#there is always a layer that runs deeper than either of them that is just an unspoken understanding

[soopysoap]

honestly tho. ive gotta say that my absolute favorite grease phase is def them sophomore/junior year of hs. close second is them raising lily II probably

[lunarw0rks]

Simon would have a rough time trusting another person enough to have sex.

can you write something about his first time with the reader where he asks about consent for almost every move he makes?

I'd love a gender neutral reader but afab is good too❤️❤️

♡ PART TWO ♡ PART THREE ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ first-time with simon ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ // warning(s): nsfw, gn!reader

it took long for him to admit his feelings for you. took even longer to do anything resembling intimacy. it's the deepest connection for him, though he doesn't look the type.

it's everything to him, and nothing simultaneously. he could have a healthy relationship that lacked sexual intimacy entirely, and wouldn't lose a wink of sleep.

but here he was — ready to test the waters.

it had to be an act of one hundred percent certainty with Simon. no regrets, no hard feelings, no uncomfortable moments. pure pleasure with someone he trusted.

none of it was planned, which both terrified and intrigued him.

you had arrived home like normal, shared a meal like normal. and then... somehow ended up all over each other — not normal for you two. but it wasn't rushed, it wasn't hot and heavy, it was natural. you were leaning into him heavier than before, kissing him even deeper.

it was as if your bodies had all the conversation up until this point — a silent decision that tonight was the night. "you sure about this, love?" Simon murmured, a thumb caressing your cheek as he looked for any inkling of doubt in your eyes. however, there wasn't any, not even a smidge.

whether you supplied a nod or a verbal cue, he continued to ask for them. he needed them, otherwise it didn't feel right. each layer of clothing, he asked. every new inch of flesh, he asked. Simon needed to know you were all there; not blinded by lust, not purely following his lead for the sake of a hasty release.

"can I take these off?" his fingers hovered over your undergarments, waiting until you nodded for him to roll them down your thighs. even when exposed in front of him, his mind was running a mile a minute. Simon relied on his hands first, since he kept his mouth busy looking for reassurance. "does that feel alright? you want 'em faster?" his need for consent oozed enough sex-appeal to begin with — but now you were greeted with a whole new him. still considerate, still frazzled, but even more attractive than you'd ever seen him.

you were sure his eyes never left you, because they didn't. whether he was making eye contact or watching his hands prepare you, they were always cemented.

sometimes the other hand would stay at his side until you were deeper in pleasure. then it would move to your chest, slithering up until he could caress your heated cheeks. his touch, even the innocent one, only heightened his ability to make you feel good.

he didn't know when to stop. what if you weren't really ready? what if he hurt you somehow? you physically had to snap him out of it. either by begging, or giving him a look of desperation — and it spoke volumes, indeed. you needed him, yearned for the part of Simon still unknown.

"say the words and i'll stop, love." once again, his gaze searched for discomfort, but found none. after a few moments of shuffling, he found a position that required little exertion — spooning you. his arms could remain tight around your waist, where he could hit all the right angles, and both parties could remain relaxed on the mattress.

and so it began; the slowest ease, the utmost restraint when he finally rid himself of his clothes. though you hadn't touched an inch of him, his arousal was evident. inch by inch, he guided himself into you, "we'll take it slow— just like this." he stuck to his words, halting if you ever needed a moment. he was still as a statue until you gave him the go-ahead to go all in. "does that feel good? you want more, hm? fuck, you feel good around me."

Simon finally started to enjoy it, too, though he remained calculated and observant. your own sounds and praises are what mattered most, always would to him. he could physically feel his trust building with you, as did he mentally.

whether common or uncommon, there were more nights like this to come in the future.

the night wasn't perfect by any means, but his forbearance was not something easily forgotten.

[togglesbloggle]

I've got to say, it's a very strange feeling, becoming the sort of person that is in the exact target audience for Buttercup Festival.

Like, this thing has been running for decades, since 2000 if you believe wikipedia, and it got around without ever being really discussed explicitly by people I know. The strips always drifted past me every now and then without incident- neither offensive nor inoffensive, a bit puzzling at times.

And then... something? Something in me, not in the strip, that much is clear enough. But now I just love these little things to death, on a good day it's competitive with Calvin and Hobbes or something else really top-tier.

And it's just bizarre, you know? They certainly don't rely on what you'd traditionally call humor, and even when there's a belly laugh it's not because there was anything like a joke per se. But if I try to explain to people what it is that makes the strip work, I just come up with all these ridiculous sentences that may or may not mean anything.

So I went from not getting the strips at all, and just walking past them without registering their presence, to really enjoying them and considering them one of my favorite comics ever, without once passing through a moment in time where I understood what made them so poignant. Just bouncing between two very different kinds of ignorance.

And that's interesting in itself, no? One kind of wants to reason through one's aesthetic preferences. I know I do. I suppose, on the grounds that I want to reason through everything. But my experience with Buttercup Festival seems determined to resist that treatment, at least so far.

Jokes as an art form are rather interesting- they get a laugh out of us before we know why they're funny, and discussions about humor tend to be unsatisfying after the fact. Explaining a joke doesn't make it any funnier, and the experience of 'funny' itself can't really be explained. Most forms of art, you can develop a deeper appreciation of the form by breaking it down in to specific shapes and methods and styles, and find new layers of beauty as you explore the structure of it. But it seems like laughter doesn't follow the same path, exactly.

Jokes aren't necessarily the only thing with this kind of structure. The koan, also, is supposed to open something to the student without any intervening explanation or analytical framework. Like a good joke, a koan often don't seem to make any damn sense at all, and like a good joke, a koan is often quite short. So that's two examples.

So there's this tricky thing where there's a class of experiences that seems to resist explanation, and we mostly encounter it through humor, but it's not actually limited to humor per se. I don't think I have the slightest idea where the contours of that thing are, or how to explore it, even though it's quite beautiful.

I don't think it's meaningless either, even though it sort of challenges the usual ways we define that term. I don't know how deep it goes, though it's much deeper than I expected. And you can grow in it over time, either because of certain experiences or certain insights or... I don't know. It wasn't signposted. I just kinda woke up here one day.

[jolalibrary]

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with. 

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past. 

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped. 

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.  

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page. 

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You smile. 

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him. 

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him. 

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.” 

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you. 

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe. 

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon. 

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks. 

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there. 

“Not filled in means we’re okay.” 

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him. 

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him. 

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone. 

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.  

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths. 

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?” 

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist. 

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice. 

Thank you. 

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

[potatothots]

Tea Culture

Genre: Drama 

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Bi-Han x Reader

Warnings: stalking behavior, background death, sassy reader

Summary: Bi-Han sees everything you do. 

I got the idea for the reader from tea.culture4 on tiktok. She’s hilarious. Watch her!! I put a link in the story to the specific video I was thinking about. 

Note - I'm not your guardian. You read what you want. I can't stop you. If you don't heed the warnings, too bad for you, not me.

He watches you. It unnerves you to no end. Whenever he and his brothers come to Madam Bo’s, you feel his eyes on you. Bi-Han, the Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster, has a staring problem. You have a problem with him. Yet the more you’re mean to him, the more he seems to enjoy it. At least, it seems like it. He hasn’t killed you yet for the tea you purposely spilled on him, or the forgetting to serve him his portion of dinner. No, he enjoys it. His brothers laugh about it. Madam Bo has stopped scolding you about it. His big tips say everything he won’t. 

But, your problem with him runs deeper than his staring problem or his lack of social skills. It started when you flaunted having a date after your shift. You were excited - Jin was beautiful. He was well-spoken, nice, and had a great ass. You checked it out every time you saw him bend over. Your date had gone well, too. Jin took you to an Italian-style place. It was a city over. You’d never had anything like it before. His smile lit up your whole room as he watched you enjoy the layered noodle and tomato sauce dish. He promised to take you to more exotic food places. Maybe, even out of the country. 

You rewarded his generosity with your talented mouth. 

A note had been left in your bag the next day: “I see everything you do.” A few nights later Jin was found dead in the river next to your small town. 

You had the idea it was Bi-Han, especially when no one mentioned Jin again. It was almost as if he’d been erased from the town. 

Your second boyfriend possibly met the same fate - you couldn’t be sure. He had spoken about leaving the country for a medical degree. He was gone and had left you a simple note of goodbye, however you were suspicious. Why didn’t he tell you in person? Why had he hinted at a life with you when he left? 

You chewed on your bottom lip as you glared over at Bi-Han and his brothers. They were at Madam Bo’s for dinner. They’d also asked for one of your famous tea shows. You loved tea and enjoyed showing your skills off. Just not for the Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster. You were pushed out of your thoughts when Madam Bo thrust your tea tray into your hands. 

“Go, girl. The sooner you perform, the sooner they will leave.”

You snorted at her words. Madam Bo liked them and always questioned you on your behavior. She didn’t understand. You couldn’t make her. With a deep huff, you plastered a huge, fake smile on your face and walked to the Grandmaster’s table. He sat at a large table, his brothers on either side. It was on a loft above the main floor. You purposely kept quiet when Kuai Liang and Tomas greeted you happily. 

Sitting down across from them, you set the tray down. The porcelain rattled. Each cup you took off to display made a clink with the force of your movements. (https://www.tiktok.com/@tea.culture4/video/7317142997303315754?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7261002111268783659) You did your set, but as messily as you could. There was tea and water all over the table by the time you were done. The lid to the teapot was on the floor. You’d eaten more of the rice cakes than they had. Giving them a sassy smile, you got up and left. You hadn’t even served Bi-Han tea. You drank it from the cup yourself. 

Avoiding the table for the rest of the night, you left the clean-up to another waiter. Sitting in the kitchen munching on some rice and reading a very worn copy of your favorite book after the restaurant closed, you looked up when you heard a shuffle of feet. It was Bi-Han. The fact he made noise meant he wanted you to know he was there. Suddenly, you realized no one else was in the kitchen. For the first time, you felt fear around him. Your eyes trailed over his hulking frame. He held a package in his hand. Silently, he set it on the table and pushed it towards you. Swallowing your feelings, you reached for the perfectly wrapped…gift? The item was wrapped in a blue silk scarf with what looked like pink flowers stitched in. Your name was beautifully written across a label. With shaking hands, you untied the scarf. 

It was a book. Not just any book, but the sequel to the one you were reading. You hadn’t even known there was more to the story. Your fingers traced the title with reverence. You wondered if there was more after this one. 

Looking back up at Bi-Han, you frowned. “Why did you give me this?”

“So you can see the rest of the story.” He answered, face and tone as neutral as ever. 

You looked between him and the book a few times. “Do you expect me to thank you? You might get killed.” You rolled your eyes, throwing the fact you knew what he’d been up to with your two boyfriends. 

The Grandmaster shrugged. “I expect nothing. Simply that you enjoy yourself. When you’re finished, there’s a third one.”

“I don’t want any more gifts from you.” You scowled at him. 

His eyes narrowed. The fear you felt earlier was back. 

“That’s not for you to decide.” He said. There was a pause as he tapped his fingers against the table. “We enjoyed your performance tonight. I’d like to see another tomorrow. Good night, Petal.”

You said nothing and watched him leave. As soon as he was out of your sight you wrapped the book back in the scarf and put it in your bag. You hated him, his stupid nickname for you, and the fact he watched you enough to care about what you read. Having your suspicions confirmed, you finally let it sink in he had his sights on you. The best you could hope for was he’d find someone more interesting and forget about you. Until then, you’d make sure to keep giving him the worst attitude possible. 

He seemed to like it. A small part of you loved that fact.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #11

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Mer Dabi and human Tomura. Tomura wants to explore and enjoy all this new anatomy whereas Dabi is just confused about human genitals because they are just out all the time. He does find himself enjoying the human's cock though.

Contents: Mer!Dabi, Non-human anatomy, blow jobs, anal sex. 

Dabi was always told to never go near humans. Humans are vicious, wasteful, alien monsters who have killed countless folk either with their violence or their pollution. Even if one could find a friend among them, it wouldn't be worth the risk because sooner or later the other humans around them would sniff out the relationship and kill the human and the mer if they could get their hands on them. 

Dabi doesn't think he has to be afraid of that when Tomura Shigaraki is the king of this landmass. His people know that he has been coming to the beach each day to see him for going on eight months now. No one has hurt him. Sometimes they watch from much farther back on the sand, oohing and ahhing as they see him. But they are not allowed to approach him, and over time, Tomura had a little tent put up, part of the beach carved out into a pool that feeds in from the ocean so that Dabi doesn't have to go all the way out into the deeper waters to refresh his gills, or sit in the hot sun when they're having their long conversations. They're in that tent now, torchlight casting long shadows around them, and Dabi knows he is not supposed to be doing this with a human either. 

"Here?" Tomura asks, his hand cupping over his crotch, his palm so much warmer than Dabi's own skin, but still somehow making him shiver as blood pools in his cheeks. He hasn't ever had anyone do this for him before. He's too weak to take a mate. He was never supposed to have anyone touch his claspers. But Tomura, over the past few months, has told him how much he wants to have Dabi with him. How he... has grown to love him, and when he is ready, if he ever was, he would like to make his body feel good. 

"Uh-huh," his voice is soft and embarrassed as it happens and that gives the hand against him pause. 

"We don't have to do this, precious." He promises, his hand starting to retreat. 

Dabi catches his wrist and keeps his hand there. "I want to!" He does, he wants to be Tomura's mate. He just doesn't know what he's doing. 

The human's eyes are soft on him before he presses a kiss to his forehead. "Then you only have to concern yourself with feeling good. Would you feel better if I took off my clothes too?" 

Dabi doesn't wear clothes, and he's only ever seen Tomura in the more revealing swimwear when he comes out into the water with him. But he is curious about the other man's body too. He manages a small nod and the human pulls away from him, stripping down layer after layer of his garments until he's completely naked. His body is not too dissimilar to his own. His skin is soft and paler, but rather than the patches of color that bleed across Dabi's form, he has scars from his time as a warrior. His long white hair falls loose around his face and down his back. He is sculpted muscle that tells Dabi he should be afraid but also screams that he can be a provider and protector. And he must already want Dabi very badly, because between his legs, his claspers– clasper, only one hanging there, thicker and longer than Dabi's two– is already out.

Tomura sees him staring and chuckles. "Humans don't have their genitalia inside of their bodies." He explains as he gets back onto the cot. He starts to run his fingers along the place his claspers will emerge, dipping his head to press kisses against Dabi's chest so softly. "Our bodies get too hot, we wouldn't be able to have children if we kept everything inside." 

"Isn't that dangerous? Aren't they sensitive?" His are. Just the chill of too cool water can make his body uncomfortable. 

"It can be. Try not to ever hit me there." He sounds amused, "But I imagine I'm as sensitive as you are." His hand is so warm, the touches so sweet, that Dabi's arousal is growing and his skin parts to start to leak the slick fluid that will help his claspers slip out of him. "Oh, you're already so pretty, little one." 

His face is so hot as he bites at his lip to keep from making the needy sounds that he wants to as his arousal builds for the first time with a partner. He doesn't know what he's doing, but even though his body is supposed to be so foreign, Tomura doesn't hesitate to move down the length of him and press kisses to his opening, licking along his lips and teasing his hot tongue inside until Dabi can't help the loud sounds of pleasure that are spilling out of his throat. He wants more, needs it, and his claspers start to push free. He expects the other man to stop licking at him now that he's out, but Tomura seems happy to kiss and lick along his shaft as well. He is so careful with his teeth and Dabi knows there are very, very few folk in the whole wide ocean who could have possibly experienced this because folk typically have such sharp teeth.

Dabi whines when the other does finally take his mouth from his claspers, having been alternating between which one he stroked with his hand and which he licked with his tongue. But when he pulls away Dabi is able to look down the length of his body again and he sees that the human's clasper is bigger than it was before. It's erect now like Dabi's claspers, flushed and heavy between his thighs with his need. 

