#thought releasing them in smaller chunks

[katherine-mcnamara]

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ   MACARENA ACHAGA GIF PACK  ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

By clicking on the source link at the bottom of this post you will be able to access #98 gifs that are 270x180 in size of the loml from Amar A Muerte 1 & 2.

These gifs were all made by me from scratch, for roleplaying purposes. Please don’t repost into gifsets/gif hunts or claim as your own. Please reblog if using. Hope y’all enjoy!  If you enjoy my gifs consider tipping me on ko-fi or donating to an indigenous cause, gofundme, or creator.

[wearywinchester]

Washed Away

Dean Winchester x Reader

Requested by Anonymous: “Hi 😊 Would you be willing to write a fluffy fic of the reader helping dean take a shower or the other way around?? Please?? No pressure though!!”

Summary: Dean helps you shower after a rough hunt.

Warnings: angst, injury, mentions of blood, language, implied nudity, fluff

Brutal.

That’s the only way you could describe the last two days. Absolutely, wholeheartedly brutal.

Hunting was supposed to be easy by now. It was supposed to be routine, motions and actions done without much thought at all behind them. It’d vary from hunt to hunt, monster to monster, but it’d all blend into the same thing when it came down to it.

But you were wrong, so beyond wrong this time. The hunt went a million miles south, headed towards disastrous and fast.

You couldn’t believe it even, but the way you’d been feeling since said hunt had you eventually believing that it actually was that bad. And the stings and burns of the injuries you’d sustained and walked away with had been plenty of a reminder that it was horrible.

You were practically thrown around like a damn rag doll by the seemingly demon ghost hybrid that really must’ve had it out for you. If the scrape to your cheek, the cut on your forehead and other miscellaneous bumps and bruises were of any indication that is.

But more importantly, you were rattled from it. So utterly spooked after having been by yourself for a large chunk of time while this entity tried its very best to make you terrified while Dean was losing his mind looking for you. You were so beyond upset and shaken, and the idea of doing anything by yourself, anything at all, sounded unbelievably undesirable, something that made your stomach churn at the thought.

And you hated it. You hated feeling helpless, or scared. It made you feel smaller than small and weak, even though it’s considered just the opposite. Nothing can break the stubbornness of your mind on the matter, yet you were too fear stricken, too tired and upset to give even half a damn about not wanting to do something so simple as to take a shower by yourself.

Dean didn’t know just how shaken up you were, just how awful you felt. How uneasy you felt within yourself, an unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach that sent panic flurrying up into your chest at a near constant rate. You were scared, and he didn’t know how much.

He does, but you don’t know that.

He knows that as you sit on the bench in the bunker bathroom, watching as he turns the water on. He’s got two small piles of clothes folded on the counter. They practically looked identical, two sets of his own clothing. But he knows you, and he knows you prefer his clothing over your own.

It’s quiet save for the water splashing down against the tile and the clear of his throat, and you’re almost too wrapped up in your own little world to notice the green eyed hunter kneeling down in front of you. Didn’t notice till he tapped your knee.

“Showers almost ready, sweetheart,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards slightly in a soft half smile.

You simply nod, eyes flickering over his face as you sit before him. That look he gave you lingered, gentle yet worried all the same as you lift your hand. You run your hand through his hair briefly, smoothing it down to settle on his cheek. You felt the prickle of his stubble on your palm and shortly after you leaned forward, forehead pressed to his for a few moments.

You breathed in and held it for a second or two, releasing a heavy sigh through your nose, long and drawn out.

You felt the way he bumped your nose with his own, and you felt the way his hands rested around your ankles. You felt the way his breath brushed against your lips, warm and gentle, fleeting with every inhale. And you felt the way his thumbs brushed along your skin softly.

You dropped your hand and stayed there for a moment or two, eyes closed as you fidgeted with a button on his flannel. Eyes closed until you thought too much about that hunt and had to open them again as if it’d erase that fear, that feeling.

His warmth left you momentarily, his hands gliding up your calves, and you felt his kiss on your forehead before he stood to his feet.

You watched as he walked over to the shower and stuck his hand under the stream, watching his small nod of approval at the temperature before he turned back and walked to you.

“Water’s ready,” he murmurs, running a hand over your head as he looks down at you from where you sit.

You don’t quite look at him yet, looking around the rather spacious bathroom, at the shower as the water runs and pounds against the tile floor. After a few moments you turn your head and look up at him, his hand falling away.

You simply nod, shoulders slumped and you can’t help but notice that look he’s got on his face, the one that’s got all the empathy in the world. Dean Winchester might be incredibly rough around the edges, might be extremely gruff, but he was damn sure the sweetest and gentlest there could be. Contrary to popular belief.

But that side doesn’t show very often for just the average person.

“Want me to help?” He asks, and you nod again.

He drops to his knees, dropping a kiss to your forehead on the way down.

He tugs at the laces of your boots, working at the double knots you always put in. They were fairly loose this time, pulling the tattered laces free. He made a mental reminder to pick up some new ones for you.

He pulled at the tongues of your boots to loosen them some more, starting with one foot and pulling it off, then moving to the other. It was a relief to have those shoes off, feet feeling sore and overly warm, the material and soles unforgiving after a while.

He hooked his fingers in the ankles of your socks, pulling them off your feet. Another relief.

You sigh softly as he looked up at you, your pile of discarded clothes slowly building.

You stood up slowly, the soreness you felt having you scrunching up your face slightly. He worked at unbuckling your belt with ease, unzipping your jeans. He was careful as he slid them down, cautious of any scrapes or cuts he may not know about. He didn’t want to cause anymore hurt than you’d already been feeling. You put your hand on his shoulder as he bent down and helped you step out of them, tugging them from around your ankles.

He tossed the dirtied denim onto the pile, returning his focus back to you. His fingers found the bottom of your shirt, and you lifted your arms as he tugged the fabric up, the movement only worsening the soreness as you let out a soft whine.

It wasn’t until now that he saw the bruises that littered your thighs and your knees, you shins too. It wasn’t until then that he saw just how much damage was done by that damn demon ghost jerk that threw his sweetheart around like you weighed nothing at all. He saw it and it made him angry, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach forming. He wished he would’ve made that monster suffer more before he ganked it.

He was quick to discard his own clothes, disregarding how sore he felt, and the few minor injuries of his own. He wanted to change before helping you out of your undergarments, didn’t want you to have to stand there and feeling as vulnerable as a person could feel. And he knew you were cold, could tell by the way you hugged his flannel around yourself tightly.

That pile of dirty clothes was larger now, and you shrugged off his flannel with a quiet breath, the chilly bathroom air sending shivers along your skin.

He was just as gentle to help you out of your undergarments, tossing them aside.

You made small steps towards the shower, the warmth of his hand on the small of your back having made that comforting feeling return to you.

The water was warm but not too hot as you stepped under the stream, though to fresh scrapes and cuts, it felt scalding and burning. He noticed the way you winced, and the way you pulled the affected areas away from the water momentarily. It sent a pang through him as he tugged the curtain closed, the chilly air stuck on the other side of it now rather than seeping in.

“You okay?” He asks, brushing wet strands of your hair out of your face and away from the wounds on your skin.

“‘M fine,” you say, looking up at him.

He didn’t believe it.

“Is the water too hot?” He asks, the pad of his finger brushing along the curve of your ear, his thumb swiping against your temple.

You shake your head, watching the way his eyes flicker back and forth between yours, the crease between his brows very much apparent. He was trying to read you, you knew that. And you also know he could probably see right through you, but that was no surprise. He knew you like the back of his hand.

He simply hums, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth ever so slightly.

His hair was flattened down by the water, brushing against the tips of his eyebrows. The lighting accentuated his freckles, pretty flecks the smattered all across the bridge of his nose and branching upward to his forehead in less noticeable speckles unless you were right up close. They went downward and dusted along his lips.

But they also dotted along his chest lightly, spreading over his shoulders, hidden under the tattoo on his chest. You traced your finger along it briefly before dropping your hand with a sigh.

His hands came up and smoothed your hair away from your face once more.

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he says, a gentle command.

You do so, watching his hand reach out beside you and snag the shampoo bottle from the shelf.

You hear the lid click open, and moments pass before you feel a polite tug on the ends of your hair, signaling you to tip your head back. You hear him set the bottle down, and it wasn’t long before you felt the coolness of the shampoo hit your scalp.

His fingers tangled in your hair and rubbed your scalp in soothing circles, working in the fresh smelling product, careful not to get too close to the cut on your forehead.

You were still very on edge despite the calming moment you were in right now, despite the man who would protect you from any and everything having been right there. You still felt unsettled despite being in a protected bunker that was always kept locked, safe from not only just the regular outside world, but the supernatural one too.

Fear still pulsed through you, that shaky feeling you had was still there and making you feel uneasy. It was still there and gripping you, demanding your focus no matter how hard you tried to move it elsewhere.

Dean noticed, of course he did. And when the pipes made the noises they make when the hot water runs through them, those damn old pipes, it nearly makes you jump out of your skin at the very sound of it. You’ve got to calm down and you know that.

You turn around, arms folded to your chest. The stream from the shower pushed your hair in your face now that your head wasn’t tipped back, and some of the shampoo had gotten into your cut and scrape, but you didn’t care so much about that as you did calming down.

“‘S okay, just you and me in here,” he murmurs, tipping your chin back slightly as he nods at you, making sure you’re understanding him.

You release a heavy exhale, some of your shakiness following with it as you mirror his nod, knowing that it’s silly to be scared right now. You’re in your home, your very well secured home, and you’re with Dean. There was absolutely no way anything could get you. You need to relax, so you tried your best.

That cut on your forehead stung from the soap, and he tipped your head back, working the product out of your hair until it’s fully rinsed out. He was ever so gentle, working with soft movements.

The pad of his thumb brushed over your forehead, brows narrowing at the sight of your injury. He was more than displeased, of course he was. The thought of any grimy monster—or anything— laying it’s hands on you made a certain anger bubble and sit heavy in the pit of his stomach. A rage.

His hand slid down and settled on your cheek, it’s calloused warmth far different and much better than the warm water of the shower that’d been washing over you.

His thumb caressed your cheek, a delicate motion. It was so grounding in the present moment, a moment where your mind was trying to be in a million different places at once. He knew that, could tell by the way your hands trembled, and the accidental frown on your lips. Could tell immediately.

His other hand settled on your other cheek, grabbing your face gently to kiss your forehead and then your nose.

“‘M gonna wash up, then we can head to bed. Okay, sweetheart?”

You simply nod.

He’s washed up in a matter of a couple minutes, clothes are on in another few. Everything was fresh and clean, the hunt washed away, the only thing having been left were the scars that came with it.

The sheets were clean, something Dean had a habit of doing before leaving for hunts. It was soft and familiar, warm and safe, much better than motel bed after motel bed. It was home.

You had to remind yourself of that, that you were safe and out of harms way. That you were home and comfortable, not stranded on a hunt with a monster on the loose and ready to hurt you.

“You thinkin’ again?” He asks several moments later.

You nod, a soft hum following it.

You hear his quiet chuckle, though there was no malice in it, no mocking. Just a knowing kind of laugh, because he knew you’re in your head more often than not.

But he simply pulls you closer from where he sits propped against the headboard, the tv playing softly from where it sits atop the dresser. You nestled in, tucked yourself in tight and tangled your legs with his, the warmth of the blankets and sheets incomparable to his body heat.

“Scooby’s on,” he shrugs, hiking you up to be closer to him.

“Mhm,” you hum.

You look up at him, all the love in your gaze as it flickers across his face until he meets your eyes. You lean up and kiss him, his stubble rough against your skin.

You lean over and kiss his cheek too before tucking your head in the crook of his neck, warm as ever as you nuzzled in close.

“I love you,” you whisper, unsure if it’d even be loud enough to hear.

But that kiss to your temple, the way he squeezed you closer, you knew he heard it.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Drop, Part II

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: lady whump, guy whump, being threatened, being chased, injury, blood, self-blame/victim-blaming

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 5500 || Approx reading time: 22 mins

The Drop, Part II

Teaser: He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

Silence had never been his favourite thing. Quiet, sure, peace and calm and all that—good for when his mind filled up with too many thoughts that needed somewhere to explode out of in a mess but had nowhere to go, and the soft strum of midnight in the city or the song of wind and bird calls in the trees helped to soothe the storm.

Silence, though.

Silence filled up empty spaces in a bad way. And when his mind was reeling, silence crowded up against those thoughts—shoved them around and twisted them into something worse. Like a crack in the ice on a frozen pond, silence shattered beneath your feet and pulled you into darkness, screeching into your bones and spearing right through your heart and soul until all you could think of was how heavy the world actually was, no matter how damn hard you were trying to forget.

The townhouse was silent.

He’d known it would be, and yet the confirmation crunched and snapped inside him, anyway.

Must have been at least a week since they fucked off—no, longer. Dust coated the table in a way Spider would’ve never allowed; there were no boots by the door; there wasn’t a hint of heat in the fireplace. Just ice-cold ashes and a few charred chunks of wood.

Fox gripped tightly to the edge of the table, watching his hands paint streaks in the layer of dust. He’d known it would be cold and empty and silent.

It still hurt.

He stood, drowning, long enough that he forgot entirely how long he’d been standing there at all.

Dropping the message had been easy. Perfect. Smooth. Quick. And he should have gone back to the inn. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Temptation had won out, and here he was. Temptation had led him straight to heartache. Temptation had proved to him that, for the first time ever, really, he was alone.

Except that wasn’t truly true, was it?

He released his grip on the table and stared down at his dusty fingertips and smudged palms. Ignored the way his shoulder complained at how he’d stood with his muscles so tightly wound, rigidly enough to hurt, reminding him that it wasn’t fully healed yet. His hands twitched in memory of being held by smaller, daintier ones—hands that had not shied away from his when, inarguably, they should have stayed far, far away.

He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

His stomach turned. She’d been so eager to help him, to drop a message for the others, all for his sake. But she was alone out there. They’d argued about it—whether to stay together or split up. Logic had won out.

Logic was a huge bitch. He was the one who’d pushed for splitting up, and that goddamn logic felt like nothing more than a savage scam now.

Heaving a sigh, Fox looked around the empty room one last time. Nothing had changed. Still cold. Still silent.

Perhaps it was time for goodbye, then. If Wolf and Spider and Hare were really gone.

In the dust on the table, he began to scrawl. Just in case. Because maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope.

I’m alive.

Underneath, a series of letters.

W.

J.

C.

G.

He paused before the last one, but some compulsion drew his fingers through the dust again.

B.

***

The evening had turned unpleasantly cold—the kind of autumn night that smelled a bit like snow but didn’t have the decency to even spill any. Fox kicked at stones on the road as he walked, unable to shake a feeling of unease. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to the townhouse. It was probably a terrible move. And leaving that message? The damn initials? Stupid. Spider would fucking kill him if she saw it.

Or she’d be glad to find out he was alive.

He shook a few hairs out of his eyes, pissed off at how they tickled uncomfortably against his eyelashes. Damn hat, shoving his hair forward so it fell in the most annoying place.

God, what had he been thinking, going back there?

What if someone had seen him? What if constables were tearing the damn place apart right now?

He came to a stop and forced himself to take a breath. The thoughts were getting out of control.

“Sounds like we got a problem here, don’t it?”

Fox frowned at the rough voice sneering somewhere around a corner. It sounded vaguely familiar. Unpleasantly familiar.

It sounded like a guy he was pretty sure he didn’t like.

“You gotta know whose turf this is,” the voice drawled. Fox’s arms prickled beneath his coat. “And I never seen no pansy little shitheads like you around here before. ’Specially not a mouthy little bastard in a fancy-ass coat like that. So, where the hell’d you come from, fella?”

Oh, he did fucking know that voice. It belonged to a guy he’d once punched in the face (and who’d punched him back, but that was beside the point). A guy who needed another knock on the head, apparently, because what was that bullshit he was spewing aboutwhose turf this was?

It certainly wasn’t his.

This was IA territory, and no matter what his brother said about not starting shit with the other crews working the suckers in town who left their pockets unguarded, Fox was not about to let this asshole go around claiming that some other gang had somehow overtaken it.

As a high-pitched voice protested whatever that fucker was doing, Fox started forward, then paused.

His shoulder. It still ached. It probably wouldn’t take much to fuck it up again.

“Empty them nice pockets of yours, kid, and maybe we’ll let you pass through with a warning. Maybe.”

Keep walking. That was all he had to do.

“What are you doing?” their victim squeaked. “Just leave me—”

One of the nasty voices burst into a laugh, while the other said, “Fuck, what’s wrong with this guy?”

A cry that was more of a shriek.

And then—

“What the fuck?”

The cry rang in his ears, too loud and too familiar.

“Shit…” Even before the guy went on, Fox knew what he was about to say. “Shit. It’s a girl.”

He was around the corner before he’d even quite realized that he had started to move.

“Hey.”

There she was, flat against the wall where those two motherfuckers from—what were they called? Something stupid—something with an S. Stealthy…sneaky…sorry. Sorry Sixes. That’s who they ran for.

Two bastards from the Sorry Sixes had cornered her.

Those big brown eyes went straight to him, and he almost died, because she looked so scared.

But.

She also looked royally pissed.

It wasn’t like when she’d yelled at him to smarten up and stop being a vulgar, disrespectful prick while he was still in jail, or her frantic, furious tirade to Mrs. Bristow when she convinced her to let them go. It wasn’t like her trembly, worried sort of frustration from when they’d fought about splitting up to cover more ground. It wasn’t like the endless, exhausted annoyance that crossed her face every time she had to destroy another goddamn poster.

This was something new, like something had split inside her, like she had decided she was fucking sick of being pushed around.

“This little cross-dressing freak your woman?” asked the one with his knife at Bree’s throat. Blond haired, blue eyed, mean-looking as a feral dog. “Been acting all shady-like, sneaking around on Sorry Six streets. You oughta keep her a bit more under control.”

“Yeah, about that,” Fox said through gritted teeth, unable to identify which part of that little speech infuriated him the most.

“About what?” the other one asked, shaking greasy red curls away from his narrowed eyes. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“This ain’t your territory,” Fox said tightly, stepping a little closer. Bree’s eyes widened.

In a tiny, subtle movement, her gaze flicking to his bad shoulder, she shook her head. As if, somehow, after only knowing him for a few weeks, she knew exactly what he was about to get himself into. And what a terrible idea it was.

The Sixes snorted. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well, guess I gotta ask again,” the short one said. “Who the fuck are you?”

As Fox stepped into the gas light, the blond guy’s head tilted to the side. “Wait a minute. I know this ugly face.” He shoved Bree back against the wall—whether for dramatic effect or because she’d been trying to slip away, it was hard to tell. But she winced, and at his side, Fox’s hands clenched.

“Think I kicked your ass one time,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like it did much good. Need another go?”

“Fox,” Bree hissed.

“Oh, that’s it. Fox,” the big one mimicked. “IA, ain’t you? How’d you get outta jail? Heard you got busted like an idiot.” He grinned. “Your mug’s been all over this city. You better watch your step, or we gonna be reading a big, splashy headline ’bout you in a day or so.”

With a gruesome, taunting grimace, the ginger mimed getting hanged, tilting his head as if his neck had been snapped.

“Didn’t know you could read,” Fox said, as his blood ran hot. Bree closed her eyes.

The redhead guffawed. “Ha, ha. Hilarious, Dog Boy.”

