#he is a fit boi but still quite equally distributed

[shut-the-burrow-door-pls]

Haven't draw throt for long last time was Christmas… i should draw him again some time i am free enough (impossible)

there is a serious question for research purpose before i go to sleep… if they keep that three sets of tits as the concept ref art? I feel not… it could be a good feature tho… really cool one

(why skaven campaign lord select page looks like some sort of gal game or dating sim, and why throt and tretch look so sweet? Why? And the equally terrible smile from the front…they looks like dental ads cuz they really show off their teeth)

[viperwhispered]

If you're still thinking of making a playlist, feel free to add "Be Mine" by Ofenbach and "Kick up Your Heels" by Jessica Mauboy ft.Pitbull.

Context: During the early 20th century, alcohol was prohibited in the United States. This lead to uncontrolled secret distribution of alcohol and secret bars everywhere (fun fact: it was alcohol dealing that made Al Capone so powerful). The most iconic of these bars were speakeasies: secret illegal clubs that sold good alcohol while playing jazz (fun fact: these bars went a long way to pushing gender and racial equality by having everyone being able to dance & drink together).

Which brings me to this scenario: Jamil sneaking out of weekends to dance the night away and enjoy precious moments of freedom without Kalim. During these escapades, he meets the reader and the two get closer of months of several encounters. At some point they meet outside of the bar, but they pretend to be aquaintances at most. They get so into each other that they start subtly flirting even outside the bar.

Eventually we get to the moment that ecompases the songs (Be Mine is Jamil's perspective and Kick up Your Heels is the reader's). After weeks of subtle flirting, the two are finally tipsy enough to flirt more openly. Jamil goes in first and the reader playfully flirts back. They dance the night away and end up leaving together back to reader's apartment (don't worry Jamil has the weekend off and Najma owes him so she'll cover for him).

Cue adorable morning after with kisses, cuddles, Jamil making breakfeat, and the reader wearing his clothes.

(Boy if the music video for the Ofenbach song doesn’t look like it was made for total wish fulfillment for the artists, lol. Song's a total banger, tho (after listening to it a lot while working on this).)

I’m also gonna add Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon to the list because the vibes totally fit (and I’ve definitely thought of it in regards to Jamil before).

I do love the idea of reader meeting Jamil in an environment where he can be more free. Just, how different of an experience is it, when the dance floor is your first impression of him, rather than the Jamil at NRC or the Asim estate? When he’s actually letting go, being himself and just having a good time.

Plus like, presumably in the Scalding Sands Jamil’s job is not so 24/7 anyway, since there’s other servants around too to look after Kalim. So yay for actual free time.

And because I totally vibe with this & have thought of something similar before, I wanted to turn this into a bit of fic.

Post-NRC, Jamil x reader, written with a fem reader in mind, nsfw

The club, 22:30

You surveyed the club, your eyes insisting on looking for one person in particular, but to no avail.

No matter. Whether or not your favorite dance partner - or your acquaintance, or your crush, or whatever the hell he was to you - would turn up tonight, you could still have fun.

So, when a good song came on, you slid to the dancefloor, determined to dance the night away one way or another. You still had the whole night ahead of you, after all.

Not that you would have minded the company.

The club, 23:12

While you were queueing up for a drink, Jamil was the one who found you.

“I was wondering if you’d turn up,” you said with a grin, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

“And miss you? No way.”

You laughed and shook your head. It really was unfortunate how attractive that cocky grin was on Jamil.

“Wouldn’t have been the first night I’ve had to make do without you,” you said lightly.

“Well, tonight I can be all yours,” Jamil replied, his hand ghosting at the small of your back.

You grinned - you had to admit, you quite liked the sound of that.

The club, 23:27

Over the past few months there had been times when you caught Jamil looking at you as if he was evaluating you, measuring you. Yet, whenever he actually got close to you, that was all gone, replaced by pleasantries and barely concealed playfulness.

Today, however, there was a particular determination to him, one that had him shamelessly inching closer to you as you were talking over your drinks - as much as one could have a meaningful conversation talking over the thudding music.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” you said, looking at Jamil from under your lashes while you sipped your drink.

“Well… I’ve been thinking that I wouldn’t mind sharing more than a dance with you,” Jamil said, his own drink nearly forgotten in his hands.

“Oh? What are you thinking?” you asked, stirring the remains of your drink with your straw, trying to affect a casual air despite your curiosity.

Jamil got close enough that you thought you could feel his breath on your skin.

“That I want to get to know you much better,” Jamil replied, an unmistakable sultry undercurrent to his tone. His hand had found its way to your arm, tracing light patterns on your skin.

Your eyes widened, a surprised laugh bubbling to your lips. My, what had gotten Jamil so bold tonight?

“Oh, and here I was just looking forward to some dancing,” you said with a playful grin.

Jamil might have gotten your heart to flutter, an unmistakable heat rising to your cheeks, but that didn’t mean you’d be that easily charmed.

“Just be prepared that once I get hold of you, I might not let go,” he said, lightly squeezing your arm.

“Dance with me, and then we’ll see,” you said with an amused shake of your head.

“Let’s start the show, then.”

With a laugh you grabbed Jamil’s hand, dragging him to the dancefloor, the beating of your heart rivaling the thud of the music.

There was such confidence to him, like Jamil had already ensured he’d get what he wanted and was just biding his time.

And you had to admit, you kinda liked it.

The club, 23:51

The song was one of your favorites and you couldn’t help singing along, moving your body to the beat. People were trickling in, but there was still space for both you and Jamil to let loose.

It was its own kind of delight, seeing how well you two could synchronize your movements. Stepping back and forth, circling each other, claiming a part of the dance floor all to yourselves. You grinned, watching the way Jamil leaned to the side, shrugging his shoulder, and you copied the move to the other direction, adding your own flourish with the snap of your hips.

After a few repeats there was a stutter in the music and you leaned forward, Jamil coming in to meet you, chest to chest. You lingered there for the briefest moment, your eye meeting, noses nearly brushing, before you pulled back and threw your hands up in the air for the chorus. You sang out the lyrics, let your body move as it wished, full-heartedly just enjoying yourself - and your company.

Sure, there was a part of you curious to find out just what Jamil could offer. But you’d come out here to have fun, and have fun you would.

Whatever would come later, would come later.

The club, 01:25

You were sweaty, your feet sore, your hair undoubtedly a mess at this point. Yet, you couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop relishing your time with Jamil.

Jamil’s hands were on your hips, following your movements, his chest flush to your back.

You had to admit, you loved the feeling of his body against yours, the way you swayed together. 

You also delighted in teasing him like this, feeling the hardness of his arousal when you ground your ass on him.

“I want you to be mine,” Jamil mouthed the lyrics of the song, his breath hot by your ear.

He brushed his lips by your skin, something akin to a kiss, and you could feel the warmth of it shoot straight to your core.

Idly, you wondered if Jamil would be able to hear your soft groan over the music as you leaned back, your hand fumbling in his hair to pull him even closer. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, his mouth now more insistent on the corner of your jaw.

At this point, it was getting harder and harder to remember all the other people around you, your decency slipping from your hands.

Oh, you had a good enough idea of how Jamil’s body fit against you, how it felt under your hands.

But it was not enough.

You wanted to see Jamil, every bit that was hidden under those clothes, wanted to pull his hair loose - or just pull it in general. Wanted to see how he’d look beneath you, above you, between your legs…

Just the thought of Jamil unraveling with you had warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

And the thought of his touch on you, unobstructed…

He really was such a temptation, one that you might not even want to resist at this point.

Your apartment, 01:44

You were not prepared for the hungry way Jamil devoured your lips, how firmly his hands pulled you flush against him.

Or the way he groaned into your mouth, the sound shooting straight to your core.

Oh, you needed more of that. Much more of that.

Your hands shot up, gripping onto him tightly, just as unwilling to let him go. You sought out that hair tie that had been taunting you all evening, your tongue sloppily meeting Jamil’s as you pressed yourself as close to him as you possibly could.

There were so many places you wanted to touch, so many spots you wanted to unveil, your hands racing all over Jamil in a desperate attempt to fulfill all your desires at once.

Jamil’s lips were so wonderfully kiss-swollen, his hair hanging loose and his shirt halfway off him. If you hadn’t been so eager for more, you would’ve stopped to admire the sight and commit it to memory.

Instead, your greedy hands slipped under his top, relishing in the skin to skin contact while Jamil was busy with getting you to a similar state of undress, his eyes burning as his lips descended upon you again, stealing your breath away.

Your apartment, 2:20

You rolled your hips, slowly, your palms resting on Jamil’s chest. He did indeed look absolutely ravishing beneath you, his tongue slightly sticking out through his parted lips, his gorgeous hair spilled over your pillows. Jamil’s hands on your ass were helping you move, urging you to take his cock even deeper.

You’d yield to him soon enough, but first you wanted to savor this. The hungry look Jamil bestowed upon you, the needy way his hands kept on mapping your body, the way his hips bucked beneath you.

At this point, simply calling Jamil your favorite dance partner certainly didn’t do him justice.

No, you’d love to have so much more of him, wanted to find out just how far you two could go.

You leaned down, your lips meeting once again. You braced your arms against the bed as you began to move in earnest. Your efforts were rewarded by Jamil’s needy groan, the way his grip tightened on you. He seemed to be just as drunk on you as you were on him, and just that fact was enough to make your head spin.

Your apartment, 9:40

It was a slow realization, remembering that you had company over, only to find the other side of your bed empty. However, as your senses slowly roused, you soon caught the sounds and smells coming from the kitchen.

Of course he had to be perfect enough to even cook for you, you mused with some amusement.

With a stretch you willed yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, freshening yourself up quickly before padding your way to the kitchen.

You kind of hoped you’d been the one to wake up first. At least you could’ve cleared some of the mess.

It was such a domestic sight, Jamil busying himself at your stove, and you unexpectedly felt your throat tighten with the impact of it.

“I’m amazed you found something to work with,” you said, your words somewhere between apologetic and joking.

“It’s not how I’d keep my own kitchen, but it’s workable,” Jamil said matter-of-factly.

You couldn’t help a snort. What a way to sugarcoat your messy counters and sparse cupboards.

“Well. I’m glad it didn’t drive you off, at least,” you said with dry amusement.

You walked past Jamil to the sink, letting your fingers trace along his back and upper arm as you passed him by, conscious of not bothering his work.

Jamil, however, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close, making you yelp in surprise.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

All you could do was melt against him.

Bonus scene which didn’t really seem to fit the flow but I had to do something with these lyrics, too. A flashback to another night, maybe?

Jamil certainly knew how to move. Yet, there was still something carefully controlled about him.

You’d seen him, sometimes, when the night was late, how he really could let go and get swept up in the music.

Then again, you supposed you still hadn’t quite warmed up yourself, hadn’t forgotten about the way his eyes were on you.

Would another drink be a terrible idea?

Still, seeing the way Jamil was looking around, checking the crowds, made you frown. You tugged on his hand, turning his attention back on you.

"Oh, don't you dare look back. Just keep your eyes on me."

“You’re holding back, yourself,” Jamil said with a knowing look.

“Shut up and dance with me,” you said, smiling even as you rolled your eyes. 

Ngl, I’ve not done much song fics and it was fun weaving in bits of the lyrics and vibes in here - even if I chose to be a silly goose and use 3 songs at once.

Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

Do let me know if you'd like to be tagged for my future works!

[drwcn]

《Without Envy》- concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj 

[story board 1] [story board 2]   [story board 3]  [story board 4] 

long post: story board 5 →

Lan Wangji, as it turned, was a true gentleman. This was problematic for Wei Wuxian, who was tasked with getting close to him, because Hanguang-wang’s upstanding morals being rather unimpeachable rendered Wei Wuxian’s initial seduction efforts entirely unsuccessful. 

 Lan Wangji straight up ignored him. Whenever he came to visit Jiang Yanli it was always to speak with her and not Wei Wuxian. It was like Wei Wuxian, or A-Xian as he was known, did not exist to the prince. Whenever Wei Wuxian tried to “get close” to him, aka, making himself available to serve tea, meals and such, Lan Wangji would always dismiss him, or tell him to wait outside so Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli could dine together alone. Needless to say, Wei Wuxian was getting increasingly frustrated. Entirely unbeknownst to Wei Wuxian however was the fact that Lan Wangji had noticed him from the start and was just trying to stop himself from doing something inappropriate. Truth is, Lan Wangji first saw Wei Wuxian at Jiang-fu during one of Lan Wangji’s visits to finalize the marriage between himself and Jiang Yanli. 

