#also i did not want to hand letter all that (the text is referencing the current events of si spurriers flash run btw)

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in Alt] this was made in a haze but I desperately wanted to portray what popped into my mind upon reading this post. Like a traumatized Full House

So anyway, since Bruce abandoned his family, are they gonna let Damian go live with Dick in the Tower orrr is DC going to keep being dumb and not take advantage of such a golden opportunity...

[ddodol]

pepero day mishaps with riize !

summary ⭑.ᐟ they mistakenly grab a box of condoms instead of your usual pepero snack <3 (as referenced from here) content warning ⭑.ᐟ condom mentions, slightly suggestive, secondhand embarrassment maybe.

a/n; i know it's already the 12th... </3

  ☆ : embarrassed, please go easy on him

shotaro:

it would be the first time shotaro’s ever celebrated pepero day with someone meaningful, wanting to commemorate it by buying you a box before he came to pick you up. he’d show up at your place, smiling brightly as he hands you the box. shotaro would be excited about today, telling you there were a lot of things he wanted to do with you, like the pepero game or getting to decorate a piece for each other. you wouldn’t know any better though, surprised to see packs of condoms inside the box instead of the familiar foil packet that had pepero in it. you’d pour a few out on your hand, still in denial, making shotaro panic once he realizes. he’d be embarrassed, apologizing over and over again as he snatches the box out of your hands. needless to say, he’d be bummed out the entire day, still bothered by the unintentional blunder he made. putting a smile on shotaro’s face wouldn’t be difficult though, going back outside to buy actual boxes of pepero this time and doing all of the things he wanted to try just to make him feel better.

seunghan:

i just know seunghan takes made-up events like this seriously— this is serious business for him. he would have planned out an entire date, along with his gift and a letter to show how much he appreciates being with you on pepero day. it would be romantic just like he planned and as he opens the box, hand scrambling inside to reach for the pepero snack, he pulls out a handful of condom packets instead. seunghan would freeze in shock, the romantic atmosphere crumbling down in an instant. you’d be laughing at the incident, laughing even more at the look on his face. it would take a lot before seunghan recovers, having to seek comfort in your arms because he can’t believe he was careless. he’d explain to you that the packaging was different from their normal ones that he just wanted to give it to you so you’d feel special </3 you'd coo at him, reassuring him that you understood what he was trying to do and that he shouldn't be this shy over condoms lmaoo

anton:

it’d be funny ngl. anton walking in a random convenience store at six in the morning and grabbing a red box reminiscent of the pepero packaging without even checking, all because you’ve been texting him last night about how excited you were for today. you’d wake up to anton hugging you from behind, the red box placed in front of you. it would put a smile on your face, appreciating the gesture even though anton never got the point of pepero day. excited, you’d open it up, getting mixed signals when you see condoms instead of your favorite biscuit sticks. anton was always the type to show affection through his actions so you weren’t too surprised that he went out of his way to 'ask' in this way. he would stir awake to you hugging him back, wondering why you were being affectionate. once you explain to him what he brought you, he’d be confused, scrambling to check with his own eyes. anton would pull out various excuses, like how it’s too early in the morning or even pull the foreigner excuse, cheeks and ears bright red out of embarrassment.

  ☆ : works out in their favor

eunseok:

did he do it on purpose? who knows. eunseok for sure would’ve found it amusing nonetheless. a quick trip to the convenience store meant that he only grabbed the first thing that caught his attention, whether it was subconsciously or he really didn’t know was all up in the air. you couldn’t really blame him though, the boxes were similar and stacked next to each other. conveniently, you also just ran out of condoms so it works out perfectly. finding out that he bought the wrong thing wouldn’t even faze him, blushing as he laughs. if it was any other day, he’d be too ashamed to even say anything but ‘gifting’ you a box of condoms felt appropriate for an event like today. once you two have settled down, maybe even got an actual box of the snack, eunseok would lay beside you, pulling you in his embrace as you held the box of condoms. he’d praise their marketing sense, mumbling about how he wants to see how good the quality is next so you could write a review afterwards or whatever ;;;

sungchan:

regardless of the event, you’re getting spoiled no matter what because sungchan would definitely be the type to get one of each, the box of condoms accidentally getting added in the mix. he’d sit you down on his lap, going through every single box and feeding one of each to you by mouth. he might even sneak in a little kiss in between just to stay true to the pepero day shenanigans. you would have gone through half of the boxes by this point, the mood starting to get hot and heavy. the moment sungchan grabs the condom packet, he’d stare at it curiously before glancing back at you, a playful smile growing on his face. sungchan wouldn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed because he knows you feel the same way as he does.

sohee:

i like to think that sohee would know, laughing at the drawing on the box (it’s pepero characters with the unrolled condom on their heads). he’d find it funny, buying one along with a box of pepero for you like he planned on doing. he’d even share it to the boys’ group chat, jokingly warning them to be careful </3 sohee would hide the fact that he knows, wanting to surprise you with it. clueless, you’d give sohee a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for the pepero day gift. it would kill him if you started taking photos of it to post on your socials, holding back his laugh as he watched you. sohee would start to feel guilty at how happy you look though, hugging you from behind and telling you to try opening the box. you would be the one panicking in this case, quickly grabbing your phone and deleting all stories and posts you've made of it </3

  ☆ : the secret third option

wonbin:

poor guy would've went out to buy out an entire stock to make it into a bouquet because he's seen it on social media. wonbin likes doing romantic gestures and he'd be satisfied with himself afterwards, proudly showing the bouquet off as he comes pick you up for your date. you would have to ask him if he walked around while carrying it, which he smiles at and nods— your shoulders moving up and down as you try your best not to burst out laughing in front of his face. it would take him a while to realize, face paling when you explained to him that these boxes did not contain the sweet snack you both knew. seconds later, wonbin’s knees would give out from embarrassment, wailing and beating himself up for not checking. he’d start to connect all the weird glances he got, especially from the cashier, feeling even more embarrassed the more he thought about it. your pepero day date would be cancelled and a movie night will have to do (and maybe put one of the eleven boxes he bought to good use)

[therealslimshakespeare]

Dear John || Tell me you didn’t

Dear John || Masters of the Air fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

Circa: August 1943

Plot: Gale Cleven learns that not only did his best friend send dubious fanmail while blind drunk, he seems to have singled out with his indomitable luck the one starlet of the silver screen capable of matching his depravity

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive and crass content, it’s pretty much two boys acting like a couple of girls at a sleepover deciphering a dirty text from one’s crush

My thanks to my baby Bri for literally being the brains behind the plot and for Christi for assuring me this ain’t trash. We shall if y’all share those sentiments…

The referenced letter link 💌

“Tell me you didn’t.” Gale managed to keep his tone calm but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his fingertips had gone a little chilly.

“I-“ Egan threw his arms out as if a better truth might form with a little more gesticulation but nothing came, “I did, Buck.” he admitted.

“You wrote it blind drunk.” Gale reminded him with urgency, as if the reminder of its ill calculated circumstances could snatch back his letter from out of Lana Tierney’s posh mailbox.

“I did!” He agreed, “-And I sent it blind drunk. And I never thought she’d read it.”

“I saw you eat it!” Cleven’s voice was growing angry, “I made you-“

“That may have been a botched first draft to Donny’s folks instead.” Egan winced.

Both of them lapsed again into silence, staring warily at the unopened and daintily addressed envelope in Egan’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

“You sonuvabitch.” Gale breathed, two frantic pink splotches appearing on his cherub cheeked face, judgment and disbelief making a whirlpool of his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. What all did you even say?”

“I didn’t tell her about ACORN!” John vowed like a child swearing to their sibling regarding secrets kept from mother, “I mean, i called her that but I didn’t explai-“

“-John!”

“-and I said a lotta nice things too, I think, but, I also-“ Egan scrunched his eyes up as if to either better recall or maybe banish entirely all memory of his sentiments, “-I may have mentioned wanting to give her children.”

“JOHN!”

“It can’t have been that bad, she wrote back!” Egan defended with wounded hope, holding up his still sealed prize. “Buck, swear to God, I never thought she’d read it.”

Gale slumped down next to him on the bed as if the ordeal in voyeuristic stupidity had taken something out of him. “Maybe she didn’t.” he suggested grimly. “Maybe it’s from her attorney tellin’ you to never contact her again.”

He was enjoying ruining this moment a little too much, and now Egan was growing angry he had waited to open it until confiding in his friend. Not a little anxious, and not a little smug, Egan flipped the envelope over, ready to tear its flap. That’s when he saw the kiss print. “Ha!” he barked, flipping it back up and shoving it directly in front of Gale’s crossing eyes, “Do lawyers leave lip prints?” he questioned cockily and when Gale pulled far enough away to ascertain for himself, he gave a conceding nod.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” John goaded but his heart beat a crazy and skittish rhythm as he slipped his finger inside the fold and tore at the slip.

Lovely, scented, gold embossed stationery came into view, it made Egan question how well he had washed his hands the paper was so white and pristine.

“Well?” Gale kept to a respectful distance of half a foot away from his friend on the bed, and being a good sort of man, he was not snooping or side eyeing private correspondence.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Bucky rallied himself and unfolded the missive fully, forcing his eyes to focus on deciphering charming, school girl cursive. “Get over here, Buck.” he griped at last as it was hopeless to make headway between his own nerves and Cleven’s hovering presence.

Gale didn’t move and Bucky didn’t expect him to so he scooted over herself, smashing him on the edge and held the letter out as they both leaned in.

“Dear John, -I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky swore in realization.

“She’s funny.” Gale’s tone was ever so mild.

“Nah she’s, Buck, she’s quoting me back to me I told her -nevermind, let’s see-“

They peered back at the letter together, Cleven more invested that he’d ever admit and Bucky’s heart doing the oddest little flips at the realization that someone gave enough of a damn to write this sorta thing back to him.

“Heartfelt.” Gale murmured her choice of words for Bucky’s letter aloud with something close to relief, only to be then followed by a groan- “you did not write the word ‘knockers’ in a letter to a woman!”

“You're right, you’re right,” Egan ducked his head, repentant, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he got a wallop from Cleven for it, “awful of me. I admitted it even then. She admits it. Let’s move on.”

“RACK!” Cleven growled moments later in growing disbelief. “Jesus, John.”

“Oh don’t act better than all of it, you know she’s got the best melons out there-“

“-you’re the one who felt compelled to write a nice young lady and tell her as much.” Buck stabbed an accusatory finger dangerously close to Egan’s nose, “And used vulgarities while at it.”

Egan gave a defensive shrug and began his reading anew. “She said she’s fizzing…over making babies.” he whispered, “With me.” John was awed and this time Cleven had no rebuttal, just ever growing wonderment on his ever reddening face. “And she says here, look! she says you’re a bad boy for breaking us up that night! HA!”

“She’s being polite Bucky,” Gale cautioned, worried at where this surge of confidence might lead, “she didn’t admit to remembering a bit of it. They send girls to school to let fellas like you down easy.”

“Aww, now she says to give ya a kiss.” Egan cooed, saccharine and wicked, “See, she’s so nice and you’re the one who’s awful, doubting her like that. She says to give ya one if you’re the sort to take it well, are ya Buck, huh? Are you? Huh?”

“No, no! Jesus, get off me!” Cleven exerted every bit of his wiry strength to lug off the sudden onslaught of Egan’s heavy embrace as they folded together back onto the bed, John’s mouth making sickening smooching noises against Cleven’s baby smooth cheek, mustache a foreign and terrifying tickle on his jaw. “Get the hell off me, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m riled, just like her, that’s what’s wrong.” Egan replied vehemently, pulling his face away but keeping a perturbed Buck beneath his greater weight. “And maybe one day you’ll know what that feels like, Goldilocks. See, says right here: *I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists* Do you hear that?” He demanded, still holding the letter aloft as Gale looked up at him with the sort of patience people reserve for lunatics liable to murder them at the least hint of movement. “I’ve made her horny.” he spelled it out and Gale’s face somehow flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “She wants to know what acorn means.”

“Don’t you ever tell her.” Gale warned.

“Why not?”

“It’s not even a good acronym, it’s misspelled and missing a whole word.”

“She wants it to be ‘salacious’ -says so herself.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Bucky flipped the letter over for Gale to see and judging by the panic in his eyes he caught more lines than that one alone.

“Jesus.” he repeated, it was starting to sound like a genuine beg for divine intervention. “Get off me.”

That itching physical impulse to roughhouse remained but Egan obligingly rolled to the side, aware Buck didn’t have what would cure his own riled self. “She says she enclosed something for the morale, said to keep it safe. But there’s not anything else. You see anything else?”

“I don’t.” Buck sounded worn down but he made an effort to look around amongst the sheets.

“Julia Jean.” Egan pondered, “Says that’s her real name.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you can stop calling her acorn every damn time she comes on screen.”

“Don’t count on it.” Egan grinned back.

“Maybe it’s still in the envelope.” Gale suggested, tentatively picking up the air mail slip and handing it to Bucky.

Egan sat up and shook the paper between them, wondering if it was really something worth hiding from the censors like some OSS spy shit. A couple of shakes and sure enough, some slippery little card shaped thing fluttered out of a crease and wafted to the ground, settling between Buck’s boots. John’s stoic young friend bent over and retrieved it, but not without his entire spine stiffening like he’d been hit as soon as he’d caught it.

“Jesus.” it was more of a wheeze this time. Gale’s slow hand raised it and passed it over.

There wasn’t anything to say, not when confronted with such perfection. Not even a shielding arm to cheat him of the whole display, nothin’ at all but a carefully cropped photograph of the ripest pair of-

“Goddamn.” John’s tongue finally materialized a sentiment and he heard Gale’s appreciative sharp intake of breath beside him as if he’d forgotten to breathe here lately. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Gale’s own throat sounded dry as dust, “W-we should probably stop starin’.”

“Whadda ya think she sent ‘em for?” John laughed, a rough, victorious laugh, never once dragging his admiring eyes away from them or ceasing to thumb over the shiny print. He could almost feel her warm, giving flesh under the pad of his finger, could almost imagine the pebble of a rosy nipple responding to his swipes.

“Yeah, they’re alright-“

“Alright? Alright!?” Egan repeated, incensed for his beloved’s reputation, “THESE ARE THE BEST TITS IN THE NATION!”

Gale actually looked mildly chastened, especially as his eyes strayed guiltily back to the photograph like twin marbles gravitating to the corner of a box when tipped.

“I know you haven’t seen many, Buck,” Egan goaded him further, “but take it from me -they don’t get better than this. And you better enjoy this look, it’s your last, she told me to keep them safe. So see this? These? This pair? S’why we fight, Buck.”

“Don’t be crass, John,” Gale stood up abruptly, less angry at his friend than at himself for his momentary lapse of discipline, “we fight for the people we love.”

“Course we do,” John grinned, “but I also happen to love these, told her so myself.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did.” Bucky was pretty chuffed, bouncing on the edge of the bed like he had her seated in his lap right now, “Everybody’s got to have a goal, Buck, you wanna marry Marj and I wanna aggressively come on ripe knock-“

“-A.C.O.R.N. yeah, yeah.”

“Acorn.” Bucky grinned in agreement.

“You gonna admit to her you didn’t know knockers was spelled with a k?”

“I did, too! Just couldn’t make it work.”

“Still doesn't work.” Buck informed, but his smile was returning, he’d not been this close with Bucky for this long not to learn to roll with the differences and appreciate that what made his best friend tick was a very different sort of morale than his own. “I’m happy for ya, John.” he conceded, as he turned to leave, “But when you write her back -and you gotta, she’s been too kind -promise me you’ll be a gentleman about it. Apologize, like the man I know you are. Drink got the better of you, just, explain it that way.”

“Uhuh.” John gave him a sober nod, still a little dazed this wasn’t some fever dream. “Kinda already did. In the one I sent.”

“She wasn’t deterred.” Gale mused, “Either you were shit at it or she’s-“

“Zesty.” Egan deduced, sucking his teeth with a manic gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, as an orange peel.” Gale snarked and walked away, past the rows of empty beds and outside into the rain, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky fell back against his mattress, sudden peace and aloneness giving him a chance to soak it in a second time, carefully reading over it all again, savoring each quip, each earnest prayer and naughty subtext. Which naturally led him back to admiring her little picture, groaning in unrestrained appreciation for her assets. She’d hinted about him taking it to his bunk -well wasn’t he fast to obey! Something possessed him to flip it over and there in the corner of the photograph, written in tiny little script, were doodles of music notes along with the ever so familiar lyrics:

“Beat me daddy, eight to the bar.”

John threw back his head and let out a roar of appreciation for finding a mirrored soul. “Oh Julie Jean, honey baby, don’t you worry, I’ll beat out somethin’ for ya, that’s for sure.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank y’all for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, please scream at me, I thrive off it. 💋

Taglist (Lemme know in a comment below if you’d like to be added or subtracted for MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

[undertalebabbleblog]

UTDR 9th Anniversary Newsletter Musings

(Here's a link to the newsletter if you haven't already read it: Autumn 2024.) (It's spring right now where I am...) (Eh, oh well.)

First of all, Tori blowing fire to light the candles, very cool, might have to draw that.

Hmm, that's a lot of a certain number... You know what, I don't even have to go into this, we all know what it's referencing.

An interview with Sans, heck yeah!

As I expected, it's a joke, but... uh... just me, or does it seem like it might be talking about something else? Not entirely sure what, but I'm sure there's already plenty of theories despite it literally only coming out today. In any case, it was very amusing and some classic Undertale humour. Also

Jeez, Tori, it's been years, you've already made your feelings about Asgore's actions clear. Give the poor guy a break. (Link to the full interview if you wanna read it: Sans: What do you think about the number nine?)

...Toby? Toby, what does this mean? TOBY WHY DO YOU MAKE THE MOST INNOCUOUS STATEMENTS THAT HAVE SO MUCH POTENTIAL MEANING BEHIND THEM ...This is... ominous, to say the least, given the Snowgrave route and the fact that Toriel might join us in the Dark World in Chapter 3... ...I'm just overthinking this, right? ..........right???

Toby, this is the Undertale fandom you're talking to. Since when have we ever been responsible with Sans or his AUs? You should know better than to trust us with this skeleton by now. *Proceeds to use cup for strawberry milkshake* ....Dammit, now I want to draw him with a bunch of different-coloured eyes... just because...

Never misses a chance to do this sort of thing, does he? (It has my real name in it, which I don't really want to show, so have some badly edited screenshots instead.) I have made butterscotch cinnamon pie before and it was genuinely delicious. Would love to bake one in that Toriel pie tray. ...I wonder how a fish and chips pie would actually taste, though...?

PERFECTION

I would buy every single item of this kitchen merch if I had the money.

*vibrating intensely with excitement*

Very nice, always cool to see unused stuff and concepts.

