#very VERY fun how they played across the dome in game too

[owlespresso]

gloaming. yuri leclerc.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality and vague hints of backstory, sfw, pining

a/n: this is pretty self-indulgent. just fluff.

The night is quiet. Snow-covered fields stretch around you on all sides, leading to a distant tree line full of old, stubborn pines. The winter’s frost has grabbed tight hold of the land, blighting everything above the snow in a fine coating of frost. You can see your breath, like a brief curl of dragon’s smoke right in front of you.

One of the month’s many virtues is its distinct lack of insects. No crickets to chirp and no mosquitos to menace any patch of skin you dare leave uncovered. Not that you’ll have many in this weather. There’s quite a long way to go before winter ebbs into early spring. The patch of land Dimitri allotted you so generously after war’s end will remain in crystalline stasis until the season's turn. 

In the distance, over the hills, you can see Fhirdiad’s towering silhouette. Its rough lines and pointed domes and salient spires cast an imperious picture on your east horizon. Did the people of the capital enjoy tonight’s midwinter festival? Did friends and family rush onto the crowded streets to partake in merriment and games and fantastic feasts? The streets played host to an astounding variety of breathtaking ice sculptures all around the noble districts. You wonder if any happened to feature the king.

You look away, back to the treetops painted frosty white, glistening in the eldritch dark of the night. The stone building you’ve chosen to occupy was once a manor and a military outpost, created to overlook these very vistas. The honorable members of House Rowe often utilized it to rest their heads when too exhausted too plod back to their hillside manners out west, leaving their gilded, cushioned carriages to wait in the front yard all evening. Heavens forbid they struggle for even a moment with a minor chill.

You shut your eyes and drink deep the wintry air. The icy sting in the air is sobering, granting you clarity. Dinner was spent alone, enjoying more mixes of wines and liquors than you would prefer to admit. Sometime along the way, you even attempted to wrangle the guards into drinking alongside you. It was at that point that one of them politely inquired if you would like to take a walk.

And now, the fresh air pricks at your numbing cheeks. The hazy remnants of your late night rendezvous with the liquor cabinet are battered back by winter’s embrace and your own irritation.

Across the countless times you have imbibed in your short life, you have discovered that being drunk is fun until it is decidedly not. It’s fun until you require your motor skills, fun until your stream of consciousness rolls into a riptide loosening the leash you keep wrapped ‘round your emotions. The festivities are long over. You're not even sure what occasion they had been celebrating. All of these winter festivals blend together after the first three.

You slump over the flat stone of the wall, bent at the waist. Your fingers don’t even reach the edge. Faint footsteps scruff across the old stone behind her. Quiet, but purposefully loud enough for you to hear. That alone tells you who dares approach.

“Do you believe in god, Yuri?” your ragged voice sounds unfamiliar to yourself. You don't budge from your prone position. The stone cools the overheated side of your face, seeps through your layers. You can feel the wild thrum of your heart begin to slow, cooling the agonizing sear of you pumping blood.

“I believe that it’s long past your bedtime,” Yuri says, a broken piece of glass crunching under his heel. “And I believe in the Goddess. How could I not when she blessed me with you?” The mocking drawl in his voice forces the corners of your lips into a deep frown.

He’s not going to leave, anytime soon, so you slide back onto your feet. The sudden change in position has you swaying on your feet, foot stumbling out of place. Before you can take a tumble and make even more of a fool of yourself, Yuri grasps your shoulder, touch grounding. You regard him with as blank a stare as you can manage. Despite the lashing winds and otherwise unpleasant conditions, Yuri is unflappable as always, long locks of lavender laid atop his shoulder. He’s traded his cape in for a dark cloak, sticked lines of embroidery lacing the cuffs and bottom of the garment, dance around its bone white buttons. 

He’s still all purples and reds, but the smokey greys you’ve come to associate with his wardrobe have been traded in for darker shades. And he looks good, like he hasn’t lost a night of sleep in his life.

“Can’t sleep,” you mutter, kicking a nearby pebble. It’s sent skittering under a nearby table. Yuri regards you flatly, lips pressed into a thin, straight line—as thin as his petal plump lips can press, anyways. They’re coated in a subtle shade of pink, tonight, just blush enough to look natural. He rarely ever applies any intense, saturated shades of lipstick or gloss, lest it distract from the keen smolder of his eyes and his natural good looks.

Though, it doesn’t matter much what he wears. He dazzles on every occasion, sways swathes of civilians with his silver tongue and striking smile. He’s horribly, magnificently magnetic. Anyone would be lucky to have him, for what he has and what is underneath it all. He would surely make a marvelous spouse—

He flicks your forehead, sending you stumbling backwards. Before you can take a tumble onto your arse, he does you the good favor of snatching you by the arm to steady you. When had he come so close?

Up close, his chagrin is much more obvious. You shift uncomfortably under his stare. You cannot recall what having a mother was like, but you can imagine this is what being scolded by one would feel like.

“Where do you go in that head of yours?” he says with a sigh, wry smile breaking out across his pink petal lips. 

“I… I don’t—” you stammer, scrambling for mental purchase. 

“You can tell me all about it later,” Yuri takes your hand with a graceful flourish of his cape, drawing you close to the firm, lean line of him. The scent of faint lilac wreaths around you like an old, comfortable coat. “When you’re a little more sober, at least.” There’s a genteel grace to his steps as he shepherds you towards the stone staircase.

“Where are we going?” You’re left to do aught but follow, a sudden, giddy giggle erupting from your chest as you stumble into his side. 

He sighs, belied by his wry smile. He relinquished his hold on your hand to wrap an arm around your waist, the stretch of his body so blessedly warm against your own. He chases the clinging chill away, dizzies your thoughts into paste.

You hardly hear him ask, “Bed. Yours or mine?” His question rattles you out of your drunken stupor. Your eyes go wide as saucers, palms hot with sweat as you struggle to form an adequate answer. Despite having known him for quite some time, his directness still manages to fluster you—an effect he likely intended, given his devious simper. What’s somehow worse is that you can’t bring yourself to be cross with him.

“Y-Yours,” you hardly realize you’ve spoken your mind until Yuri breaks out in a loud, genuine laugh. It’s unlike his typically tame chuckles, a sound of sheer exuberance that makes the inside of your chest twinge. You like hearing him this happy. You want him to be this happy all of the time.

“Bold. I like it.” he teases, jostling you in his grasp. 

“Oh shove it—wait!” you huff, but stay in step with him, struggling not to stumble as he shepherds you down the stone stairs A line of torches straddle the descending path. In your drunken haze, you had forgotten about the two guards posted at the bottom. The sight of them shocked you stiff-still. Your fingers curl into the fine brocade of his black cloak, pulling him flush to the wall. “Wait!” you hiss, voice nearly lost in his many layers.

“What? Did you leave something behind?”

“We can’t be seen sneaking around together!” you insist, and are immediately incensed at the eyeroll he gives you.

“And why would that be? Too ashamed to be seen with a charlatan like myself?” he drawls, yet takes you in closer. There’s a mean glint in his eyes, something decidedly wicked as his breath ghosts over your cheek, teasing your ear.

“Of course not!” you protest, eyes wide, cheeks got. How could you have misspoken so terribly? The last thing you wanted was to make him feel judged for the life he led, for the methods he employed in his occupation.  “It’s you I’m worried about. What’ll people say if they saw you consorting with the Mad Witch of the Wend? No one would… would…” You draw a trembling hand over his chest, feeling the cool silk under your fingertips.

“You’re worried about my image? How darling.” Yuri coos, clearly disregarding the seriousness of the situation. People talk, servants talk, guards talk. If you two were to be seen on a random, midnight rendezvous, then word would surely get back to the capital, where plenty of available, valuable bachelorettes could hear.

“Of course I am. You could still marry someone nice and rich from the capital. Someone connected…” you reason. You blink your bleary eyes attempting to clear the blur that sticks to your periphery like stubborn burrs. The world at its edges is opaque and slow as melting candle wax. This is precisely why you typically abstain from the absinthe and fine brandies which tradesmen plod through the outpost. It makes your head dull and your words impossible to find.

“Hm. No. I don’t think I will. Noble life never agreed with me.” Yuri gives your cheek a consoling pat. You get the feeling that he is still, for some reason, very amused. Which is preferable to him being offended, or hurt. You don’t mind him laughing at you, you think, not when genuine mirth flatters him so. “If I’m going to make a difference, it’s not going to be with someone else’s spending money.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He tugs you past the posted guards, ushering you within the hollow halls of the outpost. Torches positioned on the wall shed gentle light up and down the small tunnel. You break beyond the thick walls which surround the inner manor—a proud, brutal building that sits a hybrid between the harsh stone architecture meant to shield from the cold and the slender, elegant cathedrals and house manors found en masse within the capital.

“I know.” Yuri shoots you a conspiratorial, knowing look. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your side. You can feel his touch through the two layers you have on, his arm having scooped beneath your outer cloak with dangerous efficiency. “The fact that you still think I could find some nice, doe-eyed girl from the upper crust to fall in love with is adorable, but I’m not interested in all that.” 

He pulls you through the inner sanctum with a self-assuredness that would make you think he owned the place. His strides are slow. His voice keeps his strides slow and his voice quiet, sticking to the walls and where the shadow sinks the deepest. His cape swishes and billows around you, keeps you shielded from prying gazes of glancing guardsmen. Every step he takes is quixotically quiet despite his heels.

“I just want you to be happy. With someone nice. Who can help you make your dreams come true.” 

He scoffs. “Ugh. When did you become such a ham?” you shove him again, and he laughs. “If you must know, I’ve already found the person I want to spend the rest of my days with.” He herds you to a nondescript wooden door, jamming a key into the lock before thrusting it open. The room is deathly dark, the only light slipping in silvery through a slit in the curtains. 

Incredulous and wide-eyed, you gape at him as he draws you inside, wondering if you had heard him properly. While he engaged with a number of brief romances and paramours, he never seemed entirely beholden to the idea of a permanent entanglement. Which you will not judge him for. Only members of the nobility prioritize marriage so persistently, all too eager to shuttle off their children to new, unloving homes for the sake of power. You can’t imagine Yuri buying into such a sham—even if the court’s coffers could fund his ambitions.

“You are? Who is it?” you finally muster up the gumption to ask. There’s a strange, cold feeling at the pit of your stomach. Burgeoning dread you cannot make heads or tails of.

“Worried they’ll steal me away?” Yuri says with a fond smile. He looks at you while he lights the bedside lamp. He does it with magic, you realize, catching the tail end of his somatic gesture, pointer finger aimed straight at the lamp in question, thumb quirked skyward. You’ve seen him do it a few times before in battle, spells interwoven with fast footwork and flashes of forged steel from underneath his half fastened cloak.  “You don’t need to worry your pretty head about all that—but you’ll be relieved to know that they live nearby. Very nearby, in fact.” He said, voice slowing to emphasize a point you don’t quite comprehend.

He unlatches the clasps on his cloak, gently dropping it over a nearby wooden chair. He smooths his hands over the back of it before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. If you were perhaps a shred more sober, you would have immediately looked away. But you watch as he deftly sheds the silken garment, exposing planes of leam, pale flesh to the slight candlelight. 

He clears his throat, with a knowing smirk. You pointedly snap your gaze downwards, pretending to find sudden interest in the floorboards. They seem to glow a soft, warm brown, aged polish scuffed and scratched with the wear of time.

Hastily, you follow his example, casting off your outermost layers with great haste. It’s second nature to shift down to your undergarments at this point. Despite his teasing, you’re comfortable with Yuri. Word of his cunning and cut-throated customs is rife in both the underbelly and upper crust of Faerghus, but none of the gossip mongers who gab on about him actually know him. 

Years spent at his side have let you understand exactly the kind of man he is. Which is also why you know he would never be interested in someone like you. You’re something broken, something bent, misshapen by the malicious hands which made you. The idea of being coveted, of being loved strikes within you an uneasy feeling of wrongness. 

Ah, but you’re sure he’s still waiting for an answer…

“Yuri…” you begin. You don’t quite remember what you had been discussing, you realize with a strong swing of dismay. Yuri, blessed with an unfathomable amount of kindness, is quick to remind you.

“What? Does the honored Marquis truly want to know the sordid details of my sex life? How scandalous!” he exclaims. You guffaw, dropping onto the mattress face-first, still in your boots and trousers.

“I just wanna make sure you’re with someone good.” you mumble, pressing your face into the pillow. It’s cool, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you burrow further into the cushions. The entire bed smells like him, and if you were possessed of but an ounce more of sobriety you would be too abashed to savor it. 

“Again. Adorable. But you should really watch out for yourself,” he hums. His footsteps trail away from the bed, and you’re about to look over your shoulder when his hand wraps around your ankle and tugs, urging you onto your back. “I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors breaking down your doors everyday…” His fingers run down your clothed leg, to the leather and latches of your boots. You watch the graceful weave of his fingers as he slides them off, one after the other. He’s taken off his gloves, allowing you to just barely feel the fleeting warmth of his hands as they briefly swipe over your skin.  “Though, I suppose I should be grateful.”

“That I’m gonna be lonely forever?” you grumble, turning onto your side. 

“That I don’t have any background checks to do.” Yuri says, further away this time. You glance over your shoulder to where he’s gently dropping your boots near the door. So much care and compassion for something so small. 

“Oh… Does that mean I can ba…background check the person you like?” you ask, and he smiles. 

“Of course,” he says. His fingers weave through his long lilac locks, handily undoing his hair tie. He drops it on the nightstand before slipping underneath the sheets to settle beside you. “I have full confidence in your investigative skills, and you’ll quite like the person I chose.”

“That’s because you have good taste,” you mumble, eyes slipping shut. You wait a moment, and then two, and then three before opening one eye to peer at him. “Can I get a hint?”

“Again, don’t worry about it. At least, not right now. I’ll talk your ear off about it tomorrow, okay?” he says, consoling. His hand runs over your hair, fingers sliding down your neck. A flush of heat rolls through your spine, so silken and sanguine that you can’t suppress a shudder. You retreat to the cool comfort of your pillow, letting his touch sap the tension from your sore muscles. “When you have a better chance of actually remembering what I say.” The meat of his palm presses against your upper back. His heated touch saps the remaining tension from your body, soothing you enough to slip into the beginning phases of sleep.

“...Fine.” you huff, but there’s no real bite behind it. It’s half muffled into the pillowcase. You know Yuri likes being a man of his word, but he’s also a man in demand. There’s no telling if one of his gang members will burst through his door and announce a sudden tragedy that demands his attention. There’s no telling if he’ll be gone in the morning, a note left in his place written in that familiar, tidy cursive.

His roaming touch wanders upwards, warm fingers spanning across the nape of your neck. His thumb rubs soft circles into the skin together, and the touch alone would keep you awake if not for the alcohol muddling your system.

“And I’ll be here when you wake up,” he continues, as if sensing your apprehension. “You have my word on that.”

[tenebraevesper]

Tales From The Pizzaplex Story Preview (Five Nights at Freddy's: Obsolete)

As I had announced in my previous post, I will be adapting certain stories from Tales From The Pizzaplex, and I had decided to write out the previews for each story. As I had said before, the stories won't be adapted word-for-word, but will be referenced to an extent or have elements from them picked out and arranged to fit better The Untold Story canon.

Note, the previews are not listed in chronological order.

#1: Lally's Game: Story #3: Under Construction

When Fazbear Entertainment attempts to attract new patrons with their AR Dome attraction, only to disappoint them by keeping it ''Under Construction'' for far longer than it should be. Sam decides to investigate the issue, only to learn that someone is already inside the AR Dome.

#2: Happs: Story #1: Help Wanted

When Matt brings up the existence of the Five Nights at Freddy's video games and their lore, everyone begins to question how a random game developer would have access to such information.

#2: Happs: Story #2: HAPPS

Happs, a new animatronic built to assist the Daycare Attendant, ends up seemingly missing somewhere within the inside playground. When Sam and Springtrap decide to find him, they are met with a grisly discovery.

#3: Somniphobia: Story #2: Pressure

After finding a spare springlock suit at the Urban Legends Role Play Auditorium, Springtrap decides to investigate the matter. His investigation leads him to a suspicious Pizzaplex employee who seems to have a concerning interest in the children that visit the attraction.

#4: Submechanophobia: Story #2: Animatronic Apocalypse

Sam and Matt get invited to the Fazbear Fan Club, a club in their high school whose members are dedicated to solve the mysterious and complex lore behind the Five Nights at Freddy's video games. While Sam refuses, Matt accepts, curious about their activities. What starts as a fun game suddenly comes to a grim conclusion when some club members want to have a real FNaF experience.

#5: The Bobbiedots Conclusion: Story #1: GGY

When Sammy comes across several arcades that have an unusually high score, he decides to investigate the player behind those scores, GGY. However, as Sammy, Michael and Elizabeth attempt to learn more about GGY, they make a very disturbing discovery. Who is GGY and why does everyone involved with him disappear without a trace?

#5: The Bobbiedots Conclusion: Story #2: The Storyteller

When Fazbear Entertainment decides to take shortcuts with its creative development by using an artificial intelligence, The Storyteller, as a new form of entertainment, Vanessa and Glitchtrap take advantage of the new system set up gain control over the whole Mega Pizzaplex.

#6: Nexie: Story #1: Nexie

When a series of glitches almost causes a full shutdown of the Mega Pizzaplex, Sam is forced to work overtime to ensure that the animatronics work properly. However, when she discovers that someone has been sneaking around the Buddytronics Boutique, the situation quickly becomes a race to save a little girl from her Buddytronic friend.

#6: Nexie: Story #2: Drowning

One should not dwell in the virtual reality for too long, or else they might become permanently trapped. When Michael loses sight of his siblings during a game of hide-and-seek, he comes across a VR attraction that has already claimed one victim. Will he become the next one?

