mind, even with your hair a mess and drool drying on the pillowcase. As the drowsiness clears from his eyes, as the light from the window grows brighter, Kevin can barely even think of moving, of disturbing your peace.

He dislikes your alarm. It’s loud, annoying, and hits him with a jolt when he’s just trying to take these stolen morning moments to admire your beauty. When he complains about it the first time, you tell him to serve as the alarm, to wake you up himself.

Kevin counters that he’s an artist, that he needs peace and quiet to give beauty of such a degree the respect it deserves. You just roll your eyes, telling him that if he isn’t going to wake you up, the alarm’s going to have to take that job. The smile on your face, though, and the brief kiss you press to his lips right after, speaks volumes for the emotions Kevin’s words make you feel.

(He loves flustering you like this, even if you pretend his words don’t make you feel some sort of way.)

So eventually, you wake, eyes fluttering as the alarm brings you back to the conscious plane. Kevin’s heart feels like it’s bursting when your eyes fully open, blearily blinking at the world.

“Morning, sunshine,” he whispers, running one hand through your hair.

You lean slightly into the touch, the corners of your lips twitching up. And every day, as he stares into your sleepy eyes, lips curling as you whisper a quiet “Morning, moon boy” in reply, Kevin knows he’s falling, falling in love with every part of you.

. . . . .

+i.

Kevin’s waiting in front of the school when you pull up at the curb. Smiling apologetically, he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek as you step out of the car. “Sorry, sunshine.” He gestures at the two small boys standing beside him, absorbed in their own world. “Their uncle’s running late and Changmin and Jacob have things to do, so I need to wait for Sangyeon to pick them up before we can go.”

“No worries.” You return the kiss, smiling as bright as the sun. Kevin feels a flash of pride for coming up with a nickname that fits you so well. “We have the whole afternoon, don’t we?”

“That, we do.” He grins, squeezing your hand.

“Mr. Moon, who’s that?” a small voice asks closer to the ground. The two of you turn to see Sunwoo and Eric trotting over, curious looks on their faces.

Kevin looks over at you, but you’re already bending down to get to eye level with the two boys. “Oh, hello!” Your grin, if possible, grows wider. “I’m Y/N, Kevin’s significant other. What are your names?”

“I’m Eric,” Eric pipes up. “This is my brother, Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo just stares with round eyes. Well, he’s always been the shyer of the two.

“Those are lovely names,” you reply smoothly, giving Sunwoo an encouraging smile. Kevin feels his heart melt completely at how well you interact with the kids. “I’m just going to be waiting with Kevin until your uncle picks you up, is that okay?”

The two kids nod and immediately go back to babbling in their own little world. Kevin notices the fond smile on your face, and his heart melts even more.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper to him.

“I know, right?” Kevin clutches his heart dramatically. “Can you imagine teaching them every day?”

Just as you’re shaking your head in comic disbelief, another car pulls up behind yours. A harried-looking young man quickly exits and Eric and Sunwoo cheer, distracted by the arrival of their uncle.

“Sorry about this,” Sangyeon says, absentmindedly patting Eric’s head as the boy hugs his leg. Sunwoo seems to be attempting to climb onto his uncle’s back. “Traffic wasn’t the kindest when I was getting out of work.” Then he notices you. “Oh, hello. Are you Kevin’s partner?”

“That I am.” You stick out a hand. “I’m Y/N, and I’ve been told you’re Sangyeon?”

Sangyeon nods, smiling. “Nice to meet you. And to see that Kevin’s found someone to deal with his antics.”

Kevin blushes as you laugh. “Hey,” he complains. “No jokes at my expense, please.”

“Sure, moonbeams.” You roll your eyes, then turn back to Sangyeon. “It’s nice to meet you. Your nephews are adorable.”

The smile that Sangyeon gives the two boys clambering around him says it all. “They are, aren’t they?” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go now. My sister’s expecting us back soon, and I’m already a bit late.”

Kevin breathes a sigh of relief. No more teasing at his expense from Sangyeon, at least, though there’s no guarantee from you. “Nice seeing you, Sangyeon. And have a good day, kids.”

A small chorus of “You too, Mr. Moon!” sounds, and Kevin expects that to be the end. Sangyeon will herd the boys into the car, Kevin will follow you into yours, and then you’ll go your separate ways. What he doesn’t expect is for Sunwoo to look out at you from behind his uncle’s leg, round eyes cautiously curious, and ask you a question.

“Y/N?”

Immediately, you turn around, teasing smirk melting into a gentle smile for the small boy. “Yes, Sunwoo?”

Sunwoo’s eyes dart between you and Kevin. Then, softly, shyly – “Do you love Mr. Moon?”

Time seems to stop as Kevin’s breath hitches in his throat at the sudden question, but you only look back at him, eyes soft and sparkling in the sunlight. 

Your answer glitters in your gaze.

Though you’re supposed to be talking to Sunwoo, your eyes stay fixed on Kevin, strong and unyielding, yet gentle and affectionate, as you answer. Your voice is soft when you reply. “Yes, Sunwoo. I do love him.” The smile on your face grows wider as you turn back to the child. “I love him very much.”