. . .

*Well, there is a man here. *He might be happy to see you. *What do you think?

...I overthink these things too much.

And finally, we get a letter.

My best friend's favorite number is nine. It's because there isn't a number that's higher. 9. 99. 999. 9999. If everything gets high enough, You become invincible. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Nothing can hurt anyone anymore. But isn't it scary, to think there's a highest number? That, if you made 99 good memories, you couldn't hold anymore. So I don't like to keep count of the flowers we pick, or the times that they laugh, or how many scary faces they make. I just hope we'll be friends for 999 more years.

(Couldn't screenshot the whole thing because it was too big, so I just copied the text. Here's a link to the original: Letter) On one hand, the spacing is kind of reminiscent of what we assume is Gaster. But on the other hand, it's not in all caps, and the language is different, and from what we know of the mysterious scientist (which is quite frankly very little), it wouldn't make sense. There is, however, someone else that would make a lot more sense.

*I'll go get the flowers. *I should have laughed it off, like you did... *Okay, [Name], are you ready? *Do your creepy face!

And most telling of all, "My best friend"...

It's. It's Asriel. IT'S GOTTA BE AZZY OKAY COME ON, THERE'S THE MENTION OF THE SCARY FACES AND EVERYTHING

...Ahem.

My hypothesis is that it's Asriel Dreemurr.

Aaaaannnddd... that's it for this newsletter! I needed somewhere to dump my thoughts on it, and that's kinda what this blog is for, so yeah.

A very happy birthday to my favourite game of all time.

If you have any theories or observations about the newsletter, I'd love to see them!

See ya next time, Pup

[ariadnewhitlock]

Held You Close || solo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Outside Aria's apartment SUMMARY: Aria reads Cass's letter. TRIGGER WARNING: Sibling death referenced (found family, just to be safe), domestic abuse (parent-child) to be safe.

Ariadne,

This is hard to start. I never thought I’d be writing it, you know? It’s, like, totally weird. But everybody has to start somewhere, so I might as well start with the point of it. Here goes:

I’m leaving Wicked’s Rest. 

I don’t think it’ll be forever or anything. I just… think it’s what I have to do right now. My dad isn’t exactly thriving here, and I want him to be better. I want to be better, too. I think if we go somewhere that’s fresh for both of us, it’ll be simpler. He can get… reoriented with the world, like, the human world, and I can help him. I can help him be better. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? I’m a superhero, and he needs help, so I should help him. I want to help him.

I want you to know that me leaving has nothing to do with you. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t have asked for a better one. Every single movie we went to, every single sleepover in the cave, every bag of candy we shared… it all meant the world to me. It still means the world to me, even if I’m not going to be around anymore.

It’s not forever. I want you to know that, too. I’m leaving, but I’m going to come back. Someday, when my dad is a little better at understanding all this stuff, when he’s more healed, I’m going to come back. And you’ll be here, and we’ll pick up right where we left off! I might not live forever, but we’ve still got, like, a thousand more years to spend together! We’re still going to do all the things we talked about. We’ll still tell everyone we’re sisters, or that I’m your aunt, or whatever when I get older and you stay the same age. We’ll still buy every new kind of candy that they invent, and eat them until our stomachs hurt. We’ll still be best friends. I just need to hit pause for a little while.

Not, like, a total pause or anything, though. It’s 2024, right? We can still text. I’ll send you pictures of Alaska when we get there. I’ll tell you about all the volcanoes, and you can tell me what’s going on in Wicked’s Rest. Like whether or not you and Wynne have eloped yet, or whether Van and Thea ever kiss! I want to know all the hot gossip, okay? I want to keep up with everyone, even if I won’t be back for a while.

And… I want you to know I love you. I love this. Our friendship, what we have, it’s everything to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been very good at it these last few months. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can forgive me for leaving, too. If you can’t, I get it. I’m the last person who could blame you for being upset with me for leaving. But… I hope you won’t be, anyway. I love you, okay? Forever.

Love, Cass -- There was a letter. Ariadne opened it up, carefully, despite the fact that her hands were shaking. 

It didn’t make sense, because dead people (well, people who were like, forever dead) didn’t write letters. That sounded like some especially morbid version of those Bailey School Kids books that she’d read with her literacy teacher back in middle school. They hadn’t been her favorite and, come to think of it, said literacy teacher was also probably something not human –

– but now wasn’t the time to focus on that. Even though she so desperately wanted to focus on anything but what was in front of her. The truth.

She’d always held so strongly on to the truth, placed it on an altar. It was important, and it meant things would be okay.

Now she wanted anything but the truth.

The truth made her feel angry. It made her feel hot, and not in the wonderful way that she did whenever Cass hugged her. Hugs that were now simply memories. 

She looked down at the letter.

You’re my best friend.

“You’re mine too.” She said, to nobody in particular. To the air, to the wind, maybe to G-d, who her grandparents on both sides still believed in. To anyone and anything that could get the message to Cass. “I – I wanted to save you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I love you. I love you.” Repeated like a mantra, like a prayer, as if she could force her best friend to materialize once again, and they’d both laugh and watch a superhero movie that Cass said was not good but that they both still loved. They’d eat cartons of ice cream and make Dr Pepper floats and hug and she’d watch Cass fall asleep and she, too, would close her eyes, level her breathing with that of the fae’s. Match it, because best friends were supposed to be able to do that.

I’m going to come back.

“Then come back.” She let out an absurdly large sigh, as if she was expelling any of the leftover air she had in her lungs.

They were supposed to be sisters and aunt and niece or any sort of family.

They were sisters. Not by blood, but Cass’s own blood had taken her from this world, in the end, and so found family was better in the end, wasn’t it? Found family wanted to save her, wanted to love her, did love her even when other people used her.

“I’ve loved you forever. I will love you forever. You… I’ll never be upset with you.”

Her tears dropped in big, cartoon-like drops onto the letter and Ariadne lay it down, out of reach of her seemingly never-ending sobbing. It was the last thing she had left of Cass, other than the yellow topaz butterfly around her neck – but Cass has written on this, not too long ago, and Ariadne was going to keep it forever.

“I’ll still tell you the gossip.” Once again, spoken to someone who wasn’t there. “I’ll tell you everything.”

She knelt down on the ground outside her apartment and drew a heart in the dirt.

Below it she wrote:

For the best friend anybody could ever have.

Ariadne folded up the note and stuck it into her bag.

“I’ll never forget you.” She stood up, legs still shaking.

– and then, finally, “I promise.”

[downwiththeficness]

The Usurper-Chapter Twelve

Summary: Lilah McNamara stole things for a living. It was tedious work and often dangerous, which made it just exciting enough to keep her interested. After botching a routine job, Lilah finds herself standing amid monsters. Wholly unprepared for the horror of living under Amaru’s reign, Lilah decides to use her well honed skills to thwart the queen’s plans and prevent the end of the world.

Word Count: ~3,600

Disclaimer: I do not consent to this work being copied or posted to other sites of blogs.

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Lilah sat on the floor of the bathroom with her back against the tub. On her lap was the book that wouldn’t burn. It also wouldn’t tear or stain. Nothing she did managed to damage it in any way. Lilah didn’t even think the pages would crumple. Fucking. Magic. Book.

Arranged in a rainbow around her were several pages of meticulously categorized notes that she’d written by hand. From them, she went letter by letter, line by line, translating the book. It was a slow, arduous process. More than once, Lilah wondered why she was even attempting it. Inevitably, that thought would be followed by the mental sound of Amaru’s arm pushing into someone’s throat and that would be enough to keep going.

Leaning back, Lilah stretched her arms overhead and yawned. The muscles in her neck and back protested the movement with a dull ache. Hours of work had produced about three pages of translated text. It would go a hell of a lot faster if she was able to use the translation app on Javier’s laptop. Lilah wouldn’t risk it as a matter of safety, but the temptation was there. Lilah refused to give in. No one could know she had the book. That steadfast rule left her with little option but to search for phrases on the laptop in the morning, write them down, and try to connect as many words as she could in the evenings. All without drawing Javier’s suspicion. It was a tedious system that was producing slow, steady results.

Setting the book aside, Lilah flipped her notebook to the first set of translations and read over them. The words were familiar to her now—she’d read them so many times. The language lacked some of the prosaic nonsense in the writing Javier provided to her. Its straightforward tone was actually pretty helpful towards Lilah’s comprehension of the content.

She sorted the information into rough chapters for ease of use. The introduction placed the date of writing before Amaru, although she had no idea how long. In any case, the eternal night Brasa referenced hadn’t yet started. The Xibalbans lived together under several Lords that judged all things that came before them. The central city was a garden filled with dangers. Rivers of blood and scorpions cut through roads that were designed to confuse travelers. A single misstep could mean death.

Anyone who wanted to survive would have to be smart and cunning and very, very strong. Lilah didn’t think she would make it ten minutes before she was struck down by one thing or another. She didn’t think any one would make it ten minutes. All the more reason to keep Amaru from merging the dimensions.

Lilah flipped the page and came to the section she’d been working on that day. It covered a contract gone bad. One party failed to do as they promised. The writing made it clear how dishonorable this was and Lilah assumed there was a cultural shame associated with it. The person who couldn’t uphold their part of the bargain was drained of their blood and their fangs were removed. Then, they were carried out to a remote part of Xibalba and left to die. If they managed to survive and return to the community, they were absolved of their failure. Lilah had a good feeling that most of them never made it back.

She came to the end of her notes and closed the notebook. Lilah would have to wait until tomorrow to get into the more complicated types of contracts. It looked like the next section after that would contain the ritual for opening the doors between dimensions. She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to know what it said, but experience told her that the more she knew about it, the better off she would be down the line. After gathering up her materials and hiding them away, Lilah poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the bed.

“I should really get Javier to put a TV in here,” she muttered. Lilah had a high tolerance for boredom, but she was reaching her limits with sitting around and staring at the walls.

Halfway through the glass, a knock sounded, followed by Brasa breezing into the room. He was once again wearing leather and she could see his sunglasses peeking out from an inside pocket. He closed the door behind him and said, “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Lilah lifted a brow, “Where else would I be?”

He paused, then replied, “What I meant was I was surprised you would be sitting here, on the bed.” A breath, then, “Javier says you’ve been hiding in the bathroom.”

Her heart briefly palpitated before she got ahold of her body, “Forgive me for wanting a little privacy.”

She couldn’t help the dry tone or the touch of heat beneath it. Brasa didn’t seem to mind, “Of course. That’s understandable.”

Seeing an opening, Lilah hedged, “Its been a few weeks since you brought me down here. When we discussed it, you promised me that I could leave eventually.”

“I did.”

“Do you know how far off that might be?” Lilah hoped that the question came off as innocent and not the plea for some kind of light at the end of the tunnel that it was.

Something in the cant of his shoulders put her on edge, “The condition was that you would be able to protect yourself.”

He was right, but Lilah wasn’t going to concede the point, “Don’t you think that we should start working on that? Or, do you need to call in some kind of self-defense specialist?”

Brasa almost laughed, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay,” she replied and crossed her arms, “what did you mean? Tell me explicitly what I have to do.”

The silence that followed that question was heavier than she expected. Lilah wanted to keep talking, keep clarifying, even though she knew exactly what he meant. She didn’t know how else to force the issue.

“We’ve discussed the effects of my blood.”

Good start. Lilah nodded, “Uh huh.”

He moved to sit next to her on the bed, “It healed your wounds and...it also made you a little bit like me.”

She didn’t like the reminder, but around her teeth she enunciated, “I remember.”

“Its more than just healing wounds and living longer,” Brasa continued. “Its faster reflexes, better vision and instincts.”

Lilah was tiring quickly of this conversation and she was the one who started it, “So?”

He looked at her, “I don’t have any concerns about humans doing you harm.” He seemed to rethink it, “Alright, I’m concerned less with humans that you might associate with than I am the...ones I might associate with.”

“How is that my fault?”

“Its not,” he said, lifting a hand in defense, “but it is a reality that I have to consider.”

Lilah debated her options. She could spend an endless amount of time wasting away in the caves or she could muster up the courage to drink Brasa’s blood so that she could escape. That is, if she could get him to actually give it to her. Lilah didn’t think that it would necessarily be a pleasant experience, but she might be able to manage it. Of course, she had been half unconscious the last time. Who knew what the next attempt would be like? She could throw up all over Brasa after the first swallow. Did vomit come out of leather?

“Alright,” Lilah said, “how much do I have to drink?”

He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Its not a science. And, with what you’ve already…”

Lilah frowned, “A couple mouthfuls throws off your estimation? Wouldn’t it kind of...I don’t know, cancel out because it was used to heal me?”

Brasa’s mouth opened around a sentence that got hung up on the backs of his teeth. Lilah stared at him, then gave a prompting roll of her hand to get him talking again. It didn’t work. He kept looking back at her with his mouth open and silent.

“Christ, Brasa,” Lilah groused, “Spit it out.”

“I think you’ll be angry.”

He was probably right. Lilah had been angry with him more often than not in the last few weeks. Whatever it was that he was going to say wasn’t going to change that fact very much. She might even get mad, preemptively, if he didn’t keep talking. Beside her, Brasa rubbed his hands over his thighs while he contemplated his thoughts.

“When I saw you for the first time,” he began. “I was...elated. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe, ever.” Brasa turned his eyes to her, “Right after that—right after—I had this sense of fear that gripped me completely. I’ve been afraid ever since. Its led me to do things I might not normally.”

“Such as?”

A breath, “Such as lying to you about who I was. Such as hiding you away in here. Such as…”

Lilah let him have his silence for a minute, “Such as…?”

Brasa wasn’t looking at her when he finished that sentence, “Such as lacing your wine with my blood.”

She looked at the glass in her hand. There wasn’t anything about it that made her think it had been tampered with. It was just a regular glass of wine. The words ‘nuh uh’ fell out of her mouth, so soft that they were barely above a whisper.

“It wasn’t right,” he said. “I don’t regret it, but I recognize that it wasn’t right.”

Lilah’s gaze rested in the middle distance while she tried to calculate how much wine she drank and the ratio he might have used. It couldn’t be very high if she hadn’t actually tasted it. Lilah was fairly confident she would know the metallic tang of blood in her drink. She very nearly took a sip to double check.

“You’ve been dosing me this whole time.” In her periphery, Lilah saw him nod. “It didn’t occur to you to ask me?”

Brasa sighed, “You have more than expressed your displeasure with being here. With me. I was confident you wouldn’t consider it.”

A sort of calm fell over Lilah’s shoulders. With it, an ice cold fury that gave her the ability to say, “Get the fuck out of this room. Now.”

Wordlessly, Brasa stood and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, he looked back at her. She must have been wearing her emotions all over her face because he nodded and left without trying to defend himself. She was glad for it. A thousand words filled with vitriol were pouring into her head. If she let them out, Lilah wasn’t exactly sure what would happen.

Lilah looked again at the wine in her hand and all the ice in her veins went white hot. She screamed and threw the glass against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crack, red sliding down the walls to the floor. Lilah hoped it stained. Her hands clenched and she wished she had something else to throw. She wanted to break things. She wanted to crush them beneath her feet. She wanted to feel something fall apart in her hands.

Crossing the room, she went to the various bottles of liquor on the side table. Each of them went the way of the glass, until Lilah was left with the darkened bottle of half-finished wine. Her fingers wrapped around the neck and she held it to the light. The wine swirled around, taunting her with the knowledge that it was tainted. Her lip curled in disgust and a breath hissed through her teeth.

She went to the bathroom and stood before the toilet. Leaning down, Lilah flipped up the seat and tipped the bottle over until the wine flowed out into the bowl. When it was empty, she jabbed the handle to flush. Lilah watched it the whole way down. Good riddance. Then, she went back to the bedroom and flung the bottle against the wall.

It hit the rock with a dull thud and fell to roll among the shards of glass. Her curled lip curled even further. Stomping over, she grabbed the bottle and swung it hard. The glass broke apart this time, leaving Lilah holding the jagged neck in a clenched fist that was shaking from a fury that hadn’t abated.

Tossing the shard aside, Lilah looked for something else to break. There wasn’t much else in the room, certainly nothing that would be as satisfying as throwing bottles. Desperate to find another avenue of destruction, she rushed to the nightstand and dug around. It was mostly empty, save for her scuffed clutch that contained Antonio’s keys, a bundle of bills, and the lighter she’d stolen from the bar up front. Lilah plucked the little bit of plastic from the bag and turned it between her fingers. Slowly, a plan formed in her mind.

Before she knew it, Lilah was moving through the hall to the cavern. She peeked out from the door to find it unoccupied. Stepping inside, Lilah realized that the room had been through a serious renovation. A stone walkway replaced the bridge over the water. There were piles of paperwork scattered over the desk. New lighting gave the room a cool, blue ambiance. There was also a throne.

Huge. Ornate. Imposing. The throne sat in the half of the room closest to her, right in the middle of a wide circle of blue light. Lilah could picture a line of supplicants bowing to it, waiting for Amaru’s judgment. For her to stick her hand down their throats. Lilah approached it with her mouth turned down in contempt. She noted the craftsmanship in the carved wood and the luxury of the silk cushion. Lilah wondered why Amaru bothered with the fancy chair. It wasn’t as if she needed the culebras to respect her. Amaru already had their fear.

With a heavy breath that made her plan all the more clear, Lilah crossed the cavern, over the bridge, through the door, and into the waiting room. There were more renovations, here. The bar was fully stocked and a series of long couches lined the walls. More blue lighting dripped from the ceiling in dangling pendant lamps. Lilah could smell fresh paint. She took a moment to see if the workers had installed sprinklers, mouth spreading wide at their conspicuous absence.

The word ‘perfect’ slid out of her mouth in a soft murmur. Her movements were purposeful and confident. One by one, Lilah pulled the bottles with the highest proof from the wall and set them on the bar. When she was sure that she had enough, she went about pouring them out over the elaborately carved hunk of wood. She kept several apart for the second phase of her plan.

Assured that she had thoroughly soaked the bar, Lilah took the lighter and set the whole thing ablaze. It went up a little faster than she anticipated. Flames licked at her arms, singing the fine hairs. Lilah shook them away and stepped back to watch. Already, the wood was blackening and smoke rose to the rocky ceiling.

“Perfect,” she said, again.

Even without the sprinklers to give her away, Lilah knew that she had little time to finish her work. Arms full of bottles, she waddled out of the waiting room and back into the cavern where the throne was waiting for her. She sneered at the gaudy thing, hating everything it represented.

Lilah hated Amaru. She hated her violence. She hated that she couldn’t punch her in her stupid child face. Lilah hated that Brasa wouldn’t punch Amaru. Or disobey her. Or do anything that would upset her. Lilah hated that Brasa brought her here. She hated that he’d lied to her. She hated that she didn’t see the lie coming.

