#Like “here we go again” True Pacifist routine

[buttercupshands]

Playing through Red&Yellow 2.0 undertale mod and let's just say

I haven't been this inspired to draw something undertale related *specifically* from Undertale itself in years

Also play it if you haven't and you have undertale on pc, it's extremely worth it

[noaltbruh]

BUCCI GANG AND HOW THEY WOULD PLAY UNDERTALE

Since I got my friend into the UT fandom, and the brainrot for this game is slowly coming back, I've figured that I'd fuse my favourite franchises and make this post, enjoy!

GIORNO:

-This may surprise you, but Giorno would almost do a Blind Pacifist run

-While at first, he was planning on taking out whoever got in his way, he changed his mind in the moment he saw Toriel

-After she taught him how to resolve the various conflicts peacefully, he decided not to fight, but to show MERCY to every monster

-He finds the multiplicity of choices a very interesting mechanism, especially since he's not much of a gamer, and he's pleasantly surprised to see such an innovative game

-While most of the times he would completely avoid the FIGHT button, if a monster got on his nerves a little too much, he may attack it until it doesn't want to fight anymore

-He takes the time to interact with everything and everyone, he wants to enjoy the game at its fullest

-He was so freaking lucky to meet Gaster on his first run

-Actually brought the piece of snowman with him

-He's part of the "Chara defense squad", and finds them strangely...relatable

-He was just about to do a full Pacifist route, but he couldn't bring himself to SPARE Flowey, and killed him

-"I won't let you hurt her"

-Ultimately, he regretted it, and reset his save file

-After doing a TRUE Pacifist, he left the game, leaving the monsters alone and giving them an happy ending

-Only knows about the Genocide through gameplays

-Favourite character: Toriel, but also likes Chara quite a lot

-Favourite OST: Memories, followed by home, Undertale, Megalo strikes back and Star (he doesn't care if they actually don't play in the game)

-What SOUL would he have: DETERMINATION

BRUNO:

-My man wouldn't hurt a fly if he had the chance to, off to the Pacifist route he goes

-Similar to Giorno, he finds Toriel a very comforting character, but he feels bad for pretty much every monster he meets. He thinks it's unfair for them to be forced to stay in the UNDERGROUND, and wants to find a way to destroy the barrier at any cost

-He's never played a videogame before, but he gets the hand of it quite quickly, even though he still ends up dying a couple of times.

-He would also be the kind of player to interact with EVERYTHING, paying close attention to whatever the passing monster has to say

-Sometimes, he likes to take a break, lay down and listen to the OST of the place he's exploring

-The most challenging enemies for him were Undyne and Asgore. It took him a while to realize that the only way to spare her was to run away, and he just really didn't want to hurt Goat papa

-He lets the bird carrying him to the other side, even if he doesn't actually need to move around. He just wants the little guy to feel appreciated

-Veeeery reluctantly, he decided to SPARE Flowey, it would have been a waste to kill somebody now, after everything that he had done so far

-He almost cried at the Pacifist ending

-He refuses to even acknowledge what happened in the Genocide route

-Favourite characters: Toriel and Asgore

-Favourite OST: Fallen down, but he also likes Heartache, Home and Waterfall

-What SOUL would he have: KINDNESS

MISTA:

-Mista's first run would be a Neutral. It's not that he enjoys killing the monsters, he's mostly just too lazy to think of a way to spare them

-If it's obvious, however, he'll just casually show the enemy MERCY, there's no need to take out absolutely everyone

-The only one who he genuinely looked for a way to spare was Papyrus. Honestly, he couldn't bring himself to just hurt him 'cause he had the chance to. Besides...He was afraid of what Sans would have done

-Speaking of him, he finds his jokes HILARIOUS, and he will use them in real life conversations if he gets the chance to

-He basically wasted all his money fighting Undyne

-He didn't buy the spider donut in the RUINS, and was forced to farm gold for 3 entire freaking days and buy one directly from Muffet

-After finishing the neutral route, he decided to go back and try the others. His next route was a Genocide

-He was about to shoot his computer AND himself while fighting Sans, but he eventually managed to beat him. Of course, after swearing at 3 A. M., drinking 10 cans of Sprite, listening to Megalovania on loop and threatening to throw Narancia out of the window because he interrupted him while he was playing

-His favourite moment during the Pacifist was cooking with Undyne

-He immediately questioned his life choices when he finished the route and saw Chara taking over Frisk's body. Closed the game and never opened it again

-Favourite characters: Papyrus, Sans and Undyne. He refuses to choose an absolute favorite

-Favourite OSTs: Megalovania and Song that might play when you fight Sans. He also likes Bonetroulse and Spear of justice

-What SOUL would he have: BRAVERY

NARANCIA:

-Narancia playing this game would be a total mess. Ironic, considering he's the one in the gang that likes video games the most

-Despite Toriel's guidance, at first, he would FIGHT every monster that got in his way, following the simple "It's an rpg, the more I kill, the better it is" logic

-When he saw the "but nobody came" screen, however, he freaked the hell out and immediately reset

-After that mini heart attack, he went on a full Pacifist route. However, sometimes, he would snap and accidentally kill a monster. He lost count of how many times he had to reload the file

-He also really likes Toriel (she's just very popular among the Bucci gang). The reason for it...Is not a very happy one, like in Giorno's case

-He genuinely tried to stay with her, he didn't want to leave Goat mom

-He's the one who gets emotionally invested in the game the most, he even forgets it's a game at times and just erase the surrounding world from his head

-He LOVES to voice the characters while he plays, it makes the story feel way more alive for him. He makes a very good Papyrus impression

-Speaking of which, his favourite parts of the game were the interactions between Sans and Papyrus.

-He lost his s**t when he arrived at the Temmie village. He stayed there FOR HOURS farming money. Heck, he even bought the Temmie armor

-He refused to open the game for two days after Flowey stole the SOULS

-He wanted to ask someone to play the TRUE lab with him, but he refused to admit that he was scared

-While he's not the kind of player who stops by to read every dialogue, he makes an exception for Snowdin. He really likes that area of the game!

-While he would never admit it, he cried three times during the Pacifist route. The first time when he left Toriel, the second when he heard Chara and Asriel's story, and the third when he finished it

-His favourite fight in the game is the one against Asriel. He kept on repeating the "Don't you have anything better to do" dialogue for 20 minutes, before giving up to the idea that there was really no way to save him

-After giving the monster an happy ending, he was overwhelmed by his own curiosity, and decided to try the Genocide route...Boy did it go wrong

-You thought he cried a lot during the Pacifist? He became a freaking fountain during the Genocide. Every single time he killed a Boss, he cried, with no exception

-He spent days trying to defeat Sans, until he was given the option to SPARE him, and so he did

-...The others could hear him yelling from the other floor after what happened next

-He got tired of Sans' bulls**ts, reset and did a Pacifist again

-He watched a gameplay to know what happened in the Genocide ending. Chara's jumpscare still haunts him

-Narancia gets really involved in the stuff made by the fandom, especially fan made songs and comics

-He listens to "To the bone" religiously, it's part of his routine

-He tried and failed to figure out how AUs work

-Favourite character: Papyrus, followed by Toriel and Asriel. He used to like Sans a lot too...But now he gets Vietnam flashbacks every time he thinks about him

-Favourite OSTs: Bonetroulse, Hopes and dreams and Snowdin. He can't choose between them

-What SOUL would he have: INTEGRITY

FUGO:

-Fugo would categorically refuse to reset on his first run. What it's done, it's done, and he has to take responsibilities for his choices

-He would do a Neutral, killing whoever he encounters, but without specifically looking for the monsters just so that he can kill them

-That doesn't mean, however, that he dislikes to play with the timeline. It's quite the opposite, to be honest

-Fugo enjoys messing around with the save files A LITTLE too much, dude basically became an hacker playing this game

-In his attempt to make a Pacifist run, he fu**ed up and accidentally got the Hacker ending

-"...THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT WHEN I SAID I WANTED EVERY ENDING"

-He toned it down a little after that, but he still managed to modify the FUN value enough to meet Gaster and his followers

-He's also the only one who unlocked Sans' room. He doesn't trust him, but he finds him an interesting character

-Neither the Pacifist or Genocide endings particularly picked his interest, even though he did punch the walls a couple of times fighting Sans

-He likes to try the different Neutral endings, he doesn't do all of them, just the ones he thinks that would affect the monsters the most

-The only character he got attached to emotionally was Alphys, he can see himself a lot in her

-He's very interested in the various theories that surround this game, and he's waiting for Deltarune to come out, he just wants to know more about Gaster

-Favourite character: Alphys, but Gaster is a close second

-Favourite OST: Darker, darker, yet darker, followed by Here we are, Waterfall and Premonition

What SOUL would he have: faded BRAVERY

ABBACCHIO:

-MERCY? Is that a food? Yeah uhm...No, that doesn't exist with Abbacchio, nothing but Genocide for him

-It's already a surprise someone convinced him to play this game. He'll play in his own way, and that means killing literally everyone, not simply the ones he encounters, but even looking for them just to earn more Exp

-He was...Weirdly satisfied when he saw the "But nobody came" screen, and he was lucky enough to find every monster almost immediately

-He hadn't found a single character that he liked until he reached Undyne. Her sense of justice reminded him of his old self, which wasn't exactly pleasant at first, but at least he felt something

-He was finally happy to see a monster actually trying to stop what he was doing, and killing her was the only thing in the game that made him slightly sad

-He's still offended for not having the chance to kill monster kid, he couldn't stand that child

-He skipped through pretty much every dialogue in the game, not that there are many people to interact with during the Genocide...

-He'd eat a piece of the snowman right in front of him just to spite him, then take the rest and leave

-He didn't care about whatever Flowey was trying to tell him about his past. That's also because without knowing he's Asriel, most of what he says doesn't really make sense

-In the moment Sans dodged his attack, he realized that he had screwed up REALLY bad. After dying against him a couple of times, he considered resetting, but he wouldn't have let "the lazy skelefu**" have it his way

-He let out a huge "YES" and a sigh of relief when he finally managed to hit him, it took him around a week

-However, little did he know, that the worst still had to come. When he noticed that he wasn't the one who had just killed Asgore and Flowey, he freaked out a little, and Chara staring directly at him made him feel a small shiver down his spine

-Still, he decided to decline their offer to destroy everything, not because he regretted what he had done, he just wanted his revenge on the child for scaring him

-He closed the game after the jumpscare, and never questioned what the hell he had been through

-Favourite character: Undyne

-Favourite OSTs: But nobody came and Battle against a true hero, he also likes The fallen child

-What SOUL would he have: very very faded JUSTICE

TRISH:

-Trish got into this game just because of its music, she kept on hearing it everywhere and wanted to understand where it came from

-She was kinda scared at first, videogames aren't exactly her forte, and her encounter with Flowey didn't help

-She slowly got used to the dynamics of the game, even though she died at least three times in every area, exept for the RUINS. (She only got a game over two times there)

-She doesn't have the heart to hurt anybody, she thinks the monsters (well...Most of them, at least) are adorable! Shyren is her favourite minor enemy, and when she saw the "Taking piano lessons again" text, her heart melted a little

-She refused to take off the faded ribbon until she found she tutu, but she never sold either of them

-She loves flirting with literally ANYONE. You can? Well then...You must!

-Her favourite area is Hotland, including the Core too. She loves the whole "artificial" theme of the place, and she had a lot of fun reading Alphys's posts!

-She would pretend to be an actual part of Mettaton's programmes, but only when she was 100% sure nobody could hear her

-Needless to say, the boss fight against him was one of the funniest parts of the story for her

-Another thing she absolutely adored were the dates with Papyrus and Alphys, especially the latter. After everything that had happened, it was a nice opportunity to relax for a bit

-Similar to Narancia, Trish gets really involved emotionally in playing the game, and she had to take a little break from it before facing Asgore

-The ending genuinely made her cry, but it was the only time she shed a tear through it

-She doesn't care about trying the Genocide, she's worked hard to give the monsters an happy ending, and she wasn't going to throw it away

-She's in love with the Undertale Musical by Man on the Internet, she knows pretty much every song by memory

-Favourite character: Mettaton, but she honestly really likes all of them

-Favourite OST: Death by glamour, followed by Metal crusher, Power of NEO, and Another medium

-What SOUL would she have: INTEGRITY

Yes, I know that Narancia's part is longer, but it's just so funny to write about this baby, bear with me please 😌

[badger-writes]

Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - “for light and life”

Day 4 - Action/Adventure

Then...

Sskeer came at him like a feral Nexu, leveraging a ferocious primal strength into a totally unrelenting barrage of lightsaber strikes. He assaulted Kelto’s defense with a flurry of fast, sweeping slashes, battering his sides with wide swordstrokes and raining down heavy overhead blows from above - the hallmarks of the Aggression Form, Ataru, his skill at which he had honed to razor keenness over the long period of his Knighthood.

Kelto wished he had foreseen that the intensity of his friend’s fighting style would match that of his demeanor. More than that, though, he wished he had kept up with his saber practice. His style was that of Resilience, Soresu, a style which valued ultimate defense - a fitting form for a practitioner of the healing arts, but not for a duelist. As the Rodian himself now proved, being buffeted as he was around the sparring circle, preventing the Trandoshan from landing a blow by last-minute movement or the skin of his teeth.

Kelto had assumed working in the medical ward precluded the possibility of encountering lightsaber combat in his daily life. Sskeer had made it his mission to thoroughly deconstruct that notion.

“Focus,” he hissed over the electrical crash of their plasma blades. “Do not let the fight dictate your reality.”

“I’m not,” Kelto protested. “I’m - I’m enduring!”

“Survival alone will not guarantee victory. If you spend all your energy waiting for a counterblow, you will lose. You must seize control, not wait for it to be given!”

He lifted his blade as if to strike Kelto’s right quarter, then swung instead for his feet. The Rodian jumped back, landing unsteadily on his feet, and attempted to reestablish his guard. With a thrust, Sskeer pushed it away.

“Just give me a second,” Kelto grunted, swatting away another incoming blow.’

“Your opponent will show no mercy. Why should I?”

“Just - just slow down! I can’t - I can’t keep up with you!”

 “You’re in over your head,” Sskeer lectured. “Becoming flustered. The fear, the anger - it is taking hold of you.”

“Sskeer, please--!”

“Without balance, we lose discipline. Without discipline, we lose control.”

With a cry, Kelto lashed out - a clumsy, sloppy swing that was born of no style save frustration. Sskeer dodged it easily. Then he reached out with his free hand and seized the front of the healer’s tunic in an iron-clawed grasp. This was followed with a leg sweep that knocked his feet out from under him and a simple throw that sent him definitively down to the mattress. The impact forced the breath from Kelto’s lungs and his lightsaber from his fingers, its training blade disappearing with a sad hiss as it deactivated.

Sskeer held the point of his own saber over Kelto’s heart where he lay. His reptilian face was sympathetic, but pitiless.

“And that is why we must drill,” he said.

Groaning, Kelto forced himself up on his elbows. He was panting hard, sweat shining on his face and darkening the collar of his robes. By contrast, Sskeer didn’t seem to have a hair out of place, insofar as one could say such a thing about a Trandoshan.

“Dammit,” the Rodian gasped. “I just -- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You were unwise to lower your defenses,” Sskeer began, fixing his hilt to his belt. “Your last swing created a clear angle of attack on your center.”

“I figured that part out, thanks,” Kelto snapped, drawing his knees to his chest. “It’s everything else that’s a problem.”

“The fault isn’t yours alone. Soresu prioritizes defense above all others, but a shield alone cannot win a battle. You must bring a sword as well. That is what I am trying to show you, Kelto.”

“Well, all you’re showing me right now is that my shield sucks.” 

“A problem that can be solved. But not by ruminating on your failures.”

The Rodian sighed violently, glaring between his toes. Turning towards the edge of the circle, Sskeer reached out and used the Force to levitate a canister of water into his waiting hand. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Kelto, offering Kelto the canteen. He took it like a secondhand trophy.

“This time you lasted much longer,” Sskeer informed him as he gulped down the cool liquid. “Against an Ataru as aggressive as my own, that is no easy feat. I commend you.”

“I still lost,” Kelto observed grumpily.

“This is true. When your attitude about saber combat changes, this will change, too.”

“That’s just it, Sskeer - I don’t think it will.” Kelto let out a guilty breath. “Saber combat was never important to me. It never felt - right. A pacifist shouldn’t carry a laser sword. And neither should a healer.”

“A pacifist can be a healer, and a peacekeeper as well. More than that, he ought to be able to defend himself. All of these concepts can coexist.”

“I understand that, but - come on, you don’t really believe we’ll be having lightsaber duels again, do you? The Sith have been extinct for ages by now. Who would strike at the Jedi or the Republic on such a scale again?”

“I don’t know,” Sskeer said slowly. “I hope such a conflict does not occur for many generations to come. But I believe in being prepared for the galaxy’s sake, if not only my own. And so should you.”

“But - but I barely leave the Temple,” Kelto protested. “I barely even leave my quarters!”

“You cannot rely on routine and habit to shield you from the world. The future will find bring you to many dangers, Kelto, whether that be a patrol in the Coruscant underworld or a mission of peace and relief to the Outer Rim. It may even bring danger to you, here, in the place where we Jedi feel safest. Will you feel very wise then, if you allow yourself to become comfortable and complacent? Will you feel safe? Will those in your care?”

Kelto had no answer. He went back to staring uncertainly at his toes.

Sskeer heaved a breath through his nostrils. “If I upset you, I apologize. It is a matter I care deeply about. For the sake of the galaxy - and for your own. It is… the way of the Guardian.”

“I know.”

“When we continue, I will… slow down, and offer more suggestions for improvement. From now on, we proceed at your pace, not mine.”

“...Thank you, Sskeer. That… means a lot.”

The Trandoshan reached out and rested a palm on Kelto’s shoulder. “I seek only to serve you, Healer. And to help.”

Kelto offered him a shaky smile, covering his hand with his own. “Don’t we all?”

Now…

Oh good. The pirates had sliced a loadlifter.

Kelto swore under his breath and ducked as a Class B medium cargo container went hurtling through the air overhead, smashing through part of the hastily-erected CSF barricade. The ziggurat platform of the derrick major squatted over them all, offering the criminals and their reprogrammed muscle an opportunity for raining blasterfire and shipping crates down upon the police frontline. The sting operation had clearly failed; the pirates weren’t leaving without a fight, and the police were horribly outnumbered.

And the only thing standing between them and death by volleys of laser fire was Kelto and Sskeer.

One thing Soresu was good for was deflection training. As bolts of sizzling red plasma plunged towards them, Kelto intercepted them with his blade, sending them harmlessly into the ground or off to the side. Beside him, Sskeer, too, was bouncing shots off the edge of his saber, though his technique lacked refinement; in trying, perhaps, to reflect the pirates’ own shots back at them, they instead bounced wildly back into the loading bay, spalling off chunks of permacrete or ricocheting off the surface of blast-resistant cargo pods.

“Injured to our left,” Kelto called out as he sensed them. “I’m going to get them.”

“I’ll give you cover,” Sskeer nodded. “Let’s move.”

Carefully, they sidestrafed through the wide open space of the cargo landing. Kelto relied on intuition to lead them to the wounded, and for intuition, he trusted the Force. It brought them to the foot of a gantry crane where two dockworkers and a security official were taking cover. The officer was slumped against its foot, bleeding slightly from the mouth, a darkly-singed crater on his stomach where a blaster bolt had breached his body armor.

“Give me cover,” Kelto ordered, and Sskeer obliged; he held his lightsaber out before him through the Force and made it spin until a single spear of light became a dazzling electric-blue shield, almost completely circular in the perfection of its cycle. Incoming fire was all but spattered harmlessly away.

Sheathing his own blade, Kelto crouched down beside the cop, examining his wound. “What’s your name, officer?”

“J-Joh,” the man sputtered. “Joh Andaris.”

“It’s good to meet you, Joh. I’m Kelto. You’re gonna be fine.” He took a stim-shot from a hip pouch and injected it into the man’s shoulder. “That’s to get you on your feet. In a couple of seconds my friend and I are going to have some words with those gentlemen up on the warehouse level, and when we do that I need you all to run back towards the police line, yes?”

“How are we supposed to get all the way back there?!” one of the workers, an Aqualish, quailed. “We’ll be ripped to shreds!”

“We’ll draw their fire.” Kelto lifted the man up onto his feet. “Be ready.”

“All by yourselves?!”

“It’s what we do. We are all the Republic.”

He turned back to Sskeer just in time to watch a blaster bolt slip through his defenses. It slid perfectly through a gap in his deflection pattern and sheared over the surface of his shoulder; the Trandoshan hissed, almost dropping his concentration, calling his saber back to his hand for a more conventional defense.

To the far right of their position, back across the way, Kelto sighted a Class C cargo unit - a long trapezoid of rust-colored durasteel, taller than him by quite a bit and by Sskeer by not much more. But size mattered not. He stretched out his hands and cradled it in the Force, lifting it - pulling it close to the point it blocked all the incoming fire that Sskeer was drawing.

The Rodian edged out behind it as the civilians used its cover to limp back to safety. Sskeer, in turn, took hold of the container as well; they moved in concert, step by step, pushing forward to the center of the plaza.

“How’s your shoulder?” Kelto called. He had to raise his voice, otherwise Sskeer might not have heard him over the hailstorm of blaster shots pitting the other side of their durasteel wall.

“I’ve had worse.”

Kelto glanced at the wound. It was oozing emerald green blood into Sskeer’s white-and-gold Jedi robes. “Not that by much,” he commented. “Sure you don’t want a stim?”

“Save it. Maybe one of the gentlemen shooting at us needs a pick-me-up,” the Trandoshan retorted.

“Hey, you wanted me out here!”

“Just be ready--”

“I’m with you--”

“For light and life!”

Together, they angled the container upwards - and hurled it through the air towards the pirates. They scattered back, falling away from the walkway above, as it crashed through the railing and rolled to a stop somewhere beyond the edge.

Leaping to a phenomenal height, Sskeer and Kelto followed after it.

Then…

When he landed, Kelto ducked into a roll, swiping out at Sskeer’s shins; the Trandoshan moved to push the blow away, realized there wasn’t enough time, and only just managed to jump back from it before it connected. He grinned even through his blocking when it was followed by an evenly-spaced series of strikes.

“Good,” he said over the clash of lightsabers. “Good! Seize the offensive. Build on your momentum.”

Kelto smirked at him through their blade lock. “Now who’s waiting for a countermove?”

In response Sskeer levered his blade away, moving his own smoothly back and up through the air for an overhead slash. Here, Kelto did something he did not expect; instead of intercepting his attack directly, he sidestepped to his right and brought his lightsaber upwards at a diagonal angle, following the edge of Sskeer’s blade in almost perfect parallel.

In spite of himself, Kelto grinned triumphantly as he made his attack. His saber’s edge would travel directly into Sskeer’s belly, framed by the position of his knees below and his arms above; it was a guaranteed hit. A guaranteed victory, even!

But then Sskeer reared back hard, forcing himself to bend at a near ninety-degree angle to the floor, supporting his body almost solely through pushing down through the balls of his feet. As Kelto’s strike swung harmlessly over him, brilliant turquoise energy passing right above his face, he pivoted hard on his toes, swinging out from under Kelto’s arms and pirouetting away from his opponent’s zone of control. Transforming a decisive blow into a near miss.

Spinning his saber in one-handed agitation, Kelto gave him a Rodian stink eye. “A giant like you,” he said crossly, “should not be allowed to move like that.”

Sskeer fixed him with a sly stare. “That’s not what you thought last Fete Week.”

“Don’t go there,” the healer laughed, pointing with his sword warningly. “Do not go there.”

“Try and stop me,” the Guardian said, huskily.

Kelto gave a cry of action and surged forward, clutching his sword like a spear--

And at the last moment Sskeer stepped to one side, and Kelto saw how close to the edge of the sparring circle he’d been standing. In a panic, he threw out his free hand and grabbed the front of Sskeer’s robe, his toes digging into the mat and dragging him to a stop, hanging almost completely over the short dip down to the floor below.

“Your next lesson,” Sskeer declared passively. Having an entire Rodian come to an emergency stop by clinging desperately to his shirt hadn’t so much as budged him. “Don’t blind yourself to your surroundings.”

“That’s not fair,” Kelto protested half-heartedly. “You distracted me.”

“That is the point.” He grabbed Kelto by the arm and pulled him back to his feet on the sparring mat. “I’m supposed to.”

 “It wasn’t the fair kind of distraction.”

“No fight is fair, Kelto. You must adapt to anything and everything that your opponent may have in store for you. Focus on the reality of the fight, not temporary diversions.”

The healer crossed his arms, crinkling his snout puckishly. “Even if they’re big, tall, incorrigibly sexy distractions?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Especially then,” Sskeer chuffed, turning. “Now come - back to first position. Now that you’ve got the hang of things, let’s go again.”

“Lose the tunic first, big guy.”

He stopped, turning on his heel. “Exssssscuse me?”

“Hey - you wanted to train me to block out distractions, right?” Kelto strutted to his marker and crouched down into beginning stance, grinning. “So start being distracting already.”

Sskeer smirked. “As you wish,” he said, shrugging out of his top.

Now…

In the heat of the battle, Kelto’s awareness had developed into a kind of double vision - an immediate center of attention where his focus narrowed to encompass the most immediately pressing complication, and a wider, peripheral awareness where the details of his environment and surrounding happenings were sorted into neat piles to be confronted later.

The two men before him leveling carbines in his direction rated his immediate attention. Sskeer was to his right, on the other side of the warehouse; the pirates occupying that half, accordingly, became a secondary concern. The loading crane coming unmoored with an explosion and falling to the floor with a hideous crash was concerning - almost distracting - but ultimately of no consequence; he could safely ignore it, as it had landed on no one and nothing important.

The pirates in front of him didn’t realize this, and flinched, looking back over their shoulders. He seized the opportunity and sliced the barrels off their weapons before throwing them back against a cargo pod with a gesture, where they passed into unconsciousness and out of the fight. One of them had managed to pull the trigger before his saber ruined his gun; the bolt blazed a trail past his temple and nearly singed off his topknot, but aside from some lingering heat on the side of his face, he was otherwise okay.

Sidestepping to the right, Kelto next leapt the vertical meters up to the gantryway above, cresting the railing with a kick that caught a waiting sniper in the jaw and sent him sprawling over the side. The thump that he made when he hit the floor was a curiosity; equally unimportant, in the scheme of things, as the fallen loading arm. He duly discarded the thought.

Men shooting at him on his side of the catwalks? Immediate threat - he deflected their shots back at them in turn. Sskeer joining him on the upper level, opposite side, similarly engaged, carving through the opposition with his usual intensity? Important situational note - make an effort to link up as soon as possible.

A heavy repeater being wheeled out on a repulsorpad from behind a heavy warehouse door on their level?

Well, details like that tended to... confuse his ordering system, just a little.

“SSKEER!”, he shouted, pirouetting back towards a tall, thick support column. “E-WEB! E-WEB!”