“Dog Boy. Good one. You come up with that yourself?” He stepped a little closer; neither of them moved. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

“And if I don’t? What you gonna do about it? Your wimpy freak of a leader gonna come and wag his finger at me?” The fucker with the knife laughed. “Last I heard, IA’s dead. And…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he dragged that stare back over Bree’s face. “And they’re looking for both of you.”

Fox heard the words—heard the taunt, the refusal to leave Bree alone, and the pointed jab at his brother. They burst at him like sparks, dropping in painful pinpricks he could not ignore.

He was about to leap, bum shoulder be damned, when Bree kicked the guy holding her right in the goddamn jewels.

“Fucking shit!” Fox yelped as she tore away from the wall, gasping. “You gone crazy?”

“Maybe,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t fight. Let’s g—”

Rich of her, to tell him not to fight when she was the one who had just slammed her leg right into her attacker’s nuts.

And pretty optimistic, seeing as the short one was barrelling straight toward the both of them.

“Bree, get out of here.” Fox didn’t know if she would listen—had a bad feeling, after the assault she’d just launched on the asshole with the knife, that she would not—but the command tore out of him anyway, because neither of these fuckers was going to touch her again, not if he had anything to do with it. How had she even run into them, anyway? Her drop point was blocks away.

A story he could get out of her later, because right now there was an ass that needed kicking.

“You’re going to get h—” She squealed into silence as the blond guy recovered from his howls of pain, repositioned his knife, and shot forward.

“Ah, fuck!” The short one’s fist slammed into Fox’s shoulder just as Bree somehow did what he could not—sidestep her attacker. She still cried out, her voice mingling with his cursing as pain tore through his shoulder. “Bree, for fuck’s sake, just run! I can handle—”

Granted, he would handle it better if he weren’t so busy yelling at her to get lost. The ginger caught him with a knock on his jaw. No big deal. Nothing he couldn’t get back up from.

And he had to get back up from it, because the tall motherfucker with the knife was moving again.

“This ain’t IA territory no more,” the little one hissed. “Not since you landed your sorry ass in jail and the rest of your crew fucked off.”

Fox forgot that his shoulder and his jaw hurt, and he forgot he was being stupid. He sprang forward and knocked the goddamn asshole and his hideous, taunting mouth to the ground.

He shouldn’t have looked away from Bree, though.

The big guy caught hold of her hair, and she shrieked when he yanked her toward him and snarled, “Didn’t know IA had their hands on such cute little gals. ’Specially one who also got her face plastered on every damn wall in this town.”

She gasped and tilted her head back as he kept pulling on her hair. “What are you doing? Let me go, you disgusting, wicked, horrid—”

God, it would almost be sweet, watching her trying to throw out insults like that, if it weren’t so fucking horrifying.

The knife. Back at her throat.

No no no no no no no—

“Pretty little reward for the constable’s pretty little wife,” the blond one said, and as Fox struggled to figure out exactly how he was going to get both of them out of this mess, the other Six swept his feet from under him.

“And a reward for this asshole, too.” Black spots danced before Fox’s eyes as his bad arm was pressed into his back, followed by the other. “You just nothing but talk, eh? Dog Boy’s all bark and no bite.”

Fuck. Fuck.

In the distance, a whistle blasted through the air. Deep-throated shouts. Clicking, scraping footsteps.

“Would you look at that,” said the tall one smugly. “Coppers are nearby. Won’t they be surprised to see what we found?”

“You fucking idiots,” Fox snarled. “They could just arrest you both, too.”

With a growl, the red-haired one twisted his bad arm a little tighter. Fox gasped.

“C’mon, Mrs. Constable,” the big guy said, taking the knife from Bree’s neck for just long enough to pull her arms behind her, too, and shove her to her knees. “Ain’t you lucky? Gonna see your loony of a husband again.” He grinned at his friend. “And we’re gonna get an extra payday, huh?”

His friend cackled, and Fox found Bree’s gaze as they began to call into the night for the police to come running.

The freezing cobblestone underneath him should have been what chilled him to the bone. But what he saw in Bree’s eyes stabbed right into him like ice.

“I’m not going back,” she whispered. So quiet, he was almost only reading her lips. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m—”

“What’re you saying, missus?” The blond peered into her face. “I don’t like your husband much, neither, but I’ll sure take his money.”

“I said…” Bree glared up at him. “I said I’m not going back.”

Wetness gleamed beneath her eyes now, eerie and flashing in the yellow light.

“Let g-go of m-my hands,” she said suddenly. Whimpering. Trembling. “I’ll…I’ll give you whatever I have. That’s what y-you want, right?”

The big guy twirled his knife in his free hand, laughing. “Gonna get a lot more for taking you in, Mrs. Constable. But thanks anyway.”

“Please,” she said, sobbing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her downcast eyes flicked up momentarily and met Fox’s.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she whimpered, the instant of silent communication gone, and she craned her neck to look up at the shithead holding onto her. “Please. I’ve got m-money—”

What? Whatever she had in her pockets, it wasn’t much.

Fucking fuck, she was running a scam.

The tall Six growled but let go, pulling her up again to brandish the knife in front of her face.

Mewling quietly to herself, Bree picked at her pockets with shaking hands, and shot Fox a look.

“On three,” she mouthed, as if he were somehow wise to whatever plan she had concocted. Down by her pocket, her fingers counted: one—two—three—

Whatever clumsy but earnest assault she launched into with a shriek, Fox missed, because he gritted his teeth and threw his body upwards, which destroyed his aching muscles and fucked-up shoulder exactly as much as he’d expected it to, but he didn’t really have much choice or much time to come up with something better, and honestly, it worked just fine, with the ginger caught off guard. Fox forced him to roll, and with his arm pretty much out of commission, landed the most forceful kick he could muster right in his potato-shaped nose.

“Come on!” He latched onto Bree’s hand the moment he was on his feet. She hadn’t done much to incapacitate the big guy, but it looked like she had managed to kick him in the shins or something, which was going to have to be good enough to give them time to run. Because as much as he wanted to pummel both of these jerks into the ground, his arm said absolutely not, and if the constables really were on their way, they needed to get gone.

“What the fuck happened back there?” he gasped when they’d made it far enough from the frustrated yowling of the Sixes and the cops that only ordinary evening-in-the-city sounds swelled around them. “How’d you even run into those pricks?”

“I got lost,” she said. “It’s a long—”

“You could’ve been hurt!”

As if she somehow hadn’t expected him to be mad, she blanched. The flicker of hurt, though, was quickly replaced by her own anger. “Me?” she retorted. “You jumped right in, knowing your shoulder is still healing! What were you thinking?”

“You kicked that guy in the nuts! What if he’d been just a little nastier, huh? You know what he could’ve done to you?”

His breath was fighting against him—struggling to get in, screeching and scratching on the way out. Fuck, he’d been in fights, and yeah, he’d been clobbered before, not that he much liked admitting it, but this feeling in his chest was new, clawing at him from the inside, tight and only growing.

“Bree, you could have died!”

What had he been thinking, for god’s sake, letting her drop a message? Letting her get involved? How stupid was he? Everyone else knew it. They’d told him time and time again. Idiot. Reckless. Foolhardy. Impulsive. Thoughtless. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Fox, you’re hurting me,” Bree whispered, and he looked down toward the hand squeezing hers.

Shit.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He let go, staring at the fingers that had been about to crush hers. Stupid and ill-fucking-tempered, after all that bullshit of Bree, I’m not him and trying to be better than the soul-sucking demon she’d married and here he was, yelling at her and scaring the shit out of her and hurting her, damn it all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

The words died.

His fingers were slick with blood.

And he was pretty goddamn sure it wasn’t his.

“Bree…”

Her eyes went from his face to his bloody hand, and she gasped softly. “Oh. What did you—”

“It’s not mine,” he said, reaching for the hand he’d been clasping, and the sight of it nearly had him hurling his guts into the street, not because he had a problem with blood, for fuck’s sake, but because of whose blood it was. And how it dripped from her fingers, flowing freely. And fast.

“Oh, my—” Her face went a little green as she realized she was the one leaving a blood trail. “I don’t even know when—”

“Shit,” he hissed, watching dark red splatter onto the stone beneath them. “That looks bad.”

“I’m…I’m sure it’s…” For a moment, he could just see it: her eyelids fluttering closed, her limp body falling to the stone, him having to carry her in his arms while hoping she wouldn’t bleed out then and there…

And then she fumbled for a handkerchief, pressing it against the jagged slice that bastard had left on her forearm, right up to her wrist.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said firmly, even though she was pale.

He watched the starched cotton blossom with wet, seeping darkness, then pulled off his scarf. “Use this.” His hands shook as he pressed the wool to her arm, wrapping it with clumsy fingers.

How long till they got to the inn? Too long. Maybe the scarf would help staunch the blood. But it needed a real bandage. And she probably needed to not be running through the streets in a panic.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

She didn’t move her hands from where they held the makeshift bandage to her arm. But her gaze tilted upwards. “You don’t scare me.”

He swallowed.

“Tell me if you start to feel real bad, okay?” He itched to take her hand in his, so strongly it was almost making him twitch. But she needed to keep pressure on that goddamn cut. “We gotta keep moving. But we’re almost there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking around nervously, a shiver wracking her body. “I don’t know where we are.” 

“We’re not going back to the inn. Not with your arm looking like that.” Her eyes widened, but after a moment, she seemed to realize that he was, for once in his life, following a sensible impulse and not a harebrained one.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I trust you.”

Fox was struck by how fiercely he wanted to just scoop her into his arms and carry her all the way—how much she looked like she needed it. But she stayed on her own two feet, and even though she winced with each jarring step, as the night fell colder and deeper around them, she did not complain. He had to force himself to stay far, far away from the question of why she handled her pain so stoically.

“Just a minute,” he said when they got there, as he pried a loose board from the steps and fished around in the dark, trying to find the key. “Fuck! Where is it?” He’d just dropped it back there an hour ago at most. Where the hell could it have gone?

He heard her soft intake of breath, startled and nervous, and he ordered himself to calm the fuck down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, finally grasping the key and shoving the board back into place. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find…”

“It’s all right.” Was he imagining it, or was her voice growing faint?

Getting the goddamn key into the lock was even more of an ordeal. He was on the verge of just breaking down the door and facing the consequences later when the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Got bandages somewhere,” he said, helping her through the entryway—he knew every uneven floorboard, every sharp corner, but she didn’t. “I just—I mean—I—fuck—” Where was he supposed to start? “Water. Right? Wash it. Needs to be…”

“Fox…”

“It’s usually me with the stupid injuries,” he said as he guided her toward the kitchen, “the dumb, idiot, clumsy, dumb fuck who’s hurt, and everyone else is running around finding me bandages, not the other way around, so I don’t really—”

“Just—”

“But I think—I gotta boil water, right? So it’s clean? Or whatever? Does that sound right?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The word danced around his head, taunting him, unwilling to let him forget for even an instant how foolish it had been to let Bree get anywhere close to IA life.

So what had he done?

Brought her to its headquarters.

Its empty, abandoned headquarters—but IA’s former stronghold, nonetheless.

He tore through the cupboards. God, the others were so damn organized, far more than he was, so you’d think he be able to find a single fucking bandage somewhere.

“Got it,” he said, leaving the cupboard door wide open and turning back toward Bree

“Fox!”

The scarf hit the floor more heavily than it should have.

“You’re panicking,” she said. Her handkerchief stuck to her skin; even in the dim light, he could see how wrong it was. The wrong colour, pasted and slick against her arm.

“No, I’m not.” Fuck, her fingers were cold. They found his as he pressed the new bandage to her cut.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m okay.” Weak light, moon and lamp glows mingled, drifted in, just enough to see that her cheeks were wet and her lip was trembling. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck that,” he said, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. Until she flinched. “You’re crying.”

“Y-yes,” she said. “I think—I think it’s—it’s catching up with me now.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I was scared. I was scared. I was so scared.” She took a step closer. “When I saw you, when you came around the corner, I felt—I was—I was so—I felt safer, but then—when I thought they might hurt you, and then when they were going to turn us in, and the thought of you—” She gasped, and then she pressed against him, her head to his chest. “Of Baden hurting you again—”

That made him sputter. “Of him hurting me again?” She was shaking. From cold? Leftover terror? Blood loss? Wracking sobs? “You serious?”

“He almost killed you.”

“God, Bree, what d’you think he’d do to you?” His voice cracked. “For being the one to help me? You think I could—you think I could handle that? Him getting his hands on you? So he could…he could…”

Before he even quite realized what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around her, embracing that fragile form as if his body could shield her from the horrors of her past.

“Those constables,” Bree whispered, leaning into him. “They were after me.”

“After you?”

“I ran into my friends,” she said. “They recognized me. Taking down the posters. I—Alice, I think she would have looked the other way, but—but Marguerite, she… She looked… She thought I had gone…” A choking gasp. “She yelled for the police, so I ran. That’s why I was lost. And how I ended up there.”

“It’s okay,” he said, holding tighter. “They didn’t catch you.”

“But if they’d caught you, it would have been all my fault.”

He pulled away then. “No. It wouldn’t have.”

“And that boy hurt your arm,” she said shakily. “Because I—I made them angry—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Not your fault either,” he said. “They’re both shitheads. Plain and simple.”

She laughed, weepy but genuine, and it was beautiful. It brought him back from that fuzzy, floating realm of rage that seemed to exist outside of time and space, that turned the world white and red and black and made his thoughts go hazy and made him just want to scream and lash out and make the pain and the people causing it go away. That laugh, even thick and choked with tears, grounded him. Reminded him of why he’d been so pissed off in the first place. Who he’d been so desperate to protect.

He pressed one hand to her cheek. She didn’t startle, didn’t flinch. When he slid it down to the tip of her chin, and with the gentlest, barest force he could muster, tilted it up so he could look into her eyes, she didn’t pull away.

“None of it was your fault,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry for making you think…” His mouth had gone dry. “I was scared, too.”

Scared of what, exactly?

Bree brushed away the tears that still glittered on her cheeks. “I’m worried I’m getting blood on your coat.”

Blood. “Shit!” He was supposed to be boiling water. Apologizing and explaining and cuddling were all great, but they weren’t going to do much to help her sliced-open arm. “Let me—god, I’m sorry, I’m really terrible at this whole thing—”

He bolted for the door. When you lived in an old-ass townhouse, you got the pleasure of using the old-ass well down the road instead of the fancy-ass running water the rich folk got. And if no one had been in the house for weeks, there sure as hell wasn’t any water inside. “Sit down, okay? I’m coming back. I’ll—I’m just going for water—I’ll be right there!”

He fled before she could comment on what a piss-poor medic he made, or on the fact that he still had to get a goddamn fire going before he could even think about boiling water.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. At least the inn would have had hot, clean water ready to use.

But it was farther away.

But it was safer.

But she’d have kept bleeding into the street.

Water in tow, he skidded back inside and went straight for the oven, flinging open the cast-iron door and throwing in the first flammable things he could find. He really had to concentrate, to focus his energy on lighting the kindling and making sure the logs took to flame, because his mind was racing again, too fast and too loud. If Bree said anything, he didn’t hear.

When he finally turned around, water heating and candles lit so they could actually see, her head lay on her good arm—her body slumped over the table.

“Shit! You okay?” He flew to her side. Landed on his knees.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately. “Yes. I’m just resting.” Slowly, she sat up. “You were here already.”

“Huh?”

She pointed to the message he’d written in dust earlier that day—such a short time ago, yet it felt like decades. “What does it mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” He stood up again, embarrassed that he’d panicked when she’d merely closed her eyes in exhaustion. An inspection of her arm showed that no new blood had soaked through the bandage she still held against it. “It says I’m alive.”

“Not that,” she said. He tried to catch any resentment in her voice. But she didn’t sound surprised that he’d been to the house already. “The other part. The letters.”

He looked again at the initials. It was so obvious to him—but of course, to her, it meant nothing.

“You really wanna know?”

His heart was still racing, but as he looked over the letters, his mind calmed once more, and his limbs moved without frenzy—one hand to stroke her cheek, an unconscious movement he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to, and the other to take her unbandaged arm.

“Of course.” Her eyes were on him. When he moved her hand, though, she looked to the table, to the letter B, and what he was writing there with the tip of her finger.

Bree.

She frowned, confused, until he did it again. Guided her finger to form the rest of the letters that were missing behind the W.

Silence draped over them, but it wasn’t the boggy, drowning, thought-twisting kind. It was the kind that made him forget why the house was so silent. It was the kind that dripped with sweetness and with promise, that inhabited the space between strangers and not, between fear and loyalty, between the past and the future.

“Will,” she breathed. “Your name is Will.”

No doubt. No mistrust. Not even a question; it was as if, by some magic, she had always known, and the revelation was no surprise. The sound of his name coming from those lips was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, like birdsong after a storm or the crunch of boots on a fresh, white crust of snow.

“My name is Will,” he echoed.

Bree was silent again, gazing at him with wide, shining eyes. In unison, they drew closer, and Will’s entire body tingled with every possibility contained in the moments between them, in their shivering breaths that seemed to go in and out as one, and in the crackling air that seemed now to connect rather than separate.

And then she was the one with her arms around him, those bird’s wings enveloping him as if they might never let go, and her lips were pressed to his. Her kiss was warm, as soft as air, almost, and just as life-giving. It tasted the way he imagined starlight would: sweet and bright and colourful, like strawberries in summer, like apples in autumn, like cinnamon and sugar and just-brewed tea.

With his pounding heart rattling every inch of his body, Will Wardrew kissed Bree Scarlett back, and even though their world was in shambles and maybe always had been, there was a moment where everything—everything—was right.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

@kixngiggles

✨

[echoesofwisdomcountup]

28 Days until Tears of the Kingdom Release!!!!!!! I've spent hours talking with several of my friends about yesterday's trailer. I have so many theories and questions but since I can't have any of them answered until the game comes out, I'll share some of them with you. Instead of posting all of the analysis at once, however, I'll do it in smaller chunks over the next few days. Spoilers below if you wanna avoid trailer stuff.

I mean the first thing I noticed was the Chu-chu (my friend said they are called Slimes in German) fighting the construct. I find it fascinating that these constructs fight other mobs. Did the Zonai build them just to fight monsters or all intruders? What do they register Link as? An invader? I wonder if there is a game mechanic that convinces the constructs not to attack Link or maybe only sentry constructs attack Link and all other constructs must be triggered in a combat trial or something.

This robot is chopping down a tree. I noticed that some of the constructs in the gameplay trailer ignored Link. I'm guessing that these are specifically worker constructs. They remind me of the mining robots in Skyward Sword.

After this I enjoyed the music and Link's awesome dive through the air. I don't have much to say about that except my friend wondered why Link isn't constantly cold all the time if he's that high up. I'm chalking it up to Sky Island magic.

Mushrooms in Hateno. I think some of them are real and others are just decorations. Gives me Minish cap vibes. I wonder if their is a specific mushroom shop or maybe there is a festival going on? Idk maybe the towns people just wanted some color.

TENTS. The way I almost screamed because they are rebuilding. It makes me so emotional to see that the people of Hyrule were rebuilding from the Calamity. To see the Guardians and malice gone from the courtyard is just ugh my heart. My friend hopes that Nintendo lets us explore some of rebuilt Hyrule before things go to shit again and Ganondorf wrecks everything and I agree. However, I have a feeling that Nintendo will not let us explore the half built castle as part of a tutorial before waking up the angry mummy in the basement. I can dream though.