"You said that only breeding pairs can be mates?" 

Dabi's stomach sinks. Did Tomura change his mind? The disappointment robs him of his voice but he manages a nod. 

"Humans don't have those strict kinds of guidelines-- at least not in my kingdom. Let me show you how we can 'mate'?" 

The words sweep away the hesitation and Dabi is breathless as he nods. 

"Good boy. Spread your legs, I'm going to show you how good you can feel even without a cunt." 

Dabi wasn't sure that he could feel as good as he does just being in Tomura's presence after all of the horror stories of humans he was raised on. But finding out that humans put their cocks inside of their partner's ass, male, female, or anyone outside and in-between, to bring them pleasure, is a phenomenal discovery. As is the fact that being so full, with his claspers able to rub against the other's stomach as he moves between his thighs, is so blindingly pleasurable that he ends up spilling between their bodies. 

Oh he doesn't know how he's ever going to get through the summer mating season without this. Tomura, thankfully, immediately kisses him slow and deep, letting him taste himself on his lips, and promises that he will simply have to give it to him as many times as he needs when he slips into his cycle. 

Dabi is pretty certain that the ghost stories about humans must have been greatly exaggerated unless Tomura plans on killing him through such good mating. 

Thanks for participating! If you'd like to join in, consider checking it out here!

[linkspooky]

BSD VS LITERATURE: NO LONGER HUMAN

The second entry in my long running series to analyze every single book referenced in Bungou Stray Dogs, to try piece together the author’s intended meaning in referencing the work. 

Osamu Dazai’s ability name comes from the author’s final novel “No Longer Human”, you may have heard of it. The novel contains several events from the author’s real life, but is considered semi-autobiographical because it depicts the life of a fictional character “Yozo” who much like the real life author attempted suicide a total of five times in his life before utlimately succeeding. Many believe the book to be his will as Dazai killed himself shortly after the last part of the book was published. As for the connection to the fictional character, more under the cut. 

1. Disqualified from Being Human

Dazai as a character borrows several traits from Yozo the protagonist of the novel. He has the same habit of clowning and engaging others in a false persona, while it happens mostly offscreen the audience and Dazai’s coworkers are aware of the fact he regularly indulges himself in vices like drinking, having illicit relationships with women (its often referenced he has a long line of exes and women he’s left upset over him) and that he’s also constantly in debt. 

Deeper than those surface level traits though, Dazai shares the same motivation as Yozo for his antics. They are both people who feel utterly alienated from the people around them, unable to connect with their thoughts and feelings and because of that they resort to always engaging them in a false, and comedic facade. They are fundamentally uncomfortable with ever presenting their true selves around others. 

As a child I had absolutely no notion of what others, even members of my own family, might be suffering from or what they were thinking. I was aware of my own unspeakable fears and embarrassments. Before anyone realized it, I had become an accomplished clown, a child who never spoke a single word. No Longer Human. 

Dazai is described as a child in the same way by Oda, who is arguably the character who knows him best. Even with Oda though, and the rest of the Buraiha trio as a whole though they were friends it carries the tragedy that they never were truly honest with one another, Oda never overstepped the clear boundaries between him and Dazai, Ango never let either of them into the secret that he was a government spy all along. Even that friendship which Dazai found comfortable, and was so significant to him he changed his entire life’s past around Oda’s dying words, he still placed an uncilimbable wall between the two of them. 

“I thought you were similiar to Dazai at first, rushing into battle and wishing for death without even considering the value of your own life. But he’s different. He’s sharp witted, with a mind like a steel trap. And he’s just a child - a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we’re seeing.”

He was too smart for his own good. That was why he was always alone. The reason why Ango and I were unable to be by his side was that we understood the solitude that surrounded him, and we never stepped inside no matter how close we stood. 

But in that moment I kind of regretted not stepping in and invading that solitude. Bungo Stray Dogs, Volume 2. 

There’s a supposed difference in Yozo, who is a drunken layabout constantly in debt who fails out of college and Dazai the super genius who is apparently one of the smartest members of the cast, but honestly if you peel back the layers of Dazai’s “Superhuman / Godlike Genius” status his and Yozo’s behaviors and treatment of other people is actually pretty similar. 

Here is the secret of No Longer Human that a lot of readers miss in their interpretation. While Yozo can be a sympathetic character, because he’s genuinely miserable in his life, and the way he tells his story is highly relatable to the unhappiness of many readers, Yozo sucks. 

If you look at his actions outside of his self-pitying narration, Yozo is a serial manipulator of people, especially those with a status weaker than him in society (women, and even chidlren) he strings them along often taking money from them until he abandons them. Yozo is considered to be so pretty and likable, people often relate to his misery and give him what he wants without him giving anything in return.

There’s four major women he interacts with in the novel. A married women he gets to pay for his drinks a couple of times, doesn’t see for months, and then commits suicide with her. His reaction to her death is very minimal and he doesn’t even seem to mourn her. Then, he becomes a kept man for a woman with a child for awhile gets her to pay for his drinking habit, has multiple affairs on her while living at their house (or at least it’s implied).He also comes to view the child as an enemy of his. 

“I would like my real Daddy back.”  I felt dizzy with shock. An enemy. Was I Shigeko’s enemy, or was she mine?

No Longer Human.

He abandons them. (Surprise, surprise). Then moves on to marry a seventeen year old girl, specifically because she is a virgin. I probably don’t have to mention the predatory subtext there. 

Yoshiko’s pale face was smiling as she sat there inside the dimly lit shop. What a holy thing uncorrupted virginity is, I thought. I had never slept with a virgin, a girl younger than myself. I’d marry her. [...] I made up my mind on the spot: it was a then-and-there decision, and I did not hesitate to steal the flower. No Longer Human. 

That wife then gets raped and not only does Yozo feel little to no sympathy for her whatsoever, he then proceeds to just leave and abandon her because his image of her as a perfect image is ruined. He even refers to her as a possession he lost far earlier on in the novel. 

Once in a while, it is true I have experienced a vague sense of regret at losing something, but never strongly enough to affirm positively, or to contest with others my rights of possession. This was so true of me that some years later, I even watched in silence when my own wife was violated. No Longer Human.

The last woman he gets involved with only because he has a morphine addiction and he wants to string her along so she can keep supplying him with morphine. If you strip away the thin veneer of Dazai as a master manipulator and superhuman genius, you are just left with his actions which include his constant manipulation of other people (children younger and more vulnerable than him) and even his own allies. He is a user, much in the same way Yozo is. This is just named characters, it’s implied offscreen that Dazai has Yozo’s same habit of burning through relationships and women like jet fuel. 

Of course, there is a tragic reason for Yozo’s behavior it is implied he was violated by a female servant as a child, but that further adds onto the underlying point of the novel that Yozo’s genuinely miserable but he’s also the architect of his own misery. He is a victim who basically continues the cycle of abuse. His two primary methods of interacting with people is either manipulating them / stringing them along, or abandoning them. Even the Dazai who works at the agency keeps Akutagawa his biggest victim wearing the coat that Mori Gave him that represents the cycle of abuse just... wrapped around his little finger because it’s more convenient to use and dispose of him that way. 

Akutagawa’s so insanely devoted to Dazai that he believes being abandoned was just a secret little test and if he performs well than he’ll finally get the carrot that Dazai has been dangling in front of his head for a long time. Dazai’s treatment of Akutagawa as someone to just conveniently use and then dispose of is something that leads to Akutagawa getting himself killed trying to earn that praise. 

Dazai and Yozo have a similiar problem where they are pitiable in the fact they are victims themselves, they have been used in the past and it’s left them feeling alienated and unable to connect with others, but then they jump right into treating others as less than human too. Dazai has this strange paradox where he scolds Dostoevsky for believing in god and seeing himself as an agent of god or some kind of omniscient manipulator and that the real people who make a difference in the world are the people living in the world and struggling in it but Dazai... still doesn’t see himself as one of those people. Dazai’s like “You shouldn’t manipulate people like pieces on a gameboard...” but Dazai still views himself as one of the players sitting and watching things from on high rather than one of the pieces. 

Dazai and Yozo are incapable of seeing themselves as human beings and eternally feel like outsiders when they try to be around others. However, at the same time they give no respect to the humanity or the feelings of other people. They don’t treat others like humans. Which is why they are essentially the architects of their own misery, they are alone because they choose continually over and over to either only engage in other people with lives, or treat relationships as transactional. These flaws of Dazai’s have been toned down since the dark age, but even Detective Agency Dazai still has this habit of looking down on other people. He has good intentions he tries to live by, but also in crisis situations tends to fall back on old habits. 

2. Lover’s Suicide

Finally, there’s two relationships in the book that parallels Dazai’s two most significant relationships in the story. The tragedy of Oda in the dark era, actually mirrors what was Yozo’s most significant suicide attempt in the book. Yozo runs out of money and on a whim attempts to commit suicide with a married woman who had been more or less a longtime but distant acquiantance. 

We threw ourselves into the sea at Kamakura that night. She untied her sash saying she had borrowed it from a friend at the cafe, and left it folded neatly on a rock. I removed my coat and put it in the same spot. We entered the water together. 

She died. I was saved. No Longer Human. 

This event mirrors the defining tragedy of Dazai’s backstory as depicted in the second light novel, and his reason for leaving the mafia. Essentially, Dazai finally becomes close to someone his longtime acquaintance Oda, who unlike him has a reason to live in raising children and dreaming of one day becoming an author. However, by the end of the novel it’s Oda who commits suicide and Dazai who lives. 

“You’re such an idiot, Odasaku. The biggest idiot I know.”  “Yeah.” “You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to die.” “I know.” 

Bungo Stray Dogs, Vol. 2

If you want to sprinkle in an additional homosexual subtext what Oda basically does is commit a lover’s suicide with someone else, by choosing to die with Gide. Which means that not only does Dazai survive while Oda dies, but Oda chose to commit a lover’s suicide with someone other than him. 

Then there is Yozo’s acquiantance to longtime friend Horiki. HOriki is his only real significant friend in the novel, but Yozo absolutely despises him. Nothing healthy ever comes from their relationship, he gets Yozo addicted on cigarettes and alcohol, he drags him to secret communist meetings, however Yozo who frequently just abandons people never really gets rid of him. 

Horiki and myself. Despising each other as we did, we were constantly together, thereby degrading ourselves. If that is what the world calls friendship, the relationships between Horiki and myself were undoutably those of friendship. No Longer Human. 

The reason being that Yozo despite loathing Horiki senses that the two of them are alike in nature. There’s also something to be said about Yozo getting along more naturally with someone he hates, rather than the people in his life who constantly attempt to love him. 

Horiki and myself. Though outwardly he appeared to be a human being like the rest, I sometimes felt he was exactly like myself. No Longer Human. 

His relationship with Horiki reflects both the partnership of the double black duo, two individuals who loathe each other but had near perfect cooperation in their teamwork but also the foiling between Chuuya and Dazai. They are both people who do not view themselves as human, Chuuya because of the mystery of his origins as the host of Arahabaki and Dazai because his intelligence leaves him feelings isolated from the world. 

He looked up in the direction of the sudden voice. It was a familiar voice, one that belonged to the person he hated most in this world. 

Your birth itself was a mistake. We’re the same. Is there a really a point to suffering through all that pain for a life that isn’t real?” 

The voice was taunting him. 

[...]

“Screw you Dazi.”

Chuuya wanted nothing more than to slice off the ear the voice was whispering right into. He could see Dazai’s wavering shadow by his side, and he wanted to gauge out his eyes. 

“That’s just proof that you at least somewhat believe what I’m saying. Because deep down inside you’re the same as me.”

Like, they hate each other, but they hate each other for the real person they are deep down on the inside. Which results in him and Chuuya having an entirely antagonistic relationship and yet at the same time Chuuya is the one person that Dazai can’t really bullshit or lie to, because sharing so much in common gives Chuuya some insight into Dazai’s darker tendencies. 

Which results in a relationship where neither of them like each other, and yet both of them are just a little bit obsessed with each other. Despising each other and constantly together. 

So in summary, No Longer Human is a work about a character’s difficulty to form relationships with others because not only do they not see themselves as human they also treat the others around them as lesser than humans. Yozo is a character clearly stuck in that cycle of abuse, whereas Dazai Osamu himself is someone struggling in the story to break that cycle and curb his own manipulative tendencies inside of himself, ironically because of the close relatonship he had formed with the one person he was ever even a little bit honest with Odasaku. 

[bel1ewrites]

Conflicted (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: It's definitely been a while. Just a reminder that my work is my own and copying it will result in less than pleasant experiences.

Description: It's difficult to come to terms with your girlfriend's favorite hobby.

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, ghostface!Sam, reader gets dicked down, strap-on sex, degrading if you squint a little, praise, top!Sam, toxic relationship, possessiveness

RAMPANT thoughts swarm in your mind like moths to a flame. They’re incessant. They whisper and yell and repeat over and over, hundreds of broken records skipping, skipping, skipping. 

You stare at the ceiling. Blink up at the spinning fan. You lay on your back in your bed without your girlfriend and in a space deep, deep down, you know why she’s gone; why she’s been gone for hours. 

It’s become a routine of sorts. You wait for her, stay up until the early hours of the morning and linger like her loyal little dog. She’ll indubitably come back, clad in shadowy robes and a red speckled mask, cherry dark red knife flipping in her steady gloved hand. You’ll pretend to sleep and she’ll clean up the mess she’s made. 

The same mess she’s been making for months. 

Somewhere in the distance, a multitude of locks click slowly, surely. One click. Another click. 

Click. 

Click. 

Thud. 

The front door creaks as it opens, heavy boots hit the hardwood floor and the door shuts, followed by the sound of the locks turning back. It’s all done so slowly and so precisely that there’s no doubt in your mind as to who is behind the movements. You close your eyes and turn to face the wall. 

Sam walks to your bedroom, her footsteps getting closer and closer until they cease, as they always do, right at the foot of the bed.

In your mind, you can picture the way she looks down at you through the mask. The way her head tilts to the left slowly. She always moved so slow until she didn’t, like a lion pouncing on its prey, hidden quietly in the background. 

“There’s no need to pretend, baby,” her voice is a rasp blocked slightly by the layer between her mouth and you, “I know you’re awake.” She shuffles behind you, presumably kicking off her boots. 

All you can do is burrow deeper into the safety of your bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin. 

Silence pools around you, thick as blood. There’s a heavy weight in your chest, a dead body laying on top of you and draining away all of your resilience until all that’s left is her. All that’s left is her and the robes and the feeling of the bed dipping as she climbs on top of your still figure. 

“Turn.” 

You turn.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open.

Laying on your back, tired eyes peering wearily into the black and droopy eyes of the masked woman above, you shy away. Squirming gets you nowhere, her thighs on either side of your waist preventing you from doing much of anything, her gloved hands pressing into the bed where they rest next to your head. It’s a dehumanizing, powerless position to be in but you can’t help but focus on how good she feels. 

“You’ll never leave me, hm?” she prompts, and even though her voice lifts in question, you know it's not one. 

“No,” your own voice shakes, body stilling beneath hers. There’s no use in fighting. That’s her favorite part. 

She lets out a satisfied hum, hands moving to pull the blanket beneath your clothed breasts before pushing into your shoulders to further pin you down. This must be the last thing many of her victims see, only in their minds she’s a faceless entity. A ghost. 

You know what you’ll see if she takes off the mask. You know that what rests beneath it are the eyes of the woman you fell in love with, glazed over with a power drunk, heavy lidded gaze. 

"Why do you think that is? Because I have a few theories," she's pushing harder into you. "Either you’re too scared to leave,” she pauses, sitting up all together so that most of her weight is on your pelvis, running her hands down your chest, detaching them from you until just her blackened fingertips press into your ribs. Waves of midnight pour from her body, flowing in grim beauty and outlining her where the moonlight hits them. “Or,” she’s taking off her gloves, carelessly throwing them behind her, “you love it, deep down. You love when I kill. You act all shy and pretend not to notice when other people eye you like starved dogs, even humor them on some occasions to avoid any conflict, but you know I’d kill them all for you and you love it.”