It was the dogs’ barking that got Lan Wangji’s attention first. That, and a young man’s agitated cursing.

“Fuck - ow! Princess that was not nice! I’m going to turn you into barbeque if you don’t cut this shi - Ow! Jasmine, give it here!” 

Lan Wangji’s personal guards Guo Ai and Sun Ting made to investigate the source of the ruckus and to tell off whoever dared to be so impertinent and disrespectful in a marquis’s manor, but Lan Wangji stopped them with a subtle gesture.  

Slowly, he approached the round archway looking into the garden and saw by the shrubs a handsome young man cradling a fuzzy tiny thing while trying his darnedest to fend off two relentless hounds. “Shoo, shoo, go bother your master!”

But the dogs wanted to play. Their bushy tails wagged happily.  

Eventually, the young man tired of the over enthusiastic canines, picked up a stick off the ground, and tossed it far over the garden walls. The dogs took off running, and he and the little creature he protected were allowed a moment’s peace. 

“Little tutu, it’s okay, the mean dogs are gone now. Don’t be afraid.” 

It was only then that Lan Wangji saw that the furry round thing was a small bunny, probably driven from its burrow by the aforementioned hounds that belonged to Jiang-xiao-gongzi. He watched, slightly transfixed, as the young man lifted the bunny and gently booped its nose against his own, his comely face scrunching up adorably in the process. 

So when Wei Wuxian arrived at the prince’s estate with Jiang Yanli, Lan Wangji cursed his luck. He had no intentions of becoming attracted or attached to anyone in his harem. His marriages were political games. Everything he did in his harem was calculated. The last thing he needed was for the Jins to think they could sink their claws into him. So he kept company with all his concubines equally, just to maintain the balance. Lan Wangji did not want Jin Ziyan to be the only man in his harem, which was why when Qin Su offered him Mo Xuanyu, he did not refuse. It was fortunate that Mo Xuanyu himself seemed eager to serve too, so Lan Wangji did not have to grapple with ethics there.  He was doing this for his country; everyone knew this. As long as he kept to his duties and divided his attentions equally, there would be trouble in his harem. Except...Lan Wangji wanted to see ‘A-Xian’ again. The more he wanted, the more he made himself keep his distance. He recognized the power dynamic that existed between this servant and himself, and that if he were to ask, A-xian was not really in a position to refuse. Besides, Jiang Yanli made no indications that she wanted her A-Xian to serve Lan Wangji. In fact, she seemed quite protective of him, always looking out for him wherever she could. She practically treated him like a little brother than a servant. As such, Lan Wangji was happy with the way things were. He could live with never knowing A-Xian more intimately. In fact, he did not want A-Xian to be ordered to serve him, or find out that A-Xian was just like every other man and woman in his harem, there to curry favours with him. It would be a shame if he turned out to be just another flower in the garden, another player in this game they played.  

Of course Wei Wuxian read this whole situation as: that little bastard Lan Wangji doesn’t like me. Xue Yang was charged with being Wei Wuxian’s correspondence between Gusu and Qishan but ended up just being the guy Wei Wuxian complained to.  —“Is this Hanguang-wang truly a paragon of virtues???” Wei Wuxian raged. “Aren’t princes supposed to be lechers? Wen Chao certainly is a sleeze. Wen Xu could be too for all we know. I’m young, fit, attractive and available. I know he likes men so why not me? He sleeps with Mo Xuanyu all the time apparently …Is Mo Xuanyu more attractive than me?!” Xue Yang: >_> God I miss murders. 

Wei Wuxian’s “opportunity” came when Jiang Yanli fell mysteriously ill about three months after she married Lan Wangji. When the physicians were left scratching their heads, Wei Wuxian quickly took the matter into his own hands. He needed Jiang Yanli alive; if she died before he made an impression on Lan Wangji, he could be sent away back to Jiang-fu and threaten his entire operation. What’s more, Jiang Yanli had been extremely kind to him in the last two years since he arrived at Gusu. She truly was the perfect lady; he would hate to see her suffer.  Through some crafty investigations, Wei Wuxian discovered that the cause of Jiang Yanli’s illness was a slow poison being laced into her food by Jin Ziyan’s orders. The motive of his actions were obvious enough; ever since Jiang Yanli married in, Lan Wangji seemed to be showing her extra favour, favours which he never distributed unevenly prior to her entering his household. Jin Ziyan did not want Jiang Yanli as a competition. She was a marquess’s dichu daughter, much higher in rank than either Qin Su or Luo Qingyang, and therefore posed serious threat to becoming Lan Wangji’s legal spouse. In a way, she was Jin Ziyan’s biggest competitor, and he couldn’t have that. What Jin Ziyan didn’t know was that Lan Wangji visited Jiang Yanli so much because he wanted to catch glimpses of Wei Wuxian, even though he dismissed Wei Wuxian from the room every time he saw him (the man was clearly a masochist). Wei Wuxian managed to sniff out the poison before it could cause lasting damages, but the effect of it was going on for long enough that Jiang Yanli still had an early term miscarriage before she even knew she was pregnant. Wei Wuxian, incensed by Jiang Yanli’s suffering, was ready to expose Jin Ziyan, but was ordered not to by Wen Zhuliu. ‘We still need Jin Ziyan’ was his reasoning. Still, Wei Wuxian managed to tip off the investigators such that they detected and put an end to the poisoning, but the culprit was ultimately never caught. As this played out, Wei Wuxian realized that now was his chance to get close to Lan Wangji. With Jiang Yanli recuperating...surely the Jiang family would want someone else of their clan to serve Lan Wangji in her place, someone who could keep Lan Wangji’s attention but would not replace Jiang Yanli’s place in the harem. It did not take much to lead Yu Ziyuan to the same conclusion. To ensure that he would have ample time with Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian secretly slipped a special sedative into Jiang Yanli’s food and drink to mimic the symptoms of a slow recovery. The sedative was one of Qishan’s secret formulations and could not be detected by Gusu’s finest doctors. But Jiang Yanli, bless her heart, did not want the boy who she’d come to see as a little brother to be used like an object. "A-niang, I don't want to force A-Xian to do things he doesn't want to. I will get better, dianxia will not abandon me." — Yu Ziyuan tsked, "Silly girl, serving Lan Wangji in your stead is his entire purpose for coming with you. Every family must plan for something like this; someone to hold onto Lan Wangji's interest while you're indisposed. Men are fickle, child. You need time to recover and someone will need to remind Hanguang-wang that you still matter when you’re ready again. We cannot let him forget you. Think of what this would mean for our clan." Much to Yu Ziyuan’s delight, Lan Wangji came to check on Jiang Yanli while she was visiting, and Madam Yu had no qualms making hints that it would be the Jiang family’s honour if Hanguang-wang allowed ‘A-Xian’ to serve him while Yanli recovered. Wei Wuxian did not protest. Why would he? This was his orchestration after all, but when he dared raise his gaze from the floor to look at Lan Wangji, he detected a hint of something in Lan Wangji’s face…something like disappointment. Wei Wuxian relayed this to Xue Yang and the other evil gremlin sucked on a candied apricot and said with a roll of his eyes： —“You’re so dense, shixiong, tsk. Men like Lan Wangji could have any man or woman he wants. If you go along with Madam Yu’s orders, you’ll just to be like everyone else, another ambitious servant trying to socially advance. He’ll fuck you and forget you within a blink of an eye.” — Wei Wuxian sipped his liquor and grimaced. “Fine, what do you suggest I do then? — Xue Yang smirked, “Oh, haven’t you heard? Men like roses with thorns. When you’re brought to him tonight, don’t play along. Don’t humour him. Refuse him.” — Wei Wuxian： >_> Is this how you got those Daoist priests in bed with you? — Xue Yang smirked shamelessly, “Worked, innit?”

Listen, Lan Wangji was fully prepared to have some emotionless sex with Wei Wuxian okay? Boy was prepared to just go through the motions. He was disappointed to know that A-Xian turned out to be no better than any other servant in his harem: eager to climb his bed.

Being a concubine was stupid work, Wei Wuxian realized belatedly. After dinner, Jiang Yanli bid him goodbye with worried eyes as the momos and gugus of Hanguang-fu dragged him away to be bathed and prepped for the prince’s enjoyment later that night. (gugu, momo - older female servants)

Wei Wuxian was not a dirty person - sure, he worked hard, but he bathed regularly - they did not have to scrub that roughly. As they practically scrapped off a layer of skin, the momos rattled on and on about how he should “conduct” himself in the presence of dianxia and how he should position himself to best please him. 

What the actual fuck. Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to pull a face. Did the ladies get the same banal talk? How fucking boring was the sex around here? Wei Wuxian wasn’t born yesterday alright? He knew how to fuck.  ...Well fine, he didn’t, but he and Xue Yang had sucked each other off once or twice, so that should count for something. 

Once the attendants were satisfied with the state of him - hair brushed, skin cleaned and lotioned, callouses removed - they rolled him in a large full-body sized blanket, placed him in a sedan and ordered the servants to carry him to Lan Wangji’s chamber. 

Wei Wuxian tried not to make an exasperated grimace when the servants literally picked him up like a log and deposited him on the prince’s large bed.

Fucking...seriously? 

He did not remember this bullshit when zhangjie married in...but then again Jiang Yanli did marry in. There was a ceremony and everything. Lan Wangji was very respectful that night, bowing to her before lifting her veil as a gentleman ought to. So what the fuck is this barbaric treatment? Just as he pondered on these questions, the tulle canopy parted, and Lan Wangji’s handsome face and broad chest came into view. Undressed to his inner most layer of robes and his ink black hair let loose, he looked very much like a man ready to ravish his new concubine, but somehow, Wei Wuxian could not detect a trace of interest on that jade-like face. 

Despite knowing this was all an act, just a means to an end, Wei Wuxian shivered when Lan Wangji reached for the edge of the blanket that encased him. 

He pulled the blankets closer, shrinking deeper inside. 

“Don’t be afraid,” said Lan Wangji. “I won’t hurt you.” 

Time to act, Wei Wuxian. Give it your best shot. 

“I’m not afraid.”  “Then why do you hide?”  Wei Wuxian waited a meaningful second before meeting Lan Wangji’s gaze dead on and said, “Because I don’t want to.”  Nonplussed, Lan Wangji raised an elegant eye brow in return. “Oh? Is that so? Or are those just words? Perhaps you've confused what kind of place a harem is. If you do not want to, why are you here?”

Is my act not convincing enough or is this stupid asshole so confident in his attractiveness that he thinks everyone must automatically want to fuck him? Slightly ticked off now, Wei Wuxian sat up, still holding the blanket to his chest and retorted hotly, “I am not confused, dianxia. Perhaps you are unable to comprehend the idea that someone as lowly as a servant would refuse when given the opportunity to ascend in rank, but nevertheless, that doesn’t change my position. I don't want to. I am here because Lianfang-jun appointed me; there was hardly any room in that decision for me to argue. If you are determined to have me, I will not resist, because I understand my place. But I am a person, not a thing or a broodmare for you breed. I have some dignity left, and at the very least, before you...before you hold me down and fuck me, I want you to know."

Wei Wuxian half wondered if his act had gone a little overboard. The expletives maybe were just a tad too dramatic, but then again...   ...seeing how Lan Wangji's entire stance shifted, maybe not. 

Lan Wangji withdrew his hand. He had mistaken Wei Wuxian’s initial unwillingness as coquettish posturing, but the heat in those dark, bright eyes could not be faked. 

“Those words could get you into a lot of trouble when spoken to the wrong person. Have the momos not taught you the rules?” 

Wei Wuxian squared his shoulders. “They have, but I place trust in Hanguang-wang’s reputation, that you are a true gentleman and would not force me against my will.” Then, just as he practiced, Wei Wuxian lowered his eyes. “I am a servant, your servant, and I know it is my duty to serve you in any way you command me, but I -...please find other use of me, dianxia, but not this.” 

 He startled a little when a warm hand found purchase under his chin and lifted up his face. Lan Wangji inspected him wordlessly with those cold, sharp eyes, searching for lies, for pretense. Wei Wuxian held his breath, praying he won’t be found out, but eventually, when the prince and his calculation deemed him good enough, he let go. 

“Very well.” 

Lan Wangji fetched a pair of clean inner robes and trousers from the wardrobe and handed them to Wei Wuxian. “Get dressed and move over.” Without waiting for Wei Wuxian to respond, he sat himself down on the edge of the bed and began to remove his socks and shoes. 