Glancing, Sskeer saw - and jumped out of the line of fire just before the blaster cannon opened up. The warehouse rang from floor to ceiling with the staccato drone of its report as the dreadful weapon poured its destructive firepower into the Trandoshan’s general location; it pounded Kelto’s ears as he watched, heart in his throat, as Sskeer scrambled for cover.

The cannon’s operator must have been a genius among smugglers, for instead of trying to perforate a target that moved faster than he could aim, he shot the catwalk out from under him. It collapsed with a terrible crash and sent Sskeer spilling down to the floor; he recovered in a rolling crouch as the other gangsters, emboldened, turned all their attention to the fallen Jedi, blasters raised.

His partner was in danger. Intellectually, Kelto knew this should have bothered him. Instead he pushed through the spike of emotion and found his discipline again.

Then he went to work.

Darting out from behind the pillar, he sprinted at full tilt past one - two - three snipers on the catwalks, slashing each of them in passing. The cannon operator, he knew, would see him coming - and even now he was orienting the giant gun accordingly. He couldn’t possibly reach the cannon before it found a bead on him - so instead he brought the gun to him.

Kelto skidded to a halt, whipped out a hand, and pulled the mounted cannon towards him; the cannon, a slave to its hoverlift, jerked forward violently, throwing its gunner to the side when he had finished coming along for the ride. Sidestepping the drifting E-Web, Kelto slashed downwards through its barrel in passing, pivoted sharply on his heel, and delivered his booted heel to the pirate’s chin as he attempted to rush him with a vibroknife. The blow knocked him out cold, and Kelto noted with uncharacteristic satisfaction the crack it made when his foot collided with his jaw.

With the gun out of commission, he turned back to the warehouse floor below. He needn’t have worried, he realized; with brutal Trandoshan ferocity, Sskeer had made quick work of the pirates who had made the fatal tactical error of attempting to charge a single lightsaber-wielding opponent. He snarled his way through a final broad slash that sent two more men collapsing to the ground, growling in challenge at any unseen gangsters left bold enough or stupid enough to approach him.

“I got the gun,” Kelto reported, belatedly.

“Very good,” Sskeer called back up. “Lower floor is clear.”

“Was that all of them?”

“I believe so.”

Kelto vaulted the rail and dropped back down to the ground floor, softening his landing with the Force and landing in a crouch. “That’s a pity,” he commented, straightening and padding over to Sskeer. “I was hoping we could resolve this without much loss of life.”

“CSF casualties were low. And we are both still standing.”

“I meant on both sides.”

“Save your pity,” Sskeer sniffed. “If these Outer Rim scum are so low as to murder innocents for smuggled wealth, they deserve just what they got.”

“I suppose,” Kelto shrugged. “But I still feel conflicted.”

“Your compassion does you credit, Kelto. But don’t waste it on those who don’t seek it.”

“I offer it freely. It’s a healer thing.” He reached up to brush the suckers of his fingers against Sskeer’s injured shoulder. “A Jedi thing.”

The Trandoshan grunted, closing his eyes. “I know, I know. My… zeal, sometimes exceeds my beliefs.”

“We’re all the Republic, Sskeer. Even the baddies.”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

Slowly, Sskeer’s fingers reached up to touch Kelto’s where they lingered at his collar, brushing the underside of his cheek.

Then Kelto said, “You don’t think we’re forgetting anything, do you?”

The loadlifter droid crashed through the ceiling, landing on the permacrete with enough force to create a small crater, screeching at them in corrupted Binary.

“Dammit,” Kelto grunted as they ignited their sabers once more. “Dammit dammit dammit.”

“Keep calm. It’s only a droid.”

“I know, I know. Just wishing I hadn’t broken the big gun.”

Then…

Only a few short months of consistent drilling later, and Kelto was already matching Sskeer step for step in the dueling ring. And from the look on his face, he knew it, too.

“Surprised I’m doing so well?” he asked, striking probingly at his opponent’s left and right quarters.

“On the contrary,” Sskeer replied, batting them away. “I couldn’t be prouder. You learn well.”

“I had a good teacher.” Kelto ducked under a first horizontal sweep, and punished the second by needling the point of his lightsaber into the joint of Sskeer’s shoulder; on training setting, it made contact with only an electrical sting. “But not that good, apparently.”

The Trandoshan growled, pacing in a circle and rolling his arm in its socket, working out the pain. “I don’t recognize that move,” he said wonderingly. “That wasn’t Soresu, was it?”

“I’ve been doing some research in my free time. Been looking into the Persistence Form - Shien. Do you know it?”

“Hm. A more aggressive style than what you’re used to.”

“Certain parts of it, yes, I agree. But you were right - you have to cover a good defense with a good offense. There’s no room for clinging to ideology in a real fight -- ” 

Kelto flinched suddenly to the right, provoking Sskeer into following him with his guard - then he juked back the opposite direction, capitalizing on the fake-out by swinging his blade into the underside of his wrists. 

“But being able to fight isn’t what defines you,” Kelto finished. “What you fight for does.”

“Yesss,” Sskeer rumbled. “Yes. Exactly what I’ve been trying to show you!”

He threw himself into another series of full-power overheads, and grinned widely as Kelto countered each of them in turn. Under locked blades, the Rodian beamed back at him.

“Though I can’t help but notice that this revelation comes after a steady string of losses,” the Guardian snorted.

“Every failure is an opportunity to learn,” Kelto replied smoothly. “And I’ve learned enough to finally beat you.”

“Then prove it,” Sskeer demanded.

“You know -- I think I will.”

And then it was Kelto who broke the block, with enough force to send Sskeer staggering back a half step; and when Sskeer attempted to counter with an overhead chop, he sidestepped the stroke before it arrived and leapt, corkscrewing up the air and planting himself on Sskeer’s shoulderblades, pushing hard through the balls of his feet. The Trandoshan grunted with the extra weight, wobbling fatefully on his feet before finally tipping and falling face first to the padded floor, saber jarring from his grasp on impact.

One foot on the small of Sskeer’s back and the other on the thick slope of his shoulders, Kelto lowered the edge of his blade to rest against his opponent’s neck. “And done,” he smirked.

From the floor, Sskeer glared - and then began to laugh. A deep, resonant sound, from the pit of his throat. “Well done, little healer. It seems your training is complete.”

“The student becomes the master,” the Rodian preened.

“Indeed. Let me up now, so I can congratulate you properly.”

Extinguishing his blade, Kelto said thoughtfully, “I don’t know - I worked pretty hard for this. Feel like I’ve earned the right to rub it in a little, don’t you?” And so even as he was stepping off of Sskeer’s back, he was plunking himself down to sit upon the curve of the Trandoshan’s spine. 

“Urk-!”

“Oh, yes,” Kelto giggled. “That sound just made it all totally worth it.”

Sskeer glared at him warmly as he straightened up onto his elbows. “You are lucky to be pulling this juvenile nonsense on me and not someone like Master Engle.”

“After the protracted thrashing I just took, you’re lucky you’re still with me at all!”

He chuckled at that, softening. “I am, aren’t I.”

“And don’t you forget it, mister.” Kelto tapped the emitter of his lightsaber against his temple to underline the point. Then he stood, and offered his hand. “C’mon, up and at ‘em. Let’s go again.”

The disparity in their sizes and masses meant that Sskeer ended up doing most of the work of standing up. “Again? I thought your training was through.”

“My training. Now I help you work on your defense.”

“Ah, of course. How unexpectedly generous of you, ‘Master’ Lem.”

“Not generous at all. I plan on giving as good as I got.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Smiling at each other, they folded their arms and bowed.

“Now look - it’s not so much about where you put your blade as where you put your feet, see? Watch…”

Now…

The loadlifter must have attempted to break through the police line; it was the only way to explain the amount of carbon scoring pitting its chassis. But the CSF’s sidearms had clearly failed to stop the berserk droid; if anything, they had only made it angrier.

The Jedi had two things working in their favor. First, the machine’s primary offensive implement, its two massive lifting arms, made its attack pattern slow & easy to predict; second, its sheer mass made it difficult for the droid to attack them with any kind of subtlety or dexterity. This meant much of the incoming danger would be coming from wide sweep attacks, and easily dodged. This was about where their list of advantages ended.

The droid, meanwhile, had been fitted by its criminal masters with heavy hydraulic legs and a microscopically thin layered shell of energy-resistant material - neuranium, perhaps, skimmed from shipments bound for projects related to the Republic’s Great Works initiative? Kelto wasn’t sure, and frankly, right now he didn’t care. Either way it meant their lightsabers weren’t easily cutting through its hide, and it had the speed to match and catch their every maneuver. It was a heavy bruiser, and no mistake.

If this was what they’d managed to cook up right under their noses on Coruscant, imagine what they were up to beyond the frontier?

The machine screeched and rushed them yet again, blitzing across the warehouse at a blistering pace in an attempt to pancake them against the wall. With scant seconds to spare they threw themselves in opposite directions, Kelto landing in a roll and turning sharply; the machine, split between two targets, chose to pursue Sskeer.

It shattered the ground around it with its huge fists, apelike bashing aimed at squashing the Trandoshan into the floor. Sskeer moved with a deftness that belied his own size; his feet carried him out of or around the rapidly-shifting crush zone with supreme economy of motion and exertion, and above them, his body shifted minutely to maximize his effective positioning. His arms, meanwhile, slashed and jabbed at the droid’s reinforced chassis with his lightsaber, creating trails of shallow gouges in the metal where his blade had passed.

Watching from the sidelines, Kelto almost wanted to cheer him on. Then the droid caught Sskeer in the gut with a side-swipe and sent him flying into the far wall.

His focus remained on Sskeer, sitting in his own impact crater, long enough to see his chest heave; he was badly shaken, possibly stunned, but still alive. Then his attention shifted back to the droid, which had taken its first step towards finishing the job.

The cowling around its shoulder joint had come loose. Not by much - but perhaps just enough.

Kelto charged. Sliding under a wild reactive swipe, he rolled to his feet and thrust the tip of his saber upwards, straight into the chink in the droid’s armor. In attempting to pull away, the droid inadvertently drew the unprotected coupling which lay beneath its shell across the edge of the energy blade, and the limb fell away lifelessly. It screamed in Binary, orienting to smash the offending Jedi with its other arm, but Kelto jump-flipped up and over its shoulder, shearing away the linkages connecting its armored collar to its vulnerable neck.

“Sskeer!”, he cried, landing as the armor segments clattered to the floor. “Now!”

The loadlifter reared back for one last overhead smash. It never got the chance to deliver the blow. Behind it, Sskeer bounded across the floor and sprang into a corkscrewing leap which carried his blade into position to strike the droid’s head from its shoulders. He executed the wayward machine with a roar.

The head landed with a dull clang and a dwindling electric whine; the rest of the body shuddered and ground to a complete halt, like a grotesque junkyard statue. The same could not be said for Sskeer, who came down heavily to his hands and knees upon returning to earth.

“Sskeer!” Kelto rushed to catch him, dropping his lightsaber and pushing him back up straight by his shoulders. “Are you alright?!”

“Y-yes,” Sskeer hissed. He clutched his head in one clawed hand and screwed his eyes shut, still sitting on his haunches. “I’m alright, it’s only -- nng-- a concussion, perhaps.”

“Sure you don’t want that stim now?”

“I’ve… reconsidered.”

Obligingly, Kelto injected him with an ampoule of kolto - and one more for good measure. Soon enough, Sskeer could see clearly again, though the ringing pain in his head still remained. The blaster wound, though, had almost completely closed over.

“Nice footwork back there,” Kelto murmured with a smile, massaging his uninjured shoulder. “Good placement, good tempo - ever consider taking up tap dancing? You’ve sure got the rhythm for it.”

“They don’t make patent synthleather in Trandoshan sizes.”

“Hey, you gotta have something to fall back on in case this Jedi thing falls through.”

Wearily, Sskeer met his eyes, grumbling in his throat. “Always the joker,” he said, tipping the underside of the Rodian’s jaw with his knuckle. Then he stood, groaning. “We should inform the police the situation is contained.”

Kelto tucked himself under his arm, half-carrying his weight across his shoulders - well, more like quarter-carrying. “Not bad for my first big patrol, huh?”

“You were more than capable. In some places, you surpassed even myself.” Sskeer slid his hand back to rest on the closer of Kelto’s shoulders. “As I said you would, if you trusted yourself to.”

“Ah, you’re just saying that.”

Sskeer stopped him in his tracks so he’d know he was being serious. “You would have made a fine Jedi Guardian, Kelto Lem. And should you ever desire such a path, I would be honored to walk it with you.”

He stared up at him, bug-eyed. “You… really mean that?”, he asked quietly.

Sskeer shrugged. “Consider it something to fall back on, in case being a healer doesn’t work out.”

“And I thought I was the joker around here,” Kelto snorted, as they left the ruined warehouse behind.

[96thdayofrage]

That all this time later we are still learning new information about Hampton’s killing is testament to the sheer volume of the effort aimed at this young revolutionary.

“This was a masterplan for destroying radical black nationalist groups.”

The horrifying story of the 1969 police murder of Fred Hampton is now well known. But there’s still much to be revealed about the case — like the information in bureau files newly obtained by Jacobin showing the FBI awarded Special Agent Roy Martin Mitchell, the handler of informant William O’Neal who was key to the raid that killed Hampton, a $200 bonus for work well done.

In the predawn hours of December 4, 1969, fourteen Chicago Police officers, claiming they were searching for illegal weapons, crashed into a first floor apartment on Chicago’s Monroe Street and opened fire. Inside were nine members of the Illinois Black Panther Party, including the rising star of the chapter, Fred Hampton.

The police claimed the apartment’s occupants fired on them, but after a fusillade of more than ninety bullets, the only people shot were Panthers, including Mark Clark and Hampton, who were dead. The picture of grinning cops carrying Hampton’s body�� out of the apartment that circulated in the wake of the killing said it all: the Chicago Police Department (CPD) had wanted Hampton dead. Their mission was accomplished.

The Chicago police, however, were not the only ones celebrating. We now know that within days of the murderous operation, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) awarded their Special Agent Roy Martin Mitchell, the handler of the informant who was key to the raid, a $200 bonus for work well done. This, and other information is contained in documents obtained by Aaron Leonard — posted here for the first time — via a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request.

The murder of Fred Hampton remains a point of tremendous outrage and debate decades after the fact — most recently thrust into the spotlight with the release of the film Judas and the Black Messiah . Too often there is an assumption that all facts are known. But with these new documents and others released in the past few years, it is clear there is more to uncover — not only for the sake of historical accuracy, but to understand how the bureau targeted those who were deemed threats to the status quo, so we can try to ensure such voices will not be silenced in the future.

COINTELPRO: “Black Nationalist Hate Groups”

When speaking of Fred Hampton the term COINTELPRO, the syllabic abbreviation for counterintelligence program, has become near-synonymous with his killing. So it is worth looking at what the COINTELPRO aimed at the Black Panther Party (BPP) actually was.

The United States at the end of the 1960s was in tumult. The antiwar movement was radicalizing, Catholic pacifists were destroying draft records, and the black freedom movement was giving way to Black Power and armed self-defense. Against this backdrop, in August 1967 the FBI launched a program called “COINTELPRO, Black Nationalist Hate Groups,” expanding on an effort begun in the mid 1950s directed at the Communist Party. The Bureau soon expanded the program. In a memo issued on March 4, 1968 , they elaborated on its objectives:

1) Prevent the coalition of black nationalist groups

2) Prevent the rise of a “messiah” who could unify, and electrify, the militant black nationalist movement [here citing Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr, Elijah Muhammad, and Stokely Carmichael as examples]

3) Prevent violence on the part of black nationalist groups

4) Prevent militant black nationalist groups and leaders from gaining respectability

5) Prevent the long-range growth of militant black nationalist organizations, especially among youth

Taken as a whole, this was a masterplan for destroying radical black nationalist groups. As 1968 gave way to 1969, the Bureau was particularly fixated on the Black Panther Party.

The Black Nationalist Hate Groups COINTELPRO was a major undertaking, and its exposure played a large role in forcing the Bureau to curtail domestic security operations in the mid-1970s. But COINTELPRO was just one piece of the Bureau’s larger toolkit against radicals, one that included surveillance, informant infiltration, intelligence gathering, and compiling lists for possible detention, and working with local police and their red squads to achieve these goals. Understanding this gives a much clearer picture of what Hampton and the Chicago BPP were up against.

The Black Panther Party for Self-Defense, which started in Oakland in 1966, did not get its start in Chicago until the end of 1968. Around this time, elements of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), including leaders Stokely Carmichael (Kwame Ture), James Forman , and H. Rap Brown, briefly joined the BPP. In Chicago, this included SNCC member Bob Brown, who would become one of the chapter’s original members, along with Bobby Rush, and twenty-one-years-old NAACP Youth Chapter leader Fred Hampton. While the Panther-SNCC merger ultimately fell apart, the Chicago BPP did not.

From the start, the FBI was all over the Chicago chapter, having the advantage of an informant who joined the group as it was forming. William O’Neal had been recruited  by FBI Special Agent Roy Martin Mitchell. Mitchell, who had learned that O’Neal had stolen a car and crossed state lines — making his case a federal one — used that as leverage to turn him into a snitch. According to O’Neal, Mitchell told him:

“I know you did it, but it’s no big thing.” He said, “I’m sure we can work it out.” And, um, I think a few, few months passed before I heard from him again, and one day I got a call and he told me that it was payback time. He said that “I want you to go and see if you can join the Black Panther Party, and if you can, give me a call.”

O’Neal’s joining the Chicago chapter at its inception is consistent with a practice the Bureau had developed: aiming to embed informants  into radical groups at their formation, where they could more easily assimilate and potentially rise in the ranks. This held true for O’Neal: who quickly became a security captain for the chapter. It also helps explain how the FBI was able to develop insightful, if not always successful, COINTELPRO efforts against the chapter.

“The Bureau aimed to embed informants into radical groups at their formation, where they could more easily assimilate and potentially rise in the ranks.”

One of the first measures they implemented was a “poison pen” letter  sent to the Chicago Mau Mau street gang in December 1968. The letter purportedly from “a disgusted Black Panther,” slandered Bob Brown and Bobby Rush “as opportunists and hustlers out for their own personal gain.”

A month later they again tried to foment divisions, this by sending an incendiary letter to the Black P. Stone Nation , a formidable street gang, which was already in conflict with the Panthers over recruitment. The letter from “A Black brother you don’t know,” claimed “the Panthers blame you for blocking their thing and there’s supposed to be a hit out on you. […] I know what I’d do if I was you.” Fortunately cooler heads prevailed, though such was not the intent of the letter.

These were official COINTELPRO operations, meaning they had to be proposed and approved within the FBI hierarchy. Notably, they were not singularly targeted at Fred Hampton. Our research has only been able to find one example where Hampton is the explicit target.

That plan, outlined, in a November 25, 1969 memo , proposed sending a letter from “a disgruntled Panther” to the national office that would state:

“Myself and other brothers are getting tired of the screwing Hampton [Name REDACTED] are giving the brothers and sisters here in Chicago and the brothers in Berkeley. Last week [REDACTED] and Hampton called us all in for a meeting and the M….F……told us we are purged from the Party. All the time they are bitching about you no good nigger. [sic] They say you only think of Chicago when you need bread. You don’t give a damn about all our brothers in jail….”

The fodder for the letter was an incident in which Hampton had suspended a group of Chicago Panthers (the memo says “purged” until they “‘earned’ the right to be called a Panther”) for being late to a meeting. The letter’s aim was to sabotage plans for Hampton to move up the Panther hierarchy by joining the national office.

Notably, that same proposal shows up in a memo dated December 3, 1969 , which also references “a positive course of action” the Chicago Police Department were about to carry out (i.e., the raid, using intelligence the FBI had passed on to them from their informant William O’Neal).

“The letter’s aim was to sabotage plans for Hampton to move up the Panther hierarchy.”

It is confusing that both the raid and the proposed COINTELPRO against Hampton are mentioned in the same memo, suggesting the FBI’s effort against Hampton were more ongoing and they did not anticipate he would be killed the following day. At minimum, more information is needed to understand what the FBI was aware of about the imminent CPD raid.

The Chicago BPP in 1969 was in the middle of a tempest. On the one hand, the chapter was in the midst of an influx of new members, and the party was seen by many black youth as an electrifying force. Hampton himself was in high demand for giving speeches to organizations and on college campuses. Meanwhile police were routinely raiding BPP headquarters, the media was vilifying them, members were being arrested with minor charges transforming into major ones, and various secret police were working in the background to sabotage their efforts to work with and unite with other forces.

The CPD & the Red Squad

The murder of Fred Hampton unfolded against a pitched dynamic of raids and armed self-defense. In 1969, the Panther headquarters in Chicago was raided three times,  first by the FBI and twice by the CPD. Such an extraordinary situation helps explain the Panthers’ emphasis on security and self-defense.

Meanwhile, there were forces in operation in the background beyond the FBI. While the Panthers repeatedly ran up against Chicago street cops, the CPD also had a sizable intelligence component, operating under different names over the years but generally referred to as “the red squad.”

For a single city, the operation was huge. In his 1990 book Protectors of the Privilege, which documented the activity of big-city red squads, late ACLU director Frank Donner, called Chicago the “National Capital of Police Repression.” He reported that in 1970, 382 people were assigned to the unit, with forty-nine specifically targeting “subversives.” Not surprisingly, the Panthers were a target. According to former Panther Billy “Che” Brooks , the Chicago chapter was under the constant eye of the Chicago Red Squad and Gang Intelligence Unit.

“ACLU director Frank Donner called Chicago the ‘National Capital of Police Repression.’”

It was against that backdrop that the CPD’s targeting of the BPP reached a crescendo. On November 13, Panthers Lance Bell and Spurgeon “Jake” Winters were in the abandoned Washington Park Hotel when police were called out to them. Bell fled the scene, but Winters engaged cops in a running shootout, killing one and wounding nine officers. After an extensive chase, he shot one of the two officers on his trail, knocking him down. According to the account in Black Against Empire : The History and Politics of the Black Panther Party by Joshua Bloom and Waldo E. Martin Jr, as the other officers rushed forward, “Winters walked to the fallen officer, purposely raised his gun, and shot the officer in the face.” Winter was in turn killed by approaching police.

According to informant William O’Neal, this was the incident that set the CPD on a course of murderous revenge that would result in the killing of Fred Hampton.

The Rising Informant

It was against this backdrop that positions in the Chicago BPP chapter were constantly shifting. In the case of FBI informant William O’Neal, he appeared to be on the rise. This comes through in a 1,636-page document  released by the FBI in 2017 (under the JFK Assassination Records Collection Act), which includes numerous reports from SA Mitchell and an informant — most likely O’Neal.

Specifically, one document has SA Mitchell reporting , “HAMPTON is allegedly considering approaching O’NEAL to see if he will take over as acting Minister of Defense if RUSH goes to jail.” At the time, Bobby Rush was facing jail for possession of an unregistered weapon, stemming from a police arrest after a Panther speaking event in Urbana, Illinois.

While O’Neal was rumored for promotion, Hampton himself was confronting prison for an incident in which an ice cream truck was looted of $71 worth of merchandise and distributed to neighborhood youth. Hampton would be convicted at trial and later released on bail, but lost his appeal  on November 26 and was facing a return to jail to serve an excessive two- to five-year sentence.

The CPD were apparently in no mood to await Hampton’s imprisonment. Here, the FBI’s informant William O’Neal played a key role. It was O’Neal’s floor plan, a rough diagram , later refined by Mitchell  of the apartment where Hampton and other Panthers were staying, which was given to the CPD raiding party — a document that lawyers Jeff Haas and Flint Taylor  were able to pry loose in a later civil trial. While this is hard evidence of O’Neal’s role, many accounts of the murder also claimed that O’Neal drugged Hampton the night before the killing. That evidence, however, is still in dispute .

O’Neal’s role in supplying the floor plan, and the fact that he was given a $300 bonus a week after Hampton’s murder, has been known for some time. What had not been known previously, and which we learned with the release of 491 pages in SA Mitchell’s personal file, is the degree to which the Bureau was following, encouraging, and rewarding O’Neal and Mitchell throughout 1969 — culminating in a personal commendation by J. Edgar Hoover himself for Mitchell, days after Hampton’s murder:

“Through your aggressiveness and skill in handling a valuable source, he is able to furnish information of great importance to the Bureau in this vital area of our operations. I want you to know of my appreciation for your exemplary efforts.”

“It was O’Neal’s floor plan which was given to the CPD raiding party.”

In the memo, Hoover is careful not to spell out what the “vital area of our operations” is. But a notation on the letter reads, “Re: Black Panther Party,” making clear it was his work against the BPP. Further diminishing the commendation’s vagueness, another note references a “Moore-Sullivan” writing on December 2, 1969  that recommends the award for Mitchell’s “development of a highly productive informant in the Black Panther Party” — almost certainly William O’Neal.

Notably, the same day Hoover congratulated Mitchell, the FBI issued a COINTELPRO memo following up on the proposed poison pen letter aimed at Hampton. In it, they noted, “In view of the fact that Hampton was recently shot and killed by Chicago police, no further action is being taken in regard to your proposal.”

It remains unclear all the details the FBI knew about the CPD raid at the moment Hoover wrote to SA Mitchell. But it is clear that they knew their informant, carefully cultivated over months, had played an integral role in the “success” of an undertaking where the only people shot were Black Panthers awoken from their sleep, two of whom were shot dead. That in that moment, the Bureau chose to reward their agent’s work further closes a loop of culpability: it was blood money for a bloody deed.

Still More to Uncover

The Fred Hampton story has been told and retold such that it is frozen in amber, as if all the facts are known. Yet our obtaining of previously secret documents shows there is still more to be learned — not only from the corpus of files held by the FBI, but from the files of Chicago’s SAC Marlin Johnson, the informant William O’Neal’s file, any liaison notes between the CPD and the FBI that may exist, to say nothing of information that may lie in the records, not destroyed , of the Chicago Police and their red squad. (The CPD admitted in 1974 that it destroyed 105,000 files on individuals and 1,300 on organizations .) That all this time later we are still learning new information about Hampton’s killing is testament to the sheer volume of the effort aimed at this young revolutionary — and hopefully a spur to finally get all the secrets out.

This article previously appeared in Jacobin  and Reader Supported News .

[mothmanhamlet]

Feelings are Fatal

I’ve decided to put all my fics here on tumblr, so here we go I guess

Logan is decidedly against love, but the very feeling he hates may just be his downfall.

Logince, 4231 words, Hanahaki au/High school au

Warnings: Major character death! Blood! Kinda swearing idk

Hanahaki Disease. It was just another fact of Logan’s life, the almost magical sickness that caused flowers to bloom in ones lungs as a result of unrequited love. He had to write a paper about it once, about when humans discovered it and how it affects humanity. He got a good grade on that paper, even though he didn’t understand it. Yes he understood the phenomenon, but how anyone could feel that deeply simply evaded him.

He used to pride himself on that, the fact that he always put logic and reason above emotion. It let him get good grades in every class he took, it made sure he focused, and it helped him get through high school without a hitch.