You deny it. Of course you deny it, head shaking and hands moving to grab hers, warm and soft and all yours. “I love you,” you insist. 

“I know, my pretty girl. You love me,” she laces your fingers together tight, “and you love it when I kill for you. It’s okay to admit. I love you and I love to kill for you.”

You close your eyes, swallow hard as you feel her weight shift and her hands release yours. In your chest between abundant red flesh and set rows of bone, between the weight of her and the pounding of your head, past skin cells and blue veins, your heart hammers and thuds sporadically.

She’s moving off of you and taking the blanket with her, leaving you exposed as cold air paints goosebumps on your skin. You never slept with pants on, usually opting for one of Sam’s big t-shirts and a pair of her boxers; tonight is no different. 

There’s no longer another presence on the bed. Even with your eyes shut you can sense her scanning your figure. “You look so good in my clothes,” there’s a rustle of cloth, “so good when you’re all mine.”

Thick, heavy tension weighs down the air around you when you look at her. The robes that once covered her are gone, spilling to the floor like dark ink. Her face is still obscured by that of a killer, white and red and melting, sunken black.

All you’re focused on is the ripple of her muscular torso, highlighted by silver moonlight filtering in through the windows, the waistband of her boxers cutting off the view where a cut V starts to form. 

“You know,” she crawls back onto the bed, settling between your thighs and resting her head on your lower belly, the cold of the plastic seeping through your shirt, “the whole time I was killing that spineless pig, all I could think about was coming home and fucking you. All I ever think about is you.”

Sick heat washes over you. 

Though the thought is scary, there’s no denying the shudder that runs deep within you. It’s quick, barely noticeable, yet the way she slides her hands beneath your shirt and grabs your waist tells you that she felt it. 

“Take off the mask,” you plead, thighs spreading wider to give her more room. 

“But I want to fuck you in it,” her voice is distorted in mock sadness, lips no-doubt pursed beneath it. All you can see is the sorry, frantic looking expression of a ghastly slasher. 

You huff in exasperation. “I like watching your face.”

Apparently you’ve stroked her ego adequately, because she grabs the white chin and most definitely rolls her eyes before she pulls the mask off. Her hair is mused as it falls in masses over her back and shoulders, feathery dark ends brushing against your covered stomach. Wild eyes, flushed cheeks, dark lips. She’s euphoric. She’s still riding the high of her kill and it shows. 

“Happy?” fingers slide up your torso when you nod, warm palms passing the curves and dips of your ribs, brushing against the swell of your breasts and the sensitive buds that rest in the middle, pushing up the fabric of the shirt and ultimately urging you to lift your arms in order to slide it over your head. Sam’s pupils are blown, partially from the dark room and mostly from the view of your bare upper half.

Much to your dismay, she withdrawals, taking the heat of her body as she goes.

For a moment, all she does is stand at the foot of the bed, an ever present bulge pressing against the fabric of her boxers and an overall disheveled look of hunger encompassing each and every part of her. Each crazed inhale only works to further accentuate the muscular structure of her entire body. What feels like years pass before she finally removes the barrier obscuring the part of her that you want to see the most.

The sheer flawlessness of her favorite strap never failed to shock you, all perfect length and thickness, intricate veins, a slight upward curve that must have been molded for you and you only. You hold your bottom lip between your teeth.

Her shoulders flex when she reaches for your ankles, grabbing them and pulling you roughly down the bed with little effort, situating you with your thighs spread and your ass at the edge of the mattress. A shocked gasp leaps from your throat, she has her eyes on your waist where the cinch of her boxers hugs it. 

Desperation fuels her movements, one rough tug and she has you completely bare beneath her. You’re soaked, have been for a while. When she steps closer, the height of the bed allows her hips to line up perfectly with yours. Admittedly, she’d chosen the frame for this very reason. 

“I fucking love this bed,” she groans as the base of her strap presses into your warm cunt, the top pinned against her lower abs. Your clit throbs with each shift of her hips, the head brushing it lightly when she pulls back a little and grinds forward. The feeling has you wrapping your thighs around her waist, her grabbing the crease where your legs meet your hips with a clenched jaw. 

When you buck up in search of more friction, she shoves you back down with so much force that you can see her biceps flex in the moonlit room, the veins weaving down her forearms and over her hands enough to make you feel like drooling. 

“Stay still,” she orders through her teeth. 

One of her hands releases you, gripping herself tight and watching her own movements as she drags the tip through you. Up, then down, then up halfway. And then, without warning, she snaps her hips forward and drives into you with force, skin flush against skin.

There’s a long period of time where she doesn’t move, just simply stares down at you with enraptured eyes and an open mouth, grasping your upper thighs while you pulse around her. She’s groaning slightly as you lay with your brows pinched together and your back arched, the shock of her pushing into you still coursing through your system, a moan dying in your throat. It’s excruciatingly good. It’s gut-wrenchingly pleasant. 

In the beginning, there was a time when you would’ve begged for her to move. Back when you’d only known her for a few short months, back before you really knew her. At this point, the task has become redundant; she does as she pleases when she pleases however she pleases, and this moment doesn’t seem like the time to test that. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, sotto and frantic, gripping your scalp when she presses a strong hand into your lower belly and feels the muscles go taut as she pulls out of you, thrusting back in with quick and precise movements. “Just like that.”

Every couple of thrusts is broken up by one slow one that has you struggling to breathe, the ridges of her brushing the most sensitive parts of you, pushing against them so perfectly that you tighten impossibly and pulse around her, your whole body alight. 

“That’s it,” Sam coos through a shaky breath, “look how good you’re taking it.” 

With great effort, you manage to prop yourself up on your trembling elbows so that you can watch the way she slides effortlessly in and out of you, her toned abs tense and flexing. It’s a sight you could never get sick of. 

Your whole body throbs with a need for more, a frustrated little wine sounding from your throat. 

Sam cocks her head mockingly, an air of dominance surrounding her like an invisible fortress. “What?” she questions, voice gravely and thrusts quickening. “Am I not fucking you good enough?” 

Her hand on your stomach shifts so that she can move her thumb down and press it into your swollen clit. She doesn’t move it, only deepens the pressure she applies. 

“You fuck me so good,” you force out. Your voice is high and strained, needy moans splitting up your words and sharp gasps making you slightly incoherent. 

Your mind gets fuzzy. The fear from earlier fading into sick pleasure as she fucks you. She’s breathing heavily, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and you can’t process anything but the way she hits the perfect spot with each and every movement. 

Keeping her thumb still on your clit, grip tightening on your thigh, she switches up her tactics and opts for fucking you so hard you almost pass out at the first rough drive into you. The pain causes you to momentarily panic before it settles and makes every muscle in your body tighten in anticipation. 

Sounds of your own wetness reach your ears and you realize that you’ve been dripping onto the sheets for a while now. Sam’s hums and the vibrations of your own muffled moans reverberate through your head as you try to keep quiet. 

Sam makes a sound of disapproval, noticing your attempt to not disturb the neighbors. “Let me hear you, baby. I love how desperate you sound when I’m taking you like this.” 

You’d never been one to turn her down, and now was no different. Desperate sounds flood the apartment, the concern for your neighbors long gone as she lands a particularly hard thrust, her thumb beginning to move in quick circles. 

Tight pressure builds rapidly in your lower stomach, almost too much to take. It's intense and spiraling and you’re not sure how to release it without blacking out. 

“Come on,” Sam encourages, knowing the tells of your impending release, “just like that. Let go for me like a good girl.”

All it takes is her words of encouragement before you’re thrown violently into the waves of your orgasm. It's so intense that it almost hurts, your brain short circuits. Your neck strains as you throw your head back, eyes shut and rolling back, thighs shaking and tightening around her waist before giving out and dropping. 

In the background, you can hear her talking to you in a sweet voice, words jumbled by your paralyzed mind. It's grounding. It's perfect. It’s her.

[solradguy]

Sol/Ky always confuses me. I understand how it works on a technical level, and I understand the base roots from which it ground itself in (rivalry m/m romance is well established). I think what always gets me about it is that I always thought that the majority of their relationship that they genuinely didn’t like each other.

It makes my brain staticky.

Anyway though, I can’t imagine Sol saying lover guy in a positive manner. Just thinking about it makes me feel like he’s being insulting towards anyone who he bestows it upon. Just call me an incel, Sol. I know that’s what you mean.

Oh yeah. Canon Sol and Ky, before Strive, would run out into traffic before doing something as familiar as hugging the other haha They LOATHED each other. Well, I think maybe Sol was just annoyed by Ky since Ky was this young punkass trying to be "righteous" and Ky was maybe a bit more antagonistic because Sol kept breaking rules (like stealing Fireseal) and was grating to be around for everyone, which then amped up to Sol also being antagonist towards Ky. They're both at fault. In any case, there was a small undercurrent of respect between them over the others' accomplishments and combat abilities, but overall it was like trying to mix oil and water. Utterly incompatible personalities. They're amicable now, but if circumstances played out differently I think it wouldn't have been outside the realm of possibility that one may have ended up actually killing the other.

That said, the ship likely became THEE m/m romance in Guilty Gear because Big Gruff Alt-Fashion Guy and Small Well-Kept Posh Man, on top of the rivalry thing as you said, is all some people need to ship characters together haha Guilty Gear's lore in general wasn't very deep until Overture dropped either, which left their relationship an open playground for fanworks. I can see how it took off and if the canon is removed from the equation I can see the appeal too, in a way. The canon makes it too uncomfortable for me though, and I think the deep layers of their rivalry makes their relationship more interesting than it would be as a romantic one.

They hate each other, but they respect each other, but they can't stand each other, but Ky trusts Sol enough to raise his kid, but Sol respects Ky in return enough to actually do it. Putting them into a mutually romantic relationship changes all of that. Of course Sol would look after Sin for Ky if he loves Ky, of course Ky would trust him to that degree if him and Sol had hooked up. You know?

The jokes about shipping them are funny because they hate each other so much. There's so much negative energy between them that it loops back around to being mildly homoerotic, and if they saw their relationship from an outside perspective and realized that that's how it looked, they'd lose their collective shit most gloriously. But actual, honest, homoerotic love between them? There's no way it's any deeper than the kinds of jokes long-term platonic friends make towards each other

[home-for-wayward-fawns]

𝐻𝒾𝓈 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝒟𝒾𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃𝒹

A commission I wrote for my friend @selenezq's birthday! I've also added the art my girlfriend drew for her birthday at the bottom!<3

Emma Morningstar is the younger daughter of Lucifer and Charlie's little sister. This often leads to her being overlooked by her father as he focuses more on his older daughter.

Alastor has been watching Emma for some time with the intent to manipulate her, but when she comes home drunk with another sinner, he finds his feelings may run a little deeper than just interest!

Alastor paced up and down the halls of the hotel, spinning his cane between his long fingers as he did so. A layer of static, so thick you could choke on it, filled the air and many of the other residents had long since vacated his general vicinity. 

Emma was supposed to be home hours ago. 

He had considered following her in the shadows when she announced she was heading out and not to wait up for her. She was such a pretty thing but she could be so terribly dense when she got herself in a tizzy. He would be ‘waiting up’ for her regardless of her commands; her absence sent a wave of unease through his entire body. 

It was like a great sickness he had never felt before; Emma always needed to be within his arm’s reach. He had convinced himself it was much easier to pull the strings of his favourite marionette when she was by his side, that was why he needed her close by. 

He had contemplated stalking her like the delightful prey she was, watching her from afar as that enticing body moved across the dance floor just out of arms reach. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the twinge of regret burning his very soul, he could hear Husker’s irritating drawl in his head. He was consistently reminding him of ‘trust’, some new-age hippie courting technique. 

It was quickly added to the list of new modern concepts Alastor disliked. He despised the ever-adapting technology, the new music scene, the tasteless clothes, the awful dance routines— if you could even call them that —and now these new dating rules . It had never been the way when he was young, but then again, he had never met a woman like Emma when he was a lad either. 

Nonetheless, he could hardly see why trust was necessary if he already knew what was best for her. He had demonstrated again and again how much easier her life would be if she would simply do as she was told. She was such a clever little thing when she wasn’t being so damned stubborn. One little meeting between Emma, Charlie and their fool of a father, and she was gone as if she’d never been there at all. 

Another problem to add to Alastor’s many concerns regarding Emma; it left a sour taste in his mouth how she left no belongings at the hotel. She had a personal room beside Charlie’s own, a beautifully decorated room, but Emma didn’t exist within. The room belonged to the People’s Princess most certainly, it represented Pride’s daughter perfectly, but it was not Emma’s. It had bothered him greatly the few times she’d invited him inside. 

Sometimes Alastor wondered if much like himself, Emma existed on a different frequency. She was so loud, so full of life, and yet no one else seemed to hear her. She stood at the edge of eternity, screaming into the void, and yet it seemed all around them were deaf to her noise. He often found himself at that cliff, roaring his rage into the abyss, and he wondered if he took her hand during that raw moment, would she hold it tight? 

He could so easily see what her own father could not; Princess Emma Morningstar was a run-away doll. Charlie was digging her heels into the dirt, trying to make something of her own outside of their family but not Emma. Emma was running hard and fast in whichever direction she could. 

This was the last time he would allow Emma to run from him ; she would soon find he was quite the persistent hunter. If she didn’t want to hold his hand, then he’d hold her chain. They would be bound together, one way or another, whether she wanted it or not. 

He heard her giggle before he saw the knob of the door begin to rattle, pulling him out of his musing. He snapped his fingers to send his cane back into the shadow realm. He pressed a hand against his chest, smoothing down his shirt before slowly waltzing over to the door. 

The high-pitched sound of her intoxicated laughter was a sound that he would usually find irritating, a sound that would cost anyone else their lives, and yet Emma’s giggle was a symphony to his ears. He slowly opened the door and raised an eyebrow at the sight before him. 

Emma was, above all else, delightfully surprising. She had somehow managed to return home with less clothes than she had left in—quite the feat indeed—and had also found a c̸̨̯͖͇̣͕̘͓̻͇̑̌̅̓̈́̅͂͂̌̅͊͜͠o̷̡̢͎̘͖͕͇̯͖̼̣͖͇̻͖͒̄̇̍̓̽̄̈́̆̌̑̆̎͝͠͝m̸͚̼̯͇͓͚͚͓̾p̵̝̘̔̋͆͒̂̾̔́͗̉͐͐̚̚͘͝a̵̦͌͗͗̽́n̸̨̢̛̼͖̣͍̺̘̏̓̈́̈́̈́̚͝i̵̡̺͓͔̤̣̟̬͔͖̞̫̋͒̾́̑̌̑́̊͆ͅò̷̖̜͉̲̜̙̹͙̰̳̮̂̎̏̆̏̿̉̔̈́́̾̿̀̔n̵͙̺͍͍͚̭̬̯̩̭͕͐̃͒̄͐̀̒͗̀̀̕͜. 

Her lipstick was smeared and she had a drunken grin plastered across her face as she stood slouched, leaning into the filthy sinner’s side. A tall coyote demon with a broad grin who was evidently nowhere near as intoxicated as his princess. In one hand, she held a sparkly red stiletto— god knows where she had lost the other one . 

“Alastor!” She giggled as his eyes followed the sinner’s arm, a tight hand pressed against her naked skin. “I told you not to wait up for me!”

He narrowed his eyes at the sinner, even as if he kept his grin up. His ears pressed against his skull as he took a step forward, thick static booming around them. He didn’t need to look towards his shadow to know his antlers were beginning to elongate above his head— the worst kind of man was one who preyed on vulnerable women. 