Wei Wuxian moved quickly, shrugging on the robes and tied it in place before shoving the trousers under the covers to try and pulling them up his legs. “You’re...you’re not leaving?” 

Lan Wangji glared at him over his shoulder. “This is my room, my bed. Why should I leave?” 

Right. Right.

��But you’re not...sending me away?” 

Lan Wangji frowned as though questioning his intelligence. “Would you like me to send you away? I should think that would reflect badly on you and your mistress.”   That did give Wei Wuxian pause. “Uh, well –”   “Your declining to be my bedfellow does not impede my fulfilling my side of the arrangement. You will leave in the morning, and the others will think that I found you pleasing enough to keep you the whole night. That should give Jiang-fu’ren and the Yunmeng Jiang clan sufficient face."   “I could sleep on the floor.” 

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?” Lan Wangji swung his legs onto the bed and arranged the blankets to his liking. “The doors are never locked. Servants and sentinels must be allowed in to check on me during the night for security purposes. It would not bode well if they found you lying on the floor.” 

Right, yeah that would defeat the whole purpose. 

“Oh.” 

Lan Wangji lay down and crossed his hands over his chest. “Lie down, sleep. I have morning court assembly, and I’m tired. If you’re going to stay, don’t be a disturbance.” 

Feeling like he’d lost all semblance of control in this situation, Wei Wuxian awkwardly laid himself down beside Lan Wangji. The bed was big enough for the two of them that there was space in between even when both of them lay flat on their backs. 

Lan Wangji lifted up just a second to blow out the bedside candle, and then there was total darkness.

Wasn’t I suppose to seduce him? What the fuck is this? Okay...maybe I have no idea how to seduce him...maybe I have no idea how to do anything that’s not straight up strangling him in his sleep. 

Wei Wuxian could feel his heart thudding in his chest, panic coiling tighter and tighter. He almost wished Lan Wangji had ignored his protest and took him, because then it’d be straight forward. As it were, he had no idea how to proceed now. 

Just as Wei Wuxian was being slowly consumed by his maelstrom of thoughts, Lan Wangi suddenly spoke into the dark. 

"I am not a heartless bastard, you should know."

Huh? 

"I never implied that."

“You did.” Lan Wangji gave a little shake of his head. “I do not want this anymore than the others in the harem. You said I treat my women like broodmares, but perhaps you have not considered that Gusu treats me like a stallion."   Wei Wuxian was momentarily speechless.    “Your mistress is very kind and gentle. I am sorry that the child in her belly was lost; I know she very much wanted to be a mother. I see that you are very protective of her, so you should know, I would never hurt her.  Even if she were to never recover her strength, I would not let harm come to her.”   Those words, softly spoken, tugged at Wei Wuxian’s conscience, if not his heartstrings. “Dianxia -”   “Sleep. Good night.”

The next morning Wei Wuxian woke up to knocking on the door. The sun was already high in the sky and the bed was empty of Lan Wangji’s presence.  A group of maids entered carrying a basin of water, towels and clean clothes. Wei Wuxian, dazed, asked, "Where's danxia?" One of the maid giggled. "Dianxia left at dawn to attend morning assembly at the palace. You must not know; he wakes up very early. He said not to wake you, and to let you sleep. He said," The others giggled with her. “He said that you've had a long night."

To the great surprise of everyone, Lan Wangji did not elevate Jiang Yanli’s servant A-Xian to concubine status after the ‘long night’ they had together. Instead he ordered A-Xian to be transferred to his court to be his close-quarter attendant, to serve him in his every day tasks.  Wei Wuxian did not exactly understand why Lan Wangji would make this particularly decision, but he did not complain. After all this was exactly what he wanted, to be close to Lan Wangji and earn his trust.  Lan Wangji, on the other hand, was content to have Wei Wuxian close by, secure in the knowledge ‘A-Xian’ did not wish to spread his legs to socially advance. Perhaps, if he dared to hope, he could finally have someone to speak to in this lonely manor full of people who only saw the crown hanging above his head.

Xue Yang was of the opinion that this was all going to end badly. He was right. 

[next]

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD OFFICIAL VISUAL FANBOOK ー Interview Vol. 2 feat. Nao Nakamura

Source: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Official Visual Fanbook

Release date: 2013

Huge thank you to @keithvalentinex​ for providing the raw scans!

SECTION 1: Q&A

Q1. When was the series’ sequel decided on?

A: Around the time the first game ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’ was released in stores. We were fortunate enough to have already received news of an anime adaption at the time, so at some point we played with the idea of creating a fan disc to go along with it. However, if possible we wanted to hype up the series even more in anticipation of the anime’s release, which is how the production of a  ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD’ series came to realisation.

Q2. Did you plan on introducing a set of 4 new characters during the early phases of development?

A: The initial draft we received from Rejet-sama mentioned four characters. We figured that with that amount, we could pack it into one game and create an equal amount of content as we did for the Sakamaki’s, so we proceeded with said idea. At one of the first brainstorm sessions, we casually dropped the idea of creating a game with 6 Do-M characters... (lol) However, that would stray too far away from the core concept behind ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’, so it obviously got rejected. (lol)

Q3. How did you go about writing the characters’ dialogue and actions?

A: I believe that the previous installment can be regarded rather groundbreaking within the genre of otome games. However, the boys coming across as too strong to the point where it would prevent someone from delving deeper into their character is something we reflected upon. We wanted to make up for that this time and created this game with the intend of exploring them even further.

Q4. What did you struggle the most with while writing the script?

A: This doesn’t apply solely to the script, but the fact there are so many romanceable characters in this game is what made it so difficult. However, we did not want there to be a difference in quality between the different characters’ routes. Despite our strong wish to please the playerbase, it made the distribution of time very difficult. The writers would first pen down the script, then Rejet-san would do the proofreading and make adjustments and then pass it on to us. However, reading a script while playing a game or simply reading it on paper is still different, so we were making minute changes down to the very last minute of development. We ran through the same process for the last game, but this time around, the total amount of content was just very large. We once again felt the struggle of putting in so many characters to choose from. However, we did this to create an even better game, so it was worth the struggle. 

Q5. Which character caused you the most problems while writing the script?

A: All of the Sakamaki’s. The four Mukami brothers who make their appearance in this installment may be Vampires, but they were once human just like the heroine, so in terms of emotions, they tend to sympathize with her more. As a result, it only makes the Sakamaki’s seem even more like they are the villains of the story. While this may seem obvious given their original setting of being both ‘Vampires’ and ‘extreme sadists’, it makes it very easy for the otome game element as well as the feelings they end up developing for the heroine to be lost, in which case they would no longer be the six brothers we wanted to deliver. Therefore, it was very difficult to convey to the player that the love they harbor for the heroine eventually makes them change, while still preserving the sadistic tendencies which stem from their nature as Vampires at the same time. The player base has spent quite a bit of time interacting with these brothers, and I am sure it was not always easy, but I hope said message was delivered to those who played our game.

Q6. Is there a character who underwent drastic changes compared to the last game?

A: All of them are still the same at the core, so my impression of them did not change depending on the scenario. I believe minor changes were done to the way some of the characters are drawn, but personally I perceive each character as a mix of both their previous and current representation. 

Q7. In this game, each section is divided into a ‘Situation Part’ and ‘Story Part’. Could you explain your intentions behind this?

A: When collecting feedback on the previous game, we received many complaints about the different chapters feeling inconsistent and all over the place. However, we always intended ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’ to be a game in which the player gets to enjoy these different kind of ‘situations’, so without losing this part of the enjoyment, we figured we had to make the plot progression easier to grasp, which is how the current structure was implementend. To make it even more clear to the player, we divided it into two sections and gave each of them a title, changing the names as well. 

Q8. What are parts which have greatly improved or parts you want us to focus on in comparison to the first game?

A: To ensure the player gets to enjoy the development in the heroine and characters’ thoughts and feelings, we applied small adjustments till the very last second. We hope that the people playing the game will take notice of this as well. 

Q9. Why do you think the series has received such a great amount of support?

A: I believe the impact of the ‘Do-S Vampire’ concept, Satoi-san’s eye-catching illustrations and the charm of the cast who voices the characters all play a big part in this. Furthermore, I also believe that the simultaenous announcement of both drama CDs and a game which took place during the early stages of development had a large influence as well. We were able to make a smooth transition from the release of the CDs to the release of the games, which made it easier for the fans to follow along with the franchise. We truly are grateful for that!

Q10. Were there any ideas you wanted to incorporate in this game, but were unable to do in the end?

A: This game features the same selection segment as the previous one in which scenario’s 1 ~ 6 raise your love meter, while scenarios 7 ~ 10 raise the SM meter. However, we implemented the distinction between the ‘situation part’ and ‘story part’ this time, so it might have actually been even more enjoyable if the situation part raises the SM meter instead...I think. Those kind of features may vary depending on the vision of the director and staff members, so I would like to use this experience to think of various possible routes for future installments, as well as to settle on an end product which is fitting for the franchise. Furthermore, this may seem like a task without an end but I believe that the voicing plays a big factor in delivering the story. It is a vital element of conveying the message you want to tell, in a way that whether or not the player understands the plot is often highly dependent on the voice work. Every time I find myself wanting to perfect this, but it is difficult to supervise all of it just by myself...However, there’s always next time, so I’d love to squeeze in the time to thoroughly check this!

Q11. Do you have any more games planned for the series at present? Would you personally like to create more sequels?

A: We do not as of now, but if there is a strong demand for it, we might just be able to develop another game. Personally I would like to make a stereotypical ‘fandisc’ but the very first thing that comes to mind with those is a 'sweet, romantic story’ so I do struggle a little envisioning how that would play out with a cast made out of nothing but intense characters. 

Q12. Please leave a message for the fans.

A: Thanks to the support we have received from all of you, we were able to create so much content for this franchise. I put my heart and soul into this game, so I sincerely hope that many people will enjoy it. Your impressions and encouraging messages are a great motivator as well, so I am eagerly awaiting those! The series may deliver new installments in the future, and to ensure that you all can continue to enjoy ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’, we will continue to try our hardest together with Rejet-san, so we’d be happy if you could send us your heartfelt support. 

SECTION 2: THEIR FAVORITE EPISODES

Sakamaki brothers: The final few chapters of Ayato’s route left a strong impression on me. I couldn’t help but wonder if somebody could truly be that stubborn and in denial about their own feelings, insistent on calling the girl they love ‘a prey’ till the very end. I felt so frustrated when the heroine’s feelings just wouldn’t get through to him, tears welled up in my eyes. 

Mukami brothers: The part which gave me the most goosebumps during the development stages has to be Ruki’s Manservant Ending. Takagi Sakurai-san did a magnificant job portraying his silent madness, it was truly wonderful. Second place would be Azusa’s brute ending, even though I knew how the story would go, I still ended up feeling a little depressed by it, so please be careful when you play this scenario...

SECTION 3: NAO NAKAMURA CHOOSES ー SITUATION-DEPENDENT CHARACTER SELECT

Who would you choose in these situations? What’s the developer’s opinion?

S1. To sleep together with?

Best: Subaru, I feel like he has a good sleeping posture.

Worst: Subaru, he might not move around much in his sleep, but it’d still be uncomfortable and narrow in that coffin, huh? 

S2. To go on a trip together with?

Best: Shuu, I’m sure he’d just loaf around the lodge all day, so I get to enjoy the trip in whichever way I want!

Worst: Laito, I’d rather keep my distance from him. 

S3. To eat together with?

Best: Kou because I’m sure he’d happily gobble it up.

Worst: Kanato, I feel like the food would be lacking in nutrients.

S4. To study with?

Best: Ruki, I think he’d do a good job explaining everything accurately.

Worst: ???, honestly all of them...

S5. To go on a date with?

Best: Yuma, I actually think he would make for a great boyfriend.

Worst: Shuu, because everything would be a chore to him...

S6. To play a video game with?

Best: Ayato, he just seems like the type of guy you can always have fun and make some ruckus with.

Worst: Reiji, he seems super fussy.

S7. To play sports with?

Best: Shuu, I don’t really like exercising so...I’ll go with the person who seems unlikely to exercise in the first place.

Worst: Ayato, I don’t like exercise after all...

S8. To go on a drive with?

Best: Ruki, I’m positive he would look handsome behind the wheel.

Worst: Azusa, it’d be bad if his bandages were to get stuck around the steering wheel or the gear stick...