The cushion ignited first. Silk and stuffing burned high and hot, catching on the wooden arms. It smelled horrible, but Lilah kept close enough that she could feel the heat. She wanted to watch the throne burn in exquisite detail.

“What are you doing?”

Lilah startled with a loud scream. She surged away from the voice behind her, right into the fire. The reflexes Brasa was talking about must have kept her from going face first, but the hem of Lilah’s shirt ran right across the arm of the throne. The material lit up, orange and black spreading steadily upwards.

She guessed that some of the training from childhood kicked in because Lilah dropped to the floor and rolled over and over to put out the fire. She kept rolling until she rolled right off the ledge and into the water that cut through the center of the room. It was deeper than she thought, leaving Lilah kicking to get back to the surface.

An arm reached in and grabbed her. Lilah was suddenly airborne, landing on her side. Her hands wiped away the water in her eyes so that she could stare up at Brasa. He towered over her, haloed in blue light on one side and orange on the other. There was concern in his expression, but she could also read annoyance in the downward tilt of his mouth. Lilah tilted her chin up and met his eyes. Fucking say something, she thought. I dare you.

“What are you doing?” he repeated. Lilah could hear the exasperation in his voice.

She pulled her legs underneath her and stood, “Redecorating.”

He pulled his lips between his teeth released them slowly, “Do you have any idea what will happen when Amaru finds this?”

“I honestly don’t give a single fuck about Amaru.”

Brasa stepped forward, “Do you want to die? Is that it?”

��I don’t know. Maybe I do.” She didn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Lilah was going to say whatever she needed to say to hurt him for lying to her. “You don’t care what I want, though. You only care what Amaru wants.”

“That’s not true.”

“It motherfucking is true,” she countered. Lilah slashed both hands in the air, “You know what? I don’t care. I really don’t. You keep on living your sad, pathetic little life under the heel of her boot. I’ll see myself out.” Brasa started to follow her and she hissed, “Alone.”

As she was walking away, Lilah heard Brasa mutter, You’re insane, at her back. It made another round of anger flare up. Lilah flew into the hall in a frenzy of movement. Breaths punched in and out of her lungs. Her heart was a heavy thud, thud, thud in her chest. Her arms pumped at her sides while her legs carried her past the door to the bedroom and deeper into the cave.

Lilah always thought of herself as someone who could thrive in fucked up situations. Breaking into a museum and taking a precious artifact? Totally cool. Taking money from unscrupulous people to acquire their ex-wife’s favorite poodle? No problem. But, this? All of this? It was too much for Lilah to handle. She needed space from it, from everything, to think.

When the light dimmed and Lilah could not longer see her hand in front of her face, she held the lighter up and flicked the flint. The spark wheel scratched at the flint, failing to produce even the smallest hint of fire. She tried again. Nothing.

“Fucking water,” she groused. “Who puts a creek in the middle of a cave?”

Lilah stood there in complete darkness, unable to see her way forward and unwilling to go back the way she came. She collapsed against the wall and dropped to sit on the ground. Knees drawn up against her chest, Lilah ruminated on the series of decisions that led her to that exact moment. Hair wet, make up smeared, angry and vengeful.

She dropped her face into her hands to cover the shameful tears that fell. Brasa was right. She was insane. Only an insane person would follow him into the caves, would spend weeks sitting on their hands and read books when they could be coming up with an escape plan. Only an insane person would set things on fire for the satisfaction of watching them burn. Only an insane person would tempt the wrath of a serial killer in a child’s body.

Lilah didn’t know how long she cried, but the tears did, eventually, run dry. She was left raw and exhausted. Her head fell back against the rocky wall behind her while she stared into nothing. For the first time in a long while, Lilah’s thoughts stilled. Her emotions stilled right along with them. There was no changing the choices she made. Certainly, there was no repairing the damage she’d done in the last hour no matter how justified.

What was she going to do? Lilah knew that there was little chance of getting out of this unscathed, but she hoped to have most of her body intact. She sat there for a long time, working through her options. Brasa was, unfortunately, her strongest ally. She didn’t think she could so much as look at him, let alone work with him. There was always Javier, but his loyalties were more than clear. Lilah knew that there had to be someone who could take Amaru down. Someone who had the audacity to step up to the blood queen and throw her back to the hell she came from. Maybe there was something in the book—some way to keep Amaru from rampaging across the human dimension.

Her head was beginning to hurt and she was starting to shiver in her damp clothes. Lilah put both hands on the wall behind her and walked them upwards until she was standing.

“Come on, feet,” she said. “It her or me. Time to figure out how to defeat a blood queen.”

[unnounblr]

In Another Side Another Story [Deep Dive], in one of the shots, Roxas is running up the side of Memory's Skyscraper, he tosses Oblivion to Riku, then we see him running up with Oathkeeper and Kingdom Key in his hands, while Riku has Oblivion and falls, and then in another scene Mickey shows up in the Black coat with Kingdom Key D.

So, like, in that secret movie from December 2002, that's 4 keyblades total.

Like, the Black coated blonde kid with two keyblades wasn't necessarily Roxas as we know him now (although, like, Final Mix in 2002 when that version of the secret movie came out did have Ansem Report 13 referencing Nobodies, and the Unknown who has part of Ansem's boss theme in Disappeared says Sora is incomplete, so I do think was already the idea of a Sora nobody wielding the keyblade, as well as a Nobody of the first game's Ansem being involved) and the white haired kid with the blindfold might not have necessarily been Riku, but.

Funnily enough, when the games do cover that scene, officially, they do change it. When Roxas gives Riku the Oblivion, he doesn't have an extra Kingdom Key. And, also, Mickey never shows up, during that sequence.

But still, while yes, the secret movies and especially the ones for the first game weren't concrete, and they were more about cool imagery and phrases thay they then had to make an actual story out of later because they didnt have future stories concretely planned out and set in stone. It does show that Nomura and the rest of the staff felt like 4 keyblades was a possibility, at the time.

Part of me is curious about. Like, if they had translated things ever so slightly differently and just. Said "a" keyblade more often, instead of "the" keyblade? Less definite articles.

As for Ansem. Wasn't there a thing where. In earlier versions of the game, Ansem was an old blonde dude who just hung around Traverse Town and gave advice to Sora and guided him, before they made him the main villain? Like, I think I remember that being in some of the leaked concept art and design docs from a couple years ago. And I think that was from the draft of the story where it was more simple, before Sakaguchi said it should be like a Final Fantasy story. I think Maleficent and/or Chernabog were the final boss in that version.

So after I saw that design doc and concept art. What I think is interesting about how the Ansem/Xehanort/DiZ arc plays out in KH2 now is. That it's like Nomura and the staff were trying to have their cake and eat it too, getting to reuse and implement concepts for the first game that they changed over the course of its production?

I also think. Like, something I've noticed with Kairi's treatment in all the games and especially later ones is.

In Deep Dive, there's a scene of what's probably meant to be Kairi (she doesn't wear KH2 Kairi's clothes, but she has a white top, red skirt and longer red hair) on a beach as two meteorites come down into the ocean.

And, that does end up being the ending of KH2. Kairi on the beach, Sora and Riku falling from the sky into the ocean.

So a thing I've seen speculated that I think is true is that. It seems like some of the writers are at cross purposes, sometimes? Like, some of the writers of KH2 wanted Kairi to be more involved, hence her getting kidnapped by Axel, going to Twilight Town, getting kidnapped by Saïx and locked up, her getting the keyblade. But then, to preserve the original idea of the scene of her on the beach, waiting for Sora and Riku to come back to her. She doesn't get to be part of the final boss.

In the ending, she reads the letter from Mickey like Sora and Riku, and. In coded, the letter is even addressed to her? I feel like the actual text of the letter in coded is vague and nonspecific enough it honestly could have been written during KH2, and they just decided not to show it.

But then, in Blank Points, whoever wrote that had her give Sora the oathkeeper back, and send him off while she stays behind, again. So she's not present for DDD until the secret ending.

I remember an interview with Nomura where he said he had "the final scene of Kingdom Hearts" already in his head, but he doesn't know when (or, at the time, if) they would get there. And I feel like, with all the games, that sorta feels like the way they're all and have always been written and developed, writing backwards from some final image or scene or idea?

Yet Another Kingdom Hearts Revisit, Part VIII

I mentioned in my KH II revisit that KH I is the only Disney property since Beauty and the Beast was released in 1991 (the live action remake very much included) to tell a good story with Belle and the Beast. The latter character acting as a parallel to Sora for the beginning of Hollow Bastion is a great touch too. And if Belle's dialogue boxes don't really "sound" too much like her, I do like that she stands apart from the rest of the princesses in the library, doing research. None these details are labored over, but they're smart and appreciated choices in direction and plotting.

And, speaking of plot - every time I come back to this game, I have a renewed and deepened love for how the story is handled in this section of the game. The subversion of the "chosen one" and "hero's journey" archetypes is so beautifully done, clear and impactful without straying into obnoxious meta-commentary on storytelling, and Sora and Riku (as they were in this game) are the perfect characters to go through that subversion. I daresay I don't know of a better example of a pair of rivals coming to a head and defying the expectations everyone had for them (well - everyone but Kairi). And the fact that, as a consequence of that subversion, Donald and Goofy end up (briefly and indirectly) allied with Maleficent is one of the many gutsy story choices I cannot believe Disney allowed to go through for this game.

The twist with Ansem is the only clean villain twist in the series - that is, it's the only one that works without at least one asterisk. And the Princesses of Heart (again, as they were in this game) as a plot device is a great way to take a Disney concept, darken it a little, and make it a organic and integral piece of the crossover. And that all this takes place on Hollow Bastion is appropriate, because of all the original elements created for the series, that world (yet again, as presented in KH I) is the most successful at uniting Disney sensibilities with Square/Final Fantasy sensibilities, aesthetically and narratively. It's the ideal penultimate stage for a game like this.

But with all that praise out of the way - the way the series has developed since KH I has made me ambivalent about quite a bit surrounding Hollow Bastion. And that is not fair. No one involved in making KH I could have known how the series would pan out, or that Kingdom Hearts would ever be a series. If an element works in the initial entry of a series but ended up being developed in a negative way, that shouldn't take away from its effective use earlier on. But it's impossible not to at least dwell on consequences and alternate possibilities with KH at this point.

To start with the weapon at the heart of the series - Most of the dialogue and lore dropped in KH I treats the Keyblade as a singular entity, a mysterious and powerful object that has bestowed itself on chosen bearers, good and evil, throughout history. The Keyblade of Heart and Mickey's Keyblade popping up in the third act does not easily square with that set-up, even with a last-minute note about the "two keys" in The End of the World. I can accept the Keyblade of Heart as a unique creation of the princesses' hearts by Ansem while possessing an intended wielder of the Keyblade, and Mickey's having one is an admittedly satisfying eucatastrophe. I can't say I have any thoughts on how certain plot points could have been resolved without those two blades either. But with how out of control Keyblades have become since, part of me wishes that they could have found a way to make the story work with there being just the one and only Keyblade wielded by Sora.

Part of me also wishes that Maleficent never came back after her defeat here. As much as I love the idea of her story in KH II and the concept of her "origins" in BbS, the execution in both games is uneven (the latter more than the former), and nothing since has been remotely satisfying. On the other hand, I'd be loathe to see anyone else representing the pinnacle of Disney villaindom, so for that reason alone, I'm less torn on Maleficent than I am the Keyblade issue.

Where I'm most torn so far as villains go is with Ansem. Playing this game again, I found the slow reveal of his true nature so successful, and so satisfying, that I had to reconsider my thoughts about KH II. As much as I enjoy just how improbably effective the twist about "Ansem" being Xehanort is, it is a dilution of what was an immensely pleasing arc. I'm now wondering about a KH II with no DiZ and no villain twist - just Xemnas as the Nobody of Ansem, a man who corrupted himself and his apprentices.

And now it's time to revisit a point I raised in Part I: the Princesses of Heart. It's always bothered me that Alice is one of them, and I admit that's entirely because of my persnickety ways. For one thing, if Wendy isn't pure enough to be a Princess of Heart, then Alice - of a similar age and disposition - shouldn't be either. But Alice is also not royalty of any kind, not in her books, not in her film, and not in Disney's many marketing ventures. You can say that "Princess of Heart" is really just a pithy way of saying "seven maidens whose hearts happen to be devoid of darkness and therefore have vague yet potent powers," but when five of the six taken from Disney are royals by birth or marriage, Alice sticks out like a sore thumb.

To be sure, it's not as if the KH team had a lot of options to choose from at the time. The only realistic options for a sixth princess who really was a princess in 2002 would have been Ariel and Pocahontas. It might have been fun to bring the latter into KH, but it's hard to imagine her ending up captured by the Heartless, and harder still to imagine Disney wanting to remind people of a film they'd already begun to sour on as a company. As for Ariel, I'm more than content to have her as a party member who can fend for herself. I also don't think you can be counted pure of heart if you cut deals with sea witches, however innocent your motives.

Really, Alice being in the line-up wouldn't be more than a minor itch in my anal-retentive mind...if it weren't for the fact that, by her not being a real princess, the door was opened for Kairi not to be a real princess.

And again, that wouldn't be more than a nitpick if it was just a matter of rank; it's not as if Kairi needs to be a princess to be a good character. But the way the game handles her, I don't think anyone could be chastised for thinking that Kairi was Hollow Bastion royalty. Her heart inside Sora's stirs at the castle slide in Deep Jungle. She has memories of living in a castle, of being told bedtime stories by her grandmother in the library of the castle of Hollow Bastion. Ansem calls her "princess" multiple times. I know that in the extra Ansem Report added in Final Mix, he just refers to her as "a girl," but if that was always the intention - if Kairi was always meant to be an ordinary girl who happened to be a Princess of Heart - then they really shouldn't have put so much effort into suggesting otherwise.

And now consider that it took until Melody of Memory for any meaningful expansion on Kairi's past in Hollow Bastion, and how perfunctory it was compared to the piles of lore and backstory spent on Xehanort, the Organizers, the Nameless Star, Ven, and his stupid focus-pulling cat. I think that, had Kairi been established as the princess of Hollow Bastion and a pivotal figure to a pivotal world, that would have given her real estate within the lore that would have made it harder to ignore her for so long in the narrative. Then again, given how quickly the series' priorities seemed to shift even within CoM and KH II, maybe it wouldn't have mattered.

Kairi is also tied into my one major gripe with Hollow Bastion in KHI, which is one of my only major gripes with the story as a whole. Remember how Sora tells Kairi to stay in Traverse Town, telling her that she'd be in his way? And remember how, when he gets back to Hollow Bastion, the six Princesses of Heart tell him that they're barely keeping the darkness at bay and that it's costing all their vaguely-defined power not to give in?

Gee, if only there were a seventh Princess of Heart who could lend her light to theirs. And if only we knew who she was and where she was. And if only we had a spaceship we could use to bring her to Hollow Bastion. And if only, should Sora be foolish enough to leave her behind, all his friends from Traverse Town followed him to Hollow Bastion and could have brought her along with them.

If only...if only...if only...

[vicea]

dream merch discord recap (june 12, 2021) - disclaimer: i may have missed some things or mistakenly heard other things, apologies in advanced for that!

he has not played the new minecraft update

dream “knows” the date george is coming to florida but he’s not saying it :p

dream doesn’t have anyone muted on twitter

dream guesses his favorite disney princess is belle

sapnap has seen dream’s feet before

he’s not actually connor’s dad in the dsmp lore

dreamnap do not have nicknames for each other D:

dream likes olives but especially black olives

his mother makes homemade pickles

he doesn’t have a phone case

he has dropped his phone from his ear onto concrete in the parking lot before and the screen didn’t crack

dream has six fingers /j

he pours cereal first not milk when making cereal

dream calls sapnap nick most of the time :D

what’s your dream car? “idk the one that gets me to point A to point B consistently”

he finally fixed his sleep schedule, woke up at 8 am today

mrbeast owes dream a tesla because he never sent dream the audio file

dream is a very analytical person - he thinks with numbers/data

creativity is one his strengths that he is the most proud of

3 to 4 years ago, dream used to say george looks like shawn mendes a lot, now he doesn’t resemble him as much

patches is currently sleeping <3

swimming is very relaxing to dream, he swam the other day!

many houses in florida have pools than other places, even the cheapest houses in orlando have pools

dream has merchendise defects (misprints on merch) + milestone merch and he wants to give them away to those who live in orlando (probably to anyone but the event will be held in orlando) though he doesn’t want it to be a covid super-spreader thing so once you pick up your item you gotta dip. just all an idea though

he has been donating them to charity too though :)

dream has likely read Heroes of Olympus before a long time ago

he says that he’ll do a give away of his childhood books with his signature on it

he was obsessed with the series (Percy Jackson) 

he really liked the Alex Rider series

has all of Maximum Ride books, 39 clues books

has read the legend series, the twilight series, and the maze runner

has all/read of the harry potter books, divergent, eragon

he would read all the time, to the point he would read more than one book a day (a book worm he says)

dream had a goal to read 200 books in a year and he wind up reading about 150

he doesn’t want to call it a library but- growing up he had something like that that had 600 or 700 or more books in it (privileged he admits it)

he has not read a book since he started youtube (about 2 years)

dream has a folder called Book that has his own writing in it

word count: 76000 words for one of his stories 

another one he wrote 5 chapters of

he sounds very excited/embarrassed talking about the stories he wrote he’s so endearing

the very first paragraph of one of his stories (he was young when he wrote this) “What exactly is darkness? is it the lack of light? is it a pit of nothingness? ... your mind is full of darkness...” then he couldn’t continue.

the story is about a kid who wakes up in a cell and has no idea where he is with other people who are in the same situation

dream has a world building document

he has a sequel to the first book he has ever written

he found a query letter that he wrote because he wanted to get his book published- he finds it very funny

he’s calling himself a nerd but idk it’s kind of endearing

“as you can tell i’ve always been incredibly cool and not a nerd at all! ever.”

he cringes at his own old videos

dream took a lot of inspiration from witches and wizards by james patterson for writing

the story is written in a way where the main character is actually writing the story so you’re getting input from the main character during it. there’s a lot of sarcasm in it and it’s making dream laugh

very first person narrator

he feels like it’d be very cool if he were to publish his works he wrote when he was 16 on amazon or something but he probably never would because he’d have to read through all of it and it’s just embarrassing for him

dream used to video call sapnap fairly frequently- even before youtube

he strictly remembers, a very long time (at least 7 to 9 years) ago he was at his old childhood house he video called sapnap. he was wearing a (technically) suit and he remembers specifically that he was giving sap a tour... 