Another look at that spiral shrine thing. I really really want to know what those are. Also lmao looks like a sky island fell and got wedged sideways. I guess its something interesting to look at for the people in Kakariko.

Alright so this structure rising out of the ground in the desert is probably in the Arbiters ground area. I'm not gonna say dungeons confirmed but I've absolutely heard other people say it. I thought it might be related to the structures in Twilight Princess (cough maybe the Twili) but my friend suggested the dungeon in Skyward Sword which also rises from the ground. Either way I'm excited to explore it.

We've seen many shots of the castle rising but I really appreciate seeing the Sheikah here reacting to it as well. It makes the world feel more real and the trailer of course did a great job at including NPCs. I do still wonder what exactly the falling rocks are and why they continue to fall throughout the game.

This figure looks so much like Demise. It's tempting to think that this is Ganondorf considering we see him later in the trailer. However, I'm gonna stick to the idea that we might be seeing both characters. Although, maybe Demise will only be in flashbacks/visions of the past. It would be fun if Ganondorf in the final fight morphs into more of a Demise form.

This one was just cruel. Link is gonna be so devastated at having failed to catch/protect Zelda and he tried so hard. I hope he quickly learns that Zelda isn't dead because he's gonna be racked with guilt either way.

For as much as Nintendo loves showing that they dropped Zelda off a cliff, I'm glad that they showed the yellow glow. Since her hand is glowing I'm wondering if her triforce powers saved her which is certainly a possibility. However, there is another possibility. Zelda looks like she's holding something in her hand. I think that she found the little golden recall stone/tear and when she fell it activated. Time travel is looking very possible.

But that's it for today. Thank you for reading.

[turquoisepolo]

Like Real People Do

Based off of this post

@fortheloveofexy

Rated T

Warnings: Allusions to violence(?)

Andrew stared at the large block of marble in front of him. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up to stone and chisels, however it was exceptionally rare for him to find materials that he himself had not bought. 

Perhaps it was a gift from Aaron or Nicky, he mused. The two had been trying to earn the sculptor’s favour ever since they’d been reunited a couple years prior. Offerings came in chisels, and hand held drill. Sometimes, even in marble, limestone, clay, or bronze. At first Andrew made a point to deliver the gifts back to them, but as time progressed, Andrew warmed up to the sentiment. Not that he’d ever admit it.

He stalked around the marble, lifting some of the smaller chunks, looking for a scroll, a note from whoever delivered the marble. After minutes wasted, Andrew found nothing. 

Nicky and Aaron never have given him something without a note. It piqued his curiosity indeed. 

If Andrew was a religious man, he’d think that perhaps one of the many gods would have left him this gift.

It shouldn’t have mattered who left this gift for him, all that should have mattered was that there were perfectly good blocks of marble just waiting to be formed into a statue to then be sold off to the highest bidder.

In the end, Andrew covered the marble with a wool blanket that was another gift, this one from Renee, and went to go to one of his previous projects. 

—

The marble was uncovered day after day and covered night after night. It haunted him while he worked and while he slept. No matter how hard he tried, Andrew couldn’t get the stupid stone out of his head.

Finally, he relented. 

Andrew picked up his chisel and stared at the marble for a moment. He could create anything with it. An animal, a god, anything. Those two options would sell the highest, however this was Andrew’s craft and no animal or god had ever bothered him like this.

A human, he decided. An annoying human.

His hands worked faster than his head, grabbing one of the smaller chunks of marble and placing it on his work table. 

With one of the larger chisels, he began hacking away at the edges of the marble, shaping it into a rough image of an arm. Years ago, his arms would have ached with the power put into cutting stone, now each strike became easy and it became increasingly difficult not to use too much force.

Once Andrew was finished with the limb, he moved it carefully to the side and went to grab the block of similar size (exact size, really, which made him all the more suspicious of whomever left the marble). 

It took around two hours for him it finish forming the arms into workable pieces. There was a dull ache in his shoulders but it didn’t bother him anymore. 

Now the more difficult part of his labour began. 

Details.

Details had always been the more learned part of his practice. Breaking the stones apart, shaping them with large destructive tools, was what had drawn Andrew into sculpting. It released the violence that burned in his core, violence that was a fire that could not be extinguished. 

Control is what details required, which after the years of controlling everything in his life, was no longer an issue. It was soothing in a different way that breaking things was. Both together was the net that made Andrew sit at the workbench for hours on end, crafting beautiful pieces that were worth nothing in the world’s eyes. 

So Andrew sat, with his chisel, and began working on strong legs with stronger thighs, a runner, much like the mysterious person who had left him with so much marble.

—

If Andrew had thought the marble had haunted him before, it was nothing compared to the way it stuck in his mind now, that it was a statue. 

One would think the stone was alive and breathing, that it was a man with the way it consumed his every thought. 

He had spent every free moment on it, day and night. He woke to go to the worktable and added more and more detail until Andrew could practically feel the skin underneath his hands as he worked to sculpt beautiful runner’s legs, strong sturdy arms, a chiselled jaw, beautiful curls that in Andrew’s mind burned like the hottest fire. High cheekbones that led to icy blue eyes. 

In theory, Andrew’s statue was complete. It stood before him, tall, proud. A bit taller than he was, more beautiful and perfect than he could have hoped. Andrew touched the marble, starting at his face, down to his neck, shoulders, chest. It felt secret, almost wrong, but he was addicted to the way the cold marble’s waist felt in his hands. 

Andrew frowned and took his hand away.

The statue was beautiful, in the way the world expected it to be. Conventionally perfect.

This was not the world’s creation, it was his. 

Andrew grabbed his chisel once more and began cutting lined up and down the bare chest before him. 

It pained him, he felt every cut to his soul, but he did not create beautiful untouchable things.

No, Andrew created broken statues. Survivors. Perhaps I’m  going mad, he thought absently. Of course a statue is just stone, it didn’t really survive anything. But the creation before him was not like anything he’d created before, it was breathing, it was feeling, and Andrew was writing his painful, horrible, beautiful story.

Andrew cupped the man’s face, inhaling before cutting more marks, scratched on one side and a burn on the other.

He stood back and looked at his creation. Beautiful, horrible, perfect.

The sculptor dropped his chisel, and reached for the statue only to drop his hand a breathe away. This was his, but it wasn’t. Andrew wasn’t sure what screw had gone loose in order to make him feel so connected to stone, but he was, and he was losing his mind. 

Andrew closed his eyes, then turned away. It was late, he would sleep and worry about what to do with the statue later.

—

Thud.

Andrew jolted awake. For a second he thought that he was hearing things before another thud erased such thoughts. He slid out of bed and rushed toward his work room.

There was a person, in place of the marble statue he had left last night.

A person, who’s blue eyes, red hair, and scars were burning him alive.

Shit.

Shit.

(NOTE: I will probably make a Part Two, however this is as far as I could get for now, please excuse my mental illness)

[cowmudlover]

6 months in the making - part 2

I laid on the bed for about another 30 minutes stuffing Rambone and Mr Ed up my arse. I alternated with those big boys and my slightly smaller Irish cob didlo which was supplemented with a smaller throat fucking dildo. Both went in eventually, but it was still not hitting the mark for being a dirty pig.

I got out of bed, moved some of the toys back into the shower cubicle, had the lube on the shower shelf and started to get set up again.

A this point I remembered that I had a used condom in the bathroom bin, so hooked that out and added fresh cow shit to the cum still sat in the tip. Tied that off and put it to one side for further play back in bed later.

The bucket was still slightly warm, but I added a bit more hot water to loosen it up a bit and got myself in position for a full head dip.

Sown I went right up to my shoulders after making sure I had breathed out first. I sat there hunched over with my head fully submerged for a few seconds until I started hearing my heart pounding in my chest and took a breath.

My mouth filled half way and then I let it out again.

Up from the bucket and then straight back in mouth wide open.

I kept doing this until my mouth was full and then used the throat fucking dildo and shoved it as far as possible into my mouth. No gag - throat training was paying off - and I felt the first chunks hit the back of my throat.

I swallowed eagerly and repeated this action about 6 more times.

It was at this point that I thought “I ain't getting enough inside me in one go” - so mouth open again, breathed out and plunged head first back into the filth!

I gulped and swallowed a good three-quarters of a litre, maybe more, before coming back up for some much needed air.

I was rubbing my swollen cock and tied off balls with my shitty hands but made sure not to do it too much, I didn’t want to come yet!

By now my body as well as my head were pretty plastered in shit, and felt it was time to get out of the mess, clean up and get to bed.

But first, one more open mouthed plunge, swallowed two more full mouthfuls and pulled my heading from the suction of the bucket.

I moved the bucket to the outside of the shower and turned on the hot water. I had already removed the shower trap as I knew it would get blocked if I didn’t, so let the hot water start to clean me.

I was not able to see much as my eyes were so full of shit, and hearing was very muffled, but it felt good to feel the lumps of shit fall off of my body. I was exhausted but elated at the same time.

After ten minutes the water was running clear and I was able to dry off. Rambone, Mr Ed, the Irish Cob and other toys were now clean too, so I tossed them onto my bed.

Quick tidy up in the bathroom and back to bed.

Now the cowshit and cum filled condom came into play.

My balls and cock were still tied off and were aching for release, but first I squirted some lube into my mouth, laid on my back, got my throat fucking dildo in one hand and the condom in the other and started to relax.

I placed the tip of the condom into my mouth and let it slide down into my willing throat.

Releasing the tied up balls and my cock, lube squirted onto the head, I started to massage my aching head.

I knew it would not take long as I had waited six months for this session, so I started sucking the condom in and out, then forced it into the back of my throat with the dildo.

I did not last long at this point and shot load after load across my chest, splashing cum on the condom hanging out of my mouth.

I laid there for about 10 minutes, condom hanging out of my mouth and felt completely drained.

Shall I take another shower - nah I thought, lay here with cum drying on you, shit still in your mouth from the ruptured condom and enjoy the moment!

Maybe same thing again in a weeks time if I am lucky, maybe some pictures this time if I can get it set up properly!!

Until then, I have the memory!!!!!

[cardinalcanis]

I wish I had an angel.

[Next chapter] Chapter 1: Last Ride of the Day

Genre: slow burn romance, action, gore, drama.

Pairing: Lion El'Jonson x M!OC

TW: gore, strong language, depictions of death and war.

Word count: 2505

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on further chapters): @jaghatai-khock

If you prefer AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59845672/chapters/152661910

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saint Celestine, he had heard some about the ‘Living Saint’ of the Sororitas. A shining vessel of holy light who would rise above battlefields’ smoke and dust to strengthen the faithful and put fear in the heart of heretics. Her statue oversaw the spires of the hive city, angelic wings spread wide casting her silhouette in the sunlight’s path. 

Colonel Habermas wondered if the statue would come back again just like the legend it represented after the Screamer-Killer crashed into it when it got injured by the autocannon round. Apparently that wasn’t the angel they needed, fool to think he had the right to one to begin with. 

“What are you doing princesses, keep shooting!” The Colonel barked, releasing his own rounds of plasma shots onto the creature until the gun had to vent, expelling hot air after a subtle ‘click’. 

The Screamer-Killer, known outside of the guard as a Carnifex let out a pained roar, parts of its burnt exoskeleton oozed a gooey blood like substance. One of its scythe-like appendages laid on the floor, amputated by las fire. 

“Sir, wave incoming!” Rattled a voice in the vox on his ear.  

The growl rallied a large pack of smaller Gaunts, pouring out of the gutted buildings like a mass of murderous roaches. 

“Cadian 137th holds the line!” he answered for all to hear at the top of his lungs, and to the dismay of the vox caster’s eardrums, not so far away “Guardsmen keep the smaller fuckers from climbing the barricade, autocannons, focus on the Screamer!” 

The smell of burnt chitin and acid filled the air as the tyranid corpses piled up until the eye could see. Elric Habermas grit his teeth every time a guardsmen dying scream rose upon the rapid staccato of lasguns crackling through the air, along with the dull thuds of heavy bolters and autocannons. It is their duty to die for the Emperor’s glory, but it is also his to deliver that glory and he could not without men.   

“Command promised reinforcements, we cannot evacuate anybody with so many pests around.” Complained Major Mira with Llo smoke escaping her nose and her bloodied blade striking any gaunt attempting to to climb the barricade. 

“The gate opens, a Tyrant of blood approaches, guarded by its three Killers. From blood, void trees will bloom carrying the giants of darkened wings led by The Hunter.” Primary-psyker Khay mumbled with a lost gaze that someone else would confuse from shell shock. 

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean!”  Spat out Jericho as he pulled more ammunition. “Reloading!”

The Screamer-Killer charged towards their line under the autocannon fire, large pieces of its skeleton fell in chunks exposing the living soft flesh within. 

“One huge bug alongside three other Screamers will come after this wave. The Hunter, is it our reinforcement?” Asked Elric, eyes on the approaching Killer “Reload autocannons faster, what are you doing pussies!” 

“Yes” answered the psyker who suddenly stood up possessed by an unknown urge, purple lighting crackled around them “Strike The Killer close to target, to the center of thought, do not fail” muttered to themselves before yelling “Stand back!” 

It was quick, as if ripped through the devilish mark in the sky a chain of lighting shot, unbound, towards the Carnifex. The impact made its leftover exoskeleton crackle, no longer holding the softer insides together it oozed its foul xenos blood and organs, but still held standing, twitching and convulsing as it attempted to growl from its broken mandibles. 

A plasma shot right into the exposed brain matter made it finally fall, Elric gave it three more just to be sure. The current wave of monsters seems to wane after its death. Khay stood back taken by sudden dizziness, a drop of blood came down their nose. Carls got hold of them before they fell down, it is a surprise how the tiny man had such strength. The bugs obscured the access to the warp, making it incredibly hard for psykers, it was a miracle Khay was capable of squeezing anything. He nodded at Elric confirming the primaris-psyker’s wellbeing. 

“You understand crazy talk way too well, it's scary, Colonel.” pointed out Jericho, he cleaned the sweat off his brow, and got closer to the Carnifex’s body, head and brain matter just hanging over their side of the barricade. 

“Return to your post guardsman.” Elric ordered flatly, his attention focused on the battered buildings and shattered streets their position gave them prime advantage over. Tongue fiddling with the old scar splitting his upper lip and going up his face, a common habit he did while he pondered. 

“Doing a Yarric little man?” Asked Mira playfully. 

Jericho chuckled, and stood up holding a Screamer-Killer fang between his fingers, his large frame shadowed many of the soldiers. 

“Second time guardsman, return to your post.” Ordered the Colonel in a stern tone. “And no taking Xenos crap with us, all of this gets burnt.” 

“Yes Col…” 

“The gate opens.” 

Jericho and Khay spoke at the same time, the first one was unable to finish his words as a sudden shot from one of the xenos’ bio-cannon limbs blew a jagged shot through half of his head and upper torso, his right arm holding his supposed to be trophy dangled from a mere tendon as flesh was still being eaten by the hot acid an living biomass in their ammunition. 

Waves of gaunts and warriors piled by the thousands trying to climb up the city ruins, three Screamer-Killers lead the assault, hungry maws salivating for blood and murder. 

“Emperor Protects” Said Mira, looking at the giant figure crowning the enemy formation. Llo stick falling off her lips. 

“A Hive Tyrant” Elric muttered, gripping his plasma gun tighter. 

It stood on two ‘hoofed’ legs, towering the Carnifexes by almost double their height. Thick plaques of dirty purple chitin covered the outer parts of its carapace, most of them ending on jagged spikes. Four appendages were attached to its torso, two large scythe like arms, a clawed hand holding a sword made of the same material of the beast’s flesh and the ‘gun’ which it shot Jericho with, a modified arm with a rifle like structure with ‘reloading’ pipes connecting to the tyranid’s same body that pulsated and contracted in irregular pumps. The beast opened its mouth extending a long proboscis-like tongue with its own toothy opening. 

“Hold it men, for The Emperor!” he heard the commissar’s voice thundering into his vox’s receptor, even though it was quite clear from the other very far side of the formation. For a moment he wished his hearing augment wasn’t that sensible. 

“All lascannons focus fire on the biggest target!” Habermas couldn’t allow a single second to go to waste, as the Hive City burns, the glow of fires, las fire and explosions casts a flickering orange light across the battlefield. “Do not give in a single inch, tonight we make The Emperor proud!”

Just as his sentence finished a group of gaunts jumped over the barricade eviscerating several guardsmen, they were suppressed by las fire getting as mangled as the corpses they created. Elric glanced at the piece of a face, dark wavy hair and a bloodied eye almost out of its orbit out of pain, he knew the tattoo over the eyebrow. Emile, he liked to play the harmonica, no one wanted to be bunked near him due to the snoring. 

“Missile!” Screamed Carls. 

An unwanted dread washed over him as a missile flew way too close to comfort, landing on the base of one of the statues on the far right. The Colonel glared daggers at him as he still focused his fire on the incoming abominations, the guardsman and the psyker holding the missile launcher pointed at the structure, a spire finished to dislodge, falling a top of one of the Carnifexes and several minor tyranids, crushing them with a wet crunching sound. 

The horizon darkened as more shadows poured into view; endless, uncountable. Elric’s bolter shook as he emptied magazine after magazine, but for every creature that fell, a hundred more surged forward. He realized then: there would be no victory here, only survival. It wasn’t the creatures that unnerved Elric the most, but the suffocating presence that seemed to press down on his mind; a cold, alien will that guided the swarm with terrifying efficiency. It was like fighting the planet itself.

Another one of the Killers charged across the battlefield approaching his position in long lunges. The Colonel ordered for the beast to eat melta, fiery bursts enveloped the area around it, cooking the tyranid gaunts and soldiers charging alongside it. From the smoke rose the half burnt Carnifex, animalistic void eyes looking right into Elric’s violet ones. 

He aimed his gun at it but found himself being tackled away from the swipe by Mira whose shoulder got impaled in the scythe appendage. The beast lifted her up her feet and was about to impale her with the other one if not for Elric’s chainsword ripping into its hard lower abdomen. With a kick of the whip-like tail he was pushed away forcefully. 

“Eat shit and die bug!” growled Mira, a grenade trembling on her impaled arm. She did her best to eat the pain and quickly shove it deep inside the beast maws, which finished crushing her arm.  

“Major Potenza!” His scream was for naught, the explosion swallowed it all. 

Tyranid blood and tissue bathed them all, Mira Potenza fell to the ground like a ragdoll, left arm blown up alongside the open cavity on her face exposing her inner mouth with hanging flesh. She half smiled at Elric just like she did when winning at cards and ripped a piece of her uniform to tie it around the stump to stop the blood loss. 

“Wve arve ewven nvow.” she tried to joke at her Colonel. “Fwor Phwaralavx.”  

“Fuck you Potenza, Medic!” Elric’s chest tightened, breath caught in his throat as the weight of Mira’s actions hit him. His legs threatened to buckle, but he forced himself to stand. A sudden wave of nausea rolled through him as the sight of her shattered form burned into his memory. “Saint’s tits, where is the medic!” He is not losing her. 