#6: Nexie: Story #3: The Mimic

Sam and Matt learn that Hurricane is once again plagued by a string of mysterious murders, with the murderer preferring to tear apart its victim's limbs and hiding its identity inside mascot costumes. At the same time, Springtrap comes across an old man, Edwin Murray, who seeks to redemption for the mistakes he committed in the past, unaware of the connection he might have with the former co-owner of the Fazbear Franchise.

#7: Tiger Rock: Story #1: Tiger Rock

Relieved to see that The Storyteller being taken down, but also aware of the possible damages, Sam attempts to focus on her work, when another accident involving a white tiger with a green and blue eye inside the VR booth happens. Fearing that Glitchtrap has already spread his influence, Sam goes on to confront the animatronic known as Tiger Rock.

#7: Tiger Rock: Story #2: The Monty Within

After being convinced by her friend Cassie to go on another date, Emma picks the Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, her daughter's workplace. During a game of Fazcade Tag-Team, her date starts acting erratically, with Emma ending it then and there. However, she soon finds herself dealing with stalker who is obsessed with her and has a familiar red mohawk hairstyle.

#8: B7-2: Story #2: Alone Together

Sam has never minded her involvement with the supernatural, not even when she had to deal with the children from the infamous Missing Children Incident. However, it is a completely different matter when the spirit in question doesn't even know that he is dead. Even after offering him her help, things don't go as planned. Also, what are those entities that are stalking the corridors of the Pizzaplex?

#8: B7-2: Story #3 Dittophobia

Hell is not a place, but a state of mind and varies from person to person. For Elizabeth, it is her death at Circus Baby's hands and desire to make her father proud. For Sammy, it is his battle with the Nightmare Animatronics and death within Fredbear's jaws. For Michael, it is the destruction of his family and the guilt he carried for years. For William, it is the inevitable confrontation with himself and the repetition of his past mistakes. When they realize that the past is repeating itself, they are forced to make a stand.

Still, this Hell claims another victim - Sam, who refuses to be abandoned again.

Tales From The Pizzaplex: The Mimic Epilogues #1-8

Ricky's Wonder Shack had been standing abandoned for months, so naturally, it becomes a place of interest of a group of teenagers who want to investigate it. Unfortunately for them, the abandoned restaurant already has a resident, who still needs to complete the task he had been given:

''Break off limbs and heads. Pile them up. Easy peasy. Got it.''

#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

[fandomsnstuff]

Long time no taakitz

@taznovembercelebration Dome or cabin

-

One of these days, Taako's going to learn how to say no to Lup. Unfortunately, two months ago was not that day when she convinced him to go on a trip to some middle of nowhere cabin, in the depths of December, with Barry and some other nerd they work with.

"It'll be fun," she said. "The view is gorgeous," she said. "The cabin is beautiful," she said. "Kravitz is hot," she said. "It's all expenses paid," she said.

And yes, maybe all of these things are true. Maybe he enjoyed spending a week flirting with his sister's coworker and sitting by a fire with hot chocolate like a hot-shot cishet white businesswoman in some Hallmark Christmas movie. He even sat and watched the snowfall like a fucking nerd. But now, two days past the day they were supposed to leave, the novelty is wearing off.

Wind whistles outside, so strongly it's surprising that the roof doesn't tear right off. Snow covers almost the entirety of all the windows, and continues to climb ever higher. The power cut out a few hours ago, so they're all huddled near the fireplace, playing monopoly by candlelight. They can't leave until the blizzard blows over, which might not be for another day, then they have to wait for a plow or some shit to clear their way out, so Barry's beat up sedan can actually leave.

Taako's broken out of his wallowing internal monologue when Lup starts cackling. He looks up from where he'd been glaring at the game board as Kravitz sighs and hands over all his money and properties. She fans herself with the money and sighs, "I love fake capitalism."

Barry smiles at her disgustingly and Kravitz laughs politely. "Well," Kravitz says, standing up, "I think I might call it a night."

"Me too," Taako says quickly. He'd been using the power outage and the cold as an excuse to infringe on Kravitz's personal space, and if he's leaving, Taako sees no reason so stay here and watch Lup and Barry battle it out for top pretend capitalist. "Night nerds."

As they walk up the stairs, Taako says, "don't feel bad, Lup's been a monopoly beast since we played disney themed monopoly jr."

Kravitz laughs and Taako does not stare at his jawline or his smile and fantasize about them. "I knew I was doomed when she brought up the auctioning thing. Only die-hard monopoly players care about the auctions." They reach their respective bedroom doors, conveniently across the hall from each other, and they hover. "Well, goodnight Taako."

"Yeah, night."

He turns away and opens his door, and Kravitz says, "actually- Taako," he turns back to face him, and Kravitz looks very unsure of himself, "you know, with the power out, it's probably going to be pretty cold tonight."

"Yeah..."

"And, well, body heat- in survival situations and such- body heat is really important, and-"

"Are you asking me to sleep with you, hot stuff?"

If you look up flustered in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of Kravitz in this moment. "Not- not like that. Just- I mean- it'll be warmer. Than being by ourselves."

"Do you snore?"

"N- no?"

"Alright." Taako closes his door with a click, and strides across the hallway, past Kravitz and into his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and grins, "just because it's a dire, life-or-death survival situation."

He knew there was a reason he came on this trip.

[brain-bumbler]

Shaking you upside down in the hopes of funky silly Gisu headcanons slipping out of your pockets /lh

Oh no I- they all fall out- No those aren't- there are hundreds scattered across the floor- Please they aren't funky or silly at all I don't- the headcanons are reaching knee-height

Gisu's such a funny character, I love all the interns even though we don't see as much of them as we did the campers. I like how in the beginning we see her call her lev board her poor baby and ask if its hurt. That board is a labor of love, kickflipping is stimming, comfort item.

I think all the Interns are kind of nerds. They're the coolest nerds at the nerd table, but still, they're in the advanced program, they're nerds.

I love to headcanon her as very, very ambitious. She's working with Otto, and I think a lot of the fandom headcanons her as an inventor of sorts, too. She wants to be Great, and as she gets older it'll only get stronger. Given that she sends Raz to do her homework and spends most of the game messing about in the treehouse right now she seems to be down to just Vibe, at least when it comes to repetitive busy work like fighting Psychoseismometers.

She apparently likes them greasy and grumpy but we won't judge her too much for that. If she ever heard Dion playing the Oboe she'd probably find it cool too, the oboe is a weird and obscure instrument.

Dion is a very cute boy and a very good guinea pig for some of her experiments, babe put this glowing metal dome on your head and don't ask questions, I'll give you a kiss if you can see new colors when we're done.

I see her has incredibly smart and also incredibly Down To Clown, I think she'd be fine to make out with Dion to distract him from his siblings pulling a prank.

He lets her try out all sorts of work-in-progress inventions, and she also starts to make some herself. These are the start of much Shenanigans among the jr agents.

Other Random Headcanons:

She likes Pokemon

It has been 0 days since she last sassed Agent Mentalis.

She gets super involved with her work and then wakes up with finished blueprints and a fever 5 days later and needs to be dragged to bed. She calls Dion her "hot nurse" when he brings her a bucket to throw up in.

She is good at math, but only when she's moving, she can't do it sitting down.

She thinks best with the back-and-forth, up-and-down motion of her skateboard, if it's not there she ends up pacing and rocking her head to get sort of the same feeling.

Dion once totally called in to KLOB not knowing who runs it to get advice on dating this cute psychic girl he just met. She was in the treehouse at the time, and she and Morris had fun with that.

[ckatwriter]

"Take your hat off, green man!" Junior ordered Luigi as he sat down across from Bowser at a table he thought smaller than this dining room called for.

"My name's Luigi," he whispered to him.

"And add a please next time," Bowser added.

"Okay, Luigi man, *please* take your hat off."

Luigi obliged, placing his green cap on one of his chair's tall back posts.

With the brightest smile on his face, Junior set a covered plate on the table before each of them. Bowser smiling wide at his son before glancing towards Luigi and his plate. It's as if he was silently saying 'you see what it is first'.

Luigi understood the look, but before he could remove the dish's domed cover, Junior lifted them from both plates at the same time.

"Bone apple tea! I made it all by myself!"

Luigi looked from Junior's triumphant expression to the dinner before him.

On both his plate and Bowser's was a mound of mac and cheese, a half of a small melon, and several extremely charred pieces of meat cut in the shapes of... something.

Luigi pointed questioningly at the meat and Junior piped up.

"They're Koopa nuggets! They're supposed to look like Koopas."

"Oh---" was all Luigi could think to say for the moment. Glancing back down at the nuggets, he found himself voicing a question he hoped wouldn't insult the young chef or his intimidating Papa.

"It's not--- they aren't *made* of koopas, are they?"

Junior giggled. "Of course not."

Luigi sighed with relief. "Okay, so what are they made of?"

Junior paused for much longer than Luigi liked before answering.

"Don't worry about it. They're eatable."

He saw Bowser nod and smile as well, and Luigi was pretty sure he was playing into Junior's game so as not to hurt the boy's feelings.

"Looks great," he said, "I'm starving." He rubbed his stomach over enthusiastically.

"Well, enjoy you two," Junior said as he started for the door back to the kitchen. "Kamek said he'd help me with dessert." Then with a wink to Bowser. "Have fun."

With Junior gone, Bowser dropped his smile, lifting one large red eyebrow as he poked the nuggets with a claw.

Luigi picked up one of his own nuggets, inspecting it the same way as Bowser. It   didn't look much more 'eatable' upon closer look.

He caught Bowser's eye from across the table and saw him watching Luigi as well. Both of them silently daring the other to take a bite.

He gave Bowser an uncertain nod, which he returned. Then the two of them popped the nuggets into their mouths simultaneously.

Luigi winced as he crunched down on the piece of meat. While the outside was charred black, the inside was still mostly frozen, which made for a very difficult to chew combination.

Bowser appeared to be having the same problem even with his large, sharp teeth.

As Luigi attempted to chew, he could feel tears forming as he winced with every bite, still trying to keep a smile since he didn't know when Junior would return.

After he had managed to swallow his bite, Bowser picked up his fork (looking minuscule in his huge clawed hand) and started poking at the mac and cheese. It at least looked more appealing than the nuggets.

Just as Luigi was finishing his bite thought, Bowser's gaze flicked back to him. For the briefest second something like concern flashed across his face before he started chuckling. He brought his other hand up to try and stifle it but he appeared to not be able to hold it in.

Luigi took a breath after managing to work his first bite down his throat, eyes still watery and his mouth feeling like sandpaper. When he blanched it just made Bowser's chuckle-fit worse.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

This of course just made Bowser laugh even more, tears now coming to his eyes too.

"You!" He bellowed. "You're trying so hard to be nice about this whole thing and he's not even here!"

Luigi felt a bit sheepish, but he had to admit it was a funny situation.

"But what about you?" He poked Bowser good naturedly. He was surprising himself with how at ease he was beginning to feel in the koopa king's presence, considering how they'd originally met.

"At least I dropped the act. I planned to feed the rest of my dinner to the piranha plants."

"That's not fair, what did the piranha plants do to you?"

It slipped out before he knew what he was saying, and at first Luigi thought he'd gone too far, but Bowser just barked out a fresh fit of laughter at his comment.

Luigi tried not to join in on the laughing, but Bowser's laugh so just so infectious.

"Finally, you say something that isn't so frustratingly nice," Bowser said through his chuckles.

Luigi was laughing so hard now it started to hurt, he didn't know how he had gotten here from being put in a dungeon over lava, but it felt good. Great even, to be able to share a laugh for the first time in this strange new place.

"Hey, I say things that aren't nice all the time, you haven't played sports against me."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Bowser retorted, his fit finally managing to subside.

His words making him feel playfully defensive, Luigi took his own fork and launched another koopa nugget across the table at him.

It bounced off Bowser's nose and his mischievous grin reemerged.

"Oh you'll pay for that," and then suddenly a scoop of mac and cheese came flying towards Luigi's face, which he managed to dodge only a little.

The piranha plant plan scrapped for the moment, Luigi snd Bowser had a thrilling but short contest of who could pelt eachother with more pieces of their well-intentioned but still not great meal.

They ran out of food-based ammunition by the time Junior came back holding a tray of much more palatable looking cookies.

"...what happened in here?" He asked, setting the tray on the table. "Kamek and I heard laughing from in here too. Does that mean my dinner fixed everything?"

His cheerful words dampened the levity for Luigi slightly, for he wasn't sure if it had. He looked to Bowser for confirmation.

Bowser smiled brightly at his son, tussling his hair and making Junior giggle and bat him away.

"I think it did the trick."

"Yay!" Junior cheered.

"But you know what'll happen next. Luigi here will need to go."

"Not yay," Junior wilted.

"That's my decision," he said finally. "Thank you for the meal, son. You're not in trouble. Just stay out of the dungeons unsupervised, alright?"

Junior nodded, still seemingly bummed by the idea of Luigi having to go but glad things were solved. He gave Luigi a sweet smile and wave before swiping three cookies and scampering out of the room.

Luigi picked up a cookie and sighed, gazing down at the little star baked into its center.

"You didn't have to lie to him."

"Hrm?" Bowser gave a questioning grumble, his mouth already full of cookie.

"I know I'm still a prisoner. This has been fun, but let's not pretend you'll really let me go."

He bit into his own cookie for something else to focus on, but once he met gazes with Bowser again, he could see him analyzing Luigi again, his smile gone.

"Whose to say that this brother of yours is even looking for you, huh?"

"Oh, you don't know Mario. He'd do anything for me, and I'd do the same for him," he said. "Wherever he is, I'm sure he's figuring out a way to find me and get us home."

He'd felt certain as he said it, but Luigi's face fell as the realization hit him. If he was stuck in the dark lands, a prisoner in this castle, there wouldn't be a 'going home' for him even if Mario had found a way.

"You believe in him that much?"

"He's my best friend. He's family. That's all I've got. I have to believe in him, and hope that he's okay and maybe on his way."

"Huh, must be nice to have that kind of faith in somebody."

Luigi reached for a second cookie as Bowser was reaching across the table too, not paying attention until their fingers brushed.

Their hands stayed there a fraction of a second too long before both pulled back, Bowser looking red and Luigi himself a little flustered by the surprise touch.

There was a pregnant silence before Luigi spoke up. "You've got to believe in people. At least someone. Don't you have a best friend or someone you can talk you like one?"

Bowser was flexing the fingers of the hand that had touched his, but he lowered it when he looked back up to Luigi.

"Honestly, outside of my subjects and army there aren't many folk who'll carry on a conversation with me. They're either too scared or wanna fight. Hard to make connections that way. "

"That must be tough," Luigi replied. "But you have your son, and you must have others to listen to you."

"Well there's Kamek, but that's different. It would just be - I dunno - nice to talk like an equal, have a connection."

Luigi nodded, he could actually see where Bowser was coming from. He didn't know who he would turn to if he didn't have Mario in his life.

His mind fell back on the things Junior had told him, and his heart panged yet again for his loss, both of their loss.

"I understand," he said simply. For he wasn't sure what else he could say without revealing what Junior had let slip.

He offered Bowser a smile and he was pleased to see the smile on Bowser's face grow in return.

"You know, I think you actually do."

Luigi was beginning to like seeing that roguish grin, and he liked the feeling of being the one who put it there. As Bowser gazed back at him though, Luigi could almost see a sadness in his eyes, a weariness behind them that he doubted could be banished so easily.

His heart jumped as Bowser rose to his feet, clearing his throat and walking to Luigi's side of the table.

"I'll have my guards escort you to the outskirts of the dark lands. They'll get you started on the way to the Mushroom Kingdom."

Luigi blinked, daring to hope what this could mean but not wanting to seem too eager, especially when Bowser was now avoiding his eyes.

"But, you're on your way there anyway, and I could stay in the d---"

"You were right before, you are still a prisoner so long as you're here in this castle," Bowser said, more softly now.

"You'll get closer to your brother on foot if you leave here now."

Luigi carefully pushed back his own chair, standing slowly and not looking away from those pained eyes. He saw through the mask now, and he felt an empathetic ache to see it.

Heart hammering, he gently placed his hand on the one Bowser rested on the table close to him.

"Thank you," he said just as softly. He kept his hand on top of Bowser's until Bowser met his eyes again, and Bowser let him.

"If anyone asks, I just got sick of you and your nice-ness," he said. "Just go wait in the throne room and my guards will meet you there."

Luigi nodded, giving Bowser one last smile before turning to the door.

He'd gone a few steps, almost halfway from the table to the door all the while elated that he was free but alongside this ache in his heart. For Junior, for Bowser, for this moment in time when he could sense a rightness about things. He felt a pull towards Bowser he had never before experienced. And it hurt to know he may never sense that again.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, tugging mentally at that pull and with himself not to turn and look at Bowser again.

But then he felt an actual, physical tug, and a large clawed hand pulled him around.

"Luigi," Bowser said in almost a purr.

There eyes met again, and Bowser fumbled to hold out his other hand which held Luigi's cap.

"Don't forget this."

Luigi slowly reached out to take it, and a surge of bravery flooded him as he moved his hand past the hat to lay on Bowser's cheek.

A moment of surprise, and then Bowser leaned into the touch.

"I won't forget any of this."

Pressing his lips gently to Bowser's for the briefest moment, he took his hat and donned it, leaving the koopa king flustered and a little piece of his heart behind.

Little fic drabble I thought of (will have a part 2) some eventual Bowuigi

******************

Luigi in the Fungeon

(Taking place during the movie that I haven't seen yet so prepare for speculation)

From his cage dangling above the lava pit, its hot glow emanating with the heat to throw everything into red light, Luigi could see several of the neighboring cages swinging wildly, spinning, and some dropping down too close to the lava for comfort, only to be lifted back up while the prisoner inside screamed

It happened with the penguin king and his subjects, and the little talking star, and then Luigi's stomach dropped as he felt his own cage lowering.

It swung around and lowered much more slowly than he'd seen the others' do. It didn't stop him from giving an involuntary shriek as the chains clanked, causing him to sway.