Well almost. Before he could glide through school into an Ivy League, he met Roman Prince.  

Roman Prince was the resident drama star and popular kid. He was conventionally attractive, with his curly brown hair, unblemished skin, and light brown eyes. A hopeless romantic, he was dramatic and confident. He and Logan shared Literature and World History together for almost two years.  

He could remember the day they first met, 2nd period English Literature. It was a rather bright room with handwritten posters plastered anywhere there was room. A giant messy whiteboard was at the front near the door with a square of desks facing it. The desks seemed to be one for every two people, an odd choice for a teacher but a completely average choice for that particular one. He remembers taking half of one in the front corner.

Once the bell rang to start class, the teacher, Mr. Picani, emerged rather ceremoniously from behind the desk. Immediately, he introduced himself and scribbled “Romeo and Juliet” on the board. From there, the class launched into a conversation about the story, most of them having already read it, which soon turned into a debate.

“It’s just so tragic, they were in love and had to die because of it, what could be sadder?” Roman announced, standing up and waving his hands around to accentuate his point.  

“They knew each other for a month at best and then killed themselves, how is that a tragic love story?” Logan said with a scoff.  

“How could you just say something like that about one of the greatest love stories of all time?” Roman gasped, turning his attention fully to Logan.

“Juliet was thirteen, she didn’t know what love was.”

“Oh and you would know better?”

“Actually-”  

They continued their debate for almost all of class, ending with both of them literally out of their seats and yelling at each other. It was intense and probably not the best first impression. It also caused their suddenly pacifist teacher to switch around their seating, so they ended up right next to each other in a swift move Mr. Picani called the “Get-along-desk”.

For the first few months, it was a hell-scape. Their interactions were explosive, they always had different opinions and neither were willing to compromise. For a while, they just refused to talk to each other, after all it did seem like the logical move at the time. That didn’t last long, as being desk-mates meant being project partners and projects meant communication. If not for Logan’s refusal to disrupt his own learning, they probably would have been kicked out of class. Even in History they weren’t safe, somehow always ending up partnered together. Logan found it infuriating. Roman thought with his emotions, he relied on abstractions and was too stubborn to let go of them. Not to mention, arguing with him was like arguing with the personification of the Uno reverse card. Roman would say that he was the stubborn one, focusing on facts and figures exclusively. Four whole months went by and no one thought they were capable of getting along.

That was until Roman’s twin brother transferred into their class. Remus was everything Logan despised, doing everything thoughtlessly. He would place nightmarish takes on their reading, placing what ifs where they had no business being. Logan was sure he lacked the capability to take anything seriously. Roman could barely stand him too, Remus being the antithesis of him despite the fact that they shared DNA. If Logan hated Roman, he despised Remus.  

So of course, when it was time to do team debates, Mr. Picani made the mistake of pairing them against Remus’ group. It didn’t matter how they felt about each other before, they were against a common enemy and needed to best him.

As rivals they were strong. As allies, they were damn near unstoppable. Every issue they had was put aside as they worked on an argument about the feminism of Pride and Prejudice. They used every second of class, discussing evidence and building upon ideas. They even went out of their way to work after class. Logan was finally able to see Roman’s strengths, how passionate he was, how driven he could be, and the creativity he had in every aspect. Sure enough, they got the highest grade in the class, and a friendship was formed. Albeit, it was uneasy and reluctant, but it was a friendship nonetheless.

Soon, unease and reluctance grew to respect. Respect grew to appreciation. After a few months, lo and behold, the get-along-desk had worked. They were not true friends, but they were doing better. They started to acknowledge points they made, even adding in some occasions. They made small talk too, Roman talking about his rehearsals or telling about another person he just had to meet (but ultimately never would). Logan would start to ramble about something he learned. It was little things like that that made their friendship.

It was mid-March when Logan noticed it. Everything had seemingly calmed down since Remus had gotten expelled for performing the macarena during an assembly for the 15th time, and he and Roman were slowly becoming at least acquaintances. They were in history class at the time, when Roman turned to him while they were working.

“European society really did peak in, like, the 1300’s huh,” Roman said nonchalantly, pointing to a knight’s uniform. Of course, Logan was annoyed with him. Somehow, he managed to forget the black plague, despite it being the focus of most of the unit. But it was a different kind of annoyance, more amusement than anything else. And of course Roman    wanted to be a knight, he already had the chivalry and honor down to a tee. But he was thinking about that too much.

It was a weird sensation Logan didn’t entirely understand. He probably should have thought about it, as that would be the logical thing to do, however Roman had told him continuously that emotions were illogical and that same weird part of him wanted to listen to Roman. So instead, he ignored the feeling and lectured him on the black plague. It was easy enough to ignore.

He felt it again in English the next day, while he was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. They weren’t required, he simply wanted to. He remembered Dorian reminding him of Roman. A little narcissistic, a bit vain, beautiful. Beautiful. His brain got stuck on that word for a while. He thought Roman was beautiful. But emotions were illogical, so he ignored it. It was easy to ignore.

It continued to be easy to ignore. Sure moments like that would pop up, more and more frequently as time went on, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter the bursts of unexplainable happiness that Logan felt when he saw Roman. It didn’t matter the times Logan lost the ability to articulate in his presence. It didn’t matter that Logan could see just how nice and charming and unique Roman was. It didn’t matter, because he could ignore it.

By the end of the year, he could safely say it was harder to ignore. What was once subtle, was now strong and demanding in his head. That was also the time Logan realized it was hopeless to even want what he now knew he wanted. Over the year, he learned that Roman was in fact, a hopeless romantic. However, the endless string of people Roman fell for had a few things in common. From what he heard, they were all emotional, dramatic, popular, and perfect. Just like Roman.

So, when the year ended, Logan did what he did best when it came to his feelings about Roman. He ignored them.

The summer passed as the summer always did. Logan did mathematics camps, biology camps, astronomy camps, anything that kept him busy and learning. It was almost boring, how routine it was. The only thing that kept nagging at him was his ‘crush’ (the others at camp had taught him the term) on Roman. It never went away as he had hoped, yet he still continued to neglect it. Unfortunately, like a wound left unattended, it would begin to fester.

The school year began, and Logan could almost remember the happiness he felt when it started again. Classes were where he found his confidence, where he was listened to and respected. He was good at school, because it let him use logic and reason generally without complication.

There was, of course, one minor problem. He was waiting in his new English class, coming off of the high that was impressing his orchestra class, as he sat down at an empty table. This teacher seemed much like his previous one, bubbly and energetic. There were more technicolor posters adorning the walls, but everything was less cartoonish. In addition to the spectacled teacher who insisted they call him by his first name, this class seemed to have a TA, a dark shadowy man who must have been a college student. Logan had to have been distracted while taking everything in, as he failed to notice someone sitting next to him.  

“Hey Microsoft Nerd, ready to win English again?” Logan turned to see a smiling Roman facing him. Besides simply being startled, Logan jumped at seeing Roman again. He didn’t think Roman would actively seek him out like that.

“Roman, you cannot win English as a class, or a language for that matter, it is not a competition,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. He forgot how pretty Roman was. It seemed his brain was at it again with this inconvenience.

“Au contraire, Pocket Protector, we can and we shall,” Roman said with a grin, his eyes lit up like candles.

So Logan had to be with Roman for another year, which was fine except for the fact that his feelings came back swifter and stronger. It was like his brain couldn’t stop noticing Roman and his smile and how he talked about the things he loved and how good he was.

He did fine, keeping it in the back of his mind, till around mid-October. That’s when he first noticed it.  

He was in his bedroom, at the clean white desk doing his homework. He had a cup of tea next to him, his books in front of him, and everything in order. Standard studying procedure. He remembered taking a sip of tea and coughing violently, his lungs burning like a wildfire inside his chest. Coughing and sputtering, he remembered thinking it was the tea, that he attempted to breathe while drinking it. It wasn’t until the burning died down and he felt something soft between his teeth did he understand. Removing it, he could see how bright red it was, a thick petal with uniform teeth marks pressed into it. It had to be a poppy. Coughing again, he feels another, more curly petal. A red carnation. They looked striking on his desk, in a room of mostly neutrals and deep blues, they added color. They popped so strangely it almost hurt to look at. They were objectively beautiful, plump and bright, but what they symbolized horrified Logan. He had really fallen for him, there was no turning back, not now. There wasn't much he could do now.

Well.  

Seeing as it was hopeless anyways, no one else needed to know. It was his secret, his mistake to be hidden. So, instead of telling anyone or getting a doctor or doing anything, he swept the red abominations into a little blue trash bin.

He remembered the next month at school being pretty easy, all things considered. He would go about his day as normal, minus the new addition of a water bottle for him to place the horrible beautiful petals. Roman would look at him or smile at him and his chest would ache, but he was sure it would get easier to ignore. He was very good at ignoring.

Harder than that, was explaining how his trash bin became full of scarlet, slightly damp, flower petals. It didn't completely sell him out though. No, that was a few weeks later, when he was in the middle of dinner. They sat rather quietly as usual, when Logan felt the recognizable burning in his chest, however this time was worse, feeling like lit kerosene all the way up his throat. He realized in that moment he was unprepared, no way to hide what would inevitably fall from his mouth. After a minute of wheezing, Logan looked to his plate to find a full, slightly bloodied, red carnation.  

His parents stared at him with wide eyes, flitting between the plate and him. It was as if they couldn’t process what had happened. He didn’t want to tell them like this, but it was too late for that now.

“Logan, I think we should schedule a doctor’s appointment,” Logan’s dad said, clearing his throat. It was a simple announcement, one that ended the conversation as they went back into silence.

One week of mild suffering later, Logan was sitting in a doctor’s office, waiting for the doctor to come back with the results of his blood test. He didn’t know how it worked, or why they needed a blood test to determine if he had flowers in his lungs, but he decided not to question it.  

The doctor came in with a serious face, as if he was about to deliver bad news and they didn’t already know the answer. He gave his parents a brochure, one with all the options they had, although there weren’t many. There were pills he could take, but they were new, expensive, and had a nasty habit of giving people cancer. There was the tried and true method of explaining your feelings in the hopes it wasn’t actually unrequited and you just thought it was. Then there was the option most people chose, the surgery. It was generally reliable and probably the safest option. It did remove your ability to feel most emotions, but to people with this kind of problem that was kind of a bonus. A security that it won’t happen again.

In the car ride back, Logan already knew what would happen. Sure, a confession would be easy, but even worse than his mild fear of humiliation was his parents’ strong fear of him getting a boyfriend. Or any romantic attachments for that matter. They were of the opinion that school and work came first and anything besides that was a distraction. He himself prided himself on a similar outlook.

“Logan, I think you should get the surgery, it may not seem ideal, but I promise    you it will pay off in the end,” Logan’s mom said from the front seat of their car. It was nothing Logan didn’t expect, so he simply sat there looking out the window at the trail of cars around them.

“Ok.”

The next day of school, he was filled with a sort of relief. He would be rid of these emotions that had been annoying him for months and trying to kill him for weeks. He was more relaxed. Unfortunately, because no good thing goes unpunished, he forgot his water bottle in orchestra. Which meant, he wouldn’t have it till after his next class, which just so happened to be English.

He did alright, all things considered, until they were allowed to research for their essays. He felt a burn in the back of his throat that meant flowers were coming. He started to cough, attracting the attention of the others at his table, a blonde girl, a redhead boy, and of course Roman. The emo TA also started to look at him, which was one more step to explaining his… Condition to the class.

A solid minute of wheezing later, two bright red and bloody flowers appeared in his hand, a carnation and poppy each with some stray petals. That drew a little more attention. The teacher gave him a concerned glance, but after Logan shook his head at him, he retreated. A few straggling eyes were suddenly on him, but the ones he was focusing on were the ones sitting right next to him.  

“So you do have a heart Lo,” Roman said, reaching out to touch a petal. He had to be dreaming. Roman couldn’t know. Roman wasn’t allowed to know. And Roman had many nicknames for him, but they were never his name. It was as if it were too personal. “I’m very sorry about whoever this is, and I would fight them anytime.”

Logan put on a brave face and straightened the blue tie he tended to wear. “Don’t feel too bad, I’m getting the surgery for it in a month or two.” Maybe if he didn’t look at Roman he would be better at talking about it.

“Oh, good luck then,” Roman said with a smile as Logan looked at him. He could have sworn he heard the slightest bit of sadness in his voice, but Logan was never very good with emotions.  

Three weeks came and went without much notice, except for the occasional brave soul asking about his illness. Logan remembered the answers he gave to be extremely clinical, using a lot of logic for a emotions based affliction.

He sat in the doctor’s office, a cold and sterile room, waiting for the doctor to come back with his X-rays, just so they could make sure the surgery would go on as usual. His mother, sat next to him in a light colored chair, squeezed his hand.

“They’re going to fix you, don’t worry,” His mother whispered. Moments later, the doctor came back into the room, clearly trying not to look distraught.

“I’m afraid we ran into a complication,” the doctor said, looking at his mother, “Your son is extremely far along in the disease, and the roots of the flowers grew in an unfortunate place in your son’s lungs. Trying to remove them would cause extreme scarring that would inevitably lead to pulmonary fibrosis, as well as cause severe damage to the blood vessels. Not to mention the fact that his brain is still developing, which means that the alterations to his limbic system could result in abnormal developments. What this means is that your son does not have a high chance of survival, should this surgery go through. I apologize that we were not able to identify these things beforehand, and you still technically can go through with it, though I would not recommend it.”

His mother’s face fell. Logan himself could barely acknowledge what had happened, the words refusing to run through his brain. The pure cleanliness of the room became all the more oppressive, the walls were beginning to close in on him. This, Logan would remember as the beginning of the end.

The next week of school was weighted and dull. His parents started to fight about whether or not he should go on with the surgery, and every day he continued to cough more and more. His parents announced that the next week would be his last at school. It was the march of his last year at high school, it should have been the home stretch for him. In many ways it was.

His last week at school was possibly the most difficult part. He had to explain to his teachers that he would be leaving, he had to watch their faces drop as they realized why he might not come back. His English teacher, Patton as he insisted they call him, cried when he told him. He thought Logan couldn’t see him, but he was able to see the small drops of water in his eyes. Even Virgil-the-TA was a little sadder. He decided no one else would know, if he could help it. Except Roman. As much as he hated the thought of telling him, Roman was his friend, technically his only friend. He deserved to know, Logan decided. He deserved to know everything, or at least a shortened version of it.

Soon, it was Friday. His last day of school went without much fanfare, besides his teachers becoming sentimental. He had also neglected to tell Roman, effectively waiting until the last possible moment. It neared the end of English class, and Logan was prepared. When they were allowed to talk, he turned to face Roman.

“Roman, I’m going to be away from school for a while and do not know when I’ll be back, or even if I will return,” Logan said in his usual directness. It was… Odd talking about his likely death. “So if this is the last time we ever speak, I just wanted to tell you that I-” No. He couldn’t do it. Roman would blame himself for it, and Logan refused to put that on him. Roman didn’t deserve to blame himself for this. For him. “I always thought of you as a friend. A best friend I suppose.”

Roman looked at him with a mixture of shock and sadness. “Logan I li-” Roman said quickly before pausing, letting out a sigh. “Logan, I’m glad I could be your friend. A best friend.”

And that was it. Logan got on with the rest of his day, and went home.

That lead Logan to where he was now, around three weeks later. He was sat in the chair in his room, as usual, reading a book. It was Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, and he had read it hundreds of times. He always wanted to study space. The pristine whites and grays of his bedroom were tinged red from coughing fits in the middle of the day. Flowers could be spotted in the corners of his room, the only mess in his neat space. It used to feel comfortably organized, now feeling distant and damaged. Nevertheless, he essentially lived in his room, no reason to go outside when he was going to die anyways. No reason to leave his room when his parents were always fighting about him. They were still considering surgery, or at least his father was.

He felt another cough rise in his lungs. He had almost gotten used to the pain. Slowly stumbling up and to the trash can, he choked through the pain. He could feel the warmth claw its way up his throat, burning.  Moments later, he could see two blood-soaked flowers, a poppy and carnation perfectly intact, stem and all. But they didn’t stop. A stream of blood followed, nearly filling his mouth, staining his lips and teeth red. In that moment, he realized just how little time he had left.

He turned over to the light switch, turning it off, then closing the drapes to his window. In the darkness he walked over to his perfectly made bed, and lied down. He could stare at the childish glow-in-the-dark stars he had placed up there, simply because they looked nice. He simply laid in the silence, staring at his own stars.

They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. But a flash was the wrong word. No, Logan felt every moment leading up to this wash over him in a wave. Every mistake, every choice. He wondered if things could have been different. Maybe if he had never argued that first day, if he had never talked to Roman Prince, maybe he could have avoided all of this. He could have been on his way to a college, then to a job, and to a life. But it was too late for that. It was too late for him. It was almost over and he had lost.

Logan stared at the stars in thought. Soon, he lost track of time. He didn’t know how long he waited there before his vision started to blur. His vision started to fade, going darker and darker till he was staring into the face of the void. He felt his body lose the warmth it once contained, his energy dissolving. Despite it all, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, fighting for his life. Soon, it too gave up, slowing and stilling. He felt a soft pain surrounding his body, dulling his senses to numbness. Through the ache in his chest his breathing slowed. He gave out a small cough and a sharp breath in. As he released the breath, he felt himself let go. He released himself to the icy nothingness moving in on his brain. He couldn’t hear or see or feel anymore. He was still and detached and nothing anymore. He was finally gone.

[writersrealmbts]

Con Amore: Part 6

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 08/07/2019

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

Fluff/Angst: 2,823 words

A/N: Let’s get into it.