Mira’s apparently useful eye opened wide as what seemed to be a large shadow cast over them, the clicking of acid dripping mandibles seemed even happy and eager to turn them into the next pile of flesh. The Hive Tyrant��s cannon appendage pulsated, charging a lethal shot about to hit them at point blank. Elric stood in front of Mira, aiming his comparable diminutive plasma gun back at it, hearing his heart beating in the back of his throat. This is how he goes down, blown to pieces in a soon to be forgotten hive world, at least the tree canopies were beautiful to look at… wait… trees? 

The front lines had suddenly  transformed into a dense foggy forest, he took in a breath it was… fresh, no ichor or acidic scent that burnt his lungs. Was he already dead and this was his body hallucinating the pain away as his soul was being ripped by the warp? 

With incredible speed large dark armored figures sprinted out of the forest, they easily shadowed a man yet moved at a pace that should be impossible for something its size. The largest of them came out right in front of him, power sword the height of a man in hand that shone in deep blue and quickly cut the cannon arm in one clean swipe. 

“From blood, void trees will bloom carrying the giants of darkened wings led by The Hunter.” Muttered Khay as the large men made quick work of the beasts. 

“Emperor's Angels” Said Carls, almost falling to his knees. 

“Space marines.” Elric mouthed as he came back from the shock, yanking his chain sword out of the Carnifex’s body “Don’t stop the fire now, for The Emperor!” he growled. 

The black and gold giant leading the charge parried the Hive Tyrant’s strikes with inhuman finesse, his shield seemed to burn the beast as it striked. Las cannon fire half dislodged another one of its arms, distracting it enough for the space marine to side step it and slash the back of one of its legs downing the beast into an awkward kneel as it trashed and swiped around. The space marine silenced the maws by stabbing his sword through the creature’s skull, forcing it in, energy breaking the pulsating flesh. 

The forest had disappeared, and with one last attempt on harm the Hive Tyrant finally fell. With its death the beasts scattered, their heads gone it’ll take a while for them to regroup. 

Mira was taken away by a medic, Elric knelt beside Jericho’s lifeless body, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. His fingers, trembling, brushed the man’s chest where the warmth had already begun to fade. He straightened the leftovers of the man, back resting on the barricade. He fixed and patted the dust out of the bloodied uniform, what seemed to be paper fell off a pocket inside the jack. It was stained and almost illegible: ‘Will save some for… return home… With love… Mom.’ The colonel slipped the paper back in one of Jericho’s not mangled pockets and saluted the body. A quick feeling of guilt washed over him as he gazed over the fallen man, if he had ordered him in a more stern tone, maybe he would have moved away from the shot’s line and survived.

His attention was taken now by the space marines, he approached the group of four and saluted. 

“A little late, but a welcomed visage my Lords.” he said, masking his discomfort as best he could. “Did you also bring the supplies? Are these all the reinforcements?”.  

Their helmets turned towards Elric who kept direct line of sight with the largest marine’s helmet’s eye sockets; he had requested more reinforcements, more ammo, more rations. The fuck was the Navy doing around the planet?

“Cadian.” said the large man with an impassive tone. 

“Marine.” he answered back. 

One of the smaller marines was to step forwards but the black and gold giant extended an arm in front of him. He took off his helmet, the armor hissed letting go of the hermetic seal. His face was the one of a regal middle aged man, what Elric had heard what valiant warrior king looked like from the stories his mother used to tell him. Thin white-blond hair and beard, eyes a deep forest green as the one on his hood and armor undertones. 

“Lion El’Jonson” stated the man “Son of the Emperor, Primarch of the Dark Angels.”

Elric didn’t flinch at the handsome man’s bone shaking voice, keeping direct eye contact with Lion. He saluted again.  “Colonel Elric Habermas of the Cadian 137th.” he paused. “You haven’t answered the questions, my Lord Lion.”

[pb-dot]

Let's Hype: A Brief History of Thereafter

As we draw perilously close to the release of the first chapter of Thereafter (May 1st, 13:00 GMT, subscription link to follow), I thought why not talk a little about the town itself. We've been introduced to the characters, yes, but what manner of a place are they fighting for.

To start off with a tiny bit of world building, I should mention how time works. For one, timekeeping is a bit arbitrary in Thereafter, as the void between worlds has no sun or other gravity wells for the city to orbit around. The magic that keeps the city together and stops the atmosphere from dissipating also produces light in a cycle of day and night. The pace of this cycle roughly matches that of the length of the day in the world of Aurol, which is also approximately earthlike. Note that long-form time taking is still done in days and weeks, as no formal consensus of how long one should make months and years exist as of the start of the story. It should also be mentioned that time flows considerably slower in the real world than in the magical worlds and, by extension, Thereafter. As such, the 20 or so years our protagonist have been growing up have lasted somewhere closer to 1000 years in the magical worlds. As a consequence, our heroes' childhood exploits have long since faded into legend.

The first sightings of The Calamity were sparse and ill-substantiated reports, as bedraggled survivors from ruined worlds manage to flee to the nearest neighbors through feats of powerful magic or truly heroic levels of athletic prowess. Before these worlds could even begin to deal with the question of what kind of help to offer to these survivors, the Calamity struck them, continuing the daisy-chain of incomprehensible violence.

The story of Thereafter as we know it started in Day 15, when historian Alexandra The Elder found herself floating in the void between world after a teleportation spell aimed at taking her out of danger fizzled out. By chance, Alexandra drifted close to a rather large chunk of rock that upon closer inspection turned out to be the first part of the City of Thereafter. Alexandra recognized the powerful magic employed to keep the rock, really a chimera of smaller chunks of rock and soil, together, and while the little air she carried with her from her destroyed world still could keep her brain working, she worked up a short-range teleportation spell to take her to the surface of the rock.

It was here Alexandra met the people who would grow to be The Council of Thereafter. Grand Magus Eltern of The Magus College of Aurol, Leowin the Hermit from Merlinus, and Deepspeaker Lia of Steppeworld were already on Thereafter at this point, along with a smattering of people Alexandra identified merely as civilians. The Council were not keen to share the exact nature of the workings at the core of Thereafter, but volunteered that extreme caution had been shown when they first mended together the first slabs of destroyed worlds some days prior.

After this point, Thereafter went through a hectic period of growth, as the Council busied themselves with adding additional pieces of the shattered worlds to Thereafter, and snagging anything that looked even remotely like arable soil and useful plant matter. In this process, the council added a new member, a somewhat reclusive character known only as The Farmer. The population of thereafter grew steadily, as the increasing size of Thereafter made it easier to find among the swarm of destroyed worlds. While plans were in motion to secure lasting food sources, scavenging filled the majority of the dietary need of the nascent city.

The question of governance did not arise for several weeks, as the vast majority of survivors were more than content with a safe place to sleep and food to eat. This changed, as new waves of refugees telling tales of ever more distant magical worlds being destroyed started raising the uncomfortable possibility of Thereafter being all that is left. "There is no rescue coming," as Alexandra's colleague molefolk scribe Rok-El opined in a letter to The Council. "Thereafter is all there is, maybe even all that ever will be, and I am not alone when I voice concerns that we remain, as we are, ungoverned. There are already organizations forming in our city that will seize on our current state of vulnerability for their own ends."

This letter was quoted by Deepspeaker Lia in her speech proclaiming the Council as the ruling faction of Thereafter. As this had been the case de facto if not de jure for weeks at this point, the announcement was met with muted, but genuine enthusiasm. After all, the Council collected no taxes, and at most oversaw the negotiation of conflicts and fair partition of scavenged food and goods, plus what little Thereafter's struggling farms could output.

One notable member of the naysayers were the man behind the organization Rok-El alluded to, a molefolk crime lord by the name of Rik-Hi. Rik-Hi had established himself in Thereafter by bribing scavengers to drop off their loot at Rik-Hi's warehouse, earning him a king's ransom in food and other sundry goods. Using this newfound wealth, Rik-Hi expanded his venture by attracting disillusioned ex-adventurers to function as muscle in racketeering schemes that further grew both his coffers and his influence. Rik-Hi's exact goals are not known at the time of writing, although there are rumors that not only does he not want to usurp the council, he is also in part responsible for its formation.

The idea that grew into the plan to summon the heroes of legend, our protagonists, started as a wry observation from Leowin the Hermit that they should enjoy the good times while the governing of Thereafter was comparatively simple. Although flippant, this comment raised the question of morale and loyalty. Sure, the people of Thereafter were for the most part gamely following the laws, rules really, that the Council had set up, but every day attracted new refugees, and there was only a question of time before something went wrong. Perhaps they'd be unable to feed everybody, or perhaps some rabble-rouser would make their way to Thereafter. The specter of despair could also be found in the margins of the city. While temporary food shortages could be powered through, it was the conviction of Grand Magus Eltern in particular that the city could not survive the death of hope.

It is not known by anyone else but the council how they went about choosing which heroes to summon, or why they limited themselves to four, but the announcement soon went out that the Council were looking into summoning heroes from the lost ages of the destroyed world to "Aid in the maintenance and safety of Thereafter." The Council were not brash enough to proclaim these heroes as their saviors, but they were certainly happy to let the implication linger on people's minds.

It is at this critical point in Thereafter's history that we leave off today. The summoning of the heroes is at hand, and whether this is opening Pandora's box or lighting the light of hope, there's little doubt that the summoning will change the fate of Thereafter and all who dwell within.

[notajinn]

Top Games Played in 2023 - Number 3: Honkai Star Rail

3. Honkai Star Rail (Mobile)

When Dragalia Lost ended, I had a mobile game slot open in my life. I left that slot unfilled for a while since I knew I wouldn’t find something I’d become attached to as much as Dragalia. But after hearing good things about the gameplay and story, I decided to try Honkai Star Rail. It’s not as good as Dragalia, but it’s much better than a mobile game needs to be.

What I Like

Star Rail is a turn-based RPG, which means the battle system will make or break my enjoyment. And they made a good battle system! There’s a variety of character paths/classes, a good but not overwhelming number of things to upgrade, and some fun unique things like Ultimates as turn-interrupts.

But more than the battle system, what hooked me in the game is the writing. Most of the mainline story is good to great, but the real strong writing is in the events.  These are usually smaller self-contained stories that make the best use of the characters. That said, I do think the main story of Jaillo (the first planet after the Space Station) is also great.

The music is also surprisingly good. Most notably, the climax battles of both of the planets in the current version of the game have these great vocal tracks.

As far as gacha games are considered, it’s reasonable in giving free pulls for characters. The free characters are already pretty solid and cover all elements. Otherwise you get enough pulls for a 5 star every few patches. And even though the game is still in it’s early life, they’ve already done some re-run banners running parallel with new characters if you missed a character you wanted.

The game also has an auto-battle mode for helping with grinding, and easy fast-travel points for them.

What I Don’t Like

It’s still ultimately a mobile gacha game. This means the game’s story will often go out of its way to showcase the upcoming banner characters. So far it hasn’t been laughably bad, but I’m expecting it to happen.

It also has the mobile game issues of a stamina system limiting how much you can play at a time. Fortunately the story and events are not stamina-gated, so you don’t get locked out of important things. But when you need to grind materials or equipment, you’re going to be limited.

Speaking of equipment, the Relics (most of your equipment) grinding system is awful. It costs a big chunk of stamina, and you get 2 random 5-star Relics from one of two different equipment groups. So you have to get:

The correct equipment group

The correct piece of equipment (arm/head/body/boots)

The right main stat on the equipment

And then in late game, getting the right sub-stats on the equipment also makes a difference

So you can spend a full day’s stamina on just getting Relics and still not get anything usable.

Also this is specifically a problem with the current game, but most of the female characters released during the Xianzhou story have the same cookie-cutter outfit. I feel like there’s been at least 8 characters with this same outfit with slightly different colours/details. It’s gotten to the point where I didn’t even try to pull any of the Xianzhou characters.

Final Thoughts

For a mobile game, Honkai Star Rail is a comfortable (if distant) second to Dragalia Lost. Which means it’s the best currently active mobile game.

[theriverspath]

Good Omens November 2023 Writing Challenge. Day 9

I Know What You Taste Like

Rated Teen. Prompt: When baking chocolate chip cookies from The way you said "I love you."

Crowley barely paused his stride as he opened the back door of the cottage. He took the step up from the patio into the kitchen with a little spring, and continued into the room. The door shut itself behind him.

“Hey, Aziraphale? That rose bush … ehrm.” The demon’s words, and his steps, stuttered to a halt. The rich scents of vanilla and butter and sugar had just wafted across his tongue. They mixed with Aziraphale’s, creating an intoxicating blend. The angel stood at the counter between the stove and the sink, an array of bowls and measuring implements spread out before him. An immaculately clean, white apron protected his shirt and trousers from any possible mishap.

“Yes? What about it?” Aziraphale reached out to pick up a bag with the name Valrhona emblazoned on it in gold letters. He spilled some of the contents across a cutting board, and began to chop the almost-black ovals of chocolate into smaller chunks. Crowley sidled up next to the angel, thoughts of stubborn roses dissipating from his mind.

“It’s, uh, nothing important.” Curious, he slid a hand into the bag Aziraphale had set down and drew out one of the candies. He popped it into his mouth. It immediately began to melt, releasing pleasingly bitter, floral notes. Crowley parted his lips and drew in another breath, catching more of Aziraphale in the air. The combination did something delicious in his brain. He closed his eyes to savor the experience. Distantly, he heard the angel tisk at his pilfering. He ignored it.

Aziraphale set down the knife and picked up the board. He tipped the bits into a large bowl of batter, returned the board to the counter, then picked up a sturdy wooden spoon. Crowley opened his eyes and aimed for the bag again. He wanted to see if he could recreate what had happened on his tongue before all of the chocolate flavor disappeared. He was stopped by a quick, but gentle, tap to his knuckles from the spoon. Azirapahle met his astonished expression with placid admonishment.

“Do stop stealing my ingredients, dear. It’ll taste better in the cookies, anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Angel.” Aziraphale’s “mmfm” of surprise at Crowley’s kiss slipped into a hum of delight.

The cookies were, indeed, delicious. When Aziraphale eventually got around to finishing them, that is.

---

Cross posted to Sendarya's Patreon discord

[sneakyscarab]

i cant think of a clever intro for this one, so lets just get right into it.

nina's thoughts on Touhou 16 - Hidden Star in Four Seasons

HSiFS is a solid entry with a good mix of brand new ideas and old mechanics. in some ways it almost feels like a remake of PCB in terms of the themeing and how the main mechanic works. compared to that game though, HSiFS executes its ideas in a much better way (imo).

the big new thing in this game is the dual-season system. each character has 1 main season thats fixed for that character, and each character shares the same 4 subweapon options, each also based on a season, being smaller counterparts of the main season of the same type. your main season is powered up using P as usual, but the sub-season has its own power meter that's filled by collecting season points, going up to a total of 6 options. season points come from shooting enemies and grazing bullets mostly, similar to cherry items in PCB. as long as you have at least 1 option of sub-season, you can execute a 'release' which sacrifices all (or just 1 in summer) options to create a circle of bullet-safety that acts differently depending on the season. any bullets that are destroyed by the release are converted into green-point items that increase the value of point items.

speaking of points, this game does away with life pieces, going back to the classic method of dealing out 1ups at certain point thresholds, and as drops from certain midbosses. pieces aren't gone entirely though, as bomb pieces do return, acting almost exactly as life pieces did in SA: one drops anytime you clear a boss phase without screwing up, and 5 of them give you a new bomb. you can also get whole bombs from certain midbosses or enemies.

you definitely need all those bombs and season releases cause this game is tough. not LoLK levels, thankfully, but it felt a lot more challenging than the UFO-TD-DDC trilogy. granted, thats not saying much since i still did clear the game within the day, but it took me a pretty solid chunk of runs, about 4 each per character, and i tried out a lot of different character-season combos to find what worked best for me.

without further ado, lets get into the actual characters! HSiFS has 4 playable characters, one for each season of course. we have Reimu representing Spring, with homing cherry-blossom bullets. the spring sub-season also comes with some homing shots, and the season release flashes a circle on your character that instantly clears a lot of bullets and then disappears. theres Marisa representing Winter, with a frosty beam array. the winter sub-season comes with another beam, and the season release places a small lingering circle for a few seconds and boosts your dps while active. we got Aya, appearing as playable for the first time in a main game, representing Autumn. shes got a wide fan spread, and vertical piercing while focused. the autumn sub-season has the same, although with less spread and no piercing, and the release acts like a miniature version of Aya's bomb in SA, attaching a small circle of protection to your character and boosting your speed for a few seconds. lastly is a brand-new character to the touhou series: Cirno with a Tan! i mean its just Cirno, but the game specifies her as Tanned Cirno as if shes an ultra rare gacha variant or something lol. Cirno represents Summer, ironically, having an ultra-wide angle ice blast. the summer sub-season has randomly firing ice bullets, and the release places a very small, short-lived protection circle on your character at the cost of only 1 option instead of your entire stock. of all the choices, i liked all of them pretty well, but the autumn sub-season was my most favourite for how fun the season release was to use. i got my 1cc using Reimu with Autumn sub, after just barely failing to do the same on Marisa w/ Autumn.

for the new characters, of course the top of the class has gotta be Eternity Larva! she's an insect fairy based on the swallowtail butterfly, having large butterfly wings and the signature Y-shape 'horn' found on swallowtail caterpillars. she is absolutely adorable and it is a CRIME that ONCE AGAIN the bug-type character has been relegated to a stage 1 boss position. at least, unlike Wriggle and Yamame, Eternity actually does have relevance to HSiFS's plot, since the actual incident with the seasonal chaos is caused by the fairies of Gensokyo going wild. her and Cirno seem to be buds, so i like to think Eternity becomes a member of Cirno's squad and her and Wriggle become BBFFs (Best Bug Friends Forever <3)

Aunn Komano is another really great character, shes a Komainu statue that helps protect shrines (namely Hakurei Shrine) but typically does so unnoticed. due to the events of this games plot though, Aunn is up and about, causing great confusion to Reimu who had no idea that she was ever there before, and when Aunn starts talking to her as you would an old friend, Reimu assumes that shes trying to pull some kind of scheme and beats her up anyways lol. in the other paths her interactions arent quite as funny, but shes still great. i like how for some reason her outfit is like something youd see on vacation, with what looks like a Hawaiian shirt (apparently the JP version called a Kariyushi shirt?) and wide shorts . her outfit almost looks more geared toward summer than anyone, although she's the 'springtime' boss.

my third pick of the new characters in HSiFS is gonna be Narumi, who like Aunn is also an old statue come to life, being a Jizou statue that came to life from the energies of the Forest of Magic she resides in. also like Aunn she mostly keeps to herself, only being brought into the limelight because of the big plot, although her conversation with Marisa does show that the two have met before, and that according to Marisa shes a "shut-in introvert". she apparently has the power to control life energy, and is implied in Cirno's route to have attempted to use that power to delete Cirno, but it didn't work because she was also being powered by seasonal magic at the time. lucky for her, Cirno is too stupid to realize that she just confessed to attempted murder so she gets away with it lol.

HSiFS is overall a really fun entry, and i liked both the return to form for mechanics like score-based life, as well as the weird new stuff in the seasonal releases and shared sub-weapons. plus, you gotta love seeing more classic characters show up as playable, and Aya and Cirno are both great picks, even if they already show up pretty often in other ways. I dont know if i would call this one my favourite entry, but its certainly pretty up there in the rankings! im glad that LoLK was just a weird one-off in terms of quality. tune in tomorrow where i will probably have beaten touhou 17, unless something goes wrong :P and remember, #justice4bugyoukai!