Indescribable warmth floods Kevin’s chest and tears prick his eyes. And as Sangyeon hurries his nephews away, as you turn around to unlock your car, one truth burns with absolute, crystal-clear certainty in his mind.

He isn’t falling in love with you, not anymore. No, he’s far past that stage.

Kevin Moon is completely, wholly, irrevocably in love with you.

“Kevin?” You look at him from the other side of the car. “You coming?”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he meets your sparkling eyes. Love blooms in his chest.

“Coming, sunshine.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for kevin’s whipped ass ksjdkgsdhjk)

[bbugyu]

daddy’s little monster + lee seokmin & yoon jeonghan

the story of your side hustle, that both pays well and had some very lovely benefits.

prelude | part one | part two | part three | epilogue

wc.5195 | SMUT, like DIRTY SMUT, threesome, sugar daddy!jeonghan and musician!seokmin, aka my worst nightmare, hard dom vs service sub vs service dom, aka my other worst nightmare, fem reader, daddy kink, marking, cream pie, please use condoms, lk cucking? happy halloween!

i was gonna say this is porn without plot but in reality idk how to not make smut way too personal. and i have not stopped thinking about my seokhan sandwicch fantasies and desperately needed to get it out, so take my shame and run with it. gif literally does not match this at all but DONT WORRY ABOUT IT

~

seokmin knew that jeonghan, the prolific and sought after architect whom he considered a close friend, had a less than conventional relationship with a young woman, but he had never met her. didn't know what the two did beyond appear at fancy industry dinner parties together, or the occasional sleepovers that had been offhandedly mentioned when seokmin and him get drinks and grilled meat. he believed she was real - he had been told she was real, by a mutual friend who had attended said parties - but had never seen a picture of her. never been introduced. he dropped architecture, afterall, deciding instead to get a teaching degree while jeonghan continued his artistic engineering. he had no reason to attend the parties that jeonghan paid her to accompany him to.

so when he was slightly drunk at a halloween party being held at the architect's beautiful home, he thought nothing about the pretty girl giving him attention, other than the fact that she looked incredible in her cheerleading outfit and that she was sitting far too close to him to not be flirting.

"how do you know jeonghan?" you asked, perched on the sofa next to seokmin, fingers mindlessly fiddling with the zipper on his red and blue bomber jacket.

his arm was over the back of the sofa, and you were comfortably sitting in the negative space, your feet tucked beneath your baby blue pleated skirt. "we went to college together," he said.

your eyebrow quirked. "are you also an architect? i've never seen you around."

he smiled and shook his head, wondering why a pretty girl like you was wasting your time getting to know a guy like him if you frequented industry parties. "no, i dropped the program. too much math. i'm a music teacher."

he watched your eyes light up. "what kind of music?"

"piano and guitar, mostly," he said, shifting beside you when your knees brushed over his thigh. "i do some vocal coaching, also."

you gazed at his profile as he looked anywhere but at you, eyes briefly focusing on the little black heart drawn under his eye. "you do have a lovely voice."

"thanks," he said, smiling when he turned to look at you, almost faltering when he realized you were leaning into him. "but you haven't heard me sing."

you paused, staring at his lips. "i'd like to," you breathed, and seokmin's hand dropped from the couch to find the small of your back, a shiver running up your spine when his fingers ran over the waistband of your skirt.

"y/n."

with great difficulty, you looked away from his lips to the source of your name being called, smiling lightly when you saw who had summoned you. you put a hand on seokmin's chest.

"i'll be right back, okay?" he kept watching your lips as you spoke. "promise me you won't go anywhere?"

seokmin gave you a lopsided smile, fingers brushing over your skin still. "promise."

you pulled yourself off the couch, purposefully giving him a bit of a view as you leaned over to slip your feet back into your sneakers, walking over to the man that had called your name. seokmin watched you swing your hips side to side, then cursed under his breath when jeonghan's hand snaked around your waist only a few meters in front of him, putting the pieces together in his mind.

"i see you like my friend," jeonghan muttered, handing you the drink you had asked him for. he was dressed as a man in black, which was wholly unoriginal considering he wore many suits regularly, but you figured your cheerleading costume wasn't leaving much more to the imagination than any of the dresses he usually picked out for you.

"you never told me you were friends with a musician," you teased. "afraid i wouldn't call you?"

he laughed, sneakily pulling up the hem of your skirt and watching over your shoulder as seokmin tried not to stare. "you'll always call me."

you bit at your lip, smiling. "yes, daddy."

"are you sure about him?"

you peeked over your shoulder, giggling when seokmin looked away from you and tugged at the knees of his black pleather pants. "isn't he perfect?"

"i like seokmin," jeonghan said, drawing your attention by taking off his sunglasses, hooking them in his lapel pocket. "he's one of my closest friends. i want you to be absolutely sure."

you paused, considering his tone and looking into his amber eyes. "i'm positive."

jeonghan smiled, pulling you into him for a quick kiss. "go tell him the good news, sweetheart."

you grinned, pulling away from him as he put his sunglasses back on and teasingly clicked his prop neuralizer at you. you giggled and sauntering back to the couch that seated the most adorable harley quinn you had ever seen.