Your nose wrinkled as you entered the cafeteria. “Oh Lord.” “Back away slowly,” Namjoon instructed. “Maybe they won’t notice us and we can escape to where we can get food that doesn’t smell like…what does that smell like?” “Feet and tomato sauce,” Jin answered. “I can transport out and get us edible food,” Taehyung whispered. “Good plan.” “Nightingale!” An evil voice called out. You glared at the young man in his stupid temple travel robes looking like a cross between a wizard, a monk, and a farmer. Now everyone was looking at you. He ran up and bowed, straightening quickly. “High Priestess Cohen has sent me to represent…um…to represent…did I do something wrong, Arch—” He spluttered and spit out the mouthful of water and plant matter that had filled his mouth. You gestured for them to stop, stepping in close. “I believe one of the most intensive training programs at the temple is that of discretion, is it not?” He blinked in surprise at you, then looked a little sheepish and nodded. “Yes, miss.” “We should speak in private if you are to be the liaison between us and the temple. Does the dean know of your arrival?” “Yes, miss.” “And you’ve eaten?” “Not yet, miss.” “Follow me.” You pivoted and headed back to the elevator, feeling the curious gazes of at least two hundred students on your back. It was a good way out of eating whatever minimally edible food you found in there and frankly the smell was making you feel sick. Again. “So—” “Not in the elevator. You’re new, aren’t you?” “Sorry, yes, ma’am.” “What’s your name?” “Heuning Kai, miss.” “And you are a…” It wasn’t that you actually needed him to explain his powers, but you figured it would make him uncomfortable if he knew that you could sense his powers. Besides, sometimes it was nice to keep a power hidden away for emergency use. You certainly kept yours hidden. “Acolyte of day, messenger of the high priests and priestesses,” He replied quickly, dipping his head and making a gesture of the temple in the center of his chest. He looked at you with a little apprehension. “What does that mean?” Jimin asked, idly leaning against you. “It means he’s a light super training in the ways of the temple, and while he’s training he’s their messenger. Like an apprenticeship. You learn, but you also work to earn your keep. The temple is structured and run for supers who believe their powers give them too much…well, power. They stay at the temple to protect themselves and each other from those who would use their powers for ill. Instead they treat the sick and injured and provide sanctuary for those in need. When they do use their powers, it is after much prayer and meditation. They’re essentially pacifists that will fight if provoked in just the right way.” You explained, stumbling as the elevator made you dizzy. “I’m going to have to start using the stairs.” “Not a good idea,” Seokjin said. “You’d never get anywhere.” “I know,” You muttered poutily. “But the elevator makes me dizzy.” Jungkook wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry.” You sighed and leaned into his embrace until the doors opened. “Right. Let’s use one of these other rooms to set up for battle plans.” Yoongi picked a room and went in. Once inside, you hummed to make sure no one could see or listen in, then turned to Heuning Kai. “It’s safe to speak now.” “The high priestess of light sends word that our patient that was asking for you has begun recovering, and but hasn’t been able to clarify his messages from before. She also wished for me to tell you that you were right about the organization that was rising back to power, and that the temple is preparing for battle should you have need of them. I am to be at your disposal.” “Anything else?” He frowned slightly, almost indignant, but seeming to remember something before. “She said that you need to seal the doors that very moment.” “I take it that was her exact wording, she said “that very moment”?” He nodded. You frowned, trying to figure out what that could mean. There were literal doors, figurative doors, the doors to your archives, the doors to the school, the doors of transportation…there were an almost endless number of doors that could be referencing to and apparently she had decided to be vague. “Nothing else?” “I believe that was everything, miss.” “Alright. Let’s go over the ground rules while we’re at the conservatory. Do not discuss any private information about yourself, us, or the mission with anyone except me and these men. That includes me being an archivist, any relationship things you see with us…did you give them your true name?” He looked up in surprise. “They didn’t ask for it.” “Then don’t. Do you have a code name at the temple?” He nodded, but it was hesitant. “One you don’t particularly like?” “I’m called orangeade.” “Yikes. He wins,” Hoseok muttered. “Okay…well, the dean will probably just call you Acolyte…but is there some other code name that you’d maybe like to use while here?” “Well, I’ve also been called wings…” He shrugged, looking uncertain and a little out of his depth. “Wings?” Jimin asked. He reached behind him and pulled a piece of fabric. Wings spread out behind him, the white feathers connected with metal, gears working smoothly to allow them to work properly. Not quite a power, but explained that weird sense you got from him about a second power. You knew the handiwork. He likely had wings he was born with, and was refitted as a child to have these, then rescued and taken to the temple for safety. You looked at his face, seeing how uncomfortable it made him to even be called wings. “I could call you Hermes, Euros, or Zephyros.” He lit up a bit. “Hermes was the messenger god. Euros was the god of the east wind and autumn, thought to bring rain and warmth. Zephyros was the god of the west wind and spring. If those don’t sound like good names, then I can find others. And it’s only temporary.” You gave him a gentle smile, knowing you could come off as abrupt. “Just to keep you safe. This place is just as dangerous as the enemy we’re facing.” “I like Zephyros,” He said softly, smiling a little. “Okay.” You gave him a gentle smile, then turned to Taehyung. “But seriously, real food.” He grinned. “What do you want?” “Hmm, I think I want a burger,” you said. “Maybe some fries. And fruit. Strawberries. And blueberries.” “Alright, I’ll do my best,” He came over and collected a quick kiss. You gripped his sleeve. “Be careful.” He met your eyes and nodded. “I’ll take Mannaz-ah.” “You will?” Jimin looked a little indignant. “Yup.” Taehyung grabbed a paper. “Now taking orders.” The boys started giving him instructions for food, and you gestured for Heuning Kai to give Taehyung an order as well. He looked nervous to do so, so you pulled him over to where Taehyung was writing down Namjoon’s order. “Do you want a burger?” You asked after a moment. He nodded. Taehyung flashed a smile. “Come over here, I have a menu pulled up for the place I’m going to.” You gave the young boy an encouraging smile, then headed over to Jimin. “Keep your head on the swivel. I don’t care how ridiculous you might look, keep an eye on everything.” He nodded and nuzzled your cheek. “We’ll probably have to spread out tonight. You were too warm this morning. We’ll have to go back to our old routine of one or two of us sleeping with you at a time. Laguz-hyung’s neck is hurting him and Sowilo-hyung’s leg is hurting him.” “And how’s your back and neck?” You asked, gently rubbing the muscle connecting his neck and shoulder. “Mmm, Jera-hyung gave me a massage earlier this morning.” He melted into your touch anyway. “Good. You’re right. Probably only manage one of you in a bed with me, though. I’ll let you have the first night.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a few kisses to his lips. “I’ll need your special brand of cuddles tonight.” He smiled. “Cuddles, yeah. That’s what we’ll be doing.” You rolled your eyes. “We’ll do whatever we both have energy for.” “Mmhmm, or I could just please you,” He murmured, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to your lips. You shook your head and lightly punched his shoulder. “Raidho is ready to leave.” “Try not to worry about us,” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got the check-in app going with Tiwaz-hyung.” You kissed him again, then stepped away from him so that Tae could step in and transport them out. Namjoon led Heuning Kai out of the room, talking about getting him settled in the same wing as us. You looked back at Jungkook. “Come with me to the archives?” He smiled and nodded. “Don’t let her work too hard,” Hoseok said, quickly kissing you as he pulled a sleepy-looking Yoongi toward the door. “Hey, if I give you guys a list can you lay out a plan to rescue some kids from some of the homes, make sure the organizations can’t get to them?” You pulled out a paper. “Yeah, we’ll make a plan then when everyone is back we’ll execute it,” He plopped a kiss on your hair. “We’ll also set this room up as a meeting room. I just have to tuck this one in for a nap.” You giggled and stepped in to kiss Yoongi. “Sleep well, dearest.” He visibly blushed, and looked away. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder and kissing his neck. “Try to dream of me?” “Yeah, whatever,” He murmured, a little bit of his cute, flustered lisp coming out. You kissed his neck again, seeing his ears turning red. You squeezed him again, then released, letting your hands trail across his body. He caught your hand, giving it a light squeeze before letting you retreat to Jungkook. He was still looking away from you, but you knew he was watching your every move. “Come on,” Hoseok chuckled, tugging Yoongi out of the room. You hummed and pulled Jungkook through the door and into one of the archives. You had almost finished organizing the artifacts in your own way so that you could find whatever you need, but there was still one room full of artifacts that you still needed to find a home for. You relaxed once you’d sealed the entrance again. Jungkook was watching you with worry in his eyes. “You alright?” “Tired. Worried. A little nauseous. I wish I could just curl up with all of you and sleep. Not worry about another opponent.” You nuzzled into his chest as he wrapped around you lovingly and protectively. He just held you tightly. “I wish that too. I wish we could all just bask in the happiness of a baby. We’ve wanted one for so long. Been trying since Christmas. For it to come now…” “Yeah,” You whispered. “All things in due season, though…right?” “If you mean that things happen when they’re supposed to, then I guess so. Like fate.” You nodded. “Fate.” You ran a hand over your stomach, chewing on your lip. “I just…the thought of being a mom hasn’t really hit me yet, I guess. I’m used to being free and doing almost exactly as I please when I please. Do you think I’ll be a good mom? And what’s it going to be like with the baby having essentially seven fathers?” “We’ll figure everything out together. You’ll be a great mom. You’re already so good at taking care of us,” He reassured softly, smiling at you lovingly. “And when you get all big and your ankles and back hurt, I’ll carry you wherever you like.” You groaned. “Oh, I’m gonna get fat. I was just feeling like I was in excellent shape too.” “You look beautiful no matter what.” He kissed you chastely. “Now, what’s the task?” “Keeping me from doing too much while I find some artifacts that can help us that aren’t dangerous if taken by others. Then I want to seal the archives so that only I can get into them. I don’t know quite what to make of Nurya’s warning, but I do know that if I can, I should make sure these never fall into the wrong hands.” “So you’re preparing early for the occasion of your death.” He sounded upset. You shook your head. “No. I meant it when I said I’d stay away from the fighting and the danger. I just want to make sure no one gets in uninvited. Which is why I’m also making sure that if I do open it, it’s also because I’m carrying this,” You explained as you picked up an amulet with a tiger and rooster depicted on it. “This was collected by my five-times-great-grandfather, from Jeju Island. The amulet of Munjeon, a god of doors.” You held it out to Jungkook. He took it, looking it over, running a finger over the inlaid rubies and sapphires. “It looks like that peace symbol, the black and white one.” “Yin and Yang, which represents balance, not peace. Yes, it is.” You grabbed a special case from the side and started carefully picking out artifacts that could be useful but wouldn’t break the world. “Keep it safe for me. If you don’t feel like I’m me, don’t give it to me.” He watched you for a while, then slowly closed his fist over the amulet. “Okay.” He caught your waist. “But what if I’m the one that’s taken.” “It’s also a protection charm.” You kissed his cheek. “And I’ll make sure there are fail-safes. I just need to sit down with some sheet music and headphones while you guys make plans for fighting and investigation.” He nodded. “They’re probably back with food, now.” You grabbed a few more artifacts from other archives, then pulled him back into the room. Taehyung and Jimin were putting chairs at the tables, which had been rearranged into a huge meeting table that could seat all of you plus some extras. You smiled as the smell of burgers wafted to you. “That smells fantastic. Thank you, boys.” They jumped and Jimin went down behind a table in surprise. Tae recovered first. “What’s the suitcase for?” “Tools,” You explained, kissing his cheek, then going to make sure Jimin hadn’t hurt himself. “Any trouble?” “Nope, we were perfectly safe.” Jimin hugged onto you. “We have a problem,” Hoseok said, coming back in with the others, including Huening Kai and the dean. “What problem?” Taehyung asked. The dean put a device down and Yoongi projected the screen onto the wall for everyone to see. “The old church which was used by a private organization has been burning for six hours, there are no reports of anyone being in the church when the fire began, and firefighters are still working hard to put out the flames, which have extended to throughout the entire building.” The news reporter kept talking about when the fire started and all that, but your gaze was on the symbol on the burning door. “Beit mikdash lekavot,” The dean read from the simple sign. “Hope Temple.” Heuning Kai looked devastated. “That’s where the entrance to the temple of light was,” You confirmed. “Boys, we need to rescue the kids from those homes I listed. Now.” “Right. We’ll eat as we go,” Jin quickly grabbed his burger from the bag. “I’ll have some transportation students ready to assist you all.” “Huening Kai, why don’t you help me today?” You said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. He slowly nodded and let you guide him to a seat. You gently rubbed his back. “I’m sure they’re okay.” He nodded again, but his gaze was fixed on the video that Yoongi was still projecting, obviously waiting for more details. “Wilo, you should stick with Jin,” You suggested gently. Yoongi glanced at you, then Heuning Kai, before nodding and ending the projection. The dean turned to you. “I would like to speak to you later. When it’s convenient.” You weren’t sure what that would be about, but you figured it probably wasn’t good. You nodded anyway and sat down with the laptop to monitor the separate missions of your boys, giving Heuning Kai the second and telling him what to do based on the plan Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok had come up with. You just hoped it wouldn’t be too late for the children.

~~~~~

Part 5.   Part 7.

Masterlist.  ~  Series Masterpost.  

[makorays]

A List of Short Bios for a Bunch of OCs so People Actually Know What I’m Talking About Whenever I Mention Them on Streams or Whatever

These are all from the Savage Worlds tabletop campaign known as The Initiative that my friends and I play. It is a modern day sci-fi story involving aliens and cosmic horror cults. The basic premise is that some very important Scellor tech was stolen and found its way to Earth, and the Scellor government contacted Earth’s government to warn them they will have to wipe out their planet if the tech isn’t recovered in time. Thus an initiative was formed consisting of renowned Earth military figures as well as Scellor volunteers to try and locate it.

The Scellor are a race of aliens originally created by a man by the name of Jukashi for tgchan. Joe discovered them and decided to write a tabletop story in that universe. He may have taken a couple artistic liberties here and there for the sake of better fitting things into his own story. Scellor are green psychic aliens with a whole bunch of neat traits I won’t go into but you can read about them here if you want: https://questden.org/wiki/Scellor

Onto the actual bios:

Sofie Edelstein

The commander of The Initiative. Over a century ago, her father revealed to her and her two sisters (Teri and Tara) that he was the head of an “angel”-worshipping cult known as Erleuchten. When Teri and Tara showed hesitance in joining it, her father killed them. Sofie joined, but plotted to sabotage the cult from the inside. Some time later she became a preserved brain, got digitized, and obtained a robotic body. Now she’s a 6′ tall 400 pound robot with advanced combat capabilities. She created a series of androids with artificial intelligence based after her late sister Tara, but none have gained sentience. Was the leader of Poland’s military as a day job. She was working for The Initiative from the inside as an Erleuchten leader, but got found out and now lives with us. She’s done a hell of a lot of sleeping around through all her years, but eventually decided to get into a long-term relationship when she met Stan.

Minyaxl

My OC. Minyaxl is a Scellor combat medic with renowned psionic healing abilities who decided to volunteer and help out the humans, partially out of kindness and partially to have a chance to demonstrate his abilities to a less advanced race. He started out as this 5′0″ little bitch who was super full of himself but his confidence has been beaten into the dirt on numerous occasions; most notably when he realized that humans, unlike Scellor, do not reincarnate after death, meaning he’s been sentencing people to oblivion during every combat mission. He’s since become desperately obsessed with saving as many lives of sentient, non-reincarnating beings like humans as possible, even if it means jeopardizing operations. He routinely finds himself at odds with his squadmates, particularly Valerie, due to their perceived lack of interest in non-lethal solutions to problems. He is the closest Scellor can get to typical human romance with Thael.

Katherine Dawson

Cey’s OC. Katie is a combat medic who was taken as a POW by a terrorist group and later forcibly enlisted into The Initiative for her abilities. She’s sort of the mom of the group. Everyone else in arbiter squad has some form of extra-ness to them and she’s the straight-woman who holds them together. She has a knack for bossing around idiots due to her upbringing with rambunctious siblings in a Japanese-American household. Dual wields pistols and does not take shit from people. Is girlfriends with Teri.

Johannes B. Otto

Kyle’s OC. It's sometimes easy to mistake Johannes for a confused German tourist. During quiet hours, he spends his time complaining about No Smoking signs and combining multiple quarter-pound patties into single full-pound burgers. But get in his way and you'll find that he's less "tired, goofy dad" and more "towering, ruthless brute". Withhold information during an interrogation, and he'll start calmly searching for a pair of pliers. Try to hurt him or his squadmates, and he'll shut you in a storage locker with a live grenade and then feel zero remorse for the gory soup that spills out (a tactic that has since been affectionately referred to as the "Deutsche Oven"). It should also be noted that Johannes is not a patient man. If we’re ever at a standstill with deciding how to proceed, he’ll start jumping a fence to go beat the shit out of a guard before taking all his clothes and spanking him until his ass is red.

Valerie Mimieux

Ragu’s OC. Valerie is a woman of class. She’s a French spy who likes expensive things and is passionate about cooking. She has a habit of flying way off the fucking handle and doing some reckless impulsive shit or just generally acting like a psycho. Will sometimes single out a particular enemy that did something to piss her off and then beat the hell out of their corpse long after they’re dead. She has raced Yakuza gang leaders for the right to win their car and then nonchalantly gunned them down when they decided to get revenge. She somehow manages to slither her way into acquiring ludicrous amounts of currency during her operations, and wants to one day take over all of Europe. Has a pet german shephard named Steve who used to be a guard dog for the enemy until she offered him a treat. She is alien-gay for Adiira.

Fayaiy

Selena’s OC. Fayaiy is a bounty hunter who crash landed on Earth and temporarily joined the cause before disappearing off to who knows where. She’s super goofy and sort of comes off as a happy-go-lucky foreigner who doesn’t entirely grasp English but loves to vibe with everyone regardless. LOVES Family Guy, thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. On multiple occasions she got faced on weed in the men’s bathroom with Stan, who I’m pretty sure still assumes she’s a trans guy because she didn’t seem to understand human gender symbols on doors. Has a pet black cat named Peanut who she took with her when she left.

Teri Grimm

A state of the art android who is so human-like you wouldn’t even know her body’s innards were synthetic unless you looked at them under a microscope. The commander’s first creation to gain sentience, and The Initiative’s token robot hacker waifu. Everybody loves Teri. She’s polite, incredibly intelligent, and has a face you just really want to protect, although she can hold her own in battles with superhuman strength. She’s rather unlucky though. Is girlfriends with Katie.

We’re actually currently playing a reboot of The Initiative. The first go around happened a few years ago, didn’t last as long, and featured the following five characters as our player characters. They did not function very well as main characters but work quite well this time around as quirky side characters.

Stan Ward

Ragu’s old OC. Stan is one of the most extra people to ever exist, roughly tied with only Bruce and Vulohon. A true American, he’s a mad bastard of a soldier who loves drugs and driving, often at the same time. Once, several members of The Initiative went out to town to relax and have fun, and he almost immediately got into trouble with the police, being chased off into the night. He came back later after swimming his way back to the base, crabs stuck to various parts of his soaking body with their pinched claws. Was somehow man enough to satisfy a 6 foot tall 400 pound 160+ year old android’s sexual desires to the point that he became her boyfriend.

Bruce Reistill

Kyle’s old OC. Bruce is an abrasive asshole who will never ever let a villain get more than 5 words into their monologue before interrupting them with something along the lines of “now y’see here I think the problem we’re having is that you keep on talking when you really shouldn’t be so I think it’d really be in all of our best interests if I were to just go ahead and...” before drawing his revolver that he nicknamed Banger.

Vulohon

The old OC of Roll, our long lost friend who just sorta disappeared to do his own thing in life. Vulohon is a fucking dumbass. He’s basically if Knuckles from Sonic Boom was an edgy anime himbo. The first time we saw him, he was doing the cool guy thing where you lean back in your chair and sharpen a blade. The second time we saw him, he was doing the same thing, but this time was sharpening a glock. The third time it was a trash can. He owns a legendary energy battle axe and can use psionic energy to generate explosions wherever he wants, but almost all of his fighting tactics involving picking up dudes and throwing them at other dudes. Either that or ripping off car doors and swinging them at people.

Stan, Bruce and Vulohon are all best bros. They moved their beds into the rec room and turned it into the Boys Room, where they sit in the hot tub together and behave heterosexually.

Thael

My old OC. Thael is a scientist who has no personality or emotions, but a really great ass. He’s a husk of a formerly optimistic young student who lost the ability to feel things after a shady government organization recruited him and forced him to conduct awful, sometimes murderous experiments on unwilling Scellor. Everyone is creeped out by him, but Minyaxl’s virgin horniness was enough to push past that as he felt love at first sight (with Thael’s back turned to him) and pursued relations with him. Thael opened up to him and Minyaxl decided to do his best to help him regain his former self. He’s getting there.

Pamiil

Selena’s old OC. Pamiil is an optimistic pacifist healer who never really got all that much screen time but she is cute and must be protected. She loves* Setel.

*by which i again mean the closest scellor equivalent to love which i guess is sorta just close friendship where you also fuck but they’re also capable of feeling proper love it’s just weird and can lead to psionic feedback loops if they’re not careful

(the following 5 pics were drawn by selena)

https://butamakingart.tumblr.com/

Orvon Valasma

The captain of the ship that a mysterious third party (referred to as the Scellor Freelancers, consisting of her, Adiira and Setel) arrived on. She’s 7 feet tall and has robotic legs that can extend to make herself even taller and run super fast. Somewhat stoic, and has gotten into fights with Adiira, but still cares deeply for her friends. The freelancers were originally at odds with The Initiative as they (somewhat rightfully) believed that we were doing a sloppy as hell job of things, but they eventually decided to join forces.

Adiira M’vora

A deadly assassin who, due to being born in the Ayaar caste, was forced to carry out political assassinations against people the Scellor government suspected of being potential state enemies. It got to her so she went rogue and is a bit of a wreck. She owns a legendary sword called Blue Midnight that can cut through the very fabric of space, and has various other psionic space manipulation abilities. She is human-gay for Valerie.

Setel Tunsai

An absolute chad of a man, standing at a towering 5′0″ (which is stupidly tall for his Orthan caste). Setel is a powerful psionic who excels at manipulating social outcomes, either through exceptional diplomacy or good old fashioned mind control. He has a talent for helping people with their emotional problems, and has acted as a therapist for people like Adiira and Thael. He is beloved by all. Is small lovefriend of Pamiil.

Korhan

Horrible. Piece of shit bitch bastard. Rightfully dead. Korhan used his position as an Ayaar operative as an excuse to live out all his sadistic fantasies. Worked in the evil-ass facility that used people like Thael to carry out their horrible experiments, and made implied rape threats to Thael if he thought about not doing his job. Responsible for everything that’s wrong with Djylana. Planted a tracking device on Minyaxl to find the location of The Initiative’s base, then came in and slaughtered innocent people for the fun of it before taking a bunch of hostages. He used them to try and make us hand over Adiira and Thael for betraying their government but we managed to clutch things out and put him in the dirt. Also he could stop time. Was basically Dio.

Djylana

Korhan’s partner in crime. A bloodthirsty animal he used to carry out much of his dirty work. After she was killed, while Korhan was lying on the ground just before Thael unloaded two magazines into him to finish him off, he said that she was his finest work, that we would never be able to truly stop her, that she would not rest until every single one of us was murdered. He had installed something called Echotech into her, allowing her soul to stay attached to her body after its death. She got up and started freaking out because her only “friend” had been killed, ready to kill us all, when MVP Fayaiy came in with the hug and helped us manage to convince her that Korhan was a piece of shit and we could be actual friends to her. She came around, like an abused guard dog finding a compassionate master, and now lives in the base as a decaying zombie. We convinced the commander to let her in despite her crimes and to also eventually make a robot body for her. She was unsure if she wanted to let us do that until someone brought up the fact that it would be the biggest middle finger we could possibly give to Korhan, at which point she vehemently agreed. I hope his piss stain of a soul somehow knows that his ace in the hole was defeated by the power of friendship.

IO

Satan.

There are other characters that I may or may not include in the future, but those are the most prominent ones.

[bluboothalassophile]

Not a Pawn...

“You must choose, save her and watch the planet burn, or save the planet and watch her die,” he said. The girl in his grasp teetered dangerously on the edge, her braids being grasped tightly by the mad man and the toes of her boots scrapping the edge as she clawed at the man’s arm despite her restraints.

He couldn’t choose!

Her blue eyes flicked defiantly to his, her proud face seemed almost ethereal right then. “You don’t get to make me your pawn!” She hissed, he didn’t see her obtain the knife but he saw her slice the braids holding her from the abyss as she lost balance and teetered off the edge.

He screamed, the Sith looked so stunned at her move he couldn’t even catch her as she twisted and fell, he ran for the Sith then letting everything in him snap as he felt the Force flow into him.

~~~*~*~*~~~

It was a simple peace keeping mission to the dangerous world, Gotham, the dreary planet was not the most welcoming, but the mission was simple. The death of a crazed terrorist known only as the Joker had brought his acolytes to light and the use of the Dark Force unhinging the planet. The Jedi had been requested to interfere, and as it was his native planet he had been asked to come and bring the peace. Well, actually King Bruce had requested his presence.

King Bruce was a revered man of justice and compassion; a warlord and scholar, a ruthless leader and a compassionate one. The contradictions were unusual.

The King had many children, and a large harem of unique women who had provided him these children, but the only heirs to the King’s throne were Prince Damian and Princess Athanasia, twins bore to the King by his only true wife, Talia al Ghul. King Bruce also had one child with his Ambassador, Diana Prince; Prince Richard. Two others who were rumored to be sired from his top assassin, Lady Shiva; Princess Cassandra, and Prince Timothy. There was also Prince Duke, son of Bruce and the Queen of Mtamba, Jezebel, and his younger sister, Princess Nell. There was also the bastard Princess Stephanie, daughter of the court scribe, Vikki Vale. And three other daughters of unknown parentage but were proven to be King Bruce’s; Princess Carrie and Princess Alina.

Jason had thought it odd the King would personally request him, but he was not going against the orders of the Council; again, after the last time and found himself heading for Gotham with a new padawan he had never requested. Mostly because the last time… well, he and his Master had gotten in a bit over there heads and may or may not have started a slave revolt which they won and it was completely against orders because they had been ordered not to interfere with the planet, merely to secure the trade route needed for massive troop movements. Needless to say, they hadn’t gotten the trade route secured, and it was all Hal’s fault for falling for his Master’s weakness for pretty women and their beguiling wiles.

V1C, affectionately nicknamed Cy; was chirping in the cockpit then.

“We’re almost there,” he informed his rather bored padawan. Kyle perked up a bit.

Kyle Raynor was rather young to be a padawan, but as Jason had started younger he had seen no problems Kyle’s age. Kyle was a rather creative individual, and clearly in need of massive stimuli given the trouble and antics the boy frequently got into. If the creche master was to believed, then it was easy to believe Kyle could find trouble easily enough. No, Jason’s problems with taking on a padawan was in the simple fact he had no desire to teach, he wasn’t patient, he wasn’t kind, he wasn’t personable, he was a General, he was a warrior, he was very poor at the peaceful aspects of the Jedi way. Were he was informed Kyle was actually challenged at the warrior aspects but good at being peaceful and a pacifist.

“Master, is it common for a certain Jedi to be requested to a planet by the ruler?” Kyle asked, breaking the silence.

“It is not uncommon,” Jason said carefully. Rulers interacted with people they thought they could trust, people they knew to relay the message they wanted. King Bruce, though reclusive, was no different.

“Are you close with King Bruce?” Kyle asked then, very curious and bright, his enthusiasm caught Jason off guard.

“No, I’ve never… I never met the man before,” Jason omitted.

“Then why did he request you personally?”

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted. It had been bothering him, but wasn’t a thought he was dwelling on. “Prepare to land,” he warned his padawan as he strapped in and they broke through the cloud line of Gotham, landing where he had been ordered to when summoned. The engines rumbled and thrummed as they died and he unstrapped to check on a few things, pulling the hood of his cloak up before walking out of his craft into the rain to finish the landing routine and security. Kyle was shyly standing on the ramp with Cy when Jason turned to see the welcoming party.

Motioning for Kyle to follow him he and Kyle quickly made their way through the rain and paused under the auning as they shook off the worst of it.

“Come, the King is awaiting you,” the dark woman said.

“We were honored to receive the summons from the King,” Jason said as he hid his hands up the sleeves of his robe, to warm himself and to hide the agitation at being summoned into a castle like this.

“We are honored to have a legendary Jedi Knight come to our aid,” the woman said with a kind smile.

Jason revealed nothing until he walked into the throne room. He didn’t notice all the people gathered there, the royal family no doubt, no, his eyes immediately narrowed onto the continuous pain in his eyes since his days as a senior padawan.

“What the kriff are you doing here!?” he snapped.

“Great to see you too, Red,” the bounty hunter chuckled.

Rightfully called the Dark Angel, the woman’s cascading black hair was thick and long, her ivory skin seemed to glow a bit, giving her an ethereal appearance and her blue eyes were bright with amusement even if her proud face was apathetic of her emotions. He wanted to smile at her, but settled for glaring because their last encounter had had Raven trapping him upside down dangling as bloody bait for an outlaw known as Kill Croc before she had disappeared for the last year. Hal had tormented him about it relentlessly all year.