“snazzy in a suit”

he had no reason to put on the suit (wow time is a flat circle huh)

drista is pretty close to sapnap’s height, she’s like 5′7″ but sap is still taller than her

dream filmed the whole thing when he and sapnap met but... it’s... gone because when he was clipping that one clip for twitter... it edited the whole video

he’s sure when they meet up with george they will film that too :D

DREAM IS PRETTY SURE THAT HE AND GEORGE WILL MEET THIS YEAR-- HE SAYS A 95% CERTAINTITY the five percent is like either restrictions or visa issues

dream does not play any instruments but he had a guitar hanging on his wall when he was younger...

dream is convinced they’re the same height but also sapnap is probably taller??

they had george compare his height to a door frame and dreamnap were googling for any doorframes to find any possible chance that george is taller than 5′8″ ... nothing came up

there’s a chance they’re both lying about being 5′8″

sap and george will literally just show up in stilts to prove they’re taller than each other /j

dream without shoes is between 6′2″ and 6′3″ with shoes he’s 6′3.5″

dream is talking about awesamdude’s fake height arc again LOL

dreamnap are very private people so they don’t bother each other but george doesn’t care and would just barge into their rooms and start bothering them- they were all joking about that over a voice call

he will visit europe

he thinks that greece would be a cool place to visit because sapnap’s family is from there :) so it’ll be like a nice “treat” to go back with sap :D

dream isn’t entirely sure that the dream team meet up will happen this year but he’s working out the details because he wants to make sure it’s safe

he’s talking to youtube about his face reveal

it’s up to george if he wants to eat healthy when they finally move in

dream just has a lot of meat and vegetables in his house

spinach with chicken is good

not much fruit (only apples and tomatoes)

“DRISTA IS 5″ is trending on twitter LOL (her height got cut off)

dream doesn’t want people flying to different places because he doesn’t want to encourage travel so he wants to do all of the meet ups with a two day heads up at most

he thinks that it’s awesome that ranboo and tubbo are meeting soon !! :D

it’s very cool to dream to see how far everyone’s has come since the beginning of the dsmp. everyone has done so much

dream finalized his youtube plan a couple weeks before he uploaded his video and he was talking to drista about how he was gonna be a big youtuber in a parking lot :”)

she was the first person he really ever talked to about it

dream would love to teach george how to drive it’d be really funny :D (a very good video or a livestream idea) 

dream knows how to ride a bike, he used to have to bike to school

he can’t explain dnf.gay he has no clue he is not responsible. sapnap was the one who found it LOL. he is adamantly exclaiming that it was not him

dream doesn’t worry about views/likes/dislikes a lot- mainly views but that’s for the new uploads

he hasn’t uploaded in like a month and a half (*cries*)

he wants to stream at some point but he doesn’t know when 

he wants to play geoguessr but not now... he doesn’t want to alt stream rn- maybe tomorrow!

he is insisting that the splash text on his minecraft home screen is by callahan

he asked callahan to send him bunch of text files that are dream team related so that the splash can rotate through it but callahan thought it was funny (it is) to put only dreamnotfound <3 so it doesn’t ever change at all and dream doesn’t even know how to change and he has asked callahan to change it but he said no (even though dream pays him LMAO)

the video referenced in the padilla’s video is still in the works, it might be handed over to sapnap though !

he has no idea if he will be in MCC pride yet

padilla got dream’s input for the video, dream found him to be a very nice guy ! :) it’s the first interview that dream did that wasn’t by a person with a negative opinion of dream

dream felt relaxed doing the interview with padilla 

?????? he’s blaming callahan for his “dnfisreal” nickname in bedwars 

he’s blaming callahan for a lot of dnf-related stuff

callahan runs the dream fanart account thus the liking of dnf content

he’s so insistent that it was callahan

dream admits that he was lying about the twitter and other stuff but for sure callahan did code the splash text in LOL

dream liking that tweet “the chances of george doing a hot tub stream is the same of dnf dating” was “funny” he wasnt trying to do any commentary...

the inside joke of “oh it’s all just a joke to you” originates from george and sapnap actually always fighting (like them yelling and shouting at each other) and george said something really mean and sapnap was hurt then geroge said “it was just a joke” and sapnap replied with that line and ever since then it’s been a meme LOL

he says that everyone does the hand-on-the-passenger-seat-while-reversing thing

dream is offline raiding with his chat with 6k people

dream appreciates us and will talk to us soon! 

[sieclesetcieux]

On Saint-Just’s Personality: An Introduction

Saint-Just’s personality is deeply misunderstood.

Saint-Just was a very secretive person, and guarded his personality behind walls. It might come off as surprising, considering how he’s usually depicted, but he actually was very introverted and reserved at the Convention, at the Committee of Public Safety, and during his missions in Alsace and in the North.

He was also a very sensitive person. He didn’t take slights easily (neither did Robespierre). But unlike Robespierre, he was also extremely young and wanted to be taken seriously. He was building off from nothing. So he built his own “myth”: the man (re)born with the Revolution. He made his youth his advantage: he hadn’t been as corrupted as the others by the old ways. This is something that was used by other revolutionaries, for example Marc-Antoine Jullien, who was 19 years old in 1794. They would say their youth made them closer to “nature” – that is, the natural, uncorrupted state of humanity as defined by Enlightenment philosophy.

The Saint-Just people think they know via novels and movies doesn’t really exist. I can’t think of any fictional representation that accurately portrays him. How people think of Saint-Just is basically several different “fanon” interpretations, some built by his enemies, some built by people who did appreciate him but didn’t quite understand him – which didn’t help much in the end.

This is important to point out because in the end these are the sources we have to learn who Saint-Just was as a person:

What those who knew him wrote about him (sometimes writing many decades later, which naturally impacts memory)

The little insight we can gleam from the few personal notes he left here and there in notebooks (and an unsent letter) that were never meant to be read by anyone

I know this seems obvious, but people often forget that historical figures are not fictional characters. They were real, living, breathing, human beings. They were people, and people have flaws and contradictions. People don’t necessarily remain the same at 20 years old, at 25, at 30 and so forth. People change.

The Saint-Just who writes Organt before the Revolution isn’t the Saint-Just who writes L’Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France in 1790 and isn’t the Saint-Just who gets elected deputy to the Convention in 1792. The Saint-Just who writes an unsent letter to Villain d’Aubigny (usually dated of July 20 1792, though it’s a topic of debate) is a Saint-Just no one was supposed to see. Same with most of his personal notes they built the Fragments des Institutions républicaines with.

Most importantly of all, a person will appear different to different people in different contexts. It’s a matter of perspective.

If you only take Desmoulins’ and Hilary Mantel’s and Tanith Lee’s perspectives on Saint-Just, well, I’m sorry to say, that’s not Saint-Just. That’s a perspective of Saint-Just.

Moreover, Saint-Just has many faces, many images, many legends, some of which he created himself while he was alive.

Victor Hugo was influenced by the Romantic Historians of the French Revolution, Michelet and Lamartine specifically, and their descriptions of Saint-Just to create Enjolras.

This is how you can find this connection making it even through novels that don’t like Saint-Just very much:

“He has a mind of fire and a heart of ice.”

- Bertrand Barère on Louis-Antoine Saint-Just

“It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire.”           

- Bossuet on Enjolras, in Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

“...Camille felt an instant aversion, as to the touch of ice, which is what the young man most resembled. Chiseled from an ice floe.”

- Camille on Saint-Just, in Tanith Lee, The Gods Are Thirsty

Thus, even traces of this Saint-Just lives on in Tanith Lee's book.

Main testimonies

Most of them are here, in French, and some have been translated. If not, I will work on it. I will repost them on this tumblr as well, along with additional information about their author, their reliability, their personal biases, etc.

Sources by Saint-Just’s hand

While some revolutionaries have enough correspondence to fill entire volumes, Saint-Just comparatively left few letters behind. We do have one letter that gives incredible insight into his state of mind, but it’s important to remember this letter was never meant to be read by anyone. It was an unsent letter, found in his things after Thermidor, and then made public against his wishes, much like most of his personal notes. It is, however, an amazing letter nevertheless, but it’s important to keep this context in mind: he did not want you to see him like this.

Secondly, we have a lot of decrees he wrote during his missions. Though most don’t say very much, they do give clues on his personality, on his attitude, on his perspective. In some cases, he would write a quick postscript to a letter written by Le Bas and addressed to Maximilien Robespierre. Interestingly, while Le Bas would use the “vous” with Robespierre, and admitted to his wife Élisabeth he felt closer to Augustin than to Maximilien, Saint-Just always uses the “tu”. This isn’t just a matter of revolutionary zeal – the whole “vous vs tu” question during the Revolution is another, much more complicated story.

Finally, we have personal notes scattered through the manuscript that became known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines. It’s a strange document to study and refer to. There is, indeed, a project he was working on concerning the Republican Institutions. There are at least two drafts. But the document has other things has well: from notes he later used in speeches (you can pinpoint the similarities) to a very short fictional romance between a man and a woman that’s hard to interpret.

The document known as the Fragments des Institutions républicaines was made from random papers found on him when he was arrested, taken from his apartment, and in a notebook that Barère kept. Pages are missing. Some pages are obviously torn. This is the one place where he confided some of his deepest thoughts, which reveal a great deal of insight on the Revolution and on his role, as well as his mental state. It was written in the last months of his life, when he could feel what was coming.

Saint-Just wrote fiction: yes, there’s the much maligned, very misunderstood Organt. In the same period, which is shortly before the Revolution, he also wrote a play called Arlequin Diogène, a short story called La Raison à la Morne, and a very short epigram of 8 verses, Épigramme sur le comédien Dubois qui a joué dans Pierre le Cruel.

Most of these must be treated as any work of fiction regarding their author: separating fiction from the author is complicated. Is he referencing his own life? Is he even aware that he is? The context of their redaction, however, gives a lot of information and some insight on himself. One of these texts is extremely interesting in order to study his personality. It’s a sort of foreword to Organt titled Dialogue entre M... D... et l’auteur du poëme d’Organt. The format almost resembles that of an interview. This is important as this is Saint-Just the Author, as he wants to be seen. The style is trenchant, concise, straight-to-the-point. Here Saint-Just the Author of 1789 meets Saint-Just the Representative of Year II.

(This post in an introduction to a series of several posts in the process of being written. Please be patient. If you want to know more, feel free to send me questions though! I’ll try to answer as well as I can.)

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Power recognizes power

A little power training gwynriel fic that came from me writing “if you find me at the edge, we’ll jump together.” and I was like this sentence deserves to be the title of something. plus throw everything (and by everything I mean that one sentence in the book) that you know about lightsingers away I’m just using the cute name. and yk there may or may not be some smut at the end. 

She was glowing.

She was glowing and Azriel did not mean she looked radiant or that she was overcome with joy, although she did and she was. Gwyneth Berdara was a living, breathing star. As if the spring equinox had come early this year.

Her skin lit up against the blackness of the sky and her hair burned bright with the ferocity of the hearth.

Gwyneth Berdara had stopped singing, the crowd was silent.  All eyes were on her but she was looking at him, her light, a beacon to his darkness.

His shadows yearned to go to her, he yearned to go to her. Instead, they both stayed stagnant, watching, waiting.

Azriel was had had enough, he dissolved from view and reappeared on the stage. Startled, Gwyn, took a step back and he stayed right with her, matching her step for step.

He gently tucked a stray piece of lit-up auburn hair behind her here, whispering, “It appears you glow, my love.”  

Gwyn, ultimately getting over her initial shock lightly pushed him on the shoulder, “Don’t do that.” She scowled.

Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to hers, in a soft, soothing kiss, forgetful of the audience behind them. As she relaxed beneath his touch, the glow became dimmer and dimmer until it ceased to be. Darkness returned and he stepped back. Gwyn took a breath and stilled. The nervous, passionate energy, that arouse when she sang, calmed for now.

Azriel turned to the crowd, “Due to the events that occurred here tonight, the performance will have to be cut short.” A soft boo drew his attention and immediately he isolated the noise. “Do you want to boo my mate again?” Azriel threatened coolly, his eyes narrowing.

Annoyed, she sighed and spoke to the crowd, “Oh ignore him, I truly am sorry for this interruption but I want to give nothing more than my best and right now I feel as if I can’t do that. the show will be rescheduled sometime next month, letters will be sent out with more information.”

He watched as the stunned and irritated faces slowly began disappearing. Some winnowing away, others taking the slightly more traditional door. Gwyn held her hand out to him. He took it, “So you’re a living lamp?”

“An astute observation.”  

“Is there any way I can convince you to rest now and figure this out later?”

She sighed, “It has been an especially long night.”

Azriel stared at her in disbelief, “did you just agree that you should rest?”

“Oh close your mouth, you’ll swallow a fly.” He responded by grinning at her and winnowing them away to their shared home.

Taking off his shirt he yawned not realizing how tired he actually was. It was still strange to him, being able to sleep so freely, without the looming fear of the past and what he couldn’t control. He stopped, realizing Gwyn had not moved from the door.

Gently he asked, “Are you coming?”

She looked at him blankly, lost in thought for a moment before she responded, “Um-yeah-later.” He was unconvinced so she tried again. “I think I’m going to stay out here and make some tea, maybe read a book.”

Azriel gave her a knowing look but did not push, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Az.” He tenderly kissed her cheek and walked to their room, immediately passing out on the bed.

—————————————————–

Azriel awoke at dawn and turned, unsurprisingly, to find the left side of the bed cold and empty. He sighed as he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants, mumbling. “Gwyneth berdara, you are going to be the death of me.”

Knowing there was no way she would be in the house but believing he probably should, he checked regardless and when he determined that she was in fact not in the house, he closed his eyes. When he opened them once again he found himself at the house of wind.

He nodded in acknowledgment, “Clotho,”

Shadowsinger. “The one and only.”

Is there something you require? “Just looking for that mate of mine. Any chance she’s here”

You know she is, and you know precisely where to find her. Ask what you truly want to ask. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “How long has she been here?”

Since 11 pm. Exhaling, he muttered, “Why can’t that damn woman ever rest.”

Over excursion out of only stubborn will seems to be a similarity between the two of you. Azriel frowned slightly before smiling pleasantly, “It’s been a pleasure as always, thank you for your help.”

Clotho only nodded and Azriel began the stairs to the 7th floor.

It took a moment for him to find her, the shadowsinger was a trained spy, forced to observe and retain even the smallest of details, yet he couldn’t find a bubbly redhead in a room full of texts and stories.

Ah, no wonder he hadn’t seen her. Gwyn was surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of books. She was drowning in literature, her hair was tied loosely in a braid with quite a few pieces falling out, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she was sporting the slightly insane look that came from a lack of sleep.

“Gwyn.” Her head jerked up in surprise to see him.

“Oh Az, Ok Ok, I promise I will go to sleep soon I just need 5 more minutes. I’m so so so close. I think I’m going to skip training today. Ok how about 2 minutes. 10. No that’s more. 10 sets of 1 minute. I just need 10 sets of 1 minute. I’m fine how are you?”

“Gwyn, my love, you’re delirious.”

She brushed him off, “What no I’m fine. I’m fine. Did I already say that? I can’t remember.”

Logic was never the way to deal with her insane stubbornness, so he tried a different approach. He pushed down his worry for her, and curled his mouth into a smirk, “I bet,” She perked up like a dog about to be fed, “that you can’t summarize everything you learned last night into,” he checked the clock. “15 minutes.”

“I could do it in 10.”

“Prove it.”

“And when I win?”

“I leave you to research. But if you can’t you have to go to bed.”

“Time starts now.”

Gwyn took a deep breath and began. “First I looked into where light magic is supposed to originate: the day court. Their magic is described as warm and comforting. Every single text I read described the magic the same way, as a sort of yellowish-brown light, like the sun. But the magic that came from me was more of an icy blinding light, like the lights from the stars rather than the sun. Also, as far as I know, I don’t have family from the day court so I looked into the family I do have. My family from the autumn court. However, we know that autumn court magic is fire, and what manifested in me was light not heat. My grandmother was a nymph so I thought well what type of magic do nymphs have. And the answer was severely disappointing, with basic plant magic being the most a nymph was able to do. I was stumped for a few hours before I realized. I’m basing my research on what I believe to be true not what I know to be true. I was told that I am a quarter nymph and because that heritage would explain my non-high fae-like features I believed that, for there was no reason for me not to. But what if my nymph grandmother was not a nymph at all. I flipped through dozens of books on faeries that have similar features, light magic, and/or can live on land and water. For the most part, I could not find anything, but then out of the corner of my eye I found a small tome on the history of light magic, the majority being all things I’d seen a million times before on the day court, but a passage no more than a page long, referenced ‘the lightsinger.’ Now what is a Lightsinger, you may ask? Honestly, I had no idea what or who they were so I found every book and story I could on them. The lightsinger’s, instead of being a title for a way to manipulate magic, like shadowsingers or daemati, were a race. A long-lost fae race said to be able to bend and create light with their voices and song. It’s said that they died out due to a conflict with the shadowsingers but every so often there are sightings of unknown nymph-like creatures in you’ll never believe where. The autumn court. Now I would only have 25% of lightsinger blood but magic is a fickle thing and some sources believe that when bred with high fae blood the magic intensifies.” Gwyn exhaled.

Azriel grinned victoriously, “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t even get to the interactions between shadowsingers and lightsingers.”

Now he was intrigued. “Well if you want to continue I certainly won’t stop you.”

“No no,” she yawned, “I lost which means I will be going to bed. But I do want to alter our deal slightly.”

“Oh?”

“I sleep now, you train me tomorrow.” The set of her chin and the look in her eye were enough to assure him of how serious she was.

“You want a male who specializes in darkness to help you master your light?”

“Certain theories believe that the mother gifted the light and shadowsingers their gifts to balance each other out and to remain harmonious.” She reasoned. “So yes there is no one I would want more to teach me.”

“I will not take it easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright Berdara, we meet Sunday at dawn, do not be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

——————————————————————————————————–

Sunday arrived and Azriel watched as Gwyn came down to the training ring in her leathers, with a white ribbon tied in her hair.

“Good morning Gwyneth.”

“So formal.” He shot her a look. “Oh alright ok my turn. Good morning Azriel, shadowsinger, spymaster of the night court, mate of the most amazing female to grace this planet.”

“Training is serious.”

“Of course it is. Shall we begin?”

“I want you to light up the room.”

“What? is it not already lit?”

He smirked and let his shadows paint the room black. Azriel himself became smoke, nothing more than a voice in the darkness.

“Az, az come on this is not funny.”

“Good, because it’s not a joke.” His voice came from every direction and every way Gwyn turned she was surrounded by endless nothing. “You must learn to sing the song of light the way I learned the language of shadow.”

“Speaking in vague melodrama feels like it’s not going to be that effective.”

Gwyn tried to back up only to find what was once the training ring now bled together with the depth of the sky.

“Let the light speak to you. Coax it, nurture it. Burn through the darkness and find the light.”