As his cage finally halted, he heard a high, childlike giggle from just behind him. It almost sounded like the little star, but perhaps a bit younger.

His cage spun around and around before abruptly halting before a miniature sized version of that hulking dragon-turtle man that had interrogated him about Mario.

"Hi new prisoner, I'm Junior!" 

Luigi blinked at him, at a complete loss for words but unable to forget his manners so he was able to give a small wave.

The mini-dragon-turtle - Junior-  tilted his head in curiosity. He gave Luigi a long, appraising look followed by a series of sniffs through the bars all over his body. 

"You smell funny," he concluded, his little mouth curving upwards to reveal rows of small but sharp teeth. "But good too. You must worry a lot."

Luigi quirked an eyebrow. "How can you tell?" He asked. Now that he surmised he wasn't in any immediate danger, he was finding the young creature as interesting as he was finding Luigi.

"I can smell it," Junior said. "You kinda smell like my Mama. She used to worry a lot, too."

"Really?" Luigi found it hard to believe that the mother of this kid - if she looked anything like him - would worry about anything.

Junior nodded. "Yeah, about me, about Papa, about the other Koopas. She tried not to let me see but I could smell it."

Luigi removed his cap to wipe away the sweat from his forehead, fanning himself with it while he had it in his hand.

Junior didn't seem to be effected by the heat at all, but he did notice the kid's smile had slowly disappeared upon the mention of his mother. It hadn't escaped Luigi that he'd been using past tense to talk about her.

"May I ask, is your Mama around now?"

He blinked at Luigi, his gaze lowering and he shook his head.

"The bad king got her."

Bad king? Luigi hadn't seen much of this world before he was captured, but the idea of a king worse than Junior's papa gave him even more reason to sweat.

When he didn't respond, Junior continued.

"But it's okay. Papa's gonna destroy the bad Mushroom Kingdom so nobody will be hurt by them again."

Replacing his hat to his head, Luigi grasped the bars of his still-dangling cage.

"I'm sorry about that--- your mama."

Junior had been avoiding his gaze, but he looked at him then.

"Everybody says that, I mean, all the Koopas anyway. But they knew her, you didn't. Why are you sorry?"

"I don't have to have known her to be sorry for you," he answered. "I can imagine it being tough for you."

Junior sniffed, wiping his face and trying to make it look like Luigi's words hadn't made him tear up.

A pang of guilt hit him in the stomach. He hadn't meant to make the boy cry. He decided to change the subject.

"And your Papa, he's the one who put me in here?"

Junior nodded again. "Uh huh. But if he comes don't tell him I was here, okay? Papa doesn't like me coming to the dungeon by myself."

"I wanted to play 'torture' though and I don't have anyone to play with."

"So that's why you were shaking the cages around," Luigi concluded.

"It's fun!" Junior exclaimed. 

"Not for the one in the cage," he mumbled.

Junior scoffed. "Come on, they love it, right?" He gestured to the other prisoners who all jumped to attention and gave various hurried, fearful exclamations of agreement.

"See?"

Junior appeared to notice Luigi's skepticism, for he pulled out a remote control with several large red buttons, mashing one and lowering Luigi's cage to the floor of whatever Junior was standing on.

Another button pressed and the door to his cage sprang open, Junior waving him out enthusiastically.

"Here," he shoved the remote into Luigi's hands and nearly leaped into the cage, slamming the door shut and pointing back to Luigi.

"You use the remote and fly me around some. I'll show you how fun it is!"

Luigi blinked again, flabbergasted that it was this easy to be let out like this. He could escape now, easy. All he had to do was use this remote to lift Junior high enough that he couldn't follow him and boom, he was free.

His eyes flicked from the remote in his hands to the entryway Junior must have come from. It *would* be easy...

"Let's go already!" He heard Junior whine impatiently from the cage. Luigi turned back to see the boy bouncing and swinging the cage himself, anxiously waiting Luigi to start the game.

It would be easy, but then what? Where would he go, where could he go? And how would he get there?

It wouldn't be fair of him - even if he did manage to get out of this Darkland place - to leave all of these others behind.

And this Junior kid--- whatever his papa had done to him, Luigi truly felt a kind of sympathy for him. He was just a kid, a kid who'd lost his mom. It wouldn't be right to trick him or betray his trust however misguided.

So, feeling like he might regret not taking the chance later, Luigi pressed several buttons in succession and flung Junior about the dungeon, spinning and dropping him in the same way he had been doing.

He probably should not have been surprised when all of the screaming the boy did was of delight, interspersed with wild, high pitched squeals of laughter.

After a few minutes of watching Junior fly and dive and scream with joy, Luigi almost forgot where he was.

Almost.

He was reminded quite abruptly when a large yellow Koopa guard took hold of him and wrenched the remote from his hands.

"What are you doing?" The Koopa barked at him, Luigi instinctively cowering in his grip. "What do you think you were doing to the prince?"

Junior's sounds of enjoyment slowly died as he became aware of what was happening.

One of the flying Koopas zoomed up to stop the cage from spinning, aiding its descent back onto solid ground.

"It's okay, Junior," the flying guard tried to comfort the boy who only whined and rolled his eyes. "We'll get you out of there and this human will be swiftly dealt with."

"But we were just playing," Junior whined. "He was gonna go back in the cage when we were done, honest."

Luigi made to speak up and agree with him, but the guard holding him smacked him across the back of his head, knocking off his hat.

"Quiet you!" The guard said. "Junior, you're lucky we got here when we did. Who knows what this human was planning?"

The flying guard came up beside his fellow, taking hold of one of Luigi's arms. "Yeah. We'll have to take him to your papa now and see what's to be done with him."

As the two koopas began to drag him away, Luigi saw Junior pick up his hat, scrunching it in his claws as tears filled his eyes.

Luigi wasn't sure if Junior was fearing for him or for himself, but he did know that he was about to come face to face with this koopa king once again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, I hope you're having a nice day! May I request hcs on how Riddle, Leona, Vil, Idia, and Malleus will react finding their gn s/o just sitting on a bench when it rains quiet hard. And it turns out it's just a way to soothe themselves from all the stress. feel free to ignore this if it bothers you!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Riddle can’t make rhyme or reason of your way of thinking! Sitting out in the rain is begging to catch a fever the next day, so he’s very much against it—even if you do say it helps you relax.

He drags you to Heartslabyul (all while reciting a slew of other things you could be doing to destress instead of sitting in the rain). While you dry yourself off, Riddle vanishes into another room and returns with rain coats and rain boots. “If you’re going to head back out, you may as well do it in a practical manner.”

You and Riddle don your matching outfits, and he follows you out into a wet world. He watches a bit uneasily as you happily twirl and splash around in puddles, even stepping back so as to avoid getting hit with stray water droplets. Is it really that much fun...?

You notice his staring and decide to get him in on the fun! Grasping Riddle’s hands in yours, you lead him around in the rain. He’s surprised by your initiative, but follows along in a somewhat stiff manner, if only to please his beloved.

With time, Riddle manages to loosen up a bit and finally finds his footing. He finds himself laughing along with you as you jump in various puddles on the path and send water flying everywhere. The rain washes away your stress—and Riddle’s.

Leona’s scowling when he comes across you in the rain. As a cat, he’s not particularly fond of water—but he’s even less fond of finding you in the middle of such a heavy storm, no matter what your reasoning for it may be!

Without first asking what you’re up to, Leona whisks you up in his arms in an aggressive princess carry and hauls you off to Savanaclaw. Whenever you protest, he just grumbles for you to be quiet and behave like “a good little herbivore”.

Once you arrive, he tosses you onto his mattress with a spare towel and orders you to dry off. Leona unceremoniously works at drying himself too, since he ran around in the rain trying to find you earlier. When he’s all done, he throws himself onto his bed with you and groans in relief.

Leona locks his arms around you and holds you flush against his chest. He murmurs in your ear that, as punishment for making him go through the trouble of fetching you, you’re going to be his body pillow for the evening! You point out that you just wanted to relax, but he just counters with, “Yeah? Then it’s time for you to help me relax.”

You relent, allowing Leona to nestle against you as he drifts off to sleep. The rain continues, and you have a good view of it from the wide, open windows in Leona’s bedroom. Eventually, the sound of falling rain lulls you into a peaceful sleep in your boyfriend’s arms.

Vil tuts and scolds you for sitting in the rain. Though it may help you destress, you’re sure to catch a dreadful cold, come tomorrow! ... Plus, “drenched cat” is not a flattering look on anyone.

He prompts you to get onto your feet and under his umbrella—and once you do, he has you take ahold of it while he strips his blazer off and drapes it over your shoulders to keep you warm. Vil reclaims the umbrella, and, with his free hand, keeps you close to him while he escorts you to Pomefiore.

He assists you with drying off (using a special fluffy towel designed to minimize split ends). Then Vil produces a bottle of some fragrance and sprays it around, filling the room with a soothing smell that mimics ozone and petrichor—the smell of the world after rainfall.

He draws the curtains open as well, granting you both the sight and smell of the rain. You catch a good look of the outside, set awash—but a glass pane separates you from it. You place your hand on the window, absentmindedly staring out.

Vil gently puts a hand over yours, lacing his fingers together with your own. Prying your hand away from the window, he coaxes you to retreat further inside, where he has a sea of warm blankets prepared for you. He’s determined to pamper his sweet potato until all your stress has melted away~

At times like this, he’s supposed to be the cool anime protag by offering an umbrella or a jacket to his significant other, but Idia’s not that smooth. When he finds you, be doesn’t have either on him, so he just awkwardly stands there not knowing what to do or what to say until you notice him.

Idia listens to your reasoning for sitting in the storm—and though he doesn’t 100% agree, he does understand the sentiment of being so stressed or anxious that you’re overwhelmed, and just want the world to cleanse those negative feelings away.

He stumbles over his own words, but somehow manages to convince you to head inside to avoid getting sick. Idia sets you up in a large chamber which blasts you with heat to efficiently dry you off, so you’re dry again within seconds!

He asks you to cover your eyes and to follow the sound of his voice—he wants to show you “something cool”. When you open your eyes again, you find that Idia had led you to another special chamber, but this one has curved walls that project images and sound. With a remote, Idia summons the sounds and sights of falling rain upon the walls, which helps simulate sitting in the rain, but without the wet part!

He brings his video gaming consoles and buckets of snacks to the simulation room, and plops beside you to keep you company. You spend the rest of the evening sharing snacks and playing Mario Kart whatever games interest you.

With the wave of his hand, Malleus conjures up a magical shield. It’s spherical, forming an arch over your head to keep the rain from continuing to fall on you. He then ducks his head (so he can fit his horns under the shield’s cover) and takes a seat on the bench alongside you.

For his next handy trick, Malleus summons a little ball of fire, which slowly warms you up and dries you off. You can see your awestruck expression, illuminated by his enchanted flames, reflected in his eyes, which crease with fondness.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, until you finally pipe up to ask why he has done all of this, and why he has joined you. Surely a prince and a Dorm Leader would have more important matters to tend to than sitting in the rain.

Malleus gives a curt laugh and replies that while he is those things, he’s also your boyfriend, which means that he has a duty to stay by you. He offers to remain until you’re no longer stressed—

—and pulls you off the bench and into his arms. The magical little umbrella moves with you, a dome protecting you two from getting wet. You let Malleus guide your feet, and together, you share a whimsical dance in the rain.

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x reader // ch 5

summary: You tumble a Grisha in more ways than one ;)

warnings: violence, fighting, cursing, SMUT, fingering, masturbation??, praise kink, not proofread. 

A/N: this is all over the place, forgive me y'all </3

WHEN you awoke the next morning, you found a single glass of water placed on your night stand. Your head pounded as you tried to recall the blurred events from the previous night. All you remembered was catching up with Alina and then finally leaving her room. From there it was as if everything had muddled together to form a single incoherent memory. The sun had just begun to peak through your window.

While you were away last night, a servant must have stocked up your closet with clean clothes. They had mainly been a few soldiers' uniforms and some new nightgowns. Along with a few robes, each one as soft as a rabbit's fur. The gold kefta still remained in the dresser, collecting dust.

You changed out of your dirty clothes that you had slept in, and placed them in a neatly folded pile on the corner of your bed. After throwing on a clean uniform and putting your hair into a low bun, you rang for a servant. You asked her to bring breakfast to you. It seemed like there was no use in eating with the other Grisha. Where would you have sat? You weren’t a Corporalki, Etherealki, nor a Materialki. You certainly weren’t the Darkling either. There would be no place for you if you’d chosen to eat there with Alina.

Soon enough, a light knock echoed on the wooden door. “Come in!” You said, and the servant strolled in with a cart. She placed down a golden tray in front of you. You were served sweet pea porridge and fresh figs with a tall glass of water. You thanked the servant before she dismissed herself, leaving you to your food. There was another covering that laid on the tray, no plate under it. As you shoveled another spoonful of the porridge into your mouth, you took off the covering. Under the dome laid your weapons, cleaned of the dirt and blood that caked them. You placed your weapons back onto their respective places: a pistol and dagger at your hips, a knife securely tucked into your boot, and the last knife hidden away in your sleeve.

Just as you finished your food, another knock resonated in your uncomfortably quiet room. You beckoned them to come in. A Grisha with a red kefta came in, the black stitching signifying that he was a heartrender. You gave him a polite smile as he stepped in.

“Hello. I am Fedyor. I am to escort you to the training grounds today.” He explained.

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t need an escort. I know my way around the palace, thank you though.” You assured him. Sitting on the corner of your bed, you put on your boots. You were surprised to find them in the normal place you had put them, at the foot of your bed, near the very corner. It was a habit you had since you were a child. Every other orphan at Keramzin always placed their boots either to the left or right of their beds. It was understandably easier than leaving your boots where you normally had, yet you couldn’t shake the habit.

“The General himself required me to accompany you. As you must know, I cannot obey the General’s orders.” He stated. After lacing up your boots, you made your way to the tray your breakfast was on. You put the small plate that once housed the figs into the empty bowl of the porridge you were served. Picking up the tray, you began to walk towards the circular table near the door and left the tray there so it’d be easier for the servant to clean.

You turned to him, arms crossed on your chest as you sighed, “Fine.” You examined the new jacket you were issued, it wasn’t the same as the frayed one you were used to. The hem of your sleeves were intact, unlike your old one when you had picked apart the stitching when you were nervous. The only thing that you were particularly happy about was the fur lining. Yours had matted from being used so much and slept on.

“You know, it’s quite odd that you’re staying in the General's hall.” You let out a hm, questioning what he meant by that. “Usually guests stay in the guest hall. The General never permits for anyone to stay in his. He’s the only person allowed to sleep in this specific hall.” He whispered as we walked past a group of Materialki. They were huddled amongst themselves, whispering and giggling as they made their way to their training rooms.

“Maybe it’s because I’m Alina’s friend? Perhaps he feels like he needs to watch over me himself since he has also taken her under his watch.” You said. You took a deep breath of the crisp winter air as the two of you stepped outside.

“Perhaps. But why is Alina staying in the vezda suite? Wouldn’t it make sense for her to be staying in the General’s hall as well?” Fedyor did make a good point, if Alina was the most important Grisha of all, why wasn’t she across the hallway from the Darkling?

“It truly is a mystery I suppose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t question his choices.” You teased. You thought you might’ve offended him until he lets out a short laugh.

“Saints know what he would do if I had.” He replied, making you giggle. Your laughter died as you arrived at Botkin’s training area. Grisha alike had already been paired up and were sparring. Alina had been paired up with a girl she had mentioned last night, you couldn’t remember her name. Madia? No that wasn’t it. Narie? It wasn’t that one either. Noticing a late arrival, Botkin walked up to you.

“Botkin has never seen little girl before.” You tried to suppress the surprise you felt when you heard him refer to himself in third person. “Who is she?” He asked Fedyor. By now some people had stopped training to hear the conversation. You noticed Alina was still sparring with her friend, unaware of your arrival.

“She’s here as Alina’s guest.” At the mention of her name, the girl stopped fighting. Finally taking notice of your figure, she let out a surprised gasp.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she came closer.

“Training. If I’m going to stay at the palace I don’t want to rot away and do nothing.” You said, rolling your shoulders to loosen up your muscles.

“First Army girl wants to train with Botkin.” His voice, although baritone and guttural, brought a strange comfort to you. “Choose your opponent.” You surveyed the crowd, looking for someone who could pose a possible challenge. Your eyes landed on a tan skinned girl with raven black hair, bangs framing her face perfectly. Her black eyes stared into yours, challenging you.

“Her.” You stated while nodding your head towards her. Botkin weaved his head in the direction you had nodded off to.

“Ah, star pupil, Zoya!” So this was Zoya, the girl who told Alina that she reeked of Keramzin. “I have trained her since she was ten.” The raven haired girl offered you a way out, which you immediately declined.

“Fighters ready?” You put your fist up, getting into stance. “And..Fight!” You waited for Zoya to come to you first. She walked up to you, her fists hung up. You circled each other, playing the waiting game. You were about to make a move when you saw Zoya moving her right fist towards your face. You ducked left, managing to move in time to avoid the punch. With her back still to you, you jammed your elbow into her side making her hunch over.

She came at you again, this time with more veracity and anger behind each swing. Except she didn’t land a single blow. You were able to avoid each one as you let out a giggle, staggering a few steps back.

“Is that all you’ve got, star pupil?” Your comment only seemed to spur her on more. She ran at you in full force, this time you let her land a hit on you for the fun of it. What you didn’t expect was for her to punch you so hard that she drew blood. You sniffled feeling a drop of blood come from your nose. You began your attack with a right hook followed by a left one. In return she used her arms to block each time, leaving her abdomen vulnerable.

You were able to land a hard blow or two before you found yourself briefly soaring through the air, your back meeting the hard wall that was originally ten paces behind you. You let out a wheeze as you feel one of your ribs break.