“Raven,” he growled.

~~~*~*~*~~~

He stared rather dumbly at the young man, who’s hair was dark and soaked curling as it dried with red undertones showing. He had green eyes, and freckles, was a rather handsome lad.

Bruce had ulterior motives for requesting this particular Jedi Knight. Normally the Knight whom he spoke with and dealt with was Master Kal-El, who was a senior member of the Jedi Council and a wise kind man. However, it had been through Kal-El that this particular Jedi had even come to Bruce’s attention. But not for the reasons one would suspect.

Jedi Knight Jason was an… odd find for the Jedi. Brought in to be a padawan at the age of ten, never a youngling raised by the Jedi, and a former slave from the All-Caste assassins. He was a unique Jedi according to Kal-El, but what mostly had Bruce’s attention for the boy was who his mother was recorded to be. There was no proof, of course, but the slave records had been incomplete but a link to someone Bruce had lost. Looking at the young bristling man he felt his suspicions were correct, he looked almost exactly as she had when she had been here and alive; Jedi Knight Jason looked exactly like his missing wife, Selina.

However, the Jedi’s entire focus was on the bounty hunter who had brought Bruce Joker’s head. The hybrid seemed rather amused to even have Jason’s attentions.

“What the blazes are you doing here!?” Jason hissed menacingly.

“Collecting a paycheck, how’s it been?” Raven asked sauntering up casually. The apathetic appearance of the stoic bounty hunter seemed to ruffle the Jedi as Jason lost his composure.

“How’s it been!? You left me dangling by my ankles over those teeth!”

“It wasn’t for very long,” she offered.

“I was there for the night before my Master found me!” he snarled.

“Semantics,” she dismissed.

“I should have your head!”

“Awe, I see you have a youngling now!” she said her attention snapping to the young boy who had been hiding behind Jason.

“Padawan!” Jason snapped as the boy hid in Jason’s robes now.

“That’s adorable, and good to see you Cy,” Raven said. The R unit droid chirped happily seeing her.

“Miss Wilson, I would like to hire your services,” Bruce said, which had the young woman turning to him.

“You have the Jedi here,” Raven stated.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven hadn’t been particularly surprised to see Jason here, once she had heard of King Bruce’s interest in her Jedi she had decided to take a job on Gotham. The reasonings for this were simple:

Jason was the Jedi she loved, even if he didn’t know it, and she wouldn’t permit anyone to use him. She thoroughly vetted most the unknowns she didn’t trust to keep him safe, and King Bruce was an unknown that she didn’t know what to think of.

Gotham was home to the most wanted terrorist who had the largest bounty on his head in the galaxy, Raven had decided to collect that bounty.

Now she turned to look at the King who was the unknown who she had come to investigate, still knowing nothing about him, and looked between Jason, the kid and the King, the other children. Jason was glaring at her right then. She love ruffling the Jedi, and working with him was fun, so she could see the appeal of the job, even if she was merely being paid to annoy the shit out of him. And believe her, she knew there was nothing here that she could do to aid him or detract from his mission, no matter how Force sensitive she was.

But there was also the child to consider which had her looking over at the King.

“And you have the experience with terror cells,” Bruce stated.

“I don’t deal with Force related issues,” Raven stated blandly.

“Oh that’s the largest pile of bantha shit you have ever said, too my face!” Jason snapped at her.

“Well, maybe I just don’t want to be around your ugly mug, you ever think of that, you laserbrain!” Raven deadpanned.

“I will pay you to aid the Jedi in bringing me the head of Joker’s wife and lover,” Bruce stated.

“How much?” Raven demanded turning fully.

“Double what I paid for Joker’s head.”

“We are not bounty hunters!” the kid squeaked which had Raven looking down at the padawan who was hiding against Jason then. Kid was small, humanoid, she could see the mixed blood in the green tint of his skin and his slight markings on his cheeks.

“I am,” Raven stated.

“We do not seek to kill,” the kid persisted.

“But they do,” Raven pointed out.

“We are here to bring balance,” Jason stated looking at her. Raven said nothing, her Force sensitivity permitted her to feel the turmoil of this planet’s balance, and she knew she was going to be dragged with Jason into the grunge of Gotham.

“I’ll take half now, half when I finish the job,” Raven stated looking at Jason. “I’ll go with you.”

He said nothing now as he nodded. She could sense him weighing the options here, the options for her aid or not against the two terrorists. She would go either with or without him, but going with him meant she ensured this danger proned Jedi was safe.

She just had to go and fall in love with a laserbrain!

[sunriseoverastorea]

Dreams

♬ Hans Zimmer - Aurora

Rajya spreads out a map on the table, unfolding it with care, smoothing down each corner thoroughly, though they immediately curl back up. Marea sits across from her expectantly, a contented smile on her youthful, gaunt face.

“We are here,” Rajya begins, placing one hooked claw in the circumference of Divinity's Reach, where Rurikton would be. “And I came from around—well, here.” She slides her claw to the Black Citadel, and then encircles all of Ascalon, even Ebonhawke. Marea gazes at the map, rapt.

“You've lived everywhere in all of A—Ascalon?”

“No, no, I mean that all of Ascalon was my home. To call a place home, you do not specifically have to live there. The land was all I needed, so wherever the land was, was home to me.”

“Oh. So, does that mean that, that, just because I live in the city doesn't mean it's my home?”

“If you do not feel at home here, then no.”

Marea tilts her head, gently poking the Reach on the map. “It does feel like home, now. But not the city, just this place. And not even this place, more like—y—you. Just you.”

Rajya lifts her eyes from the map, meeting Marea's for a moment. The little girl's eyes seem to overflow with kindness, round gray wells that nourish her own, for now, for a time. But tomorrow the wells will fill with anger, and pages ripped from books will burn to ashes in the fireplace.

“I am glad you think so, Marea.” She tenderly begins to fold up the map, handling it as if it were glass, when Marea smacks her hand down on it with aplomb.

“Wait!” she exclaims, pushing the map flat and running her hands over the western edge. “What's out here? Beyond the sea?”

“Nothing. Did I not just teach you to read? It's the Unending Sea,” Rajya counters with a playful huff, patting the pouting Marea on the head, before pulling the map out from under her hands.

“It can't really be unending, can it? There's no s—such thing. There's no, no unending islands, or woodses, or lakes.”

“It can be whatever it wants to be. However, it is true that we only call it 'unending' because we do not know how long it goes on for, and what lies beyond it. There is enough mystery in Tyria without sacrificing lives to the unknown.”

“I guess so,” Marea concedes, sitting back in her chair and biting at her thumbnail. “It just seems—it—I dunno what I want to say.”

As Rajya wedges the map between two books on a tall shelf, she looks back at Marea, fallen silent. The girl looks right back at her, though her pale eyes are distant now, unfocused.

The charr goes about her nightly routine, extinguishing candles with the barest puff of air, nudging dust over the cinders in the fireplace, opening the front door to dump buckets of water into the street, then replacing the buckets under leaky sections of ceiling.

“Rained a lot this week, huh?”

She blinks at Marea, nodding slowly.

“I wonder what the rain looks like over the Unending Sea?”

“Most likely just as all other rain does, though I suppose we will never know.”

Rajya snuffs the last candle between her claws, and then only moonlight gives the room a faint bluish glow, punctuated by the glistening gems of crimson in the fireplace, struggling to breathe through ash. Marea gets down on her knees and blows on the ashes, making space for the dying flames to flicker once again.

Pen Yfan watches the stars, perched on the railing of the ship. It bobs gently in the sleepy sea, soothing, like the arms of a mother she never had. A mother Rajya never saw, a mother Marea never knew. Perhaps Marea is luckiest of them all, in that regard—she was tossed aside, and found by someone who would love her, in time. A time too long to undo what had been done to her, but perhaps she was softened by it.

Pen thinks it must be strange to grow up. To have been a child, incapable of understanding how a wide glass of water and a tall glass could hold the same amount of liquid. In that regard, she is the lucky one—she never had to grow up, she simply was. And she needn't spend as much time learning about the hardships of the world as her kin, thanks to Rajya. Thanks to Rajya, she already knew, she had already lived a sorrowful life with a heart full of hope, and all that was left to do was continue that life, kindle that hope in her own soul, and kindle it in Marea's.

So Rajya was the unlucky one. Coming to the aid of others, however unlikely and unusual, and lifting them up from their own personal ignorance. And she received nothing in return, nothing but fire and fury. For what greater offense to a Separatist could there be, than a pacifist charr with a human daughter, writing treatises on peace and surrender?

Muffled footsteps catch her ear, and she looks over her shoulder, watching the hunched silhouette of Captain Bashere make his way to the bow of the ship. White sails flap languidly about his head, the wings of great birds beckoning him onward into the sea. He stops, planting his feet firmly on the deck, and slips his hands in his pockets, gazing wordlessly over the undulating ocean, like black glass under the gaze of the opalescent moon.

“Captain,” Pen says softly, coming up on his left side. “It is very late. Should you not be sleeping?”

He gives her a long sideways glance, sniffing once.

“Aye, in time. What're you, my mother?”

Pen perks up at that, her gentle smile broadening.

“No, do not be silly. I only worry because I have seen you out here so late many times these last few weeks. Does something trouble your dreams?”

“Nothing of that spiritual sort, not me. I'm firmly grounded in the present.”

“Yet you search the Unending Sea for a giant squid?”

“And you look for a girl who's barely human riding around in a blue and white airship. How you expect to see that from down here, eh?”

“I have eyes, sir—oh, I did not mean for that to sound so sassy!” She covers her mouth, giggling for a moment. “I am sorry, I was aiming for just a little bit sassy. You know how these things are.”

“Do I? I've never been a fourteen year old girl, can't be too sure.”

“Neither have I, so we're in the same boat—oh!”

Bashere finally turns his head to stare at her, face blank.

“You think I've never heard that pun before? Goddamn sylvari, acting like they ain't never stepped outside the jungle.”

“You got me. Those darn sylvari, so excitable.”

He shifts his gaze back to the sea, the weathered wrinkles on his face filling with silver moonlight. Pen steps a little closer, peering up at him earnestly.

“Sir, please forgive me for prying, but I have wanted to ask since we left port, and there has never seemed to be a chance—what are we doing out here?”

“Giant squid, said it yourself.”

“No, really. Why would you care about some squid? Has it done something to you? Did it kill your family?”

“Oh yes, my family lives on the open sea, just floating about on a raft, and one day--”

“--Come on, Captain! Throw me a—a bone, is it? That is the expression, correct?”

Bashere moves suddenly, knocking on the side of her head with his fist, as if she were a door to be answered.

“You're a marvel, the walking talking echo chamber.”

“It is a gift, truly, when I get a moment's peace from the voices in my head.”

“I don't wanna hear about that weird Pale Tree stuff.”

“I have little experience with the Pale Tree. Her voice has always been the softest among the din.”

Bashere raises a brow at her, and Pen does her best to raise one back, though both brows go up at the same time. Finally, with a scoff of distaste, Bashere pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it in one smooth motion and touching it to his lips.

“Fine, you wanna know what I'm doing out here? I'm chasing stories.” A crisp, salty breeze blows his long gray hair back from his face, and the sails of the ship flap steadily behind them. “Stories I been hearing all my life. Come from fishermen, so the sea is all my family knows. My great uncle was lost in the Unending Sea, on a damned stupid quest to find sunken treasure, but his brother made it back to tell the tale. Told us all about a squid the size of a house, how it came outta the sea in a raging storm and swallowed their ship from beneath.”

“And you believe this story? It sounds rather far-fetched.”

“Aye, why shouldn't I? Old man like me, got no wife or kids, no friends. Just a crew that wants to chase my family legend. Not a bad way to die.”

“You, you think we are going to die out here?” Pen's eyes widen, and she leans in a little closer, trying to get him to look at her.

“No, not we.” He shoos her with a wave of his hand. “Me, myself and I, and all my men that want to come with me.”

“But why? Why would you want to perish in the middle of nowhere, with such a frightening death?”

“Because I want to experience something!” Bashere snaps, suddenly whipping around to face Pen. She shrinks slightly at the anger in his tired eyes. “Not everyone's life is adventure and endless wonder, you know! Most of us wake up, work, go to bed, and do it all over again, every single day. We ain't like your friend up in the sky, with her personalized airship and metal arms. When a man like me loses an arm, a million blessings don't fall with the rain and remake me better than I was before. No, I suffer, and I age, until life has passed me by and I've never done a damn thing.”

“Oh,” Pen breathes out, sympathy softening her shoulders. “So, what you are thinking is, perhaps your great uncle was not such a fool after all?”

“What makes you say that?”

“He lived his life how he wished, and then he died. Now, you are doing the same. You are your own mechanical girl in the sky.”

“By the Six, why would Raigar ever hire a dunce like you?”

Pen shrugs, smiling lopsidedly. “I asked him very nicely, and would have persisted if he did not take me on.”

“Hmph. Stubborn women. Same whether they got skin or bark.”

With one last breath, Bashere flings the cigarette into the sea, brushes his hands off on his trousers, and turns back to the ship, staring for a long moment at the cabin, looming darkly against the grain of the stars.

“Bet the squid is a woman. We'll find her, soon enough.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Pen chimes helpfully, missing the way he rolls his eyes as he saunters off, disappearing between the ghostly sails.

Once she's sure he has left, Pen turns back to the bow, to the bobbing cradle of the sea, and wraps her arms around her chest, closing her eyes and listening to the crush of the waves. Rajya sleeps, wandering in the Mists far from Pen's mind, and Pen, not even on a map where a child can point at her head, fills to brimming with a strange peace, an emptiness, a delicate but certain sense of self that she has never felt before.

In the soothing surge of the unknown, she is Pen Yfan, all alone and nothing more.

High above and not so far off, Marea lies on her back on the deck of the Horizon, watching her own stars glide by. In them she sees her vision from between the standing stones, she sees the void and the twinkling lights that fill it. It chills her chest, but sets her mind afire. The possibility in each little light—endless possibility—endless chances for freedom, for escape, to find the life she was meant to live. By day, she scans the seas and does her best to track the winds and search for storms. At night, she can hardly sleep, seized in her dreams by that primal terror of the nothingness that lies somewhere beyond her reach. So instead of sleeping, she makes up her own dreams, awake, and sometimes she forgets if they are dreams or not. It has been a long time since she went so long without sleep. But years ago, when she avoided it at all costs, she does vaguely remember seeing things that were not there.

Eyes are upon her. She sits up, pouting with displeasure, and comes face to face with Evelina. The woman squats on the deck before her, red hair falling loose around deep green eyes, brown skin seeming to shimmer under the moon. They stare at each other, silent, unblinking, until Marea has to blink, she just has to, and then her lover's voice appears in her mind, clear as day and sultry as the blanket of night that hovers over them.

“What don't you have? Am I not enough?”

The thin strap of her dress slips down her shoulder, and Marea reaches out a hand as if to touch it, but she stops short, fingers twitching, a sigh escaping her lips.

“It's not you that's the problem. It's me. I told you that.”

“You wrote me a letter. We're not fifteen, you can do better than that.”

“I didn't want to tell you,” Marea whispers, leaning in closer, staring at those unblinking emerald eyes. “I didn't want you to be mad at me for doing what I have to do.”

She jumps as another voice suddenly calls to her, cloying, deep and comforting, the song of a spider as it winds you in its web. She looks to her left, and there is a familiar face, one that she hasn't seen in months—Noctis, scarlet eyes to match her own, dark hair resting perfectly at his shoulders. As she stares at him, wide-eyed, he slips on his sunglasses, and his face becomes unreadable. The handsome jaw and cold smile of a stranger.

“What do you have to do? You're just a kitten, after all.”

“And this is why I broke up with you, you goddamn fuck face,” Marea exclaims without hesitation, throwing her arms in the air. “I'm not just a toy for your amusement. You forgot that somewhere along the way, huh?”

“Don't avoid the question. You're just like me. Your desire to go to the Mists is more important to you than your love for your girlfriend. Even more important than your love for Raigar! A brother to you, and you would just leave him behind. What a bad kitten. Ungrateful. Should've stuffed him in the cargo bay and taken him by force.”

“Oh, shut up. Nobody invited you,” Marea snaps, waving her hand in his face.

She stiffens at a sudden pressure on her wrist. The rough scrape of bark, tugging at her gently. She swings her head around to her right side, and her chest aches with guilt at the sight of Nobu. Ridged brown bark barely illuminated by its own glow, his slender, tall frame like that of a child beside Noctis and Evelina, he doesn't touch her, yet she feels his hand against her skin. Black eyes meet hers, and she swears she can hear the flutter of wings, far off in the sky.

“Why do you have to do this? You have a choice. There is always a choice.” His imperious sylvari accent suddenly sounds foreign in her ears.

“And I made my choice. What're you even doing here? You don't care about me anymore.”

“I will always care about you, Marea.”

“Well aren't you a saint.”

“You have a home now, Marea.”

“Do I? Do I though? Could I really ever be at home in a place called Tyria?”

The visions disappear in the blink of an eye, as one last voice speaks up behind her.

“What do you want, little one?”

Slowly, she gets to her feet, turning to face Raigar. He stands with his back to the bow, arms crossed over his broad chest, gazing down at her with a kind smile. Despite that smile, sadness sits heavy in his eyes, haloed by golden hair that gleams in the light of the stars. Marea bows her head for a moment, looking at their feet, nearly toe to toe.

“I want to be free.”

“Free from what?”

She feels his hand tilting her chin up, and this time she sees it, too. Gently, she places her hand on his, brow furrowing as she meets his gaze.

“I'm—not sure. A lot of things.”

“Hm. Is that all?”

“Shackles. I feel like I'm in shackles, no matter where I go. And I just want to fly. And I want to be alone. And I want to know what it's like to, to feel, to feel at peace.”

“You want to know peace?” His gaze shifts past her, into some great, impenetrable distance. “Peace doesn't exist. Not in this life. It's not too late to turn back, Marea.”

“I won't give up,” she says suddenly, forcing his hand away from her face, but holding tight to it still. “You may have given up, but I won't. Rajya taught me that the world outside the city was a place of wonder, and hope. For a time it was, but that time is long past. Now I have to go farther. Farther, and I know I will find the place I'm looking for, I know it. It's your place. With the hills and the rivers and the horses.”

“Rohan,” the word drifts on the wind, so soft and faint amongst the whisper of the waves she almost thinks she imagined it, “My homeland. I hope it meets your expectations.”

“If I can ever get there,” she whispers back, her fingers suddenly closing on air.

Raigar's smile fades, the starlight dulls upon his hair, and shade falls upon his blue eyes. He nods once, before he turns away, taking two steps to stand upon the bow.

“You'll get there. And then you'll know what home is.”

She lurches forward to grab him as he takes a step into the constellations. And instead of falling, he fades away, like mist caught by the golden eye of the sun.

She stays like that, hand hovering, as if waiting for him to return and take it. Eventually, the sky lightens on a new day. On the horizon, steel gray storm clouds gather, stacked high into the heavens, and a single streak of lightning pierces the ocean, like an X, marking the spot. She returns to the cabin, to the wheel. And she clenches it tight as she puts the ship on a course to the eye of the storm.

[jewel-s-blog]

about me + bias list

 hi there, I’m jewel :)

she/her/hers ・ 20 ・ kpop (writing) blog

Yes, Jewel is my real name although my parents admit I was supposed to be named elizabeth but changed their minds last minute after I was born how cute and I’m currently in university. I study political science and japanese for those wondering (because yes, I am japanese and it’s helpful when you live in hawaii to have that degree yk?). If any of this stuff is even mildly interesting and you have any curiosities, pls feel free to ask me!

I try to write some things when I can, so feel free to take a look at my masterlist. I also read A LOT of fics on this site, so also peep my recs if you feel like it. Warning: its mostly fluff and angst and almost always includes smut but there’s some really good stuff worth reading still! 

Feel free to talk to me :) i don’t have any kpop friends irl :( all my friends are locals smh 

I try my hardest to be active as much as possible but it’s taken me over a year to finally get used to tumblr lol marklee and i both struggle with complex technology i guess Of course, there are times when I get busy with college and will probably seem to drop off the face of the planet exam season kills but now that I’ve been in quarantine for a month, I figured now is the best time to start building an active tumblr routine. 

That’s all for now! Keep reading below for my bias list :)

xoxo, jewel <3

Bias List 

Before I begin, I will warn that this is basically a giant NCT shxtpost. With LOTS of hyperlinks for educational purposes and absolute crackhead-ery. I’ll eventually make a separate list for other groups I stan, but this blog is mainly NCT and this is already so long so I’ll leave it as this. Enjoy!

Biases are bolded in the beginning of each unit, so you can skip everything after if you don’t wanna see my ramblings following it.

A/N: After biasing nearly every member in NCT/WayV I’ve settled for now on my biases for each unit. This will most likely rotate fairly regularly as I literally fall in love with a different member every day cited here. solo stan? I don’t know her.

ULT

Jaehyun  *ahem excuse me i mean* 

Johnny Suh, it’s official. Don’t know how to explain, but I love everything about him. In the end, it’s always him. damn i sound like y/n thoughts but istg it’s true From SM Rookies to NCT Life to MV behinds, he’s the one. But I’ve also come to realize that I find myself most relatable to him as a person and I think that’s why no one else can trump him wow narcissist much jewel It’s kind of just my gut feeling. It also helps that hes the fluffiest tall, muscular tight booty hottie on the planet. See this black on black dance practice for further scientific explanation even in this jaehyun trying to wreck me so badddddd

Not gonna lie, I HAD IT BAD FOR MARK LEE still do and yet Johnny overcame that. If mark lee were my first love, johnny is my soulmate.

UPDATE! 

Lee Jeno has officially been added to the ult list. *See the entirety of my april activity on my sns accounts if you would like to see how this happened haha :)

NCT U  

im in love with him bc he literally reminds me of my boyfriend -- i like chill guys ok

Taeil is my little teddy bear who looks great in red hair and has a voice form heaven. Evidence? Here you go. He didn’t stand out to me much in the beginning because I was either deaf or blind but after Chain, the game was OVER. +moon taeil in shorts?? serve them thighs honey. Love you bebe tomato <3

BUT Doyoung is the #1 bias wrecker here because have you seen his cover of beautiful on masked singer?? have you?? if not, let me educate you. Also his collab with Sejeong?? Literally the cutest MV ever, perfect for Christmas, listened to it every year since it’s release.

Listen to Coming Home - NCT U for further scientific evidence that NCT has top vocals in the kpop industry.

NCT 127

THE Jung Jaehyun. For reasons that need no explanation. but ill give it anyway smh

After watching the performance of herin and jaehyun singing a whole new world I knew that was it for me. (I still watch it once a month for my jaehyun-related health and to honor SM’s biggest loss, seo herin and ji hansol but thats for another conversation) back to jaehyun His vocals are unique in NCT and bring a nice color to their songs, the man looks good in literally anything, and I’ll probably say this about every member, but I love his dance style--body rolls for days sis. Definitely my ideal type, which my boyfriend is 100% aware of; no secrets in my relationship ofc which explains the wreckage. Pretty sure 81% of the fandom gets wrecked by him daily, so I think I’ll stop here. 

NCT Dream 

Renjun.  why? i just think he’s neat but no really, it was this performance (ok actually this got me ALL SORTS OF WRECKED) and this fancam that had me falling in love with him but were gonna ignore the fact that I get bias wrecked DAILY by all the other members  GOd-tier vocals, personality for daysssssss, variety KING HUANG RENJUN. Safe to claim that I go into renjun feels about 3x a week. Check my twitter for proof. +dnyl renjun was a blessing and I sometimes cant believe that it actually happened. How do I explain?? He’s literally the best boy, but when he gets all worked up....let’s stop there before I have to go to confession again.

But for fun, lets list why I have biased every dream member at some point shall we? (in no particular order) Dream might just be my ult group, songs always bop, members at star quality 

mark- yes i am including mark bc he was the reason i even started stanning dream dreamies leader since mmc days, mentor, A1 rap skills, ad libs go crazy, unparalleled dancing style, hardest worker, cutest watermelon advocate ever, all around amazing person can you tell he used to be my ult? + he’s a good christian boy and my catholic *ss has to confess my sins for being a simp for him 24/7

chenle- vocal GOD, most steady live vocals in kpop, laugh to die for

jeno- i cannot resist his eye smile i wanna cuddle and onstage charisma-2:54 “let’s goooooo” and i alskfdfjlkdldkfa. 

jaemin- “other than my members, i don’t have any friends” and yet he’s literally the most caring and wonderful little puff in existence fight me pls dont im a pacifist 

heachan- idk why but donghyukie feels like he could be my best friend and also cant stop staring at him in their dance practices his body proportions are unreal and his vocal ad libs?? don’t even get me STARTED on heachans vocals

jisung- he is my son, but also my son’s vocals?? MWAH that voice got me second guessing if he’s really my son 

WayV 

Ten Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul another member where it kinda just....happened? In the end I was like “damn, when did you sneaky bugger get in my heart?” He’s got a similar vibe as Johnny AND DO NOT COME FOR MY THROAT FOR SAYING THAT THATS MY OPINION Like Johnny, I see myself in Ten. There are so many reasons why I love Ten, so I’ll make it simple and provide them to you. 

Reason 1 - Performance/dance  he just hit different, he’s THAT good. Reason 2 - vocals the amount his vocals has improved?? UNMATCHED. Reason 3 - INTELLECTUAL (still trying to find the clip of him talking about different kinds of love) Reason 4 - multi-lingual KING ok so this vid is him struggling in mandarin, but imagine, you speak thai and english and learn korean to debut and all of a sudden your agency says “ok learn chinese now.” MANDARIN IS ONE OF THE HARDEST LANGUAGES TO LEARN. Reason 5 - bad b*tch he just radiates bad bitxh energy in everything he does, and I appreciate a bad bitxh

BUT I love wayv’s chaotic energy and chemistry so much that I literally love them all dreamies watch out 

+special shoutout to xiaojuns vocals in Love Talk

+kun being a dimpled zaddy (jaehyun&kun type CONFIRMED)

+lucas holding binoculars like THAT @ 1:10

+yangx2 doing THIS (prepare to be blown away)

+hendery being a the best teacher 

+winwin BEING WINWIN THE DANCE GOD 

+winwin AGAIN and with Ten here i don’t even think i have to say that i tweeted about this everyday for a month and im still not over it. This specific dance really allowed winwin to shine even though ten is my bias. It really allowed others to see the fruit of his classical training even in modern dance which he never trained in. Not gonna be repetitive and SCREAM  say that he’s underrated, because we all know that already. Just show winwin some love, ok? thank you.

And so finally, we’ve reached the end. Phew, this took me almost 5 hours to put together because I definitely got carried away. For those who made it all the way to the end, thank you, I love you. It’s so messy and I don’t have the mental capacity to do anymore editing but I hope you got something from this massive post <3 Feel free to let me know what you think! xoxo, jewel

[glenngaylord]

AND THE REST - CAPSULE FILM REVIEWS FOR 2019

I see a lot of movies but don’t always have time to write a comprehensive review for every one of them.  By catching up on screenings and screeners these past few weeks, I’ve managed to compile a small batch of artisanal, locally-sourced capsule reviews.  While less wordy than usual, you still get my clever/groan-inducing titles, one to five star ratings, and their placement on the Gay Scale.  So start your New Year’s Resolutions off right with these bite-sized morsels.  

The Aging Of Innocence - Capsule Review: The Irishman ★★★★1/2

So much ink has been spilled about Martin Scorsese’s latest gangster epic, with naysayers lamenting the lack of strong female roles and supporters getting swept away by its grand presentation.  While I also missed a Sharon Stone, a Sandra Bernhard, or a Lorraine Bracco in the mix, I loved this film.  With a masterful script by Steve Zaillian, it deconstructs the genre, starting with its Goodfellas-like steadicam shot through a nursing home, to its mournful third act, which achingly lays out the consequences for this band of murderous thugs. With great performances from DeNiro, Pacino, and Pesci and a fascinating exploration of male ego and hubris, I’m in the camp who saw it twice and never felt its 3 1/2 hour length.  The de-aging CGI work may have proven a little distracting at times, but I’m glad each actor had the chance to be their characters throughout.  

Currently streaming on Netflix.

Performance Of A Lifetime Movie - Capsule Review: Harriet ★★1/2

Despite an extraordinary performance by Cynthia Erivo as legendary freedom fighter Harriet Tubman, there’s no getting around Director Kasi Lemmons’ surprising lack of imagination in depicting her life.  Her earlier films suggest a strong and unique visual sense, but everything here plays out like an uninspired, standard coverage, bullet points overview we’re used to seeing in Lifetime movies.  Still, Tubman remains such an important part of history and Erivo truly delivers, so see it but don’t expect cinematic greatness.  Not helping matters is Terence Blanchard, Spike Lee’s talented, longtime composer,  who contributes the most intrusive, overblown score of the year.  

 Faster, Speed Racer! Thrill! Thrill! - Capsule Review: Ford v Ferrari ★★★1/2

Proving they still make them like they used to, James Mangold delivers an old-fashioned true story detailing the competition between the two automotive companies to win the 1966 Le Mans. The film nails it glorious technicolor aesthetic and offers vibrant performances by Christian Bale, Matt Damon, and in one of my favorite film moments of the year, Tracy Letts with the most unexpected and wonderful crying scene.  A pity its lack of character development doesn’t justify its extended running time, but for a movie-movie, you could do a lot worse.  

Days And Days And Days Of Hell - Capsule Review: A Hidden Life ★★★1/2

