#y'all do not KNOW how hard it is for me to not pop the saturation more than i already do

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 34/52: tfw your siblings come to visit you and then suddenly London is on fire and you run into another magibean while trying to smuggle the (accidental) arsonists themselves out 😬😬😬

So a couple of weeks back I was chatting with @kscribbs and I was like I'M OUT OF SCRIMBLE IDEAS! AH! and K went "well listen...if u want suggestions...👀👀👀👀" and she GAVE lmao. So here is the first of FOUR (4) kscribbs suggestions that I am going to call SCRIMBLIES: CHALLENGE MODE because they ARE a little more challenging but we are READY!!! LET'S GO!

ONE OF FOUR: IN WHICH MEL, IN DISGUISE AS A MAN, RUNS INTO JACQUELINE AND THE TWINS DURING THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON, 1666 EDITION. The weird thing on her elbow is her moustache which has been "lost" in the chaos 🤭🤭

Fashion is fun! Went generic for late 17th century until I found a detailed reference website HERE which has been QUITE the BOON. I think it's pretty on brand that Jacquie is a few decades behind, given this is around the same time as the piracy lol.

Positioning the twins was a BITCH, FINO ESPECIALLY! Lil guy was NOT cooperating, had to remind myself IT'S A SCRIMBLE, DANI and then we (sorta) got it. Fiera is .2 seconds away from escaping and telling Mel all about their exciting night! Mel is just trying to help people, poor dear, running into these three in the middle of an uncontrollable fire 😅😅😅 (side note: think I finally know which colours I want to use for her!)

We've talked about them running into one another during this particular fire of London before, and I think how it actually happens is Fiera runs into a burning building, Fino close behind, while Jacqueline panics. Mel goes to help only to be told IT'S OKAY THEY'RE ALSO ON FIRE as the pair of them burst through the front like SEE? SHORTCUT! and Jacqueline is like FOR YOU TWO MAYBE! And Mel is like THE BUILDINGS ARE GONNA COLLAPSE IF YOU KEEP THAT UP as the building collapses behind them, lmao (or some such similar encounter).

It is very much an "in passing" moment with brief words shared, of which the words in the scrimble are the funniest I could think of lmao. Fiera's excited to be there and Fino's appalled that Jacqueline is lying about their fire (unaware of the ramifications this could have for the pair of them). It is truly a miracle that Jacqueline's hair has A) stayed up and B) is only half melted lmao (especially since she is LITERALLY holding TWO WHOLE FIRES in her ARMS)

Anyway. I am VERY behind. Don't know how that happened. 2 more and I'm caught up for this week! Not only is it KSCRIBBS CHALLENGE MODE it is also a TIMED CHALLENGE apparently lol. Y'all are in for some TREATS

(oh and also. Mel is @kscribbs's little guy whomst you can read about in Miller's Law. I have stolen her once more! And will do it one more time! That I know of so far, hehe 🤭)

[chemicalvelocity]

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

*

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them  down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

*

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

*

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal.  He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a  warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

*

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break.  Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

*

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?"  He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

[certainempatheticturkeymuffin]

Age of Calamity Review

Hey! I wasted three hours of my life writing this in Arlo's comment section and part of it had to be cut out because of Youtube's word limit, so y'all get to suffer with me.

Here's the video that I wrote this on, give him some love, his opinion is a great juxtaposition to my own!

There are a few weird formatting errors because tumblr wants me to make new paragraphs, but there's no missing words as far as I can tell.

_

I like it, but I like the first one better, mainly for the appearance. I don't know why, but the pop ups are hard for me to see (by pop-ups I mean the challenges and weak point meters, the out of battle menu is actually pretty good, though I admit the text is a little small on the opening screen), and the lack of saturation makes it hard for me to see. Actually, that might be it, I just don't like the paler color palette in this context, since for a fast paced game I kind of need to be able to see, which I can't because I'm partially blind, and glasses have a glare that's an annoying trade off. Compare that to the original Hyrule Warriors, the weak point meters are brightly colored and change color the more you damage it, which is good for those with visual impairment who need some extra feedback to judge their next actions. The menu was also this aged tan color which provided a great contrast that wasn't the blinding white on top of dark blue, which wasn't bad at all, but the buttons and text were always big enough for those with visual impairment to see, though I will admit that the little pop ups with all the people crying out for help have a bit of the same issue as AoC. I think I just like the more vibrant colors of Hyrule Warriors in the context of a faster game, rather than the pale beauty of BotW, since my eyes can't really see what's going on if the colors aren't at least comparable to what you'd find in Minish Cap or Triforce Heroes. I can see fine in BotW during the day time, but at night, well, I just run and hope for the best, trying not to get killed by an electric keese, which is also a problem in AoC, mainly Zora's Domain; I could barely see a thing and it negatively impacted my experience.