“How am I supposed to do that.”

Gwyn thought of the way Nesta harnessed her silver fire, the way her eyes became the flame itself. She concentrated and searched deep within herself, searching and looking for the light she knew she possessed.

All she saw was a hallowed chamber.

“No.” The word echoed throughout the room. “Our magic is not like others, we do not create out of nothing, we manipulate what is already there.”

“How am I supposed to manipulate if I’m in a room with no light?” Gwyn huffed frustrated.

“Just because the shadows are masking it, does not mean it is not there.”

He was so damn infuriating. She tried calling the light to her, she flexed her hands, she even tried speaking to it, all to no avail.

“As you said, magic is fickle and our elements especially. Light and darkness do not want to be bound or controlled, let the light be a friend, a companion, let it want to help, let it want to be influenced by your will.”

But how the fuck was she supposed to do that.

“Think of the first time it came to your call.” He whispered ominously. “What were you thinking. What were you feeling? Power often manifests through emotion.”

Singing. She had been singing. Was it really so easy that all she had to do was sing?

Turns out it wasn’t.

For hours she sang hundreds of songs. From songs in the old fae language that she sang at the priestess services to ones she had written herself. Nothing worked. Azriel had let her have a singular break when she desperately needed to pee and even then he was skeptical.  

He had left her to her own devices leaving his shadows to watch over her progress. When he returned he found Gwyn clutching her knees, rocking in the shadows. Her gaze was unfocused and she was humming to herself.

“You have officially broken me. I’m done.” She wanted nothing more than to sit in the library with her sisters and a book.

“No.”

Gwyn’s eyes snapped into focus, her breathing steadied, and she went predatorily still. “Excuse me.”

“You heard me. No.” Azriel laughed, a cold vicious laugh. “You asked me to train you. Gwyneth Berdara has never quit before and she certainly won’t start now.”

Gwyn was seething, but she remained quiet. “What?” He was toying with her. “A little darkness too much for you. Light up the room and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh that’s right you can’t. 10 hours in and no light in sight. You’re pathetic.”

Her anger cleared her mind and in that moment of clarity a memory, buried deep within her, resurfaced as if it was resting, snoozing until its moment of need.

Gwyn was in her mother's lap, a black-haired girl sat across from her. Her voice pulled her attention. “My girls, Catrin,” She tickled her, resulting in a giggle from her lost sister, before she turned her head, “Gwyneth.” And also tickled her. Gwyn's small hands clutched at their mother, desperately trying to hold on. “My two beautiful daughters.” She sighed. “Your lives will be filled with so much darkness, darkness that you do not deserve. But I need you two to be strong, to stay with each other, and to find strength in the other.” ‘I don’t get it,” Gwyn whined.

“We are a part of a glorious and lost people, a people of light and song. But they fear us because they do not understand us.”

Gwyn and Catrin looked up at her, confused and innocent.

“It’s ok, you will. You know the song I sing to you every night before you go to sleep?” Gwyn and Catrin cheered, “Yeah.”  

“I want you to sing it with me, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. Can you do that for me?”

Their voices came together in a melodic lullaby. It was captivating and cold, those who heard could not look away. The song demanded to be heard, to be sung.

The words came tumbling out of Gwyn, they twisted around her tongue and lips as if finally home. Lost but not forgotten. Lost but born anew. Through the shadow and darkness, her eyes found the light, it heard her call and from every direction it found her. She pulled the brilliance of the stars to her and let the light paint the dark white.

The shadows retreated to Azriel who stood just two feet in front of her. Their eyes locked and he smiled, “there she is.”

The light flowed and flowed, and the room lit up in a blaze of pearlescent radiance. Her pale skin lit and she had once again become one with the stars.

But while the call came from her, there was another that drew her light forward. His shadows and her light curiously answered the pull. Finding each other between Azriel and Gwyn. One did not dissolve into the other like it should but instead mingled, swirling around each other in an almost playful manner. They became one from two opposites that never should have met.

As they blended together she felt a pounding in her chest and a throbbing somewhere lower. Her toes curled and she craved more. Their power was its own entity and yet connected to them. A push and pull, a desire to be close.

Azriel bridged the gap between them breathing heavily, pulling her against him as he’d never felt her before. “Az.” she gasped.

His eyes were on her lips as he licked his own, smiling, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so alive.”

“You’re the worst,” She said between breaths.

“I know.” And their lips met in a furious burst of passion.

He kissed her with a fiery hunger, a male starving. Her hands weaved through his hair, her fingers getting lost in the darkness. Gwyn wanted nothing more then to be lost in his darkness, as he wanted to drown in her light. Azriel gripped her waist, grinding his hardness into her causing her to moan.

“You make such pretty sounds for me.” He chuckled, ripping her shirt off.

“Fuck me.” It was an order, not a request.

“Gladly.” Their clothes were gone moments later. His kisses moved down her neck as he sucked and his fingers dipped to her cunt as he felt her. “Always so wet and ready for me.”

She wrapped her hand around his cock, “Always so hard for me.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” He laid her down in the middle of the training ring and stroked his cock up and down her folds, pressing against her clit. “oh my god-fuck.”

With that, his control snapped and he buried himself to the hilt in her. Stroking once, twice.

He smirked, crooning, “look how perfectly we fit.”

His thrusts were slow and shallow, edging her on, basking in the feel of him in her, of her around him.

He then went harder, hitting her in the right spot every time, but Gwyn needed more.

“Faster.”  

“Your wish is my command.” Azriel fucked her hard and fast, and with every thrust she moaned in ecstasy, driving her hips forward, meeting him step for step.

“Oh my god fuck me.”

“Such a good girl, taking it so well.” He captured a moan on her lips, devouring her.

“yes, yes fuck.”

Where the light met the dark, was where Gwyn met Azriel. They were cocooned in a shell of power flowing between and all around them. They were a storm of blinding light and depthless shadow, the lines of what were and were not, blurred to just the other.

“Gwyn.” He groaned, nothing existed but them.

“Az I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, my love, cum for me.”

Every thrust became sporadic and uncontrolled as if his pleasure had taken a mind of its own. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and ground her clit with his fingers.

It was all too much, Gwyn cried out as she came, her back arching, toes curling. Her cunt tightened around his cock as he fucked her past completion. She was everything and watching her cum was enough to send him over the edge as he emptied himself in her, collapsing on the ground next to her.

For a moment they were silent before Gwyn spoke, “would you like to hear what I learned about the interactions between Lightsinger’s and Shadowsinger’s” She smirked, “Apparently the sex is unlike even mate sex.”

“I can vouch for that.”

Gwyn laughed, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

[tbzhours]

love notes

sunwoo x you, fluff 

[summary] sunwoo realizes he loves you [warning] mention of sex [words] 1.7k [a/n] happy birthday to sunwoo♡! who’s still crying over berry? :’)

You just got home after a long day with Sunwoo, going on a hike for a picnic on the hills and spending time at his place afterwards. Your heart was full, thinking back at how he let you know you were his first during the walk, despite sleeping together a few times already. He wasn’t used to touching you all the time but whenever he touched your shoulder or held your waist, he confessed about how it was turning him on. So he stopped touching you and just followed along the trail with you until you both found a good spot for the picnic. 

You weren’t much of a person who feeds others but when Sunwoo reached his fork over to you, you couldn’t help to do the same back at him. Everything he did made your heart flutter and you really love how open he was. He was understanding of your time because he knew you had things to do outside of your dates. He adored that you’re a considerate person as well, being mindful of his study time since he was graduating this year. It was just a matter of weeks before he graduates from college. 

Sunwoo was already accepted into law school, a dream of his since young. You could tell because his eyes shined whenever he randomly referenced laws in your conversations. Not that you mind. Passion always flows in the way he is, like the cooking book he brought to the picnic. It was about cooking for two (aka you and him). You found it cute, considering that he was into cooking and that he recently moved out of his friends’ shared apartment to live by himself. 

He was excited not only because he could finally have some quiet time to study, but also because you could spend time with him without making too much arrangement around his friends’ time. Despite only dating for two months, this just meant he could explore more things with you, especially your shared interests and of course, in the bedroom. 

You knew him from a year ago when you both were working at the same recreation center, monitoring workout rooms together but after you graduated, you hadn’t seen him since. Meeting him again almost a year later at a different building and finally exchanging phone numbers, you didn’t expect him to be interested in you too. 

sunwoo: hey i dropped something in your bag before you left 😗

You tilted your head and remembered seeing something unfamiliar in your bag when you left Sunwoo’s place. You set your phone down, haven’t cleaned out the bento boxes from the picnic and pulled out the folded paper from your bag. You sat down on your couch and opened the paper. A card, seeming from a game, slipped out between the folds. 

What do you love about your partner? 

You looked at the written paper, noticing Sunwoo’s handwriting as your face flushed. 

I love their smile, the way they listen to me as I talk.  I love how considerate they are, giving me time to do other things that I need to do. I love how open they are when we have sex. I love it when they hold my hand. I love it when they share their world with me, though I might not understand it entirely. I love their good night texts knowing I sleep early. I also love their random 2am texts because it makes me smile when I read them in the morning.  I love the pet names they use to call me as. I love many things about them, and their random kisses.

You couldn’t sleep all night, wondering if you had to write one back to him. He was such an old-fashioned type of person. You wondered where he got it from because he likes calling you through the phone, asking permission for things, writing poem-like texts, and just being upfront about what he likes and doesn't like. Again, everything he does made your heart race. 

You closed your eyes to calm it. But wait, you hadn’t replied back to him since you read the letter and showered. You rambled off your bed to find your phone. As you checked the time after picking it up from the couch, it wasn’t too late yet. You sighed and finally wrote back. 

you: i didn’t even see you put it in my bag! how did you do that? sunwoo: it’s a secret 😚 you: sneaky 😒 you: but ngl it made me smile… i just have a lot of thoughts running through me even though i was blushing too much over your cute handwriting and message sunwoo: thank you, i’m glad i did. that means you’re probably thinking about me you: i am sunwoo: i think about you too you: you sweet thing you: you sleeping soon?  sunwoo: yes, as i’m thinking about our next date ❤️ you: i’m excited too~ you: good night, my love ❤️ sunwoo: good night ❤️

“Hey, you’re here.” Sunwoo greeted you when you knocked on his apartment door. 

You rushed to his place right after work since your shifts didn’t overlap today. You smiled and greeted him with a hug. You hummed along, smelling his scent. “You changed your cologne.” 

“You noticed?” He was surprised, chuckling when you pulled away. You really like his smell and seeing the smile on your face, he figured you might like this one too. 

“Yeah.” Your nose crunched close to his in a tease. “I like it.” 

“Good.” His smile stayed. “And I missed you.” 

You gave Sunwoo a peck before he shut the door and led you into his house. You looked around, as if you hadn’t been here before then you set your things down beside the couch. You followed him into the kitchen and found the cooking book opened with ingredients around it. He was standing in front of you between the counter with his arms angling down to hold the edges of it. His black tee showed his body line, matching along with his curly hair. You couldn’t help to look at those pretty arms. Maybe you should have written that in your letter too. 

“So, what’s the chosen menu for tonight?” You asked. 

Sunwoo hummed, thinking even though you both had chosen it together through text. He sent pictures of some pages until you both picked a menu. He got all of the ingredients and your request for wine, and when he smiled with those thick lips, he answered, “A menu for two.” 

So dinner was made with much laughter from following the steps. The kitchen was a bit messy from your little dances since he had music on. He turned it down when you both settled down to eat and chat about whatever came to mind. He suddenly thought of the time you mentioned about working at a ski resort for the season and suggested that you both go when it gets cold again. You wouldn’t mind teaching him how to ski too, even though you’re still a beginner since being a staff for rentals. He himself was getting into playing the guitar from a friend that he wouldn’t mind teaching you the basics he knew of too. That was something you both had in common: you both love learning. 

As your laughs calm through the wine, you remembered keeping his written letter in your bag with yours and wanted to return one back to him. So you stood up after taking too many sips of wine. 

“So Sunwoo, you know how you left your letter in my bag last time?” You started. He looked up and hummed, You shyly smiled, “Well, I wrote one back.” 

“You did?” Sunwoo was surprised, watching you get up and came back to sit. You slipped the paper to him over the table. He opened it and started to read it. You could see how his eyes shined as they moved from word to word. His breath was calm and his smile was softly formed below those flowery cheeks of his. Once he was done, his breath was heard through his nose. It was hard to look at you when he finished reading your love notes. “Wow, this is so sweet. Thank you for writing back.” 

“Do you feel the way I was feeling? Nervous? Blushing like crazy?” You chuckled, your face burning up from his big smile. 

“Totally.” He set your paper down, eyes still lingering there as he thought back to his.

“There's one that stayed in my mind since I read it.” You confessed, still smiling as you could see written in your head. 

“What is it?” He asked with anticipation. 

You didn’t keep him waiting. “Sharing my world with you.” 

He smiled, grinning actually. “When I wrote mine, I thought about how much--we haven’t said this to each other before but--how much I love you, and I really do. I love you, a lot.” 

Sunwoo said your name after as your fingers fiddled over your thigh. 

“I love you too, Sunwoo.” You confessed, then you sighed softly. “And I’ve been thinking about us- you know, like going to the next level from where we’re at.” 

“Like being in a serious relationship?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled. 

“It’s alright. I want that too.” He shyly smiled down, a soft chuckle following. 

You were surprised because you both had only been dating for 2 months and you didn’t expect him to want the same. You both have had conversations about it before but as each day went by, his feelings for you grew and he wanted to love you more. You bloomed a touching smile. “Oh, Sunwoo.” 

“We know a lot of things about each other and we know what we want.” He paused. “I would love to be more serious with you.” 

“Me too.” You locked your fingers together and held them at your chest in excitement. “I can finally call you my boyfriend, wow.” 

“You’re funny.” Sunwoo giggled then he smiled after a deep breath. “So day one, officially?” 

“You bet.” You grinned from over the table. 

“Bet on who’s going to clean these up?” He tilted his head, face pretending a confused look. 

You shook your head with a laugh. “No, we’re doing it together.” 

Sunwoo hummed and winked after. “Yep, later. Together.”

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty | Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I Ooo I (Part 2 of 2 | His POV) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

• • •

did he give you an exact date?

Unfortunately, no.

At first, I had at least until the end of the year, but…

CPS wants this resolved quicker than he thought.

guessin' you need to finish tourin' the underground first then, right?

Yes.

Would it be possible the day after tomorrow?

Or just… sometime this weekend?

I can go by myself, but…

Asgore won't allow that unless I'm with someone else.

Says I shouldn't be walking so far and so long alone if I haven't recovered yet.

you don't need to go alone, either way.

be it my job or not, I still wanna help out.

so the day after tomorrow's fine with me, bud.

we can discuss those details better when we drive over to tori's school tomorrow.

Are you sure?

And…

Does that 'we' imply you'll be picking us up?

100%

but yeah, i'll drive you guys there.

and pick up paps on the way, too.

it's easier for all four of us.

Mhm.

don't believe me?

Oh, I believe you.

I just don't think that's the only reason why you're picking us up, when I already have the address.

so what's the other one?

Don't get cocky, Serif.

I'm not gonna type that out.

It's a godsend Frisk will be with us, too.

'Cause I sure don't trust being alone with you anymore.

inna bad way?

Nah.

niiice.

pick you guys up tomorrow, then?

Yes.

We'll see you tomorrow.

And thank you in advance.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ waving goodbye ∆

"You've changed, Sans."

He ignores that comment to view (Y/N)'s last two messages again.

While he doesn't know why that particular sticker bothers his mind so much, a few scrolls up to revise his chat history with the human reveal this is the first time they've shown any sort of informality or spontaneity in their typing. (Y/N) came off cold in their texts, though -- based on how they acted outside of a chat app -- that wasn't their intention, but more of an automatic way for them to talk with someone they didn't exactly deem trustworthy enough yet. He grins at that thought and feels his face warm up, something he confirms when touching his cheekbone, cold palm contrasting with that heat.

"You're wasting your time with that human," Drunk Bun says, snapping him out of his daydreaming.

They've sat themselves on the bar stool next to him and slam what looks like their tenth can of cheap, off-brand beer against the counter, crunching it down into more than half its size. He doesn't know how long they've stood there or why he's lost this much awareness of his surroundings. The bar's practically empty and calm now compared to before, though there's loud music blaring from the jukebox, playing an already overplayed song on repeat. There's no excuse for his distracted mind other than having lost himself while texting with the human, so he admits that fault with partial sourness, against accepting he's that smitten with them.

"You're changing for the worse," his company adds, narrowing their eyes at him. "Every time we come here to catch up, you mention something stupid about that (L/N) person, or just text the whole evening away with them. I... I've never seen you worry so much about someone so inconsequential." They scoff and cross their arms tight. "I may understand you caring after Frisk as a way to repay them for rescuing us, but (L/N) is completely useless. They've done absolutely nothing remarkable beyond creating a huge scene at that bus you were both on."

"Being harassed by a rando and faintin' after's them causin' a scene?" Sans asks, quirking an eye socket.

"Oh, screw off, bone boy -- You know what I mean. They've brought you nothing but trouble and needless responsibilities!" The bunny grits their teeth and slams their hand over the table, dragging eyes to their side. "I'm betting you can't go a day without texting them or without you doing something for them."

"You need to-"

Beep-beep.

The phone is snatched from his hands just as quick as that noise rings.

"Give that back."

"No." They keep the phone right above him, taking advantage of his shorter height. "Your fault for not putting a lock on it."

Drunk Bun scoots away and holds the phone tight as they fumble with it. Then, they stop to look at what he assumes is another text message from the human. A grimace shows on their face and they grasp the device tight, enough to make the screen complain and warn them over the pressure they're exerting against it. "Now this is beyond pathetic, Sans," they comment, letting out a loud, burst laugh. "Is this seriously the one you're sacrificing your entire personality for?" They give him his phone back, though not before hesitating when it's time to let go. "That human is-"

"Gimme a sec."

His attention falls on the picture displayed on screen, revealing (Y/N) and Frisk posing in it. The adult wears a suit and tie while the child has Toriel's school uniform on. The former's pose appears forced and awkward while the latter seems to be the reason the picture was taken with how excited they seem about their outfit.

Frisk wanted me to show you this.

It's what we'll be wearing for tomorrow!

There's a three-minute interval between that and the next message.

I know classes still haven't started there, but… They wanted to wear it, so I joined them by trying on something special for, well…

That job offer you told me about.

I don't know if I'll accept or not yet, but…

Thank you for the opportunity, and for believing in me.

∆ Sticker | Happy Cartoon Bunny™ giving a thumbs-up ∆

"You're grossing me out, honestly. What kind of look is that?"

It takes him a while to react, focus glued on (Y/N)'s messages.

"What look?"

