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love-and-monsters · 5 years ago

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Wyvern Prince 5

Preparing the prince for the announcement of the treaty meant having to rise well before the sun to prepare yourself first. The dress you wore for formal occasions was pretty, and you were at least glad for the occasion to wear it. It was deep red, with a yellow ribbon at your waist, much brighter than the usual black and white of your standard dress. Finally, you cinched your hair back with a gold band. It was especially striking against your black hair. You were happy for the occasion to show it off, at least. It had taken several weeks of saving to afford it.

The prince was dead asleep when you arrived at his room with breakfast. “Sire,” you said, carefully balancing he tray on your shoulder. “Sire?”

He blinked his eyes open. “Ugh.”

You smiled. “Good morning, sire.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. “It cannot be morning already,” he complained.

“Did you have a difficult night, sire?” you asked, setting the tray down on the small table. Thankfully the kitchen staff had been amenable to cooking a steak for the prince’s breakfast. It made your mouth water.

“Something along those lines,” he said as he got slowly to his feet. “You look nice.”

You dipped your head in a slight bow. “Thank you, sire. All of us servants will be in our best attire, as is traditional for a state announcement. You will also be expected to dress formally.”

The prince nodded absently, moving to the bookshelf. He flicked through a few of his notes, then sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any time for last minute changes?”

“To your speech, sire? Not if you would like to be ready on time. Is there something you feel needs to be changed?”

“Not in particular,” the prince said. “I suppose I simply feel that if I stare at it for long enough, it will become perfect.”

“Are you nervous, sire?” you asked. The prince made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl.

“I am very much hoping not to start a war,” he said.

“It is unlikely you will, sire. Even if you upset the townspeople, the queen is still on your side.”

“My worry is more that the townspeople will do something to upset Tamaka- the local wyvern,” he added in reference to your blank expression. “She will retaliate and I doubt the queen will be able to overlook that.”

“I suppose not,” you agreed. “But even that seems unlikely. All you have to do it read off the announcement. You will be perfectly fine.”

The prince gave a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you.” With a deep breath, he started to eat breakfast.

Despite the mouthwatering smell, the prince seemed unwilling to eat more than a few bites of his steak. Finally, he stood up and wiped his mouth off. “We should prepare,” he said.

You opened his closet and pulled out the set of official royal robes he’d been given. They were green, a bright, verdant shade, though they were ridged with royal red and gold. They were designed to be worn over a pale yellow set of pants and a shirt. “Put these on,” you said, offering him the outfit. “Then we can work on the adornment.”

The prince pulled on the clothes dutifully as you inspected his closet for the belt and choker that marked him as a royal emissary. Then you located the hair ornaments and simple wreath that marked him as a ruler in his own right. Finally, you found the silver jewelry he’d been given. It was as much a gift from the queen as it was a subtle jab. The fact that they were silver and not gold nudged at the fact that he was a less important ruler than her majesty. It was even cleverer because the prince couldn’t refuse the gift or even refuse to wear it, for that would be taken as an insult to the queen’s generosity. It was fortunate that such a subtle gesture had gone right over the prince’s head. You had elected not to inform him of the nuance.

“Sit, sire,” you said, gesturing to a chair. “I need to put your hair up.”

He sat and held perfectly still as you began to work through his hair with a comb. It was fine and soft, but working around the horns was difficult. They hewed close to the skull, just over the hair, so you had to carefully move your comb around them. With some careful and clever motions, you were able to loop the hair around them in a pattern that both disguised and accentuated their shape. After gathering the hair into a ponytail, you clipped it into place with his hair ornaments and placed the silver wreath on top. Once that was complete, you could move on to placing his choker and necklace, then belt and other silver jewels. It took well over two hours to finish preparing him.

“Does that feel all right, sire?” you asked as you finished clipping his belt into place. He shrugged, peering at himself in a full-length mirror.

“My tail,” he said, twisting his head to peer at it. The robes hadn’t been tailored well for his tail, it seemed. He had room for it, but only barely, forcing him to hold it close to his body. “But I suppose there’s nothing that can be done about that?” He looked at you, clearly hoping you would fix it, but not truly expecting you to.

“I’m sorry, sire, but that would require far better tailoring skills than I have. I know how to stich closed holes, but that is about it.” The prince’s mouth set into an unhappy line, but he said nothing more. “We should head to the town center. Can you sit in your robe?”

The line of his mouth became unhappier. “I doubt it.”

“Then you will have to stand. Apologies, sire.”

He waved a hand, causing the band on his wrist to jangle. “I have had worse. You said we should depart? Then let us go.”

You carefully took up his notes before leaving with him. Soldiers were already stationed at the door of the inn and the instant you and the prince stepped outside, they dropped into formation around you. They pressed in close around you, nearly shoving you against the prince. He grabbed your shoulder, carefully steadying you. “Watch it,” he snapped at the guard, who grumbled apologetically.

The reason for the soldiers became obvious rather quickly. Townspeople crowded the streets, straining to catch a glimpse of royalty. The soldiers pressed back against the mass of people, a few of them even brandishing shields at a few of the rowdier ones. The prince twisted his head back and forth, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter with them?” he asked, stooping slightly to whisper in your ear.

“They’re excited to see you, sire. You’re royalty,” you whispered back. The prince looked nonplussed. “Have you never addressed your subjects before?”

“I have- or at least I’ve been there when my parents have. But wyverns don’t do this. They aren’t fanatical about these sorts of things.” The prince frowned at the crowd around him. “This is unsettling.”

“Royalty is important, sire. You are royalty, so you are important.” You didn’t dare let any irritation enter your tone, not while the prince already seemed upset, but you were annoyed. People wanted to see him, to get a glimpse of divine royalty, and he behaved as though they were a raving mob.

Perhaps the prince sensed your irritation, or perhaps he was simply too unsettled, because he fell silent and did not speak again as you made your way to the town center. In the center of the dirt road was a small dais, made of stone. It had been decorated with hastily dyed cloth, in traditional royal red, though patches of it were uneven and pinkish. The soldiers remained around us until you reached the platform, when they parted to let the prince and you stand upon it. You offered the prince his notes.

“You’ll be wonderful, sire,” you said. “Just give the speech.”

He nodded, shuffled through his notes, and took a deep breath. You gave him a reassuring smile and took the center of the dais. “Attention!” you called in the loudest vice you could manage. A rolling hush spread over the crowd. "His royal highness, prince of the wyverns, shall address you regarding the royal treaty forged between the wyverns and the land of Valess.” You turned and swept into a low bow, gesturing for the prince to step forward.

The prince approached the front of the stage as you straightened up. His fire-bright eyes swept over the assembled crowd. In a moment, it seemed all of his previous nervousness had fallen away. His shoulders straightened, his chin lifted, and his expression grew settled and stern. The sun gleamed across the ornaments in his hair and the silver around his neck. It seemed to illuminate his finer features with an almost unearthly glow. An indefinable emotion swelled within your chest and stomach. He looked royal, perfect, almost unearthly. He looked very far above you.

“I have traveled here from the land of the wyvern in order to forge a treaty with your people regarding the settlement of this land,” the prince began. His voice boomed out over the crowd, full of regal purpose. “Years ago, it was agreed between the humans and the wyvern that this land would remain part of the wyvern territories. No humans were to settle here.” He paused and an unsettled murmur swept through the crowd. “But,” the prince continued, “things have changed. The land originally promised to humans cannot fit all of you and still support your farms. So we have decided to modify the treaty in order to fix this issue. From now on, as long as the town remains here, you will pay a tribute to the wyvern occupying this territory as a replacement for her lost hunting territory. Every two weeks, you will offer her a prey animal and she will allow you to live and grow food here. You will not encroach further into her territory. Failure to comply with this new treaty will result in retaliation by your crown and by my people.”

The prince stepped back and lowered his head. Murmurs rolled through the crowd. You could see a shift of uncertainty, but no cries or revolts. You released a breath. At the very least, the people seemed amenable. The prince glanced at you. You smiled back.

It took only a few seconds for the guards to close in again and usher you off the platform. The prince fell in beside you. “That went well, I think,” he said.

“I believe so, sire,” you said. “We’ll have to make sure they listen, but as long as they do, this problem should be solved.” You glanced at him. His expression was stoic and unreadable. “Are you going to return to your home now, sire?”

“No. I am to have a residence here for at least a year, just to ensure our nations can continue to negotiate. Likely I will be an ambassador for the wyverns for years to come.”

His expression and voice were solemn, but you couldn’t tell if it was due to tiredness or unhappiness. Whichever it was, you decided it didn’t matter. You just helped him back to his room and started to undress him.

He allowed you to take down his hair and remove his ornamentation, but when you started to help with his robes, he waved you off. “I told you to take the day off after you helped with the speech,” he said. “You can go now. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you certain, sire?” you asked.

“Positive. I’ve barely seen you do anything except work since I met you. Go on.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Do as you will.”

You bowed. “If you wish it, sire.” When he nodded again, you left the room.

After changing into the only set of casual clothes you owned, you headed into the market. Your coin purse pressed against your hip through your skirt and, dressed plainly, you were free to peruse the market at your leisure. That was one of the good things about being a servant. Even an important servant’s face wasn’t remembered next to royalty. Out of your clothes that marked you as a servant, you could have been a simple traveler.

The market wasn’t as interesting as you had thought it would be. You’d saved a tidy sum from your time as a servant; you didn’t really have much to spend it on, after all. And this wasn’t a city, where you might have been able to purchase an interesting trinket or two. The market was mostly focused on materials needed for survival or work, materials you had no use for. After hours of examining the wares and speaking to the townspeople, you finally purchased a few biscuits and started to wander back through the town in the direction of the inn.

A dog barked and snarled ahead of you and a cloaked figure scrambled out of the way. The cloak was strange. It was made of a green material that seemed somewhere between leather and cloth and shimmered slightly in the late-afternoon light.

Your eyes narrowed. You knew that cloak. “Sire?”

The cloaked figure turned toward you and you caught a glimpse of cornsilk blond hair and bright fiery eyes. “What are you doing without the guards?” you asked, hurrying toward him.

“Shh.” He brought a finger to his lips and hauled you into a shady point between two shops. “I left without them. I don’t need guards. I’m a wyvern.”

“You’re still not supposed to go out with the guards. You saw what these people were like before with you. The guards keep them from swarming you.”

The prince frowned. “That is true. But as long as I stay in the cloak, they don’t seem to notice.”

“No one would expect royalty to walk around on their own,” you said. “No one is looking very closely at you.”

“Then I am fine,” he said. “I only wanted to look around.” With that, he walked out of the alleyway and headed through the town. Uncertain what else to do, you took off after him.

The prince seemed content to merely wander around town and look at people from a distance, though you suspected that was born at least partially of necessity. If he spoke or looked people in the face, he was all too recognizable as a prince. Still, you found yourself constantly on edge, waiting for the crowd to suddenly realize who was there and turn. It was a relief when you found yourself on the edge of the town, where the crowd thinned.

“Sire,” you said in your most respectful tone, “you have to be aware of your status. You’re fortunate no one saw you, but if they had, I would not have been able to do much for you.”

“Why?” The prince was staring off into the woods, expression stony. “What reason could they have to treat me like that?”

“You are royalty, sire. Important. Divine, some would say. They want to see you because you are the most important person they likely will ever see.”

“Do you think I’m divine?” The prince turned to look at you and, as bright as his eyes were, there was something distant and cool in them. “That I’m that important?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze. You looked at the ground. “Of course, sire. You’re royal.”

The prince let out a disappointed huff. “Humans. I will never understand the lot of you.” He slumped against a tree.

You glanced up at him. He was no longer looking at you, just staring into the woods. “Sire?” you prompted.

“I did read about it, you know. The idea that royals are rulers because they are better at it than common folk, that they are indisputably different and better than those they rule over. But I didn’t truly think anyone would believe such a thing. Not something that was so clearly false.” He gave a hollow laugh. “But they do. And you! I didn’t think you would believe it.”

“Sire?” There was something strange, almost strangled, in his voice. It was unnerving.

“Wyverns don’t rule like this,” he continued. “Ask any wyvern what they think of my family and none of them would tell you that we are divine or that we have any right to rule. We earned our position through a display of our abilities. Should we fail, we will be thrown from our position and another will take our place. Nothing more, nothing less. Our rule is not ordained. It is exchangeable.” He looked back at you. “I have always known that I am the same as any of my subjects, in all the ways that matter. Do you understand?”

You stared at him. His eyes were intent. “I… don’t know, sire. I’m sorry.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, then sighed. “You don’t. That’s all right. I suppose I understand why.” He took you gently by your shoulders, looking down at you with eyes as bright and warm as candle flames. “Just know that you are just as important as I am.”

His hands slipped from your shoulders and he walked past you, back into town. You stared after him for a few seconds. You weren’t quite sure you caught his meaning, but the words felt important. Warmth swelled in your chest as you traced the words with your lips. You are just as important as I am.

The prince was nearly within the town at that point. You picked up your skirts and ran after him.

#exophilia #wyvern prince #wyvern #monsterxhuman #monster boyfriend #monster romance

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theladypirate · 5 years ago

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all the mannerisms questions for Murk. dew it. And the first 10 for Blessing. :3c

How boy here we go, Murk is my firbolg life cleric and I fucked them up real good in their backstory

1.Meeting someone for the first time

A little shy, polite, very worried about what kind of impression they're giving. Probably quiet.

2.Around someone they want to impress

Bashful, a little clumsy bc they're overthinking things, eager to please.

3.When they’re with someone they dislike

They withdraw a bit, they're nervous and jumpy, worried about physical altercation, ready to try to leave at a moments notice. Fake smile, doesn't reach their eyes.

4.In their workplace/occupation

Efficient, precise, even confident. They're a healer, they're good at healing, it's what they know how to do and really the only thing they think they're good for.

5.Spending time with family

They were an orphan and they never got adopted but the idea of family was always... soft. In their head. People who cared about them and would have their back like they have their family's. They're starting to realize that's what the crew of the Scarlet Ibis is... and they really hope that if they're useful enough they can stay.

6.With their closest friend/s

They're somewhat playful, when they let their shields down. They like to gently tease people and they are SO supportive.

7.Around someone they’re attracted to

Very attentive, and wanting to know all about them, delighted to know every new detail, a little shy, a little hopeful, and always very aware of how the person is feeling

8.With a lover

Murk has never had a "lover" but they have had sex. Its something of a right of passage in the Grand Wharf, and they def enjoyed it but they wouldnt seek it out on their own. I think they would probably be just ridiculously soft, and probably take up poetry.

9.When they want to be left alone

Tight, pinched smile, closed off body language, looking for an out but not able to just say they needed to be alone.

10.When they feel they are in danger

Anxious, white knuckle grip on their mace, hyper aware of their surroundings. It's an unfortunately familiar feeling.

11.Something makes them insecure

Will not make eye contact, almost ashamed, absolutely believes the insecurity is justifiably a flaw.

12.Experiencing loss

Curled in on themselves, making themselves as small as possible, somewhere nobody can see them, bc being vulnerable in front of someone is dangerous

13.Proud of an achievement

A shy smile, they tug at their braid a little and fiddle with their holy symbol and blush just a bit.

14.When something pisses them off

They have a slow temper and when it reaches a boiling point it's not explosive, it's cold. They go still and focused and can be very very vicious. They would never do that to someone they cared about tho, bc they know what that kind of thing can do to someone.

15.Looking forward to something

They hum and cant hold still, and they smile and fiddle with their hair.

16.Nervous about an uncertainty

Wringing their hands, anxiety and pacing and spiralling into worst case scenarios.

17.When they’re overwhelmingly bored

Theyll organize everything over and over again, or pray, or clean. They're not good at being still.

18.Just done something embarrassing

Burying their face in their hands and hiding, possibly tearing up, running away

19.Suppressing their emotions

"Everything is fine!" Smiling and forcing cheerfulness, even as they start shaking, clenched fists to keep the shaking from being very obvious

20.When they’re running late

Scatterbrained, forgetful, stressed, running in circles and talking to themselves

21.When they’re sick

They drag themselves out of bed and make themselves eat and take medicine and slog through the day and refuse to lay down unless someone else makes them

22.Training/working out

They're dedicated and methodical, focused. They want to get it right.

23.Trying to court/seduce someone

They've never tried, actually. I think probably they would wear something sexy, then lose their nerve and put on their robe and pretend they didn't try. They aren't really in the headspace to do anything like that rn.

24.When they’re lying

They do NOT want to be lying, they wince visibly when they lie, they babble and gesture and ramble, especially when it's to someone they care about. If they don't know or care about the person they're lying to then they might be able to lie better, but they still actively dislike doing it.

25.Trying something new

Cautiously optimistic

Blessing is a tiefling monk and every time I try to get into her head it's just *Wii menu music*

1.Meeting someone for the first time

She has absolutely no concept of stranger danger, possibly bc shes 8ft tall including horns and able to yeet most things away from her thanks to her impressive muscles and complete disregard for the laws of physics.

2.Around someone they want to impress

Idk if she ever actually cares to impress anyone ever, she Does Not Care about social status and if you dont like her thats your problem.

3.When they’re with someone they dislike

She would just leave. She doesn't care. She wont spend a single second doing something she doesn't wanna. If she had no choice but to stay near them, she would probably just pretend they dont exist. They speak to her? Suddenly she cant hear. If they try to get I to her personal space she will throw them and/or stunning strike them.

4.In their workplace/occupation

Singular focus and drive, absolutely no guiding morals or principles. She was *technically* a junior apprentice alchemist, and she likes to make potions, and is even good at it! But unless you ask for a specific one, chances are whatever she makes will be effective but... questionably useful.

5.Spending time with family

She loves her family so much, shes so relaxed around them, they climb her like shes part of the environment. It's not at all unusual to find 2-3 gnome cousins or siblings hanging off her at any given time.

6.With their closest friend/s

I'm... actually not sure shes ever had friends before? Like... family, absolutely, but friends? She was sort of sheltered growing up, so I think shes still learning what it's like to have those.

7.Around someone they’re attracted to

Probably asks to spar, tries to show off a bit and probably overdoes it, absolutely just tells them she likes them with no qualms.

8.With a lover

Shes never had one, but shes not opposed to the idea.

9.When they want to be left alone

I mean.... she will just go. Shes very good about telling people what she needs. She'll just say "I need to be alone rn" and then go... do that.

10.When they feel they are in danger

I'm not even sure Blessing understands what danger even is she probably has some kind of self preservation instinct but hell if I know what it is. She wants to punch things and make potions and everything else about her is a mystery

#blessing #murk #god these are both very fun charavyers to play #in very distinctly different ways

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grigori77 · 5 years ago

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2019 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. FROZEN 2 – so, another year, then, and once again Disney doesn’t QUITE manage to net the animated feature top spot on my list, but it’s not for lack of trying – this long-awaited sequel to the studio’s runaway hit musical fantasy adventure is just what we’ve come to love from the House of Mouse, but more importantly it’s a most worthy sequel, easily on a par with the much beloved origin. Not much of a surprise given the welcome return of all the key people, from directors Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee (who also once again wrote the screenplay) to composer Christophe Beck and songwriters Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, as well as all the key players in the cast. It’s business as usual in the kingdom of Arendelle, where all is seemingly peaceful and tranquil, but Queen Elsa (Idina Menzel) is restless, haunted by a distant voice that only she can hear, calling to her from a mysterious past she just can’t place … and then she accidentally awakens the four elemental spirits, sending her homeland into mystical turmoil, prompting her to embark on a desperate search for answers with her sister Princess Anna (Kristen Bell), ice harvester Kristoff (Jonathan Groff), his faithful reindeer companion Sven, and, of course, living snowman Olaf (Josh Gad). Their quest leads them into the Enchanted Forest of Northuldra, a neighbouring kingdom, ruled by simple, elemental magic, that has remained cut off from Arendelle for decades, where they discover dark, hidden truths about their own family’s past and must make peace with the spirits if they’re to save their home and their people. So, typical Disney family fantasy fare, then, right? Well, Frozen 2 certainly dots all the Is and crosses all the Ts, but, like the original, this is no jaded blockbuster money spinner, packed with the same kind of resonant power, skilful inventiveness and pure, show-stopping WOW-factor as its predecessor, but more importantly this is a sequel that effectively carves out a fresh identity for itself, brilliantly taking the world and characters in interesting new directions to create something fresh, rewarding and worthwhile on its own merit. The returning cast are all as strong as ever, Menzel and Bell in particular ably powering the story, while it’s nice to see both Groff and Gad getting something new to do with their own characters too, even nabbing their own major musical numbers; there’s also a welcome slew of fresh new faces to this world, particular Sterling K. Brown (This is Us, Black Panther, The Predator) as lost Anrendelle soldier Mattias and former Brat Pack star Martha Plimpton as Yelena, leader of the lost tribe of Northuldra. Once again this is Disney escapism at its very best, a heart-warming, soul-nourishing powerhouse of winning humour, emotional power and child-like wonder, but like the first film the biggest selling point is, of course, that KILLER soundtrack, with every song here a total hit, not one dud among them, and there are even ear-worms here to put Let It Go to shame – Into the Unknown was touted as the major hit, and it is impressive, but I was particularly affected by Groff’s unashamedly full-bore rendition of Lost in the Woods, a bona fide classic rock power ballad crafted in the fashion of REO Speedwagon, while the undeniable highlight for me is the unstoppable Show Yourself, with Menzel once again proving that her incredible voice is a natural force all in itself. Altogether, then, this is an absolute feast for the eyes, the ears AND the soul, every inch the winner that its predecessor was and also EASILY one of Disney’s premier animated features for the decade. So it’s quite the runner-up, then …

19. ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD – since his explosion onto the scene twenty-seven years ago with his runaway smash debut Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino has become one of the most important filmmakers of his generation, a true master of the cinematic art form who consistently delivers moving picture masterpieces that thrill, entertain, challenge and amuse audiences worldwide … at least those who can stomach his love of unswerving violence, naughty talk and morally bankrupt antiheroes and despicably brutal villains who are often little more than a shade different from one another. Time has moved on, though, and while he’s undoubtedly been one of the biggest influences on the way cinema has changed over the past quarter century, there are times now that it’s starting to feel like the scene is moving on in favour of younger, fresher blood with their own ideas. I think Tarantino can sense this himself, because he recently made a powerful statement – after he’s made his tenth film, he plans to retire. Given that OUATIH is his NINTH film, that deadline is already looming, and we unashamed FANS of his films are understandably aghast over this turn of events. Thankfully he remains as uncompromisingly awesome a writer-director as ever, delivering another gold standard five-star flick which is also most definitely his most PERSONAL work to date, quite simply down to the fact that it’s a film ABOUT film. Sure, it has a plot (of sorts, anyway), revolving around the slow decline of the career of former TV star Rick Dalton (Leonardo Dicaprio), who languishes in increasing anonymity in Hollywood circa 1969 as his former western hero image is being slowly eroded by an increasingly hacky workload guest-starring on various syndicated shows as a succession of punching-bag heavies for the hero to wale on, while his only real friend is his one-time stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), a former WW2 hero with a decidedly tarnished reputation of his own; meanwhile new neighbours have moved in next door to further distract him – hot-as-shit young director Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha), riding high on the success of Rosemary’s Baby, and his new wife Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). Certainly this all drives the film, along with real-life events involving one of the darkest crimes in modern American history, but a lot of the time the plot is largely coincidental – Quentin uses it as a springboard to wax lyrical about his very favourite subject and pay loving (if sometimes irreverently satirical) tribute to the very business he’s been indulging in with such great success since 1992. Sure, it’s also about “Helter Skelter” and the long shadow cast by Charles Manson and his band of murderous misfits, but this is largely incidental, as we’re treated to long, entertaining interludes as we follow Rick on a shoot as the bad guy in the pilot for the Lancer TV series, visit the notorious Spahn Ranch with Cliff as he’s unwittingly drawn into the lion’s den of the deadly Manson Family, join Robbie’s Tate as she watches “herself” in The Wrecking Crew, and enjoy a brilliant montage in which we follow Rick’s adventures in Spaghetti westerns (and Eurospy cinema) after he’s offered a chance to change his flagging fortunes, before the film finally builds to a seemingly inevitable, fateful conclusion that Tarantino then, in sneakily OTT Inglourious Basterds style, mischievously turns on its head with a devilish game of “What If”. The results are a thoroughly engrossing and endlessly entertaining romp through the seedier side of Hollywood and a brilliant warts-and-all examination of the craft’s inner workings that, interestingly, reveals as much about the Business today as it does about how it was way back in the Golden Age the film portrays, all while delivering bucket-loads of QT’s trademark cool, swagger, idiosyncratic genius and to-die-for dialogue and character-work, and, of course, a typically exceptional all-star cast firing on all cylinders. Dicaprio and Pitt are both spectacular (Brad is endearingly taciturn, playing it wonderfully close to the vest throughout, while Leo is simply ON FIRE, delivering a mercurial performance EASILY on a par with his work on Shutter Island and The Wolf of Wall Street – could this be good enough to snag him a second Oscar?), while Robbie consistently endears us to Tate as she EFFORTLESSLY brings the fallen star back to life, and there’s an incredible string of amazing supporting turns from established talent and up-and-comers alike, from Kurt Russell, Al Pacino and a very spiky Bruce Dern to Mike Moh (in a FLAWLESS take on Bruce Lee), Margaret Qualley, Austin Butler and in particular Julia Butters as precocious child star Trudi Fraser. Packed with winning references, homages, pastiches and ingenious little in-jokes, handled with UTMOST respect for the true life subjects at all times and shot all the way through with his characteristic flair and quirky, deliciously dark sense of humour, this is cinema very much of the Old School, and EVERY INCH a Tarantino flick. With only one more film to go the implied end of his career seems much too close, but if he delivers one more like this he’ll leave behind a legacy that ANY filmmaker would be proud of.