I've got hundreds of hours in HW, and maybe five or ten in AoC. It's mainly because I just don't like how it looks. I've heard a lot of people say that it looks pretty much exactly like botw and...I have to disagree. A lot of areas are pretty perfect, but some, like the tower, are just a little off in a way I can't describe. That's a personal irrelevant nitpick though, but it negatively impacted my experience, so I thought it was worth a mention, the tower on the opening screen always annoyed the crap out of me, every time I see it I just want to exit the game because ew.

The gameplay is fine, and thank goodness for the addition of the meditation room, there's not a feature like that in the original, so I had to play the first stage over and over again to figure out new combos, I think Mipha is my favorite hero that I actually unlocked (though I've been wanting to play more just to see if I can control Revali and Teba like I can Fi (which makes her insanely good since her wide area of movement is the only thing you need to account for)), and I think Zelda is my least favorite, since she's a little clunky for my taste (Daruk is too, but his rolling makes that more bearable). I was a little disappointed with Impa, but her seal thing is kinda like Zelda's and Fi's thing in Hyrule Warriors (there are probably stronger connections, but I'm not experienced with every single hero), and I think it was just the hype that she got. She's not the type of character I like to play, since Zelda and Fi are my favorites, speedy and nimble area clearers (Sheik and Marin are cool too, I just have less experience using Marin, and Sheik is always a B pick since I find them a little harder to control with less area of impact), which meant that Mipha, a character I admittedly was never attached to, became one of my favorites in the game. Impa wasn't an area clearer for the most part, she had a few moves that could do that, but she was mainly a boss-killer to me, Mipha though? She's great, set up a few waterspouts and everything dies.

I do like that they've lessened the kind of ridiculous amount of items that were in HW, and that they didn't try to strong arm fairies in, because that system was the most annoying thing in the world and so poorly explained that I had to watch the same tutorial three times over about once a month because it was so convoluted.

I do hate the runes though, I just, couldn't seem to use them right. It might just be me, but I found trying to use them weird. It's a little hard to explain, but it's probably just a me thing. Not only that, but I found the inclusion of the rods on top of the runes annoying. The rods were entirely unnecessary if you were going to use runes. They just added another layer that was thin at best, not to mention that I found them hard to use as well. I hated the weird controls of the targeting system. I don't think there's anything wrong with a basic hack and slash, and if you're not going to have the excessive amount of items, runes were a good idea i think it might've been a me issue, but rods? It seems a bit excessive. It's probably just a "you'll get better with practice" kind of thing, which, fair, most people can't use Fi like I can, so that makes sense. I figured it was worth a mention anyway since the runes were a constant source of annoyance and I used the rods twice before never bothering again because I hated them so much.

I do like the addition of healing from food drops whenever you want though. In the original if there was a dropped heart but you were at full health, sucked to be you, going back for it when you need it would waste time. The plot is still as weird as ever though (from what I've heard from other videos and such), which is fine, since I tend to play my favorite levels over and over rather than actually do anything plot relevant (can you believe that it took me over a year to finish the story of HW because I kept getting distracted by letting Fi and Zelda mow down everything in the Adventure maps and challenges? I literally got the boomerang like six months after

getting the game. It's perfect for people with ADHD I swear) though I am extremely disappointed with the fact that they took the cheap way out, it's a kid's game and a nintendo game, what did I expect? For them to let everyone actually die? Nope...though honestly, I can't comment on the overall amazingness of the plot they went with because...er....I only did Mipha's and Daruk's stages before just losing interest, so I'm not the person you want to ask about any story criticism, because that would be pure conjecture and utterly pointless.

The customization of heroes, now that's great. It's a weird system that I needed to google a lot for, but it's absolutely brilliant and I love it. Sure, getting the specific seals I want is a little annoying, but it's a great mechanic and I love it.

I probably should've said this earlier, but I'm comparing it mainly to Hyrule Warriors rather than BotW because AoC's a Warriors game and thus plays more like Hyrule Warriors than BotW, and BotW has a different set of standards due to being an open-world game. I'm still salty about the plot though, so I guess there's your comparison.

Also, I absolutely ADORE the fact that you can track materials. Not having to google which stage gives me which material is just the best. And the fact that the side quests have little blurbs, absolutely fantastic. We didn't get that in HW, but then again, once you finished the main story, the rest was just, Have Fun and Kill Everything, which is great, and I love it, but adding in a weird ingredient fetching quest with a nugget of lore is kinda cool. I don't wish we got it in HW though, since, as aforementioned, there was no way to track which material came from which stage, so that would've made it a nightmare.