[olivieblake]

KSIGJICNRJCNEHCBD HELLO HELLO WELCOME TO THE HELL THAT IS KNOWING ZUTARA IS EVERYTHING AND SHOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN AS SUCH !!!! wow i love that you are as angry as i was (and am every rewatch? yikes) this is amazing i knew you're my favorite but yeah wow man this really. confirms it whew high five

yeah it’s pretty wild how I knew this was what happened and was already bracing for it and yet STILL got completely misled by the narrative??? MEN I tell you MEN. I’m also going to use this ask as a method to reply to some of the other commentary if you don’t mind since this seems like a good place for communal frustration (here is my original post for anyone scrolling around lost)

@meg-hemmings: I agree with all of ur thoughts and I would TOTALLY read anything you wrote for Zutara … your writing is among my absolute favorite ever and I think you would write the Zutara dynamic so beautifully!

@one-man-propaganda-machine: I am - begging - you to write it yourself.

I... am not going to make promises, but I may have to. I want something very specific and that never bodes well for me. I doubt it would be more than a one-shot, but there are multiple scenes that could have occurred between episodes that would flesh out what was there (and of course I’d cut the final 15 seconds of the show, much like another epilogue I loathe and ignore)

@deifiliaa: omg atla discourse in 2021; olivie, i’d love to see what your character tier list looks like now that you’ve finished the series 👀

I’m going to put azula at the top. not because she’s a good person obviously but she’s FULL. OF. HITS. every time she’s on the screen the narrative gets immediately more interesting. she’s savvy and self-assured and I love it. her ending depressed me although I like that it was kind of about the loss of her two best friends? if that had been more of a focus I think I would have enjoyed it more but yeah, losing mai and ty lee could have been rightfully devastating. who among us is not totally obliterated by friend breakups. I also really loved uncle iroh; if anything that’s why I wasn’t invested in zuko’s storyline until close to the end, because watching him disappoint his uncle was very difficult (I get it, he’s a teenager, he’s growing and evolving and whatnot, but also I am closer to being his uncle than to being him so like, yeah). I also hope the peter pan revenge guy (JET that’s his name, sorry pregnancy kills my brain cells) did hook up with both katara and zuko. I love that journey for all three of them. I wanted more time with mai than we got, so there wasn’t quite enough there to love... but I was very down with ty lee interfering on her behalf. what a pivotal moment

of the core characters I think I was quickest to love sokka; the episode where he apologizes to suki and asks her to train him cemented it for me. I think it’s a big deal to show boys apologizing on-screen and owning their misconceptions. I like katara a lot—she’s what a lot of people do with fanon hermione. toph is also great, and part of me feels there is a strong basis for a ship with aang that balances their opposing energy, though I also like the idea of them being platonic besties. aang is... twelve. pretty much every time he was on the screen mr blake (a teacher) was like “man, aang is such a seventh grader,” so it was nice how convincing that was for his emotional journey, but at the same time it was hard to forget he was in seventh grade. appa and momo are STARS. I am sure I have mentioned this before but mr blake really loves animals and he was devastated by appa’s kidnapping; he hugged our dog for about ten minutes after aang found appa. after he decided I was zuko, he speculated that he is closest to aang but he’s not happy about it lol. “ugh, aang and I are such boring pacifists” was I believe his take on the subject

@libbynico, who for some reason I can’t tag: so true! katara was literally something like a mother/older sister figure to aang the entire time, but whatever

yeah, I think it really sucks that katara, as the emotionally nurturing character, felt shoved into the role of love interest. it’s everything wrong with the distribution of emotional labor in male-female relationships but sure, WHATEVER, apparently nobody thought to ask me in 2008

@touslesnoms: I liked “such selfish prayers” by andromeda3116 if you ever decide to read zutara after the series; the worst prisoner by emletish is super funny too

thanks for the recs! I will take them. I do want something very specific so I will be accepting recs until I find it lol. or until I lose composure and write it (yeah this is me WITH my composure, no wonder mr blake thinks I’m zuko, “I’m never happy” indeed)

@gaeleria: THANK YOU!!! Ugh omg that “I’m confused” kiss scene made me actively hate the ending. I knew ahead of time they were endgame, so I tried to make myself accept it early on. Like, I really didn’t like the pairing, but I wasn’t going to be emotionally invested in the romance and it was just going to be like, whatevs. AND THEN THEY WROTE THAT SCENE??! 1000% no. What was even the point of that scene? If they had written it to make Aang have some introspection and realize it’s not all about him, Katara’s feelings matter too, or even apologize, or anything… but no, there was literally no point to that scene. No character growth, it was never mentioned again. Ugh.

this is in answer to both you and beloved @zabbini: yeah this was a fuck-up for sure lol. I think it may come down to editing for time; the series is very irregularly paced, what with the majority of the action taking place in the final three episodes of a 16 episode season. or maybe it’s just because MEN CAN’T BE TRUSTED TO WRITE ROMANCE but either way yeah this was a real misstep and just truly, truly reeked of a particular (white) male attitude about how women think and what they owe. had a bad day, dudes? buy a gun, kiss your forever girl, do whatever you want and it’s fine! (I’m exaggerating but barely)

in terms of what’s so angering for me: a character like katara who previously had tons of agency was robbed of it when it came to her romantic arc, which is just really upsetting. and to be fair, I was equally upset when zuko instantly agreed to the agni kai with azula because it was like okay well katara’s extremely valuable, as you know, but now you want her to just sit on the sidelines...? (more of a story flaw than a relationship flaw, but my chest sunk a little at the idea that katara was going to sit by and watch as an accessory to zuko’s story when she’s a crucial weapon in their collective fight. what a waste, right?) 

it’s also especially hard to buy into the aang thing when zuko’s method of problem-solving on katara’s behalf is there for comparison. he asks her what she needs in order to find closure and then from there, does everything necessary to get it without having to be asked twice. versus aang, who is a twelve-year-old pair of rogue lips who never wins any of his fights without the aid of phenomenal cosmic powers...? ugh I’m getting off track but in the end there’s just a complete lack of understanding what female audiences want, though again, I don’t think they were really considering that at all. which I guess is... fair, it’s not the point of the show, but then why make the ending romantic at all? to show that their brand of hero gets everything he wants, I guess

in conclusion in 2008 I’m not sure the industry was capable of doing better, which sucks but isn’t surprising. still, it does fit the components of “stuff I write fics for,” which is I enjoyed most of it but find myself enraged by slivers I compulsively need to fix—WHICH IS STILL NOT A PROMISE but ugh I can already feel myself giving in 

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter I: The Princess of Germany’s First Kiss (Prologue)

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the first installment of TIP!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

DECEMBER 12TH, 1883

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

“Her Highness is missing again, haven’t you heard?” a woman spoke over the incoherent mumbling of men and women who were in the process of boarding the SS Mary- a steamship that was preparing to go to London, from the main port of Schleswig-Holstein. Their words were muffled to a girl as her lithe figure was contorted into a crouch between restrained boxes of cargo on deck. She trembled as they did nothing to compose the unforgiving draft of December air.

Her eyes were downcast, staring at the soiled silk of her petticoat. The sight of it caused her lips to twitch in amusement, the brown grime and recently melted snow did well to spread up the skirt, which made the elaborate dress more worthless than it had been coming out off the seamstress’s thread and needle.

“Who, Princess Helena? They ought to put her in her place when they find her- the rest of them are nothing like that hellchild,” another woman’s voice carried a heavy disdain, highly resembling Governess Lydia’s admonishing words- the verbal equivalent to the crack of a punishing whip. However, she missed the hateful German language as instead sported a thick, English accent, much like the first woman’s.

The girl’s grip on one of the thick gold chains in her pocket bag tightened as she twisted it around her finger and back again. Every bit of gratification the blemishing of her fine wardrobe gave her was quickly dispatched- made to be as bitter as the cold that stung at her nose. “How they managed to corrupt one of those children out of- what, four? Frightens me. Princess Marie should have a sure enough influence on her.

Naturally, the virtuous Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein was a necessity to speak of to make a proper comparison. Though her visage was identical to Princess Helena’s, she couldn’t never have the grit that her sister’s character possessed. Marie was the perfect girl- obedient and soft-spoken, which was why she was so loved amongst the public and the royal family. She had the attitude of a sprouting tulip or a fleeting butterfly while her sister had broken nearly every custom a royal ought to obey.

The mere thought of Marie herself caused the girl’s features contort into a frustrated frown, as if she’d tasted something sour. Something undesirable, quite like herself, she’d come to realize.

“At least we’ve got on before the Peelers could start searching ships, heavens knows- that one is smart enough to climb aboard,” the woman continued, “what she’d do in the country of her grandmother is lost to me.” The woman’s doubt was quite an inspiration to the girl. There was plenty to do in London. How the girl hated being underestimated.

“Reckon the brothers will join the next massive search party?” The first woman asked, referring to the eldest siblings of the Germany royalty- Prince Christian and Prince Albert. Prince Christian was the heir of the throne, much to the public’s relief, considering he was the most disciplined- the most honorable, though he was only sixteen.

“Of course. They’re Princes. They must, no matter how fruitless the search is,” the second responded, her reproachful tone caused the girl to shudder again, perhaps pitying the small infant that was smothered in soft blankets. She could hardly make out them between the thin opening in front of her, her person was tall and slender, her skirts perky enough to suggest that they were made of light, shiny silk. It seemed he was militant because she was a noblewoman.

A deeper male voice interrupted, “shut your sauce-boxes! The princess doesn’t mean nothing to the royal family, so why would she be of any more public concern?” he asked, clearing his throat, the scent of his cigar sharper in the cold. The girl wrinkled her nose in equal part concern and disgust- gentlemen were never to smoke around ladies.

“Oh, Arthur. Put that thing away, you’re an embarrassment,” the tall woman gestured to the sleeping infant as she turned her back to the man who adjusted his grip on the detailed carpet bags as he followed the two women with ease before stopping to begrudgingly do as he was told.

“Of course m’lady,” he scoffed, putting out the cigar in the astray that was near the railing as other men seemed to do so in suit. The man picked up the bags again to follow his companions out of the girl’s earshot.

“Besides, you know Her Majesty fancies her grandchildren as much as her own summer home. She’s to make everyone care, you tool.”

. . .

DECEMBER 13TH, 1883

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Your name?” An officer demanded, his face stoic as he squinted at the girl, trying to get a proper look at her face as she concealed it with a burly scarf. There were dozens of officers by the port, each asking the same question to the incoming travelers. While most provided them with an answer, the girl simply stared at the man, her optics wordless as she pretended to claim unfamiliarity with his language as opposed to her own native tongue. “I asked for your name. Are you deaf?”

Under her scarf, she pursed her chapped lips. “Ich spreche kein Englisch,” (I don’t speak English) she mumbled, her ears reddening with the lie, though they were concealed by her elegantly braided bun and the limp hood that covered her head. She watched the guard, his stance straightening before shaking his head in disdain. His old face was keen, though he evidently lacked the energy to question her any further.

“Wait for your mother next time,” the officer commented, impatiently gesturing for her to move along. His frown passive enough for the girl to assume that her passage into the city was acceptable.

London was crowded, the cold air stale with the far off stench of horse muck and smoke. Carriages passed through the streets, the sound of the hooves of horses sounded on the uneven cobblestone. The conversations of pedestrians polluted the atmosphere, boys with the latest papers were sure to badger each passerby. News of the missing Princess came to London faster than SS Mary had been able to, which meant that Her Majesty had to have been notified of granddaughter’s disappearance already.

The girl followed the pavement, appreciating the lack of cracks and the polite, genuine society around her- until she was interrupted already, within a matter of minutes of leaving the sport the SS Mary had docked in.

“Buy one of me papes, Miss, please!” A freckled boy scurried over to the girl, whose hand paused as she considered pulling down her scarf. It was too soon, though she reckoned that exposing her bun like a proper lady would do well to keep her inconspicuous. No one would know that her dress was of German make and housed heavy, jewelled accessories under the multitude petticoats she sported.

The boy was shivering, his cheeks red. He was too thin for his jacket, and his gloves were fingerless. The girl had no money, yet she found herself fishing a certain ring out of her pocket bag, it was emerald- her birthstone settled in a polite rose gold. It was likely worth more than the company that managed to produce the paper that the boy was distributing. His eyes followed her gloved hand, widening considerably as she offered the ring to him. Selling a paper for a few coins was no use to anyone.

“Sell this, for no less than... fourteen hundred pounds. And wait a week, at least,” the girl ordered, her accent was more pronounced than what she would have preferred, but her point was deliberate enough to make up for it. The winter was too harsh for such a young boy (who couldn’t have been much younger than herself) to only look out for himself during. No heedful mother would allow her son to leave home in such ill-fitting clothes, which suggested that he was alone. When he hesitated, she pressed the ring into his palm.