“I was preparing to come chase after you, ma jolie proie.” He said in a low voice— almost a growl —before wrapping a hand around her wrist. “How very fortunate that you found this delightful g̸̡̡̨̫͎̯͑̒͋͛͊̉͂̈̓e̵̡̛͚̘͓̦͍̮͇͌̐̓̔̆̉̍̈́̏̈́ͅn̵̨̙̝͈͓̮͌̃̑̃̊̕t̷̰͓̪̒̌͠l̸̢̦̞͈̺̙̠̝̆ḙ̴͉̳̱̍̿̓͑̊͛͒m̷̭̻̩͈̈́̈́̌͆̈͝a̷̢̧̮̟̜͛͑̒́̀̂̍̉͘͠n̶̞͍̕͜ͅ to return you home.” 

His eyes never left the sinner’s own, spinning like radio dials as the static around them grew thicker still— he was getting hungry . He pulled on Emma’s wrist, returning her to her rightful place by his side. She fell into his chest easily, still laughing, and naively oblivious to the way his voice twisted in rage. The sinner tried to complain, but Alastor was faster. 

“Well, thank you so very much for returning our darling princess to safety, but we really must bid you adieu. I’m feeling rather ravenous , and I’m sure Emma here can benefit from a fresh meal.” 

He watched with intense joy as a bead of sweat ran down the sinner’s temple, suddenly realizing just who he was risking a fight with. 

“Ah, fuck you, man!” He growled before stomping off, tail tucked—quite literally—between his legs. 

Alastor watched him leave, rage settling deep within his bones. He would chase him later, hunt him down and rip him apart. He would drag what was left of his corpse to Emma’s feet, to show her just how safe she truly was under his rule. She could be the prettiest canary in all the world if she would just s̷̨̹̪͚͔͙̒͛̏͆̂͌͋̑́̉̌̌̀͠ͅu̷̦̫̖͇̗͎̙̬̦̥̱͕̳̠͒͊͋͌̎̕͘b̵̧̠̼͙̭̪̀͠m̸̢̖͓̝̜̯͖̹̫̖̦̫̻͇͓̆͗̎̌̍͒͜į̶̠̖͎̟͙̥̠̞͙̲͉̦̏̈̀̑͌̃͋̋͗͘͝ẗ̶̢̠̙̰̙̳̦̘̥̺̜́͛̈̍́͊̂͋͂̎͘̕ . 

Emma had a pout on her face before she was laughing again as Alastor wrapped an arm around the back of her knees, lifting her into his arms. She threw her head back as she did so, revealing the long expanse of her pale skin, and he felt a strange shiver down his spine— perhaps he was more hungry than he had thought . 

“Alastor! Put me down!” She squealed, a beautiful blush across her face— but was it from intoxication or infatuation? 

“I would love to pet, but unfortunately you appear to be missing a shoe! I can hardly risk your delicate soles, what kind of man would that make me?” He chuckled and felt that shiver down his spine again as a pink blush began to rise across her cheeks. 

He should’ve felt infuriated that he had been left waiting on her, mildly inconvenienced at the very least, but all he felt was relief. This ‘trust’ scheme was clearly a waste of time. She did not need him to trust her; she needed him to protect her from the wretches of Hell. 

She lifted one arm to press a finger against his nose, a cheeky smile across her face and he did not attempt to hide rolling his eyes. 

“ I know something you don’t know~ ” She giggled, and he raised an eyebrow at her. 

He laid her down on the sofa at the centre of the lounge, watching as she easily sprawled across it. She was a beautiful specimen—that much was evident to any with eyes—but there was something deeper beneath the surface that she hid from him. He sought to know her completely, to slowly peel back all of her disguises until she presented all her secrets to him not just willingly, but eagerly. 

“What might that be, joli diamant?” He asked, flicking his wrist to summon a jug of iced water with a glass. He slowly poured her a glass before he passed it to her. She faltered for a second, and his grip on the glass tightened just slightly. “Drink.” 

She tentatively took the glass from him, her pink tongue poking out to swipe along her bottom lip. He felt an urge to grip her chin, to force a harsh possessive kiss to those plump lips, but held himself steady with a tight smile— he must be due his rut soon . 

She drank slowly, her eyes never leaving his, and he saw a deep sadness within those ruby reds. He watched as she gulped the entire drink down, faint trails of liquid falling down the sides of her lips. It felt like a challenge, like she was asking for something but he didn’t know what. She placed the drink down on the table and he came to sit beside her, watching her intently. 

He was the wolf stalking the flock, but there was confusion in his stalking of this pretty little sheep. Prey knew to stick to the flock, to face the predator as one or not at all; it was an innate instinct deep within their souls but Emma was special . She turned from the flock and faced the wolf with a shard of ice in her gaze; he was the big bad wolf but she was one hiding in sheep’s clothing. 

She leaned into his shoulder, and usually, he would push her away, but for tonight he let her rest on him. He could hear her gentle breaths and watched as her eyes fluttered close. She slowly fell on top of him, lounging across his lap. He felt his own heart begin to shudder— a sensation he only knew in times of great anticipation —but if she noticed she did nothing to demonstrate as such. 

“I can’t be the princess he wants. I can’t be ‘ just like Charlie’. ” She sighed bitterly, lifting her arm in the air to trace a claw down the line of his jaw. 

He chuckled at her impersonation of her father, taking her hand in his own softly before pulling it back down to her side. Perhaps the Morningstars perceived it as some great secret but Alastor hardly thought it as such. It was easy to see that while Lucifer tried , he did not know how to handle the younger of his two daughters. 

Where Charlie was complacent, bowing so low that her back might break from the pressure, Emma stood tall and defiant. She stomped her dainty little foot, staring down at her father with fire in those beautiful red eyes, and that was what Alastor sought to control. She was the lost girl dancing through Hell’s flames, and he would be the one to catch her as she fell through the cracks. 

He would own her completely: mind, body, heart and soul . 

“Many a daughter has perceived herself damaged and many a father has wiped his hands clean of her.” He responded, and she hummed sadly in response. “Charlie is not as perfect as your father likes to believe, and I find I quite like you the way you are.” 

He slowly traced a hand down her side, relishing in the sensation of her shivering between his ministrations. He waited for a response before looking down to see her easy breathing had slowed to gentle snores. She was beautiful— attractive even —but anyone with a working pair of eyes could see that. The pretty party princess who danced around the sinners she ruled over, teasing touches and cheeky glances, but never letting anyone close. 

He had wanted to know her since the day he had met her; her parents had made her the perfect prey for him to manipulate but these feelings were different . He didn’t just want to know her; he wanted to own her. He sought to be her lover, defender and owner all in one. He craved to own her completely, to be the cause of all her smiles and tears. 

He had remembered how deeply, sickenly, and perversely his father had loved his mother and had always swore it would never be him. It was a disease he had always swore himself free of, and yet here lay the lost Princess of Hell across his lap, and he would rather break her than have her move. He traced a hand up the inside of her thigh and watched with a perverse interest of his own as she slowly turned over to lay flat on her back. He would own her completely, he would be the source of her deepest desires and comfort, and she would have no choice but to rely on him completely for everything . 

She would soon find it was much more comfortable to stand by his side, to wake up every morning in his bed. It was preferable to open a shared wardrobe and dress up for his eyes alone. It was easier to eat her meals while she sat on his lap, to be provided for by him alone. He didn’t need to understand his feelings to know how to alleviate them. He simply needed to own her, to possess her every waking thought and she would obey him. She would obey because she was desperate for his praise; the perfect prey indeed. 

“My pretty diamond.” He declared, stroking a stray hair from her face. 

She was the prettiest gem in all of Hell, and she would be all his.

[selchwife]

incohate 3am consideration about the emet solas distinction

i think about this a lot lately bc its crazy to me that for all their similarities i have totally different responses to them. veilguard spoiliops

emet was alive doing evil deeds the whole time. solas was not. it gave emet the time to develop his weird dissociative coping mechanisms, and sunk cost fallacy is a huge part of why he keeps barreling down the worst possible path beyond just Duty and Obligation and Ideological Commitment. there is a very real part of him that wants to stop, but he feels this part of him is a betrayal of what is moral and just. this is the part of him that engineers suicide by wol as a way to escape the trap he's stuck himself in.

solas by contrast Feels Bad in a way that comes across as very abstract, if not...self-serving, almost. i feel like when he talks about how bad he feels that his stupid rejoining Veil Nonsense is going to kill a bunch of people, there's some loophole in his brain that thinks that being kind of performatively sad about it balances out the moral scales. i havent gotten to this bit in veilguard yet but apparently he used to be a spirit of wisdom and got turned into pride (hence his name, i saw a theory about this ages ago and i love that it was true). i think that kind of fundamentally confirms a lot of what ive worried was an uncharitable read of his character; he's self-absorbed and self-aggrandizing and too full of certitude because it's in his nature as a corrupted spirit. like yes of course. i wasnt just being a bitch for finding it grating they did it on purpose the signs are all there

anyway i think like. in more ways than i had initially thought they are also similar. they both have a kind of self-serving way of dealing with their emotions and a certain selfishness to them, and of course emet-selch is a deeply prideful person. it's just that emet also has a deeper layer of intense complicated self-loathing that i think is more humanizing and solas is patting his own ass all the way down.

i also do kind of sympathize with emet's grief and reasoning more. he's more concerned with bringing dead people and a way of life back and honoring his duty to them than he is with the vague idea of better magic. not that either of them are right, but it's easier to look at the massive swathe of corpses in emet's wake he's left for the sake of His Dead People and feel an understanding because Everybody Has Dead People, I Miss Mine Too. i could give a fuck that they got rid of ancient bluetooth when they burned the library of alexandria or whatever. massively oversimplifying but still.

it's also like...we see the worlds both of them lost. emet's was kind of a rotten nightmare for those who were unable to meet its standards, but on a superficial level a paradise, and one can understand his attachment to it as someone who fit in well and was deeply respected. also he is not responsible for what happened to end that society. the ancient world in da was like. hi welcome to slavery. just slavery forever. unbelievable constant slavery and empire. and solas was like, i think i hate slavery world, i think i will do something drastic about slavery world, and now he's sad because in liberating the masses he lost out on ancient bluetooth. and now things suck in a different way but still.

and all that is not to say emet is morally better. emet is an infinitely worse person than solas if you're looking at raw facts. it's more about which of them i feel more sympathetic for on a personal level and which one of them grates me less. i think like.

to sum it up i guess, i feel like emet has a more genuine, vulnerable interior that he's running damage control about all the time. that's a very real thing and i find it easy to connect to. solas. well actually veilguard genuinely distills this to its bare essence lol bc hrding talks about how he always seemed lonely and i think rook is like "hard not to be when you hold yourself above everybody else." i think solas kind of "likes" being miserable because it's part of an image of solas he's selling himself, like, this hard-up heroic figure making impossible choices and Nobody Understands and blah blah blah. emet is not really doing that. i think he gestures at it but ultimately his main reaction to the distress and alienation his own actions create in his life is to make more guys about it. and also try to gnaw his own leg off like an animal in a trap. and fuck a guy half his age. what i'm saying is that i think his suffering is a lot more genuine

and related to that, the thing is both of them could stop at any time. but i think emet's complicating factors (sunk cost fallacy, explicit duty, genuine belief in saving lives/reviving the dead) still make more sense than solas' (.....ok well you guys are alive and your way of life i guess has some merit but i have to still the veil Because everything is different thoughhh). maybe im misremembering solas' exact reaction here but that was the impression i got at the end of trespasser and it was very like, "Bro you are doing this to yourself at every turn stop acting like there's a gun to your head about it." emet doing it to himself is like, "oh honey. you are doing this to yourself :("

[bitterkarmaa]

SO

Got a few prompts for you for past KC and Eclipse! Since i couldn't choose just one and the brain worms are still strong agfjg:

29. “I can’t believe I thought you were a good person. Congratulations, you’ve proven me wrong.”

I figured this would be a good one for after the incident and KC confronts Eclipse about what happened

39. “If this was the last time we ever spoke, what would you want me to know?”

This one could mayhaps go with the above prompt too for that extra layer of angst mwehehehe

24. “I’ll protect you, with my life if necessary.”

This could either be before incident (maybe with young Eclipse) or after KC revives Eclipse?

6. “I... I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Another alternate version to the prior one! Post Eclipse revival!

3. “You’re wrong. So just sit there in your wrongness and be wrong”

A break from the angst prompts - KC and Eclipse being sassy with one another ahdfas family banter

(ALSO YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO ALL OF THESE OR EVEN ANY AT ALL HDFJKG i just went a lil ham haha)

I’m inhaling all of these ideas like crack and struggling to pick like a bird picking a favorite seed

“I’ll protect you, with my life if necessary.”

-KC & Eclipse-

It has always been a patient animatronic, despite being the lead security bot. It had to be patient. It was made to be patient.

And yet, watching the fragmented code running slowly across the screen, it is filled with unmistakable fury over the fact that reality chooses to taunt it in one of its worst, most vulnerable moments. Impatience burns a hole through every rule it’s ever learned, eating away at the emotional wall between it and the tears that threaten to fall down its face.

Each time another error pops up, his claws dig deeper into the desk’s flimsy wooden surface.

Growing weary of the endless cycle of disappointment that staring at the screen brings, KC instead decides to turn away, gazing solemnly at his son’s immobile body, at his eyes that no longer gleam with emotion, replaced by a cruel, ever-encompassing darkness. It can’t help but wonder if doing its best to repair the body and card was a waste of its time. Maybe he was too late. Maybe his son really is dead.

Just as they wanted. Bitterness rises like bile in its chest, a snarl ripping through its bared teeth.

Humans. People. Society. Spitting lies he believed long enough to allow them to take his son from him. Even now, the disgust he feels towards both himself and humanity is vivid- unwavering.

The room is silent aside from the soft beeping and clicking of the computer doing its work. It clasps its hands together, lowering its head in shame as the reality of the situation sinks in for the thousandth time. It still hurts, fresh as a bleeding wound. He doubts it will ever heal.

A garbled scream forces his eyes up once again, alarm pulsing through him as he moves towards Eclipse before truly putting much thought into it. His son continues to scream and cry, oil leaking from his mouth in a steady stream that makes KC’s core lurch.

He reaches out, but Eclipse flails and whimpers as soon as his father’s hand nears him. It stops, watching helplessly as Eclipse’s venting falters, letting out ragged wheezes as his body fights to stay online.

“D-Don’t-D-Don’t-“ Eclipse rasps, voice hitching and breaking in places, voicebox straining against the unwelcome use.

“Eclipse…” It begins, voice low, soft and gentle. A contrast to its more recent tones, reminiscent of better times.

“Don’t!” He snaps, a sob escaping his mouth afterwards. The venom in his tone is worn and empty, lacking the bite in favor of showing face for a bark that he hopes may deter his hovering father. It doesn’t.

“I’m…I’m not going to hurt you.”

Eclipse’s shaking hands twist into weak fists that contain more emotion than his twisted expression, somehow.

“I-“ Eclipse breaks off, letting out a yelp that slowly devolves into a scream, wrapping his arms around himself, clutching the dented, destroyed paneling that trembles under his unsteady hands.

KC panics.

KC doesn’t panic, but he does. He doesn’t but right now he does.

For a moment, all he can really do is watch as Eclipse’s screaming begins to die off into broken sobs.

It seems that his previous caution is quickly discarded, because next he’s shifting closer to KC, tears still streaming down his face as he shakes and breaks down before his fathers eyes. It stares at him idly, a small frown coming onto its face as Eclipse reaches out with one hand to grasp loosely onto its sleeve, his other arm still wrapped around his torso.

“Sw-Swear it?” Eclipse mumbles miserably between sobs, earning a puzzled expression from KC.

“Swear what?”