The Divine Beasts....I hated them, they were literally just time wasters, and, granted I only did Rudania and Ruta before dropping the game, I just hated them. The UI was horrendous and even Ganon's Fury was better, and I absolutely DESPISE Ganon's Fury. Once I finished them, I was just happy for them to be over and never bother with them again. I hated their controls, I hated the cramped paths, I hated how I couldn't really turn and see anything, and honestly, I commend the champions for being able to control these bulky slow and absolutely horrible machines.

On the music, I think it's good. I loved BotW's soundtrack, I loved Zelda 2's soundtrack, I loved Wind Waker's soundtrack, I loved Cadence of Hyrule's soundtrack, I loved Hyrule Warriors's soundtrack, I loved Minish Cap's soundtrack, Triforce Heroes, Spirit Tracks (you're lying if you say otherwise, this soundtrack is a bop and I will actually fight you), etc etc, and this one is no different, though I will admit it did a pretty good job of having me ignore it, though that may have been more due to my frustration at the rods and runes and Zelda and Daruk more than actually having an unimpressive soundtrack.

Personally, it didn't do much for me, I can't get over the color palette, the mechanics, the divine beasts. I had pretty average, maybe a bit high, expectations, but they weren't quite met. I played it for a few hours one day, dropped it, picked it up again a few months later, then remembered exactly why I dropped it. I think the original Hyrule Warriors is just better visually for me, even if the plot isn't great or it's a bit fanfictiony, it had depth in combat that didn't absolutely annoy me, and the annoying battles were usually optional, and the bosses had variety, which is a fault mainly of BotW and was just an inherited problem for AoC, and I'm not a completionist, I don't want to have to complete anything with Darunia or Cia, so I don't unless I have to to progress something, which means that I don't stress about the gargantuan amount of content in HW.

IN SUMMARY: I've never had problems with frame rate (though I play docked due to visual impairment), and if you're visually impaired, wear anti-glare glasses because the pale colors aren't going to help much. I haven't found an option to make text bigger. The soundtrack is good,

there isn't much boss variety (not AoC's fault, but it's still there), the meditation room is great, the runes take a bit of getting used to, as do the rods(i never got used to them), Divine Beasts tank performance in all aspects and are just disappointing, you actually know which stage drops which item, and there's no My Fairy (which is definitely a positive).

To slap on an arbitrary rating that only means something to me: 4.5/10

It's a good game if you can get passed the issues that bug ME to no end.

And there we have it. There goes....holy crap I spent three hours on

I wanted to like this, I really did, and I'm glad others enjoy it, but as it stands, I'll let y'all move on to Age of Calamity, and I'll stick to my handy dandy Hyrule Warriors ice cream with a dash of Breath of the Wild, a sprinkle of Cadence of Hyrule, and a Zelda 2 cherry on top. It's not like I have to wait long for Subnautica; hopefully that doesn't disappoint me too much, I preordered this one. Actually, I get Pokemon Snap today too, hopefully it isn't a SwSh level disappointment, AoC is magnitudes better than SwSh at a 4.5

this????? Three hours of my life. Gone.

[jafndaegur]

Sesskag Week 2020 | Day 3: Thriller

Angels of Death

Sesskag

a/n: y'all already know I’ve been wanting to write this one since last year. NOW FINALLY I had a reason to lol

TW: slight gore and violence

When the white noise died and the dizziness abated, Sesshomaru sat up with a hand to his temple. Fingers sifted through short and neat cropped hair and bleary eyes opened, an empty windowed room unfolded before him. Aside from the chair he was in and the eerily unnatural moon behind the window, he was alone. A bump against his back told him a long container separated his back from the support of the chair. And a stale jumper and trousers told him he hadn’t changed clothes in a while.

Disgust twisted along his face as he stared at the unnatural moon. 

How long had he been here? Why was he here?  He needed answers. Tugging the container from his back, he realized it was large and long, like a cartography case on steroids. But upon opening it, he realized it was a protector for a sword. The iron glimmered faintly and in a flash the name “Tenseiga” appeared in his head before it flitted away. 

Hn. So a sword of healing and an unsavory room, of course. 

He took a few delicate sniffs to try and see if he could garner anything but regrettably the room only smelled of harsh cleaners. Someone knew he would try to scent things out. 

Standing up, Sesshomaru left the room without a second glance, hurrying down the open corridor. It felt as though the moon behind him burned holes into the base of his head. The pulse in his throat quickened. He swallowed.

The corridor stretched long, and it felt as though he’d been speeding through for ages.

Finally a room opened to his right and further down the hall he could see traces of a grating. He slipped into the room first, intent to see if there was anything to help him. To his disappointment, all he found was a large box, a blank sheet of paper in the box, and a screen. The little screen flashed once he entered the room and prompted a single question.