18. CRAWL – summer 2019’s runner-up horror offering marks a rousing return to form for a genre talent who’s FINALLY delivered on the impressive promise of his early work – Alexandre Aja made a startling debut with Switchblade Romance, which led to his big break helming the cracking remake of slasher stalwart The Hills Have Eyes, but then he went SPECTACULARLY off the rails when he made the truly abysmal Piranha 3D, which I wholeheartedly regard as one of THE VERY WORST FILMS EVER MADE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. He took a big step back in the right direction with the admittedly flawed but ultimately enjoyable and evocative Horns (based on the novel by Stephen King’s son Joe Hill), but it’s with this stripped back, super-tight man-against-nature survival horror that the Aja of old has TRULY returned to us. IN SPADES. Seriously, I personally think this is his best film to date – there’s no fat on it at all, going from a simple set-up STRAIGHT into a precision-crafted exercise in sustained tension that relentlessly grips right up to the end credits. The film is largely just a two-hander – Maze Runner star Kaya Scodelario plays Haley Keller, a Florida college student and star swimmer who ventures into the heart of a Category 5 hurricane to make sure her estranged father, Dave (Saving Private Ryan’s Barry Pepper), is okay after he drops off the grid. Finding their old family home in a state of disrepair and slowly flooding, she does a last minute check of the crawl-space underneath, only to discover her father badly wounded and a couple of hungry alligators stalking the dark, cramped, claustrophobic confines. With the flood waters rising and communications cut off, Haley and Dave must use every reserve of strength, ingenuity and survival instinct to keep each other alive in the face of increasingly daunting odds … even with a premise this simple, there was plenty of potential for this to become an overblown, clunky mess in the wrong hands (a la Snakes On a Plane), so it’s a genuinely great thing that Aja really is back at the height of his powers, milking every fraught and suspenseful set-piece to its last drop of exquisite piano-wire tension and putting his actors through hell without a reprieve in sight. Thankfully it’s not JUST about scares and atmosphere – there’s a genuinely strong family drama at the heart of the story that helps us invest in these two, Scodelario delivering a phenomenally complex performance as she peels back Haley’s layers, from stubborn pedant, through vulnerable child of divorce, to ironclad born survivor, while reconnecting with her emotionally raw, repentantly open father, played with genuine naked intensity in a career best turn from Pepper. Their chemistry is INCREDIBLY strong, making every scene a joy even as it works your nerves and tugs on your heartstrings, and as a result you DESPERATELY want to see them make it out in one piece. Not that Aja makes it easy for them – the gators are an impressively palpable threat, proper scary beasties even if they are largely (admittedly impressively executed) digital effects, while the storm is almost a third character in itself, becoming as much of an elemental nemesis as its scaly co-stars. Blessedly brief (just 87 minutes!) and with every second wrung out for maximum impact, this is survival horror at its most brutally, simplistically effective, a deliciously vicious, primal chill-ride that thoroughly rewards from start to finish. Welcome back, Mr Aja. We’ve missed you.

17. SHAZAM! – there were actually THREE movies featuring Captain Marvel out in 2019, but this offering from the hit-and-miss DCEU cinematic franchise is a very different beast from his MCU-based namesake, and besides, THIS Cap long ago ditched said monicker for the far more catchy (albeit rather more oddball) title that graces Warner Bros’ last step back on the right track for their superhero Universe following the equally enjoyable Aquaman and franchise high-point Wonder Woman. Although he’s never actually referred to in the film by this name, Shazam (Chuck’s Eugene Levy) is the magically-powered alternate persona bestowed upon wayward fifteen year-old foster kid Billy Batson (Andi Mack’s Asher Angel) by an ancient wizard (Djimon Hounsou) seeking one pure soul to battle Dr. Thaddeus Sivana (Mark Strong), a morally corrupt physicist who turns into a monstrous supervillain after becoming the vessel for the spiritual essences of the Seven Deadly Sins (yup, that thoroughly batshit setup is just the tip of the iceberg of bonkersness on offer in this movie). Yes, this IS set in the DC Extended Universe, Shazam sharing his world with Superman, Batman, the Flash et al, and there are numerous references (both overt and sly) to this fact throughout (especially in the cheeky animated closing title sequence), but it’s never laboured, and the film largely exists in its own comfortably enclosed narrative bubble, allowing us to focus on Billy, his alter ego and in particular his clunky (but oh so much fun) bonding experiences with his new foster family, headed by former foster kid couple Victor and Rosa Vazquez (The Walking Dead’s Cooper Andrews and Marta Milans) – the most enjoyably portions of the film, however, are when Billy explores the mechanics and limits of his newfound superpowers with his new foster brother Freddy Freeman (It Chapter 1’s Jack Dylan Glazer), a consistently hilarious riot of bad behaviour, wanton (often accidental) destruction and perfectly-observed character development, the blissful culmination of a gleefully anarchic sense of humour that, until recently, has been rather lacking in the DCEU but which is writ large in bright, wacky primary colours right through this film. Sure, there are darker moments, particularly when Sivana sets loose his fantastic icky brood of semi-corporeal monsters, and these scenes are handled with seasoned skill by director David F. Sandberg, who cut his teeth on ingenious little horror gem Lights Out (following up with Annabelle: Creation, but we don’t have to dwell on that), but for the most part the film is played for laughs, thrills and pure, unadulterated FUN, almost never taking itself too seriously, essentially intended to do for the DCEU what Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man did for the MCU, and a huge part of its resounding success must of course be attributed to the universally willing cast. Eugene Levy’s so ridiculously pumped-up he almost looks like a special effect all on his own, but he’s lost none of his razor-sharp comic ability, perfectly encapsulating a teenage boy in a grown man’s body, while his chemistry with genuine little comedic dynamo Glazer is simply exquisite, a flawless balance shared with Angel, who similarly excels at the humour but also delivers quality goods in some far more serious moments too, while the rest of Billy’s newfound family are all brilliant, particularly ridiculously adorable newcomer Faithe Herman as precocious little motor-mouth Darla; Djimon Hounsou, meanwhile, adds significant class and gravitas to what could have been a cartoonish Gandalf spoof, and Mark Strong, as usual, gives great bad guy as Sivana, providing just the right amount of malevolent swagger and self-important smirk to proceedings without ever losing sight of the deeper darkness within. All round, this is EXACTLY the kind of expertly crafted superhero package we’ve come to appreciate in the genre, another definite shot in the arm for the DCEU that holds great hope for the future of the franchise, and some of the biggest fun I had at the cinema this past year. Granted, it’s still not a patch on the MCU, but the quality gap finally seems to be closing …

16. ALITA: BATTLE ANGEL – y’know, there was a time when James Cameron was quite a prolific director, who could be counted upon to provide THE big event pic of the blockbuster season. These days, we’re lucky to hear from him once a decade, and now we don’t even seem to be getting that – the dream project Cameron’s been trying to make since the end of the 90s, a big live action adaptation of one of my favourite mangas of all time, Gunnm (or Battle Angel Alita to use its more well-known sobriquet) by Yukito Kishiro, has FINALLY arrived, but it isn’t the big man behind the camera here since he’s still messing around with his intended FIVE MOVIE Avatar arc. That said, he made a damn good choice of proxy to bring his vision to fruition – Robert Rodriguez is, of course, a fellow master of action cinema, albeit one with a much more quirky style, and this adap is child’s play to him, the creator of the El Mariachi trilogy and co-director of Frank Miller’s Sin City effortlessly capturing the dark, edgy life-and-death danger and brutal wonder of Kishiro’s world in moving pictures. 300 years after the Earth was decimated in a massive war with URM (the United Republics of Mars) known as “the Fall”, only one bastion of civilization remains – Iron City, a sprawling, makeshift community of scavengers that lies in the shadow of the floating city of Zalem, home of Earth’s remaining aristocracy. Dr. Dyson Ido (Christoph Waltz) runs a clinic in Iron City customising and repairing the bodies of its cyborg citizens, from the mercenary “hunter killers” to the fast-living players of Motorball (a kind of supercharged mixture of Rollerball and Death Race), one day discovering the wrecked remains of a female ‘borg in the junkyard of scrap accumulated beneath Zalem. Finding her human brain is still alive, he gives her a new chassis and christens her Alita, raising her as best he can as she attempts to piece together her mysterious, missing past, only for them both to discover that the truth of her origins has the potential to tear their fragile little world apart forever. The Maze Runner trilogy’s Rosa Salazar is the heart and soul of the film as Alita (originally Gally in the comics), perfectly bringing her (literal) wide-eyed innocence and irrepressible spirit to life, as well as proving every inch the diminutive badass fans have been expecting – while her overly anime-styled look might have seemed a potentially jarring distraction in the trailers, Salazar’s mocap performance is SO strong you’ve forgotten all about it within the first five minutes, convinced she’s a real, flesh-and-metal character – and she’s well supported by an exceptional ensemble cast both new and well-established. Waltz is the most kind and sympathetic he’s been since Django Unchained, instilling Ido with a worldly warmth and gentility that makes him a perfect mentor/father-figure, while Spooksville star Keean Johnson makes a VERY impressive big screen breakthrough as Hugo, the streetwise young dreamer with a dark secret that Alita falls for in a big way, Jennifer Connelly is icily classy as Ido’s ex-wife Chiren, Mahershala Ali is enjoyably suave and mysterious as the film’s nominal villain, Vector, an influential but seriously shady local entrepreneur with a major hidden agenda, and a selection of actors shine through the CGI in various strong mocap performances, such as Deadpool’s Ed Skrein, Derek Mears, From Dusk Til Dawn’s Eiza Gonzalez and a thoroughly unrecognisable but typically awesome Jackie Earle Haley. As you’d expect from Rodriguez, the film delivers BIG TIME on the action front, unleashing a series of spectacular set-pieces that peak with Alita’s pulse-pounding Motorball debut, but there’s a pleasingly robust story under all the thrills and wow-factor, riffing on BIG THEMES and providing plenty of emotional power, especially in the heartbreaking character-driven climax – Cameron, meanwhile, has clearly maintained strict control over the project throughout, his eye and voice writ large across every scene as we’re thrust headfirst into a fully-immersive post-apocalyptic, rusty cyberpunk world as thoroughly fleshed-out as Avatar’s Pandora, but most importantly he’s still done exactly what he set out to do, paying the utmost respect to a cracking character as he brings her to vital, vivid life on the big screen. Don’t believe the detractors – this is a MAGNIFICENT piece of work that deserves all the recognition it can muster, perfectly set up for a sequel that I fear we may never get to see. Oh well, at least it’s renewed my flagging hopes for a return to Pandora …

15. AD ASTRA – last century, making a space exploration movie after 2001: A Space Odyssey was a pretty tall order. THIS century, looks like it’s trying to follow Chris Nolan’s Interstellar – love it or hate it, you can’t deny that particular epic space opera for the IMAX crowd is a REALLY tough act to follow. At first glance, then, writer-director James Gray (The Yards, We Own the Night) is an interesting choice to try, at least until you consider his last feature – he may be best known for understated, gritty little crime thrillers, but I was most impressed by 2016’s ambitious period biopic The Lost City of Z, which focused on the groundbreaking career of pioneering explorer Percy Fawcett, and couldn’t have been MORE about the indomitable spirit of discovery if it tried. His latest shares much of the same DNA, albeit presented in a VERY different package, as we’re introduced to a more expansive Solar System of the near future, in which humanity has begun to colonize our neighbouring worlds and is now pushing its reach beyond our own star’s light in order to discover what truly lies beyond the void of OUTER space. Brad Pitt stars as Major Roy McBride, a career astronaut whose whole life has been defined by growing up in the shadow of his father, H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones), a true pioneer who led an unprecedented expedition to the orbit of our furthest neighbour, Neptune, in order to search for signs of intelligent life beyond our solar system, only for the whole mission to go quiet for the past sixteen years. Then a mysterious, interplanetary power surge throws the Earth into chaos, and Roy must travel farther than he’s ever gone before in order to discover the truth behind the source of the pulse – his father’s own ill-fated Lima Project … this is a very different beast from Interstellar, a much more introspective, stately affair, revelling in its glacial pacing and emphasis on character motivation over plot, but it’s no less impressive from a visual, visceral standpoint – Gray and cinematographer Hoyt van Hoytema (who, interestingly, ALSO shot Interstellar, along with Nolan’s Dunkirk and his upcoming feature Tenet) certainly make space look truly EPIC, crafting astonishing visuals that deserve to be seen on the big screen (or at the very least on the best quality HDTV you can find). There’s also no denying the quality of the writing, Gray weaving an intricate story that reveals far greater depth and complexity than can be seen at first glance, while Roy’s palpable “thought-process” voiceover puts us right into the head of the character as we follow him across the endless void on a fateful journey into a cosmic Heart of Darkness. There is, indeed, a strong sense of Apocalypse Now to proceedings, with the younger McBride definitely following a similar path to Martin Sheen’s ill-fated captain as he travels “up-river” to find his Colonel Kurtz-esque father, and the performances certainly match the heft of the material – there’s an impressive collection of talent on offer in a series of top-quality supporting turns, Jones being just the icing on the cake in the company of Donald Sutherland, Liv Tyler, John Ortiz and Preacher’s Ruth Negga, but the undeniable driving force of the film is Pitt, his cool, laconic control hiding uncharted depths of emotional turmoil as he’s forced to call every choice into question. It’s EASILY one of the finest performances of his career to date, just one of the MANY great selling points in a film that definitely deserves to be remembered as one of the all-time sci-fi greats of the decade. An absolute masterpiece, then, but does it stand tall in comparison to Interstellar? I should say so …

14. BRIGHTBURN – torpedoing Crawl right out of the water in the summer, this refreshing, revisionist superhero movie takes one of the most classic mythologies in the genre and turns it on its head in true horror style. The basic premise is an absolute blinder – what if, when he crashed in small-town America as a baby, Superman had turned out to be a bad seed? Unsurprising, then, that it came from James Gunn, who here produces a screenplay by his brother and cousin Brian and Mark Gunn (best known for penning the likes of Journey 2: the Mysterious Island, but nobody’s perfect) and the directorial big break of his old mate David Yarovesky (whose only previous feature is obscure sci-fi horror The Hive) – Gunn is, of course, an old pro at taking classic comic book tropes and creating something completely new with them, having previously done so with HUGE success on cult indie black comedy Super and, in particular, Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy movies, and his fingerprints are ALL OVER this one too. The Hunger Games’ Elizabeth Banks (who starred in Gunn’s own directorial debut Slither) and David Denman (The Office) are Tori and Kyle Breyer, a farming couple living in Brightburn, Kansas, who are trying for a baby when a mysterious pod falls from the sky onto their land, containing an infant boy. As you’d expect, they adopt him, determined to keep his origin a secret, and for the first twelve years of his life all seems perfectly fine – Brandon’s growing up into an intelligent, artistic child who loves his family. Then his powers manifest and he starts to change – not just physically (he’s impervious to harm, incredibly strong, has laser eyes and the ability to disrupt electronic devices … oh, and he can fly, too), but also in personality, as he becomes cold, distant, even cruel as he begins to demonstrate some seriously sociopathic tendencies. As his parents begin to fear what he’s becoming, things begin to spiral out of control and people start to disappear or turn up brutally murdered, and it becomes clear that Brandon might actually be something out of a nightmare … needless to say this is superhero cinema as full-on horror, Brandon’s proclivities leading to some proper nasty moments once he really starts to cut loose, and there’s no mistaking this future super for one of the good guys – he pulverises bones, shatters faces and melts skulls with nary a twitch, just the tiniest hint of a smile. It’s an astonishing performance from newcomer Jackson A. Dunn, who perfectly captures the nuanced subtleties as Brandon goes from happy child to lethal psychopath, clearly demonstrating that he’s gonna be an incredible talent in future; the two grown leads, meanwhile, are both excellent, Denman growing increasingly haunted and exasperated as he tries to prove his own son is a wrong ‘un, while Banks has rarely been better, perfectly embodying a mother desperately wanting to belief the best of her son no matter how compelling the evidence becomes, and there’s quality support from Breaking Bad’s Matt Jones and Search Party’s Meredith Hagner as Brandon’s aunt and uncle, Noah and Meredith, and Becky Wahlstrom as the mother of one of his school-friends, who seems to see him for what he really is right from the start. Dark, suspenseful and genuinely nasty, this is definitely not your typical superhero movie, often playing like Kick-Ass’ deeply twisted cousin, and there are times when it displays some of the same edgy, black-hearted sense of humour, too. In other words, it’s all very James Gunn. It’s one sweet piece of work, everyone involved showing real skill and devotion, and Yarovesky in particular proves he’ll definitely be one-to-watch in the future. There are already plans for a potential sequel, and given where this particular little superhero universe seems to be heading I think it could be something pretty special, so fair to say I can’t wait.

13. STAR WARS EPISODE IX: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER – wow, this one’s proven particularly divisive, hasn’t it? And I thought The Last Jedi caused a stir … say what you will about Rian Johnson’s previous entry in the juggernaut science fiction saga, while it certainly riled up the hardcore fanbase it was at least well-received by the critics, not to mention myself, who found it refreshing and absolutely ingenious after the crowd-pleasing simplicity of JJ Abrams’ admittedly still thoroughly brilliant The Force Awakens. After such radical experimentation, Abrams’ return to the director’s chair can’t help feeling a bit like desperate backpedalling in order to sooth a whole lot of seriously ruffled feathers, and I’ll admit that, on initial viewing, I couldn’t help feeling just a touch cheated given what might have been if similarly offbeat, experimentally-minded filmmaker Colin Trevorrow (Safety Not Guaranteed, Jurassic World) had stayed on board to helm the picture. Then I got home, thought about it for a bit and it started to grow on me, before a second viewing helped me to reconcile all everything that bugged me first time around, seemingly the same things that have, perversely, ruffled so many more feathers THIS TIME. This doesn’t feel like a retcon job, no matter what some might think – new developments in the story that might feel like whitewash actually do make sense once you think about them, and the major twists actually work when viewed within the larger, overarching storyline. Not that I’m willing to go into any kind of detail here, mind you – this is a spoiler-free zone, thank you very much. Suffice to say, the honour of the saga has in no way been besmirched by Abrams and his co-writer Chris Terrio (sure, he worked on Batman V Superman and Justice League, but he also wrote Argo), the final film ultimately standing up very well indeed alongside its trilogy contemporaries, and still MILES ABOVE anything we got in George Lucas’ decidedly second-rate prequels. The dangling plot strands from The Last Jedi certainly get tied up with great satisfaction, particularly the decidedly loaded drama of new Jedi Rey (Daisy Ridley) and troubled First Order Supreme Leader Kylo Ren/Ben Solo (Adam Driver), while the seemingly controversial choice of reintroducing Ian McDiarmid’s fantastically monstrous Emperor Palpatine as the ultimate big bad ultimately works out spectacularly well, a far cry from any perceived botched fan-service. Everyone involved was clearly working at the height of their powers – Ridley and Driver are EXCEPTIONAL, both up-and-coming young leads truly growing into the their roles, while co-stars John Boyega and Oscar Isaac land a pleasingly meaty chunk of the story to finally get to really explore that fantastic chemistry they teased on The Last Jedi, and Carrie Fisher gets a truly MAGNIFICENT send off in the role that defined her as the incomparable General Leia Organa (one which it’s still heartbreaking she never quite got to complete); other old faces, meanwhile, return in fun ways, from Anthony Daniels’ C-3PO FINALLY getting to play a PROPER role in the action again to a brilliant supporting flourish from the mighty Billy Dee Williams as the Galaxy-Far-Far-Away’s own King of Cool, Lando Calrissian, while there’s a wealth of strong new faces here too, such as Lady Macbeth’s Naomie Ackie as rookie rebel Jannah, Richard E. Grant as suitably slimy former-Imperial First Order bigshot Allegiant General Pryde, The Americans’ Keri Russell as tough smuggler Zorii Bliss and Lord of the Rings star Dominic Monaghan as Resistance tech Beaumont Kin. As fans have come to expect, Abrams certainly doesn’t skim on the spectacle, delivering bombastic thrill-ride set-pieces that yet again set the benchmark for the year’s action stakes (particularly in the blistering mid-picture showdown between Rey and Kylo among the wave-lashed remains of Return of the Jedi’s blasted Death Star) and awe-inspiring visuals that truly boggle the mind with their sheer beauty and complexity, but he also injects plenty of the raw emotion, inspired character work, knowing humour and pure, unadulterated geeky FUN he’s so well known for. In conclusion, then, this is MILES AWAY from the clunky, compromised mess it’s been labelled as in some quarters, ultimately still very much in keeping with the high standards set by its trilogy predecessors and EVERY INCH a proper, full-blooded Star Wars movie. Ultimately, Rogue One remains THE BEST of the big screen run since Lucas’ Original Trilogy, but this one still emerges as a Force to be reckoned with …

12. JOKER – no-one was more wary than me when it was first announced that DC and Warner Bros. were going to make a standalone, live-action movie centred entirely around Batman’s ultimate nemesis, the Joker, especially with it coming hot on the heels of Jared Leto’s thoroughly polarizing portrayal in Suicide Squad. More so once it was made clear that this WOULD NOT be part of the studio’s overarching DC Extended Universe cinematic franchise, which was FINALLY starting to find its feet – then what’s the point? I found myself asking. I should have just sat back and gone with it, especially since the finished product would have made me eat a big slice of humble pie had I not already been won over once the trailers started making the rounds. This is something new, different and completely original in the DC cinematic pantheon, even if it does draw major inspiration from Alan Moore’s game-changing DC comics mini-series The Killing Joke – a complete standalone origin story for one of our most enduring villains, re-imagined as a blistering, bruising psychological thriller examining what can happen to a man when he’s pushed far beyond the brink by terrible circumstance, societal neglect and crippling mental illness. Joaquin Phoenix delivers the performance of his career as Arthur Fleck, a down-at-heel clown-for-hire struggling to launch a career as a stand-up-comic (badly hampered by the fact that he’s just not funny) while suffering from an acute dissociative condition and terrible attacks of pathological laughter at moments of heightened stress – the actor lost 52 pounds of weight to become a horrifically emaciated scarecrow painfully reminiscent of Christian Bale’s similar preparation for his acclaimed turn in The Machinist, and frequently contorts himself into seemingly impossible positions that prominently accentuate the fact. Fleck is a truly pathetic creature, thoroughly put-upon by a pitiless society that couldn’t care less about him, driven by inner demons and increasingly compelling dark thoughts to act out in increasingly desperate, destructive ways that ultimately lead him to cross lines he just can’t come back from, and Phoenix gives his all in every scene, utterly mesmerising even when his character commits some truly heinous acts. Certainly he dominates the film, but then there are plenty of winning supporting turns from a universally excellent cast to bolster him along, from Zazie Beetz as an impoverished young mother Arthur bonds with and Frances Conroy (Six Feet Under, American Horror Story) as Arthur’s decidedly fragile mother Penny to Brett Cullen (The Thorn Birds, Lost) as a surprisingly unsympathetic Thomas Wayne (the philanthropic father of future Batman Bruce Wayne), while Robert De Niro himself casts a very long shadow indeed as Murray Franklin, a successful comedian and talk show host that Arthur idolizes, a character intentionally referential to his role in The King of Comedy. Indeed, Martin Scorsese’s influence is writ large throughout the entire film, reinforced by the choice to set the film in a 1981-set Gotham City which feels very much like the crumbling New York of Mean Streets or Taxi Driver. This is a dark, edgy, grim and unflinchingly BRUTAL film, frequently difficult to watch as Arthur is driven further into a blazing psychological hell by his increasingly stricken life, but addictively, devastatingly compelling all the same, impossible to turn away from even in the truly DEVASTATING final act. Initially director Todd Phillips seemed like a decidedly odd choice for the project, hailing as he does from a predominantly comedy-based filmmaking background (most notably Due Date and The Hangover trilogy), but he’s actually a perfect fit here, finding a strangely twisted beauty in many of his compositions and a kind of almost uplifting transcendence in his subject’s darkest moments, while his screenwriting collaboration with Scott Silver (8 Mile, The Fighter) means that the script is as rich as it can be, almost overflowing with brilliant ideas and rife with biting social commentary which is even more relevant today than in the period in which it’s set. Intense, gripping, powerful and utterly devastating, this truly is one of the best films of 2019. If this was a purely critical Top 30 this would have placed in the Top 5, guaranteed …

11. FAST & FURIOUS PRESENTS HOBBS & SHAW – summer 2019’s most OTT movie was some of THE MOST FUN I had at the cinema all year, a genuinely batshit crazy, pure bonkers rollercoaster ride of a film I just couldn’t get enough of, the perfect sum of all its baffling parts. The Fast & Furious franchise has always revelled in its extremes, subtle as a brick and very much playing to the blockbuster, popcorn movie crowd right from the start, but it wasn’t until Fate of the Furious (yup, the ridiculous title says it all) that it really started to play to the inherent ridiculousness of its overall setup, paving the way for this first crack at a new spin-off series sans-Vin Diesel. Needless to say this one fully embraces the ludicrousness, with director David Leitch the perfect choice to shepherd it into the future, having previously mastered OTT action through John Wick and Atomic Blonde before helming manic screwball comedy Deadpool 2, which certainly is the strongest comparison point here – Hobbs & Shaw is every bit as loud, violent, chaotic and thoroughly irreverent, definitely playing up the inherent comic potential at the core of the material as he cranks up the humour. Dwayne Johnson and Jason Statham take centre stage as, respectively, DSS agent Luke Hobbs and former SAS black operative Deckard Shaw, the ultimate action movie odd couple once again forced to work together to foil the bad guy and save the world from a potentially cataclysmic disaster. Specifically Brixton Lore (Idris Elba), a self-proclaimed “black superman” enhanced with cybernetic implants and genetic manipulation to turn him into the ultimate warrior, who plans to use a lethal designer supervirus to eradicate half of humanity (as supervillains tend to do), but there’s one small flaw in his plan – the virus has been stolen by Hattie Shaw (Mission: Impossible – Fallout’s Vanessa Kirby), a rogue MI6 agent who also happens to be Deckard’s sister. Got all that? Yup, the movie really is as mad as it sounds, but that’s part of the charm – there’s an enormous amount of fun to be had in just giving in and going along with the madness as Hobbs and the two Shaws bounce from one overblown, ludicrously destructive set-piece to the next, kicking plenty of arse along the way when they’re not jumping out of tall buildings or driving fast cars at ludicrous speeds in heavy traffic, and when they’re not doing that they’re bickering with enthusiasm, each exchange crackling with exquisite hate-hate chemistry and liberally laced with hilarious dialogue delivered with gleeful, fervent venom (turns out there’s few things so enjoyable as watching Johnson and Statham verbally rip each other a new one), and the two action cinema heavyweights have never been better than they are here, each bringing the very best performances of their respective careers out of each other as they vacillate, while Kirby holds her own with consummate skill that goes to show she’s got a bright future of her own. As for Idris Elba, the one-time potential future Bond deserves to be remembered as one of the all-time great screen villains ever, investing Brixton with the perfect combination of arrogant swagger and lethal menace to steal every scene he’s in while simultaneously proving he can be just as big a badass in the action stakes; Leitch also scatters a selection of familiar faces from his previous movies throughout a solid supporting cast which also includes the likes of Fear the Walking Dead’s Cliff Curtis, From Dusk Till Dawn’s Eiza Gonzalez and Helen Mirren (who returns as Deckard and Hattie’s mum Queenie Shaw), while there’s more than one genuinely brilliant surprise cameo to enjoy. As we’ve come to expect, the action sequences are MASSIVE, powered by nitrous oxide and high octane as property is demolished and vehicles are driven with reckless abandon when our protagonists aren’t engaged in bruising, bone-crunching fights choreographed with all the flawless skill you’d expect from a director who used to be a professional stuntman, but this time round the biggest fun comes from the downtime, as the aforementioned banter becomes king. It’s an interesting makeover for the franchise, going from heavyweight action stalwart to comedy gold, and it’s a direction I hope they’ll maintain for the inevitable follow-up – barring Fast Five, this is THE BEST Fast & Furious to date, and a strong indicator of how it should go to keep conquering multiplexes in future. Sign me up for more, please.