“I-I..I can’t take this,” he protested with a regretful sigh that was visible as his warm breath collided with the air. He tried to give it back, his hand still and outstretched, but the girl led his fingers over the ring with her own hand. “Just buy some pap-”

“Spring is months away. Buy yourself an overcoat that fits,” the girl was smiling under her scarf, though it was only visible through her eyes as they squinted around the sides.

“With...fourteen hundred pounds?” the boy repeated his voice in a dramatic whisper. His brown eyes were welling up with grateful tears as he pulled her into a cordial embrace. It was inappropriate, though they were around the same age. He gave her a tight squeeze, trapping both of her arms in it before letting go and running off, his satchel dropping papers in his wake with every bounding step. “Thank you!” he exclaimed over his shoulder with a half-wave, though he’d nearly bumped into a woman in his ignorance. He stumbled to the side of the pavement and took off his hat for her, since she was escorted by a man in a tailored coat and cane, statues of wealth.

. . .

DECEMBER 27th, 1883

LONDON, ENGLAND

“I saw Princess Helena! She was here, in a scarf-” the girl’s eyebrows were knitted as she stared to the side, away from the Peeler that she attracted with her concerned screeching. Her apron was in a muss of batter and the remnants of an egg yolk. To match, her hands were caked in the unidentified substance as their wild gestures failed to exaggerate her point. She too, was young, not too much older than the girl who was currently hiding herself between two buildings, her scarf hanging low around her neck. She could feel sweat beginning to perspire through her shift and her stay was too loose and floppy with each significant move she made. Dressing herself had proven itself to be more of a challenge than she anticipated, especially with navigating the cross ties that required the deftness of fingers she did not possess yet.

“Please Katherine, all of that sugar has made you delusional. Get back to work and wash your face, would you?” the Peeler scoffed, gesturing to any onlooker to carry on. He rolled the girl’s paper into a thin coil, resembling his own wooden truncheon as he tucked it into his boot.

“You bloody mutton-shunter! She came in wanting a loaf of bread! I swear it!” Katherine defensively rubbed her cheekbone, unconsciously spreading more flour on it. She gave the street adjacent to her one more long look before returning to her parents’ shop. “Don’t give me that rubbish.”

“Her Highness has been missing for…’bout two weeks. If she was going to show up, she woulda done it by now. See yourself off, now,” he waved the adolescent away from his post at the end of the street. Vaguely, he could recall a comrade of his speaking of a strange girl in the port, alone- her face covered. Perhaps...he shook his head. The media ought to stop this witch hunt for the poor girl, it seemed to be getting into his old head.

Meanwhile, the girl found herself in a difficult position. For two weeks, she had been able to live off of the wealth her jewelry had sowed, renting a room along with new petticoats and boots, while vendors in the market square had time to ruminate amongst themselves. They refused her further business unless she unraveled the uncouth scarf that concealed her nose and lips and in spite of her protests (the damning weather, potential ugliness), but to no avail. Concealing her face was unseemly and unladylike. Evidently, the result of her obediently removing her scarf was having to dash off and hide, all because of the papers. It would have been effective to fake her own death before she had boarded that bloody steamboat.

In her hunger, she could hear her stomach protesting in a chorus of low growls. The scent of bread in the bakery had been too tantalizing to describe as her most recent full meal was nothing but a distant memory. She rested her head against the bricks of the building, strands of her hair clinging to the porous material and causing her bun to fall more than it had previously. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at the grey sky. Snow was going to fall again, for the second time that morning.

“Ey- you there,” a male voice was getting closer, his silhouette unveiled as he entered the girl’s sightline. A smart grin was playing at his lips, pronouncing the smile lines that were on either sides of his eyes. “You gave that girl a serious fright, didn’t ya, Your Highness?” He was holding a paper, the headline facing outwards: PRINCESS HELENA OF SCHLESWIG- HOLSTEIN; YET TO BE FOUND. The man was scruffy and as he drew closer, as did the trailing scent of a cigar. His suit was plaid, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white undershirt.

The girl’s first instinct was to start off again, though she knew in her state, she wouldn’t get too far. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and stood up straight to face him. “What’re you, eight?” He continued, “I ain’t much into the royal scene, but I remember old Helena getting married to old Christian a coupla years ago.”

The girl tensed as he stopped at a respectful distance before her, while he disrespected the parents of the missing princess. Their eyes met, his being a deep, confusing green. His hair was a russet brown that slicked back, exposing the aged wrinkles in his forehead as well, a matching set to the lines near his eyes. “Ten,” she corrected him, her arms reluctantly uncrossing. This man was intelligent for a commoner, she could see it in that childish stare of his.

“You’ve got a gift, then,” he commented offhandedly, “well, Your Highness,” he laughs at the wry pleasantry, his shoulders jumping along. “I reckon we can help each other out a bit.”

The girl raised her chin, a request for him to elaborate as he continued to speak, each word visualizing in the cold air. Around his mouth and over his jaw was the making of a beard, barely poking out of his skin. It managed to suit the indigent man. “Have you heard of a confidence trick?” The girl was silent, which he took as a discreet ‘no’. “You’re gonna need to take off the scarf and play ‘long, then, alright? Come with me,” he gestured towards himself as he led the girl out of the alley.

It was unwise of her to trust a strange man, yet the girl’s ample intellect was undermined by her curiosity and inevitable starvation. She unwrapped her scarf, wrinkling her nose as it was exposed to the biting wind. Small snowflakes fell, wetting her hair and face before leaving trails down the beige stomacher and gown she dawned. The man lingered at the foot of the alleyway, merely watching the street before fixating on a pregnant woman and a man, presumably her husband. He led the girl to the pair, his face contorting into a desperate, doleful look of despair.

“Please, good sir- good lady, my daughter has fallen ill and I’ve…” the man looked down at the girl, who had the sense to cough into the sleeve of her shift, her shoulders tense as if every breath was hard to take in. “I’ve lost me position to the boss’s son.”

“You have our sympathy, good sir,” the husband started, only to be interrupted by his wife’s glare. Her hand was on her distended belly, sourly reminding him that their own child could be ill in the girl’s place in the future. Their exchange was wordless, yet brief. The look the woman shot at her husband was akin to the look the girl’s own mother gave towards everyone around her. With a sigh, he offered the man a large bag of coins, “today’s wages. You best get to the physician before he closes for the night,” he dismissed with a nod, arm in arm with his satisfied wife.

“Do find yourself a tenement. This cold won’t be doing your girl any favors,” the woman frowned, shouldering her furs as if they’d disappear suddenly.

“God bless!” the man simpered with a bow as he waited for the couple to show themselves further ways down the street before turning his attention back to the astonished girl. “Well?” he asked, “call me Baxter. And your name, kid?” There was a knowing smile defining the old lines in his face as he handed the heavy bag of coins to the girl, who was silent for passing beats as she tried to decide if Baxter was the man’s first name or his surname, if either. She’d never know.

“Y/n,” she mumbled, accepting the heavy bag in her small hands.

“Pleasure’s mine, Y/n,” Baxter laughed, “let’s fetch somethin’ to eat before we starve, yeah?”

. . .

OCTOBER 11TH, 1885

LONDON, ENGLAND

“A lady is more than capable of giving a man a good collie-shangle,” Baxter said, his sleeves rolled up as he faced the girl. “The world’s all chuffed with this idea of stronger, faster, fatter- whatever,” his baggy shirt was billowing in the gentle wind as they were fixed in the shielding wood of their shabby home. The wind was feeding through the open window to the side. “This is what matters, Y/n,” he gestured to his forehead, with the intent to help her see that he was adhering to his brain, or intellect, “understand?” Her natural English was still a work in progress.

The girl was twelve, and this was about to be her first of many defense classes. The conman had finally decided that she was ready as in the streets, a proper knowledge of fist to cups was as necessary as breathing. She nodded slowly, digesting each syllable the man had said. It was the complete opposite of the royal way, where she’d be shoved into dresses and ignored, like an abandoned toy. Baxter never ignored her; he was more of a father than hers ever was.

“Your mind is always gonna be your greatest weapon,” the girl’s eyes traveled down to his belt, where there was his usual handgun sheathed to it. Baxter had taught her how to shoot it, though she had yet to lay so much as a finger on it. It was for emergencies- life or death situations. Baxter cautioned that violence was always the last resort- the ‘time out’ in a hopeless situation. “This is just training you how to apply it to useful combat. How you’ll be able to take out someone bigger than you.”

At the time, this would apply to nearly the entire world’s population, considering the girl had hardly rounded out from the higher quantities of food she’d been consuming, and only grew a few inches since the day she departed Germany. “I- that’s...have you gone mad?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing. The crown of her head was hardly adjacent to the midline of his bicep.

“How’d you go about it, kid?” Baxter asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he waved his hand dismissively. “Think.”

There was no thinking about it. Besides their height difference, it was his strength versus hers. Even his arms were longer, which meant that he could defend himself simply by using her own force against hers. Biting her lip, she was pleased to comprehend what he had meant by her strategic rationale being her primary weapon, though next to a fist of a hand that could cover the entirety of her face, she couldn’t see how it was relevant. Her only virtue would be her agility and speed, which were also useless in a spar.

“Draw ‘em in by giving ‘em an opening to come in close,” Baxter said. “You’re small, so they’re gonna try n’ use that against you by getting in real close and pushing you around,” he explained by example, starting towards the girl and gently pushing her back by her shoulders. It wasn’t enough to force her to move, but it was enough to demonstrate.

“Won’t they be pushing to injure?” The girl questioned, her nose wrinkling in frustration.

“No one pushes to injure- not in the streets. That’s for ol’ church-bells in their fancy skirts and we ain’t having none of that. ‘S a waste of our time,” the conman shook his head, as if the fact was obvious. “Pay attention now,” he gestured for her to step away again. “You’re gonna use your height to your advantage. You’ve full access to vulnerable points, like me throat n’ me torso. Now come back in.”

“Use your hand to drive me back,” Baxter directed, merely pointing her into the right direction. She’d recall the answer better if she found it by her own hands.

The girl’s small hand curled into a fist for a moment. He told her to drive him away, not to strike. With an open hand, she surged her arm upwards, spreading her thumb and index finger to accommodate the stretch of Baxter’s throat as she gave the hold a short push so as to not hurt him.

Baxter was smiling now, “brilliant, ‘n right after, you’ll wanna finish it with a knock er two. Since you’ve ‘em stunned, they’ll be mindless weight that you’ll be able to draw in. Drive in, push the throat, pull in ‘nd bring your knee in, ...where, Y/n?”

The girl followed each step, visualizing it as Baxter explained them. Drive in, push the throat, pull in, force her knee...if he was mindless weight, he’d be slouching at his waist...leaving his whole middle defenseless! “Your midline,” her lips turned up at the sides as she smiled. He liked to say that she inherited his ‘troublemaker’ grin while she told him that they liked to call her the Devil Child behind her back in the castle. It’d made him laugh.

“Exactly. Now try it,” Baxter directed, bracing himself as the girl drove her small hand around his throat, the other pulling his arm away by the sleeve, a welcome addition. With a huff, she (attempted) to pull him in, but for model purposes, he allowed her to, which left him open to getting hit in the upper groin area with a surprising amount of force. “Good,” he grunted, planting his shoes into the ground to avoid putting his full weight on the girl. “Go high again,” he instructed.

“Your throat is at a poor angle,” her hands were getting clammy as it clutched onto either of his sleeves.

“Then don’t use it. Unnecessary movements can be suicide,” he scoffed, but it came out as more of a wheeze when her palm forced his face back, causing his tall frame to arch back as he moved with her, suddenly. “You’ll finish off with your elbow and other hand.”

“Right,” the girl nodded in confirmation, pulling his body down by the sleeve with one of her hands as she used her other arm to simulate butting his head with the bony joint of her elbow. She released the conman, who stood up after bending himself back to crack his spine, vertebra making consecutively loud exclamations. He was beaming at her again, the wrinkles on the outside bits of his eyes curling with his lips.

“Now we ought to run it until you break me into bits. Buck up,” he said, extending his arms to his starting point.

. . .

AUGUST 12TH, 1887

ALFRISTON, EAST SUSSEX, ENGLAND

Spending the summer out of London was an understated relief. In Baxter’s shoebox of a countryside home (he said he’d inherited it from his father), the girl was able to let her hair down from its bun and loosen the tight strings of her stay, even going as far to muddy her boots, all of which would have caused a riot within her former life.