What are you?

-Angel

-Sacrifice

He snorted. Most certainly he was no angel, but how dare the only other option be “sacrifice”. Shameless. He picked “angel”.

The box whirred and groaned, making a loud clattering before it stopped. Popping out at the top was the piece of paper which was no longer blank.  It had a small arrow towards the front and what seemed like a series of lines underneath. Sesshomaru frowned and plucked the piece of paper between his claws. He held onto it and left the room heading towards the grating.

The grating was actually a large gate and behind it was an open elevator lift. At the center of the gate was a small slit that looked large enough for the paper in his hand. Slipping the sheet through, there was a mechanical buzz and the paper was swallowed.

The corridor shook and the gates creaked open. A loud voice blared from all around him. “Floor Seven, access granted. The Sacrafice will be entering Floor Six—Angel is notified.”

His brow twitched, hadn’t he picked “angel”?

A green arrow appeared on the left wall and the elevator pinged as if telling him to hurry up. Sesshomaru stepped in and closed the gate behind him. There was three buttons in the elevator. Large and red “6”, “7”, and “8”. He pressed the six.

A hum and a jolt later, and Sesshomaru felt the lift head upward. He frowned and wondered if he would need to find another paper box for another elevator since this one would be useless once he reached the next floor.

The elevator landed and the doors opened.

Sesshomaru’s brows twitched and his throat and neck heated with the sudden urge to vomit.

The overwhelming smell of gore that hung in the new area pressed heavily against him like a wall. The corridor in front of him was dark, and yet the smell of carcass painted a path for him clearer than any light. He opened this floors gate and stepped through. With a crash, the elevator doors slammed shut behind him, this time there was no paper insert but he noted a button. His frown deepened.

Tracking the rancid smells, Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes when he came upon a fairly mutilated body. There were several slash marks, as if it’d been cut open with a blade. And yet several arrows protruded from it like an oversized pincushion as well. An abandoned bag of potato chips had been left by the body. 

Sorting through the smells, he guessed the body had been there for a week if not a little more than that—it was so saturated because of the hall’s stagnant air that it was hard to tell exactly. The greasy smell of the crisps didn’t help either.

He traveled further into the hall, noting with a heightened alarm at how quiet it was. Like the moon in his room, the quiet was fake. Something was luring him. 

He drew the sword in the blink of a second as white fluttered in front of his face. Feathers fluttered. He slashed. There was a frantic tweet and he set his sword down only to realize it was a pigeon. He knew for a fact that his sword hit the bird and yet even as it hobbled along the floor, it was by no injury of his. The bird had a broken wing.

New fact: his sword could not cut. 

He stared down at the frightened creature on the floor. It peeped and hopped along, and mindlessly he followed. There was the smallest nagging of guilt and he wondered whether or not he should try and put the bird out of its misery or brace its wing. He reached out.

The bird exploded in front of him in a flurry of grey fluff and wings.

Sesshomaru barked out, skidding back as a blade sliced through the air. He roared angrily only to be cut off by a volley of arrows speeding at him. Just barely cutting off their path with a sweep of his sword, he was grateful Tenseiga at least could deflect an attack.

Insatiable laughing bounced off the walls and echoed through the air as his assailant swiped her crossbow through the air. One eye burned blue and the other a dull brown. Her skin was wrapped from head to toe in bandages and yet she still flaunted a school girl’s green and white uniform. She smiled from ear to ear, her face drawn in ecstatic craze.

“Found you~” she chirped, lunging forward and swinging her crossbow like a pickaxe.

He leapt backward, matching each offensive move of hers with a planned defensive. His nose told him that she was human. And yet she moved with a speed that nearly matched his. Every swipe, every shot of arrows, it was all followed and prefaced by her damn insufferable laughing. The sound grated through his ears as it reverberated over and over without cease. Grimacing, Sesshomaru figured it would be better to fall back and regain his brings than trying to push through her idiotic barrage.

Side-stepping the blade on her crossbow, he raced back towards the elevator, hand slamming the arrow button on the wall. There was a ping but the doors remained snuggly closed.

Damn.

“Why’re you leaving? We just barely got to meet!” He smelled her approach as she shrieked down the corridor.

He pushed the damn button again and it gave a sweet innocent ping again.

Growling, Sesshomaru clawed his hands between the elevator lift doors and pried them. They groaned and creaked but budged.

Singing arrows struck at the doors, bouncing off the metal and onto the floor. He snarled and pulled the doors open enough to slip through. They slammed shut behind him as the sound of the girl’s blade crashed into the metal. 