#frozen 2 #Once Upon A Time In Hollywood #crawl #crawl movie #Shazam!#Alita Battle Angel #ad astra #Brightburn #star wars the rise of skywalker #joker #joker movie #hobbs and shaw #2019 in movies

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tenyatrash · 5 years ago

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ToshInko Wedding Bells

Hello! I’m going through my GDrive and uploading all the pieces that I wrote for apps and then never posted.

Here’s my first ever ToshInko piece. Just some reflective fluff about their wedding day and Toshinori learning to let go and enjoy the happiness that he’s spent decades providing and protecting for others.

Read it here or below the cut:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782586

Toshinori steps out into the coolness of a setting summer sun and braces a wide hand against the safety rail while another rises to shield his eyes. Today’s the day.

Somehow, despite all his mistakes and failings, despite this ruined body and anxious mind, he’s found love. Found the home and safety that he fought for decades to protect for others, never really believing he would ever earn the same.

He’s not prepared.

For the fifth time since waking, his head starts to get away from him, all the what-ifs of his life crowding around his mind like a pressing crowd. But like every time before, he sees a flash of darkest emerald and the fear fades into a sort of pleasant hum, like the rush of adrenaline before a big fight or a late night interview. Like he used to feel, before, when life was full of promise and adventure.

He lowers his hands and ambles down the stairs, picking at the cuffs of his morning suit with a watery smile that spreads as he gently worries the cufflinks between his knobby fingers. Two understated cherry blossoms, formed of blushy agate and given to him by his man of honor. Young Midoriya. He chokes up a bit.

His son.

The first of many wedding gifts, but already precious beyond measure.

“I uh- I mean. Here, All Might! I mean...Toshin...I mean….oh gosh...Dad?” He’s said it before, but it’s not an accident this time, and the reality of that turns the blushing boy into an absolute watering pot.

He had shoved the gently wrapped heirlooms into Toshinori’s waiting hands as if worried he’d accidentally break them, or more likely, throw them into the air in his manic joy.

“These are for you! To wear, today, if you want!”

Two cherry blossoms, to represent new beginnings and beauty, made of agate to represent wisdom, composure, and maturity. Izuku explains the meaning behind the gift in a classic mumble rumble as Toshinori wipes his eyes and rolls the weighted links into his palm, his other hand coming to rest on the smooth grey fabric covering his soon-to-be son’s shaking shoulder.

“Young M- Izuku. Thank you, truly. They’re a wonderful thought, from a wonderful son. I’m honored to be joining your family. Truly.”

Izuku starts wailing in earnest as a porter comes running with tissues in an attempt to keep salt and snot off the brushed fabric of their new suits while their particularly dedicated photographer tries to turn the calamity into a cute shot.

While he��s having his moment, Toshinori gingerly picks up the first blossom and threads it through his cuff, fingers wobbling a little with emotion as the gift clicks into place.

How did he get so lucky?

That’s the thought that follows him from the guest house to the small shrine, across the paved steps and into the courtyard where his future is waiting for him. They’re blending ceremonies here, the two lovers picking and choosing between the America that All Might loves and the Japan that nurtured them both and brought them together.

He’s in a suit, no family crest to sew on to a kimono, no mother or matchmaker to stand behind him at the shrine. She’s in a traditional shiromuku, but there are small bright flowers of yellow rebellion sewn into the edges of the kimono and no tsunokakushi to hide her “horns of anger.” Instead, she’s all soft smiles and openness, hair tied into a simple knot and ornamented by a hairpin of tinkling bells and agate petals.

Cherry blossoms.

Neither is in the spring of youth, yet as they gaze at one another across the smooth stones, the blush of first love colors their soft glances and trembling hearts. As they come together, he smiles down at her, electric eyes roving over her challenges to tradition in breathless approval. Toshinori doesn’t want her to hide anything, not ever, and it’s part of what drew them together.

They enter the shrine together, Izuku and Naomasa bringing up the rear.

The sake cups are another tradition Inko offered to forego, but Toshinori settles on the water-cut version of the spirit often given as a child’s first celebratory sip instead, eager to share in this ritual with his beloved. He swears he’s never tasted anything so sweet.

Their nuptial cups are followed with sips for their two witnesses and offerings to the gods.

Prayers for happiness and peace and a long autumn for their newly-shared lives.

And then there are the rings, held in sacred trust by the boy that binds them together. As Toshinori whispers the words he never dreamed he’d get to say, he slips a simple golden band down the finger of the woman who fills his every day with love. Inko joins her son in waterfall tears, choking in happy huffs as she mimics the motion, babbling about the future and her love as this symbol of her devotion slips across a swollen joint and into the cradle of his finger.

He looks good as a taken man.

The priest recites the final blessings, and Toshinori leans forward, eyes bright and heart suddenly threatening to beat out of his rattling chest. She’s just so lovely, and as his eyes flutter closed, he regrets that he can’t capture this moment perfectly in his mind. But even without sight, he sees every detail clear as day, at least until her lips press against his.

Then he can’t see anything at all, so swept up in the sweetness of the gesture and the profound change it represents.

Lucky for him, Naomasa, that old sap, is recording the whole thing.

The private ceremony ended, Naomasa and Izuku wave and wander away, headed for the larger reception where friends and family are gathered to celebrate the newly dubbed “Symbol of Matrimony” and the marriage that many never imagined they’d see.

Toshinori and Inko join hands and head to the guest house, ostensibly to change into reception clothing, but that’s a secondary concern. They’re so grateful for the love and support that surrounds them, but for the moment, what they really crave is a moment alone together, the first of many.

They arrive at the threshold and in a moment of spontaneity, Toshinori picks her up and carries her laughing into the cozy cottage.

“Ah! Toshinori!” She’s kicking her feet gently and all the sudden she’s fifteen again, giggling in the arms of a cute boy.

He smiles down at her and gently tickles down her side, adding in a self-deprecating smirk, “What can I say? I’ve always wanted to do this and if we wait until tonight, who knows if this old man will manage it.”

Inko unclasps a hand from his neck and runs her fingers over his sunken cheek as he sets her down, arms still wrapped around her in a loose embrace, like he wants to extend this small moment as long as possible.

“Oh, I think this old man has plenty left in him.”

She leans forward and kisses him more aggressively this time, humming in amusement as Toshinori tenses around her as if worried he’s doing something wrong. He relaxes when his mind catches up with his racing heart.

Right, we’re married, remember?

He returns the gesture shyly and gently begins the process of unraveling Inko from the folds of richly layered kimono, covering his eyes as she’s reduced to her slip, but still catching a flash of faintest teal that shimmers like silk.

Inko breaks into full body laughs as she takes in the sight of her new husband, eyes shut tight and kimono held up like a shield against her state of undress. The fact that she’s more covered than when wearing a swimsuit doesn’t seem to matter to him.

It’s the context of the thing.

She gently takes the heavy fabric from him and hums her way to the dressing room, giving her poor sweetie an auditory cue for when it’s safe to open his eyes. This mixture of age and innocence is part of what drew her to Toshinori, part of what convinced her heart that it was okay to love again.

That this hero would never hurt her. She thinks she hears him gulping down some water and smiles into the brightly patterned tea-length navy dress that Izuku helped her pick out and get embroidered with silver storks and turquoise blossoms in an ode to the man who they both came to love so dearly.

She steps back into the sitting room, patting down her re-arranged hair and twirling in front of the gaping Toshinori.

“Too much?”

“Wh- No, not at all. You’re radiant, and it’s perfect.”

She smirks mischievously, “Well, it’s not perfect yet, darling.”

Toshinori knits his brows together and tries to catalog every stitch, finding no false note. Inko breaks into a brilliant smile and spins around, revealing the curve of her back and more of that tantalizing under-slip.

“Zip me up, would you?”

Toshinori complies, fingers caressing against sunkissed skin as his hands splay across her and his mind wanders to all the blessings he’s received, none more precious than the woman in front of him and the son she molded into a hero. He gulps again, sure that at any moment this dream will end, but it doesn’t.

The dream continues, for year and years, forever; taking root in a thousand happy memories and countless soft moments, a lifetime together that renews every year with the bloom of the cherry blossoms and the triumphs of their priceless son.

No one could ask for more.

#toshinko #toshinko fanfic #toshinori x inko #Toshinori Yagi #midoriya inko #my writing

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tyrwinthyr · 6 years ago

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Episode 1, part 2

Sheila shivered in the thin police issue blanket she’d been given.

“Here,” the officer had said, tossing it at her. “You’ll catch a cold in that belt of a dress you’re wearing.” He’d left her uncuffed in an interview room with one large mirror across a wall, and another smaller mirror on the far side of the room. The smaller of the two was obviously old; some of the silvering having flaked off at the corners. Mirrors like that, backed with real silver, had made a comeback since the Fae were exposed.

It was a while before anyone else entered the room, long enough to make her drowsy. She knew better than to fall asleep. Criminal justice classes in college had said plainly that sleeping meant guilt. An innocent woman doesn’t rest easy in prison, however, so she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her relax.

So she paced, blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. When the officer – no, detective, he wore a suit -- opened the door, she almost breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t forgotten her or thrown away the key. A swift step took her over to drop into the chair while she assessed the man.

He was a tall human, salt and peppered, dressed in an older blue suit. Maybe he’d been a lady’s man in his youth, with blue eyes, thick chin and dark hair, but now he seemed worn. There was strain around the eyes, a tightness at the temple: his soul was as threadbare as his suit.

When he glanced into the older mirror, Sheila couldn’t help her smirk. Humans.

“Protocol,” he acknowledged, sitting across from her. “Liminals can’t use glamour… better safe than sorry, though.” Her spine stiffened at the words. That wasn’t ‘human’ knowledge.

“Lieutenant Zbrozek, Bureau of Nonhuman Crimes,” he continued, settling some folders in front of him. Sheila had always known the agency as ‘BoNC,’ but also knew full well to say ‘BNC’ in front of them. She’d been interviewed by plenty of them, as well as other branches the same organization. Not a one had a sense of humor about their name.

“I hadn’t expected the BNC to get involved in something so small,” she admitted, watching his face intently.

“An assault in a public place by one of you is usually pretty cut and dry, yeah,” he said, removing a bit of paperwork from a folder. “You’ll be CCC’d, and that would be that.” Sheila flinched at the reminder of her fate. After the war, the human army had dreamed up a quick way to deal with Fae. First was the tranquilizer, followed by iron nails in their ears and not-so-surgical removal of anything that looked like a weapon (horns, tails, claws, etc), then finally a box for transportation. Captured, Clipped, Carted. Sheila had a picture in her purse of a clipped faun. Looking at his broken horns, shattered hooves and sliced ears reminded her she was fighting the good fight.

“Am I going to the guillotine?” she said, trying her best to mimic the chill she is running beneath her skin.

“Standard issue dehorner… eh,” the man shrugged, reading whatever was on the paper in front of him. “Seems unnecessary. The crowd outside insists you were defending yourself, going so far as comparing grabbing your horns to consent violations.”

“Who…” she started, wondering who might be speaking up for her. When the police were taking her away, she remembered seeing many of the club’s inhabitants speaking angrily to them. At the time, she thought they were just adding fuel to her pyre.

“Guy trying to post your bail said it was essentially rape.”

Sheila wondered a moment about that. Gaspar knew from previous interactions that bail would never be set, not for someone who could ‘walk’ anywhere she wished.

The lieutenant looked up from the paper, “Not going to go with that excuse?” He asked with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I work in human/Fae relations,” she explained, keeping her voice as close to level as possible. “I know the laws.”

“Then you knew butting him was a bad idea.”

She chewed her lip a moment, collecting her thoughts before answering. When she did, it was on a sigh. “Some guy grabs your dick in a bar. You hit him, or do you worry about the law?”

That earned a smile from the detective, however short-lived. He slid the paper he was reading back in with the others, piled up the folders and pushed them to the side.

“Your father is an important Fae,” he said, licking a finger to try and clean an ink smudge from his jacket sleeve. “You don’t look like a hart, though… and definitely not a Whitehart.” Looking up at her, he tapped the files with his ring finger. “That part isn’t in my files.”

“My mother was a fau… satyr,” she replied, correcting quickly. Lying here wouldn’t go over well. “All Fae babies are the species of their mother. We retain some traits of our father, of course.” Other liminals, beings who combined the form of two or more different animals, would have been sent to live with their mother’s kin. No such luck for the Whitehart’s daughter.

“Ah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “That explains that bit. Did your father pass down his ability? Are you a trod walker?” Her face drew taut, closing off from the conversation, until he held up a hand. “I’m bound. Enchanted, actually. Your secrets are safe.”

That explained the bit with the mirror earlier, so she relaxed a little. It was a little like her relationship with Gaspar. She had never gone so far as enchanting him though. It was bad enough he was saddled with her secrets. She wasn’t going to expose him to the invisibles as well.

“Yes,” she replied, glancing over at the silvered mirror. “Only good thing I’ve ever gotten from the bastard.” She left out the remainder of her birthright: humiliation, anxiety, depression, and a centuries old curse.

“You could have walked out at any time, then,” he said, withdrawing a silver pen, deliberately letting her see him place it on her file. “Why are you still here?”

“It’s true,” Sheila took her hands off the table, placing them in her lap. “I could have opened a trod to anywhere, but… if you can’t control us, you put us down, right?” She caught his eye as she said that, her own green unblinking. “Besides,” she relaxed into her chair, if only a little. “Escaping would make me guilty of something I shouldn’t even be blamed for. If it was one of you people, we’d be discussing community service and a fine.”

He didn’t argue, and that endeared him to her. Slightly. “You people.” He shook his head, bemused, “Ten years ago that term meant something very different, but the intent was just the same.”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned back in the chair, one knee over the other. He folded his fingers behind his neck, head tipped to look up at the fluorescent lights above.

“When I was growing up, Greek mythology was my favorite. Not the gods, mind you, but the grittier stuff. Heracles crushing the Nemean lion with his bare hands. Perseus duking it out with Calibos. Nymphs and satyrs at a bacchanal, up to all sorts of shenanigans…” He paused there and looked back down at the satyr in front of him, expression wistful. “If you told me then that I’d ever be sitting across from one, I’d have called you crazy.”

Sheila tilted her head to the side, as if seeing him from a new angle would help her understand the point.

“Sorry, waxing lame.”

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to smile, but not doing it well. “I liked those tales too, of…”

“I can’t let you go,” he cut her off sharply.

“What?” she said, blinking.

“You can’t go back to your old life, either. The BNC are required by law to report any aberrant behavior to your employer, as well as your landlord.”

Pulling her legs up under the blanket, she nodded glumly in agreement. She’d thought herself ready for whatever was going to happen. But hearing it said out loud so plainly was so much more startling than simply understanding it. Under the blanket she tugged the edges of her dress, trying to make it longer, wishing she had worn some leggings.

“Best you can hope for is iron nails and cages with no doors. Since that would take a lot of work, they’ll probably just execute you.”

Glare as she might, it was hard to hide the tremble of her lips. Did he have to be so blunt?

“Though…” he uncrossed his legs, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I have a better option for you.” He let the anticipation build before he finished: “You could come work for me.”

Sheila had seen enough television to recognize the emotional roller coaster ride he was putting her through to get the answer he wanted. But that knowledge didn’t prevent her from blinking stupidly at him.

“Wh… what?” she sputtered.

“Your father suggested it, as an alternative.” The lieutenant offered a printed email to her, which she didn’t take. She did lean forward to read it, though. It was a letter to Julien Golder, a carefully written missive advising the reader that Sheila Whitehart would work for the BNC. If this magical thing didn’t happen, even though the family had supported the agency for years, such support would no longer be forthcoming.

“Of course, he did,” she muttered at last, unable to prevent a partial sneer from coloring the words. Obviously, her father supported the same agency that helped keep her people down. Somehow, she had always known he’d be a traitor to his own kind.

“Look, you don’t have much of a choice here.” Zbrozek leaned forward, quieter now. “You think I like supporting an organization that treats my ancestors worse than animals? We can do good from inside, make changes. There are real issues to deal with, and I’d like your help.”

The sneer turned into a smirking glower; she had to turn it on someone and her father wasn’t there. “What help could I give you? Go buy a pooka. At least you know they have to help you.”

The detective immediately went to the door to say a few words to someone outside, who then walked in. Another man, of sorts, took up a position holding up the wall with his hands behind his back.

Sheila’s confusion was quite plain as she examined the man. He was a pooka, possibly some sort of weasel. It was there in the nose, whiskers and black eyes of his animal form, all visible even while parading around as a man. Instead of hair, he had short, dark fur, complete with rounded animal ears on top. She’d spotted more of it on his knuckles before he’d placed them behind his back. A long furry tail slashed in irritation against the wall. Wearing a standard issue blue suit like the detective made him look even more out of place.

“Great, see? You already own a Fae. What do you need me for?” The question was irritated, agitated, offered through gritted teeth.

“I don’t own him,” the lieutenant replied, seating himself once more.

“No one owns me,” the pooka chimed in, tail thrashing more severely now. Sheila examined him closer, and he held out his hands to her for proof. He was the first pooka she’d seen without the fancy bracelet they always wore, the one that bound them fully to their owner.

“Whipple earned his freedom in service to the Bureau.”

Sheila turned back to blink in disbelief at the detective. All her experience with BONC was the bad kind. As the strong arm of the Department of Nonhuman Affairs, they were the face the Fae saw when something went wrong. Pay your rent late, BONC is called. Bump into the wrong human, BONC arrests you. Too ugly a race to be in a fancy restaurant, BONC is waiting for you at your table.

“No matter what you think of us, I am here to save your life,” he continued, one hand held out, palm up, an imaginary olive branch in the center.

“Why, then?” she demanded, dropping her hooves down to the floor in a clatter. “Why save me?”

“He thinks satyrs are sexy,” the pooka teased, flashing a set of extremely long fangs before going back to his brooding.

“Stop it, not helping,” the man scolded, lips drawn thin. “I could say something like that, sure. I find your kind fascinating, and the beings I work with now aren’t quite my type.” He tried to smile, to make it a joke, but she gave him nothing, so he continued on. “I could say that we liked your work at human/Fae relations… but I’ll be honest with you, your correspondence looked like it was written by a teenager.” That didn’t crack her, either, though it did get a slow blink.

“Fine,” he threw up his hands. “Fine, fine… I need someone working with me that can manipulate the trods.”

That at least made sense. There were very few trodwalkers. Her direct family, some scattered cousins, and a handful of other liminals… but that was it. That an organization like the BNC needed one was believable.

“Must be hard trying to haul in fugitives who can simply walk through a door to anywhere in the world,” she allowed after a moment.

“Unbelievably hard,” he admitted. “There are other matters around them, of course… but, there it is, cards on the table.”

“Thank you for being honest with me. You could have led with that. Trying to terrify me was way out of line.”

“You know what?” he asked, “You’re right. I apologize. When I read your file, I thought you’d be a hard ass like your father.”

That got a quick snort out of the satyr, and a hissing chuckle out of the pooka. After casting a glare at the weasel, she returned to the topic at hand. “So, say I agree. What happens then?”

“You’d be given your freedom,” he started, shuffling through papers to find a drawn-up agreement. Behind his back, Whipple began to weave back and forth like a furry metronome, “You’ll get room and board, a modest salary, and amazingly rewarding work.”

Sheila reached for the papers he offered. “What’s the subtext? The fine print?”

“An oath of constraint.” The instinctual reaction to push the pages back towards him was stopped by his hand. “I have to prove you’ll stick around. They wanted bindings, or a greater pact, but I want you to work for me willingly.” He sighed in relief as she took the contract back. “They won’t approve your release without it.”

In her head, she began organizing the pros and cons.

Cons: Working for an organization that was holding her people down. If she agreed to this, she’d be a quisling. Plus an oath of constraint meant staying within a certain distance of Zbrozek. She wasn’t sure she liked him yet. He was on the same side as her father, apparently. Doing this would put her there too, and even further in his debt.

Pros: Not being CCC’d, or put down. Possibly being able to work from the inside to change things. Then there was not being CCC’d or put down. Not having to deal with Karen. ‘Amazingly rewarding work.’ Oh, yeah, also… not being CCC’d or put down.

“Where do I sign?”

“Whip,” was the first word the pooka uttered once they left the police station. It had all gone by so quickly after she had signed the paperwork. Lieutenant Zbrozek ushered her out of the building without handcuffs, flashing his magenta BNC badge at anyone who tried to stop them. After a short ride through town to a warehouse off the train tracks near I25, Sheila found herself in her new home.

“Pardon?” she asked as she walked around the small room. There were quite a few of these interior spaces -- some big enough to be buildings of their own! -- inside the warehouse. Other recruits, willing or otherwise?

“No one calls me Whipple,” he sniffed a bit. “Except for my brother.”

She didn’t respond right away. She was busy exploring the painted concrete that made up the side of the room. It was still a little tacky, but not enough to leave her fingertips the same beige color as the paint.

“So, you’re Zbrozek’s whip?” she asked at last, looking back at him. He showed her his sharp teeth again, hissing a mockery of a laugh.

“Very funny. No, like… fast, boom!” he clapped his hands together. The sound echoed like a shot against the concrete walls. “Like that. You were supposed to ask me about my brother.”

“Oh.” The satyr drifted to the other side of the room. Away from him, the way one does when confronted with the insane, “What about your brother?”

“He’s dead, okay! They’re all dead! Can I go now!”

Sheila brought her hands up in front of her when he started shouting. She was sure he was faster than she was, but if she could hold him off long enough, surely the Lieutenant would come running. For his part, Whip looked disappointed.

“Oh, man, surely you know that one?” His nose twitched a bit as he scratched between his ears. “Right? Aliens? The little girl?” When she shook her head, he made a sort of ‘heef’ noise across his tongue. “Damn. I was hoping you weren’t a norm, but…” he indicated her with both hands. “There you are, right?”

In all her life, she could not remember ever having been called ‘normal.’ Outrage rose, her mouth opened… the door opened. The lieutenant came in, followed very closely by an Asian girl. It wasn’t until that moment that Sheila realized just how tall he really was. The girl looked tiny compared to him, a delicate flower following a mountain.

She was pretty, the girl, with a round face and wide eyes. She made no attempt to hide the fact she was staring, so Sheila didn’t bother to look away either. The girl’s hair was long and straight, hanging to the waist of the flowered summer dress she wore. It made her seem even younger, an impression finshed by bare feet. Tucked under her arm was an Alienware laptop, shiny and chrome, with a Guy Fawkes sticker on one corner. She stepped up onto the table in the middle of the room. Like some tiny youthful zen monk, she folded her legs together, right there on the edge of the table, and proceeded to open her laptop.

“This is Fei, our IT guru,” Zbrozek introduced, seating himself in a chair. When the girl looked up, closer now that Sheila was moving to join them there, her eyes were the grey of storm clouds, “Hmmm… what should we call you?” The laptop stole her attention back again.

Fully seated, the satyr startled a bit, “Um, why not by my name?”

“We could do that,” Fei cut in, not looking up from her typing. Her voice seemed as delicate as the rest of her, melodic, a tone or two away from a sing-song chant. “If you don’t mind the Toothy Day interfering with your life.”

After thinking about it a moment, Sheila asked, “You mean the Tua…”

“Ah! No! Bad satyr!” the younger girl scolded, shaking a finger without once looking up. “We do not say their names, what they are… they are the Namers, so we don’t risk it.” Everyone knew the Tuatha De’, the lords of the Fae, were strong, but it hadn’t occurred to Sheila to worry how strong.

“They who must not be named,” intoned Whip, who caught a glare from Fei for it.

“No. This is not some fantasy high school, and it is not a joking matter.” With that, she went back to angrily clicking buttons on her laptop.