Botkin had begun to reprimand Zoya, looking at her you could feel her shame as she upset her mentor. You couldn’t help but smirk as she looked at you, at least now she knows how someone from Keramzin fights. Her gaze hardened, about to walk up to you once more before she was taken away by some guards.

“Oh my Saints, now the General is really going to have my head.” Fedyor said in a panic. He helped you stand as he called for a healer.

“I’m quite alright.” You ensured, but the wince in your face gave you away. Alina came running up to you, giving you a once over before taking you from Fedyor and into her embrace.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that.” She whispered into your ear. “It’s too dangerous for you.” She made a movement to grab one of your cold hands, giving it a squeeze.

“Everything’s a risk for me, Alina. The Doctor made that clear.” When you were younger, you were diagnosed with a heart condition. It was nothing serious really, and only acted up once in a blue moon. The tugging and squeezing feeling only lasted for seconds, but the pain left you feeling unstable for hours after. “The risk is always worth it.”

“But what if one day its not?” She pulled away from you, resting her hands on your shoulders. “The Doctor himself said there was no cure for this, no remedy that could help.”

“It’s worth it if it means protecting our honor.” You replied honestly.

“I don’t need you to protect our honor.” She protested. “I need you to protect yourself. Even if that means backing down from a fight.” You remained silent as a healer began to work on you. Starting first with your broken ribs then moving onto your bloody nose. After a few minutes of sitting still, the healer finally told you that you could leave.

Alina and Fedyor accompanied you back to your room. “What do you think will happen to her?” You asked. Alina shrugged her shoulders as the heartrender went to respond.

“She will probably get reprimanded by the General too. Zoya knows not to use her powers while training. Respectfully, especially not against someone who isn’t Grisha.” He commented.

You must’ve really gotten under her skin then if she went against all those years of training and discipline. “Good. She needs to know her place.” You snarked. “Now I’d like to get some rest.” You glanced at Alina, her gaze unwavering. “Alone, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be fine. If I need help I can always call for the General.” You replied, placing your cold hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. With great reluctance, she nodded her head. Fedyor and her leaving to return to combat training.

As you close the door, you feel your resolve break. Wincing as the pain and exhaustion came back. As you grew up, your condition continued to tire you. You couldn’t fight nor run the same way you could two years ago. At this rate, you’d probably be dead in the next two years because of your heart condition. That was if the war didn’t kill you first.

The sun was nowhere near close to setting. You still had most of the day to kill yet you didn’t know what to do. You thought back to one of the places the Darkling had shown you, perhaps you could go to the library. Gathering whatever strength you had left, you returned to the calm and composed front you had always put on.

The walk there had been time consuming, nauseating even. But you were determined to snatch a book or two to read while you were cooped up in your room. The library of the Little Palace was grand, filled from floor to ceiling with various books. If you ever had the chance to visit the Grand Palace, their library would definitely be on a list of places of visit.

You ran your finger along the spines of the books as you walked through the shelves. There were two things that you loved most in your life: the feeling of the sun on your skin and the smell of books. Strangely enough, the smell of the books had reminded you of Keramzin in a way. Probably because you spent most of your childhood with your nose shoved into a book. Collecting two books, you were adamant on getting to your room in time to be able to sit in the sun and read a couple of chapters. All of a sudden the smell of incense and mildew had taken over your sense of smell.

“My Saints, where is that smell coming from..” You whispered to yourself. Unexpectedly you heard a shuffle behind you. Turning around you saw a greasy man in a robe.

“Hello, y/n.” Said the man.

“Do I know you?” You replied cautiously, reaching for the knife you had hidden in your sleeve.

“I am the Apparat, a priest. Advisor to the King.” He stated. Knowing who he was didn’t make you any less tentative, your fingers still gripped the handle of your knife.

“Okay...right. Nice meeting you. I’ll be on my way now.” You said, trying your best to move around him but he stopped you. He latched onto your arm that had been reaching for your knife, effectively rendering your weapons useless.

“Do you remember?” He acquired his answer from the confused look on your face, “Oh, soon you will remember. Everything will face into place.” You ripped your arm out of his rough hands and ran out of the library, never looking back.

When you were finally in your room, you threw the books onto the floor as you rushed to the tub. There hadn’t been any warm water around but you didn’t care. You filled the tub with lukewarm water as you began to strip yourself of your clothes. Skewing them across the floor as you picked up a velvet robe and tossed it on a nearby chair. Stepping in, you grabbed a loofah. Scrubbing yourself clean of the Apparat’s lingering touch. You scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. After dunking your head underwater to wet your hair, you picked up a soap. It smelt of lavender and honey. In the First Army, they had always given you a singular bar of soap to last you a week. Showers came scarce due to the fact that the soap practically diminished once it touched water. Gently lathering the soap in your hands, you cleaned your hair first. The repetitive circular motions of your hands had started to calm you down, almost lulling you to sleep. Quickly finishing off your hair and the rest of your body, you found yourself smelling good for the first time in a while.

Feeling satisfied enough, you let out a sigh, letting yourself relax as you rest your arms on the edge of the tub. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap. You thought. After all, you fought a Grisha without the use of your weapons and came out somewhat victorious. You let your hair dangle outside of the tub to dry as you close your eyes, sleep taking over you.

-

“Stop it!” You screamed, you could feel someone splashing cold water at you. Wetting your hair and dress. “Aleksander, stop!” You said while laughing. You could hear him let out a laugh before coming up behind you and taking you into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around your belly as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The stubble from his face tickling you.

“How are you today, my darling?” He whispered into your ear, making you shiver. He began to pepper kisses up and down your neck, making your legs feel like jelly. Your hands flew to his in order to stabilize yourself.

“Good. But it could be better.” You teased, egging him on. One of his hands travels your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt to give himself better access. The other hand made its way to your core, ghosting past your eager bundle of nerves.

“Look at you, already so wet for me.” He shoved aside your underwear, plunging two of his fingers into your heat. He paused at the sound of your moan, “Taking my fingers so well.” He set an agonizingly slow pace, let out a few groans himself as he rubbed himself against you. His long fingers search for the spot he knew so well, the one that would make you mewl and fall apart in his embrace. He hits it once, twice, before extracting his fingers from you. He placed his slick covered fingers atop of your dry ones before guiding them back to your wet entrance. You were able to slide in with ease as he guided your movements.

“I can’t..” You breathed out, the feeling of his fingers and yours combined had been too much for you.

“Yes you can.” He purred, tilting your head with his own to get better access to your neck. “You’re almost there, I can feel it.” Just as he said that, he felt you briefly clamp down, signaling you were close. He guides your fingers deeper, nearing your g spot as his other hand lets go of your dress and goes to your clit.  

The action makes you come undone as you moan his name repeatedly, your juices coating both his and your fingers. You let out a whine as he removes his fingers from you, only to place his hand into his mouth, sucking your cum off of him.

“Sweet, as always.” He gently grabs your chin and turns you to face him, his dilated pupils meeting yours. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” His words alone made another wave of heat pool at your core. He grabs your hand before inserting into your mouth. You wrap your lips around your fingers, staring into his slate gray eyes all the while. After lapping up your juices, you release your fingers with a pop!

Even in your dream state you could tell this man looked suspiciously like General Kirigan. They shared the same face structure, their cheekbones rested at the same angle. His eyebrows were as perfectly sculpted as the General’s. Lashes equally as dark and long. The only difference was that the man-- Aleksander, had a near clean shaven face and his hair was grown out to reach his shoulders. The General had a beard and sported a slicked back look. Yet the two looked identical.

Your eyes searched his face, his body, for anything that could tell you anything. You spotted a mole near his right collarbone. Nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt, small but it would have to do. Without thinking, you reach up to grab his face to pull him in for a kiss.

“My Aleksander.”

-

YOUR doors opened with a bang, startling you from your sleep. The person entered without even knocking, alerting you to three possibilities: someone had broken in and now was here to kill you, you were being kidnapped, or the Darkling was here to brutally murder you. You let the first two options leave your mind, knowing how well guarded the Little Palace was. So there was no possibility for an intruder to get so far into the grounds. Yet the third option did little to ease your mind.

Realizing you were still in the tub, you got out. Not wanting anyone to see you naked. Not like it hasn’t happened before. You thought, thinking back to your time at Caryeva. You quickly threw on your robe, haphazardly tying it while you grabbed one of your knives and unsheathed it. You threw the knife just in time, the person emerging from the curtains being nicked by your blade before it landed on the trimming of the bathroom entrance.

“Oh my Saints, I’m so sorry…” The Darkling stared at you, surprise flicking on his features. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was asleep.”

You walked to the side, picking up a towel to clean up his wound. You dipped it into a bucket of clean water, wringing it out afterwards.

“In the bathtub?” You gave him a nod, a blush forming on your cheeks. “Well you certainly sleep wherever you can.” He joked. As you shifted closer to him, you felt that familiar wetness in your thighs. Fuck. You thought, your blush becoming deeper. You’d been so caught up with the idea of someone coming to kill you that you had forgotten about your dream.

“Are you alright?” It should’ve been you who was asking the question since you nicked him after all. He awaited your reply as you gently pressed the towel against the cut.

“I am. Nothing serious happened to me.” You replied, assuming he had heard of the events that had taken place earlier that day. “Are you?” You asked, “I mean, you seemed very alarmed when you barged in.”

“My apologies for that. You just...you weren’t responding to my knocks or my questions. I’d assumed the worst.” He said, struggling to find the words. You didn’t know how to feel, in a way you were glad that he cared for your well being, yet it slightly made your gut lurch. You’d been here for less than a week and he seemingly cared more for you than Alina. Then again, you didn’t know what the two did behind closed doors. You stopped cleaning his wound, the bleeding had stopped. The two of you remained close, only an arms distance away from each other.

“Why do you care so much? After all, I’m only a guest here at the palace. I’m not a Grisha like you or everyone else here.”

“You're my guest. It’s normal for me to worry about my guests.” He explained. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowing as you listened to him.

“Yes, but..” You paused, “Yesterday I was Alina’s guest. Now today, I am yours. So which is it?”

“Whatever you’d like.” He whispered, taking a step closer to you. His gaze flickering to your lips then back to your eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He replied, giving you a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

“Have we met before?” You asked, making the General freeze in his place. His posture goes rigid, you struggle to read the emotion on his face. “.. I could’ve sworn that we…” You doubled over, your left hand clutching your chest as your right hand flew to his shoulder. The pain had never hit you twice in a day. Not even twice in a month.

“Alina..g-get her.” The General called for a servant to fetch her along with a healer. In his panic, he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bed. He laid you upon it as he took your left hand into his. In a haze, your right hand began to wander, weakly pulling at the collar of his shirt. The pain went away as a moment of clarity came over you, General Kirigan had bared the same mole that Aleksander had. As you placed your hand on his face, the pain came rushing back.

Before you allowed yourself to give into the darkness that called you, a tentative whisper left your lips, your eyes searching his.

“A-aleksander?”

-

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mizpah taglist closed </3

S.a.B. forever tag: @deceivedeer

[foxleycrow]

Thranduil & Túrin playing together in Doriath, for @tolkiengenweek —when I realized they could have been kids in Doriath at the same time, I had to draw them together.

This one also comes with a short accompanying fic about their meeting:

To Wear an Elven Crown

Thranduil had longed to meet the Adan since he had heard the first tales of his arrival in Doriath. His wish had displaced most other longings in his heart. If he could speak to an Adan, he could practice his Mannish and ask him about so many things, like the life of his people and the world outside the Fence. Beleg Cúthalion had found the Adan lost in the woods, and then King Thingol had adopted him! Thranduil had never heard of anyone adopting an Adan, let alone the king himself. If he were now Thingol's son, did that mean he was an Elf, as well as a Man? 

Thranduil had asked his father several times whether he could visit the Adan, but each time he was told the newcomer was too unwell. He had been sick and weak when he was discovered, and he was not yet strong enough to entertain company. This news sank him into a deep state of worry. The Edain could contract illnesses, and were mortal. What if this one became very sick, or even died! Of course, the healers of Doriath were the greatest in Middle-earth, but the Adan had come from dangerous lands far from the protection of Doriath, where anything might have befallen him. Thranduil had heard stories of strange fevers and chills that Edain could suffer from; what if the Elven healers did not know how to treat them?

"If he were to speak with someone his own age, Ada, he might feel better." The Adan was young, like himself. Not precisely the same age, since Edain aged so differently, but near enough in essence. He wondered what kind of games the Edain played. Maybe they had invented some no Elves had dreamed of…

"Do you believe so?" asked Oropher, raising an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. I did not know you had become such an expert on the matter."

"I would feel better, if it were me." In defiance of his father's eyebrow, he added, "I asked Beleg to tell me everything he knows about the Edain."

"Oh, so you are an expert. My mistake." Oropher's hand settled on his head. Thranduil felt the warmth of his father's skin on his brow and blinked. "He has been through much, little Tuil," said Oropher. "We will not tax him any more than we need to."

After offering a gentle pat, Oropher withdrew his hand. Thranduil lay back, resting his head among the grasses. Thranduil did not expect his father to understand, for Oropher was very old. There were no children in King Thingol's house, and if they would not allow Thranduil to visit and talk to the Adan, then they would not have let any other children in to speak to him; that was obvious.

"I am an expert," Thranduil murmured, closing his eyes. Beleg had told him that the Edain could grow lonely and sad, like Elves, and that they too loved to dance and sing and tell tales. The Adan was named Túrin, and his father had been an Elf-friend. That meant he was an Elf-friend, too. If he was a friend, then he should be treated as one and given a warm welcome by everyone in Menegroth. Surely that would make him feel better than being kept away from others.

"Are you falling asleep?" Oropher asked. "I'll take you back home."

He shook his head stubbornly, the blades of grass making themselves felt on his cheeks and chin. Narrow, but not quite sharp. They did not hurt, but he sensed each one keenly. "No, I want to nap out here in the sun." They were well behind the Fence and close to Menegroth, so these woods were safe and guarded. He could play or explore or rest among the trees whenever he liked, because Queen Melian kept them all from harm.

He heard Oropher's soft laughter and felt his father's hand settle on his head again briefly. Then he was only aware of the warm sun heating his skin and the faintly prickly touch of the grass carpeting the clearing. Soon, he was not aware of the clearing either, lost in a dream, wandering far from the waking world. He dreamed he was journeying through a dark, withered wood, bristling with dead branches. The sky was veiled with dense, gray clouds. There was an unnatural air to them, as if storm clouds had been thickened with smoke.

There was a cold wind at his back, and he was all alone. The dead trees were so tall, they made him feel smaller. He heard something moving behind him, breaking branches and rustling through shriveled leaves. An animal? Or something worse? He did not know, and he did not want to turn to look, so he ran. He ran until he felt he had been always running, yet no matter how quick his steps, the noises behind him persisted, never any closer, but never farther away.

Thranduil woke with a gasp. He sat up and scanned the clearing. It was as green and tranquil as it had been when he fell asleep. He heard the low buzz of insect song and the faint voices of the trees. Father was gone. He saw no sign of anyone nearby, although that was not unusual. The sun's light was starting to fade from the sky. It was that between-time when patches of sunlight were still scattered across the forest floor, while the first stars appeared in the purpling twilight above. Thranduil rose to his feet. He was a little hungry, but he was well-rested, and he wasn't ready to return home. He would rather play, until Father came to fetch him. He left the clearing, slipping into the undergrowth as soundlessly as possible.

One of his favorite games was Marchwarden. It was more fun to play with someone else, but it was a game he could also play alone, simply by moving as quickly and quietly as possible, so that no enemies could see or hear him—exactly like a Marchwarden. He was tracking. Not hunting, but searching for any sign of danger, to keep Doriath safe. He studied whatever tracks he came across, or other signs of passage, such as broken twigs or bent grasses, trying to judge who or what had come the same way, and how long ago. He could wander like this for hours, happily, alone.

He was not entirely happy. He was more uneasy as he searched for signs in the grass, because of his dream. Within the dead wood, he had felt like he would never be allowed to rest, racing with an enemy eternally at his back. Dreams always meant something, but not always what you thought they meant. It took a wise Elf to read dreams. He could have asked his father about it, and maybe he would later. Now, he stalked through the dense growth, crouching low so his pale hair couldn't be seen.

When he heard low and distant voices, Thranduil was still lost in his game, so he crouched lower, listening intently as he crept closer. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat, hiding as he'd been taught.

"—where he could have gone—?"

"We will find him, and soon. There's only so far...."

"I hadn't thought he was strong enough. I would never have guessed he'd be so quick."

"You shouldn't underestimate—"

The speakers moved away, out of the range of his hearing. Those were two of Thingol's guards. Could they have been talking about the Adan? It was possible, and not only because Thranduil thought of the Adan so often. Who else would they have thought wasn't strong enough? If the Adan was lost, he might grow sicker. Imagine how upset King Thingol would be. If Thranduil was a Marchwarden, then he had a duty to do whatever he could to protect everyone in Doriath: including any Edain. He moved on again, more quickly and with greater purpose.

He studied the forest, down to the least leaf, and he listened to the birds singing, the faint breeze moving through the branches. He listened for telltale noises, or telltale silences. He wondered whether the Adan had had a nightmare, like he had. Maybe that was why he had run off. It must have been hard for him to leave his home behind, especially because of the war: that distant, dark shadow hanging over everything, even the forests of Doriath.

Where would an Adan go? Possibly into the undergrowth, where he was. A place where someone small would hide. Thranduil knew of many secret spaces ideal for concealing himself, but few of them were nearby, close to where the guards were hunting. A slight Adan would leave faint footprints. Like Thranduil, he would have been trained in how to hide, if he were in danger. Thranduil was sure that the great trackers of Doriath could find anyone, but maybe Túrin would be difficult to find, more difficult than they expected.