"That lovesick look on your face." Tears form on their eyes -- almost abruptly, hadn't their voice shaken right before that. "I- I've been flirting with you for years, and yet you've never once looked at me like that before." They stand up straight, stare down at him, and rest their hands on the table, blinking their tears away throughout. "I've known you for so damn long, and yet you fall for the first human you see up here? I-"

"So that's what this's about," he says, chuckling. "You're-"

"Don't you dare brush everything off as me having a crush on you, Sans." They hiss. "You're not the same as before, and that's as clear as day. You worry a lot more now, and… And you actually seem to care more about other stuff beyond your job and sleeping on it. Y- You-"

"Aren't those good things?"

"Maybe, but your entire personality changing isn't. I liked you better when you were less worked up with stuff that's none of your business." They stop to grab his phone again; a grin breaks the sorrow on their face. "But hey, y- you're just doing your job, aren't you? You should set things straight with that human and remind them you're only with them because Asgore told you to in that agreement letter you gave them."

"Won't work if I flirted with 'em first. Pretty sure they'll see right through my lies."

"Y- You flirted with them first?!"

"Yeah."

He dodges a punch aimed right at his face.

"Wait-"

They throw a second punch -- this one turning out to be a spoof -- and laugh at the sight of him falling for it; they then toss the phone high over his head after he's finished dodging that fake attack, and aim yet another punch right after.

He salvages the device, though at the cost of taking the blow right on his left eye socket.

"How can you admit that so easily? You're awful!"

"'Cause you're only a close friend. I don't owe you an explanation about who I'm dating, and even less if you're gonna be actin' this way."

Drunk Bun springs at him, only to be held back by the rest of the regulars sitting near the scene, sufficiently fast enough for them not to wrangle Sans in anything major. They struggle and thrash at everyone around, trying to break free, but failing each time. It takes a fully-armored guard dog and a buff bear for them to be fought back into their rightful place, and yet another strong monster for them to let go of a wine bottle they insist on downing when seated.

Grillby intervenes as well by warning them to calm down, unless they want to be kicked out. Meanwhile, Sans turns on the camera and looks at his reflection through it, revealing a faint soreness already forming around his eye socket -- right where his companion had punched at. Being primarily made out of bones brought advantages, but having magical properties often led to him bruising easily.

Another regular approaches him and offers him a first aid kit, one he brings back to his seat to heal himself there.

While he takes out an antibiotic and some cotton pads with one hand, he uses the other to busy himself with (L/N)'s messages, against leaving them on read for so long.

no probs.

here at your service.

frisk looks great, btw.

and you? hot. 😘🔥

awkwardly hot.

hotwkward.

Frisk is reading the replies, you know?

damn.

i mean…

darn.

don't tell 'em i said that.

∆ Audio | 0:46 ∆

He clicks on it to hear Frisk giggling along with (Y/N) commenting they won't. It later continues with them asking if he's alright, specifying what they mean by highlighting a picture, this one sent by him. Blurriness makes up most of it when he clicks on it and zooms in, yet he can identify what looks like his companion from earlier, who'd apparently snapped and sent the human a photo by accident.

that's a friend o' mine.

they're, uh, kinda tipsy, so they got inna fight with me.

Really?

Are you okay?

yeah, just a lil' sore where they punched at.

What?!

i'm fine, puddin'.

dw about it.

Where's that bar at?

I'm near the mall, so I can drop by if you need anything.

aren't you still shoppin'?

take it easy.

I'm almost done.

Just trying out one more outfit.

can I see?

👀

Sure.

∆ Attachment | 2 images ∆

To his surprise, they're not only posing much more freely now, but they've also made the effort to strike another pose from a different angle. The human's outfit is composed of a dark green, semi-formal (suit/dress), fit for a night out. They've gone as far as to edit a wink emoji and some hearts at the corner of one -- the most flirty of the two.

So...

What do you think?

*jaw drops to floor, irises pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, soul beats out of rib cage, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware, whistles loudly, fireworks shoot from top of head, pants loudly as tongue hangs out of teeth, wipes comically large bead of sweat from forehead, clears throat, straightens jacket, combs skull* ahem, you look real lovely.

*bwushes* Thank uwu kindwy, handswome. I'm vewy fwattewed.

...frisk ain't there anymore, right?

If they wewe, duwu uwu twhink I'd be twyping wike thiws?

faiw poiwnt.

Anyway…

I noticed the changes you made in that copy-paste, and…

You didn't edit the tongue part out.

So…

What that tongue do, baby?

😳

…lick…

...ice cream.

🔥🔥🔥

Ah, that's hot.

Or should I say cold?

And speaking of cold…

I'm gonna get you an ice pack or something.

You should take care of where it's sore, if you don't want it to bruise more.

whatta way to change the subject away from our moment, puddin'.

but uh, thanks in advance.

Anytime, teddy bear.

uwu

owo

• • •

"Am I really changin', Grillbs?" Sans asks, emptying his beer in three long gulps. "Be honest with me."

The one questioned takes the empty can from his hands and shakes his head in what looks more like disapproval rather than him answering that question. He first warns the skeleton about getting drunk, and reminds him to stay sober if he wants an answer as well as prevent himself from drunk-texting the source of his lovelorn self. When receiving a promise from him in response, he later answers with a 'no' and that he's still the same whenever he came to visit the bar.

"So I'm only different when I'm talkin' about 'em?"

Grillby nods.

"Inna bad way?"

He shakes his head.

"Then…"

Sans is stopped with a hand over his and faced with a stern look, despite the owner of it having no eyes or mouth.

"If they make you happy, then it's alright for you to show it," a regular states, intervening in the conversation. "You're not a lifeless machine. And nobody's one-dimensional either, so you shouldn't force yourself to act the same, strict way all the time. If you want to be all mushy with that human, then so be it. Aren't you the one who always says stuff like 'nothing really matters; in the end, we'll all die'? What's stopping you now of all times? Where's that hardcore nihilist I've known since years ago?

Sans rubs the back of his neck and huffs.

Clearly, neither the regular nor Grillby understood what he truly meant to say with his questions. He didn't mind his relationship with the human, but he also didn't want his old self to be replaced by someone he wasn't, as a result. There were things he didn't want to change about his old self -- things he feared would fade away now that he seemed to be getting into something as complex as a romantic relationship. There were parts of him he needed to keep in case the world were to start over again -- in case something went wrong. He couldn't allow himself to grow soft.

A pat on his shoulder lets him know he's lost himself in those thoughts.

"It's alright to fear change, but don't let that hold you back. If you like that human and they do, too -- Then what's there keeping you from going for it?"

It's not that easy.

Still, he keeps that thought quiet and replies with, "Thanks, but I'll probably have to give that more ti-"

The door of the bar opens to reveal someone new to it, but not so much unknown to Sans, who already finds himself distracted by them. (Y/N) stands in front of the entrance, looking this way and that. Frisk holds on to their hand, while a reusable shopping bag's hung over their parent's arm; a pharmacy's logo and name can be seen stamped on it. The eldest human approaches the area with caution, until their child assures them -- once, twice, and then thrice -- they've been to this place before and that it serves other purposes beyond that of providing alcohol and provoking fights. When they look forward, he meets their eyes and tries to glance away quickly, only to be called out by them soon after. They don't take long to smile wide and bright, wave, and -- finally -- approach his side after he waves back at them.

Rather than giving him whatever's in the bag, they instead let go of Frisk's hand, ask them if they want anything to eat, and give them some money when they sign the word 'fries'. Then, they sit on the stool next to his and settle the bag on their lap. "Come closer, and close your eye sockets," they say, still smiling. "It's your left one, right? It looks really sore already."

He nods and tries to ignore the warmth in his soul when they place a hand over his.

In his favour, they let go of him not long after to disinfect their hands and slip some gloves on when these dry out.

"I-"

"Shh."

(Y/N) holds his chin with their hand and grazes their fingers against his injury, their touch slow and careful as they apply some antibiotic over and around it. They then slide an eye patch on him and assumedly check around for any more bruises, based on the feeling of their hands grazing against his torso, arms, and neck. "The ice pack's in the bag -- Remember to throw it in the freezer when you get home." They touch his chest again, even more gentle this time. "So..." He notices some hesitance when they pull their hand back. "You're not hurt anywhere else?"

He shakes his head, words caught in his throat.

"Alright, but don't look yet."

Doing as told, Sans waits for whatever comes next. He stays still and stiff, until he feels their lips brush close to his eye socket, where they lay a soft, ticklish kiss at. They do the same with his other one and finish it off by kissing his nose cavity.

"Now you can."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

...

......

🌋🔥💥 ANNOYING NOTICE TIME 💥🔥🌋

So, here's a summary of all the events happening this month, which will affect Fairytale Complex's update schedule in various ways:

1. I will be rewriting all my other fics that aren't FaiCom, since I'm pretty darn happy and proud of the new writing style I've developed with this fanfic, and so I want to implement it into my older stories (with the exception of the Tom Nook x Reader one -- I'm rewriting that one despite being recent because it started off as a wild, 3 am energy project after finishing with finals, but then I actually had way more fun than I originally anticipated, so I'll be turning it into a long fic just like this one, lol). This means FaiCom will be taking a short, 1 to 2 week break after Arc 2 (Chapter 25) ends, to dedicate some time to all 4 of these stories.

2. I'm taking extracurricular classes/hobby workshops this summer, so I need to tweak my schedule again. This means FaiCom will be changing its schedule back to the old one, composed of weekly updates on Mondays, Wednesdays, and/or Fridays.

3. As mentioned previously, Pride Month is here, so I'll be making some one-shots and drabbles related to it, meaning updates might be slightly less frequent this month. BUT, a good majority of them are FaiCom related ones (and they will be posted on a different book to avoid conflicting with regular updates, too). More on that later on!

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

[obviouslygenuinely]

Hi Anonymous, 

I’m going to reply to your messages in chronological order and copy/pasted them in that order. I’ll also quote your statements in bolded italics to show what I’m replying to. 

Hopefully, that makes my reply easy for you/others to read. I apologize to you/others for any typos. As I mentioned earlier, my left hand is broken. So this was a beast to write.

Before I dive in, I’m going to preface this all with one statement. My Babygate analysis post specifically does not mention Larry and does not include Larry-centric statements, evidence, motives, and so on. So, I don’t know why you sent this to me; you seem to be seeking an argument. Anyways...

“So you think some contract made…” Firstly, I never once mentioned a contract in my Babygate post. So, you began your message with a false assumption/statement. Unfortunately, that immediately makes you less credible. That whole first message put words in my mouth.

“so that they won't lose money and keep Louis be in top richest musicians?” Again, I never once said this was/is the motive behind Babygate. I referenced Louis’ financial position as a cited fact. You made the rest of this assumption.

“You should know something Larries hide.” Lumping every single Larry/Larry supporter together is kind of ridiculous. During my babygate research, I saw dozens of different viewpoints/opinions from Larries. Some seemed credible, some seemed far-fetched, and so on. I’d imagine it’s the same for people like yourself. Your opinion is your own; it does not reflect the opinions/actions of all non-Larries. I am speaking to you as an individual, just as Larries are individuals.

“Both Ashley and Brianas "stolen" posts were manips by larries who used capital " i " instead of the small " L" in both Ashley and Briana accounts to pose as them. Ashley said at the time fans faked it by switching the letters and before IG made Briana's account official her IG name had her middle name containing the letter " L " Larries literally used fake accounts to pass them as real and manipulate other fans. One of the things some ex-larries admitted.” If you have proof of this, please feel free to send it - I mean that sincerely without sarcasm. I truly look at all sides of any given situation. However, you’re just stating this as fact without anything to back it up. Why should I blindly believe it?

“As for the DNA test, another thing larries hide. Two family members confirmed Louis had taken the DNA test (mandatory by law for unmarried parents in Cali )” There’s a lot to unpack in this short portion:

I won’t repeat what I wrote above, but again with lumping all Larries together - it shows your bias.

Do you have proof of these family members confirming the DNA test? 

Is this proof publicly available? Again, statements with zero proof are not something I will blindly believe.

There is not a single law that mandates paternity testing for unmarried parents in California. Court-ordered paternity tests are sometimes required for establishing custody or child support - that’s it. Where did you get this false information? Here are some factual references for you: “The law cannot force a paternity test.” (1) “If you father a child with a partner you’re not married to, you’ll have the option of signing a document called the “Acknowledgement of Paternity” to confirm that you’re the father. You can also choose not to sign that document.” (2)

“if he was not the father he had two years to backtrack on the declaration of paternity which is why larries though babygate would end "soon".” Do you know Louis personally? Do you know beyond a doubt that he can backtrack without repercussions? Do you know beyond a doubt that he wants to do that? This is just pure speculation and assumption. None of us know Louis’ motives for anything related to Babygate. I never once mention Louis’ motive.

“Only TMZ said he didn't get DNA (after larries begged them to debunk and use larries for clicks)” Did TMZ release a statement that Larries begged them to debunk it? How would Larries have a position of power over TMZ? If you have proof for this, once again, genuinely feel free to send it. I’d be interested to see proof of this bold statement.

“You should see the Xmas video too for the way Briana sits on the chair preg.” I have seen it.

A person’s tone is hard to convey via text; I do not intend to sound sarcastic or rude at any point. I do intend to sound skeptical of your statements. I do intend to sound as if I don’t believe you.

You came to my inbox and:

stated that I believe things I never said I believe

stated a lot of opinions as fact with no proof

dragged Larries into it when my analysis isn’t related to Larries

I’m not really interested in further discourse with you based on those listed reasons. Take care and have a good evening.

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter one)

pairing: reader/bang chan rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: smut with plot, smoking, explicit drug use, alcohol, partying, unprotected hookups word count: about 6,100 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter one: my house

after being abandoned by your best friend at a lame party, you run into Christopher Bang, a well-known music producer who was also conveniently abandoned at the same party. you're invited back to his place for some fun, but you end up biting off more than you can chew when you find out who he really is.

hello new readers! this is just a precursor to let you know that this is not going to be an all-smut-all-the-time super happy fun fic. there will be dark elements, especially from chapter six to the conclusion. smut has been marked as noted (chapters one through five) so if you’re just here for that, there you go!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

I also recommend listening to "true intentions" by takayan, "bet bet" and "I'm in trouble" by nu'est, and "nxt 2 u" by none other than 3racha while listening to this. playlist can be found here!

“Fuck,” you grumbled under your breath as you sat down on the grungy couch behind you. Your feet were killing you because you thought that your brand new high heels were a great complement to your outfit, no matter what the physical cost to you was. Loud EDM music pulsed from the large speakers on the other side of the room, the bass trembling the couch from underneath you.

Leaning back, appreciating the fact that you were finally off of your feet, you sighed a breath of relief. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to kill Minji the next time you saw her. How could she leave you alone for some dude? Hyunjin: was that his name?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. This party sucked; you didn’t know anyone, it smelled like feet, and whomever was controlling the music was horrible. Who plays EDM sandwiched between lo-fi beats?

You were ripped from your thoughts as the couch shifted as some guy with very bright and well-maintained (albeit obviously bleached) blond hair unceremoniously flopped down next to you. He let his face fall into his hands as he let out an exasperated groan. It seemed like tonight wasn’t going well for him, either.

“What’s your deal?” You shouted in his direction, not actually caring if Mr. Blond responded or was interested in chatting with you.

He lifted his head up from his palms, tilting back to look at you. You saw the whites of his eyes quickly glance up and down your torso and head. An uneasy expression briefly passed over his face - you couldn’t quite decipher exactly what it was. You looked him up and down - in the dim lighting, you could tell he was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, casually buttoned only to his sternum, and some skin-tight, shiny black pants that you assumed were made out of mock leather. He looked good.

Mr. Blond sighed and sat back. He opened his mouth, but didn’t make an effort to look at you. “My friend left me. Ran into some chick he used to fuck off and on and I have no idea where he went.” His hand reached into his back pocket, fumbling around until he pulled out a black pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He brought the pack to his mouth, wrapping his lips around one that popped out of the pack and pulled it out, turning the rest of the pack to you.

“Want one?” He turned his head towards you and looked at you with a relaxed, tired look in his eyes. “You look pretty miserable too. Hot, but miserable.” Mr. Blond’s blatant comment elicited an unwanted snort from you as you grabbed a cigarette from the pack.

“What the hell,” you said with an uncommitted tone as you lifted the cigarette to your lips, “this party sucks and I could use something to take the edge off.” The man sat back on his hand, lifting his lighter to your mouth, lighting the cigarette as you breathed in.

The soft flavour of menthol danced around your tongue as the vapour travelled to your lungs. ‘An interesting choice’, you thought, ‘Blondie doesn’t seem like the type.’

As if he could read your thoughts, Mr. Blond chimed in, “I only smoke when I come to these parties.” You watched him as he relaxed back into the couch, entranced as he took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing up from his lips deliberately travelling up his nose. The sight made your stomach tingle with excitement for a fleeting moment. “I fucking hate menthol, though,” he laughed, looking at the cigarette in his hand before looking to you and smiling, “Name’s Christopher. Chan, when I’m here in Seoul, but I prefer Christopher.”

You smile, taking a drag from your cigarette before introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you, Blondie.” It seemed like your night was finally starting to get a little exciting.

Time had passed, although you weren’t exactly sure how long it was. Conversations with Christopher came naturally - you easily chatted about your interests; how he was in the music production industry and was pretty well known, but preferred staying underground whenever possible; he even seemed genuinely interested when you told him about your modelling career, travelling between South Korea and your home country of Japan, occasionally travelling across Europe and the US for some really high-end shoots.

Minji had texted you an hour ago saying she was sorry for abandoning you and apologizing more, admitting in a text ten minutes later with four pleading face emojis and two sets of eye emojis prefacing that she had left with Hyunjin and was turning off her phone for the night. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, and the look on Christopher’s face as he realized that his friend Hyunjin left with your friend made you belly laugh uncomfortably hard for a good minute.

“What a small world,” you gasp out between laughs, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. “That bitch left me for your friend! I guess it was fate that we met tonight.”

Christopher smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to ask as he turned to you with a smirk on his face, him biting the corner of his bottom lip. You didn’t want to spoil the fun prematurely by interrupting, deciding you’d hear him out. You always enjoyed watching potential one-night stands squirm when they wanted to ask you to their place.

“Yeah, seems like we were meant to meet each other tonight,” he says as he casually reaches his arm across the back of the couch behind you. The stale smell of cigarette smoke doubled in strength as he leaned in closer to you. “What do you say we leave this horrible party and head back to my place? No pressure, it just seems like it’d be more fun to get to know you somewhere that didn’t smell like a locker room.”

Both of you chuckled at Christopher’s lame, but accurate, joke, and you smiled up at him. “Anything beats this place,” you reach down to touch his thigh, and you bring your face next to his ear, whispering, “let’s get out of here,” as casually as you could manage.