[noegrets]

We posted 3,879 times in 2022

That's 1,814 more posts than 2021!

12 posts created (0%)

3,867 posts reblogged (100%) (to be fair, this is indeed our reblog blog)

Blogs we reblogged the most:

@organicgold

@crystal-cheese

@acidshadow

@personalmilk

@cd-container

We tagged 3,874 of our posts in 2022

#pokemon - 232 posts

#capitalist bullshit - 185 posts

#cats - 154 posts

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Longest Tag: 138 characters

#the only sadness is people thinking you're writing fantasy when you're writing about your childhood in a place that's not america.........

Our Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Next on Staircase Spirit, we have a review of House Flipper, a fun game where you renovate houses in first-person.  You walk into the house, whip out the paint roller, and get painting.

❖ Read the article…

9 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

#4

We watched the whole of the Detective Conan anime for the first time starting in 2018, so we're relative newcomers to such a long-running series. But we got into it. After we watched all of it up to its current point, we decided to go back and rewatch it from the beginning, and, while rewatching it, we've been taking some notes episode by episode. We wrote these notes primarily for ourselves, but we think they're pretty nice episode reviews, and when we reread them, we'd like to do so in full formatted glory, so we thought they'd be fun to share on Staircase Spirit.

We’ll be dividing these into smaller chunks because we’re not about to review 1000+ episodes all at once and in the same page. And before anyone thinks, what kind of endeavor are you saddling yourselves with, stop before it’s too late... actually, we’ve written everything up to episode 150 already, and we’ll be polishing these reviews and releasing them bit by bit over time. You can’t stop us!

❖ Read the article: Detective Conan anime reviews - ep. 1 - 11

10 notes - Posted October 19, 2022

#3

While we are big fans of the Generation 2 Pokemon games, not even our favorite games are exempt from a well-deserved booing. Today, we’re going to insult the Apricorn Balls, which are so broken that even when they work, they don’t work.

So, just in time for chestnut season, we’re going to roast some nuts!

❖ Read the article…

12 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

#2

More Detective Conan anime episode reviews, covering episodes 29-43. This batch contains the part where Shinichi’s parents are introduced. Those bastards.

❖ Read the article: Detective Conan anime reviews - ep. 29-43

15 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

Our #1 post of 2022

Our latest endeavor on Staircase Spirit is a massive review of the Orange Islands arc of the Pokemon anime. We hadn’t really watched this back in the day, and we heard it was bad... but, when we watched it, we thought it was cute.

❖ Read the article…

24 notes - Posted May 1, 2022

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[a-k-a-ruenis]

Cynosure

Rating; Teen and +

Fandom; Aldnoah.Zero

Relationship; Slaine Troyard / Kaizuka Inaho

Tags; (trigger warning) Angst, Depression, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, (Past) Attempted Suicide, (Past) Implied / Referenced Child Abuse

Chapter 3/3

Story under the cut!

Alternatively, please click here to read it on my Ao3!

“Can you play this one?”

Slaine turns at his boyfriend's question, and finds Inaho pointing to a cello. It is standing near a chair and a few music stands, away and hidden from the sunlight peeking through the windows. Meeting the other's eyes, he realises rather quickly that Inaho is completely serious, not at all seeing a very obvious problem. “.. Inaho,” he says, patient, sweet, “You do know that one is significantly bigger than my violin, don't you?”

In fact, it is not that much smaller than they are, perhaps a head and a half shorter. The violin he has now is about only a third the size of the cello.

Inaho gazes back at him, quiet for a moment. Those gears turn in his head, and he finally says, “They look identical.”

Truthfully, he is not wrong.

Aside from changes in their sound, which is not apparent until played, most string instruments in the violin family look quite alike. There is little to differentiate them to the untrained eye aside from the obvious size differences. Generally, they are a similar colour and have a similar wood finish, though they tend to have different decorations or engravings on the scroll, and the actual body itself can be engraved, though players do not generally do that with an expensive instrument.

“That one has to be played sitting down,” Slaine explains as he walks over, gently pulling Inaho away before the other gets any ideas, “I could technically play it. But not as well as a cellist would. That one is difficult to play, too..” Gesturing to a double bass with his free hand, he watches as Inaho looks over toward it, dark eyes lingering.

The double bass has a longer neck, a bigger body, and is terribly heavy. Slaine could never have hoped to play one when he was younger; it was simply too much for him at a time when he lacked the proper strength.

“You have to play that one standing,” he continues, and visible interest sparks in Inaho's eyes, “and it can be played without a bow. It's used in jazz, sometimes..” Smiling, he gently pulls Inaho closer to him, causing him to look away from the instrument, “I won't play that one, for you. It doesn't belong to anyone I know and it wouldn't sound the best in my hands, anyway.”

Inaho makes a soft sound at that, and Slaine cannot help the way his smile widens.

“You,” Slaine says, releasing Inaho's hand to grab his bow and a small chunk of rosin in its cloth from his case, “wanted a violin lesson, so that's what we're doing today.” Holding them both up, he waits for Inaho to walk over and take them, though his boyfriend looks mildly bemused as he takes it.

Despite telling Inaho, several times now, that it is not pig fat, Inaho still finds the rosin block odd, and Slaine has yet to find the proper word for it in Japanese. The closest one he has found so far is 'pine' or 'resin'.

“You've seen how I apply that to the bow,” he says, “I've already tuned the violin for you, so you just need to get the bow ready.”

Slaine knows Inaho only asked for a 'lesson' so that the two of them could spend some time together. It is kind of cute, seeing how he asks for certain things; Inaho probably figured he might get into trouble if the two of them were just wandering around the university together, while Inaho is in his high school uniform. At least he had the foresight to look like the two of them are actually doing something so they have an excuse in case a teacher comes around.

“Just rub the block on three or four times and it'll be ready,” Slaine continues, watching as Inaho continues to stare at the rosin block, “Don't do it anymore than that or the bow will grip too well and I'll have to play it extra, later, so it comes off.”

Though, he expects Inaho will not complain if Slaine plays a little longer than he usually does.

Inaho does as instructed, gently rubbing the rosin onto the bow's string. It smells vaguely of pine, and he does not seem to mind it so much with the cloth keeping his fingers clean of resin and oil.

Slaine takes the rosin block when Inaho has finished, and places it back into its own separate bag. Then, he helps Inaho arrange his hands and fingers properly on the bow and violin, receiving no complaint as he does so. It takes a moment; the positions are a bit awkward for people who are not used to it, though Inaho seems to be trying his best not to correct himself. Stepping back, he looks over Inaho's posture, helping him adjust his head so that his jaw sits properly against the violin rest. “There,” he says, “That's how you hold it. It feels awkward, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Inaho murmurs, careful not to move.

Of course it does. A violinist is expected to stand or sit in the same position during a whole song, or several songs in a row, while looking immaculate and at ease.

It took years and years of practise for Slaine to be able to play the way he does now.

“How do I play?”

“You press the flat side of the bow,” Slaine says, pointing to said part, “to the strings, and pull. The more pressure you apply, the louder the sound of, but too much makes it scratch. Less pressure is used for continuous sound. Don't press or move any of the strings, for now.”

Inaho does as instructed. Using light pressure, he gently pulls the bow across the strings.

The sound is light.

Airy.

“Good!” Slaine hums, happy to see that Inaho seems to have the basics down. Playing individual notes and scales is much, much more difficult, but this is good enough 'practise' for what they need to appear to be doing. “You know, if you had the interest for it, you could've been a nice musician,” he says, teasing again.

Inaho smiles at that. “I prefer watching you,” he says, and Slaine knows it; Inaho has mentioned this before, that he would dislike anything that kept him from enjoying Slaine's performances.

The few times Slaine opens his eyes while he is playing, he finds himself surprised each and every time he sees Inaho looking at him with such intense attention, and it is quite clear that he truly is listening to each and every note

“.. but, maybe, if I do well enough, you can kiss me as..”

“Saazbaum?”

The voice startles both of them.

Slaine finds himself tense for a moment, completely caught off-guard, and beside him, Inaho lowers the bow, but does not remove the violin from his shoulder and jaw. Presumably, he does not want to adjust or mess up his posture.

Inaho falls quiet, and shifts the smallest possible amount, dark eyes glancing between Slaine and Harklight.

Slaine, too, looks between the two of them. “Harklight,” he greets, surprised to find the older student in this particular part of the university, “Can I help you?”

Harklight takes a moment to answer, gaze flickering between the two younger students. “My apologies,” he finally says, and the surprise slowly fades away the longer he looks between the two of them, “I didn't realise you were doing lessons today..”

Slaine occasionally does them, for any students who are interested in learning, or for any of the orchestra who want to practise with him. Generally, there are not many high school students that linger around, especially in the arts building; they should come around more often once entrance exams begin.

Harklight is probably confused as to why a high schooler is taking lessons here, rather than at their respective school.

Still, Harklight does not comment on it, despite the obvious confusion. “Barouhcruz needed you to help with the choir, but I'll tell him you're busy,” he says, keeping it short as he turns, about to walk away.

“Thank you!” Slaine calls after him, turning back to Inaho once he cannot hear Harklight's footsteps any longer.

There will always be another time to assist Barouhcruz – another time when Inaho is not here, when Inaho has not asked to spend time together. Besides, Barouhcruz is good enough on his own to help the choir; all Slaine really does is listen and ensuring the students all stay on key.

“Who was that?” Inaho asks, and it comes out with a curious lilt in it, soft.

“Harklight,” Slaine answers, “He's a third year in charge of managing the foreign students.”

Harklight's primary job is to ensure any foreign students or exchanges are feeling comfortable and at home on a Japanese campus, and he seems to do his job rather well. The two of them met after the entrance exams were over, where Matsuribi and Tsumugi had to stop Harklight from explaining how things worked – 'He's lived here for almost three years', they had to say, to reassure him that Slaine would have no problems, before Harklight tried to take him to a few classes meant to help foreigners fit in and act properly.

It was nice.

Despite Slaine feeling very well at home here now, a stranger had gone out of his way to try and help him feel more comfortable and not feel silly out in public by accidentally making any social mistakes.

“Alright,” Slaine says, readying himself, again.

Inaho does, too; resting the bow against the violin's strings, he waits for his next instruction, dark eyes lingering over Slaine's.

“Now,” Slaine says, slow, “to play individual notes, you..”

-*-

The rain is coming down rather heavily. It pitters and patters and comes down hard upon the leaves and flowers that are in the Saazbaum's backyard, and Slaine is quiet as he watches it.

Each drop of rain sounds like a heavy thump, and they are too many and too fast to make a proper rhythm. They fall down from the sky without end, without taking a rest, and form a deafening chorus of soft thumps, irregular and without a beat.

Slaine has tried counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

One, two, three.

One, two, three, four –

Another few hit, five, six, and then there is a seventh, an eighth, a ninth and tenth, raindrop, coming down all at the same time.

It is sort of like his heart.

Odd.

Irregular.

A messy chorus of beats without a proper tune, unable to work properly when Inaho is around. In his ears, it sounds like a novice band, all playing their instruments together but unable to quite attain a symphony, yet.

Gently tapping his finger against the wooden boards, he remains quiet as he watches the rain. It is cool, and it brings a chilling breeze with it; this is much more preferable to the agonising heat that has prepared itself now that summer break is only a few days away.

The rain does not cease, even for a short moment. There is no rest. No break in the chorus of downpour.

It comes down mercilessly upon the flowers and bushes and leaves, hits and hits and hits but the plants bounce right back up with each impact. Rain slides off of them as if nothing had happened, as if it had never hit them. They are far more resilient than people think.

Standing up slowly, Slaine brushes his pants off and is about to take a step forward and off of the porch when something warm gently pulls at his wrist, stopping him.

“It's cold, outside.”

Slaine turns to meet Inaho's dark eyes, gaze slipping to the small blanket slung over his other arm.

Inaho had left him alone for only a moment to go look for it, not wanting to force Slaine inside on the one 'nice' day they have had this week, but also not exactly warm with only Slaine to shield him from the chilling breeze.

It is kind of endearing.

Inaho gets cold rather easily – I'm still not sure why. I think Yuki said it was genetic – which means the two of them sit closely together quite often, and Inaho will almost always hold his hand.

It is nice. Giving and receiving affection.

“You don't want to play with me, in the rain?” Slaine asks, not sitting back down just yet. Taking his boyfriend's hand in his own, he laces their fingers together, playfully pulling Inaho toward the porch's edge, “It'd be fun..”

Inaho is warmer than usual. Perhaps he washed his hands with warm water before he came back outside. Usually, Slaine has to warm Inaho himself, after being taken by surprise far too often when Inaho grabs him or hugs him with his normally freezing palms.

Raising his head to look up at the other, Inaho does not pull away or move, letting his dark eyes linger over Slaine's face. “Outside..?” he murmurs, glancing over Slaine's shoulder.

The rain is coming down hard still, and the dirt making up the garden has already turned to mud. It is easy to tell that the water is freezing, even if neither of them are currently being rained upon. Leaving the safety of the porch will feel like taking a terribly cold shower, which Inaho is not the most fond of, but..

“.. will you play your violin for me, later? Since I played for you yesterday?” The question comes out soft, and it earns him the smallest of smiles, affectionate and warm.

“Of course.”

In the end, Inaho found it difficult to string notes together, though it was terribly, sweetly clear that he tried the best he could.

Inaho shrugs the blanket off, and it falls to the porch's wooden floor quietly, barely making any sound as it does. “.. alright,” he agrees, taking a step forward, “We can go outside for awhile. Your parents won't mind?”

Slaine shakes his head, humming softly to himself. “No, they like seeing me outside..” It comes out a murmur as he pulls Inaho forward just a tiny more, the two of them close to the porch's edge, now.

Inaho's breath catches, at that. Pain flickers in his eyes for only a moment, and Slaine realises it has to do with that he had just said.

Last year, he did mention that he was rarely let out of the house – prison – he stayed in during his time with them, and Inaho does seem to have generally adverse reactions to hearing about his past. It has become fairly easy to see the changes in Inaho's face and eyes, how much it clearly upsets him to hear that someone he cares so very much about was mistreated and hurt.

“Let's play a game,” Slaine suddenly says, and Inaho raises his head again, surprise in those dark eyes, “Tag. If I win, I.. want to go on a date. At the beach. Just you and I, for the whole day.”

Interest flickers in Inaho's eyes, though his face remains the same.

It is difficult to get Inaho's face to flush; even playing the prettiest, sappiest love songs for him, all Slaine can manage to elicit is a warm smile and a 'thank you' kiss or hug. It seems easier to get him flustered and blushing by teasing him, which is entirely unfair considering how easily Slaine finds himself as red as a rose.

“And if I win, I want to tell you something,” Inaho says, looking rather serious, now.

Slaine feels his heart catch for a second, interrupt its beat. “Alright,” he says, keeping his tone even despite the excitement stirring in his heart, “I'll run around the garden three.. no, five times, and if you catch me, you win. If I make it back to the porch, then I win. Deal?”

“Deal,” Inaho agrees, and for a moment it seems as if he is about to let go of Slaine's hand so that their game can start.

Slaine feels his face flush when Inaho's grip tightens instead, worry now in those dark eyes of his. “Wh.. what's wrong?” he asks softly, knowing it is a little odd to feel so happy at the sight.

People worry because they care.

Usually.

Inaho cares deeply for him, he has made that quite obvious by now. Inaho worries because he really, actually, genuinely feels something for him.

“What if you slip and fall?” Inaho asks, and Slaine wants to repeat it back to him, just as worried for his boyfriend as Inaho is for him.

“It can't be any worse than..” Slaine bites his tongue before the rest of that sentence comes out, realising at the last moment that he has not yet told Inaho about that. There has not really been an appropriate moment, or a good chance to bring it up without startling him.. or upsetting him. He remembers how distressed Inaho had been, talking about that man. “.. than the time I flipped over that swing in the park,” he amends, and it seems Inaho does not notice his nervous fix.

Still, Inaho's worry does not dissipate.

It is much harder to appease Inaho's worry than it was theirs, but Slaine supposes this is what comes with someone genuinely caring about someone else.

“You had the wind knocked out of you.”

“If I fall, you can kiss me better.”

Inaho finally releases his wrist at the suggestion, unable to quite look Slaine in the eye.

It is hard to fluster Inaho, but oh, is it worth it when he succeeds.

“Ready?” Slaine asks, a loving grin on his lips as he turns around, taking a step off the porch and into the muddy grass, “Go!”

*

“Ah, Slaine, be careful..” Inaho calls, worry in his soft tone.

Slaine is trying his best to be careful.

Large stepping stones litter the backyard garden, slick and slippery with rain, making for a dangerous path for their little game. Though the two of them are trying to be careful and avoid slipping and falling into any of the flowerbeds or bushes, the rain has started to come down heavier and it is becoming increasingly difficult to maneuver around properly.

Just one more round, Slaine thinks to himself, holding a hand near his eyes, trying to keep the rain from getting into them and blurring his vision; it is already plenty misty outside, and they are completely soaked. One more lap 'round the garden and he will have won – Inaho is being particularly cautious, and he has not been in the backyard often enough to learn the layout. They usually spend their time together inside or somewhere else entirely.

Once they are done with this little game, no matter the outcome, Slaine is positive Inaho will want to take a warm bath before dinner, and wash the mud from the bottoms of their pants and feet.

Looking over his shoulder, Slaine is about to offer his boyfriend another playful grin when he realises Inaho is approaching the small hole that Orlane had dug out for a berry bush or some other plant. It has to be filled with water by now, and probably just looks like another muddy slosh. “W.. wait, Inaho!” he calls worriedly, quickly turning around in an attempt to stop him.

Inaho does not stop soon enough; his foot gets caught in the dug out hole.

Slaine grabs hold of the other's wrist, trying to steady him –

thud.

“Oh.. oww..”

“.. reckless, Slaine..”

Slowly opening his eyes, Slaine finds himself face to face with his boyfriend, and unable to sit up. There is a dull ache in his forehead, where their heads had collided, and a dull pain in the back of his head, when he met the ground. Gently pushing on Inaho's chest, he breathes out, trying to get the other to sit up, “Inaho, you're heavy..” It comes out soft and breathless, and he cannot help the way his cheeks start to heat up with the way Inaho is staring at him. Eyes slipping shut when Inaho leans down just the slightest bit more instead of sitting up properly, Slaine holds in a breath.

Inaho presses a kiss to where the two of them had bumped heads, taking care to be gentle with the impending bruise. Sitting up as Slaine slowly opens his eyes, he smiles at the blond, hands resting in the mud beside Slaine's head. “You win,” he says softly, and he does not seem disappointed, “Congratulations, Slaine. I'll take you bathing suit shopping on Saturday.”

“A-ah..” Heart catching, Slaine looks away, feeling it beat erratically in his chest, once again not following its usual rhythm. It sinks to his stomach, and he tightens his grip on Inaho's shirt. It is cold, in his hands, cold as he grips small fistfuls of it, and he can see the brunet's skin starting to become bumpy from the freezing rain. “Inaho, there's.. something.. something I have to..”

“Slaine! Kaizuka! Get out of the rain before the both of you catch colds!”

Saazbaum's voice causes the two of them to freeze up in surprise for a moment, a second, completely taken off-guard by the sudden call. Getting to their feet as quickly as they can, they pull apart from one another and return to the safety of the dry porch, accepting the towels that Orlane hands to them.