By then, the German princess, Helena had been missing for nearly four years. Her Majesty had been heartbroken to establish her granddaughter’s funeral in 1885, though it seemed she was the only individual of royal blood to truly mourn. Even Princess Marie-Louise, the twin of Helena’s, was quite stoic as they lowered the empty coffin. And thus, it was quite simple for the girl to remove her scarf and freely introduce herself as Y/n L/n, the foreign girl who stood at the side of the cunning conman- who was also the kindest of anyone she’d ever encountered.

Baxter, within their four years together, had aged considerably. His dark locks of hair had begun to gray as it fell past his eyebrows that morning, the wrinkles next to his eyes were more defined with every squint as he took a long drag of his cigar. He exhaled, blowing the dark smoke into the cloudless atmosphere of Alfriston as they reclined against the cool stones that made up the walls of the building behind them. It was a textile shop, but it wasn’t open quite yet- the owner was on his way.

The girl was staring at her cream colored boots as they peeked out from under her skirts. They were the cleanest pair she owned, and thus, employed to help orchestrate their plans for that morning. Dimly, she could recall stealing them from a whining daughter of a baron. Her crying was more shrill than a highest soprano in an opera house. It was Baxtor who told her that any spoiled maid could be distracted by something better than they already had. He was proud to watch on as the girl waited for the baron’s daughter to remove her boots in awe of a new pair.

Now, they were worn by the girl under a first hand gown, bought with an abundance of coins from different pocket bags and wallets. The gown was a gloomy shade of blue, enlightened by the gold lining that kept it secured to the stomacher. It was regal enough, given the pretenses of the meeting.

“Remember, liars stare off and shrink away. You’ll do neither,” Baxtor affirmed, to which the girl nodded, steeling herself. “You’ll look right into the bloke’s eyes... and take all he’s worth,” the man chuckled derisively as he coughed from the dryness that the cigar had put in his throat. The girl smiled, the corners of her lips twitching. “He’s gonna be mad as hops too, thinking he can outsmart you because you’re a girl.” Baxtor always spoke in a way that resided between both a common man’s tongue and that of an aristocrat, which naturally influenced the girl’s own English- in addition to her accent that tended to turn her ‘th’ sounds in most words into a noise akin to a ‘d’, ‘s’, or ‘f’. ‘Their’, as an example, tended to verbalize as ‘deir’, which was nearly impossible for the girl to differentiate. In short, her English accent would never be completely flawless, despite the conman’s efforts.

You’ve taught me well enough not to waste your breath on filling silence,” the girl moistened her lips, her grip on the large envelope in her hands was tight as she accidentally wrinkled it.

“Have I?” She could feel Baxter’s meticulous gaze on her for the moment.

He was more than aware of that fact, seeing as the girl was quite astute to begin with and paired with his wide field of knowledge, the incoming baron simply couldn’t stand a chance.

Speak of the devil; a dark carriage rode up to the building, rolling to a stop as the driver pulled back on the reins of the horse. He proceeded to open the door for a top heavy man, suited in a high top hat with a matching jacket. His mustache twisted at the ends, in contrast to the unconvincing smile that his thin lips twisted into. Baron Steven Wright- the owner of one of the most competitive textile companies in Europe, for the time. His factories were working double time as he was desperate to find a way to edge out the rest of his opponents.

His desperation was what made him a viable target for this sort of schematic. Baxter liked to compare ravenous businessmen to the little, cattish girls of ruffles and pink. All they wanted was more- they took and stole until they could find something better. Tricking them out of their own fortune was easy enough- it was blameless, considering they were the ones stupid enough to let their own greed drive them.

“Lord Wright,” the girl lowered her gaze and dipped into a proper curtsy. Though it had been years since she followed the proper social etiquette of addressing a titled man, the movement was still of second nature.

“Miss Hartmann,” Wright moistoned his lips, his steely gaze meeting the girl’s as she returned to her proper stance. “Pleasure,” his hand was in the deep pocket of his jacket, it was a heavy fur and the beads of sweat that dripped down his forehead were signs that he was merely wearing the burly thing in the middle of the summer to show off his status. They were quickly dabbled away by a handkerchief before he continued to fish a key out of the pocket.

“Johanna, please,” the girl corrected with a smile, immediately attempting to lower the man’s weak guard. She was a girl, and she’d merely use that to her advantage. Baxter was silent at her side as he played the role of a defensive escort for a clueless daughter of a German baron whose body was recently dug into the earth. The girl was to sell him a false land deed in Dosenmoor under the pretenses of his erecting more factories within the industrializing country. By the time the man traveled to make note of his spoils in the flesh, Baxter and herself would be back in London- knee deep in new plans.

“What a shame it is, your father passing so suddenly,” the man started, pushing his key into the padlock of the shop’s door. “Your grieving must’ve been cut short, being the head of his trade now. What is it, agriculture?” It seemed the man thought he was cheating a thoughtless, grief-stricken girl out of prime land.

“Of fodder beet and potatoes, yes, my Lord,” the girl nodded, her lips relaxing into a content line as the baron turned his back to her. Briefly, she met Baxter’s eyes as he nodded once, a prompt for her to go inside after the chubby man. “My mother...didn’t fancy the truth,” she was less cautious in watching her accent for evident reasons.

The baron was laughing, though it sounded like a series of strangled wheezes- likely from too many cigars. The girl noticed that Baxter must have finished his off between Wright’s arrival and then, as it was improper for a servant to be smoking in the presence of a female. “True love at its purest, my dear. Being unable to cope when he parts first. Deciding to join him for fear of being alone. My, you’re so young, running such a manly business in your dainty hands.”

There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she bit her tongue. At least the walls of the shop took them out of the rising sun and humid air of the countryside. She appreciated the scent of old wood as the baron led them up a rickety flight of stairs to a room at the end of a hall. In the room, there were shelves of books and in the middle of it all, a neat desk, as opposed to the tables of assorted fabrics, threads and partially woven clothes on those they had passed.

“Perhaps you’d consider handing it off to someone,” Wright mused, the implication as conspicuous as his mustache, or even the pink in his face that surfaced with the effort that took him to climb the short staircase. “Johanna,” he urged, the girl’s lack of eye contact leading him to believe that her attention was elsewhere.

“My Lord,” she needed to bring the matter of their meeting back into focus, though easily, she could weasel the man out of more of his fortune. This wasn’t about being greedy. The girl allowed the man to pull a wooden chair out from under the table for her to sit in. Baxter was lurking behind her. The girl smiled again, in order to mask the directness behind her next comment, “what keeps us from the matters at hand?” Wright sat himself on the opposite side of the table, a grunt passing through his lips as he gauchlessly righted himself. He was making a show out of what needed to be a five minute meeting in order to try to rouse the girl, an acting beneficiary of hundreds of free acres of land into giving him more than he paid for. Little did he know, Wright would be getting much less than he was emptying his bank for.

“Right, stay the course,” the man was too amused with her, as if he was cooing at a cute stray kitten. It was a mockery that caused the girl’s blood to curl in frustration. “Why don’t we start with sorting those out?” He requested, gesturing to the envelope in the girl’s hands with his chin.

. . .

FEBRUARY 3RD, 1888

LONDON, ENGLAND

There was a loud knock at the door, truculent and intrusive. “Johanna Hartmann!” Each knock was stiff, causing the door to wobble as it threatened to give in. “Open in the name of Baron Steven Wright! This instant!”

Their home was small, hardly larger than the first floor of a tenement within the heart of London. The main room served as the kitchenette and Baxter’s bedroom as he gave his (the room down the short corridor) to the girl. The fireplace was on, the heat crackling and filling the vicinity with warmth as it fought off the frosty draft of February.

Baxter stirred from his light slumber with a start. Johanna Hartmann? Vaguely, he could recall the name form one of their older scams- from the summer their offseason. They made quite a profit off of his greed, more than triple what they made off of working class pedestrians. The fallout was late in meeting their doorstep, however.

Baxter was confident that he could diffuse the situation without waking the girl. She needed her rest after their long day of practice- teaching her how to unarm a gunman was a necessary skill, especially for a girl as she strode into her adolescence. He wouldn’t always be around to guide her, after all.

Baxter stood from his arm chair, quickly looking from the empty hallway and to the door again. Thankfully, she wasn’t awake yet, which gave him time to turn this man away. Opening the door, he was met with three men, each much younger than the baron. By the way their hands lay protectively on their belts, he was able to conclude that they were carrying some form of a Remington shotgun. The lights were too low for a proper shot.

He forced himself to smile, his shoulders dropping as he mirrored the body language of the other men. Improper posture was telling of their backgrounds- it was something he had to have the girl unlearn to survive the streets, amongst many other things. “Is there something you lot needed?”

“Put away y’re gigglemug, if you know what’s good for ya,” the man in the middle said, his words thick with a cockney accent. “Where’s the lass?”

“Lass?” Baxter repeated, moistening his lips as he feigned contemplation. “I haven’t the slightest-”

“Don’t sell us no dogs-” the man scowled, a wrinkle forming between his bushy eyebrows. With the slightest nod of his head, his accomplices pushed past Baxter, causing the door to slam against the plaster wall. “Just hand over the money and we won’t have to blow no one’s brains outta their skulls,” he continued, pulling out the gun that Baxter had predicted. It was pointed in his general direction, a threat. Vaguely, he could hear the soft whining of the wooden floor as the girl started down the hallway, her lantern chasing the dark away as it revealed her face.

“Johanna Hartmann,” the man laughed dryly, cocking his head, an arrogant smirk contorting his tan face. “Well? Cough it up. Every coin of it,” he ordered, aiming at her, rather than Baxter. “Before I get angry,” he added.

“Y/n, get out of here,” Baxter ordered, fixating his assertive stare on her as her lips set in the indignant pout that she assessed situations with. “Now.”

“One step and I shoot this bloke. Then yourself.”

“Sir, I don’t know anything of a Miss Hartmann,” the girl started, biting the inside of her lip. “Perhaps you could go to the Peelers?” she suggested, purposely widening her eyes in false innocence as any simple girl would advise a stranger to go to the police. “Her name sounds...quite German?”

“If anything, you lot seem to be more likely to steal- barging in during the wee hours and waving them guns about,” the conman started, tutting in disapproval. Evidently, he was switching tactics, since the men were not buying into their act of innocence. It wasn’t wise to challenge three impatient men with guns in their hands, and the girl knew this as she communicated through her eyes in a warning side gaze.

Met with angry scowls, he continued in his play to distract the trio. “I’ve got our papers. I’ll prove that she ain’t no Heathmen or Hartman, or whatever-” Baxter rolled his tired eyes before turning on his heel. He was in nothing but his nightshirt, similarly to the girl, who was merely glad in a sheer shift. It was improper for her to be so exposed in a knee-length, cotton gown.

The girl watched on as the conman stalked towards their cupboard over the kitchenette. She assumed he was after a knife to defend himself, though it was fruitless. These men were well into their twenties at least- likely paid off by the baron to do his bidding as he sucked on a silver spoon.

“I’ve had enough of this. He’s insolent, Pete. Let’s just shoot ‘em and search the house,” the man on the left flank said, moments before he was shot in the side by...Baxter, whose face was steely calm, his lips in a dead serious line as he recoiled from the force his gun exerted against him. The sound of the bullet rang throughout the small house as the man’s body fell in a cursing heap.

Baxter wasn’t quick enough as immediately, the favor was returned to him by so called Pete- the snarling man in the middle. “Y/n!” the conman yelled, as before the gun went off, he’d assumed the bullet was to fix itself into her flesh, rather than his. Thankfully he’d been wrong as instead, the white-hot pain in his stomach spread through his body as blood began to soak his clothing. He was grateful that he was able to keep from eating his words- an unecessary movement was suicide. At least the girl was able to learn that firsthand.

Screaming, the girl was trembling more than the conman as she thrust herself to his side. The sound of her anguish was almost as deafening as the dispatching bullets were.

Her breathing was labored- she could feel her heart racing in her ears as unborn tears stung her eyes. She balled up his shirt, pressing it into the bleeding wound. “You can’t,” she urged, her accent flaring as it tended to do when she was stressed, or upset. “Don’t please-” her hands were shaking as through the dirty lens of his new glasses, Baxter could see tears running down her cheeks. He hadn’t intended to leave her like this, but their time was limited. His time was limited while hers was a mere bullet away from being so.