Thranduil headed toward the Dome—it was a vast, curving structure of twisted woody shrubs, crowned with flowering vines. It was bright enough to draw the eye of a stranger to these woods, and dense enough to provide ample cover and shelter. Thranduil often crawled in there to play, because it was like a fortress. He could pretend he ruled there, lord of the branches and leaves and blossoms.

Thranduil found a faint indentation that might have been left by someone running this way. Shortly after that, he spied a tiny tuft of thread, caught on a hooked thorn. It was bright blue in color, so it stood out more than it might have otherwise. Could he have been correct in thinking the Adan might have been come this way? He had been guessing, but maybe he really was a Marchwarden. He would have to tell Beleg, if he succeeded in his hunt.

Emboldened by the thought that he might be better at tracking than Thingol's own guard, Thranduil sank to his knees and crawled into one of the narrow passageways that led into the Dome. With twisting branches on either side of him, and a ceiling of ivy above, no one outside would be able to see him, once he had travelled the length of a few paces. There were no wider  ways in, the growth here was so dense. Anyone who was much larger than Thranduil would have had to cut their way through. Among the branches, Thranduil caught sight of another slight scrap of blue thread. The branches here loved to tug on clothing.

Encouraged, Thranduil moved faster, until he arrived at a fall of dense vines, pushed through them, and found himself confronted by a pair of dark, shining eyes, staring at him. The Adan gave a start, but did not run. It was hard to travel quickly within the Dome, especially if one didn't know it as well as Thranduil did. Thranduil had half-suspected he was imagining his grand success in tracking, so he sat, blinked and stared back at his quarry, startled and bewildered and pleased.

The Adan was seated with his knees drawn up toward his chest. He was very thin, the thinnest child Thranduil had ever seen. His narrow face made his eyes look bigger. Here, he was walled off from the world—or most of it. He looked a great deal like an Elf, although Thranduil could tell he was different as well. It was hard to say exactly why; he simply felt different, like the night air felt different from the air of day, or the atmosphere before a storm as opposed to in the dry season: different in so many various slight ways, some of which were easier to describe than others.

Although Thranduil had longed for their meeting with joy, he felt unexpectedly solemn, now that it was taking place. "Hello," he ventured, in Sindarin. "I'm Thranduil, Son of Oropher."

The Adan blinked, and for a moment, Thranduil wasn't sure if he would—or could—reply, but at last he answered softly, "I'm Túrin, Son of Húrin."

"Why are you out here?" Thranduil asked. He didn't wish to sound accusatory, so he added, "Did you want to play?"

Túrin looked away, into the shadows between the leaves. "I wanted to be by myself."

Thranduil nodded, as this was perfectly understandable. "I like to be by myself, too."

Túrin's gaze shifted back to Thranduil. He seemed relieved to hear this, exhaling.

"Can I stay, though?" Thranduil asked. "Now that I'm here."

"You can stay," Túrin said.

Thranduil knew that Thingol and all his guards and attendants and everyone must be nervous, but he didn't think a little while longer would do any harm, especially not when Túrin must have run here for a reason. Being surrounded by everyone at court could be overwhelming. Thranduil had never been far away from home and everyone he knew before, but it must be hard. It would be better not to rush him. He would let Túrin rest for a little while, and then he would take him to Thingol—just as Beleg had, before.

"I can show you something," he offered.

After another hesitation, Túrin nodded.

"Follow me," said Thranduil. He crawled ahead, between the branches, into the gloom. The last of the day's slight, slipping in through the leaves and vines above, made soft, pale shifting shapes on their hands and on the ground beneath. After a long way, the structure of the dome opened up onto a green glade, surrounded by dense undergrowth on all sides. No one would walk here casually, and if he and Túrin didn't stand up, no one would be able to see them from outside the enclosure. The glade was also hidden, but there was more room to stretch out, and even lie down. It was a fine place for a nap, with soft earth and open sky above. Clusters of flowers grew in profusion, along with tufts of dense grass. Thranduil and Túrin admired their new hiding place in silence, while birds sang in the trees overhead. It was not yet true night, only early twilight. The birds would keep singing a little longer.

"I come here sometimes when I want to be alone," Thranduil said. In the past days and weeks, he had formulated an ever-growing list of questions he would like to ask the Adan, but he did not ask a single one of them now.

Túrin nodded again, lowering his gaze. He reached down and ran his fingers through the grass. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he did not smile.

"Everyone's looking for you," said Thranduil. "They must be worried."

"I didn't mean to make anyone worry. They shouldn't worry. I don't know why I—" He broke off, closing his eyes.

"It's all right. No one will be angry with you," Thranduil reassured him quickly, moved by Túrin's pained expression. "I'm not angry. I've been waiting to meet you. I've never met an Adan before."

Túrin's eyes reopened, slowly. "Never?"

Thranduil inclined his head in confirmation. "Never."

"I hadn't really met Elves before," said Túrin.

"But now you have. You've met Beleg, and King Thingol, and me. Everyone's happy you're here, that's why they're worried. But we don't have to go back right away. We can wait until you feel better." He cast about the glade, looking for something else he could show the Adan, to cheer him. Along with the two of them, the glade was bursting with life, all the usual green and growing things, rising from the earth and insisting on themselves… "Here—I'll make you something."

"Make me what—?"

"Look." Thranduil's gaze went to a stand of nearby pale purple flowers. These particular blossoms were edible and often harvested. It would do no harm to take a few, especially at this time of year. Quickly, he plucked a few of them, leaving a length of green stem on each. Once he had gathered enough, he wove them together. Flowers and grasses were easy to weave, especially into a circle. When they were joined, he tapped them with his fingers. He could feel the energy moving through the blooms and stems. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on that living force, pressing the separate strands of it into one: forging it into a single, singing ring and willing the flowers—live, preserve. They were no longer separate blooms; they had become a single entity. Their petals, which had been in the first stage of wilting, straightened with pride, made fresh and new. It was such a simple thing to do, yet Túrin was wide-eyed and rapt, staring at his hands as if he had performed a wonder. "A crown for you, Prince Túrin." Thranduil reached out and settled the circlet of blooms on Túrin's head.

Finally, Túrin smiled at him. Thranduil smiled back.

They did not stay long, alone in that green glade together, hidden by a conspiracy of leaves and vines and branches. They were never meant to stay long. The world outside was waiting for them to emerge. While the sun receded and the stars began to show themselves—one by one at first, then all at once, like a rain of jewels scattering across the sky—they played and laughed for a few moments.

As Thranduil predicted, when they returned to Menegroth, Túrin did not receive a single scolding. Thingol wrapped him in a fierce embrace. Beleg was as impressed by Thranduil's skills as Thranduil had hoped. He praised Thranduil for his skill in tracking, and said he could visit Túrin whenever he wanted. Eventually, he was able to ask Túrin every question on his extensive list.

Many long years later, tragedy faded into myth for so many, but not for those who were there. Thranduil rarely listened to the sad songs that touched on the subject of Túrin Turambar, but when a certain mood was on him, he would ask the harpers to play one of the few he approved of. Thranduil had grown very old. Seated on his throne, wearing his own heavy crown, he would lean back and remember the smile of a young boy with his dark hair full of flowers.

[sleepy-belphie]

I have a request if you’re up for it. An MC who just arrived in the Devildom who’s lover just dumped them the day prior. The bros know MC isn’t emotionally or romantically available at the time but the bros still fall in love regardless. How will the bros handle the situation? Thank you! 🙏💗

Hi! I sort of took this idea and ran with it and wrote basically a headcanon short story for each bro lmao. Sorry I got a bit carried away but I hope you like this and it satisfies you! :) 