"i'm back," you said, sipping at your drink as you settled back into seokmin's side. "sorry, you know how sugar daddies are. so demanding."

he choked out a laugh, still unsure despite your joking tone. "so, you and, uh, jeonghan-"

"yeah," you sighed, setting your drink down on the table beside the sofa and adjusting your posture, putting your knees on his thigh but keeping your shoes off the couch. "he likes my company, i like not paying for tuition."

"what are you studying?" seokmin asked, jumping at the opportunity to change the subject.

you smiled, tugging at his arm until he took the hint to put it back where it was before you were interrupted. "musical theory and recording arts."

he almost laughed. "you're unreal."

"i could say the same," you said, fingers fiddling with the opposite collar of his jacket. "can i ask you something? no pressure."

his eyebrows quirked upwards. "there's a little pressure."

you giggled, tugging at the collar lightly and smiling when he shifted to face you better. "genuinely, don't say yes just because i want you to, okay?" you only continued when he nodded, taking a deep breath. "so, jeonghan and i have been wanting to try something for a while, and he asked me to find someone tonight."

seokmin swallowed. "am i someone?"

you bit your lip. "yes."

his finger scratched at his cheek. "and he approves?"

your eyes flickered to where you and jeonghan had been standing, but the older was nowhere to be found. "yes."

"i-" he cleared his throat suddenly. "i just haven't- i don't know what i'm trying to say." he paused to collect himself. "i've never even considered doing anything like… that."

you giggled sweetly, and seokmin tried to not notice the way your hand ran over his chest. "i haven't done anything like this either," you assured him. "jeonghan's a little bossy, but he'll only be that way to me if you don't ask for it, i promise. and you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, seriously, we can stop whenever, i just-" you bit at your lip briefly. "i just really want to make you feel good."

despite you telling him to not just say yes just for your sake, he had a hard time saying no after hearing your dark tone. any idea of saying no slipped his mind completely when you kissed him, slow and deliberate, your tongue tasting like cola and whiskey against his. he even went as far as pulling you into his lap, forgetting the context of the party surrounding him, his only thoughts about the way your thighs split over his lap and how soft your skin felt when his hands ran under your skirt.

"is this a yes?" you asked breathlessly, trying not to grind down on his pleather covered thighs.

he nodded at you with blown out eyes. "i'll try anything with you."

you grinned, finger brushing over the purposefully smeared lipstick across his cheek. "you're so cute."

he smiled at you, a hand running up your side as you leaned into him again. "not all the time," he muttered, and you couldn't help but gasp lightly when he bounced his leg under you. "want me to prove it?"

you kissed him again, unable to form any words to say yes but desperately needing to. when a hand landed on the back of your neck, you moaned into his mouth and pulled away, trying to catch your breath.

seokmin's hand pulled you into him again, and you whimpered lightly against his lips. "we need to go."

his lips barely left yours when he asked "where to?" and your fingers intertwined with his as you stood, pulling him off the couch to follow you.

you spotted jeonghan in the next room, and despite not knowing for sure if he noticed you two, you spun around playfully and pulled seokmin into you again, letting him kiss you deeply with his hands exploring your bare waist before you pulled away again to continue leading him away, the lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

the noise of the party dissipated as you pulled him up a flight of stairs and down a hall, stopping a few times to kiss against banisters in areas of jeonghan's home he had never been in.

"is this-" seokmin stopped himself as you closed the bedroom door, looking around at the grand but minimally decorated room - the main focal point being the large canopy bed against the far wall.

"jeonghan's," you said, pulling seokmin into you and resuming your feverish kisses. "it's the only bedroom i'm allowed in."

he briefly wondered what other rules the two of you had, but all but forgot about them when you were pushing his jacket off his shoulders, hands running over his chest. you tried to catch your breath as seokmin's mouth worked its way down your neck, but you couldn't stop whining.

"fuck, do you work out?" you asked breathlessly as he backed you up against the door, your hands not so subtly gripping at a bicep.

he chuckled against your neck. "i tune pianos, sometimes."

you briefly thought about him moving an upright to access the strings, and how you had to recruit the help of three friends to move the one jeonghan had bought for you. "you should come to my place, i've been meaning to get mine tuned for a while."

"you can just say you want to see me again," he said, a teasing smile on his lips as he pulled you off the door.

"you're sure about this, right?" you asked between kisses. "he'll notice we're missing and come looking. i don't want you to be surprised."

seokmin considered the concept of jeonghan walking in on his friend between your thighs, laid out on his bed, and the way his length flinched in his pants assured you that it was the best idea he had heard in a while. "i'm sure, i promise."

you bit at your lip again as you grinned, letting him overtake you with kisses as the back of your legs hit the bed.

"this little skirt, i swear to god," seokmin groaned, large hands squeezing at your ass through the fabric.

you gasped, your open mouth making seokmin groan deeper as he pulled you against his tented crotch. "jeonghan picked it out."