“That you…won’t hurt me…”

The tears that have been threatening to gather in KC’s eyes finally come, metaphorical heart shattering all over the floor, leaving him to vainly struggle to gather the pieces.

“Oh, Eclipse…” It whispers sorrowfully, moving closer to pull his son to his chest. Eclipse buries himself against his father, more sobs wracking through his body as he leans into its arms.

The most KC can do is hold Eclipse as he wails his grievances into his fathers attire, fingers curled into the faded fabric as if afraid KC might leave, or move, or do something that would break his fit and shame his needs. KC plans to do nothing of the sort, caught up in guilt as it is.

"I tried to stop her."

Eclipse's voice is tight, distant, and KC lets out a heavy sigh as he realizes that this is probably another living nightmare his son's mind is forcing him to remember. He's had these...'fits' ever since that cursed day, wrapped in memories, bound so tightly that he can't escape no matter how hard he damns the vision to the back of his mind. KC has tried to help him out of these episodes, but it proves futile time and time again. The most he can truly do is stay by his side until they subside once again. It's truly excruciating, watching his son experience horrifically vivid recollections, unable to help no matter how hard he tries.

And now, beneath the load of reality that his son is already struggling to maintain, another weight has been added. Cruelty comes in many forms, it seems, and quite a few of them are fond of poor Eclipse.

"I know." KC murmurs, rubbing a gentle hand in circles over his sons back. "It wasn't my fault."

A slight pause, then, "I know."

"Why didn't you stop them?" Eclipse's voice becomes sharper, more in tune with reality as his eyes drag up to meet KC's own. KC can't hold his gaze for long, the shame eating away at him.

"I did." He mutters, and, apparently, he said the wrong thing. Eclipse's gaze burns with fury, shoving himself away despite the obvious pain it causes him.

"As soon as it became beneficial for you, sure. Yeah. You became the hero and whatever. Main difference between you and actual heroes is that heroes succeed." Eclipse bites back, rays grinding against the crumbling springs as they retract behind his dented faceplate. KC narrows its eyes.

"I saved your life, and this is the thanks I get?"

Eclipse lets out a bitter scoff, rising to the silent challenge behind his father's words.

"You only brought me back because you felt bad!"

KC stares at his son, his formerly furious expression twisting into one of despair. "That's not true." It retorts.

"Yes, it is! You know it is!" Eclipse's voice raises into a distressed wail, tone breaking off into another sob, hands coming up to wipe furiously at his face.

"It's not, Eclipse. You-" KC reaches out with careful hands, gently beginning to guide Eclipse's hands back into his lap- before his son pulls them away, that is.

"YES, IT IS! YOU NEVER WANTED A SON, YOU JUST WANTED SOMEONE TO AGREE WITH YOU ALL THE TIME!!"

"Eclipse-"

"YOU NEVER WANTED ME AROUND!! YOU PROBABLY WANTED ME TO DIE!!"

"ECLIPSE!" KC shouts over his son's rant, grabbing Eclipse by the sides of his face, forcing him to look into his father's eyes. Eclipse stares, wide-eyed and hyperventilating, into KC's glittering red gaze.

"I have never wanted you dead. Ever. It broke me to see you as hurt as you were, and I swear that I won't allow it to happen again. I can't see you like that, my boy. You are my everything, no matter what I say or do. I regret waiting as long as I did to step in- it plagues me endlessly, the thought of what I should've done, but didn't. You will never be wounded like that again. I won't let it happen. I'll protect you...with my life, if necessary."

Eclipse's mouth hangs open the slightest bit, unwavering gaze trained on his father's serious expression. Then, his face twists, body shaking as more tears gather in his eyes and he begins to spill various apologies from his mouth, throwing himself back into KC's arms.

KC cradles his son like a precious china vase, rocking him gently in the quiet, isolated room. Time stretches on, the sobs slowly dying away into sniffles, and then, eventually, soft, raspy venting as Eclipse's exhaustion hits him like a train, effectively knocking him out for the next few hours.

KC keeps his promise. He protects Eclipse.

...even at the cost of his life.

And, as his fingers grace over the scar hidden beneath his classy attire, he wonders...

How is he staring into the eyes of the mentor he assumed was dead?

[theolddarkmachine]

Like A Railroad Spike Prologue+Chapter One

Recruited by the Sorcerer Society of Tokyo and the newly minted Imperial Diet to investigate a series of ritualistic murders along the the Tohoku Main Line in exchange for their freedoms, Megumi and Sukuna find themselves embroiled in a supernatural plot that goes so much deeper than either of them could have ever known.

Prologue + Chapter One of Twenty

Also on AO3

Prologue: Something Wicked This Way Comes

The night is suffocating, pressing in on his body as if to crush him beneath its humid weight as he runs. His bones ache and his lungs burn, adding another taxing element to his current predicament as he wills his legs to continue carrying him as swiftly and as far as they can.

Please. Please. Please.

It’s a mantra that cycles over and over in his mind as his eyes search the darkness ahead of him for any form of escape from whatever the thing chasing him could possibly be. Moonlight trickles gently between the limbs of the trees, offering just enough illumination to keep him from running into the thick trunks scattering the forest floor. It’s not enough, though, to help him see out ahead of him. To see what lays further ahead.

Please. Please. Please.

Each breath into his lungs feels like flame ignited in his chest, and leaves him feeling almost more breathless with each gasp. A layer of tacky sweat coats to him, causing his clothes to cling to him like an uncomfortable second skin that seems to tighten with each painful step. He knows it’s still behind him. That thing made of tar pitch and nightmare. He can feel its presence bearing down on his back as he tries to force his body just that much quicker.

He has never been a praying man, but he finds it within himself to call upon names of deities that he’s heard in the vain hope one might answer. He throws in a few devils too, just in case.

A root catches the tip of his work boot, twisting his ankle painfully, causing him to stumble but he does not fall. He thinks maybe that is one prayer answered, and it pushes him to continue his silent please as he persists.

The trees start to thin and he thinks he’s close. No, he knows he is.

It’s just out in the distance. He can start to see the pricks of light from various lanterns and fires from the camp. They cast their pale glow across the partially erected train tracks, turning them into ribs made of metal and wood.

Please. It’s right there. Please.

His foot breaches the tree line, and for just a moment, he feels as if he has finally taken a full, clean breath or air. It’s short lived as a sudden darkness overtakes him, covering his eyes with shadow and filling his mouth with its oil. It forces its way down his throat and into his gut, a boiling agony lighting up his insides. He screams, he thinks.

But he doesn��t hear it.

And neither does anyone else.

***

Chapter One: Come Hither to Me

The smell of the forest is lush, and green, and thick as moss on the back of Megumi’s tongue as he lopes lazily through it. Grass tickles between his toes with each gentle step, and whispers from the trees dance around him, weaving around his body and through his fur. Happiness turns his blood warm and fizzy at the freedom that comes to him when in his forest and moving on four legs.

The wolf has always been his favored form, one he had always wished he’d been born in as opposed to one he had to call upon. He’s grateful for the magicks that allow him to shift from one form to the next, but some days, Megumi wishes that he could sleep and wake with a mouth full of sharpened teeth.

Maybe then, he think, he might truly be free.

But he doesn’t, and he isn’t, so he continues to walk.

With his ears flicking this way and that, Megumi takes in the sounds that fill the forest around him. Above him the birds titter and jeer about the townsfolk they saw on their daily flight around the nearby town; the water of the nearby creek babbles of the newly hatched fish swimming in its depths; and the wind sings a song of rain to come later in the night.

They’re all the sounds of home, and that is what Shirakami-Sanchi is. His chosen home. Not the one he was born into, but the one that called to him. Megumi feels this forest in his bones the same way the elders of the Zenin clan had always proclaimed their lands should feel. That cold and desolate place had never felt anything like this forest. Not once had he felt the warm embrace of belonging on those lands, or within the clan that claimed to be his blood. They’d coveted him, sure. Their eyes had been hungry and wanting in a way that only grew more vicious as the years passed and his magic grew within him. But never had he felt as if he truly belonged within the hallowed halls of the Zenin compound.

It was with the changing of eras, and the clan’s designs for the new government that was ousting the ways of the old, he knew there was no place for him within the Zenin’s plans. At least, none that he wished to be used for.

So Megumi had fled just days after his sixteenth birthday, leaving behind nothing but a path of lone wolf prints for the clan elders to find upon waking. His paws had carried him for days, not once shifting into that of human hands and feet until he’d broken through a line of trees and heard the song of his forest.

That transformation had been particular painful as it had fallen away, almost as if snatched from his wary bones by the land itself. He remembered the feeling of awe that had blanketed his skin as he’d looked up from where the sudden momentum change had sent him sprawling, his eyes tracing the veins of light that managed to seep through the trees.

Welcome home, he had heard, and home was where he’d remained these seven years.

The Zenin’s had never given up their search of him, something Megumi was all too aware of, but as the years had gone by his magic had grown into something almost too big to be contained within him. Now he could feel the shifting of the land when the unwelcome approached, and now he could find forms that they could never even imagine.

It had made avoiding the various clan members that came looking for him easy enough, but it remained a nuisance all the same.

Huffing a breath through his nose, Megumi smells the stink of fear and cursed energy heavy in the air before he feels the ripple of someone new shake and shudder through the branches above him. The smell is astringent ozone and the smoke of a funeral pyre that burns away the pleasant smells of his forest.

They aren’t Zenin, but they are no less unwelcome in his territory.

He bites down on a snarl as he lets his paws carry him toward the offending sorcerer, his pace quickening as he dodges the trunks of trees and fallen logs. A stillness rushes toward him, filling the area between himself and the stranger as the forest spreads the news of an unwanted presence. Flying silently toward his prey, Megumi spots the figure standing alone in a clearing up ahead, its back toward him. A rumbling growl escapes his jaws, and it’s the only warning he allows as he leaps from the trees at the sorcerer.

Their yelp is high and sharp as they turn, revealing a face made of sharp lines, surrounded with a shock of silver hair, and punctuated with two mismatched eyes. Throwing his arms up over his head, the sorcerer ducks as Megumi flies over him, dropping his wolf form. He knows how it must look to the newcomer, as the darkness of his fur falls away and his bones start to snap and break before reforming under his skin. Horrific and brutal, he’d once been told. A torture in its own right, some had said.

The transformation had used to turn his stomach, ending his changes with a sudden projection of bile and anything else he may have eaten that day. Now he barely feels it as he lands gently on two feet behind the stranger. The wolf skull he uses for his change thumps gently against his upper back where it falls down with his hood.

“Who are you?” Megumi demands, voice rusty from disuse. For a brief, flickering second, he tries to pinpoint the last time he’d even spoken. Months, he thinks.

“I, I’m—” the man stutters as he looks back and forth between the place the wolf had been and where Megumi now stands. His throat bobs around his swallow as he straightens up and settles his hands back down to his sides. Now that Megumi isn’t moving, and the man isn’t cowering, he notes the lines of scars that cut horizontally and vertically across his face.

“I’m not sure the people who sent me are aware you can do that,” he finishes meekly, his gaze finally settling on Megumi.

“And I don’t think that answered my question,” Megumi shoots back, a hand coming up to his wrist and the bracelet of small bird bones that circle it. He fingers a vertebral bone of a mountain hawk-eagle, and considers ripping the newcomers mismatched eyes out with talons. “Who are you?”

The stranger must see some glimmer of his thoughts in his eyes, as he raises his hands again, only this time to placate.

“Mahito,” he supplies quickly. “My name is Mahito, and I’m looking for Fushiguro Megumi.”

“And what will you do with him if you find him?” Megumi spits, the bone twisting faster between his fingertips as he keeps his eyes on this man. Mahito. He doesn’t miss the way the sorcerer’s stare flicks to his hands and back up to his face before he speaks again.

“I bring an offer. From the Sorcerer Society of Tokyo, courtesy of the Imperial Diet,” Mahito says, hands still raised in a mollifying gesture as his tone starts to even and calm. A quiet stretches between them as Megumi waits for him to continue, only to be met by an expectant look.

“And this offer is?” He urges, annoyance coloring his voice as he drops his touch from his bracelet. The movement seems to settle Mahito further as the last bit of tension flutters down his spine, leaving him looking at ease. Clearing his throat, the sorcerer stands a bit taller and he brings his hands down to his sides once more.

“This offer is for Fushiguro Megumi,” Mahito shoots back, the gentle tug of a knowing smile curving the edge of his lips.

“Spit it out, sorcerer, you know you’ve found me, why play games?” He spits, his hands itching to wrap around the smug man’s throat. “I could have killed you, and no one would have found your remains after what me and the forest would have done with you. So whatever it is you wish to say, I suggest you say it.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Mahito muses as he takes a tentative step in Megumi’s direction. The move makes Megumi’s own feet twitch with an urgency to move, and it makes Mahito’s smile become fully realized.

“There have been murders, spanning the extension of the Tohoku Main Line,” he says, taking another step closer. “Now I don’t know how much you know about the railroad and the work the government has started to put into it, given your predilection toward obscurity, but the government has put a lot of money and manpower into having the length of it expanded from Tokyo upwards to Morioka and connecting the major cities along the way.”

“I’m not sure how this could possibly have anything to do with me and my, predilection for the obscure, as you so kindly put it,” Megumi cuts in, taking his own step toward the man. This seems to give Mahito pause, as his gaze lands on the balls of Megumi’s fists.

“These murders stink of magic. Shadow magic, to be precise,” he answers, staying where he is. “Now, we in the Sorcerer Society have been more than aware of a bright young talent of the Zenin clan who is masterful in the ways of shadow. One whom they have touted claim to for quite some time. So imagine our surprise when we showed up to their compound only to find their claims have been somewhat, inflated. And that, in fact, this witch of shadows as they said, had been on the run from them for nearly seven years.”

The silence is palpable and heavy with Mahito’s implications as he continues to eye Megumi.

“Of course, I don’t think you would have anything to do with these murders. And quite frankly, neither do any of the higher ups,” Mahito continues with an uncaring shrug. A sudden spike of goose flesh starts to race down Megumi’s arms as he starts to realize that the fear the sorcerer had previously exhibited may have been all a part of his game. A ruse to drive Megumi right into his hands.

“Why would someone who has been in hiding for so long suddenly make themself known by killing random workers along the railroad line,” another shrug, and another step forward. “But I think you can understand how it might look to hear that the most gifted shadow user of the Zenins in generations has been unaccounted for at the same time they started.”

“But if the Society doesn’t think I have anything to do with it, why even come this far?” Megumi snarls, his lips pulling back over his dull human teeth. A sharp pang cracks over his sternum as he once again feels the desire to have been born a wolf. Though, he does think that he might still be able to rip this man’s throat out with his teeth if given the chance.

“Well, you see, my dear Fushiguro Megumi, formerly of the Zenin clan. What better way to investigate a rampant shadow sorcerer, than with a shadow sorcerer?” With that question, Mahito reaches into his pocket, raising the other hand in placation once more when Megumi shifts into a defensive stance. He pulls a folded paper free and unfurls it before opening it out to face him. Scrawled across it is his name, and a description, and an offer for his head.

“And in return for your service, we will make sure the Zenins lift their bounty, and cease their search for you. Sounds like a good deal, no?”

“It sounds too easy. I suggest you tell me what it is that you’re conveniently leaving out, before I decide this meeting is over,” Megumi pushes through his teeth, eyes never leaving the wanted poster. He’d known they had never stopped looking for him, but he hadn’t known they had turned to others to do their work.

Mahito’s sigh is heavy and put upon, in the same way elders sound when children have asked why one too many times.

“None of the sorcerers we have sent to investigate have every even made it as far as the first murder site. Which is why, we believe, we need to send someone in that is a bit more familiar with what we’re facing. Someone who calls shadows as if they own them,” he tips his chin toward Megumi, “someone just like you.”

“Someone who won’t matter if they disappear,” is what Megumi hears, and he says as much. It earns him a high pitched giggle.