Also thank you so much @midnight-dome for the help with Asmo, you’re a lifesaver

Tags: @kawaiiblack

~~~~~

Lucifer:

The success of the program depends on your wellbeing

So he checks in on you every other day like clockwork 

“Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable?”

You always say no

At first, he’s glad you’re staying in 

Because it means less trouble for him

But when you skip all of your classes one day, he comes to your room ready to give you a firm reminder of your tasks here

He’s about to knock when he hears you sob 

Now, Lucifer has heard a lot of crying in his life

But he’s never heard someone sound so completely broken

He shocks himself when he turns on his heels and walks away

He shocks himself even more when he texts the group chat and demands everyone leaves you alone for the day

That evening he comes into your room with a small plate of food

By then you were are least on top of your sheets

You knew he was gonna ask the same question as always

But this time, his words were different

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Help?” 

He simply nods

And though he didn’t outright say what he meant by help, you knew

“I...don’t know?”

“Hm, okay. I’m going to listen to some music in my study. The door will be unlocked should you wish to join me.”

Then he’s gone

The few precious moments Lucifer isn’t working, he prefers to not be disturbed

So why on earth did he invite you to join him in his study?

He doesn’t have time to ponder it because the door opens and you come in with a blanket wrapped around you

The first night you both listen in comfortable silence

A few nights in, you start asking Lucifer about the records he puts on and he has no qualms educating you on it

On night 10 you tell him about the breakup

Once you’re done he, again, asks the same question

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

‘You’ve done more than enough to help me Lucifer, thank you.”

He finds himself blushing from the sincerity in your eyes and the warmth in your smile

That night you fall asleep before the record finishes

Surely you’d wake up aching if he left you in a chair

So he picks you up, carries you to your room, and tucks you into bed carefully

He tells himself he’s doing it for Diavolo

It’s for the program, this is his job

He’s gonna need time to accept his own feelings before he can tell you anything

For now, he’ll keep doing his “job” and spending evenings with you

Mammon:

He didn’t want to be your babysitter

He was a busy guy! He had stuff to do, money to make, things to steal

Some days he gets Beelzebub to keep an eye on you so he can do what he wants

One night in particular he heads to your room to make sure you won’t interfere with his plans

“Yo! The Great Mammon has things to do so don’t-”

He pauses when he sees you sitting on your bed with your headphones plugged into your laptop

He would have assumed you were just watching a sad movie by the tears streaks on your face

But the pain in your eyes…

He’s seen that look before

His brothers held that same look the day they fell from Heaven and lost Lilith

Mammon sits on the bed and you jump, finally noticing him

You expected him to make fun of you but instead, he grabs the tissue box on your bedside table and hands it to you

He glances at your laptop to see what you were watching and sees a paused video of you and someone else

You tell him about the breakup and Mammon listens closely

“What a jerk! Ya deserve better than that! I’d teach ‘em a lesson if they ever showed their face around here!”

You smile for the first time since he came in the room and he feels like he’s done something right

“How about we get some late-night food? I know a 24-hour restaurant with the best baked newt ever. Your treat.”

He’s shocked when you agree

He makes a point to hang out with you more often

He can’t recall exactly when you went from “a human” to “his human” 

Maybe it was when you held his hand while you erased all your photos and videos of your ex from your computer

Or when you texted him at 3am because you couldn’t sleep and before he could even think about it he was up and on his way to your room

Or when he spotted you in one of his jackets while walking home from RAD

But his greed was kicking in and he wanted you to be his and only his

However, much like he puts himself first, he knows you need to do the same

So though his nature and mind wants to kiss you silly and have you for himself

Part of him knows he’ll ruin things if he lets his greed take over

So he’ll fight his nature and try his best to be patient

Leviathan:

He had been playing one of his games online

He’s on a big winning streak and feeling a bit cocky

He sees he’s been matched with someone else so he gets into gamer mode 

Then he loses the first round

He’s a bit shocked and pissed that his streak was now broken but he has to prove his superiority to whoever this opponent was

So he rematches them

And loses again

And again

He loses 7 rounds in a row

By this point he is fuming

So like any salty gamer he sends a very lengthy, angry message to their inbox

Accusing them of using cheats and hacks because there was no way anyone was more skilled than him at this game

He gets a reply a few minutes later

“Um.....is this Leviathan? Avatar of Envy? It’s MC…”

You knew it was Levi because his username is the same across all his social media platforms

Cue Levi barreling into your room a minute later

“How are you so good!? You’re cheating, aren’t you!? You cheater!’

You weren’t cheating, you just had been playing games day in and day out to distract yourself so you got really good at it

Levi all but demands you to come to his room and show him what you know

You were already playing all night anyway so why not play with someone? 

Initially, Levi would have you come over just to show him your tactics 

(Also to get some team wins on his stats because he never has anyone to play with)

But you were actually pretty chill for a normie

Maybe if he exposed you to his otaku ways you would take to them and he wouldn’t be the only one in the house anymore!

You don’t become an otaku but you do get invested in almost every anime he shows you

He starts inviting you over for midnight premieres of new episodes

He starts buying extra merch because what if you wanted one?

He was used to disproving looks from his brothers when he mass buys stuff from Akuzon

But you only smile and listen when he tells you about his new special edition item

You never once judged him and his unconventional ways

This epiphany makes him extra nervous for your weekly hangouts

It was only a matter of time before you came across a break up in an anime

When the episode ended you told him about your break up and how the protagonist reminded you of yourself because they also were taking a break from love

Levi has seen this anime before actually

He remembers how the protagonist reacted to a side character confessing to them and it went bad

So while he knows he likes you, he holds off on saying anything because the last thing he wants is to be a bad story arc in your life

Lucky for him he’s always a flustered blushing mess so you shouldn’t suspect a thing

Satan:

He is the Avatar of Wrath so whenever there is rage, he is aware

He feels anger radiating through the house one day and thinks his brothers are just fighting again

Imagine his surprise when he realizes the source of the anger is coming from your room

He walks in and sees you throwing things around and screaming, your room was destroyed

He sees you’re about to step on some glass and instantly swoops in and picks you up so you don’t hurt yourself

But then you curl up against him and burst into tears

He stands there, not quite sure what to do 

He ends up sitting on the bed and letting you cry for a while

You word vomit about your break up and he listens carefully and notes the anger welling up inside you as you speak

He knows all too well what anger can do to someone and a fragile human shouldn’t have to go through that

“Would you like some tea?”

He can spare 30 minutes for some small talk with the human if it meant that you wouldn’t be left in your thoughts

You look at him like he has three heads but agree because your room is a mess and you don’t wanna deal with it right now

Tea time becomes a daily occurrence and soon enough it escalates to full-on hangouts

Going to the bookstore, going to cat cafes, going wherever you wanted to really

One time you both took a day trip to the human world

Lucifer wasn’t happy to find out his brother and you were gone for an entire day but he lets it go when he sees that you’re smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks

What Satan didn’t expect was how these outings made him feel

He finds himself distracted from his books because he can’t stop thinking about how cute you looked holding that black cat at the cafe

Or how happy you looked when you took him to that ice cream shop in your hometown that you really love

He wakes up and you’re the first thing to pop into his mind

He’s not dumb, he knows he’s fallen in love

But he also knows this isn’t the right time, you aren’t ready

So he’ll keep being there for you as a friend

And if you ever want him to be there as something more, he’ll happily oblige

Asmodeus:

There was a movie night at the House of Lamentation

Today’s movie was an action movie, courtesy of Mammon

Amidst all the face punching and explosions, there was a budding romance between the main characters

After the third obnoxious makeout scene, you leave the room claiming you need to go to the restroom

But you leave just a *little* too fast and Asmo can feel something is up

And he thrives on gossip so he intends to find out what is it

He leaves the room a few minutes later and catches you in the hallway, determined to get you to spill the tea

You tell him about the breakup

He wasn’t prepared for the tea to be so bitter

“Oh. Well, you know what’s good for that? Face masks!” 

He had to save face somehow and beauty was his default

He’s a bit shocked when you agree but you both ditch movie night to do face masks and talk a bit

He decides to share a couple of bad date experiences he’s had to make you feel better

“Trust me, you haven’t felt embarrassment until you have someone vomit Enfield brains on your new pants and shoes while at one of the hottest clubs in the Devildom.”

You spent the entire night giggling and listening to his stories

Devildom products are surprisingly effective on your skin so you keep asking Asmo to show you new products

Plus his company is nice

Self-care days become a common occurrence

Then those self-care days become self-care sleepovers

He starts intentionally waiting to try anything new because he wants you to be there when he does

He buys more of those scented candles you told him smelled nice

A few weeks later you’re having a self-care sleepover again and you have this really cute focused look on your face while painting your nails

He knows he likes you, but this was different than his usual attraction

He didn’t want to fuck you

Well he did but not just fuck you

He wouldn’t mind if there was something more

But you routinely ended your self-care nights by yelling ‘Fuck love!’ at the top of your lungs and laughing

So he knows now isn’t the time and he’s actually okay with that

You were a sight to behold regardless of his relationship status with you

But he hopes you’ll indulge in him one day

Beelzebub:

Mammon keeps pushing his human watching duties on Beel

But he doesn’t really care because he’s being paid in cheesecake

After his third day of keeping an eye on you, he notices you aren’t eating much

Being the Avatar of Gluttony, this is basically a crime

He starts bringing extra snacks with him when he hangs out with you

“I think the chocolate flavor is better than the vanilla. What do you think?”

He actually doesn’t have a preference 

He just wants to know which snacks you like more so he can bring more of them

He makes a game out of it so you don’t think about how much you’re eating

“It motivates me to work out longer when I get a snack, could you help me?”

You sit on his back and after every pushup, you both eat a bit of whatever snack he has

He keeps going until he thinks you’ve eaten a decent amount

Or you say you’re getting full

Belphie notices that Beel is refilling his snack stash more often but he doesn’t say anything

Beel feels an immense sense of accomplishment when you finish your plate at dinner a few days later

Soon after you tell him about the breakup

“It hit me hard but you made it easier to cope, Beel. These hangouts are the highlight of my day so thank you.”

There’s a certain pang Beel gets in his stomach when he’s really hungry

Somehow your words made that pang happen in his chest

But this didn’t hurt him, quite the opposite actually

He felt good, he felt happy

It was strange for his stomach to be the quiet one while his heart went wild

But this wasn’t a change he minded too much

He wasn’t sure what to make of it but he knows he wants to figure it out with you

And he’ll take his time doing so because he liked how things were now

Belphegor:

He’s intrigued by you after the first week of your stay

He’s never seen a human who slept as much as he did

Frankly, he was impressed

Until Lucifer informed everyone about your recent breakup and made it clear to not upset you

That’s when Belphie realized these were not the leisurely naps he takes, but depression naps

One day he sees you sleeping in the living room and you looked so distressed

Sleeping was meant to be a peaceful state but you looked so unhappy

So he wakes you up

“You’re in my sleeping spot.”

You weren’t in his sleeping spot.

“Oh sorry, I’ll move-”

“You’re already here. We can both fit.” 

Before you can protest he’s all comfy next to you and falling back asleep

Having another person next to you was kind of comforting so you let it go and go back to sleep

What you didn’t know was Belphie could partially influence your dreams

He can make them more pleasant but he can’t control what you dream about

He knows it works when he wakes up and you have a relaxed expression on your sleeping face

You wake up soon after looking confused

“Good dream?”

“I think? I had a dream I rode a unicorn to the moon then carved my initials into it?”

Napping together in the living room becomes a routine

And every time you woke up you told him about the dream you had with a small smile

A few weeks later he notices he no longer has to influence your dreams for them to be good

So he leaves you be and instead curls up in the attic for his afternoon nap

He wakes up a bit when he feels someone lay down next to him

It’s probably Beel

“Why didn’t you tell me you moved napping spots?”

His eyes open and he looks over to see you pouting at him

“I just sorta ended up here.”

“Well, I can’t nap without my cuddle buddy now can I?”

You’re teasing him and he should be annoyed

But he’s blushing

He spoons you to hide that fact, resting his forehead on your shoulder

But while your dreams were getting better, it didn’t mean you were ready to move on

So he just enjoys his intimate cuddling sessions with you and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he really likes how your body fits against his

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 8: Priorities

Word Count: 2565 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Anakin hears the cheers for Obi-Wan turn sour, and he soon figures out why. It is no fault of his master's, who fights beautifully -- but there is a transparent dome-shield around the arena, and whenever someone in the angry, heavily-armed audience shoots at it, ripples of white electric shocks cross the dome and obscure the fight. Anakin is relieved that the audience is booing each other, not his master, though he worries that Obi-Wan will think they're booing at him.

Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder, trying to locate Anakin in the audience, and a blade suddenly whizzes by his neck. His reflexes protect him and he jerks out of the way, but a moment later he feels hot blood on his skin. He hadn't moved quickly enough -- the blade cut him sharp and swift. It hurts a lot more than he expected. It could have easily killed him.

He was so focused on finding Anakin in this crowd that he forgot Anakin's own words to him, his warnings about this opponent. Obi-Wan hadn't taken Anakin seriously about Tiango. Of course it was sad about Anakin’s “cool” gladiator friend, but Obi-Wan defeated a Sith lord not long ago. The experience buoyed his confidence to a fault. This Tiango -- not a Sith, not even a professional, just an ex-science experiment, just a Yooro -- landed a blow on him -- a pretty good one, too.

Obi-Wan rapidly teaches himself a lesson. Connecting with Anakin doesn't mean knowing exactly where he is. It means listening to him. Believing him. That's what teachers do. It's what friends do.

This isn't the Outer Rim, but these people are. This is Anakin's haunt. Obi-Wan will train it out of him, will make him a man of the Core. But for now, Anakin is the expert here, and his words must be Obi-Wan's textbook.

With his heart opened wide for Anakin, and his guard up because of Anakin's warning, Obi-Wan realizes he will have to hunker down in defense for a while. Tiango's assault is brutal and inhumanly quick, though Obi-Wan remembers that Yoroos do get exhausted -- eventually. What Obi-Wan lacks in comparative strength, he makes up for in endurance -- patience and energy, the long game, care -- these are Obi-Wan's secret weapons.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan deflect the same moves that once ruthlessly whittled down Crix Spartak, the gladiator who he had loved. The memory of that death match sends chills up his spine. He is certain that some of these blows must hit his master. Part of him is certain that Obi-Wan is doomed, too. Anakin had believed Crix would win, and he had been wrong. It is asking too much to have hope again, against the same, utterly evil man.

Though Obi-Wan has great endurance, his vibroblade does not. Out of habit, he treats it as roughly as if it were a laser weapon, depending on it for deflection, as a shield. Tiango's barrage strikes the metal and bends it back and forth into a zigzag, then into a knot. Obi-Wan is slowly disarmed as his blade becomes less and less tenable as a weapon. He has no choice; he has no other shield. The biggest bother is his own hand: the damn vibroblade is aptly named -- it quivers like a leaf in the wind, wearing out his wrist and weakening his fingers.

The crowd cheers enthusiastically for the graceful Jedi, chanting, "Kenobi! Kenobi!" Anakin does not join in. Obi-Wan could almost be dancing with his expert moves, but Anakin is not in the mood to learn from him. He gazes in hopeless terror at the duel. He watches bullets, lasers and slingshotted electrostones bounce off the dome, as well as gifts, toys and even people’s underwear. All such wild debris from this crazed crowd trying to reach out to their beloved or hated athlete, his poor, wonderful master.

The fastest or biggest bullets send fuzzy waves across the dome, but the dome quickly repairs itself. Anakin follows the arc of the dome, calculating the sources of its projection points from subtle distortions in the waves.

He moves the layers of fur in his stolen disguise to peek at the recharging screen on his hidden acid-blaster: 52%. No other weapons are making a dent in the dome. But no other weapons are quite like this one, and no one else seems to have figured out where to shoot. Could he crack the dome? What would he do then?

Anakin looks away from Obi-Wan for a second and scans his narrowed eyes over the happy rabble. He does not understand them. Are they seeing what he's seeing? They all shout and cheer, laughing and clapping, as if Obi-Wan is triumphant, as if he is playing. He looks back at his master. He sees that Obi-Wan is in great pain. Dying, even. How can the information from his senses, and the conclusions from his feelings, be so different from everyone else's?

Is he connecting, mentally, to his master -- using his supposed Jedi powers to see things for how they truly are? Is he seeing the truth, better than they are, because he is a Jedi, a Jedi Padawan? Is the Force giving him a special message -- because he, unlike the rabble, is a Jedi -- because he, unlike everyone, is the answer to a prophecy -- because he is closer to Obi-Wan than anyone else is?

Or ... is he, Anakin, wrong? Is everyone else right? Is his sight blinded by irrational fear, brought about by his utter dependence on this man? Did Obi-Wan really stumble, just now? No one else seems to have seen it.

Is he, Anakin, perhaps, confusing the past for the present? Crix for Obi-Wan? Death for life?

Is it all in his head? Or is it real?

   *   *   *

Below the arena, Zlinky has memorized the map from the computer. With Jane, she trespasses through the employee quarters. They reach a large, important-looking office which Zlinky guesses is Knightkiller's.

She hears voices inside and shouts at the door, “Hey boss! There's fried fluunies in Rec Room 3!”

She backs off as the door opens and two people exit. Zlinky creeps inside and Jane blusters along behind her. Too soon, they hear the people coming back and Zlinky shoves Jane under the slick metallic desk; the robot is so big that two of the desk legs lift a few inches from the ground. There isn't much room left for Zlinky; she has to nestle right up against Jane's bazooka. A belt of detonators falls across Zlinky's lap.

She peeks over the edge of the desk and sees the people more closely. They look more decorated than the other guards, with sashes and medals, as if there was some kind of made-up military ranking among Knightkiller's cronies, a worthless army dedicated solely to this evil entertainment. 

“These fluunies are great,” says one crony.

“I’ve had better,” says the other.

The hidden Padawan hears the gross sounds of chewing, and then the rather more alarming sound of Jane powering up her neutralizers. Zlinky quiets her and gestures for her to stop. Stealth has worked so far; it would be best to avoid violence, especially since these two seem important.

“I can't wait to run the missing Jedi kids through with this,” says the first one, as he ignites a lightsaber.

Zlinky stops gesturing, but Jane has already powered down.

“The Jedi kids must still be on the ship. No one's been allowed to leave and no shuttle pods have activated.”

“You think Jedi could survive in space?”

“No. Only the boss can do that. You saw them in those Coruscanti space suits, idiot.”

“Oh right.”

The second crony ignites another lightsaber. Even without looking, Zlinky recognizes the sound as her own. She feels something very powerful and uncomfortable. Taken aback, she identifies it as jealousy, one of the very worst emotions. Afraid of her own feelings, she is frozen, unable to act, unable to know if she is behaving rationally, according to the light side, or irrationally, which will lead her off the narrow path into darkness.

“They're real nice suits. I called dibs on the man-size one for me and the little one for my daughter.”

“Yeah...the gigantic one and the lady-size one are pretty useless.”

“I'll take the lady one for my kid to grow into.”

Zlinky thinks, I'm twelve! I’m not a lady! Though I am much taller than Anakin. So they say Anakin is missing, too? That means he's not dead! If only I was strong enough to detect his presence!

Jane pokes Zlinky and gestures to her blasters. Zlinky shakes her head.

We can't kill him! He's a dad!

They hear the two men walking closer and closer. One of them accidentally hits something with the lightsaber; the girls hear them cursing and smell melting plastic.

Zlinky feels time running out. This hiding spot is bad. She ran in here without a plan. She knows her decision-making is impeded by fear, jealousy, and access to a murder-droid, but she must decide something.

Zlinky quickly examines the settings on Jane's weapons. All these numbers and charts are too confusing to parse right now. She dials one dial back, but it only causes some numbers to rise and others to fall. She puts it back where it was, though the numbers are still not the same. The last time Jane shot someone, it wasn't fatal. At least not immediately.

The girl feels tears pressuring her eyes and throat. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. She has learned through stories and lessons that the darkness within is far worse than the darkness without. She is more frightened of doing wrong than she is of dying. There is no death. But there is evil.

She can't get out of her head a discussion she overheard from some of the older Padawans. This group of twenty- and thirty-somethings is the pride of the whole Temple. Everyone adores them -- the strongest, most beautiful, best students in school. Once they are knighted, then they leave the young people’s social circle to rub shoulders with the teachers, and have no time for their old friends -- but before they are knighted, they rule the school from the inside, and everyone lets them get away with a little more fun than knights are allowed. In those last years of Padawanship, they are the most free a Jedi can be.

Just last month, when Zlinky fetched the group snacks from the mess hall in order to bask in their presence, she found them in a very strange state. When one of them returns from a mission, the others crowd around to hear the stories and see the new scars. The latest conquering hero, a human named Sara Chid-wun, did not have a physical scar. But she had such an aura of bitterness around her that the whole group was affected, including the young interloper Zlinky.

Sara explained how she and her Master Kayji were caught in various difficult situations, and each time Kayji had neglected to act, so each time Sara had been forced to act herself, often with violence. It felt like a test that she continuously failed. And yet, ultimately, they succeeded in their mission. Sara claimed that Kayji would not address her concerns with anything beyond platitudes.