The lieutenant cleared his throat to get their attention. “We need to give you a code name, for our protection as well as yours.”

“Red,” the pooka offered immediately. “That’s my vote, because, well… she is.” Sheila couldn’t deny it while she was wearing the same red dress as the night before. Still…

“No.”

“Rojo,” he said, baring his sharp teeth at her in what passed for a grin.

“No.”

“Vermelho.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” She was losing the last shreds of her patience with him.

“It means red.”

“Then no!” Sheila’s voice was almost a shout. Close enough that Fei looked up from her screen.

“Okay, let’s… let’s think about this and come back to it,” interjected the Lieutenant. “It’s been a long night for some of us, so… let’s just call you Red for now, okay? We’ll come up with something better, I promise.”

“Seriously?” Sheila almost barked, then threw her hands up. “Fine, fine… whatever.”

“I’m going to call her ‘Rouge,’” quipped Whip, receiving a glare from all three of them. “What… it’s like a cooler spelling of ‘rogue,’ but it means red.”

“Stop that,” Zbrozek rubbed his head a bit, hair ruffled in the motion. “God help me, there are two more of you coming today.”

“Wait… more of you?” Sheila asked, motioning towards Fei. “So, she’s Folk? What are you?”

“I’m an IT specialist.” Fei clearly had that response prepared, not even bothering to hide the smirk that came with it. Going around the room, she pointed at each of them in turn, “He’s the boss, he’s the muscle, and that would make you…” she leaned forward, looking down at the satyr’s barely-there dress. “The streetwalker.”

Sheila stood up, the chair falling backwards behind her. The earlier outrage with Whip kindled into fury; the tips of her ears turned red as she fought to keep control. She could see Zbrozek’s hands raising slowly in her peripheral vision, no doubt remembering what she’d done to the guy at the bar. A shuddering breath came in… then out again. Instead of charging forward, she stepped away from the table.

“I obviously need some breakfast, and some sleep. Usually, I wouldn’t let half pint sake here get to me.” She ignored the quick offended exhale from Fei, looking down at the human in the room, “Can we do this later?”

After a moment of consideration, he nodded and stood up.

“Okay… I should probably debrief you all at once anyway. I was hoping to find some sort of common ground for the three of you.” He looked from one to the other. Only Sheila showed any sign of contrition. “So, we’ll pick this up this afternoon.”

As they walked away, Fei called after them, “By the way, Paddy McFire Crotch, I’m Chinese, not Japanese. Sake tastes like piss!”

As the lieutenant quickly closed the door, she could hear Whip’s barking laughter. It sounded so wheezy it was funnier than it was mocking, and Sheila found herself smiling a little.

“Paddy McFire Crotch better not become my handle,” she grunted at Zbrozek, smiling a little. Despite the last 12 hours, or perhaps because of it, she found herself laughing with the man as he showed her to her room.

#Satyr Pooka OC Original Content Writing Urban Fantasy Fae

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vjjeons · 7 years ago

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whaddup!! i’m acacia (satan). i’m twenty years old, i use she/her pronouns and i hail from the pst timezone! i’m super excited to be in a lil ol’ group again because i haven’t been in one since like… idk?? but enough about me — let’s get to the good stuff aka my girl, veronica jeon. it gets pretty lengthy, so if you just want the overall version of it just scroll to the very end! anyways, if you like this, i’ll take it as an invitation to IM you for plots, so be careful!! ♡

jennie kim + cis female + she/her — have you met veronica jeon? they are a twenty-one year old artist/barista known as the philophobic. a pansexual scorpio, they are independent + bold, as well as stubborn + cynical. their soulmark is a crescent moon on the left ring finger, and they can feel the emotions of their soulmate.

BACKGROUND + TRIGGER WARNINGS: abuse, death, drugs

to kick things off, veronica grew up with just her mother around. her father had always been MIA. so, she doesn’t have a lot of memories involving him. therefore, her mother dated an array of men. often times neglecting her daughter, with the exception of the times she brought in successful report cards.

when she was thirteen, her mother married a man who physically abused veronica any chance he had. especially when mrs. jeon started cheating on him. so ronnie recoiled around her art for a few years.

being alone as an only child, she had to keep herself entertained. she started off by doodling with just a pencil. but, eventually expanded with acrylic paints and water colors. thus ultimately discovering her love for the arts!!

she isn’t exactly sure how she’s going to find a successful career path through her beloved hobby. which is why she picked up her job as a barista to make some actual cash flow.

when veronica turned sixteen, she thought of tracking down her father in hopes of reuniting with him. this lead her to her grandmother’s house. who eventually had to break the news that her father had died from a drug overdose before she was born.

though, the news was shocking. it didn’t leave her feeling empty. instead, she found something better — her grandmother. she instantly connected with the woman and eventually found herself making her grandmother’s home as a sort of safe haven.

her grandma even supported her with her arts. buying her any supplies she needed and giving her suggestions on places she can find more muse. basically fulfilling the mother role veronica desperately needed.

but one day while visiting, the woman had passed in her sleep. this took a toll on ronnie considering how attached she became to her grandmother and her home. she would have to return back to her mother’s and her step-father. when she went back, the man attempted to abuse her again. however, she ratted him out. ultimately sending him to his imprisonment.

once she turned eighteen, her mother had packed up her things and left the girl behind. though, ronnie was fazed by the woman’s actions. nor did she feel any lose considering how little she cared about the other.

but good things do happen to v! one day she received a letter explaining that she inherited her grandmother’s fortune. (which she often uses to pay off her apartment bills.) along with a small journal with letters and locations to keep veronica on the right path. to stray away from the hatred and negativity and turn those emotions into something beautiful.

PERSONALITY + RELATIONSHIPS

PERSONALITY: she is charming, creative, and witty. however, she can be quite cynical, stubborn, and reserved. she has that tell it like it is personality. she just calls it likes she sees it. even if she’s not exactly right. she’s witty and intelligent. she’s very particular when it comes to most things. she wants things done correctly. so she often runs by the quote, “if you want things right you gotta do it yourself.” she doesn’t like relying on others to get things done when she knows she could do it faster and better. a little bit of a ocd queen. she’s one of those people that set their mind to something and goes through with it until the end. she has a way with words. her silky soft voice makes it easy for her to manipulate people. (unless you’re close to her, then they can see past the bullshit.) but don’t get her talking about feelings. because you’re gonna just hear crickets if you do that. she’s sort of an introvert. over the years, veronica had to work hard to become the person she is today — someone who is hopeful, who sees art and beauty everywhere, even in the ugliest parts of the world..some days, it’s a little harder, but she never gives up. she’s slowly growing out of her tough head of hair and morphing into a young woman so beautiful over the years, but also at times, terrifying?? self destructive?? even if she’ll never let anyone see her deteriorate her insides sigh. basically she’s a hot mess. but she tries her best to hide that shit. yeye sweg.

when it comes to FRIENDS veronica can always use some of ‘em. she possess the qualities of a good friend loyal, honest, trustworthy. however, she can be quite pessimistic. which might be a reason why she doesn’t have as many friends. once her mind is set to think a certain way it’s hard to persuade her to believe otherwise. she’s the type of friend to listen to your problems, but be prepared to listen to her unwanted opinions – all of them. she’s also the type to put a friend in check when they need it. she thinks of it as trying to convince them to see the bigger picture. first impressions is something she might not be very good at. while she isn’t exactly the definition of rude, she tends to not filter then things she says. overall, i would say that she might just need a handful of friends, a whole bunch of acquaintances, and her a ride or die.

please flood her with ENEMIES. i know for a fact that she has these. being so boldly opinionated and all. you know this girl has more than enough haters. sometimes she has some very evil intentions. she’s vengeful and irrational. but, don’t get me wrong. she’s not pure evil. veronica does have some good intentions, she leans more to the chaotic evil side. deep deeeeep deeeeeeeeep down the girl is trust issue central when it comes to letting people in. she can’t help it. she has abandonment issues thanks to her parents. therefore, she might come off as standoff-ish to new people. she keeps her circle tight. so maybe they think she’s cliquey? or she could have pushed people away. she’s like that one rihanna meme, them: you can’t just cut people off. ronnie: *holds a pair of scissors* she doesn’t have problem with letting people go. so maybe people think she’s a bitch because, “how could you just drop our five year long friendship like that.” and she’d just shrug. but really, she’s hurting beyond repair and will go home crying while eating a thing of ben & jerry’s chunky monkey. and there’s always that possibility where a friendship just didn’t work out. maybe they just stopped having time for each other and now it’s just mad awk. whatever it is, an enemy would b beaut.

as for LOVERS. veronica is a fucking cynic. love ain’t real and life is cold. she’d rather just be alone and happy than in a relationship and suffering. she sees so many people around her settle for less. (her mother being a prime example of that.) especially when she’s giving advice for friends. she doesn’t think people should be so easily manipulated by the concept of love. she knows there’s a difference between wanting someone and wanting to be with someone. and in her eyes, most people only settle for the sake of companionship. it’d be a hard mission to win this girl over. but not impossible. she’s definitely been on a few dates and had a couple of relationships. though most ended quickly due to the realization she only fell for their smooth talking and nothing more. 100% dabbles in the quick hook ups for the sake of fulfilling those needs. though, if the right person were to come along… she’d be loyal to them, completely devoted to just them.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

sooooo, my lazy ass actually found the power to make a RELATIONSHIPS PAGE. peep it, tell me what you think. if you can’t find something your muse fits, throw whatever ideas you have right at me! i’m so down for whatever.

MISCELLANEOUS

in a nutshell, she’s an angel with a halo unbalanced with horns, not a devil but not a saint either?? kind yet has a backbone. softer than what she seems like. humorous and witty though understanding. mistrusting but willing to let loyalty speak. veronica is a hot mess dealing with personal issues by lashing out on those around her. she’s loyal, but manipulative. opinionated, but easily offended. intelligent, but sometimes argumentative. she’s a bit of a feminist. trusts no bitch. but if you’re her friend, she’s chill as fuck. though, she’s a bit hesitant when it comes to making new friends. since she’s likes being a lame outcast. but really — she just doesn’t know how to process her good thoughts into words. she’s a barista and a tortured artist. she’s independent, hardworking, and determined. muse inspo for her: kat stratford (10 things i hate about you), samantha borgens (stuck in love), michelle (spider-man homecoming), and a hint of blair waldorf (gossip girl). anyways, give her girl scout cookies and she’ll love you til the end of time.

congratulations ! you made it to end ! if you read all of this… i love you. i only ever write so much bc… it gets me in character lmao. also, i wrote all of this the second i woke up. so don’t mind the grammar mistakes and what not. HENNYWAYS… i would really love to plot with everyone. so just slide into my DMs and we can get things started!! luv u *blows a kiss*

#cap.intro #╰ ✧･ﾟ* LIPSTICK IN MY VALENTINO WHITE BAG ! –– ooc

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theinvulnerabletide · 6 years ago

Note

OC Ask Meme: wardrobe, poison, contact (Whisper); microscope, mixtape, hobby (Oriana); photo album, ufo, interiors (Celandine); fragrance, parachute, psyche (Lyra); conspiracy theory, shooting star (Maggie); lighting, love note, chess board, wild card (any)

Alright, this got super long so the answers are under the cut!

Whisper:

Wardrobe:What is your OC’s style like?

It’s kind of hard to describe; Whisper tries not to beas loud and clashy as, say, Ignatius, but after living with a carnival foralmost seven years, it is hard for her not to be a little bold. Far from themore simple, elegant style she started with. Bright, jewel-tone colors that compliment and play off the color of her skin,complicated embroidery, statement jewelry pieces on her ears, around her neck,and wrists and horns and tail. But while it is bold and eye catching, it is allpainstakingly coordinated, so it’s visually interesting but not exhausting tolook at. She loves cute dresses with diaphanous layers, or travelling breaches andblouses so tight they might as well be a leotard, stuff she can move in, or runin, as needed. Even when she tries to dress simply, there’s plenty of embroideryor an innovative cut to her clothes. Her brand-new armor, the one with the mithril weave, is a play off of one ofher old performance outfits. It’s a sort of bold teal, the blue and the greensmixing and changing along the fabric, which plays interestingly with the darkerindigo of her skin, and it’s embroidered along the tight bodice with gold. Thesleeves come down to a midshoulder and there’s a bit of flutter to them, andthere’s a bit of a half-skirt, more of a sash really, in a bold blue-green,also chased through with gold. That ends mid-thigh, revealing a pair ofleggings in a darker blue, which disappear into a set of boots she can walk in.It clashes a bit with the gem on her focus, but it works. Poison: Vices/Bad Habits? What are they?How do they affect your OC?

Whisper has quite a few vices, yes. Drinking, quiteoften, the occasional drug, or spot of gambling, and sex. You know, all themajor ones.

I don’t think they’re too out of hand. While shedefinitely self-medicates with whiskey, and sex when there’s a willing partner,she isn’t necessarily dependent on them. Like, she hasn’t had a single drinksince boarding the Star Song, because drinking and the subsequent hangoverswould impede her ability to work on this spell. But they are the first thingshe turns to when she doesn’t want to deal with her emotions or with whatevertraumatizing thing just happened.

Contact:how does your OC feel about touch/physical contact? Are they affectionate? Ifso, ow do they display affection to others?

Whisper is very touchy; the circus she spent the lastfew years in was very, very close, and there was basically no such thing aspersonal space. While she knows other people aren’t usually as touchy as sheis, she definitely still gets in other people’s personal space quite often. Shehugs people, cuddles up next to them, jabs their arms and high fives and allsorts of things. No forehead kisses though, she thinks that might bemisconstrued. Or construed correctly, as the case may be.

Oriana:

Microscope:Zoom In: describe the little, insignificant details about your OC.

Oriana’s nose is small and slender, upturned at theend. Between that and the freckles that constellate across the bridge of hernose and along her cheekbones, she can almost be called cute, though she won’tthank you for saying it. Her eyes are gold, molten and dark towards the centerand lightening outwards. Her ears are ever so slightly pointed, barelynoticeable under the sable of her hair, even when her hair is pinned up and outof the way.She is shorter than most of the rest of the party, 5’ 4’’ or 5’ 5’’ on a goodday, but broad shouldered and well-muscled, with a little bit of a belly, whichno one ever sees because Oriana is rarely out of her armor, even if her newarmor clings a little more than she’s used to.

Mixtape:5 songs that describe your OCs, or songs they themselves would like.

Take Up Your Spade – Sara WatkinsWaking Up the Giants – GrizfolkNever One Thing – May ErlewineSpark – Backstage CastWhite Flag – Bishop Briggs

Hobby:What do they love? What captivates them? What are their passions?

Oriana has surprisingly few hobbies. She reads, a lot,about everything: copper dreadfuls to ent philosophy, to religious doctrines tohistorical texts. She loves the simple act of reading, of being transported, ofassimilating knowledge and understandingthings.

Stories are what really captivate her though: strongand vibrant heroines and the men who support them, toppling evil empires andmaking their worlds safe forever after.

She also likes to knit, though she hasn’t had a chanceto do that in a very long time. Yarn has been hard to come by recently.

Celandine:

PhotoAlbum: Describe one of your OC’s favorite memories:

Probably the first time she felt like the Lunch Bunchwere really her friends, and not just humoring her or setting her up to be meanto her later, all of them laughing together at their lunch table.

UFO:Identity! What are some of key identifying traits of your OCs? How do theyidentify in regards to gender/sexuality?

Celandine is a 13-year-old super genius, so her intelligenceand creativity, her inventions, are what she puts the most emphasis on. Sexualitywise, she’s 13, so she’s still exploring, but she’s definitely had crushes onboys and girls and enbies before, so she thinks she might be pan.

Interiors:Describe your OC’s bedroom/home/place they consider theirs? What’s in it? Docertain items have special significance to your OC?

Celandine’s room is a little small, even by gnomishstandards, made smaller by her insistence of having an entire workbench in herroom, stocked with tools and materials. Her bookshelf is full to bursting, withmore books stacked on top—fantasy novels intermingled with instruction manualsand text books—and on every other available surface, her projects are laid outin various stages of readiness. Half-finished music boxes balanced on herbooks, her armor on the bed, the heelies she’s working on the actual workbench,and whatever is currently taking her fancy balanced on her lap as she sits inalmost the perfect center of her room.

The only part of her room that’s clean is her dresserand her closet—she keeps that meticulous. Clothes are the last thing she wantsto worry about, so she makes it so she can just grab an acceptable outfit andgo in the morning.

The walls are covered in band posters and schematics,with the one from Kaylie’s last word tour pasted right above her bed. She doeslove music, so she, of course, has a radio that she “fixed” on her bedsidetable, and it is always on while she works.

Lyra:

Fragrance: What does your OC smell like?

Lyra doesn’t wear fragrance—perfumeheralds your arrival as much as an errant step can—and all her soaps arelikewise unscented. So she smells of the leather she wears (leather gloves,jerkin, boots), and the polish she uses on every one of her weapons after takingthem to the whetstone, and possibly, after spending so much time in the crow’snest and at the bow of the Star Song as it races through the skies, a littlebit like a strong headwind.

Parachute: who does your OC trust the most? Who makes themfeel safe? Who would they do absolutely anything for?

There are exactly 8 people in theworld Lyra trusts at all, 8 people she will drop everything to help if theyneed it. Her old party: Arannis, Cora, Atrauk and Haskell, Esssstefan, the Yuan-Tiwho taught her how to fly, Elissssabeth, Lucien, and the milliner who makes herhats in Kamery.

But it’s none of them individually thatmake her feel safe, though having her party at her back helped, as does Lucienwhen he brings her back from a panic attack. The first time she ever felt safeafter the catastrophe in Kamery was when she and her party took the airship upfor the first time. It’s probably the only time she feels safe at all, really,when they’re a thousand feet off the ground and the world below looks small andinsignificant, and she knows nothing down there can touch her.

Psyche: what’s their headspace like? Do they have any mentalillnesses? How do they process difficult or emotional situations? What aretheir coping mechanisms. Lyra’s headspace is… dark, for lack of a better word. Functional, but not muchelse. She spent quite a lot of her time scraping by on the streets of Kamery,in all kinds of deprivation before she was swept up by one of the more highprofile gangs as a sort of catchall, though her expertise was infiltration andtheft, and the occasional murder. She can manage to charm a pigeon into herhand for a small amount of time, but she is just as like to stab them as liftthe thing she needs from them.

Blackthorne tried to hone her into anunquestioning weapon in his arsenal, using pain and necessities as punishmentand reward, and mostly succeeded. The rest of the Magpies—Cyrene in particulartried remind her she was a person, but Lyra pretty much snapped when they alldied around her, killed at Blackthorne’s orders.

So basically, Lyra has some prettymajor PTSD and an inability to handle more complex emotions. So mostly shejust… doesn’t process them. She shoves them back into the recesses of her mindand tries to remain more or less emotionless. It doesn’t work, obviously, butshe has managed to make it so she doesn’t have emotional responses like onemight think. And they always come out in her nightmares and occasional panicattacks.

She’s gotten better since Lucien hascome into her life; forcing her to talk about them, just being at her back; halfof Lucien’s job is to play therapist after Lyra has a particularly bad episode.He keeps her from breaking apart into a million pieces.

Otherwise, Lyra meditates onoccasion, and keeps her skills sharp. She makes sure she’s never anywherewithout a weapon—which has become easier since she gained some magic of herown—and keeps daggers hidden all throughout her room. She counts them beforeshe goes to sleep, making sure that they’re able to be slid out of theirsheaths and be in her hand at a moment’s notice. And woe to the crewman whotries to slip into her room while she’s asleep without announcing themselves;their like to get a dagger in the eye for their trouble.

Maggie:

Conspiracy theory: what are your OC’sbeliefs? Are they skeptics or do they believe easily? Who acts on blind faith,who needs to see to believe?

Maggie’s relationship with religionis… complicated. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in Avacyn—she sees the magicpriests have, and she assume it has to come from somewhere—but she does distrustthe church, perhaps even the Goddess herself, and has a hard time believing thatthey have the people’s best interests at heart. After all, they’re in power now,and people in power very often will do anything to keep it.

Maggie does also tend to be a bit ofa skeptic, at least when it comes to people, but she knows magic can make quitea few things possible, and that the world is a complex place. Even seeingsomething doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s real. Shooting star: If your OC could have onewish, what would it be?

To see her father again.

Any:

Lighting: Who is the most impulsivecharacter? Who is their impulse control?

Honestly, I love impulsive characters?So more often than not my character is going to just say “fuck it” and do whatthey want. Basically because I have no impulse control myself. I think Az’ar andOriana might be the only charactersof mine who doesn’t give into their impulses more often than the do.

But of my other characters, I thinkWhisper, Lyra and Celandine might be the most impulsive. Whisper is held backby Thia and Oriana and her mother’s voice in her head, Celandine is pretty muchheld back exclusively by Caela (the poor girl), and right now Lyra doesn’t haveanyone to hold her back—maybe Lucien, but crew seems to be just as bad as sheis—she’s had to learn how to hold herself back, now that Arannis and Atrauk andCora aren’t around to council her to be careful.

Love note: who likes who? Crushes? Relationships? Are theymutual or unrequited?

I think of all my D&D characters,Wren is the only one who is actually in a relationship, and whose love is requited.In fact, finding Narissa, who was taken back to the Feywild, is her wholereason for going on this adventure.

Whisper expects her attraction to mostof the party is mutual—why wouldn’t they be attracted to her, she’s gorgeousand clever and an absolute delight—but the feelings she may or may not have forsome of them she expects are completely unrequited.

Celandine is 13 and has basically hadbrief crush on half the school, though her most enduring one is on KaylieShorthalt, who is also her favorite singer. Since Kaylie and Celandine areyears and years apart and have never actually met, it’s safe to say that’sunrequited.

Lyra has something for Arannis. She refusesto think about it and stubbornly tells herself that it’s just admiration andrespect and friendship, but even if it were mutual, Lyra would never let ithappen. Chess Board: who is the most logical? Orthe schemer/planner?

Az’ar, Lyra and Celandine are all schemers.They’ve all got plans for days, though Lyra less so than she used to. EvenWhisper has schemes of her own, though they’re mostly borrowed from Ignatius’play book. Az’ar is probably the most logical of them all though.

Wild card:

I stole this question from another askmeme, and, well, as someone who loves angst, I couldn’t resist: Is your character afraid of death? Ifthey got to choose how to die, how would they want to go?

I think, of all my characters, onlyOriana is not scared of death to some extent or another. Az’ar is so terrifiedof it that she’d kill the god of death to secure immortality, and Whisper woulddo almost anything to avoid it herself, at least until her appointed time.

But Oriana would like to die inbattle, Whisper would prefer to die completing her mission, Maggie merely wantsto die ‘doing the right thing’, and I think Lyra has no preference. She’shonestly surprised she continues to breathe. But she expects to go down in ablaze of glory with the Star Song when the years finally catch up with her.

#long post for ts #oc ask meme #ask me anything!#whisper the tiefling sorceress #oriana the aasimar paladin #celandine the gnomish wizard #lyra the half-elven rogue #maggie the human warlock #whatever the hell this #sprin'torel campaign #innistrad campaign #islanderscaper

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sea040561 · 7 years ago

Text

Seize the Day (or Night) Part 1

Title: Seize the Day (or Night) Part 1

Author: @sea040561

Beta’d by: @sofreddie (Thank you again!!!)

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Summary: Jared finally has the courage to reveal how he feels

Word Count: 7178 for both parts (I couldn’t seem to stop with this one lol)

Warnings: verbal abuse, angst, crying, pregnancy

Author’s Note: For @gone-to-fight-the-fairies writing challenge - Supernatural's Summer of Heroes Challenge. My quote was “When are we going to talk about this unspoken thing between us?” - Peter Quill - Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2

It was mid-September and Supernatural was currently filming Episode 12 of Season 13. Y/N stood to the side and watched Jared, Jensen, and Misha interact together as Sam, Dean, and Cas. You knew Episode 12 was the most intense episode of what they had filmed for Season 13 so far. With the exception of Episode 1, this episode was filled with so much fear, anguish, and distress.

Glancing at Jared, your thoughts reflected on the grief, agony, and misery you had been feeling when you returned to set for Season 13. You were Head Chef of craft services for the set. Over the last few years, you had learned which foods cast members preferred and which foods they were allergic to as well as turn the cast and crew into guinea pigs for new recipes you dreamed up. Before hiatus had begun, you decided you were going to take cooking class over the course of two nights a week, for a total of six weeks.

Because the class and the homework you were assigned took up a lot of your time, your boyfriend, Hunter, had become angry. He felt that you were ignoring him in favor of “feeding those douchebag actors on that moronic tv show”. Before the class, you had expressed to him, in excitement, that you wanted to learn some new recipes to cook for the set. He didn’t quite agree with you. After the third time he showed up at your house unannounced, he had found you cooking, again! The first two times you were also cooking. He made a split decision to break up with you, yelling at you that you had to have gained at least 50 lbs in the last year that you had been dating. All because of the “asinine cooking”, in his words.

Y/N y/e/c teared up as a knot formed in your throat as you continued to remember the break-up. You quickly brushed away the slowly forming tears in your eyes as memories flooded your mind. No one on set had known you had a boyfriend. Hunter didn’t bother ever visiting you on set and you never bothered telling anyone about him. It was easier that way because the relationships never worked out. In fact, all of your boyfriends initiated the break-ups in each relationship. All of your exes had claimed the same reason - that you were too fat, despite the fact that you were fat when they met you. Contrary to popular stereotypical belief, you had, in fact, not gained more than 10 to 15 lbs in the last 5 years. Sighing, you softly chuckled to yourself as you proceed back to Craft Services to start the preparations for the next meal.