“Y/n, listen here,” Baxter’s voice was weak, though his eyes carried the same impish spirit that he had met her with all of those years ago. He whispered, gesturing for her to come closer, her ear to his lips, “trap the gun,” he said, in which she nodded, a lump forming in her throat as his cold hand wrapped around her wrist, pushing it away from the fabric of his with a confident nod. “Trap the gun, Y/n.”

“I-” she started through labored breaths as she wiped her eyes, staining her face with his blood by accident. There were too many words. Too much admiration and respect...familial love, but not enough time.

“I know,” he said, tears pooling his eyes as he weakly waved her away to face the two standing men with shaking legs and tears that left tracks as they fell down her face. Her heart was heavy with grief because not even Baxter, the strongest of any man could survive such a wound without care and she- a mere girl could survive two men with guns to her back, as it seemed.

Trap the gun.

The girl mustered the remnants of courage and rationale in her panicked conscience. She was this conman’s legacy, as far as she knew. She wasn’t going to die in their hands. They were not going to take her. Rage began to run through her veins in the form of adrenaline.It caused her heart to stammer faster, her hands to curl into fists as she faced the two remaining men, the third being dead on the floor. Neither of them seemed to care about him- poor bastard.

Trap the gun.

She wiped fresh tears off her flushed face with the back of her hand, choking on a sob. Draw them in. “I’ll..I can do anything- please don’t sh..sh..shoot me,” her breathing was labored as she focused on formulating a plan, throwing her heart into every tear, each new gasp for air that was unpracticed, unlike the pathetic script of words that escaped her lips.

Trap the gun.

“James, I reckon we can find a way to get this little tramp to pay back every bit of the coin she owes the boss,” Pete smiled, his cold eyes exchanging a sick smirk with the standing accomplice. “We oughta show her the ropes right here. Sweet thing’s beggin for us in that getup.”

Draw them in.

They were trailing forward, the hair on the girl’s arms standing standing at attention from both the cold that the open door was inviting in and the intensity at which the men were staring into her flesh. “Look at her, she’s a beaut...even with all of that blood on ‘er. She’d go for a pretty penny after we break her in, Pete,” James agreed, the girl only comprehending pieces of their words, half listening to keep herself from moving too soon. They weren’t close enough.

The man who had shot Baxter- Pete- was less than arm’s length away as the barrel of his gun was dipping and he didn’t stop his pursuit until the muzzle of the gun was resting on the girl’s hipbone as a looming threat. James, meanwhile, scoffed, “don’t be coy with us- take this off,” he ordered, tugging firmly on the soft material of her shift. He was behind the girl, his own prowling fingers working on top of her bloody ones to do so.

It was cold between the clothed bodies of the men, they were damp with melted off snow and rough with the common material they were made out of. Pete was playing with the necklace around her neck, twisting it around his finger whilst James’s calloused fingers continued to wander; grazing from the girl’s sternum, down her stomach- until it was between her thighs, gently caressing. His hands were cold. Everything was cold.

James’ lips were attached to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, suckling the skin after pushing her hair out of the way. The pad of his finger was insistent on rubbing around a specific margin of her womanhood, causing her to exhale, the sensation growing warm as it was hard for her tremulous legs to carry her. Pete was kissing her, his lips predatory and slick with saliva.

“Hmm, Pete, feel her,” James praised, his coarse hands on either of her thighs, urging them apart as he supported her with his thigh. “Wet already.”

“Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum,” Pete mused before grunting in approval as his fingers ran from the spot James had been rubbing, down to her lower entrance. His gun faced the floor as he was more occupied in exploring her formerly sacred womanhood.

“Doesn’t matter, she’s ours now, isn’t that right?” James asked, forcing one of his fingers past the girl’s saliva-slick lips. “Speak, whore,” he forced another slender finger into her mouth, pressing down her tongue.

The girl choked on the two digits as they threatened to touch the back of her pharynx, her face flushing in equal parts embarrassment and rage. Reflex tears formed in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. The man retracted his fingers with an amused laugh. Her nails dug out small crescents in her palms where they dug in.

“Oh, she’s crying. What a little princess,” Pete sneered, “wanna bet she tastes like one?” he asked, his own laugh was shockingly similar to James’ as he brought his intruding fingers into his mouth with a groan. Princess. If only they had known- the looks on their faces, the fear would have been invaluable.

Trap the gun.

Adrenaline sprinted through the girl as she ignored any lingering hesitation in her body. Her bloody hand took hold of the barrel of Pete’s gun as she forced it to the side, trapping it in her grasp. The man faltered, yelling in surprise as the unclothed girl stepped in (away from the line of fire), forcing the firearm down to face the floorboards. Her arm was completely straight as her other hand came around to help pull the gun away with all of her strength, paired with the strongest knee to his groin that she could manage with her shaking limbs.

Dammit, James, shoot ‘er!” Pete yelled, his face pale with fear as the girl unlocked the gun, her heart beat growing rapid as she met his eyes for the first time that morning. The sun was rising behind him, painting his skin a luminous orange and enlarging his shadow behind him. He would have made a fine man- tall and broad, his facial hair kept to a clean fade. The girl was doing him a favor.

She could hear James pulling out his own gun again, mumbling a curse under his breath. They should have killed her when they had the chance as in her stead, she shot Pete without further hesitation, the first bullet digging into his stomach and the second, his jugular as he fell. The sound again, reverberated throughout the room, the scent of gunpowder at a new peak. As it had before, the recoil of the gun caused her to stumble back, her arms involuntarily being forced up.

“You bitch! You’ll, you’re going to bloody p--” James screamed, glowering at her as he struggled to get his fumbling hands in place. But he was too slow.

With another fearsome blast, the girl was pushed back again, causing a stinging pain within the muscle of her shoulder. James was evidently, in worse shape as he fell to the ground. Blood began to blossom near his lower ribs, which was far off from where she had initially aimed. The sun was shining on him, his ashen skin and closing eyes. For the next few moments, she could hear his labored breathing, growing rapid before it stopped, suddenly.

The girl was breathing heavily herself, struggling to recollect her thoughts as she felt a warm, unidentified slick run down her thigh, Baxter’s blood drying on her hands and under her nails, making her skin feel stiff. Her ears stung, as if someone had forcefully shoved fabric into them. Her arms were heavy and the air was thick with gunpowder.

She pulled her shift back over her head, her eyes reluctant to leave the corpses of her attackers, as if they could reanimate and try to impose themselves on her again. Her fingers rubbed at her tear-stained cheeks, the lump in her throat was finally beginning to settle down again.

Someone had to hide the bodies.

. . .

Tags:

[dlamp-dictator]

Let Me Tell You About Tsubaki Yayoi

Tsubaki Yayoi was not the firstborn child of her generation, but merely the first to survive.

The Yayoi family is a family of nobles. One of the twelve great ruling families of the NOL known as the Duodecim, is a family known for their preservation of bloodline and strong views in purity of lineage, as this purity and bloodline has led to the family having many strong and elite users of Ars Magus, magic through scientific means. As such, Yayoi children aren’t so much born as they are bred, with only the skilled and talented users of Ars Magus being allowed to bear children for the family. This practice has made the Yayoi family with a small but highly elite family of soldiers and warriors extremely skilled in both martial and magical capabilities. 

However, this gift turned into a curse. 

As the pool of suitable mates shrank, the family only grew smaller and smaller. In desperation, they went to inbreeding. And like many noble families of this practice, health deficiencies and low birthrates were abound. Many of Tsubaki’s siblings had perished long before she was born due to their fragile bodies. However, Tsubaki was different. Strong, healthy, and a capable user of Ars Magus. A miracle child, and she was beloved, cherished, and spoiled as if she was the first born. But despite this treatment Tsubaki didn’t grow up bratty or arrogant. She was kind, learned young woman with high moral and sense of justice. And of those morals was only one real rule she was told to keep with her. 

To obey the Imperator, the leader of the world government, without question.

But before her days as military officer began, before she even entered the military academy, she was still a sheltered child. A sheltered child with only her family, her teachers, and her fellow nobles to keep her company. At least, until she met someone new. 

A boy, Jin Kisaragi. Not only a fellow heir of his family, but one of the few people that tolerated Tsubaki, despite his cold and conceited personality. It was in this chanced meeting, and one Jin had tried to shrug off, but the young and tenacious Tsubaki had forced the young man to open up to her, and the two became close, as close as siblings would. Granted, this bond was more due to Tsubaki’s stubbornness and childish clinging to a brother figure than her charisma, but within her then-tiny world of only family and officials, Jin was the closest thing she had to a friend at the time, even something close to crush as well, if a childish one.

And throughout her childhood Tsubaki was raised as any noblewoman would be. She was studious in both martial and literary arts, she was taught etiquette and manners befitting a lady of her stature, she was turned into an influential and beloved member of upper society, a noblewoman of the highest caliber.

And like all young girls, Tsubaki had a fun and rowdy school days. She attended school, she made friends, she lived carefree, with only her duties as a student council member being her main stressors. And there she made met Noel Vermillion and Makoto Nanaya. One a shy girl who could barely speak a sentence without stuttering, the other a bombastic and excitable firebrand whose bestial looks contrasted her carefree nature. Though it took a lot to get Noel out of her shy shell and to get Makoto to look beyond Tsubaki’s title and lineage, the three were soon inseparable friends. And these two were another set of people that opened Tsubaki’s small world.

But the good times never really last. 

After graduating the military academy, Tsubaki was placed in the Wings of Justice, a branch of the government that is not officially on paper. A secret task force, specially tailored to punishes criminals both within and outside the government without question as a secret police. As a woman raised to follow the will of Imperator without question, this was a well enough position for Tsubaki. It’d be a chance to distribute justice to those that the public couldn’t see or learn about lest a panic happen. It’d let her crush traitors and enemies of the state both within and out of the NOL. It could be a noble way to uphold her justice.

 However, the Wings of Justice are often seen as garbage disposal units due to their nature of cleaning up problems and rebels, and treated coldly by most of the military. 

And in this group, she was tasked to kill her best friends. 

Jin Kisaragi, now a seasoned war hero and practically her brother, had deserted the military for personal glory. Noel, one of the first friends she made outside of her family ties, had assisted a world-class terrorist. Due to these acts, they both had to be purged for the greater good and to keep the NOL’s reputation as a force for good intact.

This was devastating. Not only had her brother deserted, but her best friend had aided a criminal of the highest order. There had to be some explanation, right? This had to be some sort of misunderstanding, right?

Right?

Right?

... 

.... 

...

Alas, a mission is a mission. But who knows? Maybe Tsubaki can get Jin to explain himself in a way that makes sense. Maybe the intelligence on Noel was wrong or mishandled. Jin is a Major, a war hero. There’s no way he’d desert the army, much less to pursue personal glory at the drop of a hat. Jin was many things, but a glory hound and violent person was neither of them. And Noel? The poor girl shook like a leaf when having to talk to friends, let alone a terrorist, let alone save him. And besides, she was the secretary of Jin. If anything, she was probably trying to save Jin in the crossfire. This... this had to be a massive misunderstanding. She could go to Kagutsuchi, get things cleared up, report to the nearest military branch, and get this all squared away. 

But... just in case...

Izayoi, an ancient garb and weapon of Tsubaki’s family. A weapon that can steal the light of both opponent and user alike, and grant its wielder control over light. It was the one thing she had that could put her on equal footing with the war hero Jin and the mystically talented Noel. Even if it costs her sight and life. But that wouldn’t happen. It was just... insurance. Just in case. Worse case scenario only. An argument might spark, sure, especially with Jin, but the chances of her actually crossing swords was just impossible. 

It wasn’t going to happen right?

Right?

Right?

...

...

...

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Never meant to be. 

Her brother was a traitor, just a selfish man after his own goals by his own means. Her best friend shouldn’t have even existed in the first place and took Tsubaki’s place by her brother’s side. And in the end, her belief meant nothing. Her justice meant nothing. Her life meant nothing. What could she do? What could she believe in? What was right? What was justice?

“Tsubaki Yayoi... Fall not into darkness. For I shall be your light.”

So... Why Talk About This

I’ve had Tsubaki on my mind a lot recently. I was watching some Continuum Shift storylines and Tsubaki’s always hits me. I like Tsubaki a lot, both as a character in the game and as a character in the story. Her being in the Blazblue world does a lot to ground a lot of the overly complicated lore in the world. It shows that the Duodecim is an actual noble family with rules, a public face, and has people that within that need to not act like self-centered asshole and do whatever they want, Jin. It shows that the NOL is an actual military government with standards that needs its soldiers acting in a proper manner, and will eliminate them if they cause too much of a fuss. It shows that all these special weapons deal quite the toll on people’s psyche and wellbeing for the power they give. Much like how Makoto’s existence shows how hard it is for normal people in the Blazblue universe to have a decent life, much like how Kagura’s existence shows that there is political turmoil within the Duodecim, Tsubaki’s existence shows the more noble side of the NOL and the duties they have to uphold for the sake of keeping the fractured peace as a world government.