"i can tell," he said, staring down at the supposed team name you were meant to be cheering for. "angel, huh? does he call you that?"

"sometimes," you breathed, lips nipping at his neck. "he calls me the name on your chest more, though."

seokmin chuckled, almost completely forgetting about his own costume that he had mostly only picked because the shirt was so easy to find. he brought your lips back to his, kissing you deeply before pushing you down onto the soft mattress. "i want you to get comfortable."

you nodded excitedly, kicking off your shoes and watching him unbuckle his belt as you backed yourself up against the pillows. he kneed his way onto the bed, pants unzipped and shirt discarded, but stopped his undressing to crawl towards you, hands running over your split thighs. you groaned, hips rolling towards him just at the sight of him between your legs, and he gazed up at you sweetly.

"you're soaking through your panties."

you took a heaving breath. "you're super hot."

his lips skated over your inner thigh, and you gripped at the duvet as you tried to stifle a moan. his hands went under your thighs, squeezing at your ass before hooking under your panties, and you bit your lip to keep yourself from whining as he slowly pulled them off you, your skirt falling over your waist when you lifted your hips for him.

"oh, baby, look at you," he cooed, tongue darting out between his lips as he took in the sight. "is that all for me?"

you moaned, rolling your hips off the mattress again, staring at his shoulders as he settled. "fuck, seokmin, please-"

your pleas were interrupted by your own garbled moan as he put his tongue against your inner thigh, biting down on the soft flesh. your hand found his scalp, gripping as he sucked a sweet red rose into your thigh, kissing it gently before moving to repeat the action a little closer to your core.

"oh, god, s-seokmin-" you whined, bucking your hips against him. he gently held your wily hips down as he continued until he was satisfied with the marks, hoping they would stay a while. remind you of him when he wasn't around. his breath hit your core and you keened, desperately asking for his lips, but he only barely teased his tongue over your clit before planting his lips on your other thigh, drawing a shaky moan from you as you gripped his hair.

"fuck, please," you begged, wishing you could move your hips more freely, but his strong grip on you held you in place.

when seokmin decided he was happy with the delicate roses between your legs, he looked up to you, observing the way your chest heaved and you panted, your eyes blown to all hell. your fingers tightened in his hair when he rolled out his tongue, slowly dragging it through your folds.

you moaned, your voice sounding choppy and desperate even to you as your neck stretched out in pleasure. "g-god!"

he hummed against you, his lips kissing at your clit and tongue running over you alternately. you shook as he lapped at you, and he pulled his hands out from under your ridden up skirt in order to push your thighs back, allowing him more comfortable access as you groaned, blue stained fingers leaving his hair to grip at the duvet.

"fuck, seokmin, i'm already so close-"

he hummed again, pulling away but putting two fingers over your core instead, spreading your arousal through your folds and over your clit as he licked his lips. "is my mouth that good to you?"

you arched your back as he continued running his fingers over you. "it's so good."

he lapped at you again, making you let out a high pitched whine as he slowly slipped his fingers into your sweet, tight hole. your eyes shut and you moaned, squeezing his fingers as your arousal seeped out from around them. "your pussy is so cute," he muttered, eyes darting up to your face as you panted. he slowly began to curl his lean, long, instrument trained fingers in your core, pulling more pleas from your lips. "i bet it's cuter when you cum."

"fuck, please," you begged. "please make me cum."

seokmin groaned lightly as he sucked at your clit, rolling his hips against the mattress to relieve some of the pressure he felt from your fingers digging against his scalp, your taste on his lips, your whining moans in his ears.

you noticed the sound of the door, almost processing the meaning before your pleasure interrupted your own thought. "fuck, baby, right there!"

he groaned, digging his fingers further into you to spur your squealing as he flicked his tongue against you, and you practically thrashed against him as you came undone, your thighs pushing into his shoulders as your back arched against the mattress.

you whined dully when he pulled his mouth away from you, your fingers loosening their grip in his spray dyed hair. he never pulled his fingers out of you, not even as he crawled slowly over you, continuing to gently curl into you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into your chest.

"you started without me," jeonghan said finally, and seokmin smiled into your neck as you watched your sugar daddy pull off his tie, still whining lightly at the fingers in your cunt. "that wasn't what we agreed on."

"i- ah-" you gasped, thigh pressing against seokmin's arm when his thumb pushed against your clit. "i couldn't wait," you said, hooded eyes watching jeonghan approach.

"found yourself a cute toy, huh?" he quirked his eyebrow at the younger, noticing the way his shoulders rippled under your desperate fingers as he stood at the end of the bed. "are you gonna treat him nice, sweetheart?"

you nodded quickly, fingers finding seokmin's scalp again as you kissed him, loving the way you tasted on his lips. you gasped when he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, his hand running up your waist to hold you stay as he rut his clothed bulge into you, the feeling of cool pleather against your hot core making you moan against him.

"what do you want to do, sweetheart?" jeonghan prompted you, gently leaning against a bedpost as he adjusted himself in his pants

"i wanna ride," you said, breath fanning over seokmin's face as he blushed slightly. his red ears just made you move your hips again desperately. "fuck, seokmin, i need to ride you."

his movements stopped for a second, mind whirling with the idea of you bouncing on him. his thoughts were only interrupted by a voice.