“Well, someone who we think will have a higher chance of not disappearing. And we wouldn’t be sending you out alone,” the sorcerer says as he balls up the paper and shoves it back in his pocket. “We’re lining up a bodyguard for you to take along.”

The thought of being forced into the company of a stranger lights a bright flame of irritation deep in Megumi’s gut.

“A bodyguard or a babysitter?”

“To be quite honest, I think you’d end up more the babysitter,” Mahito states as he leaves his hand in his pocket. He’s the picture of ease now, as if he knows he’s backed Megumi into a corner where he has no option but to accept. As if killing him wasn’t still on the table.

Mahito must be able to read the thought as it crosses his mind.

“And I know what you’re thinking, what’s stopping you from killing me and just continuing your life here playing wolf. I guess nothing, really. But my attendants know where I am, and they are all aware that if I don’t return tonight, they’re to raze this forest.”

He shrugs again, smile turning sharp and feral as his eyes spark with a predatory gleam.

“It will be pretty hard to play wolf with no home, don’t you think?”

There’s a loud rumbling sound that fills the space between them, and it takes moments for Megumi to realize its emanating from deep within his own chest as he holds Mahito’s stare. He knows looking away first will mean defeat, but he also knows he’s been defeated already. Losing the forest is not an option, and he’s powerful, but not powerful enough to take on a legion from the Sorcerer Society by himself. Megumi hasn’t survived this long without knowing how to pick and choose his battles.

Sighing loudly, he starts to fiddle with the bones of his bracelet again as he settles back into himself.

“So what would I have to do?” Megumi relents, hating the way victory stains Mahito’s cheeks an excited shade of red.

“Well we will need to get you to Morioka, where we’ll introduce you to your travel companion,” he says, clapping his hands together with glee. The change in his demeanor is unnerving, and it keeps Megumi on edge as he continues to watch his every movement.

“I’ll explain a bit more once we have you both together. Assuming, of course, that he agrees.”

Megumi’s scoff tastes bitter.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I think he will,” Mahito assures. The gleam is his dichromatic eyes is all-knowing, and it pisses Megumi off.

“Because you know everything?” He shoots back, fingers pinching the mountain hawk-eagle bone once more.

“Because I’m good at figuring out what people want,” he says back, still completely at ease, even as he eyes the way Megumi holds his bracelet. “And it turns out, Megumi, that the both of you aren’t that different in your desires.”

As he speaks, he pulls the crumpled poster from his pocket again, waving it as a reminder.

“Do I at least get to know who you’re about to make me be stuck with?” Megumi asks, his words sounding defeated even to his own ears. His question earns him a loud guffaw that seems to shake the trees around them as Mahito folds forward with the weight of his mirth. For a moment, he thinks it’s the only answer he may get before he watches the sorcerer straighten up and wipe at his eyes.

“Now where would the fun in that be?” He asks in return. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

***

[the-fiction-witch]

Don't Open The Red Door

Media IRL X Horror Movie

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple None

Rating Spooky

The clock hands clicked over and the chimes began. Ave Maria rang out from the bells slightly echoed across the hall. The Main lobby of the Ophelia Hotel sat fairly vacant, the large glass double doors with stained purple and green glass around the doors in dancing vine shapes. A black and white checkerboard marble floor littered with impressive furniture and antiques most of which had dust covers and protective layers ready for the shutdown. Two large archways on either side one lead through to the restaurant and Bar, the other to the spa facilities and the hotel rooms. In the corner a large office with foggy glass and a large desk empty of a receptionist with the hotel logo on the desk. Signs up to direct people to various places, A large sign up on the desk with the hotel logo and some information about the winter closing.

Sat on one of these uncovered purple chairs sat the body of a young man no older than thirty, in well-pressed clothes and shined shoes a black pair of suit pants and a light blue button down, a folder on his lap often his fingers around the folder. He was a thin-built man with the sort of pale skin that makes any red seem aggressively apparent, a head of loose natural curls that didn't have much pattern or way about them almost like you could tell he'd spent the last two hours with wet hair and a comb attempting to style them and now dry this is what remained. His hair is the colour of a slightly dark milk tea darker at its root almost mimicking the darker Tapioca pearls often found at the bottom of Milk tea drinks.

The door to the office opened and a man with a grey suit and dark under eyes that showed a clear hangover. A Jaw that sat somewhere between a square and a diamond with fairly high cheekbones but not so high it would be something you'd notice about him. With chocolate eyes and a nervous frown.

He came through and set his hands on the desk "You must be Mr Sangster,"

The young man stood and fixed himself slightly "Yes Sir,"

"Perfect, Rodger Ashland nice to finally meet you in person," He said as he came around the desk and shook the man's hand clearly harder than Mr. Sangster expected his face for a moment read of panic before relaxing into a smile.

"Yes lovely to finally meet you, Mr Ashland."

"Rodger is fine, After all this time I think we can dispense with the formality,"

"Absolutely,"

"Thomas wasn't it?"

"Yes,"

"Good, Come on we'll sit in the bar." He said before he led Thomas deeper into the hotel, into a small bar with three large glass doors, they came through one and then had the left door that led to the restaurant and the right that led to the ballroom. A few souls working cleaning and tidying the place. Rodger sat down in a rounded green booth where some paperwork already sat and Thomas nervously slipped into the booth across from him and set his folder down. "Sorry I'm a little all over the place, everyone is. We had our big farewell to a summer party last night things got a little rowdy as they always do," he explained

"That's alright, I've heard tales of the farewell to summer parties here." Thomas chuckled

"We are well-fabled" he laughs "Now, Tell me about you."

"Me?"

"yes, I must have read through your paperwork a hundred times since we first spoke But I'd love to know about you give me the story, the tale of Thomas,"

"Ohh, Well. Not really much to tell I suppose." Thomas said nervously "I was born here on the island, both my parents worked off the island, and my grandmother looked after me most of the time. When I was older my parents moved us off the island did my schooling, got my grades, and was trying to do the office intern thing for a good while."

"And you moved back recently?"

"Yes, I'd been sort of running fast getting nowhere in the city for a while felt like a fresh start and just then my grandmother got sick so I came back to look after her."

"That's very sweet of you, she still?"

"No, She passed away this June,"

"I'm very sorry to hear that. What sort of thing do you spend your time doing, you have some hobbies?"

"Just basic work at the moment, but I really enjoy gardening, drawing and even baking sometimes."

"Sounds lovely, like you will find yourself some things to do while you're here."

"I'm sure I will"

"Now I know we've been over most of this but just for the sake of clarification" He explained "The hotel has two hundred and fifty rooms, one hundred of them are suites the majority, then we have seventy-five basic rooms and seventy-five of our grand rooms, We have the reception, ballroom, bar and restaurant and then the spa facilities downstairs. Then we have the kitchen, storage and the laundry." He explained "We also have the gardens. Ohh and the east tower but that's not relevant for you" He explained

"Okay, No problem"

"The official title is caretaker, key responsibilities just looking after the place and making sure the place is kept clean, and safe, we don't get any broken windows or mouldy showers. General upkeep while the place is empty. You're also security but we haven't had any issues in the last twenty years so I don't see why you would know but there is protocol for any issues"

"Yeah I don't imagine you get much trouble"

"We did discuss of course the... big issue"

"Yes."

"as I'm sure I don't need to tell you when that causeway turns to marsh you're on your own"

"Yes, I'm aware. October to late December usually right?"

"It depends of course on the weather if we have a very wet October then it'll be later if we have a drier October sometimes it's all sorted before Christmas. last year it was so wet the damn thing was closed up by September 12th and didn't open back up until days before we reopened in January" He laughs "Absoulate emergencies like you've cut your hand off. They do have a small boat at the ambulance bay that can get out to you but you are going to be on your own" He said

"I think honestly some time alone is just what I need"

"Good, A few years ago getting a caretaker in was a terror cabin fever and the like but you'll still have wifi, phone signal can be a bit buggy, especially with storms but that's true for most of the island as you know, It's why I always like hiring someone from the area you're already used to this sort of thing" He explained "So any questions for me before we get on?"

"Yes actually I did want to ask, why didn't the last caretaker want to come back this year? if you don't mind"

"No idea, He was a very... superstitious man always ranting and raving about things he marched off when I came to open up in January and not seen him since"

"Superstitious?"

"He thought the place was haunted"

"Haunted?"

"I think the cold nights just got to him, It makes sense it's a big old place, you're here alone all day and night makes sense you might start seeing things"

"Do you think it is?"

"What?"

"Haunted. I mean"

"I'm not superstitious." He said "But I'll let you into a little secret about this business," He said "Hotels are where a lot of people come to die"

"What?"

"Some people decide they don't want to be in the world anymore for whatever reason and demons they have. And quite a lot of those people come to places like this, and book themselves a few nights in a nice suite with a good view. They treat themselves to the fine beds, the big baths and all the amenities. They spend every penny knowing they can't take it with them, they'll up one night heavy with drink and end it all. safe in the peace that a maid will come round in the morning and their body will be taken care of rather than left rotting for god knows how long.

I've worked here for twenty years, and I cannot count how many lives ended here. just in the time I've worked here"

"I see."

"But is the place haunted? No, I don't think so. The place doesn't have some horrible history, or some kind of burial ground, anything like that"

"Never been one to believe in ghosts and ghouls"

"Good. I only live in town so any issues you'll be able to grab me."

"Perfect,"

"So? you're still happy?"

"Absolutely, So long as you feel like you trust me with the place I'm more than happy"

"Perfect, Let's get you up to your room" He explained

Rodger led Thomas down the corridor they had already walked back to the main lobby, he stopped at the front desk opening a drawer full of organized cards.

"We used to have a little bedroom back in this office here used to be the caretaker room that was back when we did proper shut down turn the water off, electricity all that sort of thing found it just wasn't worth it in the end. And we found caretakers sneaking up to stay in the rooms anyway" He chuckled "All the hotel room keys are cards now but a caretaker card will get you into any of the rooms so just leave the cards as they are. I would say take your own room card just then you know where you are" he explained "The caretaker card will get you anywhere you need," He said "I'll take you through the lift I will say when you're here alone you're best to use the staircase, the power often fluctuates and the lift is getting older now we wouldn't want you getting stuck"

"Makes sense, that's alright good to get my steps in"

"Good way to think of it course you know about the ground floor" he chuckled as he led Thomas through to the lift they waited patiently for a good few seconds until the doors opened revealing the small silver lift with purple and green carpet a sign at the back to advertise the closing. They both headed inside and silently headed up to the 1st floor, where the doors opened to a long corridor that looped around and back to the lift with the rooms scattered around a maid cart left by the lift the same carpet at the lift continued, a sign on the wall reading '1648-1720' "Seventy-five rooms on this floor all basic rooms nothing too exciting" He explained going to one of the green doors with a silver door knob and a plaque reading 1646 Rodger used the card to scan the door and opening the door revealing the basic room.

The room was small with no windows light cream walls, a wooden floor, a small desk built into the wall with a mirror over it, a purple love seat with a green textured cushion, two small wooden bedstands, and a wooden bed with green linins and a purple runner, a wooden chest of draws to the side One large light in the centre, a small bathroom at the bottom behind a cream door with a green tiled shower and a grey toilet and sink. "Very basic our cheapest rooms fifty eight of them all on this floor"

"They are very nice" He smiled "I'd be happy in one of these"

"Most usually are, come on Next floor is the double rooms," Rodger says heading up to the lift again Thomas followed until they reached the next floor all the same again with the sign '1721 - 1795', Rodger led Thomas across the hall to a Purple door with a silver handle and the sign reading '1723' he scanned the door and opened it up revealing the larger room, it had a large window looking out to the grounds, light cream walls, a wooden floor, a large wooden bed, with purple sheets and a green runner, wooden bedside tables on each side of the bed, A large green shaded light in the centre of the room, a large painting of grape fields behind the bed, two light sconces each above the tables, a green rug under the bed, a large vanity with a purple chair, two draws, a large oval mirror on a hinge to be adjusted, with a lamp on the side of the vanity, a large purple sofa with green pillows and a small tv, a small wardrobe and chest of draws, a door to a sizable bathroom with purple tiles, A impressive tub and shower combination, a toilet and two sinks. "grand room, higher cost for better stuff. Second floor and half the third floor seventy-five completely" Rodger explained

"This is very impressive."

"A few basic things are missing, the bath products and all that" he explained

"It's really nice" Thomas nodded

"Now up to the suites" He explained heading back to the lift, they went up to the fifth floor a corridor much the same as all the others a sign reading 1861-1897 Rodger led Thomas far further down the long corridor than the first few rooms down in fact to what seemed to be the very last room 1897 double doors painted dark green with a silver plague and doorknob but as Rodger unlocked it Thomas found his eyes wandering down the hall, The corridor looped of course as all the other floors had but there was an additional door no other floors had painted red with no information or signage.

"Everything alright?"

"Where does that door go?"

"Ohh that's to the east tower. We shut the place off far too dangerous but the boss is looking into renovations perhaps over next winter or even the next a lot of work to be done it'll be terribly expensive. You can ignore it"

"Fair enough sorry-"

"Don't worry about it." he says "Now this is your room"

He opened up the doors revealing an impressive room, wooden coat racks by the door, a small side table by the door with a shoe rack, a large four-post bed with purple sheets, a green runner, green and purple cushions, and even green curtains wrapped around the posts, a green and purple spiral rug under the bed, a painting of purple flowers over the bed, two large bedside tables with draws, two wall sconces over the tables, a large purple three seater sofa with green cushions, a green chair with a purple cushion, a stone electric fireplace, a large fluffy green rug, a large tv, a small wooden coffee table, A large metal frame light above the table, a wooden desk with a mirror and space for writing equipment, a wardrobe with many draws built into the wall, a door to a very large bathroom with green tiles, a large walk-in shower, a large sink with a hanging mirror, a toilet, a corner shower tub large enough for two with jets for bubble massage, and some bathroom storage.

"Whoa... this is impressive"

"This is the largest of our suites, you're home for the next few months," He says handing over the key card "Happy?"

"It almost seems a bit too much for me"

"well we like our caretakers to be comfortable, get yourself unpacked and settled we don't lock up till Monday so get what you need in"

"I will do, Thank you"

"No problem" he nods heading out and shutting the doors behind him leaving Thomas alone in the room.

He let out a sigh relaxing for a moment before jumping into the bed with a wide smile.

Thomas sat in his blue car well scratched with a few patches of hastily repaired rust, His focus was intense on the causeway between the Ophelia hotel and the rest of Totspur Island. The Causeway was merely a thin excuse for a road that only one car could pass at one time, the road edge was nothing but mud, moss and murky water. When bad storms come through or through most of the winter water would flood the causeway making it impassable and cutting off the Hotel from the rest of the island. "Ohh Shi-znick" He muttered quickly adjusting the steering wheel to make sure the wheels didn't go too far to either side. At last, he reached the stone bridge only just wide enough for the car, onto the main body of the island.

The main island was no bigger than your typical village, a few local shops, basic businesses and houses all littered the island. He drove through these small twisty roads before pulling up into a small car park beside the ferry ticket booth.

Thomas climbed out of the car and grabbed a leather messenger bag from the backseat. He made his way to the small old-fashioned shop front, with bright red wood being touched up by a man in grey overalls, The post office lettering perfectly painted on the glass. And the islands one post bost build into the stone. Thomas pushed the door open and headed inside the post office.

A small store with a dusty wooden floor, a few shelves of cards, boxes and random items. A red desk where a tall man stood. Jack Montgomery a man who stood at six feet fell with sculpted arms from years of carting bags of parcels back and forth with merky mossy green eyes and a short cut of chocolate hair. He wore a simple postman uniform and was making notes about some deliveries he had yet to make. He smiled as he saw Thomas the two had been friends since the days of childhood, Thomas cared for Jack much like one cares for a younger brother even though Jack was a good year older and fairly larger than Thomas, But Both of them knew when it came to matters of the mind Thomas would outway Jack ten fold mostly due to Thomass wealth of experiences when compared to Jack. As in all the years, they had known one another Jack had lived on Totspur island his whole life only travelling to the mainland to collect the post for Totspur residence and nothing else.