‘Oh shit,’ you thought to yourself as the taxi pulled up to Christopher’s apartment building. This was the good part of Seoul: Blondie lived in Cheongdam-dong, which was where the elite and the wealthiest entertainers lived. Surely this was a mistake?

As incredible as it was to actually be going inside one of these apartment buildings, you felt nervous that you were going to break something or offend someone by looking at them for just too long.

Christopher gently pulled you along by your hand, stopping in front of the elevator bays. He looked over at you, noticing that your eyes were darting around and you seemed nervous. “What’s up?” He softly squeezed your hand, looking down at you.

A nervous laugh surprised you as it escaped your lips. “I’ve never been somewhere like this. Gangnam-gu, sure; Cheongdam-dong, yeah - but an apartment here?” You looked up to Christopher, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Who are you really?”

Ding. The arrival of the elevator interjected in your conversation, as Christopher looked down and chuckled. “C’mon,” he said with a non-committal tone to his voice, “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

The ride up to the 32nd floor was tense, and you could feel your hand starting to sweat as every inch of the skin that touched Christopher’s hand was suddenly hypersensitive. ‘Who is this man,’ you wondered to yourself as you stared at him through the corner of your eye.

“32nd floor. Please watch your step.” The soft, feminine voice of the elevator’s AI announced as you reached your destination. Christopher wordlessly pulled you along, through the doors, down the left corridor. You both paused in front of his door as he pulled his cellphone out from his other back pocket, waving it over the keyless entry at his door. 3217 was emboldened in sleek, silver lettering next to his front door. You made a mental note, ‘I should send Minji a text so she knows where to find my body if I go missing.’ It wasn’t a serious thought, but it was something that did cross your mind.

Christopher looked down to his phone, frowning as he scanned his eyes across the screen. He whispered something in English under his breath as he let go of your hand, his voice tense and uncomfortable. With his free hand, he opened the door, holding it open for you.  He pointedly looked down both sides of the corridor, making sure to press the door closed as he engaged the thick physical lock above the handle.

“I’ve gotta take care of something really quickly,” he said in a serious tone, turning to you and offering you an uneasy smile. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in here, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he spun on his heel and darted off to a room beyond the kitchen, his eyes glued to his phone the entire walk.

The view from the windows is what you first noticed. You could see the buildings of Seoul reach across the horizon, mesmerized by the twinkling lights across the city. It was a beautiful view, one you figure was worth the money that this surely cost. As you pulled your back to reality, you slipped your shoes off at the entrance and made your way to a barstool towards the kitchen counter. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and shot off a quick text to Minji.

Hey, I’m out with this guy I met at that party. His name is Christopher Bang. Another music producer type haha, oops. Apparently, he knows Hyunjin? Anyway, he lives in Cheongdam of all places! I’ll check in with you tomorrow at some point to make sure I’m still alive lol. Btw, you suck for leaving me at that party alone. I’ll get you back, bitch.

You add in a couple of broken heart and crying emojis at the end of the text so Minji knows you’re not actually mad at her. You also send her a pin of your location - just in case; it was something you both did as a habit. As you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket, you hear some terse yelling come from the room that Christopher is in. You’re not able to make it out from this far away, but it sounds like he’s firmly scolding someone over the phone in a mixture of what you suspect is English and Mandarin.

‘Relax,’ you mentally reassure yourself, ‘you just met the guy, he lives in the expensive part of town, he’s probably just having problems with some music deal or something. It’s fine.’

After a minute or two, you decide to grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, if anything, to pass the time. As you’re turning the faucet off, Christopher comes out of the room, his hair dishevelled and another button from his shirt undone. He walks to the entryway and unceremoniously slips his shoes off. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says with a pleading look on his face, “I’ve just been dealing with some issues with work and it pops up at the worst possible times. Hopefully I didn’t worry you too much?” The upward inflection at the end of his sentence and the smirk on his face as he slowly walks up to you somewhat reassures you. The lighting of the room highlights Christopher’s features in the loveliest way possible - you didn’t notice before, but he has a dimple on the right side of his face when he smiles. He was an honestly attractive man.

“It’s fine, it was just…” you smile, shake your head, and look down to your glass of water as your sentence trails off. Strange? Different? You weren’t exactly sure how to end that sentence.

Christopher picks up on your tension, and lifts his hands to your face. They are soft, and there’s a light woodsy scent that travels with them, like a faint cologne that’s slowly worn off through the night. “I’d like to make it up to you,” he softly lifts up your head, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet his. It startles you how close you are to his face, so close that you can see just how thick his eyelashes are and how deep his brown eyes are.

It happens almost mechanically. Before you really register it, your lips are up against his. It’s pensive and timid at first, but the awkwardness fades as you part your lips against his, letting your tongue travel out to touch his lips, his teeth, then his tongue. It goes from soft and romantic to passionate and intense in a split second. Christopher takes your face into his hands with purpose now, trailing his fingers back into your hair, digging his fingernails into your scalp and pulling you into him.

An anguished moan slips from his lips and it causes your stomach to do backflips. As you take the time to acquaint yourselves with each other’s mouths, Christopher’s hands drop from your head down to your waist. He breaks away from the kiss, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before he bends down and lifts you up from your hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle excitedly as he carries you from the kitchen into the room he was in earlier.

In a moment, you’re observing the ceiling of this room, as Christopher softly sets you down on the bed. You want to take in the environment, to know more about this mysterious man, but he ruins that opportunity for you as he crawls on top of you, peppering kisses from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, and across your collarbones. He lifts his head to look at you, smiling somewhat deviously.

“Hey,” he breathes out, “you wanna try something? You can totally say no, but, I think it’ll be fun.” His voice layered in a dark, seductive tone that makes you all the more curious about him, that familiar question popping up in the back of your head: who was this man?

‘Oh no’, you think, worried that he’s going to propose some stupid or weird sexual act that’s going to completely ruin the moment. Christopher must have noticed the look on your face, because he chuckles and sits back on his heels. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that out of the ordinary. It’s just something that I like to do now and then. Like I said, you can absolutely say no and I won’t judge you or pressure you.” He slips his hand in his front pocket and pulls out a small velvet bag.

You sit up on your elbows, curious as to what the man could possibly have in such a tiny bag. As Christopher opens the bag, he pulls out a small plastic bag with white powder, and another small bag with some baby blue tablets. He outstretches his palm towards you, letting you inspect the bags.

“I might also have an affinity for party drugs,” he says with a nervous chuckle, “comes with the music industry.”

You look down at Christopher’s palm, then back up to meet his eyes. You’re not really upset, just a bit taken aback. However, you would definitely be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t  at least somewhat curious. Part of you had a feeling this was a bad idea, but the less-logical part of you just wanted to let loose and enjoy yourself for once. When would you really, honestly get a chance to have sex with such a good looking man in an apartment you would never be able to afford in ten lifetimes?

As you bit your lip back and looked up at Christopher with a smirk, you knew and acknowledged that there were red flags in the back of your head, but you pushed them aside, sitting fully up, grabbing the tops of Christopher’s thighs.

“Let’s do it,” you excitedly whisper, against your best instincts, before you lean in to kiss Christopher again. His lips curl in a boyish, excited grin as he gives you a quick kiss back, reaching down to grab your hands from his thighs.

“Come with me.”

Christopher lays down generic ground rules before anything fun happens. He explicitly tells you that if anything makes you uncomfortable,  you need to tell him. You reassure him that, yes, you’ve tried cocaine a couple of times because it’s rampant in the modelling industry, but that the ecstasy was something foreign to you. This whole situation was foreign to you, but you continued to stuff that down and ignore it. You needed to live a little while you were still young, right?

You hear Christopher assertively say your name as he waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you listening to me? I won’t do this unless you really want to and you listen to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head, coming back to reality. “Sorry, I was just spacing out for a second. Honestly, Christopher, I’m fine. I’ll drink water and I’ll tell you if anything makes me uncomfortable.”  Christopher’s lips tugged into a slight frown as he lifts his eyebrow. “I promise,” you reassure, grabbing his hand from his side.

“Good,” he relaxes, turning back to the kitchen counter. He grabs the blue tablets, handing one out to you. “Take this first. It’s gonna take a half-hour to really feel it, and that’s when you’re really going to want to play around. Make sure you drink the entire glass of water, too. Trust me.”

Excitedly, you grab the tablet from Christopher’s hand and slip it on your tongue, swallowing it down a bit nervously with a few sips of water. Your eyes dart up, taking in how intently Christopher is watching your every movement. When you set your glass down, he follows suit by dropping the tablet into his mouth and taking a single large drink of water from his glass.

“Okay,” he exclaims, a nervous smile on his face, “still wanna do a couple lines?”

You nod your head a bit too excitedly as you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Christopher smirks in response as he empties the bag onto the countertop, methodically dividing it into four lines - two for each of you. He spends time spreading it out with a card he pulled out from his wallet, holding a ₩50,000 note in his other hand.

“Alright,” he says as he stands up straight, turning to look at you. He rolls up the note into a tight cylinder and passes it off to you with a soft smile, “ladies first, yeah?” You take the note from him and look down to the countertop. With a quick breath in, you bend down - making sure to wiggle your bum a bit for good measure - and take the note to your nose, lining up the end of it to the first line. You quickly sniff up the first line, take a couple of breaths, then take in the second line.

With a perk in your step, you snap yourself back upright and look at Christopher with wide eyes and a delighted grin. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are wide, taking you in. “Oh my god,” he whispers in English, switching back to Korean in the same breath, “you are so much fun to watch.” You giggle and pass the note back to him.

Christopher bends down and looks up at you as he gets close to the countertop. “This one’s for you,” he says with a wink, before he inhales both lines in succession. He stands back up, quickly rubbing underneath his nostril before leaning on the countertop with his hands. He takes a quick breath, then turns back to you with an obvious fire in his eyes.

“Let’s get started, baby,” he demands, a low tone in his voice you haven’t heard yet. Christopher grabs your hand, pulling you back into what you assume is his bedroom. He leads you to the edge of the bed, guiding you down as he presses his lips to yours with a renewed hunger for you. His kiss isn’t as soft and tender as it was before: this is more calculated and determined, as if he needed to kiss you in order to save his life. He wastes no time inviting his tongue into your mouth without warning, exploring your mouth with purpose.

You can’t really help it, but you moan at the assertiveness in Christopher’s behaviour, which causes him to subconsciously grind his pelvis down into yours. There’s an obvious, apparent firmness that comes between you and a breath hitches in your throat. “Chris,” you groan out, “I want you, please.”

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, lifting his head up to look at you. “No,” he says with a wide grin on his face, “we’re going to play for a while first, baby.” He sits up onto his knees and unbuttons his shirt completely, aggressively pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants before haphazardly discarding it on to the floor.

You really don’t mean to stare - especially not with your jaw hanging wide open - but you find yourself transfixed on the man’s very obvious and well-sculpted torso. His abdomen is rigid, and his arms have very well defined muscles that are very distracting. Christopher laughs, stretching his hands out towards you.

“Can I?” He questions, reaching down to the hem of your shirt. You throw all caution to the wind, excitedly nodding, inching closer towards him on your knees. As he smiles at you, he grabs your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the ground with a bit more tact. A gasp escapes him as he draws his attention up from your abdomen, slowly up your torso, and eventually looking back up at you with a completely dumbfounded look plastered on his face.

You take this opportunity to slip your hands behind your back, grabbing each side of your bra and pushing the clips together to unhook each side, slipping the straps down each arm. The soft fabric falls from your skin as you peel it off of you and drop it off the edge of the bed.

“Wow,” Christopher breathes out, taking his hands from your hips and slowly lifting them up under your breasts. He gently cups the underside of them, and pulls you into his lap. His soft lips come crashing into yours as he sinks his hands down to the waistband of your jeans, fumbling with the button a bit before he’s able to finally undo it and slide your zipper down. Making sure not to break from the kiss, you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants and wiggle them off to about your knees.

Christopher guides you onto your back, giving you a quick kiss one more time before he sits up. “Let me help you out with this,” he says with a smirk as he pulls your jeans off, but leaving you in your underwear.  Your jeans easily slip off of your ankles and you can’t help but blush at how exposed you are. Almost as if he can feel your nervousness and insecurities pop up, He smiles and leans down to kiss you for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a smile, kissing you again before he steps down to the floor. Your eyes follow him, looking at the way his tongue does a quick pass over his lips before he bites the bottom one and moves to unbutton his pants. The skin-tight material provides a bit of difficulty as he struggles to get the legs to slip down past his thighs, but they come off easily after they pass his knees.

“Man, it’s way easier getting those on than off,” Christopher laughs as he steps out of his pants. He stands upright, and that’s when you realize he’s completely naked.

“Oh my god,” you say with a bit of shock to your voice. It’s a bit embarrassing, you can’t help but stare because his cock is right there and obvious and very hard. It’s larger than you expected, and you subconsciously suck your bottom lip under your teeth as you stare up at him.

He awkwardly laughs as he walks around the bed, sitting at the empty space next to you. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it yet or not, but I really want you to come over here and ride my face right now.”

The sheer bluntness of Christopher’s statement causes a tingling in your stomach and makes your head start to feel fuzzy and tingly. Maybe the ecstasy was starting to kick in after all, because you felt soft and really affectionate. “You want me to do what?” You question, nervously smiling. This was something none of your previous boyfriends or one-night stands had ever done, never mind enthusiastically wanting to try it.

Christopher turns back, grabbing the pillow from your side of the bed, putting it on top of the pillow behind him. He then leans back, resting his head on the pillows, and he tugs your wrist gently, pulling you over him, straddling his waist. “Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t, then I’ll stop and do whatever you want, okay?”

You have to admit, he has a way with words and you were curious if he could actually make you come or if he just had an oversized ego. “Alright,” you say with a nervous smile, your eyes darting down to Christopher’s chest. His eyes light up and he grabs your hips with a bit too much excitement.

“Really?” The way that he earnestly smiles is really cute. “You wouldn’t believe it, but most women I’ve been with don’t want to try it. It’s something I love doing.” He lets out a giggle and hooks his index fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Can I?”

A wave of excitement takes over - yeah, the drugs are fully kicking in now - and you nod your head a couple of times. “Fuck yes,” Christopher says under his breath as he pulls your panties down in one quick motion, guiding your both of legs out of them. He grabs your hips again and looks up at you with half-open eyes, “Come to me, baby.”

It feels like your inhibitions have completely left you as you shift your pelvis up to Christopher’s face. He reaches his tongue out and takes a quick taste of you, looking up at you very eagerly. A smile comes across his face and he pulls you down onto him fully. Once you’ve rested on his chin, he wastes no time lapping you up.

His tongue is warm and the way it feels on your sensitive skin is enough to make your head spin. A wave of happiness flows up from your toes all the way to your head, giving you a body-wide tingle. As you start to feel warm all around, Christopher takes his tongue and presses it up against your clit, slowly licking you up from the middle of his tongue all the way to the tip. You choke out a moan and slam your hands on the wall ahead of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan out, looking down to Christopher, who has a very happy grin plastered on his face.

“Does it feel good, baby?” He moans out in between aggressive licks, taking one of his hands from your hips and slipping it in between your legs. “If you like that,” he says as he slides one of his fingers inside of you, “you’re going to love this.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and you curl your fingers on the wall. A squeak escapes from your lips as Christopher takes another finger and inserts it into you, fingers slowly riding in and out, curling towards your pelvic bone when they’re fully inside of you. Suddenly, the room is unbearably hot and your nerves are on fire. The drugs were having a tremendous effect on you, and everything felt more intense than you had ever experienced.

Christopher took his free hand, grabbing your thigh to steady you. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere, so relax.” His voice is soothing and the calming tone of his voice somehow turns you on more. Your hands slip down the wall a bit and your head falls onto your forearm.

“If you stop one more, ah, time, I swear,” breathy moans accent your words, “I swear I will, ah, kill you, Christopher Bang. Fuck.”

A laugh comes from him, “I’d like to see you try.” As you try to come up with a witty quip, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you fervently, sucking your clit into his mouth as he gives frequent small licks to you.

The intensity is almost too much to handle. Whines keep leaving you subconsciously and you turn to bite your arm to stifle your moans. Your teeth dig into your skin, and you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise tomorrow. Christopher is relentless, his fingers and tongue working in tandem, and it’s causing your brain to melt. The heat building up in the pit of your stomach is unbearable; your legs start to shake, and you feel close to climaxing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” you squeak out in a panicked voice, “Chris, I’m gonna come!”

Christopher moves his hand from your hip to the small of your back, somehow working you even harder. With one last press of his fingers against your g-spot, your head snaps up, straightening your back. You scream out his name at the top of your lungs as your orgasm takes control of you. There’s something about this orgasm that’s otherworldly, it feels almost as if you can feel every nerve in your body vibrate within you and it feels incredible. In your blurry state, you make a mental note to try this more often, the drugs and the face-riding.

Reality slowly comes back to you as you roll off of Christopher and to the side of the bed. “Holy shit,” you breathe out, “that was incredible.” You turn your head to look at him and his pupils are fully blown out, a proud grin on his face.

“You look like you had a good time, yeah?” He questions, rolling over onto his side and resting his head on his palm. “What’d I tell you?”

“Yeah, you were right,” a giddy smile is plastered on your face that you can’t seem to relax, “I did enjoy myself. I think you might have ruined me from anyone else for a while.” You both share a good laugh and the room falls quiet. The nerves in your body have calmed down a bit, but your heart is still racing.

Christopher rolls over, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand. He takes a quick drink and passes it to you. “Here, you definitely need this. And you’re not allowed to say no, remember? Hydration’s important.” Too exhausted to argue, you nod your head and take a couple of sips from the bottle. You hand the bottle back and he puts it back on the nightstand. As you’re about to thank him, he takes you by surprise by crawling over you and crashes his lips against yours.

“We’re not done yet,” he says with an ominous tone, breaking away from the kiss, “Not even close. Are you ready for me, baby?” Your eyes widen and you look down between your legs. Christopher is there and you’re concerned if he’ll actually fit. After staring for a second too long, you look up at him with pleading eyes and nod your head. “Alright.”

He sits back on his heels and licks his hand. Once he’s got enough saliva on his hand, he grabs his cock and starts slowly stroking himself, biting his lip as he looks directly at you. “What? Like what you see?” Christopher smiles, then brings himself back down to your level. “I’m gonna go inside you now, are you ready?” You look up at him nervously and quickly nod your head in agreement a couple of times. “No, I want you to tell me you want it.”