Jared quickly glanced up spying Y/N walking back to Craft Services. He was waiting for a scene reset for the next take and noticed you leaning against the farthest wall. Jared had determined that when you needed to relax, watching a scene being shot did it best. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought back to the filming the first episode of the season. For most of the day, you had been watching filming. Several times, he caught you looking at your phone with a sad look on your face. He noticed you frequently rubbed your eyes. At first he thought that something in the air was irritating your allergies but then Jared realized every time you rubbed your eyes it had been after you were looking at your phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N had been working at Craft Services since Season 9.

Jared loved your enthusiasm for cooking. For discovering new recipes to experiment with. The happiness it brought. Both to Y/N and the cast and crew.

Jared was greeted each morning with your wonderful, sunny disposition as his groggy ass dragged himself to get coffee. He was actually worse in the morning before he drank his coffee, not Jensen. The fact that you make a mean cup of joe as well as tasty morning donuts is what kept him alive.

Over the years, the cast and crew became a close knit tight family. Hiatuses were spent grilling, swimming, jet-skiing, laughing, dancing, and going on family vacations. The activities were endless.

As Jared was able to spend more time with you, he realized that you were a stubborn, fierce-loving woman. That you would stand up for your point of view without degrading anyone else’s. That you would defend your friends no matter what. That you didn’t tolerate racism, prejudice, and bigotry in any way, shape or form.

But ultimately, you were an excellent support system for your sister who suffered from bi-polar disorder.

That statement right there is when Jared had realized he had fallen in love with you. He never once questioned the validity of his love. Y/N knew that Jared suffered from clinical depression and severe anxiety. You never treated him with kid gloves. That is what he really liked about you. Because it was familiar territory for you, you could understood how difficult times could be.

Now, Jared’s heart is hurting as he watches the resigned look on Y/N’s face as you leaned against the wall watching them film. He knew something was going on and he didn’t like it at all.

Jensen had urged Jared to tell you about his feelings. Jensen had long ago developed suspicions about your private dating life. Even though you never expressed it, he knew the constant comments about your weight affected you. Only someone like Jensen, who had perfected the “everything is totally fine” look, couldn’t miss the miniscule flinch in your eyes and the grinding of your teeth. He had never discussed any of this with Jared because he was almost positive that Jared was just as observant.

As Jared remembered his conversation with Jensen, he made the spontaneous decision to take the bull by the horns and change his destiny.

“Do you think we can take a five minute break?” Jared asked Jensen apprehensively.

“Why?” Jen questioned as he followed Jared’s gaze. He realized that Jared was watching Y/N walk back to Craft Services.

“I know you can see it. Something is going on with Y/N. Have you noticed how out of sorts and sad she has been over the past few weeks?” Jared answered.

Jensen hesitated in answering him but then quickly nodded his head affirmatively.

“I want to go over and talk with her,” Jared proceeded, “I’m determined to find out what is going on. She is usually so bubbly and happy. Always has a kind word for everyone.”

Jensen patted Jared on the back, “I’ll make sure we get a ten minute break. You go talk to Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You glanced up as you could see movement out of the corner of your eye. Your heart started to pound as you spied Jared walking towards you. You could see the look of concern on his face. Immediately, your mind started to race wondering if you had done something wrong. You took a deep breath as you steeled yourself for the onslaught of what was known as Moose. Every time you talked with Jay, you had to put steel walls around your heart so you never let it known that you were crushing on Jared. If you can even call it that when you are an adult, and not a teenager. Knowing that it wasn’t a probability that Jared wanted to go on a date with you, you continued to look for the next best thing. Except they were all duds. You wondered why you tortured yourself with going out with these men who never appreciated the wonderful person that Jared said you were.

You smiled brightly as Jay stopped in front of you, “Hey, Jared, how’s filming today?”

“It is going well. Jen and I seem to be nailing each scene on the first take. So we would probably be done early today,” He responded.

“Well, that is good to hear,” you said as you smiled up at Jared, “So what are you going to do since you will have an evening to yourself?”

Jared looked at you searching your eyes for the sadness he had seen there earlier. To his surprise, he realized that you were smiling and happy while talking to him. There was no sign of your earlier sadness. He continued to map your face with his eyes gauging your emotions.

“Well, I wanted to invite you over for some pizza and movies since we both have off tomorrow,” He stated as he smiled brightly.

“Oh,” you replied, “With Jensen and Misha too?” There was no way he would invite you over by yourself so you just assumed Jen and Mish were invited as well. You know that they usually do a poker night with the guys working on the set.

Jared stuttered unexpectedly, scaring himself in the process. After he cleared his throat, he began to talk, “No, Jen and Mish have plans with their wives tonight.” lying easily.

“Oh, Dani and Vicki are in town?” You inquired.

“Uh, yes,” Jay replied, “but just for one night.” Considering how nervous he was, Jared was surprised he was able to lie with ease. Jared watched as you contemplated his offer.

“Can I pick the movie?” You pleaded. You didn’t know how you were going to do this. Just being alone with Jared, while on set, was jarring enough but you had no idea how you’d feel once you were in his house watching movies and eating pizza. You figured you had nothing to lose. Once Jared sees you wolfing down the pizza, he will realize what a fat-ass you are. He will question why he even bothered hanging out with you. Besides romantic relationships, your friendships often ended in same way. People seemed to always get tired of your constant need for reassurance. That you were too much to handle, both figuratively and physically.

Jared watched the emotions flitting across your face. He had hoped you would say yes. He was surprised that you asked if you could pick the movie. How could he say no to that, “Most definitely! I have a ton of movies at home, plus On Demand. You can even go to Redbox to rent something else.”

You smiled joyfully as you heard Jared agree that you could pick the movie tonight. Now you just had to think of the right one to choose.

“Bring some pjs and clothes for tomorrow in case you are too tired to drive home tonight. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Jared said.

Your E/C eyes widened in shock then narrowed as you searched Jared’s face. There was no way he was interested in you. NO FUCKING WAY but Jay’s next words stupefied you.

“When we are going to talk about this unspoken thing between us?” Jared asked. Before you could address him, he replied, “Tonight,” as he pivoted on his heel and ran back to set not giving you a chance to respond.

You knew with the end of the day shoots and cleaning up the craft services area that you wouldn’t be talking to Jared the rest of the day.

Jensen walked by quickly, snagging a coffee, as he proceeded to set, “Y/N, are you okay?” He noticed you looked a little stunned. He suspected it was from Jared’s conversation with you. He had to keep the smirk off his face or you would question him.

You sighed deeply, “Yeah, Jen. I just need to figure some things out. No big deal.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk, you know I am here for you,” Jen offered as he lightly squeezed your shoulder in reassurance.

Before you could comprehend, Jensen was out of your line of sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you stood in front of your closet, you contemplated what to wear. Was this a date? Or was it just friendship? ‘Nah, it definitely isn’t a date,’ you thought to yourself. Jared was just taking pity on you. Everyone probably thought you never dated because you never mentioned anything to anyone on set. Once in awhile, you did go out with the cast to loosen up a little bit but not much since most of your boyfriends, especially Hunter, forbade you. You feigned exhaustion most of the time. Your days on set were just as long as the boys’.

Reaching for your sleeveless black and white summer dress, you slipped it on and slid your feet into a pair of your flip flops. You applied minimal makeup - eyeliner and mascara - and spritzed yourself with body spray. You laughed to yourself wondering why you were even bothering. Most of the men you had dated never noticed the effort you put forward to look beautiful, if you could call yourself that. But with the slow help of your therapist, psychiatrist, and the appropriate medications, you were gradually trying to change the way you think about yourself and your relationships with others. It was an uphill battle but you were determined.

Taking a final deep breath, you grabbed the wine you had bought, your purse, your duffle bag and started the journey to Jared’s house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jared smiled as he fluffed - yes, fluffed - his hair as he stared into the mirror. He was determined to find out what was going with Y/N. He had known Y/N for a little over four years, but started developing feelings for her about two years ago. He had been hesitant to reveal his feelings for Y/N because she never gave any indication of reciprocating them. The least he could do was extend his friendship to her. A person would have to be blind not to see that something was going on with Y/N.

However, he hoped this night would end up the way he always dreamed - with her in his arms and her lips on his.

Jared grabbed his newest Pearl Jam tee shirt and slipped it over his head. He then slid on a brand new pair of lounge pants.

He figured he would wait to order the pizza when Y/N arrived so he proceeded to the living room where his two dogs, Arlo and Paige, were sleeping. He knew that Y/N loved dogs so he wasn’t worried about how the dogs would react when Y/N arrived. Besides, she had already met his babies several times before.

Jared glanced at the clock realizing that Y/N would be here in a couple of minutes. He nervously bounced his knee up and down while running his fingers through his hair. God, was he so nervous. He was never this nervous with Sandy, his ex-girlfriend. She never made him feel the things that Y/N does.

Hearing the slam of a car door, Jared’s head jerked up. He heard the soft knock on his front door. Swallowing deeply, he sighed and stood up to open the front door.

Y/N stood in front of him in an amazing black and white summer dress that, in his opinion, hugged all her curves in the right places. One thing that Jared loved about you is that you were a curvy, voluptuous woman. You looked up at Jared with a large smile on your face, “Hi, Jar, I brought some wine” as you held up the bottle you were carrying.

Opening the door wider, Jared stepped to the side to let you in his house. He could see that you were carrying a small duffle bag like he had suggested. Arlo and Paige immediately greeted you with wagging tails. After giving them some scratches and kisses, you ordered them to their doggie beds, missing the look on Jared’s face. Oh how he wished you greeted him in the same way you greeted his babies.

“Ready for some fun,” Jared inquired as he gave you one of his signature Padalecki grins. He practically squeezed the life out of you but you didn’t mind. Anything to stay wrapped in his arms was a bonus. You felt a loss of feeling as Jared pulled away.

“I’m going to put this back in the fridge,” Jared said as he began to walk away, “you get comfortable on the couch. Figure out what you would like on your pizza while I grab some drinks and plates.”

You almost blushed as Jared suggested getting comfortable on the couch. Oh how you’d love to get very comfortable with him, on the couch, or the bed, even the floor. Hell, the kitchen counter even.

Slipping your shoes off, you tucked your feet under you and leaned back into the soft, plush couch sighing. ‘Maybe you will get the courage to tell Jared how you feel tonight,’ you thought to yourself.

#Supernatural's Summer or Heroes Challange #gone-to-fight-the-fairies #jared x reader #angst #verbal abuse #unprotected sex #pregnancy

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voyageviolet · 6 years ago

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Just for the hell of it, I’m going to post the responses I’ve been writing for the Great Homestuck Reread.

DAY 1

I could have sworn I wrote something for this day, but apparently no??? Weird.

DAY 2, PAGES 127-247

Favorite Panel: John: Scold TT

This one's just cute to me.

Favorite Pesterlog: John: Answer chums.

Rose is being high-and-mighty about the FAQs while John panics about impending doom; meanwhile Dave is talking to himself about planet fucking Jupiter. These kids are a disaster.

Favorite Flash: S: John: Take a bite of the apple.

There's not a lot of competition for "favorite flash" in these pages, but I do think it's a great way for the story to really get started with a sense of urgency.

Missed Moments: Not much, but is that oil on Rose's wall? And I've never noticed John's shirt changing color.

Today's Question - Is Act 1 actually bad or are people just not giving it a chance?

I think Act 1 is great, but I didn't the first time I read it. It takes a while to get past the initial "What the fuck am I reading" response, what with the captchaloging and the cruxtruding and the other fake words. I started reading and gave up twice before I finally buckled down and decided, "I am going to find out what the deal is with the candy corn horns I'm seeing everywhere if it kills me." But if you decide to just relax and enjoy the ride, Act 1 is a lot of fun. It's just frustrating for the people who've been sold on Homestuck being this great epic adventure to have to get through the kids screwing around in the beginning.

DAY 3, PAGES 248-384

Favorite Panel: Dave's little gasp here. ~SO COOL~

Favorite Pesterlog: And here we have the first example of two of the gayest kids in Homestuck calling each other gay. These two are so much alike in their mostly-playfully-adversarial ways; they crack me up.

Favorite Flash: [S] YOU THERE. BOY. I'm the kind of RPG gamer that walks around and talks to every NPC and checks every little corner for items or info, so the walkaround flashes are always especially fun for me.

Missed Moments: -In the [S] YOU THERE. BOY. flash, WV knows who John Cusack is, as if he's some kind of universal constant.

-When I first read Homestuck, I didn't expect this quote to be referenced again: "You wonder if this rain will ever let up. It's driven since the month began, perhaps long enough to forget its purpose. It no longer even knows to assuage fire. Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton. "

-And for something I missed this time around: Does anyone know what songs used to be on the [S] on page 338? There's still "Harlequin" and "John do the windy thing," but some have been removed, probably for copyright reasons. (If you're not sure what I mean, click the four corner buttons on that page.)

Today's Question - Who was truly at fault in the Rose/Mom pseudo-imaginary feud?

I talked a bit about this yesterday, but to simplify: It's Mom's fault, simply due to the fact that she's the parent. It's the parent's responsibility to engage with their child in a way that the child can understand and appreciate. Mom reacted to Rose in an overbearing way that had more to do with her own feelings than her child's feelings. For example, when young Rose asked her mom to have a funeral for her cat, she wasn't asking for an elaborate permanent monument; she was asking for help saying goodbye to a friend and coping with that loss. In spite of what I assume to be her best intentions, Mom failed to provide that. Their house is filled with this sort of elaborate expression of affection that completely fails to provide any real emotional connection.

Let me state for the record that Roxy is one of my favorite characters in Homestuck, but she's the version of the character who managed to pull herself together and support the people she cares about. For whatever reason, Mom is the version who didn't.

DAY 4, 385-509

Favorite Panel: ==> I forgot about this one, but John flying around the room with the pogo and the shaving cream is still hilarious.

Favorite Pesterlog: Dave: Pester Rose. The first crack in the cool kid's facade.

Favorite Flash: [S] Rose: Youth roll right out the front door. This is SO dramatic, what with the "empty suicide threat" and the "ironic negligence," and yet it's presented in such a cartoonish "lol whatever" manner. I wish we got more detail about their relationship at some point in the story - something like Dave's introspection and his interaction with Dirk - because this flash presents a pretty bleak picture.

Missed Moments: -From page 404's commentary: "Also, I like how WV is now helping out with the Con Air references through his terminal commands. He shows a striking ability to adapt to and participate in running gags. He is the type of guy who just "gets it", you know?" I definitely didn't pick up on this before. It's hard to pinpoint the places where the commands stop being authorial input and start being characters' input.

-424's commentary: "Judging by the commands, WV is just as caught up in the story as John is. Let's agree this is adorable." Definitely adorable, but I wonder, does WV know at this point that this is the story he was already caught up in?

-447: "There's the PUPPET CHEST he stores LIL' CAL in when he takes him out on gigs." BRO TAKES LIL CAL ON GIGS. LIKE GIGS IN PUBLIC? THERE IS NO WAY ANYONE WHO'S NOT A TRAPPED 13 YEAR OLD WOULD EVER ENTERTAIN THE IDEA THAT VENTRILOQUIST RAPPING COULD BE COOL. BRO WOULD GET DESTROYED ONSTAGE.

I always assumed that the puppet thing was exclusively online, but it sounds like Bro's life may be weirder than I ever realized - which is pretty fucking weird to begin with.

Today's Question - Is WV really just a one note joke character? No, I don't think he is. Every character in Homestuck is a joke to some degree, but that doesn't make them flat. WV has an emotional journey and narrative development that starts with his his silly obsession with eating green things, evolves through flashbacks of his rebellion against a corrupt monarchy and his friendship with PM&co, and ends with him starting (what seems to be) an egalitarian democracy on new Earth. He also serves to explain to the audience what happened to the old, now abandoned Earth without resorting to boring exposition.

Plus he's adorable and everyone loves him, so there's that.

Bonus Question - WHAT'S YOUR POGO MINIGAME HIGH SCORE???? Yeah I can't say I spent much time on that, but I did enjoy the song.

DAY 5, PAGES 510-644

Didn't get time to respond to this yesterday, oops. I'll make this quick.

Favorite Panel: Vaulthalla, baby.

Favorite Pesterlog: Rose: Answer Dave. Still love these kids, and the fact that Rose makes up a poem on the spot is pretty impressive.

Favorite Flash: Well, there's only the one, so...

Missed Moments: None this time.

Today's Question - Which of the items in your house would you combine to make a cool weapon? I'm gonna be a dumb nerd and admit that I'd like to see what I could make with some anime figures. I've always thought that umbrellakind was kind of fun, so why not mix animu figures with that. Like, a Sailor Moon figma with an umbrella could make a cute cheesy magical girl wand. I also have an old biting pear statue that I'm sure could make some interesting things.

DAY 6, PAGES 645-759

Favorite Panel: Democracy. The deadpan faux-seriousness combined with WV's cuteness is just delightful.

*Favorite Pesterlog: * There really weren't any of note in this section. This day's all about WV.

Favorite Flash: WV: Ascend. I've always found the longer flash videos a bit confusing; there are so many things happening at once. Damn if they aren't fascinating, though.

Missed Moments: -Page 721: "All of the chess moves were copied exactly from a famous game played by Bobby Fischer. I forget which one exactly, but it was super famous among dudes who bone tight up on their chess." Never would've guessed that. For some reason, it never even occurred to me that these would be valid chess moves rather than WV just throwing things around. -"The station's terminal is meant to "control" the client player of the kid whose house once existed where that station is. So WV's station, which was in Rose's location, gives commands to John, because John is Rose's client player, and she commands his game similarly. And the apple station commands Jade, because she'll be John's client player, etc. Did you realize this?" NOPE

Today's Question - What would WV's classpect be? Mayor of Can? I dunno, I've never spent much time on classpect theorizing. It's too complicated and too heavily based on speculation for me.

DAY 7, PAGES 760-885

Favorite Panel: Jade's holographic computer. Her life is ridiculous and otherworldly. Seeing the crazy things that are a mundane part of her reality is pretty great.

Favorite Pesterlog: A rare Jade-Rose pesterlog. Best appreciate these when you can.

Favorite Flash: [S] Rose: Ascend. There are a lot of fight scenes in this section, but this one is the most fun, and the one involving the least amount of child abuse.

Missed Moments: -"I wonder which troll named her Farmstink? Do trolls even have farms? Maybe they call them musclebeast pastures." It never even occurred to me that it was the trolls typing in names. I just thought of it as reader input.

-"With the (playable!) FRESHJAMZ playlist, we are provided with the implication that these are all songs produced by the kids collaboratively. Their icons indicate who was involved with the songs. Just another sign earlier in the story that these kids have some musical talent and this is the sort of thing they do with their spare time." I don't think I ever noticed everyone's icons next to songs, or if I did I didn't put it together that they were the ones making this music.

-"It's almost as if Bro is training him to face the last boss. Or it would be if last boss had the slightest thing to do with this creepy puppet, which of course is preposterous." Never connected those dots.

Today's Question - Is early Jade a good character? Why or why not?

Yes, on the grounds that she is precious and delightful.

More seriously, though, I think she's as good of a character as any of the kids, but she doesn't get as much narrative attention or development as I'd like towards the end of the comic. Early Jade, though, is arguably in the most fucked up situation out of all of the kids: Her grandfather took her to a deserted island and died when she was very young, leading Jade to assume he committed suicide, and leaving her with the responsibility of emptying out his innards to taxidermy his body (?!?). Ok, there's no way that last part ever could have been played straight, but the point remains that Jade has had to grow up in a pretty bleak and lonely situation, but she remains unfailingly positive and friendly. She's never had any hope of leaving her island and interacting with the rest of her planet before the game destroys it, but by watching the clouds on Prospit and by enjoying her friendships, she stays happy and hopeful. I can't see that as anything but impressive.

#homestuck #meta

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its-love-u-asshole · 8 years ago

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Shaking in My Skull [Final]

Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki

Rating: T

Summary: Stuck on the plane between life and death, Saruhiko makes the decision to risk everything, forced to find faith in himself and the headstrong Yata Misaki as they both face unimaginable demons.

Note: Wow, I can't even believe this is the last chapter. I started this fic 8 months ago, started planning even before that, and this fic means so much to me I just can't believe. The first scene of this chapter is one of the three scenes which started the whole fic, so it's extra unreal lol. Thanks to everyone here reading, enjoy! Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for beta-ing this story from the beginning, and letting me brainstorm ideas and complain about it with her lol!

Also, because some people asked about the backgrounds of Mikoto and Munakata as well as the other deities, I decided to make a little backstories post for them, which you can find the link to below! ^^

Ao3 Version

8tracks

Backstories Post

"Fushimi? Fushimi!"

Saruhiko's eyes snapped open, his breath catching as the smell of city exhaust and fast food assaulted his nostrils. His senses felt overstimulated, the blurs of images and color, coupled with the warm climate making him sweat was enough to leave him not moving and speechless. Where...

But he didn't have to ask, not when his heart was constricting furiously in his chest at the sound of a very familiar voice, his mind reeling from the city bustle which he'd once been so accustomed to. There were cars stuck in traffic on his left hand side, the occasional horn and screech of tires jolting him further out of his stupor.

Saruhiko had no explanation for any of it. It wasn't a dream. It felt too genuine, but maybe it was a hallucination from his trial worn mind, maybe it was another trial entirely, his memories turned against him. It would be cruel sure, but not unexpected, he'd faced worse as a matter of fact. So of course, this was another attempt to remind him of the ever present distance between himself and his life. It had to be.

And yet...

He choked on his own emotions as they blended into his logic. Part of him had to know, had to be able to tell. Each reasoning felt cheap and poor, and he wanted to cry, as unnecessary as it sounded. The hope residing inside him was bubbling up fiercely as he breathed in, his body catching up along with him despite his attempts at denying.

Despite it, Saruhiko felt light, his muscles relaxing in a way that was nearly unfamiliar to him. After so much effort and pain, how could he cope with feeling so brand new all of a sudden?

His hands twitched, and he glanced at them in awe; the skin was uncut and clean, from what he could tell at least, which wasn't much due to his strangely hazy vision. There were no notable scars or detectable shaking, but there was a bow tied neatly around one palm. His pulse raced as he felt the fleece, as if not believing it was there. But it was a fact, wrapped securely over nonexistent wounds. His heart wanted to explode, but the lack of clarity still had him slightly anxious. It reminded him of the hazy image of hell's gate disappearing, alluding him, and he thought maybe this was all a fabrication after all.

It would be the last time he considered such a thing.

Saruhiko could make out his surroundings, but they were blurred, the edges of the cars and the sidewalk too soft, along with the outline of the person in front of him. A person, he told himself, because judging from the sudden scratchiness in his throat as realization closed in, he couldn't handle hoping for the best. But he knew that voice, knew those blonde curls, hazy or not.

But it couldn't be, this couldn't be real...

The burn in his eyes increased.

I failed right? So why...

He recalled the feeling of something slick against his bloody hand, and his breath hitched.

The breeze hit his skin lightly, and he felt something jostle atop his head, and any remaining doubts froze in his mind, permanently destroyed by one voice ringing in his head, for the very last time.

"Well done, Fushimi-kun."

It was there and gone in an instant, but Saruhiko would never let himself forget it.

"Fushimi? Are you even listening to me?" The woman in front of him asked again, and Saruhiko's walls crumbled down. Not waiting a second longer, he slowly reached up, pulling his glasses down to cover his eyes, and watched the world bloom into clarity.

Seri looked annoyed with him, that was for sure, going by her slight pout and narrowed eyes, which did nothing to take away from her overall intimidation. She was as she should've been, rested, well dressed, not a tear or flash of dread in sight. It was how he wanted to remember her, and how he'd hoped for her to remain. There, in front of him, where he now had the courage to reach out. But he stayed frozen, overcome.

She crossed her arms, seeming none too pleased that she was being made to wait for an answer, and Saruhiko would take that any day over her mournful cries.

"Well?" She asked once more, juggling her work bag awkwardly against her shoulder as he continued to stare, too much in shock to do much of anything. So of course, his next words weren't the most refined.

"Um...what?"

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

She all but dropped her bag, which was a big deal, since it was rather new and pricey from what he recalled, and began giving him a surprisingly welcomed piece of her mind.

"I knew it! You weren't listening," she said, barely holding in a groan from the sound of it. He would've apologized, really he would've, considering how much he'd missed her and how he now knew she didn't deserve half the shit he gave her. But well, he had no idea what was going on, or where they'd been going, or what day it even--

"Honestly," she said, softer this time. "I told you this was important. Fu--Saruhiko, I know you think the rehearsal is a waste of time, but I'd really appreciate it if you weren't late alright? It's tomorrow at six, so please, no more complaining okay?"

Oxygen all but left Saruhiko’s body.

Rehearsal. The wedding rehearsal. There was no way…

But well, was there truly any more reason to doubt?

“Seri,” he said, cutting her off sharply, and smarter men would’ve been afraid of the expression she gave in return. Well, or men who hadn’t just supposedly traveled to hell and back. Twice. “What…day is it?”

At the simple question, she seemed caught off guard. It was rather unlike him to forget details like that, especially when his work consisted of dating forms and remembering appointments, but she answered none the less, giving him the final push. “August 14th. Saruhiko…are you feeling alright?”

An understatement, if he’d ever heard one. His limbs finally relaxed, and it took everything for him to not fall to the floor pathetically, to not make a scene right there. He couldn’t comprehend half the emotions running through him, but for once, none were of the purely negative sort.

The one thing he was able to acknowledge was that he was back. Alive. Home.

I made it.

It didn’t feel nearly as unbelievable as before. Slowly, he brought a hand up to cover his mouth, whether to cover the unguarded expression from being shown to the world, or to simply ground himself. It wasn’t important.

Seri was looking at him still, though the annoyance was replaced with a mildly concerned incertitude, waiting for his answer, the bright blue of her eyes holding the same question as before.

Was he alight?

Yeah, he thought, allowing himself a laugh as he stepped forward, never better.

Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her into him, crushing her against him with the weight of longing he’d built up over ages. He heard her purse hit the floor from the shock of it, and he squeezed tighter, willing himself not to buckle from the repeating mantra in his head.

You’re back.

She yelped against him, her arms staying tense at her sides, unsure of what was going on. Of course. Saruhiko didn’t give hugs, certainly didn’t reciprocate when others initiated them. It was extremely out of character, and the analysis merely made him cling tighter.

His body quaked a bit as he buried his face into her shoulder, the exhaustion and strife flooding out of him in immense waves, leaving him raw and vulnerable in the best way. People were whispering around them, and yeah, maybe he should’ve waited until they weren’t in the middle of the sidewalk, but honestly, he didn’t care.

Hesitantly, Seri’s hands came up to clutch at his sides, taking another moment to test the waters before she gave in completely, pulling him in without question in the usual strong show of support. Even when she didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know why he was upset, she returned the embrace full force, like the pillar she was.

To think, he once believed he could never need this, could never miss this. Such a coward he’d been. Even now after everything, the urge to push it all away was there, weak in his stomach. The part of him which believed nothing was permanent, everything could be taken away.

But well, he could put that part of him to bed at least for today, because it had lost.

They were all here, he’d kept them waiting, and they would never know. Seri. The guys. Misaki.

Misaki.

His thoughts were in a frenzy as he pulled away, dodging Seri’s concerned hand as it quickly came up to check his temperature. He had no clue where to start, what he was doing, but he let desire pull him for once. Best to start with the people closest to his location. “Where…where are the guys?”

Seri’s voice croaked as she collected herself from the tight hug, picking up her bag hastily as Saruhiko began to read the street signs frantically. “T-the office? B-but—what, Saruhiko…you just—who—”

“Let’s go then, before they clock out,” Saruhiko said sternly, already turning them in the direction of his workplace, when she yanked him back by the arm.

She was afraid for him, he could see it. Having him act crazed, affectionate, it was cause for concern, but she didn’t have to worry. He was fine, better than fine, and it was a miracle he was this coherent, after what he’d just finished accomplishing. She couldn’t have known that though, maybe she would never know, if he decided whether or not to tell her one day. All she understood was something was amiss, and she wanted to help fix it. Somehow, the familiar show of care had him resisting another hug, the memory of her crying over his death a bit too strong in that moment. How had she ever been upset about him being gone? How had any of them? It was Saruhiko who needed them the most.

Slowly, he took a deep breath, fixing her with a calmer gaze, if only to calm her down.

It was unfair of him, to leave her in the dark, he knew it, but while he had all the time in the world now, he felt impatient, because that time would never be satisfactory anymore. Especially when…

When I know the expiration dates.

But well, he would dwell on that another day.

“I forgot to tell them something, I just need to go fill them in,” he replied, less hurried, and her shoulders sagged in slight relief.

Yeah, like how they’re idiots, but they should never change.

Ugh, it sounded stupid even in his head. Maybe he wouldn’t put it that way.

She sighed at him, a million questions probably on her mind, but she took his bait in the end. “Okay, I understand, but we just left the office ten minutes ago, remember? We finished up early, and I told everyone they could head home before the evening rush. If we went back now, there’s no guarantee anyone will be there.” She squinted at him, gauging every reaction, and Saruhiko would’ve found the treatment beyond irritating, had it not been what he needed. Truthfully no, he didn’t remember any of that, but he was starting to.

Right, we started to go home early, earlier than usual…she was wondering if I wanted to help set up for the rehearsal…

The pieces of information gradually began to fit together, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what happened next.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue at the inconvenience of both her words and his memory, but Seri knew how to rectify his moods at least, supplying the right words and logic to placate him. “I wouldn’t worry. You’ll see them at the rehearsal tomorrow night, might as well just wait.”

Ah right, she had a point. While a day was a long time to wait, it offered up a solution to his problem, and plus…

Misaki would be there.

As if being pulled, Saruhiko turned in the direction of the Shizume Bridge, where he knew Misaki would be around this time. He died right after me, around this time, so…

If Saruhiko ran, he could probably make it, could intercept the other before the rehearsal, because there was no doubt he couldn’t hide their connection should Misaki see him in the crowded banquet hall. Plus, Misaki didn’t know Saruhiko was alive again, time had been rewritten sure, but all Misaki remembered was Saruhiko failing. Should they meet in public…

Well, the shock and emotion would probably be notable, even if Saruhiko was in control of himself by then.

Annoying.

Regardless, he couldn’t fight the fond smile on his face, the thought of seeing the redhead again too utterly pleasant to resist. Why he hadn’t already booked it towards the other, was because Seri was next to him, and parting from her even for a day wasn’t any simpler, not anymore. Speaking of Seri…

She was gaping at him now, a novel expression for her, and he quickly wiped the smile off his face. Damn, the sudden jump in his character would have to be fixed at some point, or at least more gradual.

“Saruhiko…are you sure you’re not sick? You probably need some sleep. Maybe you shouldn’t come to the—”

“No. I’ll be there. I won’t be late.” Saruhiko made sure to look her in the eyes then, as if he could communicate all he’d learned in those simple statements. Seri just closed her mouth, nodding once, before the softest of smiles bloomed on her face, the trust palpable in the air between them. It was more than he could ask of her, right then. But… “I’m going to head home,” he said, adding a tongue click for good measure. “Maybe sleep isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but shooed him away regardless, satisfied with the exchange enough to not fret about him. Good. With purpose, he turned on his heel, stepping in the direction of the main street before he was being pulled back by her distressed voice once again.

“Wait! Don’t go that way!” He halted instantly, his reflexes a tad more sharpened now, and raised an eyebrow at her disappointed eyes. “Really? I told you earlier, there’s construction that way, it’s probably dangerous. There’s been a few accidents already.”

Saruhiko would’ve protested, in fact, he was about to. After all, he’d taken that way home many times. It was quicker, more efficient and less likely to waste his time, so naturally it should be worth the slight one in a million risk. He was about to tell her all of this, but he never got to.

Saruhiko felt his body jolt, the memory striking him full force as he froze mid-step on the sidewalk, the familiar smell of fresh pavement invading his senses as it all played back.

“And remember, it’s at six! Don’t forget!”

Seri’s voice grated on his nerves as he made way for the cross walk. The end of the day hadn’t come soon enough, and the last thing he needed was the additional time slot on his calendar being occupied. She’d been reminding him constantly, how could he possibly forget? It was a rehearsal anyhow, why put so much importance on attending? It was pretty useless from his standpoint, he was sure everyone could figure out where they were sitting and what they had to do on the actual day of the wedding. Any extra preparation was severely cutting into his work time. It was a miracle they’d managed to finish early today, and even then, he had more than enough of everyone else’s slack to pick up with the work he was taking home.

Pointless.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, barely sparing the blonde a glance when she scurried up to him, about to part ways to her own home, which was still in much need of unpacking. He supposed she’d need his help with that too. Great.

“No promises,” he muttered, waiting for the light to signal for him to walk, and ignored the huff she gave in return. He could sense the desire in her to protest, maybe to try and wear him down with some heart felt statement about how much it would mean to her, or whatever it took for him to give her an indication of a futile promise. He wasn’t in the mood, and she should’ve known by then. She was lucky he was involved at all, he’d never seen a point to weddings in the first place, at least beyond the show type aspect of it.

She remained silent however, surprising him, but the silence wasn’t unwelcome. But as he made for the turn to his usual shortcut, where he parted with her on most days, she called out to him. “Wait Fushimi! You shouldn’t go that way, there’s construction remember? There’s been some accidents already…”

Saruhiko scoffed at her, shrugging his backpack further onto his shoulder as he made no move to turn around. “It’s faster, I’ll be fine. I’m not walking all the way around anyways.”

“But—”

“See you tomorrow,” he said, not adding the ‘maybe’ which threatened to leave his mouth. He was irritated, maybe more than what was appropriate, but it had been a long week, and the stress of social occasions on top of it all wasn’t something he was used to. He just wanted to get home so he could start his reports, hopefully Enomoto wouldn’t be there tonight. Saruhiko didn’t trust himself to not snap at anyone right then.

After another block, he’d left Seri behind completely, coming to the intersection which had cement trucks lining the shoulder. Two of the lanes were closed, the cars messily trying to merge together before reaching the broken stoplight, where a lone worker directed the traffic haphazardly. The sounds of horns honking and disgruntled shouts from car windows were abundant, but Saruhiko paid them no mind as he continued to walk.

Soon, he reached the curb, noting how he was the sole pedestrian on that side of the street. It made sense, since most of the large loading trucks were moving in and out from his side, rendering the pedestrian traffic inconvenient at best, but Saruhiko didn’t care enough to move to the other side. The cement truck, whose driver seemed on the verge of a tantrum, could wait. The worker blew the whistle again, motioning for Saruhiko to walk hastily, and he stepped into the road, glaring at the ground as he strode forward.

Apparently, the cement truck driver hadn’t been paying attention though, missing Saruhiko completely, and taking the whistle as his signal to step on the gas. Hard.

Saruhiko barely got a last breath in.

He felt his hands stiffen, his feet stumble as he fell back, crushed by the truck’s force. The nausea came after that, and so did the disassociation. Did he still have legs? He would have to, from the way his femurs snapped. He’d heard it, there was no way he couldn’t. The tremors traveled up, even his eyelids felt the tingles, the harsh stings of force.

His skull shook, and one may have wondered if his brain had survived the hits it took against that fractured mass. The vibrations traveled further still, down his spine, cracking his ribs like twigs in a burning fire.

All this inconceivable, unimaginable pain was felt in just a split second—there for but a moment before it was all gone. Nonexistent, as if it had never happened.

Then, there had been the silence. White walls. The sound of a shoes on a tile floor. Misaki.

Death.

Saruhiko jolted out of the memory, breathing accelerated as if he'd been in the moment again, and his legs froze out of fear, his proximity to the street a bit too unnerving at that moment. It was too much for him, not the reason behind his death, but the moments leading up to it as well.

Stupid. How stupid he'd been. It would've been so easy, so simple to avoid everything. The last thing he'd said to Seri was more of a dismissal, and the only things in his heart had been contempt and displeasure with life as whole. So typical of him.

And what had it gotten him? A journey filled with horror, but also Misaki, and a massive reality check. All the trials and pain, the voices and doubt...

He'd gone through it all, had to push himself and push Misaki, had to depend on the other as well as feel completely alone. The yearning and hopelessness had felt never ending, and now it was over. He had returned, he was alive.

How? How was he worthy of any of it after a death like that?

It's too much.

His knees finally buckled after all his effort to keep steady, to act normal, he couldn't anymore. The weight of reality was finally crashing down, all he'd been through was finally standing out in his mind. He was having the moment, the I can't believe I'm here moment.

Was this how Misaki had felt, after being told he was victorious.

God, it was like a high he never hoped would end, but also a painful remembrance. But really, how had he ever questioned coming back? How had he been so close to dismissing this?

"Saruhiko!" Seri rushed to his side, catching some of his weight before he was able to collapse fully, shouldering him as best she could. She was always strong, but he'd never appreciated it more. He could hug her all over again in that moment, and suddenly he thought it might be worth it, to run back to the office and see who was there. "Ugh, that's it, there's no way I'm letting you go home by yourself." She looked around, eyeing the intersection ahead with skepticism. "Well, if you really think the shortcut is the fastest way, maybe we should--"

"No." His answer was quick, harsh enough to cut, and she startled notably at the tone until he started to backtrack. "I mean, there's no point, with both of us and the construction, it'll take the same amount of time." He sighed as irritably as he could, hoping the nerves and mixed relief didn't shine through. If he could help it, he would never walk that way again, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Seri either.

He thought of Misaki though, of him standing on the bridge alone, alive but without him, and felt the pang of guilt intensify within him. But with Seri being overprotective and his desire to collapse from exhaustion, there was no way he could go searching, no matter how badly he wanted to. Saruhiko had ventured to hell and back to see the redhead again, to kiss him again, and one day seemed far too long. But part of him knew he had no choice, he would have to wait, would have to let Misaki suffer alone for a handful of hours before he spent the rest of his life making it up to him. It was almost amusing, the thought of seeing the other the next night, for the first time in the living world. He guessed the rehearsal truly was where their story was meant to begin, had things not taken a wrong turn.

So be it.

He pulled Seri far away from the curb, not wanting to walk anywhere near the bustling evening traffic, and began the short journey to his apartment with content. Seri quirked an eyebrow in confusion, throwing up her free hand in surrender at his weird behavior. As she shook her head in disbelief, she balanced him better, but refused to let him pull away completely, like he'd surely fall over if she didn't keep some sort of connection to him. He didn't refuse. "Alright, we'll go the long way then."

"Mm, thanks."

She blanched once more at the easy display of appreciation from him, the sincerity of his tone, and he vaguely wondered how long it would be before she became used to it. Part of him also dreaded how the guys would react to it. Ugh.

Though, the annoyance he feigned was barely there at all anymore. He sighed, the familiar walk, one devoid of creatures and ghostly whispers, seeping into his mind, a memory he'd be sure to catalog for many years to come. The walk home.

As they made their way, Seri huffed, shaking her head slightly. "You really must be sick. That's the last time I let Domyoji make the coffee in the morning, I thought it tasted strange, but you just kept drinking it so--"

Saruhiko snorted, letting her prattle on about their friend’s inability to brew decent coffee, vaguely remembering having no choice but to consume the foul liquid on many occasions. He'd let her believe it was only that, at least for now. He'd tell them all someday, before it was too late, about the challenges and beatings he'd endured, the nightmares...

But for now, he enjoyed the lightness of the conversation, and the warmth settling deep in his chest.

"Huh? What's so funny?" Seri looked up at him, hand tightening on his arm, and he thought yeah, this is more than enough for now.

He stared tiredly at her, the smallest of smiles on his face. "You're right. It must've been the coffee."

When Yata woke up on the morning of August 15th, it was as if he'd been pulled under water again, unable to breathe or comprehend anything going on around him, though he was alone in his simple apartment. It was less like how drowning had felt, and more like he had been submerged in a tank, watching as a flurry of memories, events which would now never come into existence, played before his eyes.

In fact, he'd been feeling this way since his return, since the previous evening when he had walked home, debating on the first course of action, while also juggling the grief still heavy in his heart.

Except, it had felt as if it hadn't been the first time he'd done so. Upon seeing the old paintings in his living room, he couldn't help but think, didn't I throw those out? And upon hesitating to dial his mother's phone number, he wondered why he could already feel the ghost of her arms around him, shushing him in comfort.

The weight of longing and sadness when he thought of Saruhiko was there of course, but it felt extra painful, like it was a wound long healed which had been torn open again, left to bleed anew.

But why was that?

Yata raised his hand to his face, eyes squinting as the beginning trickles of sunlight bled into his room, and felt the dried tears on his face, the roughness of his skin. As gently as he could, like one wrong move could disrupt everything around him, he rolled over in his bed and stared at the date on his digital clock.

August 15th. Yeah, that was right, felt right...but also, seemed hugely inaccurate. Surely, it was the result of Yata's mournful state, his confusion, the trauma he was attempting to come to terms with. He'd yet to touch his paints, yet to eat or think about anything worthwhile really.

The fact that he'd officially beaten death, that he'd finally moved on to the next day of his life, was no doubt a shock he hadn't been ready for, and that's why he felt so unstable.

It would get easier...better, part of him knew it, as if he'd already experienced it, but at the end of it all, each new day would be without Saruhiko, and Yata wondered if he'd ever comfortably be able to accept that.

Timidly, he sat up, the bed suddenly a little too lonely, which was funny, since Saruhiko had only ever shared a dirtied surface with Yata for sleep. Regardless, Yata craved the warmth of another person next to him. He groaned as he stretched, feeling gross from the street wear he had slept in--he hadn't bothered to change--and the ghost of grime on his skin. He knew technically all the evidence from the journey had been erased from his flesh, save for the suspicious scar here and there, but he could sense the dirt under his now clean fingernails, the sweat and dried blood. It was all in his head yeah, but muscle memory was a powerful thing too. He kicked aside a box of art supplies, grimacing at the shades of blue which caught his eyes, and chose to slump down onto the floor. He wasn't ready to make the effort of picking out new clothes for the day, and it was better than the cold bed.

Come to think of it, did he have to get ready at all? The rehearsal should've been cancelled, the one which required the fancy suit which Yata had reluctantly hung up in his closet, and which was probably exactly as he'd left it. Of course, the rehearsal was only a set event if things went according to plan, plans involving no deaths in the bride's party...

At the thought of facing Saruhiko's grieving friends, or imagining how they must be feeling right then, Yata's stomach dipped, threatening to expel what little was inside it. He would need to learn to control that, or simply avoid any talk of funerals and wakes all together. Surely the pain was still fresh for those close to Saruhiko, and for Kusanagi, who was left with comforting his fiancé.

Yet, he'd gotten no text from Kusanagi the previous day about the tragedy, no alert about cancelling the rehearsal or being unavailable himself. In confusion, Yata pulled out his phone, watching it light up with two notifications. His breath hitched upon seeing Kusanagi's name, but as he read the text, the world around him seemed less and less secure.

Kusanagi: Yata, I hope you're up already. Don't forget, you promised to come help the boys set up for the dinner today, see you around noon.

Kusanagi: Also, bring your suit. I don't know if you'll have time to head home and change before the dinner starts.

Yata's first reaction after the distraught faded was to panic. What? The rehearsal was still happening? How?

His fingers scratched against the carpet, the frozen appendages barely getting feeling back as his thoughts reeled left and right. The possibilities he came up with were minimal, but none too pleasant. Perhaps no one knew about Saruhiko yet, maybe no one had been expecting to hear from him until the dinner.

When he doesn't show up...

Yata thought he might actually be sick, and he retreated to the bathroom for good measure, head suddenly pounding. The ceramic of the toilet felt too cold against his clammy hands, and it was just one of many sensations which were too much for him at the moment. The texture of the tile floor, the footsteps from the floor above him, the material of his clothes...

His brain was having too much trouble processing it in addition to the crushing realization that he would have to witness Saruhiko's family finding out about his death. That and the realization he too, would finally know how the other perished.

"Fuck..." Yata groaned, debating on whether he should just skip out, call in sick and deal with Kusanagi's wrath. It wasn't like it would last anyhow...soon the older man would have to deal with a postponed wedding, and a mourning fiancé. It would be easy...to avoid the pain for a second time around. After all, the last thing he wanted to hear was that Saruhiko was gone. He knew, but it didn't make the pangs of loneliness any weaker. Yata tended to be an empathetic guy, from what people told him, seeing so much grief over Saruhiko, who to everyone else, was a complete stranger to him, would be utterly impossible to bear.

Hesitantly, he pulled up his messaging app, reading to give Kusanagi some excuse about not being able to attend, but his fingers wouldn't type. Stupid...as if you could get away with this.

No one would understand, and he wasn't the type of person to lie to a friend, he wasn't sure he was capable of it. He had to go. What kind of friend would he be if he didn't stand by Kusanagi in support when the evening fell to shit?

Acting oblivious would be difficult, but any tears he spilled could surely be blamed on atmosphere, on pity.

He scoffed at the word, hating it suddenly, because his cries would forever be of loss.

But well, maybe part of him kind of owed it to Saruhiko too, to offer whatever comfort he could to the taller's loved ones, since Saruhiko could not. With the grounding thought in mind, Yata straightened up and away from the toilet, letting the calm buzz of the bathroom lights fill the air as his breathing rate lowered, and his panic dissolved.

Right, you have to go for Saruhiko. He won't be able to. You have to get it together dammit! Not just then, but for the sake of his life, for his future. Yata would live enough for the both of them.

With shaky movements, Yata stood up from the floor, shedding his t-shirt as he turned on the shower, letting steam seep into the small space. As he left to grab his suit from the closet and lay down new clothes onto his bed, his eyes caught sight of his old paintings, and the dull and superficial colors which had seemed to taunt him yesterday didn't look as bad.

Maybe he might try to sell them, gain some extra money and start new. The stuff he used to paint before weren't as appealing to him now, and he felt his hands itch for different themes, for stories of trials and love, and most of all himself. Of course, he'd throw in some blues here and there too.

Yata actually managed to crack a smile at that, excited for his slowly developing vision of the future, and reorganized the box of paints he had impulsively kicked earlier. Much better.

Not everything was lost, he knew it. Today would be hard, about as hard as any of the trials of the afterlife, but he'd get to see and laugh with his friends for a little while, and things would improve as the weeks went by. More than anything, Yata resigned to see his mom, and apologize to her fully for his absence. Everything else would fall into place, and he could pace himself as much as he needed to.

He walked back towards the bathroom, his entrance into the steam almost refreshing as he looked towards better days. Though life without Saruhiko would never be one hundred percent, Yata would carry the other with him in all he did and created, and the hopeful thought was enough to give him the energy he needed. And while something in his gut told him something was still amiss, he ended up walking out of the shower with more purpose than ever before.

His eyes never stopped searching for the thousand watt grin, for shining amber eyes, for the familiar brightness in the dark he had begun to crave. Or, that’s what he was used to, but maybe the world around him wasn’t so dark anymore.

Saruhiko turned away from the entrance of the room, which he’d been watching like a hawk, and let himself gaze at madness surrounding him. It was a good madness this time though. The reception hall was probably the least extravagant part of Seri’s wedding, but it was no less decorated, the lighting and fixtures catering to the color scheme perfectly. It felt empty as it was now, tables devoid of the off white table cloths and twinkling lights above, giving it the sought after fantasy look. Those things would be absent until the big day though, for now the large room held empty tables with cheap covers, the artificial light from above casting a bright glow as the bride and groom saw to inspecting it, laying out the seating cards and making sure the flower arrangements wouldn’t be too cluttered. Only the immediate family and friends of the two of them were present, barely fifteen people in total. It made the room look twice as barren, but oh well. When it was filled with guests and music, drenched in smells of cakes and food, Saruhiko was sure Seri would be pleased with it, though she constantly complained throughout the rehearsal that things weren’t right or weren’t properly placed. He didn’t get it himself, did all that really matter?

Saruhiko nearly had the nerve to ask, but Kusanagi, ever the stoplight to disaster, had elbowed him sharply, smile wide as he preached about the bride always being right in these cases. Whatever. It wasn’t like Saruhiko was going to argue, he was content enough as it was, just seeing the blonde and her fiancé fretting about, alive and well in their acts of scolding. Things had calmed down anyhow, the food for dinner being brought in and laid out, along with copious amounts of alcohol courtesy of Kusanagi’s bar. Apparently, Kusanagi’s party had showed up in the afternoon to set up, and were now beginning to wind down, but from where Saruhiko sat, there was no sign of Misaki. Initially, he’d been wandering about, paranoid that something had happened, convinced he’d never be allowed to see Misaki again in some cruel twist of fate, but he’d eventually been escorted to a place setting. It was his assigned seat, a spot at a large table, and it would’ve been an anxious wait, being forced to sit and stare at the one way into the room, had it not been for—

“Fushimi-san! You’re not going to drink?” Enomoto happily held up his own glass and another, handing it to Fuse. Seven pairs of eyes were on him instantly, and he shrugged at the full table of his coworkers. It was only natural they’d all been seated together, and he found the proximity strangely comforting.

It had been refreshing all evening, his yearning for Misaki aside, amidst his party’s bickering and griping during set up. Saruhiko had almost forgotten what it was like, being influenced by each and every quirk and personality trait they had to offer. Hidaka complained about the lack of girls in Kusanagi’s party, as if the wedding would be his first step on a road to true love, and Domyoji was more concerned with the DJ and food, pulling out clippings of suggestions (as if Seri hadn’t booked a caterer months in advance). Kamo made sure his daughter wasn’t getting into things, happy as ever that it was his time with her that month, and Akiyama was lost in a conversation with Benzai, sitting a bit too close to not be a bit suspicious to Saruhiko. Though it was hard to ponder too much on it with Gotou talking his ear off for a good portion of the evening. Saruhiko had simply asked him about one of his collections, and the sudden interest in his hobby had lit a fuse of some sort. Saruhiko couldn’t mind too much. As for Enomoto and Fuse well…they were as affectionate as he remembered them, but less sickeningly so.

Saruhiko had initially taken care as to not seem so different around them, but with their smiles and loudness, as well as their need to throw him in the middle of their conversations, he had dropped the act hours ago. Besides, seeing their surprised reactions to his sudden ‘niceness’ was a gift in and of itself.

It didn’t mean he had changed completely though, and the sharp criticisms remained apparent in his speech whenever they got too rowdy. Saruhiko rolled his eyes at them, willing the attention away. “Unlike you all, I like to actually be in control of my actions,” he said, clicking his tongue as he eyed the champagne critically. “Besides, I’d hate to be the one of you who gets too drunk and ruins the dinner.”

Oh how Seri’s punishment would be steep.

“Hey! Why are you implying that it’ll be one of us?” Hidaka jumped in, his own glass sloshing messily, and Saruhiko snorted from the panic in his eyes. Fuse neglected to comment, sipping his drink in amusement while the rest of the table laughed, and Saruhiko bathed in the familiarity of it all. Hidaka’s expression was nothing short of petulant, but he was always quick to recover. “This is hardly a good atmosphere to get drunk anyways! After work tomorrow, you’re totally coming to a bar with us Fushimi-san!”

It was meant more as a distraction, since the invitation had been uttered from the mouths of his coworkers one too many times, and for the most part, they were used to his outright refusal. Even in the last few years, with his less standoffish nature, it would take copious amounts of begging to get him anywhere near a public outing with the lot of them. As for now though… “Sure. Let me know where,” he replied, tone bored as his eyes scanned the crowd, back to their earlier task of locating a particular redhead.