Her yelling and howling shook the metal container.

Sesshomaru wiped at his cheek where one of the bolts had managed to nick him. The blood was tepid and stuck to his fingers. How dare she. 

He pushed the last button in the elevator. The “8”. The pyscho-school girl was on six, and he had come from seven. He sighed and wondered if there would be a way out further down instead of up. The lift chimed and the doors opened.

This floor was instantly different from his or the girl’s. The corridor was lined with linoleum and its light poured generously from LED overhangs. He took a sniff. Like his floor however, any and all scents had been bleached clean. Lips twisted downward but he took in the sights again. There were rooms on both the left and right sides of the hall as well as at the end. Maybe that would be another elevator shift.

Taking a breath, he pulled open the iron grating and stepped through. The doors behind him slammed shut and the shift whirred as if the lift was moving. Sesshomaru’s gaze flicked to the left and right, noting with a hint of chagrin that there was no button to summon the elevator back. 

He was trapped on this floor.

His footsteps echoed along the linoleum and he peered into each room. Most of them looked like offices. A big desk, a bookshelf, and two chairs—one behind the desk and the other in front. Four of the rooms had this set up.

“Ah, Sesshomaru, you made it for our session.”

Senses screamed, and Sesshomaru spun around with a flash of his sword.

A doctor stood in front of him. The man had long wavy hair and sharp red eyes. His hands were innocently stuffed in his lab coat’s pockets. A smile.

“Sesshomaru, what’s with the toy?�� The man shook his head at the sword and walked into the nearest office. “C'mon.”

Sesshomaru stood in the doorway angrily glaring at the newcomer.

The man lifted his brow. “Do you not remember me? It’s me, Dr. Onigumo—your therapist.”

Not to his surprise, the doctor’s name was one of the many things voided in his memory. Not that it would be mattered. He trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. Although given that he could pry open the elevator doors just with his own strength, maybe Sesshomaru could throw the man further than he would’ve wanted.

“There was a killer, on the sixth floor,” Sesshomaru stated.

“Ah yes, one of the many tenants here in the building,” Dr. Onigumo waved his hand dismissively. “We house souls who’ve lost their way and their minds, and try to rehabilitate them into angelic citizens.”

“She had a weapon,” Sesshomaru egged on. 

“So do you,” the doctor pointed out.

Well…that was fair…

“I’m leaving.”

“But don’t you need to know how to find your way out in order to go?”

Sesshomaru lifted his brow. 

Dr. Onigumo leaned forward in his chair. “As an employee of this facility, I can come and go as I wish. There’s an elevator at the end of the hall.”

So he had been correct about a second lift.

“Follow me, I’ll take you there.” The doctor stood, hands in his pockets again, and gently shoved passed back into the hallway.

A few paces back Sesshomaru followed. “Is this a psych-ward?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Onigumo chimed. “We prefer the term rehabilitation center. Except we allow it at our patients own pace…as you could see, number 6 is quite slow at change.”

Hn.

“Oh Sesshomaru, by the way,” wariness crept in as the doctor’s voice lowered. “How’s the arm?”

Sesshomaru hummed.

“Demon strength is always so admirable. And the arms, particularly for you, carry so much of it.”

…demon? Something in his memory twinged.

Dr. Onigumo turned around and smiled, his once red eyes now glittered blue—pupils shining a bright vermillion. “Won’t you give me a hand?”

Sesshomaru poised his sword.

Tentacles spurred from the doctor’s back and surged for him. Sesshomaru could see the elevator grating behind the man. He dodged the assault, rolling along the ground and snapping at his assailant. More tentacles emerged, the doctor bubbled grotesquely as if he were made of tar. Tenseiga couldn’t even deflect the tentacles, it bounced off their scaled forms uselessly. Sesshomaru cursed and—

Laughter shrieked through air and suddenly, Dr. Onigumo’s limbs fell to the floor with heavy splats. The school girl from earlier zoomed passed Sesshomaru and swung her bladed crossbow. 

“You!” Dr. Onigumo yelled before he stopped. Hand flew to his throat where an arrow beautiful speared it. The tentacled man fell to the ground in a heap.

“Well that’s that,” the girl clapped her hands together before spinning on her toes and approaching Sesshomaru. In the blink of an eye, her crossbow was digging into the underside of his jaw. Her eyes watched him with bizarre fascination. She licked her lips and watch him eagerly.

He cocked his brow.

“Oh come on! Not even a wince? You were so concerned earlier.” The bolt and blade dug deeper into his skin.

Sesshomaru curled his lip and snarled, fangs flashing.

She gave an impressed “ooh”.

“Do you know how to leave this floor?” He demanded.