Your face is suddenly hot with embarrassment; somehow, this was more embarrassing than sitting on someone else’s face. Christopher puts a reassuring hand on your cheek, then gives a peck to your forehead. “C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“I want you,” you nervously gulp, but find the confidence you need, “I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

Your words make it seem like a spark is ignited in Christopher: his eyes darken and he suddenly gets a serious look on his face. In an instant, he’s pushing himself inside you, the painful but wonderful sensation of being filled up makes you roll your eyes and head backwards. You reach up your hands haphazardly into his hair, gripping tightly once you have fistfuls in each hand.

“Fuck,” he groans once he’s completely inside you. “Baby, you feel like heaven. I’m gonna move, okay?” You nod your head a bit more excitedly than you were intending to, but it makes him smile. He pulls himself out all the way, then quickly slams his hips against yours. The sudden movement causes you to arch your back and moan louder than you expected you could.

Christopher leans down, his arms on either side of your head. He brings his face to yours and sloppily kisses you as he rocks his hips back and forth, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix. You open your mouth, letting your tongues explore each other. As he keeps moving, he takes his left hand and brings it up to your hair, gripping it. The tugging of your hair causes a lightning strike of nerves to light up for a split second.

“Chris,” you moan into his mouth, breath hitching in your throat as his pace quickens, “fuck me harder!”

Your request makes him break from your kiss. He reaches his arms down to your legs and places them both over his right shoulder. “Alright, baby, just tell me if it’s too much,” he smiles deviously and starts thrusting into you again. The new positioning takes you by surprise, making every small movement that much more intense.

Profanity punctuates each thrust as you moan and cry almost incoherently. It feels like you’re starting to lose your grip on reality. It’s probably the combination of this position and the drugs, but your body feels like it’s on an entirely different plane of existence. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s going to explode and you can’t stop yourself from crying out Christopher’s name over and over.

“That’s it, baby,” his voice brings you back a bit, providing you a sense of anchorage in your bliss, “you belong to me tonight.” He fucks you faster and a bit more sloppily, his cadence no longer keeping up a steady rhythm. “Fuck, if I keep going like this,” he cuts himself off, moaning out your name, “baby, I’m gonna come, can I come inside you?”

Words just won’t come to you, so you settle for vigorously nodding your head. Christopher puts one of his arms down on the bed next to you and puts most of his weight on to it. “Fuck,” he groans and tucks his head into his chest, “fuck!” He thrusts into you one more time and bottoms out, twitching as his cum fills you up in rhythmic spurts.

You both stay like this for a moment, before he releases your legs down to his sides. He leans in and lazily kisses you before rolling over, panting and clearly out of breath.

“That was,” he sighs, turning his head in your direction with half-open eyes, “that was incredible. Yeah? How are you feeling?”

Normally, you wouldn’t curl up into a one-night stand, but tonight has you feeling a certain type of way. You crawl into Christopher’s chest and smile, “I feel amazing. That was the most fun I’ve had in so long.”

Christopher laughs, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin against the top of your head. “I’m glad. Let’s do this again in the morning.” You both let out soft giggles and relax into each other. As sleep starts to overtake you, you swear you hear your cell phone buzzing. “Whatever,” you think, “it can’t be that important.”

As you’d find out the next morning, you were wrong. It was incredibly important.

[m-y-fandoms]

Rantarou Amami x Ultimate Writer - FLUFF

Request: Hi! Your writing is incredible ^^ I was wondering if you could write Rantaro with an Ultimate Essay Writer s/o, maybe comforting them when they're up late writing? I hope that's okay, and thank you :D

Hey! Sure I can do this! But, I wanna make it just the Ultimate Writer. I’m an english writing major myself IRL, and I have to write essays, non-fiction, emails, resumes, letters, instructional guides, graphic novels, fiction, poetry etc. so they will definitely have essay-writing skills anyway. Ultimate Writer just makes it easier. I hope you don’t mind :) - Admin Kokichi

     "Nnnn!" You gritted your teeth in frustration, "NNNGGHH!" Your arm was stretched to its extent, reaching up with all your might. The shelf above was just out of reach. Your fingertips scraped against the spine of the thick brown book above you, but strain as you might, it wasn’t budging, firm and snug against the others on the shelf. "Gah!" You puffed in anger, clenching your fists. Why did the books you wanted from the basement library always have to be so high up? You needed this particular text as a reference for your next piece. 

     It was going to be a throwaway letter, a confession written to express your feelings then set them free by burning it later. It didn’t matter, really, what you wrote at this point. Anything to get your mind off of all of… this. In this killing game, your writing was the only thing that brought you comfort. You stayed up every night scrawling until your wrist cramped up. Your Monopad had a notes section to type in, but you much rather stick to the traditional ways. The lack of sleep and endless output of creative thought was starting to weigh on you, and now it looked like you weren’t even getting this damn book today, “Man, this blows…” You sighed deeply. "AH!" You jumped, startled when a large, ring-clad hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, bracelets jangling in your ear. Soon, you felt someone's broad chest against your back. The hand grabbed the book you wanted and brought it down. You turned around with your hand on your chest, still a little jumpy. "Oh, phew… Rantarou, it's just you."

      "Yeah,” he chuckled gently, “here ya go Y/N." There stood your crush, the rich playboy with a heart of gold. You felt your cheeks go warm. He was often in the library, and you relished every moment you got to spend glancing over your shoulder at him while we has up to his usual antics of planning traps or researching new ways to interrogate your classmates until someone was spooked into admitting their position as the mastermind. Once in a while, he would read for pleasure, and at first you felt like an asshole for being surprised by that. You judged him too early on, seeing a flawless face and a suave personality and assuming he would be the popular kid archetype you’d seen in many an awful young adult novel. The more you got to know him, the more he revealed himself to be highly intelligent, well-rounded, considerate, empathetic, and extremely attractive.

     "Thanks, Rantarou," you looked down, placing the book under your arm.

     "No problem… it's not everyday I get to do something useful for someone else here," he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. You laughed too, looking him up and down. 

      “That’s not true!” you countered. “You’re always helping us all out. You give great advice, too!”

      “Well, I try to help, but I’m sure it hasn’t escaped everyone’s notice that none of my plans have really... taken off,” he gestured, moving his hand in a soaring-upward motion. “Also, with me not rememberin’ my talent and all… I kinda have become the expendable background character, yeah?” His eyes crinkled closed with a kind smile.

      He laughed again to fill the silence of the dark, empty library. You giggled. You always thought it was cute how could be so humble, looking the way he did, sounding the way he did. He had been that way ever since you’d met him, and are far as you were concerned, it seemed genuine. You couldn’t really trust anyone in this killing game, but you trusted Rantarou. Even in the library past midnight, where no one would know if you ended up dead, you trusted Rantarou.

      "Sorry, I uh, I didn't mean to scare you," he leaned against the bookcase, arms crossed.

      "Nah, it's fine. You helped me out, so I forgive you..." You joked, playfully punching his shoulder. He smiled a bit sheepishly, an expression you didn’t see often in the confident male.

      "Yeah I… haha," He fiddled with a book nearby," I didn't think anyone would be here. I always come at night. Surprisingly, it's pretty boomin’ here during the day, so I come later on to avoid the hassle of a crowded space." You understood completely. Rantarou was always secretive about his plans.

      “I know, I see you here sometimes,” you mused.

      “Oh, really? I usually sit behind the back shelves, so I guess i didn’t notice you. You’re pretty quiet, huh? Maybe I should be watchin’ my back for you, huh?” He snickered

      "I was having the same thought, isn't that weird?" He looked at you with alarm. “I’m kidding!” To that, he relaxed a bit. "So, watcha reading?"

      "Oh, um," He gestured behind him to the aforementioned back shelf "I’m set up back there reading. It's just some old, boring, textbook information on one of the small countries I’ve visited. I thought it'd be interesting, but..."

      "Yeah, sounds like it," You looked at him with genuine interest, and he smiled in appreciation.

      "Wait, really?!"

      "Yeah, why wouldn't it be? I think it’s super cool that you’re well-traveled. I guess that’s why you and Korekiyo get along so well, huh?" His feet shuffled in silent excitement at your shared enthusiasm. He bit his lip playfully, and your eyes grew shiny in admiration. He was so adorable.

      He noticed your change in expression and coughed, frowning a little in embarrassment. You tried to change the subject, to make him comfortable again.

      "H-hey, Rantarou?"

      "Hmm?" He looked up from the ground eagerly.

      "You're gonna be up reading all night, right? Well.. I will be, too, and... it’s harder for someone to kill us with four eyes on the lookout..."

      "Yeah?"

      "So, you wanna maybe sit with me here at my table? The vents reach this side of the library better so it’s a bit warmer... haha, it's... it's kinda cold in here," You pulled your uniform’s turtleneck tighter around yourself, shaking a little. Rantarou immediately accepted. He wasn’t about to pass up an invitation from his crush.

     “Hell yeah, sounds great! I’ll go grab my stuff, but, hey, I’ve noticed I hardly ever see you in the dorms… you know you gotta sleep, right?” He had a concerned look on his face, and your heart of course fluttered at his attention to detail and knowledge of your habits, but you didn’t want him worrying about you when he had his own safety to look out for.

      “Well, I appreciate the concern, but I’d much rather spend time with you than be in my dorm alone worrying.” He seemed to blush at your words, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far, until he agreed, and rushed over to grab his reading material.

~

      You sighed deeply, a yawn slipping out once or twice. At least two hours had passed since you and Rantarou set up your little corner and there he still sat, in the wooden chair across from yours, never looking up at you from his book. A peaceful, relaxed look glazed his face. He had been that way almost the whole time, but you could sense him becoming a bit antsy. Maybe he was just tired?

      You were both fast readers, so by now you had already read the best sections of your own books and switched. He now sat reading the yellowed pages of the book you selected: an eclectic compilation of 16th century romance literature, and you were now five chapters into his text on the different ethnic groups of some far-off land.

      “Hmm… heh,” he shook his head amusedly.

      “What?” Your head shot up anxiously, fearing he was judging your choice of genre.

       “It’s just... some of this is extremely cheesy and cliche. You’d think the old masters would have done a little better.” He lifted the book in a referencing gesture.

      “Ah, yes, I noticed that as well. I was hoping for a little inspiration, but… it seems Monokuma isn’t the best curator of quality literature.” He nodded in agreement, seemingly stuck on a thought. You could see him stare into space for a second before continuing.

      “Inspiration for what… may I ask?” He pressed, waiting with bated breath for your reply. You felt your feathers start to ruffle, the borders of your comfort zone being invaded by the enemy. You didn’t know if you should answer honestly. The letter was a throwaway for a reason…

      “I was going to write a letter…” it slipped out, and you quickly regretted it. Apparently, your brain had decided to take the lead for you. You never recalled yourself being so forward or brave.

      “Why do you need sonnets and romance novels to write a letter? Planning to sweet talk Monokuma into freeing us?” He chuckled somewhat teasingly, but his haughty words slowly faded to silence upon noticing the wet shine in your nervous eyes, the way your fingers played with the corner of the book as a distraction for your discomfort.

      “No…” You coughed, clearing your throat. Rantarou looked away, running a hand through his green shaggy locks. He knew what the letter was for, of course, who it was for. He was a bit nervous, too, eager to play off the tension in the room with humor, but it wasn’t working. He was wondering why you were so apprehensive, so sullen at his inquiry. You two flirted almost every day… did you seriously need to worry about his reaction? Did you think he didn’t like you back? “I-It’s… well it was going to be a um… a confession of sorts… just to get my feelings down on paper and off my chest. Then I was gonna burn it afterward to set those feelings free!” You smiled weakly, betraying your lack of confidence.

      “Nah, you should give it to him- them!” He corrected himself, dropping the most obvious hint he could. You still didn’t look convinced, a bit oblivious.

      “Y-you think so?”

      “For sure, no doubt. Whoever that letter is meant for,” he leaned in to you, clasping his calloused hands around yours. You felt your heart skip a beat at the contact, and you were left speechless, fearing any words spoken now would come out as idiotic babbling, “they are gonna love it. Trust me.” His eyebrows rose with emphasis, and he shot you one of his iconic, heart-melting smiles.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (1)

Chapter 1: Vengeful Vader | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

A/N: I’ve had this idea since April, I’ve already made the outline and everything. But back then I was afraid that it might not be well-received for silly reasons borne from my overthinking. Until an Anon sent this prompt a few weeks or so after I’ve made the original outline. Turns out, I just needed that little push… so, a big thank you to Anon for adding up to the plot and allowing me to finally use my precious OC for this story! ^w^

I wanted to show this to you guys, I just couldn’t wait ^^ : @berenilion​​ @wrongplaces​​ @stellar-trinity​​ @queen-destenie​​ @peterwandaparker​​ @calgasm​​ @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms​​ @sweeetteaa​​ @calsponchoemporium​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @superwarsofthrones​​ @fallenjedii​​ @droidrights​ @cal-jestis​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidne Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

Darth Vader barely contained the sea overflowing and flooding into the broken glass that the wretched Jedi boy created. While this was no stretch for himself and his abilities, the sight of the boy and the adult woman swimming away to safety while he holds back a wall of water greatly vexed him.

That frustration evolved into anger, Darth Vader literally cut through the tunnel of water using the Force. The water gave way like servants to a king, he had both hands outstretched to the sides, the ripples swirled unnaturally to follow the whim of the Force under Vader’s manipulation. He marched through the corridor and finally reached the end with the door, seawater sloshed and gave for the dark lord.

The door whizzed open, but not a single drop of the sea entered—only Darth Vader. He can now finally rest his arms. The ocean raged in the other side of the door, the bubbling seawater muffled through the blast door. The Sith lord hurried his way to what little remained of the turbolift. He was safe inside that cylinder, away from drowning; he set the elevator to bring him to the highest level, the upper hangars were his destination.

“Commander,” Vader called through the commlink available in the turbolift’s terminal.

“Lord Vader?” the commander acknowledged.

“Have my ship ready in the hangar,”

“Yes, Lord Vader, I’ll personally send you the hangar coordinates,”

Silence on Vader’s end until the transmission cut. Seconds after the call, a tone chirped on the screen of the terminal. A string of text comprised of a single letter and three numbers flashed white against the black screen.

C-848.

Darth Vader knows the location. He remained poised and erect in his posture as he stood at the center of the lift, arms crossed together, head slightly hung low—in this kind of position, he often found himself meditating involuntarily. Although, he preferred his own chambers. The elevator rumbled, the lights flickered for a brief second, and the doors hissed open.

He stepped out of the platform, proceeded along the corridors of the uppermost levels of the fortress. Keeping the hangar coordinates in mind, he knew where a path leads in this place, after all, it was modeled and referenced after his own fortress back in Mustafar. He found the same commander standing by the entrance door of hangar C-848.

“Welcome, Lord Vader. We have your ship prepped, fully-fueled, and calibrated for travel.”

“Very good, Commander. See to it that the damaged areas below sea level are repaired before this whole building collapses.”

The dark lord did not stop his tracks for the niceties. He continued striding across the hangar towards a shuttle; its sleek, ivory body gleamed and stood out against the black, tiled floor of the hangar—emphasizing the symbolism of its elite status and the regal sophistication of its design.

The officer followed his master, but within a safe distance behind him while still in Vader’s earshot. He dared to lean forward, as if hoping to get a reaction from this lumbering machine of a man.

“But, sir, the fortress’s foundation is impregnable! Three to five maintenance units can easily rectify the critical areas and restore the integrity of the building.”

“I do not have the fool’s faith as you do when it comes to infrastructures, Commander. You either do as I say or go down into the bottom of the ocean with the rest of this tower!” Vade rebuked, his strides becoming wider, indicating his impatience and growing annoyance on the commander.

When the officer realized that he has raised his voice against Darth Vader—even for just a pitch higher—he softened up, withdrawing to retain his distance, and felt his stomach sank. Quickly, he thought of a way to ease the lord’s mind or shift his attention somewhere else; he overthought so much that the vein on his temple throbbed—both in self-imposed sheer pressure and fear of what Darth Vader might do to him for speaking back.

“Has the Emperor been reported of this whole ordeal?” he stammered.

Not wishing any more elaborations in this banter, he uses this simple line to leave little to no room for arguments, “Leave all of that to me.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The commander got the hint that there should be no more words further said, he dismissed himself to the command center of the hangar, praying for himself to melt and dissolve into the floor for that exchange, wishing that the last few lines he had traded with the dark lord had never happened.

Darth Vader continued to march through the hangar. His cape billowed with every step, flanked by rows upon rows of Stormtroopers—with militantly straight backs and hands cradling their blasters in an unwavering steadiness—on both of his sides. A pair of crimson-robed guards stood by the entry ramp of the shuttle; hydraulic steam wafted about the vibrant red fabric of their capes while awaiting their master, they didn’t move a single muscle until Darth Vader has fully set foot into the shuttle. They were the last one to board the ship as they flanked behind the Sith lord.

The pilot asked the destination, Vader simply replied with the coordinates of the planet he wishes. Without question, the pilot enters the combination of letters and numbers into the computer, the ship’s system quickly registered the data. He relayed the coordinates to Darth Vader’s command ship, to be immediately done upon his boarding.

“Setting course for Modala.” The pilot announced.

By rote, the pilot connected his speakers to the hangar’s bridge and underwent the standard procedure and protocols—as everybody in any Imperial establishment does: he recites the monotonous, robotic pattern of sentences that he relays to the command center—in return, an operations officer verifies and authorizes the take-off of the shuttle.

The ship was finally allowed to leave the hangar. The sooner they get out of the building, the better, thought Vader—sinking into the sea floor with black fortress debris wasn’t exactly part of his itinerary in this planet. In a bird’s-eye view, the tower looked fine; it shrank in size as the shuttle gained altitude, for a brief second, sheets of clouds obscured Vader’s view of the deep black space. The ship finally pored through Nur’s stratosphere; the tiny ivory speck that is the Imperial shuttle zipped towards one of the bigger ships—the Star Destroyers.

“This is shuttle Revenant, with Darth Vader requesting boarding into command ship Paradox,” the pilot announced casually through the microphone of the cockpit dashboard.

A muffled voice crackled through the speakers, “Request permitted, shuttle Revenant. Proceed to boarding hatch. Welcome, Lord Vader.”

The shuttle hovered itself into an open hatch in the underbelly of the bigger ship. Tractor beams braced the small vessel on both sides and drew it further into the command ship’s interior. A slight quake in the Revenant signaled that they have successfully boarded the Paradox. A tunnel walkway connected the exit ramp into the wide hallway floor of the command ship, Darth Vader saw himself out of the Revenant—flanked by the crimson Royal Guards—and made his way to the bridge, where the operators have already charted a course to Modala and punched it when Vader set foot into the ship.

At the center of the bridge, in front of a window of a full view, stood Vader gazing back at the cluster of Nur—its planet as well as its moons. The sight of the fortress long gone, the dark lord turned his attention to the vacuum of nothingness as black as the heavy armor that cages him.