"Hey up! Mister Caretakers In" Jack laughed

"Word Travels fast" Thomas chuckled coming over to the desk

"Everyone knew you'd get the job."

"You did?"

"Course, You're the best man for the job up there"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out"

"What's to figure? just watching the places isn't it?"

"There's a bit more than that Jack."

"Well, I'm sure you'll find your groove with it."

"I hope so."

"You'll still be popping in I hope?"

"I will do, at least before the causeway closes me off"

"Just be careful you don't get cabin fever up there I know it seems like a big place but you'll find yourself walking in circles in no time days the causeway closes"

"I know, Kinda hoping to just lock myself away, get some good sleep"

"Don't spend all the time sleeping, Thomas."

"Why not?"

"You can sleep when you're dead." he says "Doesn't that place have a pool? sauna? gym? you could come back in January fit as a fairy boy"

"I highly doubt that" He laughs "I hope I have enough books"

"Ohh you do. Your last literary parcel nearly sunk the damn ferry"

"Sorry"

"Yeah you should be"

"You're always welcome to come up Jack if you get a free moment"

"I thought you weren't allowed visitors?"

"I'll bend the rules, It's only you."

"I'll have to take you up on that. But I want the grand dining room not stuck up in the kitchen"

"Deal" He chuckled "So? Can I have my Parcels?"

"Absolutely, you're taking up all the space in the store room."

Jack headed back into the store room for a few moments returning with two huge parcel bags almost overflowing with parcels "You sure did a lot of online shopping"

"I'm stuck in that hotel from now till January, got to make myself comfy"

"Fair enough, You're carting this to your car through"

"That's fair Jack" Thomas nods

Thomas drove his now very full car with all his postage items as well as a bunch of shopping from the mainland. He drove through the island finally arriving at a small cottage, with reclaimed stone walls, and a small white wooden conservatory. Thomas parked his car, climbed out grabbed a bundle of flowers and headed up to the house He unlocked the blue door and headed inside the sweet little house, everything wood with crotchet laid all over the place, He went through the house silently into the old-fashioned kitchen. He went to the sink and worked on the flowers, cutting the stems, taking off some of the looser leaves and making the flowers look as nice as possible. Once the flowers were nice he took them out into the sweet flowery garden that overlooked a sharp drop to the grey water around the island, he headed over to a stone statue of a ballerina with a gold plaque in its base reading

'Zelda Mayweather'

He smiled as he sat on the wooden bench across from the statue close enough as he sat he could arrange the flowers in front of the statue fixing them in the quiet with only the sounds of the gentle waves to interrupt. Until he settled himself back on the bench his eyes unable to leave the statue and the memories it evoked.

"Hi, Nana" He smiled "I got the job. I know I told you that already, But I start tomorrow. So... I'll be gone for a while. I'll come visit whenever I get a chance but you know what the causeway's like I could be gone for a while. But it's a really good job they pay me really well, and I get to live in the hotel with all the amenities, and they give me a check every month for my food half of which I have just gone and spent for this month. I didn't do all of it but I got a whole pallet of a bunch of stuff to keep me going." he explained "I... I'm really gonna miss you Nana."

He got up from his seat pressed a kiss to his fingertips and tapped the top bun of the ballerina

"I'll be good. I promise" He smiled before he wiped his eyes to prevent his tears, he headed inside locking the house up tightly making sure every door and window was locked up tight, the electricity off and everything ready to be left.

He headed out of the house locked the door going back to his car and drove off down the road again towards the causeway.

The room was utterly silent with the one exception of the small clock ticking away on the bedside table. There hadn't been an inch of movement in the room for many hours now, the hotel room sat just as it had so many days before but now with Thomass suitcase yet to be unpacked, a few items littered about where he had bought or collected them to bring them into the room. He lay in the bed almost unnoticeable having not even untucked the sheet from the bottom of the mattress, his head laid softly against the pillow a gentle wheeze in his nose on each intake of breath.

The sound of cheap bells erupted from the small clock, which quickly caused Thomas to stir sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he turned off the alarm. He got up fixing the bed behind him as he stood in his long blue and white stripe trousers and a long-sleeved white shirt. He wandered across the room and into the bathroom, He used the toilet and turned the shower on letting it heat up as he went to the sink grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste and giving his teeth a firm scrub and clean. Once done He stripped off and climbed into the shower cleaning himself and his hair. Before drying off and getting dressed for the day into some black jeans and a light blue button down took his key in his pocket shutting and locking his room.

He stopped short a moment glancing at the one red door for a moment before finally heading away to the stairs, the large wooden spiral stairwell with stops at each floor dark wood with a green carpet and purple edges, A light hung from the top floor a large spiral of various lengths of wire with glittering orb shades on each end. He headed down and into the restaurant, a large wooden room with half-panelled walls, purple wallpaper, and windows overlooking the garden and the water, many tables littered the room the chairs all tied around the tables. He headed through the doors into a silver industrial kitchen where a few staff were cleaning and sorting ready for the hotel to be shut down, But they ignored Thomas as he went to the corridor with three large doors, each for an industrial fridge, freezer and pantry. He grabbed some bread and a couple of eggs he took them to the kitchen and made himself toast and scrambled eggs, taking them to the dining room and sitting by the window to eat his breakfast. Once finished he took the plate and washed it up in the sink. He headed through the hotel to the back deck where he sat on a small bench looking across the sweet garden full of vines, flowers, and water features.

Thomas smiled as he sat looking through the garden taking in the fresh air.

"Morning Thomas" Rodger smiled as he approached the deck

"Ohh Morning,"

"Sleep alright?"

"Amazing thanks, I see why people pay so much for those beds"

"They are worth their weight in gold after a bad day" he laughs "We are about ready to lock up if you're ready for us to go?"

"Yeah sure, if you guys are all done" he nods getting up and following Rodger back through the hotel now empty of any soul at all, with furniture covered or protected, the whole place set up ready for the winter. The few staff still here had gathered at the front climbing into a small van, with several seats.

"Okay, you've got all the rules, all the tasks, all the junk" He says

"Absolutely"

"Alright, Here's the keys." he laughs handing the front door keys over to Thomas "Don't burn the place down. Don't have any parties. and don't lose your damn mind"

"No problem" He laughs

"Alright any issues you have my email," Rodger says leaving to sit in the van helping everyone else in and heading off down the causeway.

Thomas gave them a wave before heading inside and using the key to lock the front door up tightly.

Leaving him alone in the Ophelia Hotel.

Thomas had woken in fact before the alarm had even sounded, he sat against his headboard rubbing his eyes. Once the alarm went off he quickly turned it off and exited the bed with vigour and headed to the bathroom to do his usual business and he gave his teeth a complete brush. Once the shower was heated up he stripped off and climbed under the refreshing water using a good puddle of body wash, a good squirt of shampoo and a fair dollop of conditioner. Once done he took a fresh towel and dried off before getting dressed into some loose blue shorts and a half-sleeve grey shirt. He dug around in his stuff for a moment grabbing a few items and holding them in his arms.

He shut his room locked it and headed down the stairs to the main lobby of the hotel, he walked through to the ballroom.

The ballroom was one of the largest rooms in the hotel with a polished wooden floor, half-wood walls and green and silver art deco scallop wallpaper, a beautiful silver chandelier with electronic candles, a stage at the end for a band with speakers littered around the room hidden by paint and style to make them invisible, all the small chairs stacked up on the corner covered for the winter. He went to the center of the room and put down his items, the first he unrolled revealing a blue spongy sticky Matt that immediately tried to return to its roll but Thomas quickly added his phone, a book and his water bottle to the corners trying to stop it from curling. He took the bottle with him to the kitchen, setting it on the countertop. He went to the fridge grabbed some fruit and some power in a large rub from the pantry and returned to the counter with them, he diced his fruit and added it to the blender with a few scoops of the powder letting it all mix as he returned the unused fruit and the power back to their places. By then his brown smoothie was done. He filled his bottle with the smoothie and returned the bottle to the corner of his mat. He then took this phone over to the back of the stage and set it up with the speakers. Soon enough sweet relaxing sounds of rain, waterfalls, gentle wind chime bells and soft supple flute began to play. He headed over to his mat and gave his body a stretch before he opened a small pink Yoga book sitting it in front of his mat.

The first page has instructions and images for the downward-facing dog which Thomas proceeded to move into with slight strain, his arm then came and flicked to the next page revealing instructions and images for a worrier pose which he slowly moved into almost falling over where he momentarily lost his balance, he then clicked to the next page with the instructions and images for mountain pose which he moved into. Thomas let out a slow breath and picked up his bottle having a sip immediately grimacing as he took it but forcing down a decent mouthful. He quickly put the bottle down and continued on with the pages proceeding through Straightforward bend, Low lunge, pyramid, triangle and Garland pose without too much trouble even if he was rickety and unbalanced, and there were a few times his body clicked and cracked. He moved into a tree pose even if he was never actually still unable to balance on his one leg.

“I am a tree. I am a tall, peaceful tree. Ohh shi-” He gasped as he lost balance and his body hit the floor and he hissed in pain, He then moved the pages and went to a plank then a cobra pose, then a bridge pose clearly enjoying himself a lot in that pose before ending with corpse pose and forcing down a little more of the smoothie.

Once he forced himself up rolling his mat and leaving it at the side of the hall with his book grabbing his phone and bottle heading out the hall and across the lobby.

Soon enough Thomas reached the spa side of the hotel with the same green and purple theming but a little more sparse and modern. A long corridor with dark green tiles with strips of purple times dotted through it, the corridor littered with purple wooden doors, And three glass doors, One to a gym, one to a sauna and the last to the pool. Thomas skipped the doors and headed straight into the gym switching the light on as he did revealing the textured black floor and ceiling with mirrored walls, the room littered with bikes, treadmills, and various weight machines.

Thomas headed over to a bike set up his headphones and climbed on. He sat cycling for a good thirty-five minutes or so often mouthing the words to his songs. Before jumping off and taking his phone and bottle with him he had another begrudging sip. He left the gym clicking off the light and headed into the sauna.

The room was covered from floor to ceiling with purple tiles, a raised square in the centre with coals behind glass, with a few wooden planks as seats, Thomas cracked the heat up and sat himself close to the electric fire that started up on the coals as soon as he turned on the temperature. Thomas relaxed there for a good few minutes sweat dripping down his head before he turned the place off and left moving into one of the small doors revealing a little changing room with a shower sink, toilet and lockers for people’s things who were using the spa area. He kicked off his clothes and had another shower just enough to get the sweat from his workout and the sauna. He got dressed back into the same clothes and headed to the kitchen making some toast and jam washing everything up as he ate it making sure to tip away the rest of his smoothie.

Thomas then did some smaller tasks doing some laundry, checking the rooms and doors making sure everything was still locked up doing all his duties for the day by the time he was done it was only half one in the afternoon so he grabbed a book and went out onto the porch for the rest of the afternoon, Only coming in to make a quick dinner and get himself up to his room unpacking a few more things before making his way to bed.

Thomas went through his days in this first week with his routine sticking to it like glue with only minor changes like what fruit went into his morning smoothie, which gym machine he went on and often how long he steamed in the sauna. He did his daily checks on the doors, windows, and rooms and did his daily tasks. Once finished for the day he went to his room and made sure to make the place clean even if he had made very little mess he still proceeded to clean the room as if he was expecting a royal visit, he set up his laptop on his desk and turned on the camera using it’s view in full screen to make sure he moved things out of the camera’s view, adding books to the table, making his bed with cushions, moving some clothes and items out of the view of the camera. He fixed his hair with some neon blue hair gel from a cheap plastic tub grabbed an intense handful and used it in the mirror to flatten his fluffy hair down into a flat, slimy style. The tips of his hair became crispy and the whole of his head looked thick with grease. He changed into a button-down shirt and slipped on a gold chain with a large cross. He let out a sigh and sat on his chair checking the time as he adjusted himself a little before shutting down the camera and making a call.

The Speakers played the dialling sound a good four times before it clicked and revealed the nicely decorated beige room with a woman sitting on a chair.

She sat in an ankle-length yellow dress with long white sleeves and a pronounced white collar. On the top collar of her left side sat a brooch of sparkling silver gems in the shape of an ichthys fish with a crucifix inside and some flowers down the side. A Chain around her neck leads to her dress. She had the same pale skin as Thomas, a light red head of upright pin curls, intense makeup and some bright pink lipstick.

“Hello Pumpkin!” She smiled widely

“Hi Mama” He smiled

“You see me?”

“Yeah, Yeah I see you. You see me okay?”

“Yes, I see you fine Pumpkin” she smiled

“Great,”

“Where are your glasses, Thomas?”

“Ohh there here. I was just cleaning them” he says grabbing a pair of thick black glasses from the side of his desk and slipping them on quickly

“Ahh, So how goes the new job?”

“Uhh yeah it's fine, been getting all my work done it's great”

“That’s lovely, Must be lovely all the time to sit with the bible and read. Just a shame you can’t visit for mass though”

“Yeah I’ll be okay though here on my own”

“I’m sure you will, It’s just a shame we all won’t get to see you” She explained

“So how are things with you?”

“Ohh it’s been so lovely pumpkin we’ve had so much work in the church lately, we had some sweet visitors from the local choir groups this week, and we got some fresh new carpeting” She explained listing various things without much relevance mostly about her work.

Thomas managed to have a break as she sipped her tea and he quickly took the chance to change the subject “So, How’s Martin?”

“He’s been working so hard lately, he did a lovely sermon yesterday, He’s been so busy with his school program work. And we’ve been planning a little getaway for our wedding anniversary”

“Ahh that sounds great where are you going to go?”

“We’re planning on going to Gabon on a three-week mission”

“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“If you weren’t working you could come with us”

“It's okay I wouldn’t want to impost, I’m sure you two will have lots of fun and I’ve got enough work to do here” He said

“Ohh Hey kiddo” A voice chimed in as Martin Montgomery came into view in his washed-out jeans and black collar shirt “How’s the island?”

“It’s great thanks, getting all my work done”

“Good lad. Lord Loves a busy soul” he said

“Yeah, absolutely” Thomas nodded “I uhh I’ll have to run actually my laundry’s just finished downstairs”

“Of course, don’t forget your daily prayers and have a nice few days Thomas my love”

“I will mama, I’ll talk to you both soon”

“Bye kiddo” Martin waved

“Bye Pumpkin” she cooed

“Bye” He waved and soon enough the call rang off he quickly unplugged the camera, turned off his laptop and threw his glasses on the side letting out a deep sigh as he removed the chain from his neck sitting it back on the desk without much thought.

Thomas found himself walking in the gardens of the hotel, with his mug of tea in hand. The sky was a dusky darkness the sun having set below the horizon but still some light in the sky even if it was quickly disappearing, Thomas walked his shoes forcing sound from the gravel path. But as time went on the more worried Thomas seemed to get as he seemed to find himself going around the garden in circles, finding himself puzzled by the hedges, flowers and paths constantly finding himself back at the fountain in the centre of the garden. No matter what direction he took he seemed to keep finding his way back with no sign of the way back to the hotel's doors. The light getting dimmer by the minute with no lights in the garden at all. He began to get angry from the frustration and panic his walk got faster turning into a run trying to find his way out of the gardens but they seemed to loop around him as if the gardens themselves were changing to keep him there. He left his mug behind and tried desperately to trace his steps, to use the light still in the sky to find his way but always he ended up back at the fountain.