“Th.. thank you, mother..” Slaine says slowly, finding it difficult to talk with his heart in his stomach. It feels like a rock, and if feels as if he is about to be sick –

“Is it alright if I bathe before dinner?” Inaho asks, interrupting the sickening feeling with his soft voice, and Slaine breathes out, reminding himself to breathe properly, to stay as calm as he can. With the towel over his head and his hair completely soaked, Inaho looks sort of like a lost puppy, his baby face hiding those surprising thoughts he sometimes blurts out. Usually, the two of them bathe after dinner and then get ready for bed.

Orlane glances toward him, a patient smile on his lips. “Of course,” she says, and it comes out easily, so easily – when they told her that the two of them had started dating, she seemed so.. relieved.

It must be a relief for them that their son has found someone for himself, that their son is finally getting the life they told him they wanted him to have.

A happy one.

A normal one.

Surrounded by people who genuinely care for him.

“I'll grab a bag you can put your clothes in so you don't track mud inside.”

Slaine is quiet when Inaho turns to him once his mother has gone, unable to get the words out over the rock in his throat.

'There's something I want to tell you.'

Inaho shifts, taking a step toward him and raising a hand. It hovers near Slaine's cheek for a moment before he changes his mind, helping Slaine dry his hair with the towel, instead. “Do you want to bathe together?” he asks, and it comes out easy, terribly easily.

Like his mother's response.

'We can't.'

“I..”

They have never bathed together. Slaine has not even seen Inaho change, and the same goes for the brunet – he has wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible, but..

Inaho's dark eyes linger over Slaine's face for a moment, searching, and when he does not find whatever he is looking for, they flicker upward again, but he does not stop drying Slaine's hair with the soft, warm towel.

The touch is gentle. It always is. It lingers, and Slaine can feel Inaho's fingers through the towel, messing his hair as he tries to dry it as best he can so the two of them do not drip water inside.

“We don't have to, if you don't want to,” Inaho says softly, “I don't want to make you uncomfortable. We can wait, until we've been together longer.”

It is genuine.

Inaho cares. Genuinely, really, truly, actually cares.

'It isn't that. It isn't you, it's..'

“.. there's.. something I've.. I've.. been meaning to tell you,” Slaine whispers, and Inaho stops.

Inaho's hands are at his ears, cupping his head. Neither of them pull away from one another.

“You don't have to tell me right now, if it's too hard.”

Slaine shakes his head carefully, blinking back the nervous tears in his eyes, swallowing the rock in his throat.

It still feels as if he is about to be sick.

It always does, when he has to talk about his past. But when he gets it out, he feels better.

I just need to get it out. Inaho cares. Inaho cares, and he doesn't mind listening.

Inaho will not like him any less.

But he cannot bring himself to say it.

Why is it so hard?

Glancing down at his shirt, he realises it has become completely see through from the rain, and it is clinging to the black shirt he has on in an attempt to hide those. Ever since getting those he has been exceptionally careful, careful not to get caught in the rain while only wearing white, or get caught changing without an undershirt.

The other students never asked, in high school. They saw the scars on his wrist and probably assumed one thing or another, or felt pity for him.

“.. I.. I have..” Slaine starts, slow, trying to say each word carefully through each breath. It feels as if his heart has become incredibly tight, as if it will explode with how fast it is going; it hurts, almost, and he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. “.. scars, on my.. from..”

Each word feels like a dagger, cutting deeper and deeper into his heart.

Each word comes out shaky and weak, feels as if it will spill over into sobs.

Each word tastes like acid in his mouth, and he wonders sometimes if the resentment will ever go away.

Admitting he has more scars is not the difficult part.

Admitting who gave them to him is, though he has a feeling it is obvious who. Admitting how they were given to him is even harder.

Inaho has made it quite clear, in a number of colourful words that he usually does not use, how much he loathes the man previously in charge of his care, what he would like to do if he were to meet him.

Slaine loathes him too, to his very core. How such a man was ever given the responsibility to care for him, he does not think he will ever understand, even when he is older.

Despite that, Slaine does not ever want Inaho to meet that man – not for his sake, but for Inaho's.

There is no need to deal personally with his past monsters, not when they are far far away in a cold winter tundra.

“.. can I see?” Inaho asks softly, a slight shake in voice. It sounds sad. Hands slipping to Slaine's shoulders, his grip on the towel loosens, and his dark eyes slip to Slaine's shirt. It seems he has realised the reason for Slaine's dark undershirts. “Will you show me?”

Slaine manages the smallest of nods, sucking in a shaky breath.

It is much easier to show Inaho than it is to tell him about it, about what happened. That is one part of his past he does not want to discuss anymore, having spent the better half of a year talking to a therapist about it.

“Just – just don't.. don't touch, please..” Slaine says, and Inaho nods, keeping his hands perfectly still right where they are. Swallowing, he slowly, carefully lifts up his shirts for Inaho to see, and tries not to overreact at the flicker of something that immediately lights within Inaho's eyes.

Disgust? At the person responsible?

Disappointment? In people who could not help him sooner, so he could have had a normal childhood?

Resentment? Toward them?

Slaine fall silent as Inaho's dark eyes linger over the scars, feeling his boyfriend's nails dig into his back. It feels.. different, being looked at like this; it is awkward, and he swallows the hard, nervous ball in his throat, trying not to look down at his own chest.

They are ugly, he thinks – his scars are not at all nice, they are not battle scars, they do not remind him constantly that he survived when he so badly wanted to disappear. Before he moved here, they were a constant reminder of his failure to achieve eternal rest.

I hate them.

But still, Inaho does not look away. Slowly, his grip subconsciously tightens on Slaine's shoulders, and Slaine can feel the brunet's nails lightly digging into his soaked shirts.

With a towel and two shirts keeping his skin safe, it does not hurt, and he does not think he could bring himself to mind even if it did; he knows he hugs Inaho rather tightly whenever he gets upset. Remaining quiet as Inaho pulls him into a hug, he feels the other breathe out softly, sort of warm against his neck.

It comes out shaky.

“I.. I don't want you to.. to ever go back to Russia..”

Slaine watches as his vision blurs with hot tears. It's resentment, he realises, Even though he had no idea, living here as a child, even though there was nothing he could've done to help..

Inaho's voice is much softer than anything Slaine has ever heard before. It is laced with pure and utter heartbreak, helplessness, and Slaine is reminded once again of how Inaho genuinely cares and worries for him.

No one said anything, in that house.

They either never noticed – how could they not notice? When it was right in front of them? – or pretended not to, and both are equally cruel.

It was lonely.

It hurt.

“I'm glad you're here.”

Sucking in a breath when Inaho pulls him even closer, Slaine tries not to move much, not quite used to this reversal.

It feels harder to breathe.

“Can I tell you something?” Inaho asks, and Slaine nods, the slightest of movements. It takes him a moment to get it out – it seems he gives it some thought, perhaps on how to word it properly, so it does not come out wrong. “I.. understand, a small part of you,” he says, and Slaine freezes up in his arms, already anxious from the comment, “I know what it's like, to.. to want to disappear.”

It comes out slowly.

It breaks Slaine's heart.

Inaho should not know what that feels like. No one should, but least of all Inaho. It is one of the most painful things in this world, next to heartbreak and loss, one of the saddest, most lonely feelings – the only people that truly understand a small part of what it is like to have been driven to it for one reason or another, and no one should be driven to want to disappear.

“Can I keep going?”

Slaine nods again, unable to get out a shaky 'yes', with the way his heart is clogging up his throat.

“I know people said you were selfish,” Inaho whispers, and Slaine breathes in sharply when his boyfriend hugs him tighter, practically squeezing him now, “But you aren't. I know how hard you must've tried to hang on when you didn't want to. And I know you aren't weak for wanting to disappear. And I want to thank you for holding on just a little longer so that we could meet.”

Slaine's eyes gloss over with hot tears. It stings, and his vision blurs, though it does not really matter; Inaho is hugging him so tightly, he can barely move his head, and he can only continue to stare at the backyard.

This is what Inaho had been trying to say the first year they had met. It had been odd, at the time, and Slaine still remembers it because of how sudden the blurt had come – Inaho had been unusually insistent, usually pushy about it.

'I understand you'.

“What did – what did you..”

It does not come out completely.

'What did you do to yourself?'

“I stabbed myself in the chest with a pair of scissors,” Inaho whispers, “because I thought people would adopt Yuki-nee if she was by herself.”

“Why.. why would you..” There is a bubbling sob residing in Slaine's throat, threatening to spill over. Sniffling, he blinks back pained tears, and it is difficult to breathe, and not because Inaho is hugging him so tightly.

“Breathe, Slaine,” Inaho whispers, and it is soft and gentle and calm, it is without the shake present in Slaine's voice, without the tremble threatening to collapse Slaine's knees. Inaho's hand relaxes against Slaine's back, and his fingers trace clumsy, intricate circles into his shirts, light enough to not press in, careful enough not to agitate the scars that have long lost feeling.

Slaine does.

In.

Out.

In..

Out..

It is shaky, still. The sob in his throat is still there, but it feels less tight, and his heart is a hammering, erratic mess of notes and beats that do not match, that do not go together; it sounds terribly loud in his ears, like a cacophony of jumbled chords. It blocks out the rain, terribly easily. His heart is a mess, but it slows down enough for him to breathe properly.

“Yuki – Yuki would.. would never..”

“I know,” Inaho says, and it is pained.

They are silent.

Slaine does not know what to say.

'I remembered something that I'd rather forget'.

“Will you let me be selfish, Slaine?”

Slaine nods a third time. It is less stiff than the first two, less forced.

“I love you.”

Wh.. what..?

“I really, really love you.”

“I.. Inaho..” Slaine stammers, and the name comes out shaky and weak, and confused, because why are you saying that, why are you telling me this after telling me that?

Only his parents have ever said those words to him.

“I want you to love me, too,” Inaho continues, and it is serious, it is so, so serious, and he sounds as if he might break if he gets the wrong response, “You don't have to love me right now. Or soon. But I want you to love me in the future, like I love you. I want you to love the part of me that I would rather forget.”

I already do.

The words will not come out.

“I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the first time.”

“It – it's.. It's okay,” Slaine whispers, and it is, it truly is – how does one possibly bring it up, unprompted?

It is difficult to talk about. It will always be difficult to talk about, even with people that understand.

“Do you want to look at the moon together, tonight?” Inaho asks, and his voice is soft, still, soft and still on the verge of cracking, breaking, “It's supposed to be beautiful.”

How many times did you try to tell me?

“Yes,” Slaine whispers, fingers gently resting against Inaho's chest, where the buttons on his shirt are. “Inaho, I..”

I love you, too. So, so very much.

“.. I'm.. glad.. that you're here, with me..”

“I'm glad you're here with me, too, Slaine.”

-*-

Silent as he stares out the library window, Slaine rests his cheek against his palm, willing this day to end as fast as possible – each second feels like half an hour, creeping past, achingly slow.

Yesterday was..

.. yesterday did.. did not go as expected.

It is bittersweet.

No one should understand.

No one should know what it is like to try and fail at disappearing, to have to deal with the painful aftermath. It leaves scars, physically and figuratively, and is incredibly difficult to work through, even with medication and help.

No one should have to go through it.

But Inaho did.

And there is nothing in this world that can change that, no matter how badly one may wish.

Slaine frowns as he stares at the window, trying to ease the pain in his heart.

They have each other. And, yesterday, Inaho said he loved him.

A lot. Loves him in spite of the sadness, the difficulty, the trauma.

Said that he wanted Slaine to feel the same way.

And I.. too..

.. I can't say it, yet. Why is it so hard to say it?

Inaho said he did not mind waiting.

He's too patient. Do I really.. deserve..

“.. Saazbaum..?”

Surprised, Slaine raises his head at the sound of his name, jostled out of his thoughts. “H.. Harklight,” he greets, forcing a  smile and hoping he did not look too upset.

It is still a little odd, hearing people refer to him in this manner. When his parents offered upon adopting him, he wasted no time agreeing to add their name to his, to be accepted wholly into their family.

It is odd, but it is much better than hearing 'Troyard'. This year, at a new school, after getting used to being with his parents and their name, he has made it a point to introduce himself as 'Slaine Saazbaum'.

Hearing that name still makes something bitter well up in his throat, makes his heart ache and reminds him that it does not quite fit anymore. Has not fit, for some time now. They only said his name with spite on their lips and disdain on their tongues.

“Did you need something?” Slaine asks, shifting in his seat. Perhaps Harklight intends to ask about the other day, when he was giving Inaho a lesson in the music room. Harklight did seem a little curious, but also far too flustered to ask or say anything at the time.

“Someone's come to see you,” Harklight says, and Slaine feels his heart catch.

It cannot be Inaho. School has not yet let out, and he is not one for skipping.

“She says.. she's claiming to be your.. 'business partner'..?” Harklight says, and it comes out a question, clearly confused. Perhaps 

It takes a moment to click. “Oh!” Slaine gasps as he stands up, gently pressing his hands against the table. It is hot beneath his fingers, in the slowly setting sun, and he tries to ignore the feeling as he looks toward the front of the library.

Rayet.

“Thank you, Harklight. I'll be right back,” he says, wondering what she might be doing here.

Outside of group outings, he rarely sees Rayet on her own. Since moving here, she has only come to visit him at home once, and it was only to give her address so that the Saazbaums could visit her and her father whenever they wanted. Wolf has been around far more often, to talk with Saazbaum and Orlane, about the things Slaine wants to forget. Wolf, too, was affected by that family, though in a different manner.

Bowing his head politely, Slaine excuses himself from the table, and gently pushes his chair back in before quickly walking over toward Rayet, a smile on his lips.

They are not friends. Not truly.

They are 'business partners', as she puts it, and the two of them have known each other for roughly ten years now; they had met at the funeral. The funeral for..

Slaine shoves the thought aside. “Good afternoon, Rayet,” he greets, though he cannot quite see her full expression with that medical mask partially covering her face. As far as he knows, though, she is not actually sick – no one mentioned anything about Rayet missing classes lately, and they would have said anything had she fallen ill.

So she must be skipping, for whatever reason. At least she is out of uniform, so she will not get into much trouble unless someone recognises her.

“I wasn't expecting you to come see me,” he continues, “Aren't you supposed to be at school?”

No reaction. Not a visible one, anyway.

Rayet shifts on her feet, glancing around the library, quiet for just a moment. “Viens avec moi,” she says and suddenly starts to pull Slaine by the arm rather forcefully, presumably trying to lead them to an even quieter, more private place.

“E-ehh? C'est quoi? Qu'est-ce qui se passe?” he questions, slipping into French as he stumbles after her. The forced smile on his lips slips as his heart rises to his throat. This is not a good visit, not if she wants to speak to him in French so no one listens in on them, not if she wants to talk to him in private, away from prying eyes.

It is difficult to keep up with her. She has never been very gentle, and she is walking quickly.

The back area of the library is far more empty than the front part. It is darker here, and much quieter, with far less students whispering near the bookshelves. Mostly everyone is ready to leave – they will be free to leave in about forty minutes or so, and they are supposed to be studying. Everyone is far too excited to be studying.

The two of them settle near one of the furthest windows. She releases his arm, lavender eyes flickering over his. There is hesitance within them, and the two of them stare at each other for another quiet, anxious moment before she says continues, “.. il faut qu'on parle.”

It is hard to breathe. His heart is caught in his throat, and it feels like a hard lump of sharp ice. 'Talk about what?' he wants to ask, though there is only one possible thing they could talk about like this, with all the secrecy.

Something she would skip school for, something she would come to see him immediately for.

Breathing out softly, she crosses her arms against her chest. The next words come out soft, muffled by her mask. “Ça concerne l'affaire.”

Slaine feels his heart crack.

If possible, he wanted to avoid talking about it. If possible, he wanted to forget and leave it to his parents and Rayet's father to deal with, after they had offered upon seeing how badly it distressed him.

“Pourquoi tu..” he starts to ask, tone softer now, slow.

The question trails off as he raises his head and catches Harklight's eyes.

There is a frown on the older student's features. An upset one, one that Slaine recognises as distrust. It looks as if he might want to intervene.

Has he been watching, this entire time?

Forcing a smile, Slaine gently grabs Rayet's wrist. 'Everything is fine', he means to say, though he is sure it does not come out that way.

Harklight cannot understand them; he transferred in from Sweden and only knows Swedish and English. But if he means to send Rayet away because of their current situation, it would be best to hide from his worried eyes.

Pulling Rayet over toward the bookcases, he murmurs, “Allons là bas pour discuter..”

Swallowing his heart, he prepares for the worst.

*

*come with me

*what is it? What's happening?

* we need to talk

* it's about the case

* why do..

* let's talk over there..

-*-

Slaine breathes out softly against Inaho's neck, trying his damndest not to melt into an anxious, panicked mess. If he cries, it will be hard to breathe. It is already difficult to breathe. Too difficult. It feels as if his throat has constricted, and he cannot quite get enough air, which threatens to only further accelerate his racing heart and nerves. If he cries, it will be harder to breathe, and if it gets any harder to breathe, he will have a panic attack and make himself sick from stress.

Shutting his eyes tight, he forces himself to breathe slower, despite his body screaming at him to breathe more, to try and take in as much as possible.

It works, slightly.

Inaho's hand is gentle as it rubs his back, and it lingers on the small of his back, fingers tracing small, intricate circles into the fabric of his shirt.

Inaho is so kind.

Slaine had come over here as soon as he had been able.

Poor Inaho had been in bed, apparently resting, but did not say a word when Slaine suddenly collapsed beside him and pulled him into a hug, still has not said a word.

I don't deserve you, a thought whispers to Slaine, intrusive and unwelcome, but it still manages to worm its way in, making him doubt, further breaking the fragile, weak thing he calls his heart, I don't..

“Inko showed me a bathing suit catalogue today,” Inaho finally says, still tracing gentle, feathery circles into Slaine's back.

The comment causes the blond to freeze, completely caught off-guard.

“We looked at it together during lunch. I wasn't sure where to take you tomorrow, but there's a nice shop in the city that stocks the ones from the catalogue.. Inko says they have lots of patterns she'd think you'd like.. And there was a sleeveless diving top I thought would look nice on you..”

Huh?

Slaine lifts his head, confused, and finds Inaho staring at him, affection in those dark eyes of his.

Neither of them move.

Inaho continues, slow, “I thought it'd be better than wearing a normal shirt, since it's waterproof..”

Slaine opens his mouth, about to try and find the words to compliment his boyfriend on his thoughtfulness, his foresight to predict that he will not want to wander the beach shirtless –

“.. and skin tight,” Inaho adds, and Slaine immediately sits up, the praise lost.

Still, he is unable to be stern in his current state, still on the brink of tears, and it is somehow even more difficult now that he wants to laugh. “You're – you're.. horrible, Inaho!” he cries, though the pain in his heart lets up at Inaho's clumsy flirting, or teasing, or whatever it might be – it is hard to think at the moment, and Slaine cannot imagine what else Inaho may have seen and wanted him to try on.

It is a little less difficult to breathe. There are still sobs caught in his throat, trying to decide to come out as such or come out as laughter.

Swallowing them down, he remains still as Inaho wipes at his eyes and then presses a kiss to the corner of each of them. It feels a bit odd, feeling the tears being pressed against his skin, though Inaho does not seem to mind. When the other pulls away, Slaine breathes out, trying to blink the rest of the tears away. “I'd.. I'd like to go, to the shop with you..” he says, soft and careful, careful not to let those sobs spill from his lips when it has become a little easier to breathe.