"you heard her, seokmin."

he snapped into action, kissing you again as he shoved his slightly too tight pants down his hips, and you pushed him until he allowed you to roll him into his back. you tugged his pants down his legs, gulping at the bulge in his underwear.

"jesus, seokmin, you never said you were packing," jeonghan chuckled, observing the way you faltered when you noticed his length.

seokmin sucked in a labored breath when you ran your hands over his hips, teasing a thumb over his erection. "you never asked."

you tugged his underwear down over his hips, taking care to pull him gently out to avoid harm. you rolled your tongue out to draw a wet line up the underside of his heavy cock, enjoying the way it flinched up against you. 

"he likes tits," jeonghan said, shrugging off his blazer and walking to the side of the bed to toss it onto a chair. "lose the top, angel."

you smirked up at seokmin, suddenly extremely happy that the only one that interested you at this party was someone jeonghan knew. you slinked up his body to straddle his lap, the hem of your skirt teasing the head of his cock as it peeked out from under it. you kissed him first, and his hands ran up your thighs as he bucked his hips up to meet your bare core, but you hovered just out of reach. you sat up again, pulling the cheer top over your head and tossing it to the side.

seokmin groaned, hands finding your waist and running up your sides to squeeze gently at your breasts with his thumbs. "fuck, you're gorgeous."

"and you're huge," you said, finally grinding down against his length, pulling a deep groan from his chest. you backed up to stand his cock on end, pulling it against your stomach and practically choking when you saw how tall it stood, the tip far past the waistband of your skirt.

jeonghan whistled. "how are you gonna stuff all that in your tight little pussy, sweetheart?"

saliva gathered in your mouth at the thought. "like a good girl."

seokmin groaned again, hips bucking up to fuck into your hands. "stop teasing and take it, baby."

you got on your knees, positioning yourself over the head of his thick cock, and he practically bucked up into you when he felt your wetness at his tip. you gasped, sinking slowly, eyes watering slightly at the stretch and seokmin moaned, hands on your waist in support. you looked at jeonghan briefly, and he smiled, cock in hand, watching you as you sank slowly.

"stop," seokmin said, grip tightening on your waist. he panted as he held you in place, and you had an idea as to why he stopped you as you felt him pressing against your cervix. "i don't wanna hurt you."

his gentleness was a welcomed juxtaposition from jeonghan's usual intensity. you nodded, hands on his chest, then leaned forward to kiss him, gently fucking yourself on as much of his length as you could manage, readying yourself. his grip on your waist tightened, and he let out a beautiful whine when you dipped a little further onto him.

"careful," he breathed, and you sat up. your hands ran down his chest and over his stomach, then up your own body to gently coerce his fingers out of the deathgrip on your waist. he took the hint, running his hands up your torso and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

you groaned, your hips inching closer to his every time you bounced on his lap. it took everything in him to not take control, your pussy squeezing and pulling him further into you, the only sound in his ears your musical moans as you started to get desperate.

"fuck, you're so big," you said dumbly, unable to think of anything else. 

"you're so tight," seokmin said back. he hooked a thumb under your skirt, tugging it up to reveal how tightly your cunt hugged him. "fuck, you look so good filled up like that."

your hands found his thighs, leaning back as you rolled your hips over his. you choked out a moan, the angle nearly making you fold an instant. "d-daddy, can i cum?"

seokmin groaned and almost responded before jeonghan did. "go right ahead, angel. let him feel how good you are."

you sank down, your hips meeting seokmin's and a whining moan leaving you lips as he choked slightly. you fell forward onto his chest, giving him desperate, open mouthed kisses as you rolled your hips, your sensitive nub rubbing against his pelvis. you gasped, clutching at his hair as he pushed his hips up into yours, the coil in you snapping in you all while he muttered how good of a girl you were against your lips. his grip around you tightened as your grip around him did the same, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsating around him almost enough to get him off despite him steadying his hips as you shuddered on his chest.

"beautiful," jeonghan commented. "she looks good when you fuck her."

seokmin tried not to groan, but the involuntary movement of his hips triggered an unhidable moan from you. "never thought i'd enjoy being watched."

"i always knew you were a freak," the older said, continuing to pump himself. "you okay if i take a little control?"

seokmin finally looked over to his friend, eyes dropping to his cock as he gulped. "y-yeah."

"alright. sweetheart, time to get up. i want that skirt off."

you whined, grinding down on seokmin. he choked, and you dug your face into his neck.

"three..."

you whined again, louder this time, gripping a bicep as you took in a breath. "please, he feels so good-"

"two..."

you curled your toes in protest, and seokmin had the least control when you rolled your hips on his again, both of you letting out shaky moans. you heard your name as a warning, and you practically started crying from how badly you didn't want to remove yourself from him.

"y/n. one."

you caved finally, not wanting jeonghan to punish you in front of a guest, sitting yourself up suddenly and gasping at the feeling, seokmin's hands gripping your hips. you looked over to jeonghan, who had a smile on his face as he bit his lip gently.