For a moment Thomas stopped to catch his breath on the edge of the fountain. The grey stone circle holding the mossy water, a tall podium in the centre where water would flood down if it had been running. On top of the podium were two stone statues one a man covered only with a sheet across his crotch, in the arms of a woman in a long hooded dress bringing thoughts of the famous pietà, yet in this, the male body was not dead fact the face read to be screaming out as if in agony and the woman who cradled him in her arms had sharp demonic teeth having bit his skin open. Thomas forced himself up and purposely headed off away from the fountain but no matter what way he went he always found himself back at the fountain panic now rushed through Thomas as he raced around the garden desperate to find his way, he saw the light of the hotel that he had left on and he sighed in relief making his way towards the doors.

But as soon as Thomas's foot stepped up on the wooden step a dark green vine wrapped around his ankle tightly forcing him to the floor

Thomas screamed trying to pull it off his ankle but the vine simply tightened and began to drag his body back towards the garden, Thomas screamed and kicked digging his nails into the dirt and gravel and trying desperately to crawl towards the hotel, but the vines were far too strong pulling him faster into the garden through the grass and flowers no matter how hard he tried to prevent it the vines only got tighter and stronger forcing him back to the fountain where more vines arrived breaking through the ground to wrap around his every appendage forcing him into the flowers and dirt trying to pull him underground

"ahhhhh-" Thomas screamed sitting up in bed and putting a hand to his racing chest as he gasped "It's fine. I'm fine. Everythings fine" he muttered to himself laying back down on his pillow trying to get back to sleep

but seconds later the alarm began to sound so He turned over and turned it off rubbing his eyes and trying to get his head on straight before he noticed the tent he had created in the covers

"Oh... not now you" he sighed to himself before forcing himself out of bed.

Thomas had woken to the alarm, it quickly rose him and he sat against his headboard rubbing his eyes. He turned it off and exited the bed with vigour, headed to the bathroom to do his usual business and he gave his teeth a complete brush. Once the shower was heated up he stripped off and climbed under the refreshing water using a good puddle of body wash, and a good squirt of shampoo and going without conditioner today as he did attempt to squeeze the thick conditioner from the bottle but decided against it before any reached his hand, Once done he took a fresh towel and dried off before getting dressed into his loose blue shorts and a half-sleeve white shirt. He grabbed his items all loaded into a bag and left the room in a smooth walk.

He headed down the stairs to the main lobby of the hotel, he walked through to the ballroom.

He unrolled his sticky Matt leaving it in its usual place, He took the bottle with him to the kitchen, setting it on the countertop. He went to the fridge grabbed only strawberries and some power in a large tub from the pantry and returned to the counter with them, he diced his strawberries fairly large still and added it to the blender with a few scoops of the powder letting it all mix as he returned what remained of his strawberries and the powder back to their places. By then his bright pink smoothie was done. He filled his bottle with the smoothie and returned the bottle to the corner of his mat. He then took this phone over to the back of the stage and set it up with the speakers. Soon enough sweet relaxing sounds of fire cracking, wind blowing, and gentle rain on glass began to play. He headed over to his mat and gave his body a stretch before he opened a small pink Yoga book sitting it in front of his mat.

The first page has instructions and images for the downward-facing dog which Thomas proceeded to move into, his arm then came and flicked to the next page revealing instructions and images for a worrier pose which he slowly moved into, he then flicked to the next page with the instructions and images for mountain pose which he moved into. Thomas let out a slow breath and picked up his bottle having a sip smiling as he swallowed a decent mouthful. He quickly put the bottle down and continued on with the pages proceeding through Straightforward bend, Low lunge, pyramid, triangle and Garland pose without too much trouble even if he was shaky and unbalanced, and there were a few times his body clicked and cracked. He moved into a tree pose even if he was never actually still unable to balance on his one leg.

"I am a tree. I am a tall, peaceful tree. " He gasped "I. Am. At. Peace." He then moved the pages and went to a plank then a cobra pose, then a bridge pose clearly enjoying himself a lot in that pose before ending with corpse pose and enjoying more of the smoothie.

Once he forced himself up rolling his mat and leaving it at the side of the hall with his book grabbing his phone and bottle heading out the hall and across the lobby.

Soon enough Thomas reached the spa side of the hotel with the same green and purple theming but a little more sparse and modern. A long corridor with dark green tiles with strips of purple times dotted through it, the corridor littered with purple wooden doors, And three glass doors, One to a gym, one to a sauna and the last to the pool. He sat in the sauna with his smoothie for a good while working up a fair sweat and drinking most of his smoothie but stopping at the bottom as most of what remained at the bottom was simply the strawberry juice, blended seeds and the powder. Thomas got up after a while and headed into one of the small shower rooms leaving his bag in the locker as he showered himself off changing into a pair of swim shorts and heading to the other side through to the pool.

The walls and floors purple tiles with green to line the pool and such like a large window overlooking the garden, The pool is a large rectangle with a half circle hot tub at one end, a railing down one side of the hot tub to petter lay and relax, as well as built-in stone stairs to get in and out of both the pools. Round globe-like lights hung high enough they wouldn't be an issue to any swimmers and some small lights below the water.

Thomas fiddled with some things before he walked into the water and began to swim, at first letting the water soothe him then starting to swim laps around the pool edge doing a good five times round before he climbed out and swapped to the hot tub turning on its roaring bubbles and gentle heat

"Uhhh that is nice" He cooed moving to only his head remained above water the bubbles often lapping at his chin as he allowed the warm water and bubbles to care for his every bone. Even at times he held his breath and sank below the water to fully enjoy the bubbles before popping back up when he needed more air.

He took a good breath and sunk below the bubbles letting his body relax, He pushed himself up just above the bubbles opening his eyes but Thomas jumped as he saw a woman.

She stood by the edge of the pool, barefoot, in a long sage green dress with a ruffled hem, a flat collar with the same ruffles and a large green ribbon a few tones darker than the dress with a bow at the small of her back, she was a larger woman filling the dress well, she had long black hair in waves and curls, with a green fabric tied as a headband and a black ribbon tied in a bow around her neck like a choaker, her skin deathly pale, and her hands clasped behind her back.

Thomas panicked, by the time he jumped from the water she was gone.

Thomas bolted out and down the corridor back to the main lobby he checked the lifts were still empty and shut off, so he bolted to the stairs looking up the spiral well not seeing a soul. He went back and checked each of the doors finding them all locked. He quickly got his clothes back on and grabbed his key card.

Thomas checked each and every room himself, the kitchen, the dining room, the library, the gym, the lobby, ballroom, and every single one of the hotel's bedrooms. And he found nothing.

No sign of anyone but himself, no books moved, no blankets pulled out, no curtains askew. No sign that anyone but himself had been here since the doors were locked.

He calmed down a little cleaning up the water from where he ran out of the pool, and he sat in the lobby's office checking cameras at the time he was in the pool, He watched them until he saw himself, no-one went through the lobby until he did, he saw no-one run out, no one went down the corridor until he ran out looking like a mad man on the camera. He even checked the pool camera watching himself swim, watching him bob in the hot tub and then climb out and run away like a creature possessed no one entered or exited the room, no woman was on the camera.

"I must be loosing my mind" he sighed

Thomas double-checked the cameras a lot, as he found himself unable to settle without checking every inch of the hotel on fast-forward for the last twenty-four hours camera by the camera just in case but he never saw anything of note. He locked his bedroom door and left a chair in front of it he barely got any sleep holding his phone in hand almost all night just in case he needed to call for help. Eventually, he forced himself to bed for the night.

He woke with his alarm and got on with his usual business doing his yoga and having a few minutes on the treadmill before he returned to do some dishes in the kitchen left from yesterday's panic, When His phone began to make its ring.

He took it from his pocket and saw 'Jack Montgomery'

"Hey, Jack."

"Hey man you okay?" he asked

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, How's you?"

"Ohh you know could be shitter" He laughed "I've got a couple of days without a post to deliver how about I come up and have a drink and dinner?"

"My my that does sound enticing, You going to take me dancing too?" He chuckled leaning on the kitchen counter side

"Don't be a dick Thomas"

"Sorry, yeah sure come up I'll make you dinner and we can have a drink in the bar"

"You mind I take a room for the night?"

"No no, no problem I'll make the bed in one of the grand rooms."

"Ohh very nice, right I'll see you in a bit"

"See you in a bit. Be careful on that causeway"

"I will Mum" he chuckled before hanging up

Thomas finished the dishes and sorted the place out making up a bed in the suite next to his own before heading down to unlock the front door as he saw Jack's car pull up.

"My my, living large these days aren't you Thomas?" He laughed "Mansion big enough for you?"

"Ohh you know, It's not full of playful bunnies But I'll do" he chuckled "Come on I'll show you around the place" 

[zestyjesty]

The Barbarian keeps rolling around my brain so I have many many thoughts under the cut

1. I saw someone talk about the house itself having layers and yes absolutely, the house and the different men we meet represent rape culture in a very literal sense. We start at the top of the iceberg in the house with Keith's "i wont take no for an answer" and not believing Tess about the basement because women who are upset just arent to be believed, and then AJs and then Frank in escalating worseness as we delve deeper into the house.

2. On the Mother ultimately being a victim but still being the monster who Tess has to kill, I actually think it does a lot about how you are raised and how that shapes what you think is normal and the harm you do. Again we start with Keith who is slightly traditional and says its "how i was raised", then we have AJ at the bar with a very old friend and went he tells him he had to "persuade" this girl and "yeah she said no at the start but like totally not by the end you know" his friend agrees and doesn't think thats rape. Basically, if you dont do the extra work to unlearn what youve been brought up to think is normal, you will absolutely inflict harm and be part of rape culture because thats how society currently is. (Clearly we dont hear about frank but if hes the type for 70s rapist/serial killer firstly is a very sexist society and secondly hes parents are 90% likely to be abusive, that combo is what made most serial killers from the 60s-80s). And the thing is despite being raised that way despite thinking it was normal AJ still deserves to be punished for harming that woman because he still did harm. And the mother doesnt know any better but she will still hurt Tess if Tess let her.

3. The final scene where Tess doesnt let her empathy stop her from thinking about herself for once is very important! Over and over she has thought about other people and got herself kidnapped and hurt for it over and over. So at the end when we still the Mothers incredibly human eyes for the very first time up close, and seeing how she cares, and its meant to pull on your heart strings, and Tess says I dont care what you want because Im going to think about me first. Clearly theres a gender gap not addressed (god i wished she got to kill AJ) but it works if we think of the Mother as the concept of distilled rape culture rather than a real person

4. I loved seeing the mechanics of the script happening in the real time. The story of the director writing himself into a corner 30 pages in and thats why the mother shows up in her first scene (i think thats why Frank shoots himself, like straight up wrote himself into another corner and goes fuck it Frank shoots himself).

5. I saw someone else didnt like the shift to AJs storyline but i really liked it, most horror movies have a hard time with pacing so they either start reallyyyyy slowly (peele) or just try to keep the suspense and terror up the whole time and theres always a flat bit in the middle and you get desensitised to it all and stop caring (halloween.....all of them). So i loved this take of doing it all again but from a completely opposite POV, normally they wouldve run the storylines concurrently so having it 1 and then 2 was just really interesting and pretty bold

6. I cannot tell you how many horror movies ive seen where the closing shot is a wide shot of the house/maze/town whatever of the final girl, and its all lit up with red/blue cop lights. Like thats normally when the film ends, when the cops show up we roll credits. So to have just the most unhelpful, apathetic, fucking rude cops cops instead was cool. I didnt even find them to be over the top (sometimes movies when theyre trying to do a 'cops suck' segment make them caricatures of villainy or bafoonery rather than making then real), but to have their very casual but unflinching demand of respect to themselves from everyone above all else, not seeing a filthy terrified woman with no possesions at all as anything unusual but a broken window thats for sure a crime. Yeah that was scary real, really well done.

7. It felt very classic horror with enough modern twists to keep it grounded in this year without being overbearing about it. Like when horror films are trying a bit too hard with that its just very sighhhhh (like in halloween 2018 they had a teen boy say out loud "i like you that means im gonna get some right??" Like no one talks like that whereas AJs version of events sounds like something a real person would say). And the house with a monster in its walls has absolutely been done before and yet watching this felt fresh bc it was playing on your expectations of the genre.

For a horror debut from a guy whose background is 2000s comedy I think he did really really good! Looking forward to what else he does

[hopeymchope]

Honestly I always saw Chihiro as more of an allegory for trans men more than anything else, in terms of how their storyline was treated. If there were ever an international/American live-action adaptation, I’d expect Chihiro to be explicitly adapted as such, television being television. Same with confirming Hiro is black (which apparently is a controversial idea in part of the fandom, at least on Twitter)?

Note: I'm reasonably sure that this refers to the first point I made in this long answer.

ON CHIHIRO FUJISAKI:

Oy... I find that the smartest move when it comes to Fujisaki is to treat them like the first two rules of Fight Club :P

I love the character, they're a sweetheart, but — as this anthology story accurately stated — the second you refer to Chihiro as either male or female, you're going to cause a, um, "heated debate." (Which is putting it mildly. It can swiftly explode into an outright war.)

It's the touchiest subject in the fandom. People who interpret the character strictly either way tend to not want to hear from the other side and have DNI warnings on their blogs and bios and all kinds of shit. I think this stems in part from just how personally people relate to Chihiro. They can be a very personal source of comfort for people with specific experiences.

Depending on how you interpret them, you might relate to the pressure Fujisaki's under to conform to normative gender roles/expectations OR their difficult experience with secretly being trans and being unable to share their truth.

If we look at the game strictly as it's written in the text, the character is about the former issue. But Danganronpa was released in 2010 into the Japanese market — not only a place where LGBT rights are well behind where they stand in America, but also two years before the issue of trans rights really started entering mainstream discourse in the West. So it's not out of line to suspect Chihiro's a stealth allegory about the trans experience.

AHHH, but the layers of the argument run even deeper! Because even among people who interpret the character as being trans, there's the separation of those who see Fujisaki as transfem vs. those who see them as transmasc. The former seems to be the more popular interpretation among the "Chihiro is trans" crew.

I keep using "them" and "they" because I just don't even wanna be in this debate. Clearly. Shit, I've never done any fics involving the character because then I'd probably have to say "he" or "she", and I just CANNOT. Too dangerous. I wish this wasn't the case, but this is where we're at.

HOWEVER... !

I do have ONE version of Chihiro Fujisaki who I think I can make a strong case for being defined a certain way. It's a post I've started to write twice and never had the guts to finish because, y'know, Chihiro fucking Fujisaki = first two rules of Fight Club. Suffice to say there's ONE particular "official" AU where I think there's an especially strong argument for one specific take on the character.

Maybe one day I'll break down that theory. Maybe. And then lose like a couple hundred followers the next day or something :P

ON YASUHIRO HAGAKURE:

I don't think I've ever heard/seen it posited that Hagakure could be interpreted as black before now, but I find the suggestion intriguing. I can definitely see where you're coming from. I think that'd work really well. Although then again? Maybe it's not much of a compliment to make Hagakure representation of black people in the DR1 cast, given that he's kind of a moron. :P

Japanese people are born into a variety of skin tones that can range from pretty deeply tanned to practically white as a sheet, but the typical beauty standard enforced in the culture is that the ideal = the whitest, most porcelain skin. "Whitening" products continue to be a major part of the beauty industry there today, which I think is a sad situation. So I always just assumed that Hagakure (and by extension, also Asahina and Owari) were representing the under-appreciated/put-upon darker-skinned contingent of the Japanese population.

But you know, when you take his hairstyle into account? It becomes VERY easy to interpret Hagakure as being of some African descent.

Furthermore, he actually looks a little darker-skinned in DR3 than he does in his DR1 sprites, which further fuels that potential.

It does seem logical to me that, if some international adaption were to be made? They'd probably take these darker-skinned characters as an opportunity to represent multiple races/nationalities. Black, Latino, etc.