“I might.” By now she was starting to look disinterested. The bow slipped down a bit. “Not even a ‘please don’t kill me’?”

“Show me how to leave.” Something had struck a nerve after the therapist, if that’s what he really was, had mentioned the word demon.

“What do I get out of it?”

“What do you want?”

The insanity returned to her gaze and her smile gleamed brightly. “Well to kill you of course!”

Interesting and simple. Sesshomaru offered a cruel smile. “My name is Sesshomaru.”

Giggling, the girl lowered her crossbow with a nonchalant spin. “Kagome Higurashi. I’ll be the one to kill you, m'kay? So don’t die along the way~”

Sesshomaru sheathed his sword back into the cartography tube, and followed her to the new elevator shaft.

[artificialqueens]

Love Connections and Other Works of Art (Sashea) - Estuary

Summary: Sasha becomes infatuated with a mural. That’s not the only thing she’s infatuated with.

A/N: I had an idea and ran with it. A meet cute and all the fallout. I hope y'all enjoy it! AO3 Link

        “Ma’am? Ma’am, I am so sorry, but my boss wants to know why you’re loitering.”   

        Sasha flushed, becoming painfully aware of how long she had stared at the mural on the side of this building. The mural was captivatingly colorful and practically pulsed with geometric shapes that were just abstract enough to draw in the viewer with the desire to discover what they were. However, even after staring at the mural for upwards of ten minutes on her way to work, Sasha could not determine their meaning. At one moment, the shapes became silhouettes of dancers, at another an architectural landscape, and at yet another, angular clouds.

        Upon tearing her eyes from the wall and spinning around to face the chiding voice, Sasha’s pale complexion deepened to a strawberry red as she laid eyes on a truly stunning woman. Her deep, creamy skin glinted under the sunlight, long, tight curls piled on her head’s right side. Her mouth formed a smirk as Sasha stared, but even with that smug expression, the lady looked beautiful. A pink blazer paired with a cobalt blue skirt usually wouldn’t seem professional, but with her stature and poise, she looked expensive and unique.

        Sasha looked down instinctively, not wanting to ogle this poor woman any longer. However, staring at the concrete sidewalk only led Sasha’s eyes to a pair of frighteningly tall, pink stiletto pumps. Pumps which then connected to a pair of slender, toned, mile-long legs.

        “Um.. girl? Are you good?” The woman asked. The question seemed to reflect concern, but the smirk had transformed into nothing short of a full, shit-eating grin.   

        Good job, Sasha. You look great. Get yourself together.

        Sasha steeled herself enough to meet the woman’s eyes.

        Talk about art. You can do that. 

        “I’m so sorry, I just was looking at this mural. The colors and composition are so wonderfully vibrant. The style speaks to traditional cubism, but the interplay of light, shade, and color reminds me of a Charles Demuth.” Sasha explained, eagerly gesticulating. Even then, she cringed slightly when her hand movements caused the pins littering her own blazer to rattle loudly.   

        After a brief pause, the woman responded.

        “Well, I’m happy you like it so much. In fact, do you want to meet who designed it?” 

        “Absolutely! If you could give me a phone number, or an email, I’ll contact her. And I’ll get out of your hair, sorry about all that.”

        “Oh, I’m not gonna go through all that trouble. You can just talk to me now.”

        Fuck. Sasha was a goner.

        “Really?”    

        “Yes! Do I look like I’m playing?” 

        “Oh my god…” Sasha muttered, the expression slipping from her lips. And upon seeing Sasha so flustered, this beautiful, perfect woman threw her head back in a full laugh. 

        It was the most lovely laugh Sasha had ever heard. It sounded deep like thunder in the mountains, and it sounded warm like an embrace or a crackling fireplace. It sounded like all these things, and Sasha felt like she was experiencing all of them at once. Maybe this mystery woman of Sasha’s dreams was laughing at her, but she would be ridiculed at forever if it meant she got to hear that laugh. 

        Double fuck.

        “I’m Shea Couleé,” the woman said, sticking out her delicately manicured hand.

        “Nice to meet you, Miss Couleé,” Sasha replied, earnestly (probably too much so) grabbing Shea’s hand and shaking it, “I’m Sasha Velour.”

        “Oh, call me Shea. It’s Miss Couleé only if you nasty.”

        Sasha felt more blood rise to her cheeks, opening her mouth to only remain silent. Shea pulled Sasha in slightly close, so her cheek practically touched Sasha’s ear. They were much too close for strangers, but for an enamored woman, perfectly fine. 

        Whispering against Sasha’s ear, Shea muttered, “By all means, continue to call me Miss, then…”

        Shea (damn her!) let go of Sasha’s hand and stepped back into her original position.