"off, angel. you can have him again in a second."

you slowly pulled yourself off of seokmin's hard cock, and he had one hand keeping your skirt out of view, the other kneading reassuring circles in your thighs as you did. you both groaned when you managed to lift yourself off of him completely, and jeonghan watched your arousal drip from you onto seokmin's flushed cock.

"c'mere, sweetheart," jeonghan said, gesturing for you to come to the side of the bed where he stood.

you unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the mattress as you weakly kneed yourself over to him, thighs shaking. seokmin tucked one hand behind his head and wrapped the other around his cock, watching you intently as you came up to the eldest. he gripped your chin first, opening your mouth before him, and you rubbed your thighs together as you vocalised.

"embarrassed?" jeonghan asked, chuckling darkly when you nodded lightly. he spat in your mouth anyways. "don't let me make it to one next time."

you heard a groan behind you as you swallowed, then gasped when jeonghan's free hand found your ass, pulling you against him. he kissed you, and you had almost forgotten how his lips felt against yours, how his nimble tongue brushed against the back of your teeth in a way that made your knees wobble on the edge of the bed.

"i want him to ruin you," he muttered against your lips, grip tight on your jaw. "i want to see you fucked out on his fat cock, choking on my cum."

you nodded fervently, and felt the bed shift as seokmin sat up behind you. jeonghan smiled as he let you go, and you quickly backed up against the younger, gasping when his cock slipped between your thighs and his fingers pinched at your nipples, kneading your breasts tightly.

"fuck, she's incredible," he said, against your neck, and you couldn't help the sustained whine you let out. "i can't believe you never told me, han."

he chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "i knew she'd like you too much. but you'll always call me, right, sweetheart?"

you whined again, watching as jeonghan gently kneed onto the bed, just to brush his lips against yours.

"answer me."

you quivered, grinding down on seokmin's cock and feeling his lips on your neck, but still focusing on the face before you. "yes, daddy."

he smiled, placing a gentle kiss on your nose before backing up again. "hands and knees. give us a minute, okay, minnie?"

the younger nodded, but groaned when you dropped forward, watching the way his cock fit snugly between your thighs. "tell me when."

you stared up at jeonghan as he put a hand on his cock, another in your hair, and slowly guided himself towards your lips. you puckered your lips to meet him, then opened your mouth and rolled out your tongue, lapping at the tip of his cock, tongue gliding under it as you desperately tried to suck him into your waiting mouth.

"oh sweetheart," he said, watching you with hooded lids. "you really want this, don't you?"

you whined, pushing back against seokmin, making his breath hitch. jeonghan finally pushed his hips forward, fucking once into your wet mouth, and you moaned on his cock as it hit the back of your throat. seokmin couldn't help but buck into your thighs, slightly desperate for friction as he watched you drip all over him. he tested his voice once, then quietly asked if he could finger you.

you moaned again, and jeonghan smiled as he fucked your mouth. "sounds like she wants it."

you let out a muffled whine when seokmin slotted two fingers into your pussy, your mouth too full to properly vocalise how good it felt. when he added another finger, you almost collapsed, and likely would have if jeonghan hadn't been holding you up by your hair.

"fuck her," he commanded, holding you on his cock and watching the way you looked up at him as you realized what that meant.

seokmin pulled his fingers out of you and placed himself at your entrance in their stead, sinking into you slowly. your eyes rolled back, drool dripping from either side of jeonghan's cock as seokmin filled you out.

"fuck," he said, gripping your hips and trying to stop himself from pushing all the way in. "fuck, you're so wet."

you let out another muffled noise, pushing back onto him as he choked. jeonghan watched the tears well up in your eyes, mouth stretched around his cock.

"angel," he paused, pulling from you slightly. "are we still green?"

you nodded, rolling your tongue around him to prove it. he smiled at you, then quietly told seokmin to fuck you full.

and he did. you whined and babbled, every thrust of seokmin's hips pushing you onto jeonghan's cock until he hit your throat. you didn't know how long it continued. you heard a honey voice you were familiar with, but you couldn't tell if the teasing words were directed towards you or the man behind you. you couldn't even register fully what was happening when you felt fingers circling your clit, and you wailed as you came, thighs quaking and throat full.

"oh, fuck, i'm gonna cum," seokmin said quickly. he gasped. "fuck, can i cum?"

jeonghan grinned, one eye closing more than the other as he huffed, feeling close to his own release. "fill her up."

seokmin jerked into you three more times before he steadied his hips and let out a deep, melodic groan, buried deep in you as his cum leaked out around his thick cock. you were still moaning, unsure if you could ever stop making noises, but quickly pulled yourself together as jeonghan came down your throat.

you choked once, but swallowed around him, and he gripped his fingers against your scalp as you did. when he finally removed himself from your mouth, you panted and collapsed onto the bed, unable to catch your breath with seokmin still hilt deep in you.