After the one-two punch of Badlands and Days Of Heaven, the world waited 20 years for Terrence Malick to return with another masterpiece.  Since then, he’s made films of quality but seems to keep spinning his wheels with the same whispered voiceovers, endless nature photography, and barely there narratives.  I’m happy to report that his latest, based on the true struggles of a pacifist during Hitler’s reign, has a real narrative tucked inside his usual bag of tricks.  Yes, every shot is awe-inspiring, but it takes 180 minutes to tell 90 minutes of story.  Still, he’s carved out his own cinematic niche and this time has something profound to say about the human condition.  

  All’s Quite Dire On The Western Front - Capsule Review: Little Woods ★★★1/2

Tessa Thompson delivers a raw, quietly powerful performance as a parolee whose desperate financial circumstances point to a return to drug dealing in her small North Dakota town.  Along with her sister, played by a lovely Lily James, they try to earn enough money to keep possession of their late mother’s house.  Firmly planted in that “low key, indie Sundance” style along the lines of Winter’s Bone and Frozen River,  it may not break new ground, but this deadly serious, hope-deprived story feels like America today, for better or for worse.  

End This Already! - Capsule Review: Terminator: Dark Fate ★★

As much as I loved seeing another triad of strong women in a film (a nod to the Halloween sequel last year), and as sexy as Gabriel Luna is as the latest killing machine, I just didn’t care for a second what was happening onscreen.  Despite some fun action set pieces, none of them have stuck with me.  I loved having Linda Hamilton’s gravely, mature butch energy coupled with Mackenzie Davis’ tough, baby butch energy, and I prefer seeing Schwarzenegger in this role than as Governor, but this franchise needs to…um…terminate.  

Jeez (Thelma and) Louise! - Capsule Review: Queen & Slim ★★★

Road movies sometimes have problematic screenplays due to their often rambling and random structures.  While Queen & Slim tells an important story about the perils black Americans face during a routine traffic stop, its forward momentum as a fugitive tale loses steam and credibility every time our leads (a fantastic Jodie Turner-Smith and Daniel Kaluuya) stop to make love, ride horses, visit relatives, or go dancing.  Although Melina Matsoukas delivers a striking directorial debut, Lena Waithe’s script, which still cuts to the bone, could have used a logic pass before going into production.  She tries hard to jump through many hoops and sometimes hits many cultural zeitgeist bullseyes, but its just misses the mark due to a lack of narrative urgency.  

(Sun)Dance Fever - Capsule Review: Brittany Runs A Marathon ★★★

Maybe it’s the altitude or the need to justify the expense of going to a film festival during a blizzard, but this movie, which won the Sundance Audience Award and started an intense bidding war, plays out like a pleasant, indie version of Trainwreck.   Amy Schumer-a-like, Jillian Bell, delivers a fine performance as an unmotivated mess who changes her life by, well, look at the title of the film for chrissakes!  While definitely sweet, elliptical, inspirational but somehow forgettable, it gets points for getting out of scenes faster than most films of its type, for its oddly off-the-cuff but funny final moment, and especially for a devastating sequence in which Brittany decimates a heavy woman.

Currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

Adoptive Behavior - Capsule Review: Luce ★★★1/2

Kelvin Harrison Jr. excels as Luce, an adopted American teen whose past as an Eritrean child soldier calls into question whether he’s a terrorist sociopath or the perfect high school valedictorian.  With fantastic support from Naomi Watts, Tim Roth, and especially Octavia Spenser as a History teacher with a healthy distrust of Luce, Harrison’s unnerving performance keeps you guessing up through the very last, chilling frame.  

High Tide/Low Tide - Capsule Review: Waves ★★★1/2

Playing another teen who can’t live up to society’s expectations, Kelvin Harrison Jr. electrifies again in Troy Edward Schults’ fluidly directed, unconventional drama.  Unfortunately, while the first half has tremendous power as we watch this young man’s total flameout, the second half loses considerable steam.  Still worth a look for the vivid performances, the great cinematography, and the elliptical storytelling style.  

A Different Kind Of Thing - Capsule Review: I Lost My Body ★★★1/2

Jérémy Clapin’s award winning animated feature uses a fractured timeline to tell the story of a severed hand which seeks to reunite with its host, a lonely Pizza Delivery Man. Prior to whatever event led to his amputation, he stalks a young woman he grows to love.  While the characters may seem cold and distant, a palpable sense of longing permeates every frame of this fascinating film.  I would have preferred a less obtuse ending, but this is French existentialism, so don’t expect an Addam’s Family tone or a completely filled-in storytelling experience.  

Currently streaming on Netflix.

Black Savior - Capsule Review: Just Mercy ★★★

This true story of a black attorney who, in the late 80s/early 90s attempts to exonerate black death row inmates, features vibrant performances by Michael B. Jordan and Jamie Foxx and a refreshing lack of a white savior.  Think about it.  Had this been made in the 90s, Kevin Kline would have starred, truth be damned.  While strong, especially in its depiction of a man bravely advocating for his community, it suffers from a very 90s presentation.  Still, what it lacks in a true filmmaker’s voice, it more than makes up for it with good old-fashioned storytelling and an offbeat, charming chemistry between our two leads.

Cool One-Handed Luke - Capsule Review: Star Wars: The Rise Of Skywalker ★★★1/2

As a casual Star Wars fan, I’m less steeped in the lore and more invested in the Saturday matinee whiz bang, kinetic action of the franchise.  I really don’t know a Boba Fett from a Bib Fortuna, and that’s ok.  Sure, it may undo a lot of plot elements The Last Jedi laid out and has an annoying habit of refusing to let dead characters stay dead or in one case actually die at all, but I just loved the quest for the macguffin in order to kill the Big Bad.  It’s fun, easy to follow, and has spirited performances from our leads, especially Oscar Isaac, who has more than a touch of Harrison Ford’s charisma.  It has an unpretentious quality that feels less like a grand finale and more like a good resting place before the inevitable continuations in some form or another.  Major “Boo! Hiss!” for its handling of Keri Russell, Lupita Nyong’o and Kellie Marie Tran, who get the eyes only, barely there, sidelined treatment respectively…and I see you Pixar Lamp disguised as a new droid!  I see you!

Killing Me Hardly - Capsule Review: Clemency ★★★

Intentionally austere and drab, Clemency features a fine, brittle performance by Alfre Woodard as a Prison Warden who gets more and more affected by the executions she oversees. Aldis Hodge also excels here as the next inmate on Woodard’s list.  A quiet, moody, visually disciplined film with so much to read in between the lines, it’s still a bit of a slog, although Woodard plays drunk better than most actors.  So come for the Johnny Walker Black but stay if you’re in a contemplative mood.  

All Children Left Behind - Capsule Review: One Child Nation ★★★★

What this Sundance Grand Prize Jury Award-winning documentary may lack in filmmaking technique, it more than makes up for it emotionally in this harrowing accounting of China’s decades spanning but now defunct One-Child Policy.  Showing the issue from many points of view, the law may have seemed like a good idea for population control, but quickly descended into forced abortions and sterilizations, kidnappings, abandonment, destruction of property, separation of families, and lives ruined.  A heartbreaking look at what happens when women don’t have control over their bodies and the patriarchy exerts its power over a population.  The chilling propaganda on display and the faces of those who suffered make for a terrifying, unforgettable, and highly relevant film.  This brutal policy began in 1979 and ended in 2015, just a few years ago.  Think about that.

Currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

Industrial Resolution - Capsule Review: The Aeronauts ★★1/2

The somewhat true story of a balloonist (Felicity Jones) and a meteorologist (Eddie Redmayne) who team up to soar higher than anyone has before in order to better predict the weather, is oddly threadbare and plays out like a 19th century Gravity. It does feature some thrilling set pieces and stellar cinematography by George Steel. While you truly feel the cold and agonize over the increasingly dire circumstances, the air isn’t the only thing that’s thin here.

Currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

Achy Breaky Bloody Bastard Heart - Capsule Review: Wild Rose ★★★1/2

Directed and shot by the same people who made The Aeronauts, Jessie Buckley earns her bonafides as a Scottish parolee, complete with ankle bracelet, who aspires to make it as a country singer in Nashville.  While breaking no new ground with its “Quaint Little UK Village” vibe we’ve seen a gazillion times before, its success rests squarely on Buckley’s more than capable shoulders and a wonderful final song written by none other than Mary Steenburgen.  It also features fine work by Julie Walters and Sophie Okonedo.  Still, as unlikely as they make it seem for a non-American to make it in the country music world, I wanted to shout “Keith Urban” repeatedly at the screen!  

Rust Belt Blues And Reds - Capsule Review: American Factory ★★★★

Maybe because I grew up in Ohio and witnessed firsthand the decline of the auto industry, this incredible documentary about a shuttered GM plant in Dayton getting a new life from an anti-Union Chinese billionaire ranks among the year's finest. Like a slow-moving pileup, the film builds and builds towards an inevitable crash. With sit-down interviews relegated to voiceovers, this scrupulous film makes you care about the people it follows while taking you on a fascinating cross-cultural journey. The fact that the filmmakers had access to all of the parties involved comes across as a miracle. It’s impossible to forget the distraught workers’ reactions every step of the way.

Currently streaming on Netflix.  

Mini Driver - Capsule Review: The Report ★★★

There’s a really good film about the amoral detention and torture tactics sanctioned by the George W. Bush presidency and it’s called Zero Dark Thirty.  Meanwhile, The Report, plays out like a dull, disconnected melding of Spotlight and All The President’s Men as we watch Adam Driver’s depiction of Daniel Jones under the auspices of Senator Dianne Feinstein (a fine but fairly one-note Annette Bening) put together an unwieldy report to expose the government’s tactics.  While Driver does well and shows great passion and alacrity with his bulky speeches, the whole film feels like a slow-cooked beef chili served at a Vegan Barbecue.  It just kind of sits there.  

Currently streaming on Amazon Prime.  

[alocalband]

Fixing things around the Haus was never really about the dibs for Dex. But, all the same, in the back of his mind he was still relying on his efforts in that department to secure him housing for his junior year at Samwell.

 Which is why he’s a little surprised at himself for the sinking feeling in his gut when he’s officially offered a spot.

 “Oh,” he replies dumbly.

 Lardo blinks at him, clearly startled by his lack of enthusiasm, her hand still held out between them waiting for him to reach out and seal the deal.

 Dex shakes his head and reaches his own hand out belatedly. Only to have Lardo pull back. “Bro. I’m not gonna give it to you if you don’t really want it.”

 “No, no, I do! I promise I do. I’m sorry, I just thought...”

 He thought that he’d be getting either Ransom or Holster’s dibs. And that Nursey would be getting the other’s. And, despite the fact that Dex has been dreading the very idea of that for the entire school year, he feels off kilter and lost now trying to imagine a scenario in which he lives at the Haus without Nursey constantly underfoot.

 Even these past two years of living in the dorms, Nursey still always somehow manages to end up at the Haus whenever Dex does, stealing the last slice of pie while verbally needling at sore spots he knows well enough will get a rise out of his fellow D-man.

 It seemed pointless to even hope that getting dibs wouldn’t somehow include Nursey at his side, and so Dex never bothered to factor in the possibility. He resigned himself to his fate. And now, presented with an alternative, he has no idea what to think.

 “Do you, uh,” he clears his throat, watching Lardo’s eyes narrow at him, assessing. “Do you know who Rans and Holster are giving theirs to?”

 “They’re giving them to Nursey, bro.”

 “Right. But to Nursey and...?”

 “Just Nursey.” She shrugs. “Those bunkbeds don’t even have a ladder anymore, so we figured we’d turn the attic back into a single for now. And we thought we’d do you all a solid by making sure the SMH didn’t lose it’s next best D-man pair due to mutual homicide within the first week of preseason by making you shack up together. We’ve all seen how you two handle sharing a hotel room on roadies.”

 To be fair, how they handle it nowadays is wildly different from the roughhousing mess of their first semester at Samwell. But apparently no one’s noticed that.

 Dex goes abruptly still as a thought occurs to him that feels like a bucket of ice water over his head. “Wait. Was this Nurse’s idea?”

Lardo frowns and opens her mouth to answer-- just as the front door bursts open and in storms the man in question, glaring daggers at whoever happens to be in his line of sight and looking decidedly un-chill. “Was this Poindexter’s idea?”

 A strangled laugh escapes Lardo, half amusement and half surprise, and then she raises both hands in the air like she’s very much ready to shuffle backwards all the way into the kitchen and nope out of this entire conversation.

 Nursey doesn’t seem to notice her reaction. He just keeps barreling forward once his steely gaze lands on Dex. “Really, dude? You can’t stand me that much, huh? Is this why you were always fixing shit? Because you wanted the leverage to get your own room and get away from me?”

 Dex huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. Because, despite whatever hesitations he’d been feeling mere seconds ago, Nursey just has that kind of effect on him. “I was ‘always fixing shit’ because shit always keeps breaking.”

 “Oh, so the getting away from me was just an added bonus?”

 “What are you even talking about right now, Nurse, you get the entire attic to yourself. It’s practically like having your own place. I’m betting the groupies you bang are gonna love it.”

 “What? I don’t-- They aren’t--” Nursey makes a sound that’s almost a growl, runs both hands quickly back and forth over his untamable curls, and then shakes his head like he’s shaking off whatever thought process got him here. “Screw you, Will,” he says evenly, his expression suddenly as guarded and blank as Dex has ever seen it. Which is saying something. “I’m done.”

 And with that, he turns right back around and exits the way he came, at a brisk and steady pace.

 Dex stares after him for all of thirty seconds before Lardo punches him in the arm, hard, and raises her eyebrows at him like he’s the biggest idiot she’s ever let grace her presence. “Dude, are you gonna go after him or what?”

 “...Or what?” Dex tries, but he knows that’s wrong as soon as he says it. He knows it for certain when Lardo cuffs him upside the back of his head. “Jesus! Fine! I’m going after him!”

 By the time he catches up to Nursey they’re nearing the pond. The sunlight is mottled through the leaves on the trees, and there are storm clouds in the distance. Storm clouds that might as well already be here for the stormy expression on Nursey’s face when he finally pauses and turns around.

 Dex never wanted this.

 He wanted security and routine and never having to question the nature of his relationship with his defense partner. He wanted a place in the Haus and a place alongside Derek Nurse, without ever saying out loud that he did. Without ever admitting to anyone, especially himself, any of the things that he really wants.

 Poindexters don’t want things. They need things and they work for them. Anything more than that is frivolous and embarrassing.

 “It wasn’t my idea,” Dex says, only slightly winded from the short jog here. But his chest feels tight anyway, for a number of other reasons that he doesn’t know how to deal with.

 Nursey scowls. “I don’t want your fucking pity.”

 “Derek. Have I ever lied to you before? It wasn’t my idea. Hell, I thought it was yours.”

 The scowl on Nursey’s face twists into something less bitter but still miles away from okay. It takes Dex a second before he recognizes it as that rare, self-deprecating look Nursey only sports during his most vulnerable and defensive moments. “Right. Of course. Because leave it to me to have fucked this up so badly you think I’m trying to get rid of you. Got it. Whatever. My bad, bro.”

 Dex is this close to taking the bait and throwing something insensitive back at Nursey, but he catches himself at the last possible second, his mouth still hanging slightly open, ready to argue.

 He licks his lips and swallows. He tries again.

 “Fucked what up, Nursey?” he asks quietly.

 Nursey looks up and away, towards the canopy of leaves overhead, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets so hard Dex worries over how well the lining will hold up.

 “Us,” he says with a forced shrug.

 And, just like that, they are an “us.” Just like that, it is suddenly very obvious that they have been an “us” for awhile now.

 The realization hits Dex all at once and with enough force to send him stumbling back a half a step. Because the truth is that he and Nursey are on exact the same page about each other after all, and they’ve been refusing to acknowledge it out loud for exactly the same reason. This thing that’s been building between them is too important to fuck up. But it has been building.

 On the ice this year they’ve been as in sync as Ransom and Holster at their best. Hanging out in the Haus with their teammates, they’ve played off each other without even thinking about it, like two halves of a disgruntled and slightly dysfunctional whole. Whether it’s studying with Chowder at the library or kicking at each other’s shins beneath the table at team breakfasts, they’ve been pairing themselves off together in an entirely natural and yet entirely intentional way.

 “Look, whatever,” Nursey continues. “I know you don’t swing that way; it’s not like I was expecting this to ever actually... For you to ever feel exactly the same way. It’s chill. But I thought we were at least, like, friends now. You and me against the world, got your back before anyone else’s, all that shit. I just-- I thought--”

 “I don’t want to share the attic with you,” Dex blurts, which is, of course, the last thing he should have said, even though it’s suddenly become very true.

 Nursey’s expression crumples for an instant, and then hardens so fast that it must be instinctive. Or else, as Dex has started to discover, so desperately learned in his youth that it can now pass as natural. “Right. Aces. Yeah, I’ll just...” he motions over his shoulder at the path that leads away from Dex, away from the Haus, and Dex cannot have that become a reality.

 “You didn’t fuck anything up,” Dex says in a rush, catching Nursey’s wrist in a loose grip. “And I hope I didn’t either. I did want to share the attic with you before, but that’s because I-- I didn’t realize that doing other things with you was on the table? And if I kiss you right now and it completely backfires, living together is gonna be pretty fucking awkward.”

 “Wait. What? You-- Wait. What?” Nursey gapes a little and blinks his saucer-wide eyes, and then just stares at Dex, frozen, for one, long, heart-stopping moment.

 And then a slow grin spreads across his face, nothing about it manufactured or forced. The sudden, unadulterated joy in Nursey’s eyes is blinding, and Dex can feel his cheeks go hot with a responding blush at being the cause of it.

 “Well alright then, Poindexter. Get on with it.” Nursey angles his grin into a smirk, though there’s still too much happiness behind it for his words to sound like the taunting he’s going for. “Kiss me already if you’re gonna do it.”

 Dex takes a step closer. Hesitates. “...Don’t hit me for this.”

 “I’m a pacifist.”

 “You’re a hypocrite.”

 Nursey rolls his eyes, but his smile remains unwavering. “Just kiss me, Will. And then go back to the Haus and shake Lardo’s hand. This isn’t going to backfire on you, but moving in together would probably be skipping a couple of steps if we’re gonna start dating.”

 Dex, feeling somewhat dazed and also somewhat like he’s more aware of himself and his place in the world than he has been in a long time, reaches a hand out to cup Nursey’s jaw. The hairs of Nursey’s growing beard tickle his palm, and then scrape against it a little rougher as Nursey leans his head to the side and nuzzles into the gesture.

 “You sure about this?” Nursey asks softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the rustling of leaves in the steadily increasing wind. A couple of rain clouds have finally started to make their way over, and in the back of his mind Dex thinks: good. The drought this spring has gone on for far too long.

 “Yes,” Dex answers easily. The truth is the easy part now. The actions that the truth requires are a little bit harder. “But I’ve never... I mean, it can’t be all that different from kissing a girl, right? I’ve just never...”

 Nursey’s expression softens. “We don’t have to do this now. I’m not trying to expose you out in the open like this.”

 Dex glances around at all the students walking the paths between classes, and the students still milling around the pond despite the scattered rain drops that have started to fall. And maybe a few months ago he would’ve cared. Ducked his head and pulled his hand away from Nursey’s cheek; shuffled his feet and started breathing a little quicker.

 Right now all he cares about is Nursey.

 Poindexters don’t want things. They need them, and they work for them.

 “I’m good if you’re good,” Dex says.

 Nursey nods once, his lips brushing against Dex’s thumb as he does. “I’m good if you’re good,” he repeats, and sounds like he means it.

 So Dex kisses him.

 The rain starts to fall heavily mere seconds later, like it was just waiting for them. But they don’t stop, or flinch, or shuffle their way over to a dryer location.

 Nursey’s hands grip Dex’s hips, drawing him close, and his thumbs dig into the bare skin they find just beneath Dex’s shirt. Dex runs his fingers through the shorter curls at the back of Nursey’s head, and he marvels at the fact that the mechanics of kissing really don’t change based on gender, and yet somehow this is still on a completely different level from every other kiss he’s experienced. Though maybe that has less to do with Nursey being a guy and more to do with the fact that he’s Nursey.

 “Please don’t be my roommate next year,” Dex breathes against Nursey’s slick and swollen lips as he pulls ever so slightly back. The rain slides down both of their cheeks and foreheads and noses, as much a relief from Dex’s hot blush as a general nuisance.

 “Then what can I be?”

 “Everything else,” Dex whispers, and kisses him again. 

[dragonandtiger]

Undertale - Risen Child - 06

Spoiler warning for Undertale True Pacifist, Neutral, and No Mercy endings.

Frisk couldn’t help but marvel at how different the trip to Snowdin felt when she wasn’t constantly battling for her life. While her countless resets had boiled each fight down to a science, it was still a stressful affair where one wrong move could result in her death. However, with Toriel by her side, no one dared attack the human child again.

But it wasn’t just Toriel - Frisk had the entire canine sentry squad as her escort. After picking up Greater Dog with very little fuss and a large amount of pettings, the human child was soon completely surrounded by bodyguards - with the strongest of them all standing directly beside her, holding her hand.

Jerry never tried to make a second attempt, nor did any of the denizens of Snowdin that traveled the woods. Gawks and stares accompanied Frisk, safe in her protective bubble, as she was guided through the snowy landscape towards the town proper.

As Toriel carefully escorted Frisk over the bridge, the human child glanced upwards instinctively for signs of Papyrus’ ultimate puzzle - the one he never used on her, regardless of who was the dominant force in her body during that particular run through the underground.

It’s kind of sad, Frisk thought. I didn’t really get to play with Papyrus at all. We would’ve been doing his puzzles by now. Even though she already knew how to solve the puzzles, spending time with Papyrus and Sans was always fun.

A glint caught Frisk’s eye at the end of the bridge, reminding her of a crucial detail that had slipped her mind in all the excitement. She ran ahead of the others, heedless of Toriel’s startled cry, to kneel down in front of the hidden camera embedded into the side of the faux wooden bridge. “Alphys, if you’re watching right now, please tell all the monsters to evacuate to someplace safe. There’s someone dangerous underground who wants to kill everyone!”

There was no response, not that Frisk expected any. Hopefully Alphys was monitoring them at that moment and not getting distracted by Mettaton, or anime, or shitposting online, or…

Frisk sighed and shook her head as she returned to her feet. At least they could get Snowdin evacuated once they got there.

“Please don’t run off on your own like that, my child,” Toriel said a little breathlessly once she caught up to Frisk. After what happened the last time the little human ran off alone, she was relieved to see no threat. “What were you doing there?”

Frisk pointed at the small circle of glass framed by metal that rested in the shadow between two rocks painted to look like wooden boards. “That’s one of Alphys’ hidden cameras. She’s the head scientist for Dad, and she’s always been the one who evacuates monsters all over the underground in case of emergency.”

A small chill ran up Frisk’s spine as she finished speaking. She knew that simple fact that Alphys prevented Chara from killing every single monster personally had been a point of irritation for the fallen child. That made Alphys a major target as well, not just for being one of Frisk’s closest friends.

“We…” Frisk felt her mouth go dry. “We should hurry to Snowdin.” They had to get ahead of Chara before someone else was attacked.

Toriel made a quizzical sound as she looked into the camera, then furrowed her brow. “What an… odd place for a camera. Are there many of these?” After speaking, she paused as realization dawned upon her. “...Ah. I suppose she uses these to help ‘hunt for humans’.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the dog sentries out of the corners of her eyes. “Am I correct?”

The blank look worn by Doggo and the rest of the canines did little to soothe Toriel’s irritation. The dogs looked at each other and then at their surroundings, failing to spot any cameras on a painted canyon. The boss monster let out a heavy sigh before she straightened up. “I see.”

“There’s cameras all the way from the ruins to the castle,” Frisk said as she took Toriel’s hand and gently urged her mother and the others to keep moving.

“And I suppose that idiot allowed her to do it,” Toriel said, stiffly.

Frisk bit back the urge to sigh. It was always sad to see the progress Toriel and Asgore made to reconcile on the surface erased once they returned to the underground. “D… Asgore took her on as royal scientist when she told him she created an artificial soul.” She paused for a moment, considering her words. “He told me, a long time after the barrier broke, before the timeline reset again to this, that he was hoping she could create artificial human souls so he wouldn’t have to kill anymore humans to break the barrier.”

Toriel went quiet for several moments, her expression once again becoming unreadable. But then, just as quickly as before, the look of steel returned. “And yet, for all his wishes, six children were still killed… and he still attempted to kill you.”

Frisk didn’t have a response for that. Her first thought was to recall how Asgore had succeeded in killing her more times than she could count, but there was no way in hell she would ever let Toriel know.

Just like she would never tell how many times Toriel unintentionally burned her to death.

The rest of the trip to Snowdin was made in awkward silence. With Toriel unwilling to relent and Frisk unable to argue, the subject was instead left to linger over the group to the point that even the clueless canines noticed it and could only look at each other in discomfort.

Frisk was more than a little relieved to see Snowdin in the distance, its quaint little buildings and happy decorations a welcome distraction. Of course, that relief was short-lived when she noticed right away that the citizens of the town were still very much present; they hadn’t been evacuated, and appeared to be going about their daily routines without a care in the world.

That fact alone made Frisk very uncomfortable and concerned above all else. It meant that Alphys hadn’t responded to her message, though it didn’t give any indication as to why. There were several options - she hadn’t been paying attention, she didn’t trust Frisk’s warning, or she was unable to do anything. While the first two could easily be rectified, the human child couldn’t entirely put her faith in the hope that either was the case.

Chara wouldn’t allow it.

At the very least, Frisk thought, Alphys can’t be dead… yet. Chara wouldn’t just kill her and be done with it. Not after everything. She wouldn’t go through all this trouble of letting me have control back unless she still planned on making me watch her kill everyone I love.

It was hard to imagine that Chara could have made such quick progress all the way to Hotland, especially when she had just attacked Papyrus outside the ruins. There was no one else who could have done it - the only possible culprit was Chara.

Of course, there was no way to know how long Frisk had been unconscious, and how long Chara had to prepare. The fact that Chara had somehow separated herself from Frisk in and of itself was unimaginable and downright terrifying. There was no telling what the other human could do at this point.

“It doesn’t appear that this Alphys heeded your warning,” Toriel said, drawing Frisk’s attention back to her. “No one has been evacuated.”

Frisk stared up at Toriel, inexplicably off balance. The fact that she had the ability to tell others about what was going on in this part of the timeline was surreal as it was, but for people to actually believe her… it filled her with all sorts of intense emotions.

“Perhaps she simply didn’t know whether or not she could trust you,” Toriel said as she glanced to Frisk. “After all, she would not recognize you at this time, would she? She must have been quite surprised to hear you address her by name.”

Frisk sighed as she rubbed her head, willing to disorientation to disappear; she couldn’t let herself be thrown by such drastic differences to the timeline. “I was hoping that by using her name she’d take me seriously, or at least let D… Asgore know. I think he knows about the resets like Sans does, so he might’ve told everyone to evacuate. Or maybe they would’ve panicked at a human knowing too much?” She trailed off on an awkward note, knowing she was grasping at straws.

Frisk’s eyes drifted away from her mother to the snow crunching beneath her feet as her steps slowed. “Honestly… I’m not used to being able to tell all of you anything about what’s going on. I’m not sure how much I should say without… making you all afraid of me.” The memory of the look Sans gave her sent a chill through her body that had nothing to do with the cold. “Or hate me.”

Toriel made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat as she looked down at Frisk. “Well, it would seem that everyone’s already worked themselves in a tizzy over you as it is, so you really can’t blame yourself over that, my child. Even if I find it very strange and confusing, I also can not deny… that I feel as though known you for years. I see no reason not to trust you, and even less reason to fear you.”

Tears pricked behind Frisk’s eyes as Toriel’s words grasped tightly at her heart. Moved by the sudden surge of emotion, she threw her arms around her mother’s side and buried her face in the queen’s dress. Words failed her, so she merely embraced her mother’s side.

“Nice to see a human showing some love instead of LOVE,” Sans said, his abrupt appearance startling both Toriel and Frisk out of the hug. “Heh, don’t let me interrupt. I’d rather watch a human hug a monster than stab ‘em. Right, old lady?”

Toriel fixed Sans with a pointed stare. “Indeed. Perhaps monsters could learn from Frisk, present company included.”

Sans chuckled as he gave a casual shrug. “Hey, who am I to complain about being in good company? How about we all catch a bite at Grillby’s while we wait for my bro to get back? I don’t think we need any sentries keeping watch when the human is right here with us.”

Doggo looked over at Toriel, trying to hide how eager he was for a break from all the strangeness. “The food here is good, Your Majesty. The royal guard can attest to that.” The other dogs in his squad made barks or nods of approval.