        “You know what, Sasha? Why don’t we talk about this,” Shea flippantly gestured to the mural, “over drinks later today?”

        How can she treat such a masterpiece so casually?   

        “I’d love to do that, Shea.”

        “Catch you later, Miss Velour,” Shea tossed the phrase over her shoulder, strutting back into the shop, leaving Sasha standing bug-eyed on the sidewalk.

        As Sasha hurried away to work as initially intended, she could only focus on Shea’s breath on her ear and the weight of her hand on her wrist.

————-

        Sasha’s job mostly consisted of staring at a screen for hours on end, so going out to the bar provided a nice change of pace. She enjoyed her job authoring write-ups of local art galleries, but the near-silence of the office and the polite hushed tones of artistic display spaces felt suffocating after long stretches. In places built on self-expression, the most primitive form had to wait until after work to shine. 

        The additional mounting excitement and nervousness of Sasha’s meeting with Shea didn’t help with anything. Shea had slipped Sasha her business card before returning to her job, and all-day, Sasha couldn’t help but run her fingers over the cardstock to remind herself that the interaction that she had was real. 

        While Sasha might typically reject the stereotype of the helpless, love-stricken woman (particularly when viewed through the eyes of men), Sasha felt like nothing short of François Boucher’s The Love Letter. Normally, she found the grazing animals, the flowers, the women swathed in layers of pastel silks to be patronizing and suffocating in its delicacy and adorable pleasantries. Sasha now could not relate more. Maybe her pastoral paradise could be a desk and ergonomic chair. Perhaps her love letter could be the business card of a beautiful stranger.

        Even later, at the bar, Sasha’s fingers carefully traced the edge of the card. The repetitive motions felt soothing, although it was hard to calm the tidal wave of nervousness in her head. 

        What should I say? It’s been five minutes since 7:30. That’s normal. That’s fashionably late still. Was I supposed to change before I got here? Does she… like me?

        Sasha’s mind raced, but it kept getting stuck on that final question. Like a record player skipping over and over.

        It’s been ten minutes since when we agreed. She should be here. She won’t come. It’s a joke. I hope it won’t look strange if I just leave the bar alone when she doesn’t show up. She can’t like me. Could she like me?

        Sasha hooked and unhooked her heels on the rest of the barstool. She took a pen from her purse and began to draw on Shea’s business card.

        It’s been fifteen minutes. I’ve been duped. I should have known. It was too good to be true–

        “Sasha! Sorry I’m late.”

        Triple fuck.

        Sasha needed to get used to how gorgeous Shea looked because constantly getting this flustered was frankly getting embarrassing. However, Shea wasn’t making it easy.

        Shea had changed into a vibrant, pink, crushed velvet minidress that shone under the bar’s lights. As she approached Sasha at the bar, she smiled widely and met Sasha’s eyes. 

        Putting her hand on Sasha’s back, Shea took the seat next to her.

        “You wear pencil skirts to the club?” Shea asked, bemused eyes flickering from Sasha’s blouse to the aforementioned skirt.

        “I didn’t have time to change, I’m sorry,” Sasha said, torn between her desire to examine how she looked and her desire to continue staring.

        “No, it’s all good, girl! You look just stunning here as you did on the sidewalk today. So you wanted to talk about my mural?”

        This casual, kind, and flirtatious manner kept throwing Sasha off her rhythm. One second she had her–very professional–thoughts and questions organized, and a whim, her thoughts were cast into the sea.

        “Um, well, yes. I just thought your mural was so lovely and captivating. It captures such a specific artistic feeling, and I wanted… I wanted to know what your inspiration was?” Sasha forced the first part of the question out but gradually took a stride as her mind focused and settled itself once more on the topic at hand.

        “I’ve always loved, like, cubism and the reduction of big things to more abstract shapes. I wanted to do that, but for something that was already semi-abstract, leave it up to the viewer. I love pop art and bright colors, and I figured, this’ll attract shoppers,” Shea leaned in, smiling again, “and some hot women.”

        Sasha, to her delight, learned so much about Shea as the dinner continues. 

        Shea hadn’t had formal painting or visual arts training, instead studying fashion and design. Her job at the store exists mostly to pay the bills, but she volunteered to do the mural for free. Shea loves pairing pastels and saturated colors. Shea likes savory foods more than sweet foods. Shea was raised in Chicago and moved to New York for school. Shea was single. Shea was very single.

        As the conversation continued, Sasha found herself in turn revealing more and more about herself. Her love of Keith Haring’s Unfinished Painting and Jean Michel-Basquiat’s Untitled (Skull). Her dream of owning a gallery specializing in queer art. Her disdain for salty snacks. Her beloved dog Vanya. How she was single. Very single.