"what a perfect girl," jeonghan muttered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead, gazing down at you. "smart, funny, and an angel in bed. and you-" he said, smirking at seokmin when he finally lifted his head from your spine, even if it was only for a moment. "you surprised me. if you're down, i'd like to do this again."

he tried to catch his breath, but couldn't help the way his hips involuntarily pushed into yours, fucking his cum deeper into you. he just nodded against your spine as you moaned, feeling his cum drip down your thighs.

jeonghan tsked. "you got your hair dye all over my white sheets."

[shadowsong26fic]

Coming Attractions!

I haven’t gone to bed yet so it still counts as Monday, lol. XD

Plug for my writing discord--it’s pretty quiet, but mostly intended to be a slightly more interactive version of this blog.

Also, open question night, though I can’t promise I’ll get to it before tomorrow ((I also still owe at least one prompt fill from a meme I reblogged like...a week ago...))

Anyway.

This is going to be short because I got very little done last month, whoops.

Star Wars:

- Not really much has changed from last month; still poking at Precipice!verse and possible ideas for next year’s SWBB. Pretty much everything else is on the back burner.

BSG:

- Didn’t get as much writing done as I’d hoped over the last month. But in order to Motivate myself, I’m going to shoot for a Halloween debut for The Other Battlestar, which means I need to finish. Like. Naming people. And come up with a title I actually like, lol...

- Maybe I’ll do some preview/etc. posts here as bonus content; giving some details about the fourish OCs who will end up playing major roles? To both keep me on task/motivated and hopefully pique some interest...we’ll see.

Castlevania:

- If I could just get this next chapter to cooperate, lol. There are so many things I want to get to! I just have to get past that...

Original Fic:

- I don’t think I wrote anything original this month, alas. Other than poking at things in my head, as one does. I did go to a library booksale, which reminded me that I have at least three half-planned projects that I need to finish researching (an alternate history where Henry VIII dies in 1536; a novel about Judas Iscariot; a novel about What If Mordred Was A Girl) so maybe I’ll see some movement on that front. For the stuff I already post on an origfic community on Dreamwidth, I really should. like. post something plot-advancing, shouldn’t I...

NaNo Plans:

I’m still figuring out exactly how I want to play it this year. And I think a lot of it depends on what I get done re: TOB and Incinctus and Protectors/Preludes over this month, because I might decide to just narrow my focus onto one of them. But most likely I’ll do what I’ve been doing the past few years, which is set myself a wordcount goal (which may or may not be greater than the 50k standard) but I can fill it with Any (fulltext) fiction writing (I think I decided outline/bullet-point form fics counted for 2/3 the wordcount when I did one during NaNo a couple years back? We’ll see if it’s relevant).

...and, yeah, I think that’s about it. Like I said, a short update...hopefully the next time I do this I’ll have more to report!

What are you guys working on?

[scrawnytreedemon]

Can’t sleep, mind going precisely 56 miles an hour, so I think I’ll finally get around to writing this.

Couples days back, I went ahead and finally psyched myself up to do the Zant bossfight.

Because I’d picked up where I’d left off yesterday, which was just before the boss room, obviously I was taken back to the beginning of the area. This gave the whole ordeal a trek, if a short one, what with the Palace of Twilight’s laughable length, and me more time to think.

I didn’t want to do this.

It sounds stupid, but I really didn’t want to do this. I’d cried the day before trying to psych myself up and failing, and I’d cried then, before the boss door, stalling by sweeping away the crystal-fog as best I could-- A meagre attempt at housekeeping, and a futile one. Of course I couldn’t. This isn’t that sort of game. This isn’t a game for failed attempts at kindness, at least trying to clean this awful, awful place for an awful, awful man going through awful, awful things. I was supposed to be a hero.

Heroes don’t make beds.

They don’t wash dishes, or hang laundry, or hold a rival’s hand,

They kill.

The trek didn’t stop past the door, either.

We still had to walk up the stairs. To the throne.

To him.

And I was there, laugh-crying, wishing I didn’t have to. That I could skip this pathetic ordeal.

I tried to turn around and leave.

Despite it only looking like a larger one of the many, many doors we’ve passed through this awful, nonsensical, poorly-designed excuse for a palace that no one could ever live in, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t any turning back. I had to go forward, because this is an action game, and violence is key.

The game takes the reigns. Link walks up to the throne, sword drawn, despite my deliberate decision to sheathe it. The narrative begins again. Midna sneers, and throws a taunt at him.

Zant sits, and smiles. Smiles like he thinks he still has some form of control, or knows full well he’s lost it.

You know, when I was working through the Palace of Twilight, I’d come to the realisation that... Zant locked himself in the throneroom. From the outside. Logistically, despite the good laugh I had over this guy locking himself in from the fucking outside, where his opponents can grab the key, he could get out easily-- teleportation and all. But even that aside, it still spoke to a level of hasty panic, that he would even keep the key outside, behind a waterfall of yet more shitty fog-crytals in the hopes that would deter them. Deter us.

How long had the guy been here, alone in that room?

We all know what happens next. Despite this being my first playthrough, I’ve probably seen this cutscene a dozen times. Zant has what amounts to an overly-dramatised autistic meltdown expositing himself and his motivations. That he was upset and felt like everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him. That he was angry, angry and fed up of being relegated to a half-existence. Midna retorts, Zant wails some more.