He didn’t bother looking at their gaping expressions, but he felt them, the disbelieving eyes boring into his back irritatingly. Three, two, one��

Rather than a direct verbal assault though, they tag teamed, with Hidaka fearlessly grabbing Saruhiko’s face and jerking it towards him, stupidly inspecting his features while Gotou poked him. In the meantime, Fuse saw his opening at last, the bastard, and promptly let loose his skepticism. “Are you sure you’re Fushimi Saruhiko? You haven’t been replaced with some android, trying to gain our favor in order to steal government secrets?”

“Yeah, you didn’t even threaten to kill me when I spilled coffee on you earlier!” Domyoji jumped in, raising an accusing finger. “You’re an imposter!”

Wrenching away from Hidaka’s grip (who finally had the nerve to look a bit abashed about it), Saruhiko fixed them with a glare, mostly annoyed from being distracted from his watch, but there wasn’t as much animosity as usual, and the idiots began to use it as more concrete evidence as to why he had been replaced (possibly by aliens now).

“I’m surprised you all managed to figure it out, you got me,” he deadpanned, and it fed into the madness.

“He has jokes now!” Domyoji’s shout garnered more than a few stares, and Seri directed a fierce glare at them, the typical ‘I love you but shut up’ traveling across the hall. The ginger had enough sense to quiet down, as much as he could at least, but he was soon smirking again, nudging Akiyama in the side as he spoke. “Pft, I bet Fushimi-san would even let me hug him now, huh?” He snorted at the thought, the rest of the table raising their eyebrows at just the suggestion, joke or not.

However, it gave Saruhiko just what he needed to shut them up. A dangerous smirk made its way onto his face, and the atmosphere at the table might as well have plunged in temperature. Not his fault, they were the ones testing his patience. Blinking slowly, he fixed Domyoji with his challenging expression, enjoying how the older boy notably gulped. “As a matter of fact, I would. Why don’t you try it?”

Benzai paled, Enomoto choked, and the rest of them didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. Domyoji straightened in his seat, innocent eyes widening as he took in the words. “W-wait…really? You’re not joking?”

“Nope.”

It was easy to see the cogs turning in Domyoji’s head, trying to discern if it was a bluff or not, and really, Saruhiko hardly knew either. Though he was never much for physical contact of any sort, something about traveling to hell twice just to sit at this table full of losers made him a bit more willing.

Domyoji squinted at him, but rose from his seat anyways, inching little by little towards Saruhiko. The rest of the table held their breaths. “O-okay…imma do it…last chance to back out ha…”

“I’m waiting,” Saruhiko said, eyes never leaving the quivering form of Domyoji. Enomoto was biting his nails.

“Y-yeah, prep-prepare to be hugged!”

“Joy.”

Domyoji was about a foot away now, and it had taken him a good two minutes to cross the initial five foot distance from around the table, and Saruhiko could feel the warmth and tension radiating off him now. He inched forward again, the sleeve of his jacket just touching Saruhiko’s shoulder…

“Oh god, never mind!” Domyoji shouted suddenly, flying back into his seat at lightning speed, clutching Akiyama’s arm. “Hell no! It’s like walking into a venus fly trap!”

Saruhiko smirked triumphantly as his friends exhaled, laughing at the ginger’s expense, and soon the topic of his sudden personality change was lost to comforting Domyoji, and trying to not attract more attention. He considered it a success.

The reception hall had filled considerably in the next half hour, the remaining relatives and college peers flooding in to take their seats.

Still no Misaki. Saruhiko had begun to shred napkins in his lap, glaring at the childishness of it as he reached for yet another. The emotion bubbling up inside him was fierce, upset at being caged, and he willed it down. He caught Enomoto staring at him a few times in concern, but Saruhiko prayed the other wouldn’t bring it up in front of everyone else.

The sound of clicking heels distracted him from worrying, if only for a moment. Seri came bounding over in quick strides, and Saruhiko was pretty sure he hadn’t seen her sit down once since the evening began.

“Alright guys, food is out and almost everyone is seated,” Seri announced to them in a hushed whisper as she approached the table, hands smoothing over the front of her embroidered evening dress. “How do I look? I’m going to go meet Kusanagi’s side of the family now.”

Gotou’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked her over. A backless A-line dress, blue in color, with gold beading in the front, and high heels to match. Simple, but regal. “Wait…didn’t you meet them earlier during set up?”

She crossed her arms, the question deemed unacceptable from the simple movement. “I mean yes, I met some of the guys, but no formal introductions, certainly no family or college friends! Proper introductions are in order.” She said the last bit with a frazzled gesture to her person, and wordlessly, they all gave her the thumbs up, which was enough for her to tuck a stray piece of hair back with a pin, and train a smile to her face before walking back into the fray. Saruhiko did not envy her. However, she turned back around halfway, like she’d forgotten something, and grabbed a new glass of champagne quickly before returning to them.

Benzai was about to ask what was the issue, but he never got the chance.

“Thank you all for coming to this,” she started, voice notably softer, a tone saved for them, and she raised her glass. Her crystal blue eyes twinkled with something private as she scanned over each of their faces, and Saruhiko clenched his pile of shredded paper, remembering why he’d tried so hard to make it back to this life, one where he could hear such pointless words. Except, he couldn’t call them that anymore, huh? “I know planning this has been hectic, and it’s probably going to get worse with the wedding in a month, but…having your help, I couldn’t ask for better friends, my pillars of strength. Cheers to all of you.”

Calendar dates and years repeated themselves in his mind as he and everyone else raised a glass, but he paid no mind, knowing it was useless. What was meant to happen would, as much as it angered him, but the things he could control, like this, he’d gladly take advantage of.

Seri wiped her eyes, taking a fast gulp of her champagne before she was off, leaving them in a bubble of stunned silence amongst the chirps of laughter and greetings. Saruhiko’s hands went back to his half shredded napkin, but suddenly he had no energy for that either.

“And with that…it’s time for more alcohol,” Hidaka sniffed, standing with Domyoji and excusing them to the banquet spread. Kamo seemed less than pleased with the example they set, but it didn’t matter, because soon he was being dragged away by his daughter anyhow, eager to get first crack at the desserts being laid out. As for everyone else, they dispersed, Akiyama and Benzai disappearing to somewhere unknown, and Gotou left to greet some of Seri’s in laws, as was appropriate. It left Fuse and Enomoto with him, which he didn’t mind so much, except for the fact they obviously knew something was amiss with him, his head turning continuously towards the entrance, eyes scanning the crowds.

If they exchanged some sort of knowing look, Saruhiko wouldn’t know, but after a few minutes, Fuse was excusing himself none too subtly, touching Enomoto’s shoulder as he made for the banquet table. Great.

It wasn’t helpful that Enomoto sat almost directly in front of him from across the table, the eye contact, although shy, searing as Saruhiko avoided it. He was fairly sure Enomoto was angling himself now, trying to catch Saruhiko’s eye, periphery or otherwise, but upon finally realizing Saruhiko’s resistance, sighed in resignation.

Not ‘I guess I’ll give up’ resignation, no, the ‘guess I’ll talk to him anyways’ resignation. Ugh.

“Fushimi-san…you seem distracted,” Enomoto commented, like it wasn’t obvious to them both. Saruhiko appreciated his attempt to not seem nosy though. “Are you looking for someone?”

Someone. Hm.

To him, Misaki was more than a someone, he was everything. It was as scary as it was pathetic, but it shouldn’t be a surprise. They’d gone through alot together, Saruhiko had done so much to just be able to see the redhead again, to start fresh and build something together. The separation he’d been forced to endure, the pain and desperation, it made it so clear in his head. He wanted to be with Misaki, in whatever way the redhead would permit, though Saruhiko’s selfish desires clouded up the vision quite a bit. Now, the distance between them, which was now minimal, barely there at all, felt agonizing. So yes, he was looking for someone, the one who should’ve been there from the start. There was no use denying part of that, he guessed.

“You could say that,” Saruhiko replied, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. He was watching Kusanagi’s main table, where a band of young men were seated, drinking and laughing away. Saruhiko recognized them from the Return, from the vision Munakata had allowed them to see, but they were happy now. Only one thing was similar: Misaki was missing.

Enomoto beamed after recovering from the initial shock of actually getting an answer out of him, skipping a few seats over until he was almost in front of Saruhiko. “Who? Someone special?”

It was hard to fight the fondness welling up inside him from those words, because really, they were true. He couldn’t let that show though, Misaki was supposed to be a stranger. Saruhiko might be able to get away with calling him an acquaintance, someone he met outside of work by happenstance and who just so happened to be part of Kusanagi’s group. That was even a stretch, openly admitting any deeper involvement was ill advised. He kept it in mind, when choosing his words. “Someone who…doesn’t annoy me I guess.”

Enomoto actually had the nerve to snort at that, fixing him with an uncharacteristic smug smile, and Saruhiko knew the intent he’d tried to get across had failed the moment those olive eyes twinkled in delight. Oh well. Not like it mattered. If he kept all these idiots around, and he’d be sure to, they’d be finding out about Misaki sooner or later, and much to Saruhiko’s chagrin.

“Fushimi-san, that’s basically you for ‘someone I like’ you know?” Enomoto said, rising from his chair before Saruhiko could respond. Not like he’d actually had an answer to such a bold statement though. He guessed his friends really did know his quirks to the smallest detail. He could deal with that, he supposed.

Giving him one last wink over his shoulder, Enomoto sauntered off to his boyfriend, leaving Saruhiko alone at the table, waiting dutifully once again.

The group toasts, the ones which included the whole room were about to begin, the last of the late arrivals grabbing plates of food and taking their seats. Saruhiko could see Kusanagi checking on his own tables, while anyone who had been standing halted their conversations as they waited for the bride to take the mic. Saruhiko was going to tune out the speeches, not needing Seri’s rehearsed words, stress induced, to reach his ears. Besides, the last of his focus had quickly dwindled, eyes drooping in a sudden bout of disappointment. Funny, it was an emotion he had never let himself feel before, too worried about his attachments and the grief they could bring. Now, it overcame him in waves as the room quieted, missing the one voice he so craved and—

“Where’s Yata?”

Jerking his head up, Saruhiko sought the source of the voice, catching Kusanagi talking to another young man wearing glasses, the dark rim of his hat occasionally hiding his eyes. “Oh, I think he’s still in the back unloading the last of the alcohol. Awashima-san was worried we were running out,” the man said, and a brief spark of stress flashed across Kusanagi’s face.

“Damn, we’re about to start. I’ll—”

Saruhiko’s chair scratched against the floor from the force and speed with which he sat up, crossing the several feet to Kusanagi in record time, much to the two’s surprise. Saruhiko didn’t care. “I’ll go get him, things are starting soon Kusanagi-san,” Saruhiko said, looking over to where Seri was beginning to fiddle with the mic. “Awashima won’t appreciate the wait.”

“Ah,” Kusanagi said, a bit startled. “Thank you Fushimi…uh, he should be right out back, just call his name and—”

“Got it.” Saruhiko barely finished before he was turning around, stalking out of the main entrance and veering left, towards the building’s back exit.

The hallway was long, but the door was in plain sight, each footstep beginning to echo louder and louder as he approached. It was déjà vu, but not, seeing as how the first time he had been so nervous approaching a door, it meant terrors of unimaginable proportion were waiting for him. This time, all he’d encounter was a warm embrace, soft skin, a voice which Saruhiko had used to motivate him through fire and dangers of all kinds.

This was it. After all this time…

Who knew how long it had actually been, years maybe, with how long his second journey had felt. He wondered what Misaki had done in that span, before time had been rewritten. All because of Saruhiko, and his stubbornness. He almost felt guilty, stealing away all of the progress Misaki must’ve managed in that time, but the selfishness in his heart was too strong, the relief he felt greater than everything else.

"Saruhiko! Did you hear that? You'll see your friends, it'll all be the same!”

In the end, Misaki had been right. They were picking up right where they left off, and then some. Saruhiko shouldn’t have doubted him, Misaki and his strange, but unyielding faith in the both of them. Surely, Saruhiko would have to pay that back, and he would, in whatever way Misaki wanted. Saruhiko would never be perfect, still shouldered a lot of the same issues as before, but he was willing to try now, and he could only hope Misaki would appreciate it.

Heh, gods know I appreciate him.

And Saruhiko couldn’t help but wonder if they, those beings who had been rooting for him from their gaudy thrones, were watching this moment too, holding their breath as Saruhiko was, heart beats stalling as he pushed the door open…

The cold night air hit him, the alley darker than the nearby street due to its lack of light, illuminated by a lone lamppost as a figure unloaded one last box off the back of a car. Saruhiko froze, the agony of separation and too much effort falling away in an instant when he caught a glimpse of fiery hair and toned arms.

Misaki had his back to him, the occasional curse being muttered as he cut open the last box with a knife, his back muscles flexing from carrying the heavy load and stacking it on top of the others. His suit jacket was lying haphazardly on one of the boxes, his shirt sleeves rolled up and somewhat stained with dirt. The pants he wore needed to be hemmed, from what Saruhiko could tell, and had he not been so taken by the image before him, he might’ve commented.

It wasn’t the time though.

Misaki rested his hands on his hips, looking over his work with a heavy sigh, like he’d never done a harder task. Saruhiko smiled softly, and he thought he saw Misaki laugh, like they’d unknowingly shared the same thought. Misaki had done much harder feats of labor, they both had. Complaining about anything else was ridiculous at that point.

It was the reminder of those shared challenges, the connection between them, and the memory of Misaki’s bone crushing hug as the redhead left him in hell, that had Saruhiko’s fingers slipping from the door, letting it slam shut, tearing through the silence.

Misaki jumped, amber eyes shooting to meet his blue ones, and the revelation was instantaneous. The echo of the door slamming filled the silence, as if the noise was having trouble traveling through the thickness of it. Saruhiko swallowed, because seeing Misaki’s eyes, so vibrant, so alive…it was more than he could handle.

It all seemed to stand still, and Saruhiko wondered if seconds even passed while he watched Misaki’s lip tremble, and felt his own blood rush, his heart beat ringing in his ears. It would make sense, given what he knew, for time to be manipulated, for higher forces to give him this one moment, unaffected by time or whatever was happening in the dining room. After all the universe had taken, it indulged him in this, letting him feel the burst of love he felt for the person only twelve feet away.

It was the connection which had guided him to safety.

Saruhiko was on the ground before he could blink, if he’d even been able to, too taken with the image of Misaki in the flesh and blood before him. Misaki’s arms were around him, nuzzling his face into his neck as Saruhiko toppled back, catching himself right before his back hit the dirt. His jacket was probably ruined, he couldn’t care less. He pulled Misaki farther into his arms, legs squeezing against the redhead’s sides due to the force of the full body hug, warmth unlike anything Saruhiko had ever felt before flooding him.

Searing. Full of life.

“You’re here….” Saruhiko whispered, the feelings which had built up too much to hold back any longer.

Misaki pulled his face away from the taller’s neck, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes as he half cried, half laughed. “I’m here? You dumbass, what about you? What are...” Misaki trailed off as his gaze lowered to Saruhiko’s lips, and Saruhiko’s intentions weren’t far off. They met in the middle, kisses quick and desperate, drinking each other up like they could disappear again in the next minute. But something told him that they’d never let that happen again, they would find a way back to each other, because they were that idiotically stubborn, deep down. Misaki tasted like mint, a flavor which had been absent the first time they’d kissed. It was a small, embarrassing detail, but Saruhiko reveled in it. Misaki’s taste.

Misaki held the last kiss for longer this time, though Saruhiko was hopeful there’d be many more in the future, and his eyes were on Saruhiko again, pupils blown wide and searching. Misaki let his body relax, legs repositioning to sit on either side of Saruhiko’s waist, and shook his head. “How is this…what…how are you here? Munakata said you…”

The words were lost to the noiseless air, too grave to be spoken again, like they were cursed. It was silly, to fear such a thing, but Saruhiko was still in shock if he was being honest, hadn’t fully recovered from returning to that moment on the street on an August evening. Life was so fragile, he was hyperaware of how he could lose it again, from the drive to the rehearsal to walking to work. Even for him, who had beaten the odds and returned, wasn’t guaranteed the next day. No one was.

But this, Misaki staring at him with confusion and unhidden fondness…he’d try to keep it as long as possible.

There was a lot to explain, where should he begin? Was it worth retelling those months of agony, the months spent lying around until the solution had come to him? Would Misaki want to know about each new trial? Would Saruhiko actually be able to tell him? There was so much to share, and yet he had no idea what was appropriate. Something told him the redhead would want to hear it all though, the journey which had brought him back.

Misaki leaned down at the same time Saruhiko pushed himself up farther, their foreheads bumping, like a silent and eternal pact between them. I’m on your side.

Yeah, sounds about right.

Saruhiko sighed, figuring he’d best start at the beginning, and opened his mouth. “I—”

The applause from the adjoining room reminded him of where they were though, what they were supposed to be, versus what they were. Somehow he didn’t mind the interruption, the reminder. Saruhiko stared at the door leading back to the reception hall, back to the world they now both shared, and Misaki laughed from his spot on top of him.

“Eh Saru, maybe you should save it,” Misaki said, smiling as he got up and offered Saruhiko his hand. “I think we’re late.”

Saruhiko managed to crack a smile at Misaki’s poorly concealed amusement, because yeah, time was a thing they actually had to worry about again, passing regularly and all too quickly, unaltered except for those truly worthy.

With a soft nod, Saruhiko grabbed his partner’s hand, the snug fit all too familiar and infinitely perfect, and followed him into the building.

Yata shut off the television, staring with displeasure at the blank screen. “Well, that was shit.” He dropped the remote in defeat, plopping onto his side on the soft couch, one which he never got tired of sinking into. After so many years of his shitty, torn up couch which could barely hold Saruhiko and him at the same time, the new plush couch had been an amazing addition. Of course, they'd had to wait a year or so before they'd gotten it, since they needed a bigger apartment to fit the furniture, but it had been worth the wait.

Yeah...

Lots of things had been worth the wait.

Yata smiled as he looked out across the ample sized living room, which was nearly as big as his old apartment in total size, and basked in the afternoon glow seeping in through the windows. They'd been living there for a few short months, but Yata had gladly associated it with feelings of comfort, as a refuge. Home. Sometimes the fridge buzzed too loud and the lights flickered, the sink would routinely clog and they needed to replace some of the tile in the kitchen...but mostly, he couldn't ask for better.

The sound of typing reached his ears from the table, along with a disinterested hum as the owner of the device addressed Yata. "I told you it looked awful, you shouldn't have wasted your time."

Yata watched as Saruhiko stretched in his lounge wear, looking like the perfect mix of annoyed and relaxed as he shut his laptop, scooting it away from him and jostling Yata's strewn about art supplies, all of which sat on the table. Yata usually yelled at him for not respecting his stuff, but he also knew Saruhiko had told him to get his crap off the table many times in the first place, so there was no use in arguing. The table was always a mess, and it would probably stay that way forever.

Yata's smile grew, the reminder of Saruhiko always being by his side too wonderful to ignore. He knew it like his own name now, but even after two years and all their time in the afterlife together, the thought of Saruhiko beside him made his stomach flip. It proved to be true in any case, especially when he'd wake up at night drenched in sweat, images of barren wastelands and tombs fresh in his mind, to find Saruhiko wide awake beside him, gripping his hand tight. Yata would do the same for the taller in return, when the talk of the future came up, when certain years and dates approached, and the light left Saruhiko’s eyes for brief moments.

They coped the best they could in those times, and Yata knew those things wouldn't ever go away, yet...he couldn't help but find himself incredibly happy.

Well, except when he was subjected to shitty movies.

"The effects looked cool! It was just...I totally knew everything that was gonna happen, and I wasn't expecting all the hell and heaven scenes..."

Saruhiko snorted, leaning back in his chair before scowling in distaste at his now dull soda. "You knew going in it was a story about angels and demons, you should know better than to watch those anymore," Saruhiko sighed. "They're pathetically unrealistic."

Got that right. It was a tired joke between them, movies about death and the afterlife, or any themes similar. Since having experienced the real thing, the appeal of such plots often fell short. While Saruhiko had given up trying to enjoy films about that stuff, Yata was more stubborn. He continuously searched, eager for an outlet for his own experience, but of course, found none. Saruhiko routinely reminded him that, as far as they knew, no one else had any idea what awaited them in the great beyond, or whatever. It remained annoying regardless, but lately he'd started to ponder a new option, and it grew more and more enticing with each day.

Well, if we're the only ones who know...

The idea poked harder at Yata’s brain, and well, when he actually was inspired it was hard to resist. Standing up with a huff, he walked over to the table, grabbing his tablet and inspecting it with a bit too much focus, like it would give him all the answers rather than him actually doing any work. If only it were so simple. "I should just make my own story, I've been getting better with my digital stuff, I could do a comic..."

Instinctively, his free hand joined Saruhiko's on the table, the touch as natural as breathing, and the taller hummed, raising a brow at him. "About?"

Yata smirked, trying not to laugh as the amusement between them grew. "Not sure, maybe these two people die and they have to go on some journey to be brought back to life. There's also this god who won't shut the fuck up. Oh and a parrot."

"There's a parrot?"

"There's a parrot."

Yata had to look away, determined to not cave first, and he was probably crushing the life out of his boyfriend's hand, but oh well.

Saruhiko stood up, coming up behind Yata and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. "Hm, sounds fake."

Yata bit his lip. "Yeah, totally lame. Imma scrap it."

"Would never happen."

"Two out of five stars."

"I would've given it one."

By the end of their exchange, Yata was dying, leaning on the table for support and trying his best not to drop his tablet. He made good money now, but last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of getting a new one of those.

Yata leaned back into the touch, reveling in the simple feeling of Saruhiko's steady breaths against his skin, and wondered if he'd actually do it.

A story like theirs would take a lot of time, of planning. The details were important, the imagery. It would mean revisiting some painful memories, opening up to complete strangers about an experience he held near and dear to his heart, but at times wanted to push away with the strongest force. People would hate it, would criticize it, the events which changed his view of life. He knew that of course, as an artist. But this was different yeah?

He turned his head slightly, the impulse to catch Saruhiko's lips in a kiss too strong, and remembered it was different for both of them. The suffering they'd shared, the relief, it was all too much to wrap up easily and cast out into the world.

And then suddenly, the idea he'd been pondering for weeks seemed less and less appealing, all too complex and grand.

Yata didn't need other people to know about his strife to feel validated, he realized, not when Saruhiko was there, not when he woke up every morning, proving of his success.

"You still thinking about actually drawing it?" Saruhiko asked hours later while they were in bed, limbs entangled and eyelids droopy, and Yata smiled at him, more content than he'd ever been. All because of an accident, a journey, and the people in his life. It was a story so personal to him it hurt, and as Saruhiko smiled at Yata's soft shake of the head, Yata knew he felt the same.

And he thought, well, maybe they could keep the story to themselves just a little bit longer.

"Watching again Munakata?" Mikoto's gruff voice broke Munakata out of his pleasant observance, and the deity spun around quickly, as if caught. The water of the pool rippled into nothingness, disturbing the image of the two lovers until they were absent from view. Munakata huffed, not one to deny the allegations, but not particularly happy with how sneaky Mikoto had become. What happened to those barbaric, loud footsteps from before?

Munakata couldn't be severely displeased though, seeing as how the volume change was most likely due to Mikoto's desire to not attract attention when he returned from visiting Totsuka. The thought caused a calm smile to bloom on his face, the one which Mikoto usually dubbed as being creepy, but Munakata was hardly swayed by such insult.

Things are right in the world, living and dead it seems.

"I was simply checking on how they were doing," Munakata said, the relief clear in Mikoto's shoulders when Munakata didn’t ask him of his previous whereabouts. As if he didn't already know. "I am...happy that they're doing so well."

"Been two years," Mikoto muttered, slumping in his seat with a noticeable displeasure in his aura. "You can stop babysittin 'em."

"I wouldn't put it in such a way, it's not babysitting," Munakata sighed, turning back towards the pool. Perhaps Mikoto did have a point though, there was no concrete reason for checking in on them, but well...maybe Munakata just favored them, two souls which he greatly respected, and would be honored to see again. Nothing wrong with it. Also, it was no lie that Munakata had caught Mikoto staring into the pool from time to time as well, smiling at the progress of the two Returners. But, Munakata was not one to point fingers in retaliation. At least, not at that particular moment. "What's got you in a mood?"

A grunt was his reply, and Munakata nodded. "Ah, you know, you can spend as much time with him as you please, Totsu--"

"I know Munakata," Mikoto rolled his eyes, slouching further into his seat. "We got stuff to do though, always..."

Ah, well that is true.

Their jobs of sorting, of dealing with late arrivals, it never ended. Though heaven was Mikoto's domain, he would never be able to be there permanently, with the one he loved, until he and Munakata were relieved from their duties, and allowed to retire to the sanctuary. Time was strange for them, it passed quickly and yet not at all, the centuries bleeding together as they watched the world develop. Perhaps Munakata was a bit envious too, of Yata and Fushimi, for getting to live their lives freely in a way Munakata could not.

However, such thoughts were unbecoming. One day he would get his freedom, and hopefully when he did, he would be satisfied with the work he'd left behind, and those chosen to take his place. Speaking of...

"When's our time up eh? I never remember," Mikoto mumbled from his seat, staring at the baroque ceiling above, the bell of a late arrival reminding them both of the tasks which still needed attending. Oh well, this was Munakata's job anyways.

As he grabbed his cane and made for the door which would lead him to Isana's post, he dipped his hand in the pool, leaving Mikoto with the image of Yata and Fushimi, sleeping soundly in the life they'd created together.

Mikoto peered at the scene with fondness, before dipping his hand in, watching it vanish, and there was a finality in the movement which made Munakata regret not appreciating the scene more. He supposed it was fine though, he would see them both again, in time.

As he made way for the exit, a cunning smile formed easily on his face, his reply easy and certain. "Oh…seventy years or so. That sounds about right."

#sarumi #adri writing #k project

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wellpersonsblog · 5 years ago

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Neighborhood Workout: Double-Birthday Delight

We went to the pool first, because going to the pool once before I get gone was the goal. With the very principle of play at stake.