        The conversation also served to distract Sasha from the copious amounts of alcohol she and Shea were consuming. Alcohol that loosened Sasha further and further, to the point that her inhibitions began to evaporate. 

        “I’m glad that you liked my mural. If you hadn’t looked at it for so goddamned long, we wouldn’t have met,” Shea and Sasha both laughed, and as Shea rested her hand on Sasha’s shoulder, Sasha just looked at her.

        Sasha had already heard the sound of Shea’s laugh, but being able to watch her laugh added an entirely new dimension to the experience. When Shea laughed, she’d throw her head back, tossing her long black curls. Her eyes would scrunch, and the light caught on her cheeks. 

        God. Every part of her shone and sparkled. Just existing near her made Sasha feel strangely buoyant and pleasant. It felt like she got to witness someone massively special and joyous and who, in turn, made Sasha feel special herself.

        “What are you thinking about?”

        “How beautiful you are when you laugh. And smile. And do most anything.”

        “I like the way you talk, Sasha”

        “That I do it about you?”

        “No, bitch!” Shea says, giggling, “Your voice and the phrases you use. I love it. I feel like I’m listening to a hot, hipster audiobook. You don’t think that’s creepy, right?” 

        “I don’t think it’s creepy. I don’t think I can think ill of you at all right now”

        Shea laughs again.

        “I like you a lot Sasha,” Shea says. Suddenly, she stands up and grabs Sasha’s hand. “Dance with me?” Shea asks, nodding her head to the masses of people on the main dance floor.

        Sasha eagerly followed Shea, and as the lights and alcohol blurred the edges of her vision and the writhing bodies bumped into her own, Sasha couldn’t look away from the vision of Shea’s beautiful hand clutching her own. That beautiful, warm grasp. Even in a sea of stimulation, the only thing that mattered was Shea’s hand.

        After making it to an open spot, Shea dropped Sasha’s hand and they both began to dance.

        When Sasha danced, she danced mostly with her hands and upper body, in a style some might call “stilted” and the more charitable might call “interpretive”. Sasha liked to claim that it came from a slightly limited range of motion caused by a pencil skirt. While that might have been somewhat true, Sasha preferred not to dwell on the fact that she had turned up going to parties in exchange for spoken word poetry nights.

        Shea, meanwhile, danced like water. She kicked, jumped, and shook, but each movement blended into each other. Her braids had been tucked into a ponytail, but still swished back and forth as she moved, emphasizing her movements. 

        What changed?

        The music didn’t slow down.

        Maybe it was Shea saying that she “loved Sasha’s ‘dad dancing’”.

        Maybe it was the lights shifting to an electric blue color that shone on Shea’s hair and skin, making her look like an ethereal vision.

        Maybe it was Shea pausing from her dance to touch the assortment of pins on Sasha’s blazer, holding each one up to the light and pausing to read it.

        Maybe nothing changed.

        But Sasha felt so wonderful, so magical that she threw her arms around Shea’s neck. The music still pounded and shook her bones, but all Sasha knew was that she wanted to see Shea’s face. Wanted to feel it.

        Lifting her hand from Shea’s neck, Sasha traced Shea’s cheekbones. The curve of her ear. Her smile lines. 

        Shea wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, rubbing small circles with her thumb, delicate circles that Sasha could feel through her skirt. As Sasha gently ran her thumb along Shea’s cheek, she saw Shea’s eyes flutter as she let out a large sigh.

        Sasha felt like Henri Matisse’s Icarus. So obviously plummeting at lightspeed into this love, but for a brief moment in the unknown, the uncertain, silhouetted against the sky.

        Wingless and among yellow stars. The only aspect of her being, a red, glowing heart. A brief moment of glory.

        Shea’s sparkling eyes. 

        A brief moment.

        Shea’s smile. 

        A brief moment.

        They had danced around it long enough.

        Sasha leaned upward, catching Shea’s lips with her own. Her hands moved downward, clutching Shea’s back, pressing Shea towards her. Shea sighed, and Sasha could feel the corners of her lips move upwards. 

        “Why?” Sasha whispered breathily onto Shea’s lips. “Why me? Why not anyone else?”

        “Because no one else blushes so profusely at my words in their ears. No one else wants to talk about the philosophical implications of French impressionism on gender roles. No one else is a beautiful, unique, unibrowed and pin-covered woman who looks at my mural like it’s the greatest piece they’ve ever seen and then looks at me like I’m, like I’m some kinda magical being.

         I wanna witness you, Sasha. I wanna witness you all the time.”

        As they held each other close, Sasha put her racing mind to rest. Resting her head on Shea’s shoulder, she felt the music and sweat of the club gently fade away, replaced by the sound of two beating hearts.