“What happened, at university?” Inaho whispers, brushing tufts of near-white hair from Slaine's face. It seems he is trying hard to use only the gentlest of touches, not allowing his fingers to linger for long, like they usually do. He returns his hand to the blond's back once he has tidied the other's hair, and again starts tracing small circles in an attempt to continue comforting him. “Did someone say something to you?”

“No, no one's.. They've all been nice..”

Mostly, anyway. There are only a few people that are daring enough to ask crass questions, when they see the scars on his wrists.

“.. after.. classes ended.. Rayet came to speak with me,” Slaine murmurs. It comes out hesitant and slow, grip tightening on the futon under them, “They've.. decided what to do with my case.”

Inaho says nothing for a moment, though there are already visible signs of distress on his features. Taking Slaine's hands, he carefully unfurls them, and presses light, gentle kisses against the scars on his wrists. “Take your time,” he whispers, soft and careful. The touch is light, and it helps in distracting, helps Slaine feel a little less bitter about that, “We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

If I don't want to..

It would be selfish.

Or irresponsible.

Slaine is not sure of what it might be, but it does not matter much, either way – Inaho will not push and he will not mind no matter what Slaine chooses.

“I just – I don’t.. I don’t understand why..” It comes out in bits and pieces. The words do not quite sit right on his tongue, and they leave his mouth tasting off, as if he had just eaten something bad. Slaine breathes out as Inaho continues to smooth his wrists, and manages to catch his boyfriend’s dark eyes, dark eyes full of patient affection, understanding.. “I.. I don’t understand why my case was dropped,” he whispers, and his eyes feel warm again as they start to narrow.

Inaho stiffens.

“My parents.. Saazbaum and Orlane.. they did everything right, and it – it doesn’t matter, because my case.. my case is..”

They had to gather evidence, themselves. The police had been uninterested, and the private doctors he had hired had been uncooperative, not when they had been paid to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of business. Saazbaum and Orlane had managed to find Calina once Slaine had safely moved to Germany with them – she had a few photos of Slaine at the hospital the ambulance had taken him to, a few incriminating photos of bruises and other injuries that could not have been self-inflicted. Slaine had spent hours trying not to panic too much whilst Saazbaum and Orlane took photos of the scars on his back and chest, tried not to flinch at the blinding lights from the cameras.

The lights reminded him of all the time he spent in the hospital, where everything had been white and sterilised and an eyesore.

“I hate him,” Slaine whispers, soft and pained, and Inaho resumes the smoothing of Slaine’s wrists, continues again with the light, gentle, lingering touch. It only helps somewhat, now. There is an ache in his heart that seems like it will take some time to feel better, to recover from the news. “I wish he'd disappear,” he says, and it comes without hesitation.

There is no surprise in Inaho's dark eyes, no worry or upset.

No judgment.

No, 'you don't mean that', or, 'don't say terrible things'.

“.. I want.. to never have to think about him, again,” Slaine says, even softer now. It almost feels as if the words do not want to come out, anymore. Like they are stuck like a piano key that refuses to play its proper note. “If – if my case is being dismissed, then I.. I never want to deal with him or them, again. I just.. want..”

“.. to forget?” Inaho asks, and Slaine nods. Pulling a hand away, he gently cups one of Slaine's cheeks, tracing the curve under his eye. “You can forget, if that's what you want to do,” he whispers, serious again, affectionate again, “You can move on however you want to. You don't have to forgive them.”

It's incredibly selfish, isn't it?

Slaine nods again, feeling a few tears slip. They are hot, too hot in the cool room, and he feels Inaho wipe them away with his thumb.

He is tired, now.

It is tiring to cry.

It is tiring to think about stressful things, to think about what they had done to him

It is tiring to deal with them, to realise how they are going to get away with hurting him without any consequence.

The proof is all over Slaine's body and in the prescriptions he receives from his doctors.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into Inaho's touch.

It is warm.

It is familiar.

It is a bit damp, with the tears he had shed.

“I.. can take a nap before dinner, can't I?”

Inaho immediately nods, “Of course you can.” Pulling away completely, he helps Slaine lie down, visibly relaxing now that they are done with this topic. “Do you want me to grab your medication?”

“Yes, please.”

“I'll make us dinner,” Inaho whispers, pulling the blanket back, resting the blond's head on the pillow, “I'll wake you up later.” Those dark eyes of his linger. Leaning down, he presses a careful kiss to Slaine's cheek, “Sleep well, Slaine.”

There is an unsaid 'I love you'.

Shutting his eyes, Slaine breathes out.

The proof will never go away. That is an unchangeable fact.

Perhaps one day he will be healthy enough to stop using medication, perhaps he will be able to function without it, without the painful,  bad thoughts lingering in his head, making his heart hurt and ache.

Perhaps one day, he will finally forget.

'No matter how much you care for someone, some illnesses will never go away'.

And that is okay.

Because, I..

“I love you, too,” Slaine whispers, and he hears Inaho's breath catch, “I.. I really, really love you, too, Inaho.. Thank you..”

A few more tears slip. They dampen the pillow beneath his head, and he feels Inaho squeeze his hand, and it is reassuring, and it is familiar, and it is safe.

It is one of the best feelings in this world.

Kaizuka Inaho makes him feel the best, in this world.

“Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

*

“.. aine..”

It filters in slowly. Quietly.

“.. laine..?”

Groggy, Slaine groans softly as he slowly opens his eyes, finding a slightly blurry Inaho hovering above him, sitting at the edge of the bed and leaning over him. The sight has his heart caught in a stutter for a moment, but he finds himself easily melting into a small smile, heart much more at ease than it had been earlier. “Inaho..” he murmurs, affectionate. There is a medicinal taste on his tongue, and it tastes of heavy, drugged sleep. Sitting up, he holds himself up with an elbow, looking the other over. “You know.. you look like a housewife, dressed like that..” he points out with a soft yawn, gaze lingering over Inaho's apron. It is a dark shade of blue, and seems to have a flowery pattern on it – it is difficult to see, the flowers seem to be made with black threading. Probably not the best design choice.

The comment earns him a warm smile.

It helps in forgetting the sad reason he came here.

“A housewife..” Inaho repeats after him, tone low and soft, “I wouldn't mind that..” It comes out thoughtful, and he pauses for a moment, those gears practically visibly turning in his head. “You'd provide for me, of course,” he says, and Slaine feels his heart pick up, knowing where this is going, “since you'd be successful. I could stay home, without having to work.. and I'd be able to attend all your concerts.. and when we come home, I'd ask you to play your violin until you can't anymore.”

Slaine feels his face slowly flush red.

Inaho has thought a lot, about this.

If Inaho had his way, Slaine is sure his poor fingers would have fallen off, by now, from how often Inaho wants to hear him play.

“And when your hands get tired from playing the violin, you can play m–..”

“That – that's enough,” Slaine quickly says, reaching upward to press his hands to Inaho's mouth, stopping him from finishing that sentence. He loses his balance as he does and falls back against the pillow, leaving Inaho to stare down at him, his weight causing a dip in the bed. All the grogginess has left him now; thanks to Inaho's terrible flirting, he is fully awake. “You're.. getting bolder,” he murmurs, not removing his hands from Inaho's mouth, not allowing him to respond, just yet. “You've always spoken your mind, but because we're dating now, you..” Breathing in, he stares upward at his boyfriend for a moment, knowing Inaho is being perfectly serious, is not at all joking. “You’d spend everyday with me? From sunrise to sunset?”

Inaho nods, a bare, tiny movement –

I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too.

– before pressing a kiss to Slaine’s palm and removing the blond’s hand from his lips, lacing their fingers together, instead. “If you’ll have me,” he says, and Slaine swallows down the immediate ‘why wouldn’t I have you?’ that springs to his lips.

Inaho is terribly considerate, always phrasing things like that –

“You can be selfish, too.”

It comes out soft.

It comes out a blurt.

Inaho continues staring at the other for a moment more before smiling, bringing Slaine’s hand to his cheek. “I want to spend every second of everyday with you,” he says, soft and serious, genuine, “I want the same thing as you.”

‘Want’ is such a selfish word.

It is not like ‘would’.

‘Want’ is a wish. A declaration, a firm statement –

It’s a promise.

It’s alright to be selfish, sometimes.

“When you ask me to marry you..” Inaho whispers.

Not ‘if’.

“.. I’ll say yes.”

He’s promising..

Slaine feels Inaho squeeze his hand again, just like before he had gone to sleep – Inaho’s lips are not the softest against his hand, they are chapped again, but they are warm and familiar and he feels his heart slowly, but surely, return to its normal, slow pace, its steady beat.

No one else could possibly compete with how Inaho makes him feel.

Safe.

Loved.

The smallest, slightest, tiniest bit understood.

As a child, trapped in that mansion, he did not think he would have a future.

In that mansion, he had been a quiet, lingering note to a song he had hoped and prayed day after day would end, so he could finally disappear.

It had been terribly lonely.

And now..

Now, I’m.. I'm finally living.

“Why – why am I the one asking you to marry me?” Slaine questions as he slowly sits up, resting a hand on Inaho’s thigh as a means of helping himself adjust properly. Like this, it is much easier to meet Inaho’s dark eyes – they are playful, and that smile on his lips widens as the two of them stare at each other.

“Because you’re the one who kissed me, first.”

[umbralsound-xiv]

I figured i’d... Y’know. Train. Take... Smaller jobs. Sure, it’s not the most gil, running backwards and forwards making deliveries for old folk, or squashing mitelings in the Shroud, but every hero’s gotta start somewhere, right?

Vhal'ra Ansahk reels his weapon back; the two-handed greatsword glinting in what little light the Shroud had provided through the canopy. The Miteling he contended gives an shrill chitter as it rears up to bite him... Before only finding a boot in it's face, and a sword through the carapace shortly afterwards. The area was littered with dead mitelings; smashed open carapaces and missing legs, clearly culled by the same weapon in a short space of time. And now, another had joined them. Vhal'ra wrenches his blade from his quarry, almost stumbling backwards with the weight of it; it had found the earth beneath his foe, too, and dislodging it was no small feat. Regardless, he -does- almost fall over, but manages to catch himself at the last moment.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir allowed her mind to wander as often did when walking, in this case from the stables down to the river. She glanced up though, hearing the crunch of a carapace under steel. In the moment of brief distraction, her foot settled on and tangles with one of the numerous chitinous legs strewn about the nearby area, no doubt left by the same sword wielding fellow, and even as he stumbled and caught himself, she failed to do so, slipping forward and tumbling tail over dome onto the ground with a quiet exclamation.

Vhal'ra Ansahk narrowed his eyes, searching for more prey when the almightly sound of something rushing towards him through the brush caught his ears. Breath in his throat, he turns sharply, hands tightening on his hilt, half-ready to defend himself from whatever was approaching... Until seemingly nothing pulled into view. Vhal'ra squints, a little unsteady-- At least, until something a little less mite-like pulls into view. "Oh--- Hey! You okay?" He asks, throwing his sword to his back and walking forth.

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...I thought you were something... Uh, a little less friendly. You need a hand?" He asks, offering her one before she'd even had chance to answer.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir huffed a sigh, trying to pick sticks and leaves out of her hair with one hand while reaching for her hat with the other, and doing both poorly. She glanced up at the hapless cause of her tumble, shying away a slight bit unconsciously as he approached. A bite of sass bubbled up behind her lips until she began to shift, and felt the soft pain in her ankle as the adrenaline of the fall wore off. She sighed again, eyes dropping away from the earnest young fellow, and nodded, reaching for his hand, softly mumbling "...yeah, could use one."

Vhal'ra Ansahk helps her to her feet, a remorseful smile given as he allowed himself to be used as a foothold in the sodden ground. "The rain has made the path real rough for walking, miss... And real muddy, besides." He releases her once she was comfortable, brow knit. "...Doing okay...?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir stood, and set about brushing herself off. She tested her twisted ankle, giving a malcontented grimace before getting her composure and looking back up at the young fellow's face, getting a proper look at him. "Well enough, I'd say, considerin'. I ain't really used to such ah... chunks" she kicked another leg, wincing slightly "on m' way down to sit by the river." She looked around, taking in the number of cracked and shattered mitelings. "...are y' having fun?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Yeah, kinda!" Vhal'ra's response came with a short wiggle of his ears, grinning until his expression falls a little at her grimace. "...Well, they said the numbers were getting a little out of hand, so... I thought i might help, and cull them back a bit!"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...I didn't mean to leave them all so... Strewn about, though. Uh..." He looks around at the small battlefield of dead mitelings. "...Not... Sure how i'd even go about tidying this up in the first place, though..."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir gave a comiserating smile, shaking her head. "They'll get crunched down after a bit of time, and bigger things walkin' over 'em an' such. Jus'..." she gestured around "weren't expectin' anything underfoot. Ain't expectin' you to take a broom t' the forest floor or nothin'. Say..." A brow raised, tail curling around to be clutched to her front. "I ain't meanin' t' be rude or nothin' but... you're a bit... young, t'be cullin' wildlife for the stables, yeah? unless you're a stablehand?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "I'm not -that- young!" He protests with a short huff strong enough to blow the dangling hair from his face. "Old enough to cull mitelings, obviously! I'm not a stablehand-- I'm just helping out!" He seemed proud of the fact, at least with the way he stood and beamed, head held high. "...What are you going to the water for...?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "I was gonna go down to eat my lunch an' dangle m' feet in the water while I wait for my chocobo t' get his checkup an' brushin' done." She patted the bag sitting at her waist. "I ain't had a bird long enough m'self to really... know much how to take care of it right, an' I just get in the way at th' stables, so..."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "You have your own chocobo?" He asks, some curious enthusiasm in his tone. "I.. Should probably take a break too, if you don't mind the company!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir sighed softly, taking a moment before nodding. "Y'know what, okay, that sounds kinda nice. though, uh..." She smiled sheepishly "I ain't exactly got enough of everything for two. be more of a snack than a meal if'n you're wantin' anything."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Wh--- Oh! No no, you don't gotta feed me! I was more... It's just..." He shakes his head. "Never mind! I'm just... Happy for the company, y'know? I... I only left my Clan maybe a couple of moons ago. It's... Sometimes a little quiet, so..." A small pluck of his shoulders is given towards the woman, "...I totally get it if you want to eat in peace though."

...I sometimes do miss being around people so much. Back at the Clan, all i had to do was open my eyes, or walk around a corner and there’d be someone there. But here... Not everyone wants to talk, which is understandable enough!

It’s just... Sometimes a little lonely.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "Nah, I don't mind." She sighed as she began to walk, hiding the ever so slight limp that her twisted ankle was trying to encourage. "...y'from a clan? why... hmm. Nah, that ain't my place t'ask."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "No! I don't mind. Ask away!" He hums, clearly unfazed by the prospect of a question. "...You sure your leg's alright...?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "Oh, yeah, I've done plenty of nasty things t' my poor ankles before, this ain't that bad. Cool water'll probably set it right jus' fine." she slowed her pace as the bank began to incline, gingerly picking her way down to the water's edge, taking a moment of silence before blurting out, a little faster than she intended. "If you were part of a family, why'd y'leave?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "---What do you mean, why did i leave?" He makes a face, ears pinned back. "It's what most men do when they get older. We... Leave. And find our own way. Sure, we still drop by home every now and then but... Y'know?" He gestures outwards, hands stretched to the sides. "...It's normal for us Keepers... Right?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir sat down on a rock, taking her shoes off and rolling up her trouser legs, kicking her feet gently in the water. "I uh... I wouldn't know." She started digging through her back. "...I've jus' realized I didn' even get y'name."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Oh! Vhal'ra!" He hums, before settling a little further back, keen to keep his clothes dry. "...You wouldn't know?" He asks, in response.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir shakes her head, looking through the various little baggies she'd brought, identifying and sorting them next to her. "I... yeah. I weren't exactly... raised like a keeper. I grew up in the city, an' my da' weren't even a miqo'te. Well... the man who raised me dad. my... -dad- dad were. I jus' don't remember him."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Oh, huh. That's pretty interesting, actually." He tilts his head, watching her as she sorted through whatever things she had brought. "...What's your name? What was it like, growing up in the city?" He asks, curiousity abounding. "...Which city?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "Oh, it's ar-... uh." She took just a hair of pause. "It's Ariquette. And the city, oh, Ul'dah, bein' proper about it... the city was... a lot. There's good people there. But there's a lot of folks that just... want, all th' time, no matter what other folks need or think."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Ariquette..." He echoes, even if it seems a fight for him to get out of his teeth. "...Sounds fancy.... -- Your name, i mean! And... Mum told me plenty about cities. Said to watch my coinpurse. And that i should take more care in a city than i do anywhere else i might mean to travel, so..." He considers for a long moment, humming idly as he thought. "I've only been to Gridania. Haven't... Really left the Shroud, yet. But soon! Someday! Where's your most favourite place you've been?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "Oh, um... Kugane maybe? It's really pretty..." She took a bite of some cheese and tore a piece of bread to add to the bite, chewing for a moment before swallowing. "...and yeah if you're carryin' money you don't want t' lose, I guess cutpurses can be somethin' t'worry about. But it's th' folk offerin' t'put money in your purse, not take it out, that you really gotta be careful of."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...Kugane...? That's... All the way East, right?" He asks, ears swiveling to listen more properly. He watches her take a bite, and diverts his gaze to the nearby stream. "...The people... Trying to pay you? But why?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir grimaces, her ears laying back as she finished another bite. "There's all sorts of folk who've only ever solved their problems with coin, and who think havin' it means they can have whatever they want jus' by sayin' they have it. So they try an' tell folks what don't know any better, get whatever they want, an' then give you as little of their coin as they think they can get away with, if they give you any at all." She sighed, relaxing slowly. "...sorry, didn't mean t' rant at y'."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "What uh... what were it like, y'know, growin' up in a tribe?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "No, it's okay! It's... It's useful information." He nods sagely, as though drinking in the newfound knowledge. "It's nice." His answer comes with sincerity, and the smile he wore only serves to cement it. "...Busy. Like, so many siblings. Mum did her best to have time for everyone, but with so many of us on top of her duties, even she was stretched a bit thin. Strict, sometimes. Lots of rules... Lots of standards to uphold. But, never a sun passed where there wasn't something to do or someone to talk to. But i've been so used to being told what to do that... Now i get to decide for myself, it's kind of challenging... But that doesn't mean i won't try!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "Oh!" She smiled, giggling softly, her smile's brightness rising up her cheeks to her eyes. "...I actually kinda know what that's like. Th' not bein' told what t' do an' feelin' like there's nothin' to find. That's how it were when I quit my last job, took me like... a cycle abouts t'find somethin' more to do again."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Oh? What did you used to do?" He asks, head tilting almost comically as he shifted his weight back on the riverbank. "...It's not impossible to find things, it's just... Well, work won't find me, so i have to go find it. Hence the mitelings!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir wrinkled her nose, and began cutting an apple with what appeared to be an ornate, glass bladed knife. "I used t'fight for a living. er, in th' arenas. Gladiator. An' before y' ask or get any ideas, yeah th' money can be okay if'n you're smart an' real good at it, but it ain't worth it even if y' are."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Really?!" His ears perked to sit high atop his head at that, leaning forward. "---That sounds so cool! And you said it's good money?" He hesitates, having heard the rest of her words, and only partially acknowledge them. "...It... Wasn't worth it?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "yeah, y'get..." She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and rubbing the back of her neck. "...y'get... treated like a... toy. like some bright shiny thing t'make other people feel big an' important an' rich. An' y' get hurt a lot, mostly little stuff, but a lot. all the time. As soon as i'd figured out ways t'make enough money to save up for a place I could live an' feed m'self for a while, I tried t'get out, an' they even try an' make that hard. An' it's even harder if y'don't have as lucky a situation as I did."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "That... Sounds rough..." He grimaces a little, brow knit in sympathy as he returned his gaze towards her. "...I'm glad you got out. It doesn't sound so fun to be treated that way, even if the glory and gil might be nice for a time.... Hrm..." He briefly scrunches his lips into a frown, before asking another question. "...So, what do you do now?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir softened, her shoulders relaxing as she picked up another fruit, some kind of plum hybrid, it looked like, speckled purple and white. "I dance. Mostly in like... theatres and sometimes clubs an' things. I kept enough saved I can afford t'be picky with where I perform." She offered one of the cut slices of fruit towards Vhal'ra, it's flesh richly purple near the skin and almost yellow where it came detatched from it's stone. "Pluot?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk reaches his hand to take the offered slice, brow knit in curiosity. He brings it close to his face, admiring... Or examining it, it was difficult to tell; before biting the wedge in half. "...Dance? Like... For fun? To music?" His ears give a sharp wiggle. "...You can get paid for that?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "well, yeah, it's like..." she paused, a realization dawning slowly. "uh... y' ain't ever been to a museum, have you? or your tribe have like... statues or paintings or other art?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "A... Museum? No, i don't... Think so. We carve things! Paint sometimes, too. Things like that?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "...yeah, yeah I suppose. Dancin' is kind of like that, it's like... You pay someone money to make a piece of art, y'know? but in this cas th' art is made of th' artist, an it only lasts so long, and is never quite exactly the same, so..."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Oh, huh... Hmm..." He considers for a long moment, looking up to her. "I... Think i understand. Maybe. Kind of like when someone's telling a story? Only... With movements. And your paid for it? Like, it's the same thing, but it's never -exactly- the same.... Like that?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "yeah, kinda like that. If y'knew someone was just a really incredible storyteller, with really wonderful stories, y'might... y'know, pay them to come and tell a story to your tribe, yeah? even if you'd heard th' stories before, it's special when it's from th' person whose story it is, right?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Yeah! I mean... I never paid for it, but i would, absolutely! I completely understand what you mean, i think. Maybe i'll go watch someone dance, someday." He grins. "...Maybe you, even!"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...When... I have gil, anyway..."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir blushes deeply as her tail fluffs out, curling subconsciously up to interpose itself between her face and Vhal'ra's. "y-yeah! y'could do that, I don't have a particular performance comin' up planned right now or nothin' but, I'm definitely not the only dance who performs in the shroud!" Her tail drooped, laying back over her shoulder and revealing her face again as she offered another slice of pluot. "An' you can sometimes find free performances, like in markets an' such."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Then, if i'm lucky enough to find someone, i'll stay and watch for sure!" He takes the offered slice and quickly pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly before he speaks again. "I'm glad you found something you enjoyed, even if it wasn't the first thing you chose."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "How long have you been... I mean... Have you been doing it long?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "... a few cycles now, I think. I took a while to train and learn before performin' for th' public, so I've only been gettin' paid for it for like... two cycles I think."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Huh, so long enough to settle in. That's nice." He smiles, offering another considering hum. "...I hope to be a great swordsman one day. I only left home... Not long ago, like i said. But i figure, if i start small and... Don't bite off more than i can chew..." His latter words were delivered with a little more reservedness than he might have liked. "Then... Maybe one day, i'll make it."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir glanced to the weapon laying along the young man's back. "You uh... sure picked an interesting kind of small to start with..."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "I mean things to do! Not weapon wise!" He glances to the blade at his back. "It's a little heavy, but i'm still getting used to it, i figure. I can use it to block, as well as strike! It's like... A sword and a shield in one go!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir furrowed her brow "...an y' stretch an' all proper before doin' anything with it I hope? somethin' like that can ruin y' back..."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Yeah, course i do!"