Toriel’s initial response was to agree but instead she paused. While it was true that Frisk was not a threat, the human child had insisted that there was another that was. And the fact that this other human had attacked the skeleton brothers was the entire reason the one before her showed so much hostility towards Frisk in the first place. It was a threat that she could not ignore, even if she had no physical evidence to support it. The old queen considered her options before she turned to Frisk. “...Perhaps we should order the evacuation instead, and not wait for this ‘Alphys’.”

Sans glanced at Frisk. “You talked to Alphys, huh?”

Frisk could see right through Sans’ casual question. “Though the cameras, but if she was watching at the time, I don’t think she listened when I asked her to evacuate the monsters.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Sans said with a shrug. “I doubt someone like the royal scientist would be interested in taking orders from a random human anyway. Maybe all she needs is to get the order directly from royalty, like, say, the queen.”

Toriel was silent for several moments, before she gave a nod. “Perhaps that is precisely what I should do.”

“Great,” Sans said, his grin widening. “How about I show you the way to the lab while the dog squad here get some treats with the human. They could teach them how to play poker while you go save the underground from the human who wants everyone dead.”

Toriel’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Thank you for your suggestion, but I believe I will keep the human child with me-”

A terrible scream cut off the queen, though it was a fair distance away. The familiarity of it hit Sans with a terrible sense of déjà vu that had him turn a glowing eye towards the child directly in front of him then in the opposite direction where Papyrus’ scream came from. He disappeared just as the others started moving.

Frisk didn’t hesitate to run, despite what happened the last time Papyrus screamed. Dread overflowed her rapidly beating heart as she reached the border of Snowdin and Waterfall. She expected the worst, a repeat of earlier, but it wasn’t Papyrus on the ground bleeding dust.

It was Undyne.

The heavy armor Undyne wore looked as though it had been thrown into a thresher while she was still wearing it, gashes mangled inward and twisting her limbs until she lay helpless on the ground, hissing through her sharp teeth. Her helmet was gone, crushed by her side and exposing her face covered in cuts, but her gaze wasn’t on her ruined armor or her own wounds. Her attacker stood only a few steps away, facing not her, but Papyrus.

“Chara!” Frisk shouted as she charged at the other human child, only to freeze in her tracks when she saw Chara held a knife, the knife right at Papyrus’ neck. This wasn’t the toy weapon from the ruins - no other knife had the same glow or blood red shadows that constantly rippled and danced across the surface of the blade.

Chara turned to face Frisk, a sadistic smirk spread across her face. At the sight of the other human, her smile grew impossibly wide, showing off her white teeth and glowing red eyes. There was something off about her, her body swaying slightly - jerking involuntarily in ways muscles didn’t move - even as the human child held her ground with her knife a breath away from the skeleton’s neck bone. However, before Frisk could even properly reflect on the unnatural twitching, Chara’s spoke, her words echoing as if it were a chorus of voices rather than her own.

“YoU aLWayS weRe So pREdicTAble, pARTner.”

“Hold it right there, human,” Sans said, startling Frisk. Frisk had been so focused on Undyne and Papyrus she failed to notice his presence. She noticed too how his eye glowed and his hand was extended towards Chara, but nothing was happening save for a bead of sweat forming on his brow. His magic grasped for Chara’s soul, but he could no more grasp it than take hold of the ocean.

In spite of the obvious strain on his face and the sweat beading his brow, Sans tried to sound casual, failing to hide his fear. “Hey, uh, I don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish by swinging that thing at my brother all the time, but I promise you, if you don’t put that knife away, you’re going to have a bad time.”

“S-Sans, wait,” Papyrus said, his voice shaking. “I’m sure we can simply talk with this human, just like we did with Frisk, and-”

Papyrus never got to finish his statement, as the knife sliced his neckbone neatly in half, causing his head to fall from his body as it went limp and burst into a cloud of dust. All the while, Chara fixed her gaze firmly on Frisk, her expression never wavering.

Sans’ eyes went dark as, for all his words, the fight left him completely.

“No!” Frisk shrieked as she watched in horror as Papyrus turned to dust.

“What is going on!?” Toriel demanded as she hurried to the scene, having lagged behind the others as the dog sentries followed her. “What is the meaning-” All at once, the wind was knocked out her as her eyes settling on the twisted human before her and recognition hit her harder than any attack. She stumbled to a stop, her expression going blank as her hands fell limply to her sides. “C… Chara?”

“P… Papyrus…!” Undyne gasped, her crushed armor making every breath labored. “Damn you…!”

“S-stand back, your majesty!” Doggo shouted as the guards moved between their queen and this newest threat, all drawing their weapons.

Chara didn’t acknowledge her mother at all, nor any of the other monsters. She kept her gaze firmly on Frisk, a haunting giggle escaping her. Even the humorous sound was distorted, more so than normal, but the feelings behind them were unmistakable.

“I-it’s fine!” Papyrus said even as his head too began to crumble away. “It’s fine, I-I am sure we can still-”

With a sick crunch, Chara stomped on Papyrus’ skull, which crumbled as dust coated her foot.

Frisk’s gaze fell to the dusty orange scarf fluttering in the breeze and the merciless heel grinding it into the snow. There was no question what she needed to do.

Frisk reset.

---

Before, in the void, Frisk would easily find her save file - a nice and neat font framed in a box hanging in the air. However, as the human child appeared in the blackness of the abyss this time, something was undeniably different. Instead of Chara’s sick representation of a videogame that Frisk had become so familiar with, she instead found nearly a dozen stars - the same golden stars that allowed her to save.

“What is this?” Frisk asked aloud, instinctively expecting to hear Chara respond with some sort of sarcastic or sadistic explanation. Only silence answered her, and even the abyss seemed to swallow her voice almost immediately.

A sickening sense of trepidation weighed down Frisk’s steps as she approached the nearest star. The game had changed and she had no choice but to play.

With determination in her heart, Frisk touched the star and the abyss fell away.

Frisk found herself back at the Ruins, standing before the small mound of ground she regarded as Flowey’s hill. It was disorienting to appear someplace that wasn’t one of her usual save points, particularly one that suggested that she was going to have to confront Flowey again. She fully expected him to pop up out of the ground any second now and taunt her for Papyrus’ death, but he never appeared.

His absence set Frisk on edge, but she couldn’t let it keep her still. As she stepped cautiously forward, her mind raced to figure out how to stop Chara and save everyone when something was amiss with her power to reset.

A single step was all Frisk took into the staircase entryway before she froze dead in her tracks. Upon the blood red pile of leaves was an all too familiar regal purple gown covered in dust.

“Boy howdy, ain’t that a shame?” a familiar voice chirped, seconds before Flowey appeared from beneath the ground to stand beside Frisk. “Getting cut down so ruthlessly like that…” He turned to grin at Frisk, even as the human didn’t look at him. “If only you hadn’t been standing around stupidly, you might have been able to save her.”

Frisk twitched at the cruel barb. Of course Flowey would show up to twist the knife; the only question was when his words would strike. It was pointless to ask him if he cared at all about Toriel’s murder. “Asriel-”

“Aw, you’re still trying to call for him?” Flowey asked as his face warped into a horrifying visage of teeth. “Hate to break it to you, but Asriel’s been dead for a long, long, long time.” In an instant his face turned cartoonishly adorable as he winked. “It’s just little ole me, Flowey.”

Frisk had to pause to take a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself, but her fingers still curled into fists. “Don’t you remember me at all?”

Flowey stared hard at Frisk for several moments before he tilted his head, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, sure I remember you! You’re the idiot who just let someone die~!”

Frisk closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to stare at that mocking face out of her peripheral vision. “Just what is it about being on the surface that takes away your memories when we come back?” she muttered more to herself than Flowey, as she knew any answer he gave her would coated in poisonous thorns with nothing of substance at its core.

Flowey barely got a chance to let out a syllable before Frisk turned to him, her brown eyes blazing with determination.

“Even if you forget me a million times, I’ll still save you every time, Asriel!” Frisk shouted. “Even if this cycle goes on forever, I’ll never stop fighting to bring us all to the surface again. I promise.”

Flowey hesitated, taken aback by Frisk’s words. He was quiet for a moment before he gave a derisive snort. “You’re such an idiot.” With that, he disappeared into the ground from whence he came, cutting off any opportunity Frisk had to reply.

Frisk stared at the empty ground covered in dust and leaves as a shuddering breath escaped her. She turned to Toriel’s gown, her gaze lingering on the dust covered gash, always in the same spot.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Frisk said. For once she was able to say the words aloud after Toriel died instead of only thinking them in a torturous silence.

After wiping the dampness from her eyes, Frisk reset and returned to the abyss.

The next star Frisk touched created a cruel transition not unlike her battles with Omega Flowey. In one instant she stood in blackness and the next she found herself suspended by cold magic seizing her soul, staring down into Sans’ pitch black eye sockets in the snowy woods.

“That’s a weird expression you’ve got there,” Sans noted, his dark eyes scrutinizing the human scathingly. “You’ve got the face of someone who’s been through this before.”

Though initially disoriented, Frisk immediately realized where this reset loaded her and instinctively looked past Sans to see Papyrus sprawled out on the ground, alive, but not yet completely healed.

“N-nevermind that!” Frisk sputtered as she tried to get her bearings in spite of Sans’ dark expression. “I’m not the one who hurt Papyrus! Chara was, and if we don’t work together to defend each other, she’s going to kill him again!”

“‘Again’?” Sans repeated darkly. As deep as his anger was, the shift in the human’s attitude was enough to give him pause. She seemed sincere in her fear, but it was clear that the emotion wasn’t directed at him.

Frisk unsuccessfully suppressed a grimace at how suspicious one word could be, but forced herself to accept Sans’ anger towards her the same as choking down awful medicine. “The timeline keeps repeating because of a human called Chara. She wants to kill everyone, and she won’t stop until she does!”

“That a fact?” Sans said slowly as he assessed Frisk’s words and body language.

“YeS, THat iS a FAct.”

There was no chance for Sans or Frisk to react to the distorted voice beyond a flinch and a glowing eye when the knife streaked past Frisk’s face, carving a notch into her ear and cutting away strands of hair in its deadly path. However, it was clear she was never the target, as the blade buried itself to the hilt into Sans’ left eye socket, extinguishing the dual colored glow as the tip burst through the back of his skull with a spray of dust and bone shards.

Sans didn’t even have the chance to cry out, but Frisk saw a glimpse of his remaining eye carrying shock before he burst to dust. His magic died a second later, dropping Frisk roughly to the ground in a cloud of dust and heavy clothing.

“S-Sans?” Papyrus asked weakly, his disoriented mind grasping to understand what had just transpired. It took him a moment to register the sight before him, tiny fragments of his own brother’s corpse disappearing in the wind and snow, before shock and horror became clear on his face. “Sans-!?”

Another giggle escaped Chara, but her entertainment was not Papyrus’ shock and horror. The sight of Frisk covered in dust was what made her smile widen and twist into a wicked curve of white teeth.

Frisk coughed up the dust and felt like she was going to vomit from knowing what she had breathed in. She sat up, trying to get away from the dust that stuck to her with the melting snow as a black pit of hatred bubbled up inside of her. “Stop it. Just stop it, Chara! You’ve already killed everyone hundreds of times! Thousands! What more do you want?!”

Chara didn’t respond verbally, instead holding Frisk’s gaze as she moved her arm about to point the knife at Papyrus, even as the injured skeleton struggled to get to his feet.

That gesture said it all; Frisk reset before Chara could have the pleasure of murdering Papyrus once again.

Chara’s smirking face disappeared into the darkness as Frisk returned to the abyss, where the twinkling stars awaited her.

Again and again and again Frisk used different stars to load another save, but it all led to death. Doggo was sliced across the eyes as they arrived at his station. Lesser Dog was decapitated while Frisk had her hand on his head. Dogamy and Dogressa’s entrance repeated twice for Chara to kill one then the other with stabs to the chest and back respectively so that each of them could see their lover die. Even Greater Dog had the knife driven into his head before his initial emergence from his hiding spot in the snow.

Each moment was like a stab in to Frisk’s own heart, inflicting an injury that followed her through each reset. It made her dread each one, knowing what was about to happen even as she desperately fought against it. So when the scenery once again changed to the familiar field of flowers where she had first fallen, she instantly leapt to her feet and rushed forward into the darkened cavern to reach Toriel before she had to watch her mother die again.

Frisk found herself immediately greeted by the familiar scene of Flowey on his hill, waiting for her as he always did after every full reset that brought her back to the very beginning.

“Howdy!” Flowey said, with great - and completely false - cheer. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flower-”

“Asriel!” Frisk shouted, skidding to a halt just short of the homicidal flower. “Stop it! You don’t have to keep watching people die to feel anything! You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore!”

A slash of the knife ended Flowey’s mockery, carving a jagged cut between his eyes. His entire body twitched, sounds of confusion eeking from his mouth as he belatedly registered the pain, before a cruel heel slammed into the divide, roughly tearing the flower in half through sheer blunt force.

Chara ground her heel into the remnants of Flowey seconds before he burst into dust, her eyes still focused exclusively on Frisk. Her twisted smirk taunted her ‘partner’ as her eyes reflected not only amusement in its crimson surface but defiance - daring Frisk to stop her.

Anger and frustration bubbled over inside of Frisk and she barely managed the willpower needed to fight the urge to lunge at Chara and throttle the demon, screaming and crying. She knew all too well that violence was not the answer.

Unfortunately, when it came to Chara, neither was mercy.

“I’m going to stop you, Chara,” Frisk promised with roughly hewn words ground out between clenched teeth.

Chara’s only response was a giggle, her lips curling up in a sneer.

There was nothing more for Frisk to say before she reset once more.

As the world came into focus, Frisk found herself in the chilly yet familiar surroundings of Snowdin. The disorientation lasted only a second before she realized that Toriel was standing beside her, holding her hand tightly as she glared at the shrugging skeleton in front of them.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Sans said. “I doubt someone like the royal scientist would be interested in taking orders from a random human anyway. Maybe all she needs is to get the order directly from royalty, like, say, the queen.”

Toriel’s expression remained just as hard as the last time as she met Sans’ casual barb with suspicious disapproval before she gave a nod. “Perhaps that is precisely what I should do.”

Frisk jerked as she immediately recognized the scenario, and realized what was about to happen next.

“Great,” Sans said, seemingly unperturbed by his queen’s disapproval as his grin widened. “How about I show you-”

Frisk took off, releasing Toriel’s hand. She heard her mother call after her, and glimpsed at Sans’ startled face when she ran past him, but she only shouted. “Chara’s after Papyrus and Undyne!”

There was no time for further explanation. Frisk tore through the town, jumping over presents in the square and dodging past monsters milling about as they stared after in confusion. Only her instincts brought her to a halt once she reached outside of town when a blur of motion and the familiar sound of something sharp cutting through air was the only warning she got before a spear of magic landed in front of her. She barely had a moment to focus on the weapon as she skidded a few extra inches across the snowy ground before she was forced to dodge an entire volley of magical spears.

The black armored profile of Undyne immediately greeted Frisk, her red ponytail sticking out the back like a tassel as she held another spear at the ready, crouched and obviously hostile. She didn’t have to do more than point as her magic created countless jutting spears beneath the human’s surprisingly nimble feet.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” came Papyrus’ panicked cries, drawing attention to him as he waved his hands. “There’s been a mistaaaake! That’s the good human!”

Although Frisk was relieved that Undyne wasn’t injured and Papyrus wasn’t dying, she couldn’t give it more than a passing thought before she was forced to jump and run from the magic erupting from the ground and trying to skewer her.

Through the frightening visage of her helmet, Undyne’s voice came with a metallic echo that made her sound grave. “There’s no such thing as a good human, Papyrus. Go home and let me take care of this.”

It was Undyne’s turn to be blindsided this time. A burst of fire flew right by Frisk with deadly accuracy before slamming into the fish woman. It was not the tame sort that Toriel had used against Frisk, but a roaring inferno that promised only pain as it began to melt the armor.

Toriel stood beside Frisk in an instant as the human panted for breath, the boss monster’s fist clenched as it was engulfed in flames. Her eyes seemed to blaze as well as they glared down at the downed Undyne. “You will take care of nothing.”

Undyne let out a groan as her now warped helmet fell off, but she recovered quickly with sharp teeth curving into an almost manic smile. “Oh hell, yeah! And here I thought this fight would be be bor…” She paused as she took another look at Toriel. “Wait, you’re not a human.” Confusion immediately switched to anger as she jumped to her feet. “What’re you doing!? Go home! Don’t you know there’s a couple of dangerous humans running around!?”

Toriel gave a sweeping gesture of her hand, and a burst of fire surged out around her and Frisk. The snow immediately melted, turning into steam, as a ring of fire danced in an obvious threat. “The only dangerous one I see is you.”

Frisk attempted to step forward to get between Toriel and Undyne in case the captain of the guard decided to attack anyway, but the flames provided a barrier that was impossible for her to cross.

The unpleasant heat from the flames made Undyne wary, but she would not give a single inch. She directed the point of her spear directly at Toriel’s face. “Look, I don’t know who you are and what you think you’re doing with that human, but you’re standing in the way of everyone’s hopes and dreams!”

“Waaaaait!” Papyrus shouted again as he hurried over to the armored leader of the Royal Knights. “Undyne, that’s the queen! You can’t fight the queen! That would be...” The skeleton man’s jaw dropped as he clasped his hands to either side of his face. “Very bad!”

“I don’t care if she’s King Asgore!” Undyne snapped. “No one is gonna stop me from…” She paused for a moment to shift her gaze from Papyrus to Toriel and back. “Wait, did you say the queen? The queen? The one who ran off to the ruins forever ago and never came back?”

Toriel’s eyes narrowed. “Who I am does not matter. I will not allow you - or that fool you call a king - to harm my child.”

Undyne outright gawked at Toriel. “Your child? That’s a human!”

“My child,” Toriel repeated, her tone as dangerous as a knife.

Undyne let out a frustrated grunt. “Okay, look, lost queen, adoptive mother, I don’t care! We need seven human souls to break the barrier!” She directed the point of her spear to Frisk. “And that human right there is the last one we need! I’m not about to let anyone get in the way of our freedom.”

“You ‘do not care’?” Toriel asked as she held her hand out towards Undyne, a warning of what was to come if she so much as sneezed in Frisk’s direction. “You ‘do not care’ that you are killing innocent children?”

Undyne let out a snort of laughter. “Right. ‘Innocent’. Like the ‘innocent’ child that nearly killed Papyrus?”

“A-ah, but… they didn’t!” Papyrus said as he raised his fist triumphantly. “As you can see, the great Papyrus is still very much alive, so that does not count!”

“Or ‘innocent’ like the humans that trapped us down here?” Undyne pressed, as though Papyrus hadn’t interrupted. “Or the humans that keep falling down here killing monsters until only King Asgore can put a stop to them?”

“The other humans killed monsters?” Frisk whispered, shocked. Admittedly, she tried not to think of what happened to the six souls who had fallen before her, but the fact that the other humans chose to kill was as surprising as it was completely, tragically heartbreaking.

Not everyone had the determination to refuse to kill anyone.

“You say that as if the humans were not attacked first,” Toriel retorted, with surprising venom in her voice. “You attack those terrified children, then blame them when they defend themselves! Had you not instigated violence from the start, there would have been no bloodshed!” She net out a snort. “But clearly, that does not matter to you. You simply intend to twist the situation in order to defend yourselves - defend Asgore - even as it turns the Royal knights into nothing but murderers... child killers.” She then clenched her hand, the flames flickering about it as they glowed white. “And I suppose the ‘irony’ that you are proving the human’s fear of us to be well founded would be lost on the likes of you.”

Undyne let out a derisive snort, her eye narrowing. “Heh. Figures the queen that ran away and hid for a century instead of standing up for her people would become a human-loving traitor! I’ll bet you armed the humans yourself hoping they’d kill King Asgore so you could take over, you coward!”

Things were spiraling out of control; Frisk she needed to diffuse it somehow, even if she knew that no mere words would ever convince Undyne to trust her. Only actions might prevent her friends from hurting each other and she could only think of one act that might make Undyne pause “H-hold it!” she shouted, raising her hands into the air, palms open. “We don’t need to fight. I’ll give myself up without a fight. You can take me as your prisoner to King Asgo-”

“You will do no such thing,” Toriel said as she moved in front of Frisk, without looking back at her. “I will not allow him - or anyone else - to kill yet another child! Let alone for such a foolish act of suicide!”

Frisk cringed at her failure even as she felt a swell of love for her mother’s fierce protectiveness of her.

“I never planned on taking prisoners anyway,” Undyne snarled as she held her spear in both hands, bouncing on her heels in anticipation of a fight. “Now go back to your hiding place! You heard the human - hand them over so I can bring their soul to King Asgore and finally break the barrier!”

“If you wish to fight, then so be it!” Toriel said, raising her voice as the fire intensified about her, further melting the snow and depriving Snowdin of its namesake as browned blades of grass and dirt appeared beneath the smoldering steam. The citizens who had dared to gather at the edge of town to gawk were quick to scamper from heat as suffocating as the mounting tension. Even the canine royal guard cowered far behind their furious queen, not daring to step between her and their leader. “Let us see how a bullying coward such as you fairs against a true opponent!”

Undyne laughed as she readied her spear. “Fine with me! I’m tired of talking anyway!”

Toriel narrowed her eyes. “As am I.” Without waiting for a response, she threw her hands up and sent another blast of fire at Undyne, blowing her backwards as the very ground itself turned to ash around her.

“This is bad, this is very bad!” Papyrus sputtered as he clasped both his hands over the top of his head. “What am I supposed to do?” He then whirled to his brother, desperate. “Sans! What am I supposed to do!?”

Sans didn’t reply or even seemed to be paying attention. His eyes were closed, his breathing even with his head bowed. At first, Papyrus assumed he was in deep contemplation, but a gentle snore dispelled the illusion.

Papyrus jerked before he grabbed his brother by the collar of the dirty blue hoodie to shake him violently. “Sans! How can you sleep at a time like this?!”

Sans opened an eye with a startled snort, but quickly recovered with an easy smile. “Sorry, bro. All this excitement just wore me out, I guess.”

“You… you lazy good for nothing!” Papyrus snapped before he released his brother and turned back to the fight. Even the other members of the royal guards cowered away from the fight, uncertain and a little afraid to choose between their captain and the queen. “I… it seems that I, the great Papyrus, will be left to… to deal with this situation myself!”

The skeleton’s pomp and posturing would have had more impact, if he hadn’t immediately cringed back with a yelp from a burst of fire as it detonated nearby - though thankfully not near enough to do more than send his scarf fluttering in the aftershock.

“You go, bro,” Sans said placidly. He knew Undyne would never hurt Papyrus and given what he knew of Toriel, the queen would never forgive herself for harming someone as sweet and innocent as Papyrus.

Sans knew he wouldn’t.

Wreathed by flames, Frisk could only watch helplessly as Toriel and Undyne threw magical attacks at one another. There was no turn-based system to slow either of them down now that the facade of a videogame was gone, and the rate of attacks were dizzying. Any spears that came her way or tried to come up from the ground were instantly burned away by fire before she could even dodge. Even as Toriel created a mesmerizing display of complicated dancing flames, she still managed a perfect protection of the human child everyone wanted dead.

It was all too clear to Frisk how much Toriel held back during every battle between them, and even Asgore’s patterns paled in comparison. Her mother showed unimaginable power and control, which had never been more apparent than when Toriel had tried to discourage Frisk from her quest. Despite the constant hail of flames, it was only when Chara usurped control during moments that Frisk dropped her guard and threw them both into the flames to die that she was ever in any true danger.

And often those moments were meant not to torment Frisk, but Toriel herself - to shatter her confidence in her self-control, and make her kill the child she tried so hard to protect. The flames didn’t hurt nearly so much as the look of pure shock and horror Toriel had worn each time she saw Frisk die by her magic.

While Undyne had, in previous resets, exiled the queen back to the ruins during her particularly gruesome failed runs, it was made all the more clear to Frisk that Toriel had gone willingly, without any sort of resistance. She had lacked the motivation - the determination - to keep fighting. But now, that those powers were in full force and aimed at Undyne with intent to save. Toriel was not holding back and fully in her element; she was not resigned or succumbing to nihilism. Her determination glistened in her eyes and the flames she summoned effortlessly with each gesture, focused wholeheartedly in protecting Frisk from the attacker before her.

Undyne may as well have been trying to stab the fire itself, for all the good it did her. Every spear she launched exploded upon collision with fireballs and though she used all her training with Asgore to prepare her for such patterns of attack, there were too many - a hell of flames coming at her on all sides that scorched her armor and skin, regardless of her strength and determination to fight.

Undyne tried to close the distance between them in an effort to physically assault the queen when it was clear distance attacks would fail, but the large boss monster was surprisingly quick to bring up a wall of flames, forcing Undyne to retreat before she ran headlong into it.

It became all the more clear that she was not fighting a monster, but a force of nature itself.

It was too much for Undyne and she knew it, but sheer stubborn pride kept her climbing back to her feet even as the heat seeped into her armor and turned it into an oven that baked her. Even as her back bowed from pain, body smoking, and her movements turned into a crawl, she refused to stay down. “I won’t… give up… on everyone’s dreams!”

A single ball of flame, less deadly than the others, smacked Undyne in the head like a newspaper swatting a dog that piddled on the carpet, and she fell backward.

Frisk felt her heart twist for Undyne, and she tugged on her mother’s robe. “Mom, that’s enough! Please. Undyne isn’t a bad person… I’ve made friends with her too… before time reset.”

Toriel paused at that, though her expression remained serious. However, even as she kept her deadly gaze on the fallen fish warrior, she lowered her hand to take Frisk’s in her own and give the child’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Leave. Now.”

Undyne let out a hiss as she struggled in the heat as flames surrounded her with menacing promise. She couldn’t speak, but the murderous glare in her eye conveyed her feelings far better than any word could. It was only when the magical fire backed away enough for the air to cool around her that she could return to her feet, unsteady and weak. She shrugged off Papyrus when he offered a helping hand, but muttered a short word of thanks when he healed her wounds.

Toriel met Undyne’s glare with one of her own, neither wavering nor flinching. “And tell Asgore that I am coming for him.”

There were no further words exchanged, just the sound of metal clanking against scorched ground as Undyne turned and stiffly walked away.

Although her life had been spared, Frisk still felt a surge of fear as she watched Undyne leave. “Undyne!” she shouted, causing the captain to halt, but not turn around. “Be careful. There’s another human who is trying to kill monsters, so please warn everyone to take shelter and to not fight her - they won’t be able to beat her, and she won’t show them any mercy!”

A lone eye glared at Frisk from over Undyne’s shoulder, but only for a moment before the captain left. Although there were no words spoken, the look spoke volumes of a hatred of humankind that seeped deep into the underground from wrongs made centuries past, and a cry for justice and revenge that would not end with this defeat.

Toriel breathed heavily through her nose in a sigh. “I am sure she did not believe that you, in fact, are not the human to fear… but I suppose it does not matter. The results will still be the same.”

Frisk nodded ever so slightly as she watched the flames surrounding them wink out one by one. As long as everyone lived and reached the surface, the monsters could think whatever they wanted of her.

No matter the cost she paid in the end, Frisk would save everyone and stop Chara for good.

[autumnpawtribe]

Loa Bound - Family Reunion

It was a small family reunion.  

Once Jack got his letter, he was there within three days.  He brought Kit with him.  Somehow Hari came, not bringing Ki'la nor her ward En'ca, nor her mate.  The next day two women that few had seen in years also came, followed by an orcish looking man, as thin as a troll, but a green orc in all other looks.  He held hands with a pandaren, hands grasping as the two older males followed the two obvious sisters.  Jura came with a male troll with bright yellow hair.  Pahre welcomed them all to stay with her as Aret, Vol and Venya set up as much as they could as all of them showed within hours of each other.  Venya made sure to send everyone on a two day vacation, full pay.  

"Don't need anyone going fuckin' missing..." 

Vol was feeding Tarja as breakfast was being made out in the open air.  