The whole experience led Sara to, hesitantly, conclude that Masters often take advantage of their students. Masters refuse to move, and claim they are trusting in the Force, or allowing evil to collapse in on itself, or some such excuse, while in reality they are leaving the sensible but nasty work to the impure, young Padawan tagging along.

The group discussed each example, and more from their own adventures, each trying to explain away their masters’ -- sometimes -- confusing actions, each unwilling to support Sara’s conclusion -- including, of course, Sara herself. But the group found that, if they were being honest, she might be right. Sometimes. So they had moved on to finding the moral lesson in this seemingly cruel behavior -- something about knightly violence being worse than non-knightly violence, something about power and purity.

And maybe they came to a satisfying explanation among themselves; Sara herself seemed as cheerful as normal the next time Zlinky saw her. But Zlinky hadn't felt comfortable sitting in on their important big-kid conversation any longer, so she had left at the darkest part of it.

Tila has never forced Zlinky's hand before. Zlinky has never had to kill anyone before. But now the master is indeed the one sitting out, while the student is the one doing the work.

Is it okay to stray off the path when you are only a Padawan? Is it, in fact, expected, and necessary? Must she walk in the gray area beside the light, until she is a master herself, and can savor the light all the time, and never have to do any more wrong? When she is knighted, then she can delegate that dark stuff to someone else, someone young and obedient?

The thought occurs to Zlinky that she is not the one who would do the killing -- that would be Jane. But she knows that is a flaky excuse. Jane is her responsibility. Just as she is Tila's. The blood is on all their hands.

Zlinky turns to Jane and nods. Jane immediately stands up and neutralizes the guards. Zlinky pokes her head over the desk, sees the smoking bodies, and fears the worst.

“Are they dead?”

“ɪ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ɪᴛ. ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ.“

“I'm pretty sure your full capacity is overkill.”

She tiptoes over to the guard's bodies. One seems to be breathing. The other, she can't tell.

She can't alert anyone to the danger, and she doesn't trust the medical facilities here anyway. But she has nothing to give them, to help them. She puts her hand on the soft, sandy hair of the one whose life is unclear to her, the one who has a little daughter.

“May the Force be with you.”

Her voice is a shaky whisper, but she's never meant those words so much as she means them now.

Please, please, live.

She pulls the lightsaber from his hand and turns it off, and does the same with the other guard. She finds three more lightsabers on their belts. She recognizes hers and her master’s; two of them must be Anakin’s and his master’s; the last one could be Glagret’s, a.k.a. Knightkiller’s. It's green, and of the same old fashion as her master’s. She is surprised and glad that it isn't red. But maybe Knightkiller carries her red one on her person. Or maybe, just maybe, the Sith are not at all involved. She prays that they aren't.

Zlinky and Jane hide the bodies behind the desk and lock the door behind them. Zlinky turns away from the door and does not look back.

They were gonna kill me. They still will kill me, if they figure it out. I have to act in self-defense. And I have to save the other three Jedi. These people may be people, but they are low-lives, murderers, and lawbreakers. It wasn't my choice that they got in my way.

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Arthur’s Story

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Full fic can be found here.

---

Arthur is eight. He sits on the side of the playground, watching the children run about and play games together that he was never invited to play and which he doesn’t really want to, anyway. This is what he tells himself, at least, because really, he does want to play but whenever he’s asked to join in before, they’ve said no, so he’s stopped asking now. They’re fun to watch though, both the game itself and the people playing it. He can watch who cheats, who misses the kick, who pushes too hard on purpose and who kindly let’s things go.

He learns a lot, from watching.

Arthur has always watched. He watches his parents fight when they think he can’t hear or see them, he watches his mum graze her hand over Mr Benson’s arm as she passes him in the corridor of their building, watches his dad see and press his lips into a firm line but say nothing.

Arthur stands apart from other people, cut adrift on his own, and takes in what he sees, carries the information he finds in his mind like pebbles in a pocket and tucks them away for later. He feels that this keeps him safer, somehow, because he knows about things. Not that he knows what he will use any of what he’s learned for, or why he feels as though he needs to carry secrets that aren’t his in his heart, but he does, anyway.

Granddad tells him it’s ‘endearing’, that he watches, when he catches him doing so. Calls him patient, and a wise old soul with an island heart. Arthur doesn’t know what an island is, and Granddad tells him that it’s something Earth used to have, swathes of land rising out of the sea.

‘Is all land not an island, then?’ He asks, ‘Because the earth was mostly all sea, wasn’t it?’ At least, this is what he’s heard in school in lessons about the Fall; stale secrets as old and thin as air, a dying whisper across the ages from humanity long ago.

Granddad shakes his head and combs a calloused hand through Arthur’s hair. ‘No’, he says, ‘islands are smaller bits of land apart from the rest. They’re surrounded by the ocean, all on their own.’

He means it kindly but Arthur feels hurt anyway, because he doesn’t want to be on his own. He tries to make friends, tries to play with the other children and talk with them and share his collection of secrets but they never want to, telling him that he’s strange or haughty or boring.

Granddad notices his disappointment and crouches down to pull him in for a hug, pressing him into his chest. ‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ he says, holding him tight. ‘Islands are strong, they stand up all on their own. The sea keeps on pushing and pushing, but an island pushes right back, no matter how hard it is.’

He pulls back, looks Arthur in the eye. ‘Don’t change for the sea of people, Arthur; you don’t need to be anyone but yourself. Sometimes it’s better to be an island, than to lose sense of who you are.’

Arthur nods, feeling better. Half of him hates that even Granddad sees him as that, alone and different, recognising his failure to fit in, but the other half of him takes pride in it, that he is who he is and if that’s different from everyone else, then maybe that’s okay. So, he carries on watching the children play games without him, carries on looking for secrets and listening for change, hoping all the while that, maybe, they’ll reach out and invite him in.

Arthur is eleven when his granddad dies. It wasn’t a surprise and he knew it was coming, but the blow hits him hard anyway and sweeps him off his feet. He feels hollow, like his insides have been carved out and not replaced with anything; a ringing deadened nothing that weighs him down and leaves him numb. It doesn’t seem real, because Granddad was here and now he’s not and Arthur is exactly the same but his world has collapsed. And that, that doesn’t seem possible because how can so much be the same when such a huge part is missing?

After the funeral, a sad sorry affair where adults drift aimlessly like ships unmoored, he hides himself away in his room where his heart hurts and he can hardly stop crying long enough to think. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, now, because Granddad was the only person who really knows- knew- him. He curls in on himself, tight fists and thick throat, and reaches for an e-tab, loaded with stories Granddad thinks -thought- he’d like and even some straight from Granddad himself. They’re all old, old old old things about heroes and monsters, courage and loss, long journeys across wide wide seas, and from the tales of others Arthur forgets himself, briefly, and escapes for just a moment.

Using them to start, he begins to try his hand at his own.

Each night when he is supposed to be sleeping, Arthur huddles under his blankets and spins his own stories, weaving together all of the secrets he’s ever found to make somewhere real and alive; a large family with scores of people to talk to he sails ancient seas and explores the unknown, making friends wherever he goes. They speak to him as he sleeps in unknown familiar voices and it’s a place warm and happy where he can’t hear his parents scream at each other and someone will remember to wish him goodnight.

More and more Arthur hides himself away, feeding off tales of a different place entirely and a yearning in him grows so strong that he’s surprised no one can see it, read it like his soul is mapped on his skin.

Arthur is fifteen and his school have decided that it’s time for a school trip. It’s to the botanical gardens, this time, set up in the middle of the main city dome. It’s only recently been built because, as with all human colonies, the focus is on survival first, the basic needs for life: oxygen, water, heat, food. His colony isn’t new, but it also isn’t that old and things are just advancing enough that money can be spent on more frivolous things. The gardens are just plants: grasses and flowers and trees that aren’t good for anything other than looking pretty, he guesses, but it’s new and educational so his school bundles them all up into year groups and ferries them across town to study what’s there and write a journalistic report to justify the excursion.

Arthur has made a few friends now, people he can talk to about homework, sit on shuttles next to, and hang out with after school. The air between them is stale and flat but safe and predictable, and Arthur is thankful he has this, these people at least, who like him enough to tolerate his presence, a small fragile bridge connecting them together. They’re all corralled into dreary lines as they approach the gardens, Arthur’s group slinking at the rear, so it takes a while for Arthur to notice that they’ve properly arrived.

He hands over his ticket, watches it marked with a stamp, and turns his gaze to go through the doors and stops, dead. There, right at the start to welcome them in, is an assault of colour; flowers bursting from the ground in a cacophony of hues that capture the eye and dazzle him. It’s a vivacity that he’s never before dreamt was possible and he can’t look away, even as people jostle him to get past and he feels himself moving powerless along with the tide.

It’s odd, it’s strange because he’s seen flowers and things in e-books but he’s never seen any before in real life and he can’t seem to match them together in his head, the pictures in his mind and what is in front of him now. He’s overwhelmed with the experience, the sights, the smells- a heady thing that turns his mind to cotton, and he stumbles forward to touch them, fingers stroking velvety petals before his teacher pulls him sharply away.

‘Can you not see the signs?’ she hisses at him, ‘we need to stay off the grass; I told you all this in the shuttle. Don’t touch.’

Her voice comes at him through a fog and it is an effort to turn his head to look at her, nodding dumbly. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, fingers tacky with pollen and time, ‘I just-‘

He just, what? He doesn’t have the words to describe this, what he’s feeling, even to himself; his emotions a curious storm of sensations: he feels home, he feels homesick, he feels calm and sad and happy and angry, for some reason because it’s so familiar and beautiful and achingly new that what he really wants to do, embarrassingly, is sit down on the grass and cry into the dirt.

Luckily, he has enough presence of mind and teenage pride to shake himself free of whatever is happening to him and manages to locate his friends, watching him awkwardly from the path. They greet him, unsure, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care, can’t bring himself to be ashamed for not hiding his strangeness, for letting his normalcy slip. He feels the bridges between them shake and weaken but his eyes dart about the trees, drinking in the depths of green and he struggles to stay afloat in today.

That night he dreams of the sea, the sea and the sky and an endless horizon that broadens outwards, endlessly, just for him and he feels the tug of the unknown call to him across a vast and forgotten ocean. Then, as the sea rocks him in his dreams it turns dark; pulling him down into its vast weight he drowns on sea foam and regret. Unfulfilled dreams and broken promises fill his boots and drag him down and it's all his fault, all of it, everything he ever did could have been so very different, all those people he hurt when he didn't mean to, all those terrible things he's said, all those-

 He gasps awake.

 His room is dark, starlight blocked by curtains, and unmoving, but still he feels rocked by non-existent currents and the room dips and sways when he moves his head to clutch at his knees.

 The visit to the gardens, plainly, changes him; something morphs or grows within and he knows, deeply, that he doesn’t want to do anything else. He begins to select classes and at nineteen he specialises his studies in agriculture, in plants and trees and earth and grasses. He wants to grow them; learn how they work and how to use them for things. They have so many uses, in so many sectors, and Arthur can’t understand how other people don’t find them as fascinating as he does.

 There’s a breakthrough, that year. Earth, the original home of humankind, becomes viable and opens its arms wide. They’re looking for people, for farmers and fishers and growers and makers to stabilise the colony and Arthur knows that that’s where he needs to be, that’s where he needs to go and he can’t wait, won’t wait, not for one moment longer. He applies, pouring hours over his application the days before he submits it because there is a wild hunger in him, a need that he knows deep in his bones won’t be extinguished any other way and he makes sure to press what he knows about plants into what he writes.

 It’s a wait, a tense hard thing than wears at him, eroding him away but then, at last, confirmation; he’s in.

 A two-year journey is all that’s between him and the sea of his dreams and the greenery of fields and trees. He tells his parents, separately. They divorced, last year, and Arthur is glad, so glad that they never had any children other than him, glad that there was no one else caught in that maelstrom of words and bitterness. It poisoned the house, poisoned the space between them all and filtered down to Arthur, trapped in the middle with nowhere to go.

 But not anymore. He packs very little, stands to reminisce not for very long, before heading out of the door. He’s early, about five or so hours left before he can board, but once he’s said his goodbyes and gathered his things it’s as though he can’t stand to be there in that house, in that place, for one more second. The opaque material of his colony’s domes press down on him as he walks, murky and grey; he all at once feels as though he is sinking underwater and he stops on the way to the launch site, arms swinging and a pounding in his head. A deep breath, a catch in the throat, and he instead turns to veer back towards town, to the botanical gardens.

They’re familiar to him now, as known to him as his own hands, and he settles himself underneath a wide thick tree next to a bush of roses spilt red like blood and gets out an e-tab. His granddad’s voice emerges, soft and old like paper telling tales of the sea, and his words curl around Arthur’s chest to rock him back to himself and wish him good luck.

[canmom]

what's some cool shit in the d&d game you're playing?

at the time you sent this i was not in an active D&D game! (though i hope we will get to play a final session of charity’s game at some point, it’s just been harder to find time when players across four continents are available) charity’s game has been cool as hell though, e.g. there was a corridor where we were each rendered in different art styles and had to fight some stained glass enemies, and our current cliffhanger state is fighting numerous factions for the corpse of an angel; all of us are playing some weird kind of monster girl and charity is constantly putting us in incredibly creative environments...

...but as of now i’m in a game run by @barnacleheretic and that’s v exciting! we are playing by the AD&D model where you roll stats in order then see what you qualify for, and I happened to get a viable cleric; I’m compelled to be Lawful, so I figured, let’s go the fun route and pick LE, and thought about all of @baeddel‘s stories about princes with grandiose ambitions trying to impose modes and orders a la machiavelli but also being very bad at it. clerics in this game are more ‘recipients of divine vision’ than ‘ordained clergy’ so that suited me pretty well.

so the way things shook out, my girl Wynflaed is leading a holy expedition to explore the mysteries of Daedalus Tower (a kind of zone where the rules break down a la roadside picnic or the abyss); she genuinely believes she has been sent there by God, but she’s also convinced that God’s plan will best be achieved through her achieving lots of power and authority ;) as it stands, though, she’s quite naive; the de facto party leader in terms of logistics and tactics, one Duke Killman, is totally lying through his teeth about his abilities and intentions and I fully intend to lean into my character not cottoning on until a suitably dramatic moment.

so far we’ve descended into the dungeon and found a flooded city full of cool architecture with domes and such, a situation which already seems geologically improbable given our distance from the sea; my character has already seen her precious mail armour eaten by a metal-devouring slime which we defeated by pinning it to the floor with wooden arrows, but she’s turned it around and resolutely pressed on. here’s my work in progress picture of her btw which I drew during the last session:

(it’ll end up on @uranium-light​ once I finish shading her/ironing out remaining details)

Soraya is running the game in a very narratively-oriented way, where we take quite a bit of care about how we describe our tactical approach, and this lends the fights a lot of physicality because I’m thinking about like, how do I hold my weapons and shield, where do I keep my gear, that kind of thing; the game feels very tactile and satisfying in that way, and between this and Charity’s game, I’m really coming around on old-school D&D’s balance of abstraction and explicit system elements - it doesn’t try to create a complete system of ‘game mechanics’ but trusts that a lot should be up to the discretion of the ‘referee’ (not dungeon master!) and players.

I also had some fun being the map girl, translating Soraya’s verbal descriptions as accurately as I could:

anyway, ymmv on whether this is cool of course and we’re still a way off from the cool weird shit that God has sent us to find, but I’m having a lot of fun with it; if later editions of D&D feel suffocating under the weight of corporate-bland prose and a self-referential system of mechanics taking after games like mtg, and if pbta is a lot of fun but too abstract to use for this kind of crunchy dungeon crawl feeling, then this feels like a refreshing spin. which has a lot to do with the players and referee of course, i’m vibing with the group and looking forward to seeing how our dynamic evolves.

anyway we’re streaming our games on saturday afternoons (uk time), i’ll link it again here when we’re next running one

[joyhigh]

Lisa the Fanzine: Interview with Taco Salad

An interview of the creator of the fangame Lisa the Hopeful, done for a Lisa zine back in 2019 that is no longer being produced. More info about the zine can be found here, as well as an interview with Dingaling.

Q: What made you want to do a LISA fangame?

TS: A while back I came across this video on YouTube, Lisa the Spiteful’s OST. I found out that there were people trying, and mostly failing, to make fangames for the series. Listening to that album over and over again, I decided I’d be the one to finally finish one for everyone—and release it out of the blue. Pointless came out first though despite my game being finished; I wanted to make my own music before giving up after realizing I wasn’t a musically inclined person at all. I finally released the game in March, even though I had felt the community got that game they had wanted. Just a spur of the moment thing.

Q: What sort of inspirations(other than LISA) did you have?

TS: Probably some subconscious influence, but for the most part there wasn’t much. Tanetane Island in Mother 3 for Area 2’s swamp, just about any JRPG with an arena subplot for the Sports Dome...I forgot most of them since it was mostly subconscious. Even though you said ‘other than LISA’ I will say this: I enjoyed making plenty of parallels to the original LISA, only to avert the scenes or put a twist on them instead. It was fun to make things familiar, yet different,

Q: What is your favorite song from your game’s OST?

TS: As of this interview, Occult Groove by JDub.

Q: Why did you choose to go with the name you did?

TS: The main characters’ hope for the future, yet their hopes and dreams are stomped upon repeatedly until that hope is rekindled from the ashes in the end. In a sense the name is about optimism.

Q: What is your favorite main character specific to your game?

TS: Yogurt Masters. Recurring characters like this tend to be my favorites in any sort of series. Especially when they do a face heel turn.

Q: What is your favorite enemy specific to your game?

TS: Hardest Rider. He was just a lot of fun to make thrilling, and I still find his fight a blast to watch when people face off with him. 

Q: Who is your favorite LISA character?

TS: Probably Carp or Fly Minetti(both busted but so full of character).

Q: What were the inspirations for the gangs in your game?

TS: The inspiration for the gangs is tied into the main theme of the game. They have a common thread and are all very meaningful to the story. They are all stereotypical obsessions of men; I just built off that and gradually made them more ridiculous.

Q: What inspired you to go with the themes in the game that you did?

TS: Nothing really, other than the fact that I didn’t feel like many other games were exploring this kind of overarching theme. I know a lot of people don’t get it, and that’s fine. I just wanted to go for something a little different than the norm with the main characters desires, how they struggled with themselves and the relationship with their polar opposite friends.

Q: How do you feel about giving Hopeful major content updates and fans submitting additions to the game?

TS: Making new content for the Hopeful was a lot of fun and just a great way to spend my free time. I wanted to add replay ability and give fans more things to play with. I really needed a creative outlet at the time too, and it was an easy fix for that. 

As for fan created content they were welcome updates to my shoddier work, although I will say that making the game was more about having fun doing it. When accepting art donations it mattered more to me that people were getting practice or motivating themselves to create. Getting perfect graphics for Slick Geeseman never really mattered much to me. I don’t know if I’d recommend the route of finishing the game and then expecting other people to polish it for you(not that that was my intention; this community is just really gung-ho about that sort of thing); assembling a team is a much better idea. 

However, placebo graphics are perfectly fine(which is what the first version of Hopeful had), and I’d recommend putting together utter trash sprites and focusing solely on the game itself until it’s finished. That’s when you polish. Helped me get the first version of the game done in 3 months, after all.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch. 5)

Chapter 5

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,942

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

               “Come downstairs and meet our new friends!” said Hoseok.

               Catalina’s eyes widened when she saw the person coming around the corner upstairs. He was bookmarking the book in his hands and closing it. As he walked down the stairs, Catalina took in his sharp, intelligent eyes, his full lips and otherwise soft features. His hair was styled delicately over his forehead, his shoulders were broad, his chest was big, even under his sweater and…

               Catalina knew those thighs.

               Jungkook choked beside Catalina and nudged her.

               “Thighs,” he whispered. Catalina nodded.

               “We saw you in the souvenir shop the other day,” said Catalina. “I’m sorry, uh, my name is Catalina.”

               “It’s nice to meet you,” Namjoon said with a smile, his dimples appearing. Catalina blushed. He was way too gorgeous. “Yeah, Hoseok and I stopped there on our way into town the other day. I think I remember seeing you two there.”

               “Oh! You guys work at the souvenir store!” said Hoseok. “I knew you looked kinda familiar.”

               “Yeah, we’re only there on the weekends,” said Jungkook. “We’re only gonna be working for the season.”

               “It seems like an interesting job,” said Hoseok. “You’ll get to see all the tourists.”

               “You guys are all students?” asked Namjoon. Catalina, Jungkook and Jimin all nodded. He asked them about their majors and what kinds of classes they were taking, which they happily answered until Catalina caught a glimpse of the time.

               “Guys, it’s three am,” she said. “We should probably head home.”

               “Oh jeez, we have that stupid French class at eight tomorrow,” said Jungkook.