What gets me is that, when Ganondorf visits him, engulfs him in this flaming ball of fucked-magical-fuckery, he just. Stares. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Ganondorf speaks as though he’s already decided that, yes, you will do, we will make a pact and rule Everything together; I will live on through you.

Did Zant even agree to this?

I think, subconsciously or not, he accepted it, but it begs the question of whether or not Zant was capable enough to partake in it.

Whatever the answer, he’s clearly not capable enough to partake in this. This fight.

It’s laughable, that I’m expected to find victory in this.

The fight was a fucking slog, 90% of the time. Some of these boss-battles I hadn’t played in nearly two years thanks to the impromptu hiatuses I’m so fond of taking, so I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing half the time-- And when I did, it lagged to shit everytime this poor bastard fired projectiles, because I was playing on the gamepad, because why on earth would I play this on the goddamn TV? It was a sad, pitiful encounter that I had to laugh my way through and also mumble “what the fuck“ on several occasions because I guess somebody at Nintendo ate cheese before bed and the dev team were so desperate to patch something together for this guy’s sudden crisis that they threw it in-- I’m obviously having a good laugh, but What The Fuck.

I knock the guy down in the last phase of the battle, the only one where he isn’t mimicking something else and dizzies himself spinning like a hyperactive child, and the game takes the reigns again. Midna prepares her hair. I look away-- I’ve seen it before, many times before, and it’s cartoonishly grotesque for a game that relies heavily on somber semi-realism. Midna has her own crisis-- And yeah, yeah bossbabe, I feel it.

It cuts back, and there’s a Heart Container on the guy’s throne.

I.

I killed a guy, and now I’m collecting his lifeforce. I stormed into the bunged-up attempt of a fortress conjured up as a last defense by a man who’s fallen head-first into insanity, tore through any meagre security measure like butter, murder the guy when he’s having an episode, he dies a fucked up death, and then I collect his lifeforce.

Is that fucked up or what?

For all of Zelda’s endless violence, rarely do you actually kill “people.“ It’s the kind of stuff reserved for the end, for Ganondorf, or some other corrupted nigh-demigod on the brink of losing their humanity, or never having possessed it.

We kill Zant.

Zant barely puts up a fight, and we kill him. Zant gets summoned from the netherworld by Ganondorf in Hyrule Warriors; we put him there in the first place.

If we were to view this from a literal, like this shit actually happened and these characters are to be held accountable standpoint, then what we did was justified-- If not wholly, then mostly. Zant got power-hungry, committed what amounts to a bio-terroristic coup on the government, disfigured his rival, a woman notorious for her beauty, then proceeded to attempt the same thing with Hyrule, leading to the indirect death of at least the people who got transfigured into Shadow-Beasts in Kakariko, and attacks you first, then yeah, no biggie?

But I’ll be fucking real with you chief, I don’t find it... I don’t know, persuasive? Effective? Compelling, would be the best word, to think of it that way?

What Zant is, is a narrative tool. One that was set up to be this big, bad interloper who you need to Take Down and Save Everything, as per usual Zelda format. The justification for why we should hate him, if I’m going to be honest, feels contrived, most of the time. He does some bad thing off-screen, Midna gets pissed, Midna and everyone within a 12-mile radius explains why we should be pissed in a way that often feels borderline developer-hand-y-- And that’s. Well that’s how Zelda usually is.

It’s justification to commit violence.

--To be clear, I don’t say this in a political sense. I mean it in the very literal “hit/kill a guy“ sense. And in all honesty, that’s kinda inherent to the ethos of action games. We enjoy catharsis-- We enjoy taking down big things, it’s satisfying! I’ve played a little Hyrule Warriors-- Loved the feel of it. Violence is inherent to even the most benign of action games, and it is what it is.

Where it falls short for me, is that with Zant, I don’t feel like I’m taking down some great foe that I should justifiably hate.

I feel like I’m a clearly more equipped person breaking into a room, and bludgeoning a mentally ill person.

I’m autistic. I may slot in easier to NT society than most, but I am autistic, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable to see something I’ve fucking gone through be used carelessly as flavour for a prelude to violence. I have meltdowns. They’re relatively rare, and mostly in my room, alone, but I’ve also experienced one out in public. It was only sobbing, but there’s a special kind of horror, of humilation in knowing other people, strangers, family, what have you, are seeing it, and all you can think is how much you failed.

I can’t fully articulate why I cried so much during this, quite frankly, menial ordeal. I’m half-embarrassed to even talk about it-- Because then that means caring too much, and I can’t care too much over a poorly-justified character that wasn’t even intended to be sympathised with and that most of the fandom laughs at. And I can’t say I blame them.

I guess at the end of the day it comes down to the ever-present pity; some strange, childish commiseration I’d indulged in ever since I was six and cooing over Bowser and how awful everything was for him, that despite my continuous efforts, I can’t ever seem to explain.

I didn’t like the Zant fight. It felt empty,

And all did was sweep cobwebs and try to turn back.