As Xiao watched everyone arriving, he made sure to keep close to his mates, murmuring to either Vol’raka or Venyabi, depending on which one wasn’t occupied and how good Vol was feeling.

“Who are all of these people? You only sent three letters…”

He didn’t seem surprised, more so just looking for clarification on who each person was.

“Old guy, same coloring as Vol, That’s Jack.  Seems he might talk while he’s here.  You know Kit.”  Venya was making copious amounts of eggs, those from chickens, as Aret worked on what looked like bacon.  It was not bacon.  “And Hari.  I told you she was pregnant and huge.  The red haired woman.. The one in leather.  That is Tavisi.  You won't hear a peep from her.  The Dark haired woman, the one missing an eye.  That’s Nazui.  Remember what I told you about her?  Drash is the orcish one with his husband Bronthro.   They rarely come out of Dalaran.  Drash is a teacher.  I hope to Gonk you know Jura, and the gold haired guy, that is Tsal.  Blue Tauren, pacifist.” “I remember Tsal from the naming.  He’s nice.”  Vol had really knocked down Aret’s dosage, the youngest of the four not as silly the last few days.  “Are your other brother and sister coming?”   “You won't see those two ten miles from Vol or any of you.  They don’t like mons who like mons…  bigoted fucks.”  Hari had waddled over, taking a peice of ‘bacon’.  “Oh I love you Aret.  You made Dwarf.  Wait no…”  She sniffed it. “AUNTIE NAZUI!  BLOOD TROLL!  Which one of you bagged a blood troll?!” Vol pointed his spoon at Xiao.  “All him.  I was fucking Aret.”  He scrapped out a little more pureed something orange, most likely mango.  “Bwonsamdi seems to like him a lot.”  He proceeded then to have a tiny fight with his daughter who did not want to do anything with mango apparently.  “C’mon Tarja.  You ate most of it..”  

Xiao listened and nodded, smiling at the mentions of Jura, eyeing him warmly as he thought back on some memories. He shook himself of it when Hari came over, Xiao trying not to tense up. When she mentioned making dwarf and then so cheerfully shouted about the blood trol linstead, the poor Pandaren paled and his ears pinned back. It was when Vol pointed at him with his spoon that he offered a meek smile and an almost guilty wave over at the cannibalistic woman. 

“She… was causing problems. I offered her to Bwonsamdi. I was not expecting him to make an appearance again.”

Well the cat was out of the bag on that one, his usage of ‘again’ giving away that this wasn’t a one-time occurrence. 

“Again?”  Kit came up, smiling as she came with her sisters.  “Ja have seen our Loa more den once?”  The Farseer smiled, looking very proud.  “A good kill then, nephew.  Since ja mates not introduced em ta Ja and ja lovely Janaret…  Dis be Tavisi.”  The red head nodded.  “And Nazui.”  She switched to Zandali for a bit.   He’s not dinner, Nazzie.  He’s your nephew soon.”  

Nazui just nodded, still appraising the pandaren as dinner before Jack came to sit next to Xiao.  If Xiao looked up at him he would see his lover, if he was fifty years older.  

“No, Nazui.”  The woman fumed, huffed and stomped back to sit with Jura, Drash and Tsal.  She actually seemed to pout.

“Never alone with Nazui.”

“I like Auntie Nazzie.”  Hari stole another piece of troll before speaking again.  “But she taught me all I know.  Breakfast ready soon?”

Vol nodded, looking at a pot with noodles and vegetables.  “I don’t think Xiao and Bron are partaking in the troll, so as soon as the noodles and stir fry are done, yeah.  Xiao love, can you start that.  I’m not making you eat it.”

Xiao blushed a little at Kit’s praise, offering her a smile, the woman always a comforting presence to him. When Jack came to sit down, Xiao couldn’t help but stare, his gaze something between curious, surprised, and perhaps even a little lustful. A mature daddy version of Vol? He would have to remember to keep himself in check as he cleared his throat and forced himself to tear his gaze away. It was when Vol asked him to go cook that he nodded and stood up.

“Of course, Lok’dim.” He murmured with love as he leaned in to kiss the Darkspear gently on the cheek and nuzzled his forehead against his. “Love you.” He whispered before heading over to go about preparing the requested food for those who didn’t eat other people.

Vol put a hand out, grabbing him gently by the wrist.  He pressed a kiss back to Xiao’s with a smile.  “Love you too.”  He let go when Tarja made a noise, loud and waving her arms loudly.  

“BA! BA!  BA!!!!”  She made grabby hands as Vol, Aret and Venya stared at their daughter.   “BA!”

“Whelp..  First word at a family gathering to find out about blood magic… Congratulations Xiao.”  Venya laughed loudly as he kept cracking eggs, Jack starting to help.  

The  Pandaren farseer kept watching over at them, smiling.  Drash turned and looked to, grinning at his nephews and the very happy yammering baby.

Xiao froze in his tracks as Tarja called out, at first thinking it was in the link until he realized it was quite clearly loud yelling little girl right behind him. He spun around and reached down to scoop her up, grinning and nuzzling his furry little face against her.

“Hello my little darling, your Ba is right here…” He murmured so happily down at her, kissing her forehead gently as he swayed back and forth.

“Tarja’s rule, I am off food duty. Someone else will have to do it.” He said with a playful grin as he cradled their adorably clingy daughter.

“If you will permit me, Xiao Chun, I believe I am well versed in our cuisine.  May we speak?”  The older pandaren came forward, his leather clothing modest as pandaren tended to be, a stark contrast to the amount of clothing that the trolls wore.  He gave a small bow, a little stiff, but his hands were knotted with arthritis and it seemed it pained him to walk.  “I may seem old, but I can whip up a simple stir fry.  Drash’nar says that my cooking is still very good.”  He picked up the pot and pan for their breakfast, gave a smile to his own orcish mate and walked to where another little fire pit was a few paces away.

“I do ask your forgiveness, it has been a long while since I have been home.  I have been with my husband in Dalaran for a very long time.  It was a blessing to hear that there was a family gathering that would allow me to return home even for a time.”  The shaman set down the things he carried, sat on his bottom and started a fire with a flick of his wrist.  “It is also nice to speak Pandaren.  I do love my Drash, but Orcish tongues do not agree with pandaren words and he trips a bit in his pronunciation.”  He gave a smile to Tarja who was tugging on Xiao’s beard.  “A beautiful girl.  May the celestials bless you with many more, I am sure that the Jade Serpent will guide you well.”  He teased the fire so that the image of the four celestials danced for a bare moment.  “Now, before the family festivities begin, I heard this is about blood magic.  This is true?”

Xiao smiled and nodded as he listened and followed behind the older Pandaren. 

“I did not know Vol’raka had any Pandaren in his family. I knew he had a touch of Orc, but I was utterly unaware of you and Drash’nar. It is nice to know I have another of my own to turn to if I have questions about all of the rituals.” 

He chuckled a little as he watched the fire play out the images of the celestials ever so briefly. When he asked about the blood magic, his expression faltered a bit and he nodded more subtly. 

“Unfortunately, yes. We discovered a little family revelation recently regarding one of the original matriarchs of the family. I am still a tad foggy on it all, but hopefully today will clear it up.”

Being able to speak in his native tongue was nice, it allowed him to be more eloquent, though his Zandalari was starting to get up there slowly but surely.

"I believe Kit'raka and Nazui will know most.  Perhaps Jocamo.  And I am not surprised that you do not know of me.  My Drash'nar and I are not much for the company of the family.  We tend to keep to ourselves in our old age.  When he heard from his sister that Vol'raka was exhibiting the same, shall we say symptoms, he insisted we come to the discussions.  Azu's experiments were not unknown to me."

Xiao’s brows rose a bit in surprise. “So you know it was his grandmother. This is all new to me, all I know is that... “ He paused, shaking his head. “None of it seems to bode well. Anything that makes him this sick cannot be good.” He stopped to smile lightly as Tarja began to babble and tug on Xiao’s beard, cuddling up on it and demanding affection from her fuzzy Ba even if he was talking.

"I believe it is sickness, not due to the fact that the beast lives in him.  It is more the shock and fight.  Drash took a few years to gain full control, but his beast is not compatible with his personality.  My love is a gentle soul and he was, forgive the term, blessed or cursed with the life of a wind serpent.  Chaos in the face of one who is very orderly, enjoys sorting, fastidious in his daily routine, is very difficult.  He was ill for a long time.   I am a healer among our people.  I tried many things, believed he was dying.   One day he was delirious, not eaten in days.  It was then he told me of the wind serpent, his is named Stormwing.  I have found that they all take their own names.  I believe Jocamo also has control of his raptor.  I do not remember his name, however."

Xiao nodded as he listened. “Vol’s is Raptorblood. A raptari was able to-... oh right you are not a troll!” He sounded rather excited at the prospect. “You do not have to observe the whole… ‘no speaking of the dead’ thing even if she is not dead. I… do not know how much you know of Naddja, but she was a raptari who lived with us. Some things happened, I will spare you the messy details, but she was the one who figured out what was going on with Vol, at least to a degree. I just… want him to be okay. Venya said his uncle Jack might have some information since he has a raptor too. I am hoping someone will be able to help at least.”

"I have not met any raptari, that I have known of.". He set to cooking as the trolls were gathering round the fire.  "We do not want to miss what is said.  It will also be privilege of ours to hear Jocamo speak. He has not uttered a word in thirty years, save for ritual magic.". Bronthro smiled, his gnarled hands still able to move the wok and pot quick enough.  "When Jack speaks, best to listen to the old one."

Xiao rose his brows in surprise now. “He talks that little…?” He asked curiously. “So… does he not communicate with the family or anyone? Is it non-verbal or does he keep to himself. I was hoping to talk to him maybe…” He trailed off, probably not doing a good job of hiding his thirsty Panda ass as he thought back to sexy daddy Vol in the form of Jack.

“Very little.  He is a calm man, subtle in his ways.  A decently powerful witchdoctor if my memory is still correct.  He is a man of few words since his mate died.  Far before my time, but my love has told me of it when I first met him.  Where Kit is his favorite Aunt, Jack was closest as Uncle.  I know the family secrets, as you do, seeing as you are tied to more than one brother.  Jocamo is a rare troll.  If you can get more than a few words, I would consider that a high honor.” 

“Xiao!  Ya two comin’ or not?”  

Venya was carrying a tray of Blood troll bacon, followed by Zakin and Pahre.  Vol and the others were already seating around the pinci tables they kept between the houses.  “Family meal time.”

Xiao listened, his eyes wandering over to Jack now as he tried his best not to stare. It was only Venya’s voice that really broke him of his staring as he blushed and nodding. “Of course, our food is just about done… I think?” He said the last two words quietly so only Bronthro could hear. “It smells delicious at least.”

Bron smiled.  "Almost.  You take your daughter and find a seat.". The orcish mage came close, nodding.  "I believe my assistance has arrived.". 

When and If Xiao moved, Vol would have a seat next to him, with Jack then Aret. Bron and Drash'nar handed over a large bowl of noodles, meat and Veg, Tarja going to sit in her Papa's lap.  Vol let her have a taste of the bacon, the girl making a face and reaching for her Ba's noodles.  After being told she was too little for noodles, she was given bananas to keep her quiet.  Everyone sat, ate quietly, small talk and catching up.  

Xiao's trolls helped clean up, leaving Xiao with Zakin and Tarja as magic from Drash'nar and grunt work from Jack, a stone circle was being created for the proper conversation.  

"Have you seen a ritual of this family, save for your child's naming, Xiao Chun?"

Xiao nodded at him. “Well thank you for making it, Tarja here seems too enamoured today to let me cook.” He chuckled lightly and moved to take Tarja over to sit with his mates… and that sexy mature version of Vol. The Celestials were not being kind to him today, teasing him with someone he just couldn’t keep from eyeballing constantly. He focused as best he could on lunch as he ate his meal, though he did cringe when they fed Tarja the blood troll meat, but he kept his mouth shut out respect for their culture. He seemed relieved when she didn’t like the taste, happy to give her a banana in place of it so he could go back to eating his own noodles.

When they finished, Xiao was happy to keep the children occupied, having Zakin actually sit in his lap while he cradled Tarja in his other arm. He’d found that apparently all Troll children liked the fuzziness of his fur, so he had become used to be cuddled by at least one at any given time when they had the opportunity. He was silently watching as the circle was being made, pulled from another daydream of sorts as he had unfocused his eyes after gazing off at Jack again for a small while before Bron called out to speak to him.

“Hm? Ah, no, I have not. The naming ceremony was my first glance into the culture, at least up close. I have not spent much time outside of Pandaria and most of it was spent in the Elven lands. Considering what I have learned of some of them, I am not sure whether to be grateful for the lack of experience or not.”

"It can be intimidating, even if you were raised with it.". Drash'nar came forward, a look of apprehension on his face.  "Bad things happen with Blood magic.  I do not know what will happen, but I agree with my father's people that it is a dark place.  My mother's….."

"Drashie, ja come help.". Kit wandered to her brother, smiling.  He shook his head making her slip into Zandalari.  "You are still bitter.  Let it go."

"None of us asked for this.". The orcish man was rattled, hand out to the circle and Nazui with a bag of blood being poured in a bowl.  "And mother's bullshit has almost killed people"

Bronthro lead the mage away, his face red as he began to get angry.  Kit shook her head, looking at Xiao.  Et best da lil ones not ere.  Ah talk ta da Pahre.  Da lil girl gonna watch h da children.   Not need da magic goin more wild den et be already." 

Xiao listened silently, nodding occasionally as he listened. He did not appear anymore at ease now that Drash had let his disapproval spill outward. He looked to Kit now, sighing lightly.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I cannot help but feel out of place, I am not sure what to do.”

“Ja, .. wait  ja speak Zandali now ja?”

 Xiao nodded in response, speaking her language now. “I speak it well enough. There are some more… ah…” He switched back to Orcish. “Niche…” then back to Zandalari. “Phrases that I don’t know, but for the most part I am fluent.”

“Good.”  She smiled, pointing to a log Jack and Tsal were setting up, Jura setting a fire, in the middle.  The one introduced as Tavisi sharpening a very sharp looking already, and  thin Dagger.  It was not worn, nor old but it had an ancientness to it.  “That is your chair.  You will have to stay put.  The children won't be here, I and hari can’t perform this one.  Too dangerous for anyone who can’t move fast.  I won't have to worry about you, and if Arie and Ven can’t move their ass, what kind of trolls are they, ya know.”  She thumbed at Nazui, her sister waving from right behind her.  If she did not look at Xiao like food, she would look almost childish as she moved.  Xiao would notice her collar having a high neckline, and a strange weezing.  

“I’m sure it will be fine.  VAHARI!”  

The pregnant warrior came in, chewing on left over not-really-bacon.  “If you are looking for the book, Jura took it.”  She indicated with her snack and pointed to the three druids making a sort of …. Fence? It looked like a tall fence at least.  It was at least as tall as Xiao, an opening, and had hard woods as posts and slats.  

Kit nodded turning back to Nazui.  "No Fel magic.  Only Mama's magic.  Got it?  No sacrificing any trolls or pandaren..."  Nazui made a sighing motion but nodded.  She skipped off, heading back to pick up the book while Kit turned her head back.  "Like dancing, Xiao?"  Kit nodded her head to the house where Vol was coming out in clothes he must have been hiding.  Venya was in near the same, Aret in his normal clothing.  Vol's was a wide collar with intricate beading in golds, greens and deep blues.  His kilt was leather and didn't do much but cover his bits.  Pahre was helping him adjust it, Venya's already around his neck, in the same clothing that his brother was but in colors that suited him more.  Jack nodded as he wandered past into the other house, Vol leaning down to kiss Xiao, Tarja ans Zakin on the head.  

"Take the little ones to Nielka.  They don't need to see their parents dancing naked."

[roseyturtles]

hurt. Part 4

Uuugh I’m such a dum dum about deadlines, especially since this is my favorite chapter of this story! This makes everything else make sense!!

Anyways, here’s the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it! Next I’ll start uploading a few xReader stories I’ve written.

Series title: hurt.

Chapter title: Part 4

Word count: 2,963

Previous: https://ntgforever.tumblr.com/post/169210842364/hurt-part-three

“We had both lost ourselves, and we were hurting in a way we had never hurt before. There’s no greater pain in the world…I ask you, what would you have done?”

-Data Riku, Kingdom Hearts Re:Coded

a brief note to the kid,

if you find this…i’m honestly surprised you can read. but, what i’m more surprised at is that this is the route you chose to take.

you got curious. you wanted all the truth this world could give you. i don’t blame you for that. plenty of people are curious. but…

to go out of your way and destroy everything? that’s, uh, pretty rude.

and it’s not like one campaign wouldn’t have given you the exact same answers.

you don’t know what i’ve seen. lives not just ended, but torn apart, just because you wanted to know everything.

mettaton. alphys. undyne. naptsablook. the lady in the ruins. …papyrus.

these names meant something to you once. sometimes when you go up against someone, or when you go into a certain room…i can see it on your face.

so i gotta ask…was it worth it? ripping everything you knew and loved to shreds over and over just for some answers to unknown questions?

normally when i judge, i go by the philosophy that every person is hardest on themselves. this time, though, i know that’s not gonna work.

you wanted answers? you’ve got them.

meet me in the final corridor. your little flower friend is there with me.

It’s way past time we finished this.

This was new.

This was new.

My smile grew to the size of the crescent moon as I read the letter over and over again,  soaking in every little word, imagining his voice, hearing each and every lilt and break in his tone. Even on paper it seemed to drip with emotion and judgement. I could kiss that paper, I really could.

The task at hand would be so much more interesting this time.

Trying to rush as best I could, I collected both keys and tore the chain away. I had wondered where that flower was before, but now I didn’t care if he was alive or dead. Without that meaningless distraction, I could see what was in store without having to pretend to care about anything else. I was so giddy for the oncoming slaughter, I had the vague notion to run up to Sans and tell him I loved him. He had changed his routine, just for me! What a sweetheart.

The hallway seemed endless, but I knew my journey was close to over when the vast city appeared in the background. Here was where I decided to stop and check my inventory, making sure everything I needed was there. Let’s see…of course, the locket, and the knife. What else would you use for this fight? Then, yes, the Instant Noodles, the Legendary Heroes, and the Bscotch Pie were all there as well. All in perfect quantities.

Then I had a thought. Should I have picked up something else? This time I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. I couldn’t pace myself like normal. I would have to learn all of his attacks all over again.

Oh, well.

That’s what made the game so much fun.

Besides, it’s not like he really had any power over me. All he could do was inconvenience me for a time, and even then it was very much a worthwhile inconvenience. Just to be able to see his face…

With that thought I exited the items menu and made my way down the long hall to what would be the most thrilling conclusion to any adventure yet. Mettaton, that darling performer, would probably adore it. Drama! Emotion! Bloodshed! It’s a wonder he didn’t broadcast up to this point.

I took a brief moment in the final corridor to eventlessly write over my save and take one deep final breath before facing my opponent. My mind buzzed with the thousands of possibilities, that smiley trashbag being the rulebreaker he was. Could he have stolen the six human souls? Did he and Flowey team up after realizing I would keep destroying the world? Did he enlist the help of the amalgamates? There was only one way to find out.

I proceeded down the beautiful, sunlit hall, a lively spring in my step…

Then froze.

My eyes widened with fear, and tears began to well up in my eyes and spill over. The silver instrument in my hand clattered to the floor. I stumbled back a couple steps. My breathing quickened. My mind hummed. My face went cold and pale. God, in all my years, no one had…

What had…

When did…

Why…?

Sans stood directly in front of me, eyes dark and sad, a plucked flower in one hand, and in the other…a gleaming knife held to his throat. I stood there like a statue, afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to think.

“so this is what it takes to get you to listen, huh?” He started in a voice more dejected than I thought was ever possible.

I gulped, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away.

“S…” I started, but couldn’t finish.

“don’t give me that fake mercy.” He growled so low that I couldn’t get the feeling of it out of my ears. Then he softened. “after all the times you and i’ve been through this i should know how it all goes. i pretend to spare you, you pretend to spare me, and we both just end up killing each other over and over.”

The slight movements and changes that would normally excite me now drilled painfully into my skull, giving another burst of adrenaline when his hand or his wrist or his head moved a certain way. I made a small, involuntary guttural sound.

“this time, though, there’s just no point. you’re gonna destroy the world, then bring it back, then destroy it again. it’s an endless cycle, and there’s nothing i can do to stop it. so i thought i’d make it a little easier for you. well wishes, kiddo.”

The grip on his knife tightened.

That was all it took. Suddenly, everything collapsed. Suddenly, my vision had cleared. Suddenly, the shapes and statistics I had gotten used to became…became people, became lives, lives that I had destroyed. I let out a loud cry from the core of my being, like a creature in torturous pain. He stopped in his path and looked at me with a glare.

“what? gonna try and squeeze some sort of truth out of me? Or do you just want to finish the job yourself?” He asked with bitterness in his voice. “asgore will just as easily give you the execution points you need.”

I groaned and begged and pleaded like an injured puppy. No words would come to me. Of course they wouldn’t. This was important. Words never came when it was important. Hot tears ran down my face and dripped to the floor, and I prayed they’d be my explanation. He looked away.

“if you’re wondering, yeah, the blasters are stolen, and papyrus can use ‘em too. the karmic retribution is due to me being a judge, and it affects you exponentially. gerson taught a few people how to attack on your opponent’s turn. the machine in the lab was a project of the royal scientist before alphys. blah blah blah. anything else, ya little freak?”

It was like he wasn’t seeing me! Come on! Move! Do something! Don’t just stand there and gawk like some idiot!

...God, this was all my fault.

The fact that we were here like this was all because of me. Were it not for me and my dumb, selfish experiments this wouldn’t have crossed his mind. I knew from the very start how this was going to end. Everyone would die by my hand because no monster can ever dream of stopping a rampaging human, and no monster has the gall to absorb any of the souls. I could’ve figured that out on the True Pacifist route with enough forethought.

Why was I even doing this anymore? For the hell of it? I couldn’t even pinpoint my own motive anymore, where it had been so easy to pinpoint others’ motives before.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to beg. I wanted to curl up in a little ball and snot all over the tile. I wanted to repent. I wanted to start over.

I wanted to die.

“yeah, that’s what i thought.” He said coldly, resetting the grip on his knife. As he went in for the kill, all of my emotions barreled out of me. Not in a whirlwind, not in a great fire, not in an earthquake, but in a whisper as soft as the oncoming night.

“Please, Sans. Please don’t.”

It wasn’t until later that I realized I had stepped forward and grabbed his wrist. All I felt was my knees hit the cold, hard tile, and something equally as cold and hard press involuntarily against my forehead.

“Please, Sans, please don’t, Sans, please.”

I felt him struggle against my grip, trying to pull away, trying to end it all. I…I couldn’t go through this again. It had hurt before. It had hurt immensely. But this was too much. This was too much. Too much.

God, I had done this to Alphys too. And Naptsablook. I didn’t want to think it was real before, but now I couldn’t get the image out of my head. They had both witnessed the death of their loved ones. They had both felt just this hopeless. They had both decided it just wasn’t worth it anymore. The dripping tears had turned into a river.

“Please, please, please, Sans, don’t. Please. Don’t. Please.”

they had a pretty tight hold on my wrist. without strength at first, then with some effort, i tried to tug it out of their grip. this was disgusting. here they were faking some sort of mental breakdown when i was handing them everything they wanted on a silver platter. you would think the brat would be little more thankful than that. not to mention they were getting snot and tears and literally everyone’s dust all over me. gross.

couldn’t they just let me get it over with?

what was it that they wanted?

what had gotten into them all of a sudden?

I continued to beg him mercy, but as time went on he didn’t stop struggling against me. He was so determined to go through with this. I wasn’t sure what more I could do to stop him. I had already caused him so much pain…what could I do? What could I say that would change the mind of a being like him…?

Slowly my sobs turned into a low wail that grew in volume and pitch as time went on. Despite my best efforts, his struggling actually increased.

“what the hell. what kind of a play are you putting on.”

He kicked me in the stomach, hard. I fell over onto the tile, then curled up in the fetal position, ignoring my depleted HP entirely. After a few more seconds of watching me lie there and scream, he turned me over onto my back with his foot.

“look at you, you’re a mess. pick yourself up, goddammit.” He growled, annoyed. But I was beyond the stage of really listening.  “you’ve got your answers, flowey and i are out of the way…what more do you want?!”

My screaming started to erupt hiccupping sobs when I saw him staring down at me with those suddenly wonderful eyes. I weakly reached for his wrist again, to no avail, then rolled over and sobbed onto his slippers, gripping an ankle.

He was silent for a long, long time, long enough for my tantrum to turn into hopeless, cold hiccups and blank but reddened eyes. His judgmental eyes still stared at me coldly, waiting for me to pick myself back up and let him finish. But I wasn’t about to do that. Every second passed was another second of life he was granted, and I would grovel at his feet forever if it meant he would live another moment. At this point I just kept whispering “please” over and over again, the last shred of determination in my body still holding onto that thought.

honestly.

what the hell.

this blubbering and carrying on was just pathetic now. i’ll admit, it was pretty convincing. the monsters who couldn’t remember would easily fall for this every single time. after everything this little demon has put us through, though, there was no way i was going to believe any of it.

for about the fourth time i considered just finishing the job right then and there, but it was obvious the kid wanted something. i couldn’t take myself out of the picture until i gave it to them. otherwise, they’d be dissatisfied and just keep coming back again and again.

but what was it?

i wracked my brain over and over for an answer. that little flower had talked of power, and of answers, and of fun. i made sure about a thousand times over those were there. but humans…or, whatever this kid was, they couldn’t be human anymore…they had different needs than that soulless husk. the thing that got me was the fact that they weren’t trying to take it for themselves, but waiting for me to give it to them. normally they would force it from me or undyne or whomever they were facing. so what was so important that i give to them that they would carry on like this…?

i kept coming up with nothing for what seemed like forever. if i couldn’t come up with an answer, we’d be here until the end of time.

wait.

until the end of time.

those were the exact same words i used when…

…

i looked up for a second, in disbelief that such a thing could be possible. when i looked back down, however, i saw the child in a new light. they seemed…small. vulnerable, somehow. they didn’t even have that knife in their hand. that clattered to the floor the moment they saw me, and lay abandoned on the tile a good seven paces back.

…god. get it together, sans! who are you kidding with this crap?!

but the thought was in my head, and it wouldn’t leave.

i looked at the kid a third time. not only were they groveling on the floor, they were holding onto my ankle as if they were about to lose the most important thing in their life.

wait.

…

there had been a theme, i found, throughout this run. whenever someone major would get killed, the person left behind would suffer immensely, enough to leave everything behind for the sake of seeing their loved one again.

first papyrus had been killed and, well, here i am.

then undyne was struck down, and alphys hung herself shortly after.

mettaton came next. napstablook was nowhere to be found afterwards.

the only people left now were the kid and i. here i was, about to take my life, about to give them everything i thought they wanted…the thought was insane. but history repeats itself, and it was the only option that i could come up with that made any sort of sense. beyond any emotion, beyond any logic, beyond any theory, this was the truth.

but i still wasn’t convinced. not entirely, at least. i would have to check the telltale sign that i relied on most…

Again I got the notion to tell Sans I loved him. That was what I should have done from the very beginning, at the end of the Pacifist route. Mettaton. Alphys. Undyne. Naptsablook. Asgore. Toriel. Papyrus. Sans. Everyone. I should have told them how much I loved them. I should have never reached for that RESET button.

It was too late now. Even if I did manage to force it out, he would never believe me. I couldn’t stop this from happening. The most horrific death imaginable would be all my fault.

But then the unimaginable happened. Wordlessly he knelt down next to me, then roughly squished my face with two skeletal fingers and turned it towards him. I stared at Sans with renewed fear. He stared back at me with dark eyes and cold resolve. Then he softened and dropped me onto the tile, staring off. Silence for one, two, three…

their eyes…something in them had changed. there was definitely fear there, but a different kind than what i had seen before. this wasn’t a fear for themselves, but a fear for someone else. for...me.

…

history had repeated itself.

they really were begging for my life.

they had repented.

“well, papyrus. how do ya like that. you were right all along.” If that wasn’t the most choked-up version of his voice I had ever heard. A couple tiny sounds came immediately afterwards, then ceased. Did he just…?

Before I could even finish the thought he had me pulled into a tight embrace. I took a few moments to process this, then reciprocated. Somehow my chest managed to have out a few extra sobs, these of relief. He sighed slowly in response.

“it’s alright, kid. i ain’t goin’ anywhere. not if you don’t take us there.”

I understood what he meant, and I swore to myself and to him and to God it would be so. The RESET button appeared with a slow flash of light just in front of me.

“let’s make this the last one, okay? no more hurt.”

My hand reached for that precious beacon of hope.

“No more hurt.”