               “We won’t keep you then,” said Taehyung. “Classes are important.”

               Taehyung walked them all out, through the front door this time, and the three friends began making their way back to the car.

               “Well, that was interesting,” said Catalina. “We didn’t die, so that was cool.”

               “I thought they were all pretty cool!” said Jungkook. “I mean, still a bit weird, but cool.”

               “Taehyungie wants me to teach him how to play video games,” said Jimin.

               “He wants you to teach him?” Jungkook asked with a laugh. Jimin smacked his arm.

               “We’ll be learning together,” said Jimin.

               “That’s so cute,” said Catalina. “You already have a nickname for him. Anyway, I have a question: why the hell were they all so attractive?”

               “I was thinking the same thing!” said Jimin. “It didn’t make any sense! Like, normal people don’t look like that. They were way too beautiful.”

               “We’re normal people though,” said Jungkook. Catalina and Jimin looked at him in confusion. “I mean, we’re hot too. Sometimes people are just hot.”

               “We’re like, normal people hot though,” said Jimin. “Those guys were like…gods or something.”

               “Yeah, way too pretty. Perfect skin, perfect hair, all charming,” said Catalina.

               “Red eyes,” Jimin mumbled.

               “Okay fine, they were unusually pretty,” said Jungkook. “I’m just glad we got some awesome footage today. I can’t wait to dump this.”

               “Okay, well don’t do it tonight, because we do have class tomorrow morning,” said Catalina.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Catalina was running again. Always running. Her feet were bare and her lungs burned. The concrete beneath her feet gave way to metal grating. Her footsteps clanged and echoed here as she made her way through the tunnels. She glanced behind her. It was dark, but she could see a set of red eyes approaching her, almost glowing. These eyes weren’t the ones she was used to. These were mean. These eyes looked at her like she was prey. The man who the eyes belonged to walked, as if it didn’t take much effort to chase after her. He had a sickening smile on his face.

               Catalina needed to get out of these tunnels. If she could get back to her friends, they’d protect her.

               “Here, kitty, kitty,” the man said, his voice mirthful. “Don’t you know trespassers get eaten, little kitty?”

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

               “I don’t remember what he looked like, but I remember what he said,” Catalina said to Jungkook as they made their way to the library. “He said, ‘Don’t you know trespassers get eaten, little kitty?’ Just like in your story.”

               “That’s creepy,” said Jungkook. “He had red eyes though? Was he one of those guys from the house?”

               “No, definitely not,” said Catalina. “I remember thinking about them, and you and Jimin, and thinking that I needed to reach you guys because you’d keep me safe. This is the first time I could remember so much.”

               “I wonder what these dreams mean,” Jungkook said as he opened the library door for her.

               “Thanks. Yeah, I have no idea,” said Catalina.

               “Maybe they’re prophetic,” said Jungkook.

               “God, I hope not,” Catalina said as they approached the table. Jin and Jimmy K were both sitting there, textbooks open.

               “Well, well, well,” said Jin. “Look who decided to finally show up today.”

               “You don’t have to greet us like that every time,” said Jungkook as Catalina laughed.

               “How are you guys today?” asked Catalina.

               “Now that you’re here? Fantastic,” said Jimmy K with a wink.

               Catalina blushed and said, “Okay, that’s enough, captain.”

               Catalina and Jungkook sat down as Jin began their tutoring session and Jimmy K studied silently beside them.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               “So, game night,” said Jimin. “Do either of you know what to expect tonight?”

               “Nope! I’m just excited to sit around and eat,” said Catalina. “Take a right up ahead.”

               “Where? There’s no driveway, oh wait,” Jungkook turned into a somewhat overgrown driveway, hidden by the woods. “Also, we have a premier to watch!”

               “They’re gonna love it,” said Catalina. “Jimin, did you have fun yesterday?”

               “I did! Hoseok is a really good dancer,” he said. It’s been a week since they broke into the house and met Taehyung, Hoseok, and Namjoon. Yesterday, Catalina and Jimin had invited Hoseok to a freestyle session in the campus studio. He was happy to join them and show off his moves. They all ended up teaching each other different styles, but it was mostly Catalina and Jimin asking Hoseok to teach them the pop and lock style he was so good at.

               Jungkook’s car pushed through the heavily overgrown driveway until they reached cobblestone, which led right up to the mansion. Catalina closed her phone map and said, “Well, it’s good to know there’s an easier way up here.”

               “Yeah, I thought we’d have to keep hiking up those rocks every time,” said Jungkook as he put the car into park. The three friends piled out of the car, arms full of snacks, wearing their comfiest pajamas. The porch lights of the mansion were on, illuminating Taehyung as he opened the front door.

               “Welcome!” he shouted. “Did you find it okay?”

               “Yeah, Hoseok texted us a route,” said Catalina.

               “You guys and your fancy telephones,” said Taehyung. He let them in and they all took off their shoes. “So, we were thinking some board games tonight. Or card games. Or a game Hoseok described to us called Pictionary. Or we can just chat. Or-“

               “Tae, that all sounds great,” said Catalina.

               “Right, sorry,” he chuckled. “Here, follow me.”

               They followed Taehyung through a few halls before entering a cozy lounge. Big plush couches lined three walls, a flat screen tv was mounted against one wall and a low coffee table sat in the center of the room. Hoseok and Namjoon stood up from the couch as they entered. The smile fell from Taehyung’s face.

               “Where’s Yoongi?” he asked.

               “He said he wasn’t in the mood for game night,” said Namjoon.

               “Who’s Yoongi?” asked Jimin.

               “He’s our other roommate,” said Namjoon. “He’s been tired these days.”

               “He promised!” Taehyung pouted. “He told me he’d come to game night.”

               “Let’s go find him then,” said Hoseok.

               “I’ll go with you!” said Catalina. “I really want to see the house.”

               “Me too!” said Jimin.

               “Me three,” said Jungkook.

               “Okay, Tae tae, Namjoon, you two stay here and set up a game. I’ll give these three a tour,” said Hoseok. They dumped the snacks onto the coffee table and followed Hoseok out of the room.

               He led them through the massive house, through rooms so grand, Catalina wondered how big this house actually was.

               “This is the library,” said Hoseok. The room they were in was enormous. The ceiling was cavernous and domed and the bookshelves towered high.

               “This is an impressive collection,” said Catalina.

               “I know, these guys do love their books,” said Hoseok. “They’ve been collecting for years I guess.”

               “I’m sure,” said Catalina.

               Hoseok then led them through several hallways then showed off his bedroom. His room was so unlike the rest of the house, it felt like stepping into another world. Everything was bright and colorful, there were brand posters all over the walls and an impressive shoe collection beside the closet, which was open and showing off an array of colorful clothes. Hoseok then took them on a walk through the conservatory. There wasn’t much growing right now. It was mostly cracked marble and empty pots.

               “Maybe we can fill this room with plants next summer,” said Hoseok.

               “I garden with my mom every year,” said Jimin. “I’d love to help.”

               “That would be very nice,” said Hoseok. “This house deserves to be put back together again. It’s just so pretty.”

               He then led them back through the house. As they walked the halls, chatting about their classes and classmates, Catalina could hear the faint sound of a pipe organ.

               “Ah, he must be in the auditorium,” said Hoseok. Catalina’s eyes widened.

               “The auditorium?” asked Jimin. “You guys have an auditorium in here?”

               “With a pipe organ?” asked Catalina. Hoseok chuckled and rolled his eyes.

               “I know, right?” he said. “These guys are so dramatic. I guess they’re used to a certain lifestyle and they’re all rich for some reason…I mean, back in collage, I was happy when I could afford a cup of ramen in my one room dorm.”

               They followed the sound of the pipe organ until they came to the auditorium. The three friends gasped as they entered. The auditorium wasn’t huge, but it was incredibly elaborate. When Catalina was about twelve, her mother had taken her to a show at the Detroit Masonic Temple. This auditorium reminded her of the Masonic Temple auditorium, all carved wood and velvet seats. Up on the stage was a huge, ornate organ. The pipes lined the walls near the ceiling, emitting long, haunting notes. A man sat at the organ, hunched over the keys.

               “Yoonie-boonie honey-baby!” Hoseok shouted in his loudest, cutsey-est voice. The man at the organ stopped playing. Hoseok skipped down the aisle and hopped up onto the stage. “We have visitors, come meet them!”

               The man turned around slowly to look at them. He was just as beautiful as the other residents of the house. His eyes were dark red, just like the others, catlike and tired. His round face was pale, his lips in a slight pout.

               “I thought we weren’t having humans at the house,” Yoongi said. Hoseok laughed loudly, slapping his knee.

               “We’re all human here, so I’m not sure what that means!” said Hoseok. Catalina and Jungkook laughed along with him as Jimin just looked at them with wide eyes. Yoongi seemed like an interesting character. “Come to game night with us. I miss my honey-boy Yoonie bear.”

               Yoongi stood up and looked down at Catalina, Jungkook and Jimin from the stage.

               “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Will there be food at game night?”

               “I brought salt and vinegar chips,” said Jimin.

               “I brought chocolate,” said Catalina. Yoongi pointed at her.

               “A woman after my own heart,” said Yoongi. “I’ll come.”

[leechtwinsfling]

Twisted Wonderland @ DISNEYLAND  [ Chapter 2  ]

✨ Twisted Wonderland FanFiction ❤

[ Disneyland Date Series - HEARTSLABYUL ]

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

Going through the road that leads directly to the Queen of Hearts Castle, we finally arrive in a few minutes before lining up for the theater to open. Seeing others beginning to line up, we wait for a few more minutes. Ace munches on his popcorn as I reach for some too, but he pulls them away.

“You underestimated my popcorn eating.” he playfully glares at me getting me to raise a brow in disbelief.

“Really? Are you seriously going to finish all that and still be able to eat during the Unbirthday Party and Banquet Hall?” I remind him.

He thinks about it before agreeing, “Okay, fine.”

Smiling, I grab some popcorn to munch on as we sit on the steel rail for keeping the line consistent. Deuce joins my other side as he takes some popcorn from my hand.

“He’s the one who has the whole bucket!” I gasp seeing how much he took from my hand.

“He refused to share them with me.” Deuce states getting me to look at Ace who smiles innocently.

Continuing to wait, Cater takes more pictures of us as a group. Whenever you’re siting on a rail with a habit of being clumsy and unstable, let’s just say you’d eventually fall down. And that’s what happens as I feel my band slip during one of the group photos and I begin falling back. They all see this before grabbing onto me before falling to my doom and pulling me back up.

“I suggest not sitting on the rail.” Trey says getting me to whine.

“But it’s fun!” I argue.

“Not when you injure yourself.” Riddle sighs disapproving, “Anyways, the doors will open soon so you all get off.”

Reluctantly, the three of us do, and just like Riddle said, the staff members open the doorway to the theater. They direct all of us in a single file line before we enter the grande room. My eyes instantly widen at the scene in front of me as I feel myself stop to stare at the setting. It was an amazing place as the leather-like chairs are rose red with a white ceiling full of gold accents. All around the walls and the ceiling has amazing structure design as the middle of it has a dome showing a glass art. The stage has red velvet curtains and in front of it has a black box full of prepared musicians. 

I am getting drag along the road as I can’t stop myself from looking around. There are so many components making this fascinating theater. 

“[N/A]?” Trey calls getting me to break the daze, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just in awe.” I blush getting him to smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.” he gestures to the others.

Riddle, Ace and Deuce look like children in a candy shop as Cater is taking millions of pictures. Giggling at their reactions, we find a row of seven seats getting us to instantly take it. Sitting between Trey and Riddle, the others sit beside the Prefect. Waiting for the show to begin, I give a glance to Riddle seeing his face of anticipation that makes him look incredibly adorable and child-like.

“He’s been waiting to come here ever since he was a kid.” Trey leans towards me whispering, “Every birthday, he wished to come here.”

I can feel my heart melting hearing such news.

“Trey!” Riddle blushes hearing his childhood friend spilling his secret, “Why did you tell [N/A]?!”

Trey chuckles guiltily as I give a quiet giggle. Before any bickering can start or continue, the lights begin dimming signalling the start of the show. 

Feeling Riddle’s excitement contagious, a smile begins spreading on my face as the theater with live music begins. As the show escalates about the Queen’s history, in the middle of it, I feel fingers crawling to my left hand before intertwining them with mine. Glancing over to Trey, he gives me a wink before focusing back onto the screen. Hoping the darkness of the theater hides my blush, I feel something land on my shoulder snuggling up to it. Looking down to find Riddle being the one on my shoulder, I don’t say anything as I see his genuine smile watching the show attentively. I lean back onto his head as I slightly rest mine on his as we continue to watch,

Soon, the credits are rolling and the lights begin brightening up again. I feel the fingers entwine and the head is off my shoulder. We all then begin heading out of the theater as we then find ourselves back outside.

“Okay, we have to head to the Greet and Meet next in the Queen’s Garden.” Riddle takes out the map, “And right after is the Unbirthday Party.”

As he guides us all towards the destination, I look over to Ace to see him actually finish all the popcorn.

“Wow, you actually finished.” I state slightly impressed.

“Yeah, but,” he leans in whispering, “I don’t think I can last through the Unbirthday Party and Banquet Hall.”

I laugh at his statement, “What do you think Prefect Riddle will say?”

“Please don’t mention it to him.” he pleads, “He’s gonna behead me.”

Deciding not to tattle-tale on him, I give in, “Fine, but you’ve got to think of a plan on how you can trick him.”

“I know.” he sighs in depression. 

Soon after, we arrive to the entrance of the garden, and we all halt to admire it. There is a row of heart shape entrances made of roses as rest areas are nearby. Instantly, Cater demands pictures as we all pose underneath the entrance along with other travelers.  

Walking down the path, we enter another area full of flower-made structures and that’s when the formation we had breaks as we all head off to check it out. Buildings were covered with roses, and real-life flamingos are nearby too.

My eyes focus towards a pond with buildings nearby, the main interest is the rabbit in the middle as I applaud for whoever made such an amazing garden.

There is also another portion of the garden with peacocks, butterflies, and mushrooms getting me to wonder if they accept people living here. Cause I sure hell would love to,

“[N/A]!” Ace calls out for me getting me to see him in close proximate but across the pond. 

Rushing over there, I see him standing beside a huge card solider bush and a huge chess piece. Gasping, I immediately quicken my speed to see them closer. 

“Do you think they allow people to live here?” Ace asks.

“I was wondering the same thing.” I agree.

He laughs, “Take a picture with me!”

Pulling me towards him, we both kneel down to allow the shot of us with the card soldier. A huge goofy smile is on my face as excitement of wanting to wander around here grows bigger.

“Would you like me to help you two take a picture?” a nearby traveler asks.

“Really! Sure! Thanks!” Ace hands over his phone to the traveler.

Wrapping his arms around me, he makes his hands turn into a heart getting me to chuckle and do the same. Hearing the traveler taking a few pictures, he hands the device back to Ace.

“You guys are an adorable couple.” he comments getting me to blush.

“Ah, we’re not a couple.” I correct finding Ace checking the picture,

“Really?” the traveler asks, “I suggest you quickly take him before someone else does, cause he looks like he’s a keeper.”

My face takes another shade of red hearing the advice. Before I can speak again, the traveler leaves as Ace breaks his concentration on the phone.

“Huh? Where did they go?” he asks about the traveler, “Also, [N/A], your face is red. Are you okay?”

Calming down, I shake my head, “I’m fine.”

He shrugs, “Okay then. Ah, Riddle just messaged me, we have to head over to the Greet & Meet now. It’s starting soon.”

“Okay, let’s go.” I take out the map before guiding us to the destination.

When we arrive, the others are already there. We all enter the line that is slowly growing. I couldn’t help myself from smiling as I see all the boys excited for the Greet & Meet. 

A staff member from the front of line then speaks, “Along with the Greet & Meet, there will be a tour. So everyone please form pairs to have easier access in the garden.”

Our group looks over to each other as I know that we all don’t want to get separated. 

“Let’s play a card game to decide!” Ace suggests.

“No.” we all decline bluntly.

“Rock, Paper Scissors?” Deuce asks getting us all to agree seeing that’s probably the best choice.

We all play figuring what our pair is, and in the end it’s the Adeuce Team, Third Years Team, and then Riddle and I. 

“No fair~ I wanted to go with [N/A]!” Cater whines.

“Am I not good enough for you?” Trey asks playfully.

Laughing, we then soon find ourselves at the front of the line as Riddle and I head off first. With a staff member guiding us down a narrow pathway with tall bushes beside us, I feel Riddle slowly grasp my hand. I respond back with grasping his tightly as we go through the path with a slight ease due to our small structure. 

Finally exiting the narrow pathway, we find an area full of heart shape bushes with red roses in the middle. The staff member guiding us leaves as another is there as they begin to give us the tour around the area.

“Welcome to the Queen’s Garden, this area is a exact copy of the Queen’s private garden who she only allowed a few to enter. At every area you enter, there will be staff members to guide you. Will you be planning to participate the Unbirthday Party?” the staff member asks.

“Yes, we are.” Riddle answers.

A smile blooms on the guide’s face, “Great, just tell the last staff member who will be beside the Queen of Hearts about that and they can guide you to the event. Now, let’s move along. You will be meeting not only the Queen of Hearts, but also the King of Hearts, White Rabbit, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and many more. You can ask the photographers to take pictures which can be printed off at the shop in the Queen’s Castle. If you have any questions, be free to ask any staff member and they’ll gladly help.”

“Thank you very much, we will.” Riddle responds back as we continue to get guided down the garden.

The staff members glances towards our hands and smiles looking at me, “You must be very happy to have such a polite boyfriend.”

In synce, the both of us blush as we look at each other and back to the staff. The staff member is about mid forties getting me to wonder how they have such a crazy idea. First it was Ace, now it’s Riddle?

“Um, we’re not, in a relationship.” I try to correct getting the staff member to be in shock.

“Oh, sorry about that. I just assumed you both were since you guys look adorable with each other.”

The situation is getting worse as I feel my body slowly become warmer from the panic in my head. 

Before the both of us can even respond back to them, we find the White Rabbit mascot nearby getting me to gasp at it’s adorableness. 

He greets us with exciting waves as he offers a hug to us which we instantly accept as we fall into his furry embrace. Not as comfortable as Jack’s tail or Ruggie’s hair, but it’s good enough.

“[N/A], do you want to get our pictures taken?” Riddle asks with a slight hesitance. 

“Of course! It’ll be awesome to have it framed in my room!” I cheer as the photographer gets ready to take one. 

The White Rabbit forces the both of us to get closer before moving our hands to hug around each other. Enjoying the excitement, I give off a huge smile as the photographer counts down. Hearing the click, we take a few more pictures with our phones before thanking the White Rabbit and the cameraman. Handing us the photo we took, I coo at the sight as I see Riddle off a smile too. 

“Please head down this road, a staff member will be at the end.” a staff member aside instructs getting us to do so.

“Awe, look how cute you look Riddle.” I comment showing him the photo.

“Why do you always call me cute?” he grumbles.

“Because you are?” I tilt my head slightly confused.

“Not as cute as you.” he mumbles getting me to barely hear it.

I suck in my cheek as I pretend I didn’t hear it despite the obvious blush on my face. Continuing the tour, each staff members guide us through the garden with information for each area as we took many photos of the scenery and the mascots. Soon, we find ourselves in a bigger space than the rest that we’ve been through. Huge heart shape bushes full of roses are on the side as a beautiful gazebo is at the middle of the area. The sunlight works perfectly with the garden as it looks like it’s from a fairy tale. 

In front of the gazebo is the one and only Queen of Hearts mascot as there a few more staff members here. Looking over to Riddle, I see him frozen like the Ice Age as he stares at the mascot. Needing to pull him down the pathway as it seems like he has malfunctioned, we stop in front of the Queen.

“Hello -” I speak before suddenly getting shocked as both the Riddle and the Queen of Hearts mascot speak.

“Look up! Speak nicely! And don’t twiddle your fingers!” the demand as I do as they say due to the shock, “Turn out your toes, curtsy. Open your mouth wider and then always say ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” I curtsy in complete confusion.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.” Riddle bows, “I shoulder have taught her the proper etiquette before meeting you.”

“Do not fret, it’s already quite a surprise to see such a young man like yourself understanding the proper behaviors.” the Queen speaks as I decide not to make a single movement so I don’t go through the same thing again.

“We are from Raven Night College, I’m the Prefect of the Heartslabyul Dorm dedicated to you. We follow your laws and teachings in the daily.” Riddle speaks in admiration.

“Ah! It’s a pleasure to know such a reliable prefect is taking care of the Heartslabyul Dorm! Please continue with your good work!” The Queen gushes, “Now, now, let’s take a picture!”

Not knowing what to do as I don’t want to make another mistake, Riddle heads over to the Queen before realizing I’m not moving.

“[N/A]? Are you not coming?” he asks.

“Is there any rule or technique to walk? Cause, I’m scared to get another lecture.” I ask trying to sound polite.

He chuckles before offering his hand, “Come over here, you silly.” 

Trying my best to walk gracefully with gentle steps, I take his hand. We both stand in front of the mascot as she looks at both of us.

“Young man/lady, you’re lucky to have this fine gentleman as your boyfriend.” The Queen states.

Shockingly, I don’t bloom a blush as I’m already very used to hearing that hypothesis from the many staff members before arriving here.

“We’re not together.” Riddle and I sync after so many times of people assuming we are.

“Oh my, what a shame.” The Queen sighs, “I suggest you should quickly take him before someone else does then.”

I give a nervous laugh before we hear the photographer signalling us to get into position. Looking over to the camera, I feel Riddle’s fingers intertwine with mine as the picture gets taken. We both once again curtsy to the Queen of Hearts before being lead to another pathway that they told us leads to the Unbirthday Party.

Looking through the pictures we’ve taken, I can’t help but blush staring at the one we just took. Riddle has a sincere gentle smile that for sure, if I showed to a few girls, they’d melt. Though, my focus is on the hands as I can still feel the warmth I had a few seconds ago. It’ll be an unforgettable moment.