I appreciate the way the lifeguards work. Hard, to keep everyone safe. Strict, but some rules make sense.

—

And many don’t. I tend to mostly agree with the pool rules, though.

—

This #NeighborhoodWorkoutGroup rendezvous was our final in this location! South Philly will continue to go strong through the summer — if you want to swing through, email me and I’ll get you in on the details. (As always, it’s free.)

—

“What are the most beautiful things about you?” I asked her.

—

It was a pull from Abiola Abram’s goddess affirmation deck: Gnowee, the Australian Aboriginal Goddess of Tears/Emotions. Symbols: yams, sun, food, sadness, motherhood.

“I recognize the divinity in me” in larger type, just above the illustration. A mantra. It was Abram’s questions that got me.

—

I am going home to Iowa this summer, packing up and saying goodbye to this three-year nest and welcoming what’s next. What’s next?

—

I’m excited to see what #NeighborhoodWorkoutGroup looks like there.

—

I answer that I am sensitive, and that means I learn a lot. My friend Erin (cofounder of Ferine says I am good at figuring out what we are playing for, and sorting teams. These feel related.

—

I don’t mean that there is rivalry. There needn’t be. Love is the answer. And finding joy and community, even in struggle.

—

I answered, too, that I am good at believing in people, in appreciating the genius and gifts of them. I am a hype person.

“Are you as much of a hype person for yourself?” she asked.

I cried.

—

I cried in part because my grandfather is dying, and I love him so much. Everyone does. He is like that. I cried for a lot of reasons, and felt better during and after. Beforehand I am starting to notice that the sensation is that of a lot of birds flying around inside my torso. Damani and I talked about birdfeeders, and feeding the birds so that they settle and roost. Nest.

—

A time of fecundity, especially so.

—

Abiola’s Goddess Lesson:

What are the most beautiful things about you?

How would your life be different if you decided that you no longer need fixing?

What if you embraced what is working for you instead of picking apart what isn’t?

>>>>

You are a creative expression of the power of the Universe. Welcome this thought with the essence of Gnowee, Australian Aboriginal Goddess of Emotions.

—

(That deck is on sale.) — Double-Birthday Delight Happy happy birthdays, Kirby (26) and Steph (31)! Cancers and feelings 4ever.

Equipment: Dumbbell(s) or Kettlebell(s)// tote possible to do with just one

Pairing 1 (3 Rounds) 60:31 Work-To-Rest Ratio 1) Kettlebell Goblet Squat 2) Kettlebell Jerk (or Push Press: Left 3) Kettlebell Jerk (or Push Press): Right

Kettlebell Goblet Squat

Stand holding a kettlebell at your chest by the outside handles (the horns), and support some of its weight with your forearms and chest.

Initiate the squat by pushing your butt backward and bending your knees.

Keeping your torso upright and your knees in line with your toes, lower yourself as far as you are comfortably able. (If it’s not very far, adjust your foot position and try turning your toes slightly outward, but don’t force anything.)

Again keeping your knees in line with your feet, return to the starting position. Repeat.

Kettlebell One-Armed Jerk

Clean a kettlebell to the racked position, against the outside edges of your chest and, thumb pointing back toward or against your body. The kettlebell should be resting on the back of your wrist, and your wrist should be straight.

Keeping your chest upright, dip slightly at the knees.

Immediately reverse the movement, extending your hips and knees explosively to launch the kettlebell upward. Note: This step is not pictured! Picture extension of your back, tips, knees, and ankles. Think standing as tall as you can, popping the kettlebell and sending it upward. Become an arrow shooting straight up.

As the kettlebell clears the top of your head, quickly bend your knees and drop your hips slightly, simultaneously straightening your arm fully overhead. (Mantra: Dip, Drive, Duck!)

Stand up with the kettlebell overhead, then carefully return the weight to your front rack position. Repeat.

Kettlebell One-Armed Push Press

Keeping your chest upright, bend slightly at the knees, then stand up quickly, using the power from your hips and legs to move the kettlebells quickly overhead.

Use the strength of your arms to finish the movement, completely locking out the kettlebells overhead.

Pairing 2 (2 [to 3] Rounds) 50:26 Work-To-Rest Ratio Hand-to-Hand Kettlebell Swing OR Alternating One-Handed Stiff-Legged Sumo Deadlift Tight Rotations

Kettlebell Hand-to-Hand Swing

Place a kettlebell on the floor in front of you, gripping the handle with one hand only, your butt high in the air and knees bent in an athletic stance.

Hike the kettlebell high up between your legs, slightly straightening your legs as you do this.

Quickly stand up, using the power of your hips, hamstrings, and glutes to “float” the kettlebell up to about shoulder height, taking care to keep your shoulders pulled back and down. (Don’t let the kettlebell pull your chest forward.) Your body should form a straight line from head to heel as the bell reaches the top of the swing.

Reverse the movement by pulling the kettlebell back down, staying upright as long as possible before you push your hips backward and swing the kettlebell high between your legs. Keep your chest up as you do so. Someone across the room should be able to read the writing on the front of your shirt throughout the movement.

Once you reach the bottom part of the swing, reverse the movement by using the power of your posterior chain to pop the kettlebell forward and up.

The kettlebell should be “weightless” at the top of the swing. Just as it reaches its apex, before the kettlebell starts its descent, quickly switch the hand holding onto the handle.

Repeat swinging for the desired number of reps, always switching hands quickly at the very top of the swing.

When you’re ready to stop, gently park the kettlebell on the floor in front of you after a backswing.

Alternating One-Handed Stiff-Legged Sumo Deadlift

Place a kettlebell on the floor between your feet and stand over it with a wide stance — feet about a shoulder and a half to two shoulder-widths apart, and turned out slightly. (A good width for you is when your shins are vertical when your hands are gripping the kettlebell.)

Push your butt backward to hinge at the hips and slightly bend your knees until you grip the the kettlebell handle with both hands.

Keep your back flat and push the floor away to stand up with the weight, keeping your upper arms close to your sides during the ascent.

Stand tall with your shoulders back and your chest up at lockout. Return the kettlebell to its starting position between your feet on the ground and switch hands. Repeat.

Tight Rotation

Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, back straight.

Extend your arms in front of your chest and press the palms of your hands firmly together.

Keeping your palms pressed together, your hips facing forward (keep them as still as possible!), your abs braced, rapidly rotate your upper torso left and right so that your hands oscillate as fast as possible between two imaginary walls at each shoulder. (The speed, or intended speed is what’s important here — go for those tight turnaround times to stimulate core musculature.)

Pairing 3 (3 Rounds) 30:15 Work-To-Rest Ratio

1) Bodyweight In-and-Out Squat OR Bodyweight Stay-Low In-and-Out Squat (an option I spotted on @PrettyHealthyAndThick’s IG page) 2) Side Shuffle

Bodyweight In-and-Out Squat

Start standing tall, your feet together and arms relaxed at your sides.

Quickly hop your feet out to whatever squat stance feels comfortable for you that day (could be wider, could be more narrow), while simultaneously lowering your hips and keeping the weight high at your chest.

Immediately when you reach the bottom of a squat position, hop back to your starting position, bringing your arms down and your feet close together again. Make sure your knees remain tracking in line with your outside toes all the way down and all the way up.

Repeat for desired repetitions.

Bodyweight In-and-Out Squat

Same as above, but don’t pop up: Stay down!

Side Shuffle

Stand with feet shoulder-width distance apart. Lower yourself into an athletic stance by pushing your hips back slightly while keeping your chest up and raising your slightly arms in front of you, elbows bent to about 90 degrees or so.

From this position, initiate movement by leaning to one side without twisting your head or chest. Be a little teapot. As you lean, quickly side step in that same direction while keeping your toes pointed forward.

Continue sidestepping, without letting your feet come together to touch.

Travel the distance you prefer, then reverse directions.

The post Neighborhood Workout: Double-Birthday Delight appeared first on Unapologetically Strong.

First found here: Neighborhood Workout: Double-Birthday Delight

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maultheshy · 7 years ago

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Part 26

Almeta looked up from her book with a bright smile, pressing the button to open the loading bay, Triton was in another sleep cycle on his smaller bed under the pilot control panel. “You’re back already!” She looked over both of them, Maul looked … she wasn’t sure what emotion he had in his eyes but she stood up, putting her book back under the pillow, as the bay closed walked to Maul. “Maul, love, are you okay?” She asked, cupping both his cheeks in her hands.

Maul growled as she touched him, it was a threatening growl, it sounded like the ones from last night when they … she blushed darkly feeling Savage’s eyes on her as well as Maul’s hungry ones. She wasn’t sure what to do in that moment, her thumbs caressed his cheeks. “Savage, did something happen out there to you two?” She looked over at Savage, mildly worried one of them had been injured in some manner, but she saw nothing.

Maul felt like he wasn’t in control of his own body, he knew this female meant mating, and he growled possessively as her hands touched his heated skin of his face. Savage looked at the situation worriedly, he had to intervene or things could get ugly.

“He is experiencing something unique to our people, the frenzy is approaching and he is struggling to control it, he knows not what he does.” He reached over to his Brother and tugged at one of his horns in a certain way and Maul snapped out of the urge, and looked drained. His eyes returned to normal and he opened his mouth as if to say something to Almeta, but his words failed him.

He retreated to the far corner of the ship. “Can we please leave for my ship as soon as possible?” He almost begged.

He needed more room, more privacy, this tiny space was beginning to wear him down. He was very grumpy, and scared, and confused, and he just didn’t know.

Almeta nodded and walked over to the control panel, she took a deep breath to calm herself down. He isn’t rejecting you, calm down. She told herself as she start the ship up and they began their journey. ‘But what if he doesn’t want you know, he got-’ she closed her eyes to stop the rapid thoughts and, once at a safe distance, started up the hyper space.

“We should be there in a few hours.” She whispered softly, fearing her voice would tremble if she spoke to loud. She looked at Triton’s sleeping form, wishing he would be awake but she needed him to go through a complete sleeping cycle before she could start his upgrades.

“What is this frenzy?” She asked, what Savage had told her just now clicking in her mind, and she had an idea but wasn’t entirely sure if she was correct in her assumptions. Though she was speaking to the brothers she kept her chair facing away from them, watching the nav systems and running system checks on her ship to keep her mind occupied.

Maul felt terrible, he knew he had hurt her somehow, and he wanted to go to her but he didn’t trust his body right now.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered softly from the corner of the room. Savage looked as equally pained as she did, as he watched his Brother sitting alone in the corner of the ship, trying desperately to deal with this new crap that had decided to mess up his life.

He felt his trousers grow tight randomly and sighed, well fucking great. He glowered at the world from his corner, fuck you world. Savage looked towards Almeta at her question. He sighed and rubbed his head avoiding his horns, before answering. “I assume you and Brother spoke of our home world to some extent?” He saw her nodding.

“Our people are split by gender, and rarely interact with each other. In order to continue our race at all, the males go through a mating frenzy when they reach their prime to ensure the population doesn’t die out. These frenzies usually are hunts across the planet in search of a would be female… Or male” he shifted uncomfortably.

“I went through my first rut at Maul’s age… So I know what he’s going through. He doesn’t mean to lash out at you or reject you… He’s just afraid. The urges come and go, and he just needs space to move around, like the hunters before him.” He said.

Almeta blinked and turned around. “It’s okay Maul,” she crossed her legs, her hands clasped in her lap. “Oooooh. I see.” She blushed a little, looking at her hands. “My people have never needed something like that, I suppose I’m a little ignorant when it comes to things like that.” She bit her lip thinking. “Though the women of my people do have a special … talent. When we sing,” she looked up a Savage with a bright blush, trying to think of the right wording.

“Our voices can be used as a sorts of seduction technique, we can use it for other things, too. It depends on the song we sing.” She explain, playing with the ends of her hair, twirling it around her fingers. She stared at her fingers doing this, lost in thought now. Their people were so different from each, could she ever make this … whatever this was, work properly. Or was she just … just too … much to deal with. In her state of thought she didn’t notice Savage watching her closely, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her lips as she thought.

The big Zabrak smiled softly at her as understanding finally dawned on her. Unlike Maul had been, he was not at all shy in her presence and didn’t feel the need to look away as he studied her.

She studied him just as closely as she spoke he could see, he looked similar but very different to his Brother, but that was due to the witches magic, otherwise they would have looked very much alike, horn placement, bone structure, body structure, were nearly a match from the time…before.

The big man laughed, a rumbling roll of sound that was pleasant to hear, “ I have seen many men in our village experience it, and seen many aspects of every stage of life.” He grinned at her.

He raised his “eyebrow” at her mention of this special talent, intriguing… It could be… Useful.

“He will be alright, he just needs a little help in the days to come. We will be there for him.” He said a blush dusting his features, he looked at her closely, “I see that Brother chose well.” He said smirking at her.

Almeta blushed darkly and looked up at Savage. “Ch-choose well? What do you mean by that?” She asked in surprise. As she looked at him that’s when she noticed it, the way he was watching her, she tilted her head slightly staring back.

At this point, she wasn’t too sure what to make of Savage just yet. He seemed nice enough but you never really, truly knew these days. His ember eyes traced the lines of her body, she blushed darker under his gaze feeling oddly … vulnerable. She felt bare, similar to the way Maul stared at her the night before but not quite as … passionate as his was.

Savage’s brow shot up in surprise, and in a booming laugh. “You are mates are you not?” He asked, “I can scent it on the both of you.” He shook his great horned head in wonder.

He looked over towards his Brother who had clearly heard them and was looking rather… Embarrassed.

Maul overheard the two and was beyond words, he wanted to just melt into the floor of the ship, *oh please kill me now oh merciful Galaxy….* he screamed to himself. This was not happening.

Savage changed the subject quickly sensing his Brothers displeasure, “why did you get so many parts Brother? What happened to the ship?” He looked to Almeta and to Maul for answers to this surely interesting tale.

Noting the deep blush on her cheeks as he gazed at her, he gave her a playful wink and went back relaxing in the chair waiting for his story.

Almeta squeaked softly and tilted her head, “Mate?” She whispering blushing darker. “O-oh! The ship. Ummmm I’m not too sure but I found it in a ship graveyard.” She nodded to Maul. “He was nearly dead by the time I got to him. I don’t know anything other then that.” Almeta explained, playing with the fabric of her red and black dress.

Mate … they were mates now? But … she tilted her head thinking again. His people seemed to do things the simple way, for her people they courting rituals and such they had to do before being mated. Sex wasn’t usually apart of that, being a mated was far more then just having children, it was a binding of souls. She studied Maul for a moment, giving him a reassuring smile, then turned to Savage, studying him as well. They will definitely have to have a talk about this at some point. She needed to explain this to them and get a better understanding of how … mates worked for them.

Savage listened intently and chuckled at her flustered response to his query about being a matted pair.

“A ship graveyard?” He asked and then took in a sharp breath with a hiss at the mention of finding him nearly dead. He had nearly lost his Brother before he had ever found him again.

“It was a reconnaissance mission for Sidious but it failed and I was disabled, and life support was failing…”

He felt his hearts clench tightly as he felt the near loss deeply. Maul must have noticed this, in the force, as he turned to Savage with a look of surprise.

He saw Almeta glance his way and he smiled back, shrugging helplessly. “How much further? When we get there be cautious we don’t know if there are any more probe droid’s waiting to disable us, or others. Maul warned.

Almeta smiled at him and nodded, turning to the navy systems. “It’s going to be a few. It did take us 10 or so hours to get here. You picked a planet pretty far from the ship wreck.” She giggled out and yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be there after some sleep.” She told them, rubbing both her eyes as she turned around. “It’s been a very long day, I think some sleep will do as all some good.” She nodded, forgetting for a moment that all she had was one … small … and it hit her.

All she had was one small bed! How would they all fit in that. She tilted her head, staring the bed down. She didn’t want Maul to stay in the corner curled up like that, and the chair Savage was in looked uncomfortable to him just sitting in it. She nodded her head, pulling her legs up on the pilot’s chair. “I’ll stay here. You two take the bed.” She told them with a smile turning the chair back to the window and nav system. “Just don’t ruin by bedding.” She joked to them, yawning again.

“Ah stars… I forgot that part, it seemed to …go faster on the way out here” *it seemed to go on forever* he screamed, he had serious personal problems on the trip over. Savage stretched and nodded, it would be a good idea, to get some rest certainly. “A sound idea M'Lady” he said very formally.

Savage looked at her suddenly very perplexed expression, raising his brow in interest as he followed her line of sight and oh. It was a small bed even for him, but he could make it work. What about Maul? He thought suddenly and then Almeta suggested the unthinkable… He and Maul share the bed? He swallowed heavily, suddenly looking uncertain, and a little bit fearful, what would Maul say and think?

Maul looked up and then at his Brother and then back at Almeta and then the bed and then his face lit up like a solar flare. He looked like he was about to combust. Savage took in a shuddering breath but moved towards the bed and took off his shirt, shoes, and pants without a second thought, leaving his loincloth on, he had no qualms whatsoever with his body. To him it was just flesh.

Maul stood shakily, he was indeed tired, but this was… He was not prepared for this. But what choice did he have? He was getting cold on the floor. “Thank you Almeta.” Maul said in a gentle voice, he felt terrible for scaring her earlier with his unpredictable behavior.

He walked over to Savage and took off his own shirt, leaving just his shorts on, letting Savage slide in first and maul slid in with his back pressed against Savage’s heated chest, it felt strong, and solid, and comforting.

Savage pulled the blankets over them and wrapped his arm hesitantly around Maul, under the covers, ready to move if Maul so much as flinched.

Maul was too tired to complain and fell asleep almost instantly. Savage took the rare opportunity to nuzzle his face into the crook of Maul’s neck, as they slumbered together. They were reminiscent of two great cats, laying about.

Almeta smiled and stretch out a little in the chair, she’s fallen asleep in this thing so much it’s become second nature to her. After a little while a strangled whimpering noise woke her up, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her eyes made it to the bed, the brothers were facing her and she smiled, the looked adorable.

There was that noise again, an almost pained whimper, and she saw Savage’s face scrunch up. He’s probably having a nightmare, she bite lip then stood up and walked over. She sat on her knees in front of the bed near their heads and Savage whimpered again. She looked to Maul for a moment, she kissed his cheek then turned to Savage.

Should I wake him? She thought for a moment, reaching for Savage’s face, caressing his cheek softly. Then an idea hit her, her voice! She almost forgot she could use it to influence dreams as well. She took in a deep breath, and began to sing her lullaby again, her eyes closed so she good focus on putting all her energy into changing his nightmare into something nice. https://youtu.be/m2xnPSRSSzU

Maul had been having a blissfully dreamless sleep, he always seemed to when he slept next to his Brother, feeling that protectiveness that he always exuded, was supremely comforting. Savage would have nightmares anyway though and they made Maul feel like his hearts would break.

He felt the trembling in the chest behind him, and heard the soft whimpering, Maul slowly laid on his back so he could see savage, and his hearts crumpled as he saw the anguish in his Brothers face, he was about to reach up and stroke his face, when Almeta appeared noticing that Maul was awake.

She leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek, making him close his eyes slowly, appreciating every simple touch she offered him, he watched warily as she turned to Savage, he was very protective of his younger Brother, and calmed as she stroked his great horned head tenderly, stroking his ink stained cheek.

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then brightened, and seemed to fall into a trance like state and began to sing the most hauntingly beautiful song Maul had ever heard, he had listened to her sing earlier but this time those same words were very different. The force was woven into the music, carrying power and influence.

Savage was having a nightmare indeed, one that plagued him with great frequency, even more often since Maul left him on that planet. The whispering pleading from lips he felt he should know, that he knew somehow he loved, “S….Savage!” And then a sickening crack, terrified eyes, and then nothing, the feeling of unimaginable loss, and then the scene would change to one of being alone, so very alone, His heart laid bare to Maul and then watching him walk away out of his life… The agony of loosing two important things, even though he couldn’t clearly remember the circumstances of the first.

He was trapped in this loop, until… He heard the song, his dreamscape changed, the dark scenes began to melt away, to meld into soothing landscapes of soft greenery, the smiling face of Maul, holding his hand, of peace, the face of this new woman, but mostly Maul, it was what his deepest self wanted.

Savage’s body relaxed and the trembling stopped, replaced with even rhythmic breathing, his face softening and relaxing he reached out on his sleep and pulled Maul closer to him, snuggling his face into Maul’s neck.

Maul tried not to make a sound, but blushed profoundly at the snuggling he was being subjected to. He looked up at Almeta, who had an amused expression on her face and just sighed. He found himself drifting off to sleep again at the sound of her voice, and he was gone.

Almeta smiled softly at the two sleeping brothers, she bit her lip then leaned over, giving them both a kiss on there heads. “No more nightmares for you two, from now on.” She whispered, more of a promise to herself then anyone else. She stood up and looked at her kitchen, she nodded her head at and started to move boxes around. She moved them enough to use the cook then went in search of the food.

She was planning to make a big breakfast, they had a few hours left so why not. She started cooking once she found everything she needed, humming happily. Two hours, it took her two hours to finish cooking everything, mostly because she had to be extract quite so as not to wake the two Sleeping Zabraks. She walked over to them and very carefully woke Maul with a kiss to his nose, then looked to Savage and carefully nudged his shoulder.

She was too sure yet how to act around the large Zabrak and didn’t want to touch him in a way he wasn’t comfortable with yet, and she was sure what would be uncomfortable for him. She smiled as both of them looked at her, “I made breakfast. We have one hour left till we reach where I hide the ship.” She told them and stood back. “Just be careful the boxes are kinda all over the place now.”

Maul stirred, as he felt tender lips brush against his nose, making him crinkle it up adorably, his eyes scrunching behind closed eyelids, before slowly sliding open one glittering golden eye, the pupil dilating slightly as it adjusted to the light.

He groaned and stretched his muscles trembling with the strain as they reached their limit and he relaxed again, and he propped himself up on his elbows, looking over to his Brother, who was just stirring, after Almeta wisely woke him in a different fashion. Savage stretched very similarly to Maul a contented expression on his face. Both Maul and Savage gave pause before standing, letting their bodies relax before they moved. As was the curse of being a male, their bodies were want to betray them every star forsaken morning without fail.

The two looked at each other and blushed, this was something they were both used to, and never really cared about it, going about their business as usual, but Almeta brought a new element to the whole situation.

They stood finally, and said almost in unison, “good morning” glancing at each other they broke out in laughter. Savage reached over and grabbed Maul in a tight embrace making the smaller man squeak slightly. “Happy Birthday Brother” Savage smiled hugely baring his pointed teeth in a grin, as he released Maul, who looked just a little bit flustered. “Thank you.” He managed smiling before they turned towards the kitchen.

“Something smells wonderful!” Savage said his eyes huge with wonder, Maul nodded in similar wonderment, as they grabbed their clothing and walked over to the table. Maul leaned down and kissed her, tenderly. “Thank you for making breakfast!” Savage looked like he had gone to the afterlife, his eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly.

Almeta smiled and kissed Maul back. “You’re welcome. I have a feeling neither of you would be very good at cooking.” She joked and handed them plates and such. “It’s been awhile since I’ve cooked this much food but the muscle mass you two have,” she gave Savage a pointed look at that.

“I figure you both will end up eating far more then me.” She kissed the top of Maul’s head, keeping in mind to not get to close to the center horn. “And don’t think I forgot your birthday.” She told him, handing him four books. “The books I used to make Triton, I found them while I was moving the boxes around.” She smiled at him then nudged a box under the table to Savage, giving him a look and nodding her head to Maul. She knew he probably didn’t have much on him so, the gift she bought for Maul the other day she nudged to him so he would have something to give to his older brother. It wasn’t anything big, just a small necklace with a painted shell on it. She found it in the same booth as her hair piece, and when Maul wasn’t looking she bought it. It was a black shell with red designs painted onto it.

Maul blushed hotly at the comment of not being able to cook…. Maul certainly couldn’t he remembered the time he had managed to burn water…. He didn’t even think it was scientifically possible.

Savage on the other hand was a decent cook in his own right having been a resident of the nightbrother village and living alone. Savage eyes the food like a starving man would eye a single corn chip, he was ravenous. Maul also looked like he was about ready to pounce, if not for being raised with better manners than that he probably would have.

“Savage can eat a frighteningly large amount, my credit chip can bear witness to that statement.” He said grimly before bursting into laughter, Savage following suit, clutching his chest with mirth. “They…they ran out of meat that night brother…” Savage roared, as Maul just shook his head, he was SO not related to this man.

Maul finally caught his breath wheezing slightly and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, smiling up at Almeta when she kissed him softly on his head. Almeta’s “Happy Birthday!” Caught Maul off guard and his face lit up with childish delight. He had only celebrated his Birthday a few times in his life, and it was often not centered around a reason to be happy, but today, today was so much different.

Almeta handed Maul his present and he took it with trembling hands, he looked from the books to her face with so much wonder, and his lower lip trembled slightly, he bit it to keep it from betraying him. He had never actually been given a present before on his Birthday, and this gift was extremely special.

“Tha… Thank you.” He managed with a waveringly beautiful smile, full of adoration and joy, “they are beyond wonderful… I love them..” He managed. Savage saw the box sliding under the table and caught on to Almeta’s meaning and he looked at her with such affection and adoration, this small action meant the world to him.

In truth he had nothing to give his Brother except himself, and that was too soon. He lifted the box with trembling hands and gave it to Maul, who looked equally lost in wonder. Two gifts?? He got to have two?

Maul opened the box and his mouth opened in a small gasp, it was wonderful, the patterns on the black shell were reminiscent of his own, and it was a wonderful necklace. He motioned for Savage to help him, Savage looked at Almeta, his large fingers too clumsy. “Please Almeta?” He looked embarrassed.

Maul loved the necklace, and they sat and began to eat the wonderful meal that had been lovingly provided for them.

@mauldeservedbetter @maulieber

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