You force a smile for Ariquette Wolfsdottir.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir makes a straight face at you.

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...I'm slowly getting better with. I even fought Voidsent, a few suns ago!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir opened her mouth to speak, considered a moment, filled it with a slice of pluot, and furrowed her brow as she chewed. "...why'd y' come to fight mites if y'can take on voidsent? y'seem like you're lookin' for th' money and I'm sure th' other would pay more?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk simply points to his shoulder. The fabric was half-torn, and shoddily patched up. Beneath it with what skin remained on show, a reddish line carved through his skin, the sign of a freshly wrought scar. "...I, uh... It didn't go completely to plan. That's to say i was lucky to have folk who came to help me, but... Y'know. I stabbed an Ahriman! And de-legged a Skeleton!"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir wrinkled her nose yet again "takin' the legs of skeletons is a lot easier when they're just laying down, I think. That sounds... not terribly fun. But you're okay, at least, thanks t' the other folk, I guess. Y'don't... often, deal with things like that then, I take it? wait, didn't you say you only left your clan recently?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir expresses her worry with you.

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "It wasn't -not- fun." He emphasises with a nod and a half-smile to give truth to his words. "...And i assure you, it sure was standing before i hit it. I haven't ever really hunted Voidsent before then, and... Figure it's probably not something i'm gonna do again soon, so..."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...I left only two or so moons ago. Why...?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "I uh... I just think maybe you could be a little more careful with what you try an' fight alone... until you're a little more experienced, maybe."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "...Yeah, I... Learned that lesson the painful way, heh. Hence the Mitelings! Or... Well. What's left of them..."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir: "...yeah..." She fell quiet a short moment, eating some fruit and cheese. "...y'done much of anything else, since leaving? other than, y'know... fight? work or otherwise?"

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Not... Not so much, no. Walked around and helped who i could... I've delivered a few things here and there! But not... Much, no."

Ariquette Wolfsdottir nodded "still gettin' used to everythin', then?" She looked through her bag. "...y'want my last apple? I don't think I'm gonna finish it, and I should think about going to pick up my bird soon."

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "I am, yeah! I should prbably go see the folks who wanted the mites clearing out..." He glances to the apple; the rumble of his stomach muffled by the rush of the stream. "I... Wouldn't say no..." He smiles appreciatively.

Ariquette Wolfsdottir put her shoes on, twirling as she stood, the apple arcing through the air on it's way toward's Vhal'ra's lap. "There you go, then, young Vhal'ra. I should go make sure the groomer is all finished, but it was nice to chat for a little! Perhaps we may meet again, hm?"

Ariquette Wolfsdottir smiles at you.

Vhal'ra Ansahk: "Yeah! I hope so!" He beams with a short wiggle of his ears. "You be safe out there, yeah? Mind your foot!" He catches the apple as it makes towards him, taking a bite of the fruit. "---Thanks for the apple!"

It were a nice conversation... It’s kind of funny that i end up speaking with more Keepers than anything since leaving, but... Maybe it’s just nice to have things more familiar, even if our circumstances aren’t the same.

Still, i hope i run into her again! Maybe i’ll even catch a performance!

There’s so much more to see, now that i’ve left my Clan...

...And i want to see as much as i can!

[livefreeforfun]

Sonic Frontiers Review: Aptly Crossing a New Frontier.

Sonic Frontiers is the latest 3D platforming game to be released in the Sonic the Hedgehog series, following the releases of Sonic Forces, Sonic Colors Ultimate (SCU), and Sonic Origins, their previous three 3D platforming titles. Forces, SCU, and Origins’ releases were met with a lot of criticism due to not meeting the fanbase’s expectations for a variety of reasons, so in the days before Frontiers’ released, I was excited but chose to keep a healthy level of skepticism just in case the game wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Suffice to say, the hype for the game was extremely well earned, as I had an absolute blast playing through Frontiers. To help me get all my points across as to why I like this game so much, I’ll be dividing this review into two parts: the gameplay segment and the story segment. I’m doing this for two reasons: the first being that I believe both need to be talked about separately so I can really dive deep into what makes them so good, and the other is so that people who only want a gameplay review aren’t spoiled on some of the more major plot points of the game. With that being said, here are my thoughts on Sonic Frontiers!

Future Updates

As I was in the process of putting this review together, Sonic Team revealed that over the course of 2023, the game would be getting a series of 3 free updates, and the last of those updates would contain a story update involving more playable characters, showing pictures of Tails, Knuckles, and Amy. Obviously, this is massive and very exciting, but since it’s not out I can’t exactly factor any of what’s coming in updates into this review. Hopefully if I have the time and remember to do so, I’ll make an addendum to this review or separate posts going over each update. Anyways, NOW this review can start!

Gameplay

Sonic Frontiers sets out to tackle a new style of gameplay it calls Open Zone gameplay. Sonic Frontiers takes place on a series of islands, with each island being an open zone. As soon as you unlock the island, you’re able to go anywhere on the island right from the start, defeating minibosses and collecting Memory Tokens wherever you please, but more on that in a moment. The zones are fairly big in size, giving you plenty to explore at Sonic’s mach speeds and never really feeling cramped.

While exploring the islands, Sonic will be able to find rails, springs, and other such platforming obstacles that you’d find in your typical Sonic level. These will lead Sonic into short platforming segments, and by completing them he can earn Memory Tokens, which are essential to completing the game. Think of them as bite-sized levels. They’re typically pretty fun, though some of them lock you into playing in 2D, which kind of defeats the point of an open zone, but outside of that I enjoy these small chunks of platforming.

Memory Tokens are used not only to progress the story, but also to have smaller, more bite-sized interactions with other characters. Engaging with characters doesn’t take away any Memory Tokens from you, so if you have enough to initiate a conversation, go have a chat with them! However, every island has a different type of Memory Token, meaning that tokens you collect on the first island won’t help your progress on the second. Sometimes collecting the tokens felt like a pain, but I enjoyed the experience of exploring the islands regardless.

Scattered around the island are various puzzles that, as a reward, give you seeds. These seeds can be taken to an NPC to increase your attack or defense, depending on the type of seed you have. While I’m sure it isn’t necessary to raise your stats, I’d highly recommend doing so, as some enemies towards the end of the game are quite difficult.

The Cyloop is Sonic’s main new ability in this game and it’s used for puzzle solving and combat. The Cyloop is essential to solving many puzzles in the game, and using it on enemies can put Sonic in an advantageous position during combat. Simply drawing a circle will give you rings and drawing an infinity symbol will give you infinite boost in the open zones!

Exploration in this game is a breath of fresh air for the franchise, helping to break up the monotony of just playing level after level after level. I keep finding myself thinking of how cool previous games in the franchise, namely Forces, could have been if they had tried a similar Open Zone system. I hope the development team behind future Sonic games try and implement Open Zone gameplay into their future games, as I had a blast with it in Frontiers.

There is one more ability that Sonic has to use to help him explore, and that’s the Dropdash. I think it’s really cool that it’s in this game, even though I don't think it contributes a ton as I rarely found myself using it. The one oddity about it though is how it handles speed: the Dropdash uses momentum similar to how the classic games do, as in when you go down a slope, you gain speed, and when you go up a slope, you lose speed. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a complaint! It’s fun to roll down various hills to see how much speed can be built up. But if they’ve implemented that kind of design for the Dropdash, why can’t the whole game play this way? Why limit it to exclusively the Dropdash? I know that this is definitely more of a nitpick but as soon as I noticed it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Shifting focus more on combat now, inhabiting the islands are many strange looking robots for Sonic to take on with his myriad of new combat abilities, and by defeating them he can earn skill points to unlock more abilities. The only ability essential to beating the game is the Cyloop, but the others can help speed up combat in very flashy manners so long as you know how to combo them together properly.

The combos in this game are incredibly stylish and perfectly fitting of the blue blur, it’s always a blast to experiment with linking different skills together against different enemies. You can tell that the developers really put a lot of thought into making these skills and their effort certainly were not in vain.

One skill you don’t need any skill points to unlock is the ability to Parry. Parrying lets you deflect any enemies attack right back at them and counter with a flurry of your own. While having the ability is nice, it has a very noticeable flaw: you can hold your parry for as long as you want. In my opinion, this does ultimately take away from the combat as it means that as long as you hold your parry, you’re not in any real danger. Holding it in midair also causes Sonic to awkwardly float which, while funny, definitely looks just a little strange.

While exploring the islands you’ll encounter named opponents that serve as minibosses, one such example being found in the gif above, named Ninja. Being minibosses, they’re naturally tougher than the generic enemies Sonic will run across in the open zones, but defeating them is essential, as they drop Portal Gears. The bosses come in many different shapes and sizes and will attack Sonic in many different ways, so you should be ready for anything. These can range anywhere from incredibly fun to just a slog to fight (looking at you, Tank).

Overall, the combat in this game is incredibly flashy and fun, and I hope we see more combat like this in the future. There are a few key areas where it can be improved, such as the aforementioned issues with the parry and some of the less enjoyable minibosses, but ultimately it’s a very well done system that I hope makes a return in future games.

Oh yeah Big’s fishing is also fun and the theme that plays is an absolute vibe, easily the most important part of the game.

Story

Alright, story time. If you don’t want to get spoiled about the story, now’s the time to leave. The story of Sonic Frontiers is 100% best experienced blind and I don’t want to ruin it for anyone. I’ll also be omitting gifs from this section as well.

So I’m just gonna pad this out a little bit in case someone scrolls a little too far on accident.

Ok, still here? Cool, I’ll just dive right in then.

The story of Sonic Frontiers is, without question, the best story we’ve gotten since SA2 or Unleashed. The characters are written absolutely incredibly in a setting filled with unique mystery that culminates into some of the biggest lore developments the series has ever gotten. I genuinely believe that this is the best that these characters have ever been depicted, and the addition of Sage to the cast of characters is one of the biggest Ws the franchise could have possibly gotten.

The dynamic between Sage and Eggman is one of the best parts of the story by far and it really spices up Eggman’s characters, something that he’s been needing for a long, long time. You can really feel the connection the two of them have together, from the way Eggman talks about her in his memos to his scenes at the end of the game. Watching Eggman look up at the falling stars, hoping to see his AI, his daughter, return to the planet and watching him realize that she’s not coming back almost made me  genuinely cry. Then watching him work to restore her in the final scene after the credits and seemingly succeeding was such a good moment for the doctor. I hope Sage comes back for future games, it’d be such a shame if she didn’t.

The Ancients not only being from space, but bringing the Chaos Emeralds with them from their homeworld and being the ancestors of Chaos is an interesting development to the lore, and I’m excited to see if they go anywhere else with it. The Ancients being related to Chaos was pretty obvious by just looking at their appearance, but them bringing the emeralds from outer space was a development I definitely was not expecting. They’re still a very mysterious civilization that we may never learn more about, but what we do know about them is absolutely fascinating. They did so well with integrating the Ancients into Sonic’s World.

Unfortunately, this is where the story admittedly falls apart a little bit. The End is interesting, to say the least. I don’t think it’s ever made clear whether it’s a god or a mortal, but what we do know is that it’s powerful enough to destroy the Ancients’ home. Then it follows them to Sonic’s World and forces them to trap it inside an entire digital dimension showing that despite how advanced their technology is, they couldn’t even kill it, which makes this thing feel menacing. So with the reveal of The End being the villain, I was really hoping that the boss battle would be the best we’ve ever gotten. It was… not that. The boss battle itself was unfortunately a let-down, which was a massive shame because Frontiers’ has absolutely incredible bosses at the end of each island. There’s a lot in game that points to The End being rushed, such as Sonic’s speech to the Ancients he gives just before the fight itself, and the instruction screen telling you to fight with the Titans, plural. It seems like they really wanted to do more with The End but for whatever reason couldn’t, which is a big shame. It’s definitely not enough to sour the whole story for me, just a bit of a let down.

Sonic Frontiers’ story heavily relies on the mystery of the Starfall Islands, and it uses said mysteries to craft an absolutely incredible story only held back by the gameplay of its final boss. This is the type of story I hope we get to see more of from Sonic games in the future.

Final Rating

If I had to rate the game on a scale of 1-10, I’d give it a very solid 7. The team behind the game’s development very clearly listened to what people wanted from the franchise and gave it to us, and while it’s not perfect by any means, it’s 100% a step in the right direction. If the development team behind Sonic Frontiers keeps giving us games of this quality, I'm sure that the future of the franchise is a very bright one.

[cha-ffeinated]

seven eight nine

TW: SA, SH, ED, very graphic

seven

then eight

then nine

i was quiet when i was seven

i said no when i was eight

i ran when i was nine

why did it take me so long?

 

i was seven,

i was alone.

you were there for me.

and when you said jump, i jumped.

i still feel your hands and-

and i remember the way the wind felt

against my cold skin

goosebumps: from fear or from the cold?

your hands left marks on me

invisible to all

your touches were soft and light

yet they burned more than fire ever could

your hands were soft and warm

i was safe in your arms.

i was safe in that cold, quiet forest.

 

i was eight when i said no.

my teacher told me what was private and-

and john, if you had seen my face

ice slipped down my skin

you touches burned me

not just your touches

no one questioned when it started to hurt to pee

winter turned to spring

and the cold remained

my legs were ice

i could never run

you said -

you said youd tell everyone

you said youd never be my friend

john.

all i wanted was a friend.

you got braver.

so did i.

i remember when you brought my best friend over.

you showed her

she never argued

was she right?

by then, the ice had encompassed me,

an armour that protected me from the warmth you used to create.

i said no when i was eight.

 

when i was nine, i ran

i screamed and kicked and fought,

i cried and hid and lied,

my parents let me stop going.

my forest, my safe home, was a thing of the past.

the cold woods were my safety.

you were my safety.

why weren’t you safe?

i fell apart.

 

dream after dream,

i crumbled.

i was weak.

the bed was soaked and i began to fear womanhood.

i saw shadows everywhere

i craved touch yet flinched back

every contact with my skin felt like flames

i was cold

i had no safe friends.

my best friend knew

no one else cared.

i was so cold.

i trusted you!

i dont trust so easily now.

please.

 

and after.

i hid from mirrors

i wanted to disappear.

i stopped eating, only able to think of the taste, the thought of-

i couldnt drink much anymore.

i was smaller and smaller, trying to return to before.

but i was nine, not seven.

so i starved and with every rumble of my stomach a chunk of ice disappeared.

 

i was ten and hunger wasnt enough

i was growing and it still hurt so badly

it was discipline.

pinches to slaps to punches.

bruises marring my thighs.

it wasnt enough.

lines of red crisscrossed and

only then did i feel release.

it still wasnt enough.

nothing could wash away the handprints

i showered till my skin was raw

i cut away the areas

why?

 

and im thirteen, but im seven again

when im in bed i sit quietly, fearing,

crying.

 

but now im fourteen

full of bravery and hope

and dreams and tears and anger

and no longer do i try to wash the handprints

i amuse myself with covering them and exploring

shame hangs like a cloud, but no longer does it rain.

 

and its summer now.

the rays of sunlight dance across my skin

and i feel them.

i am warm, now.

i am fourteen, now.

i will never be seven again,

or eight,

or nine.