And then Chronophantasma happened and ruined everything.

Okay, I’m being somewhat facetious here, but Chronophantasma did start the trend of ignoring everyone that wasn’t directly related to Ragna’s story. I’ll save my discussion on that for another day, but in just terms of Tsubaki...

The Izayoi was revealed to be an anti-Observer weapon, hard-countering Rachel, Amane, Noel, and arguably beings like Tagamahara. This is not discussed or utilized further beyond mentioning it.

Izayoi has the ability of Immortal Breaker, which can kill extremely powerful beings like Rachel, Terumi, Amane, and essentially anyone save for Izanami, Jin, and Hakumen. This is only discussed and utilized once to my memory.

With Jin as injured as he is in Central Friction, the Power of Order -basically the strongest plot armor in Blazblue canon- is slowly transferred over Tsubaki as she’s the next best fit for... y’know, Peacekeeper of the Planet’s Will to Maintain Order. She essentially becomes an SMT Order-Aligned protagonist and this is barely mentioned to my memory.

I could go on, but this is a celebration of Tsubaki’s character, not a critique/whining about post-Continuum Shift’s story progression. Anyway, I like Tsubaki. Quite a bit. If we ever get another mainline Blazblue title I really hope to see her in it. 

But for now, I’ve got a few more drafts to finish up, so I’ll see you all later.

[mci-writing]

Preggers Hero Wife HCs (Dekusquad Bois)

Iida Tenya:

SFW-

Boi worries over you big time after he finds out

Somehow becomes even more strict

“Maybe it’s about time you start taking time off-” “I’m only two months in, Tenya!”

Hovers over you like a mama hawk. His senses even heighten up

Ensures you only eat the most healthy and nutritious thing. Screw your cravings

Ensures you have proper meals and snacks inbetween to keep up your iron and avoid anemia (or more anemia)

Insists on you taking on the petty criminals and lower danger rated jobs

Informs the doctor on just about everything every appointment and probably gets kicked out of the room for taking over the appointment

Refuses to let you do anything! You need your rest and to stay off your feet, even if it means just staying in bed all day

“I heard agony and pain?!” “I stubbed my toe” “WHY ARE YOU WALKING?!”

“Hi, I’d like to request that my wife take her pregnancy leave early-” “Tenya, please! I’m fine”

Starts carrying you everywhere after six months. You can’t complain, tho. Personal chauffeur

NSFW-

Unsure about your sexual desires and intercourse as a whole during pregnancy

Refuses penetration, but will happily play with you

Careful about playing with your breasts because nipple stimulation can cause early labor

Is really careful when messing around while your pregnant

Interested in leaky tits but not taking the risk without a lot of coaxing and reassuring

Concerned about your sudden sex drive, but isn't complaining too much

“Oh, Tenya~” “Go to sleep, it’s too late for this”

Probably wants to slow down when the sex drive is up tbh

“I don’t feel this is appropriate this far into your gestation” “I’m just trying to get your dick wet, chill”

You constantly test his sexual patience

Todoroki Shouto:

SFW-

Hesitant af about everything

Probably accidentally makes offhanded comment about any weight gain

Your mood swings are his mood swings

Probably doesn't even believe your pregnant until you get weird cravings

Asks the doctor commonly known questions and reports stuff that is literally supposed to happen

"She wants weird food" "That's normal, Mr. Todoroki" "Why?!"

So confused

Lots of stomach touches and cuddles tho

Really enjoys rubbing the baby bump and using his quirk for soothing circles

Likes to just snuggle your belly and talk to the kid before bed

"God, you're so beautiful, honey" "Are you talking to me or the baby?"

Will literally cover your hand if you're rubbing your stomach

"Our child just kicked me" "They said you're squishing them and need to stop"

Makes you take off months before pregnancy leave

"Where are you going dressed like that?" "To the bathroom" "Why?" "The bladder of a pregnant woman"

Concerned about your new cravings and hates to say no

Constantly trails you like a puppy and just wants cuddles

Immediately quiets you when you start talking about any possible quirks they’ll have

NSFW-

High sex drive suddenly? Okay?! Yes!

Kisses just about every, EVERY part of your body

Just makes sure you feel equally as loved with his tongue

Oh? Your tits are leaking? Definitely sucking them dry until the baby comes (Probably does some sucking after that too ( ͡°ω ͡°))

Determined to fill you up with another kid (Bc he’s a Todoroki and they’ve all got bad breeding kink in their blood! Change my mind!)

You’re practically his little cow and he’s determined to make sure you’re even more loaded with his kids

Still sensually rubs over your stomach, but that hand tends to sink lower and give a little action down under

“Fuck honey, you seem so tight for someone about to give birth soon~ Want to spill your secret?” "I could fuck this pregnant cunt just about all the time with how good it feels"

Casually makes dirty comments throughout the day that do not help your libido

“We should probably give the kid a playmate as soon as they're born” “I wouldn’t mind you always being this pregnant when I come home everyday” 

Takes you from just about every position that allows him to watch/play with your breasts and belly

Midoriya Izuku:

SFW-

Worry wart™

He’s so happy and he just has stockpiles of notes for just about every aspect

Asks 24/7 if you’re okay

“(Y/n)? How are you feeling?” “I’m fucking tired! It’s, like, 2 am?”

Makes surprise pop ups on you and the baby during his breaks

Impatiently awaits your required pregnancy leave bc he understands that being a hero was both of your dreams

BUT he also asks you every morning to take it easy for both your well-being and your unborn child’s

Caves and gives you junk food if you give him the right face or if your mood swings are just a little scary

Talks to the kid the time

He’s like a grown-child half the time

Let’s you do most of the talking during appointments, but does add the occasional thing or two you missed

Literally cries dangerous and destructive tears during each ultrasound

No longer allowed in the ultrasound room

Plays fricken music and educational things in the house ALL the time

 “Baby Einstein?” “All Might gave it to me for the baby-” “Babe, this is for when they’re born”

Lots of snuggles and kisses for both you and the bump

It’s hard to evenly distribute thousands of kisses

Cries about everything you do. Like, you're just so beautiful and amazing and you're just doing so well

NSFW-

“Okay, I understand that you’re horny, but what if your water bursts mid-thrust”

Like Iida, avoids penetration but takes way less coaxing

prefers you ride him, bc 1. He gets a good view of you and your face to know if you’re in any form of pain  2. Bouncy, swelled breasts  3. He gets a good view

Hesitant about breast stimulation at first, but he’s a tits man and he really wants to try some of that milk if you’re lactating

Just really likes the swell of your tits

Holds tits a lot

Likes positions where he can fucking hold tits

Probably slips up amd calls you mommy bc it's his verse nature

"Mommy, your breasts taste so good and they're just so big! I-I can barely fit them in my hands"

Gets really embarrassed if you tease him about it

"Mommy's tits are leaking again, Izu~" "(Y-Y/n)!"

Legit, just send pics of your tits while he's at work and he'll immediately be home

 Feels bad if he can’t keep up with your libido and just eventually caves into buying you new toys

 Apologizes to the child before and after pounding her pussy

His pillow talk is literally directed at the child for a majority of the time

Aoyama Yuga:

SFW-

Compliments everywhere

The house is covered in fucking glittery sticky notes of compliments

Talks to the kid more than he works

Checks on you more than he works

You’re not even sure he still works

“Mon chouchou, you’re carrying our child so splendidly”

Kid should know everything about France by the time they’re born

He’s decorated the kid’s room in sparkles

You’re immediately on house arrest as soon as you begin showing

Asks for status updates every appointment and ensures he knows exactly what to do when the time comes

Hates for you to even lift a finger. He just wants you to rest and let him do all of the work for you. You’re his queen carrying their seed and you deserve the best

Cravings? Ah, no! This very healthy snack is a way better alternative

Plays off your mood swings

Just spoils you so much bc he just loves you and your tummy

Loves to just lightly caress your belly and whisper sweet nothings as soft music plays

Ah, romance is still super high in the household and there are practically rose petals at your heels

You’ve asked him to chill with the roses and you believe he listen- Nevermind, they’ve doubled

NSFW-

Who needs high libido when your receiving pleasure and compliments?

He knows when your pussy is begging to be fingered and honestly only takes you but so far

Careful around your breasts, especially if they’re leaking. It’s for your precious bundle on the way

However, if they really need relief, he’s ready to happily suck them dry

Can never decide how he’s pleasuring your clit, so he alternates between mouth and hand quite often

Loves dressing you up in baby doll lingerie! It just compliments you and your baby bump so much to him 

Tokoyami Fumikage:

SFW-

You get double the love from both him and Dark Shadow

Dark Shadow is like the toddler curious of their new sibling while Fumikage is literally smitten with you both

Both are just constantly talking to the kid, one joking about someone with a bird head and the other warning their child about their father with a bird head

Frets over you more than he’d like to admit, even being around and checking on you outside of your knowledge

You’re caving bird seed and he’s questioning that outcomes

Mixed about food choices. He tries to stay in a nice blend of your... weird cravings and what you really need for optimal delivery

There are many bird-baby related questions to your doctor. You also have an on-call vet say it should be a very bird baby situation

Snuggles your stomach after a long day

Both him and Dark Shadow have made you a nest ‘

Randomly brings you your favorite food and you learn to not question it

Hates for you to leave home without him

Hates being away from both you and your kid for too long

NSFW-

Beak shoved in pussy a lot

Very awkward about lactating breasts bc he wants a taste, but he also doesn't want to hurt

Eventually caves but his very gentle about it

Refuses to pound pussy and prefers using toys on you instead

[waltrp]

NO, DON’T PUSH US AWAY, HIRO. WE’RE HERE FOR YOU

BIDDI BOPPI BOOP A SPECIAL MESSAGE ADMIN ZULEMA: jill my queen, i know how long you’ve wanted to take up this angel and i’m so happy to finally bestow her to you. your sample for haven was amazing. You know this character inside and out. the love and passion you have translated perfectly into your para and i’m so excited to see what you do with her !! also nag me to finish the cast so i can see cute big hero 6 interactions on the dash lmfao. Please refer to THIS PAGE for your next tasks. We can’t wait to roleplay with you. Welcome to our Ohana xx.

It’s a pleasure to meet you…

Jill, 30, eastern, she/her

My favorite color is purple

My favorite super hero is Kate Bishop/Hawkeye

I’ve seen Parks & Rec so many times I can “watch” the show with my eyes closed

No triggers

Are you positive you can be active?

yes indeed

How did you stumble upon Walt?

we go way back

Did you read the rules?

yup!

Are you sure?

Scuttle

Character you want?

Haven Lemos

Please describe the character for us

When Haven was born, her parents said they could have sworn they gave birth to the sun, so bright and cheerful their little one was. Growing up wasn’t easy for Haven—her family immigrated from Cuba to the United States when she was small. Haven doesn’t remember a life in Cuba, but she knows that everything her parents have done was to secure a better life for their children, and because of that Haven has always admired them.

Haven’s formative years were spent in Miami, Florida, which meant that even though she was away from Cuba, she was able to grow up immersed in her culture even outside of her own home. The older she grew, the more responsibilities fell to Haven, but she took every one of them in stride. With parents that were constantly working to make ends meet, Haven spent much of her free time taking care of her siblings. She may have grown up faster than most kids her age, but Haven never let that get to her. Her optimism and sunny disposition were constant. Haven worked as hard as her parents in every thing she did. She wanted to make them proud and wouldn’t take their sacrifices for granted. One day, Haven hoped to take care of them the way they took care of her.

As a child, most of her peers found her to be strange. Haven has always been quirky and unique, and to top it off she was smart and her favorite subject was science. Most of the other kids couldn’t quite relate—their favorite subject was recess, long after recess stopped being a thing. Haven became one of the top students in science for their school district, and graduated with AP courses in biology, physics, and chemistry (her favorite). To Haven, the logical next stop was the prestigious San Fransokyo Institute of Technology. She wanted to attend the school so desperately, but knew that with her family’s financial situation, it was only a dream. But with a push from her chemistry teacher, Haven’s dreams came true: admission and a full scholarship.

At SFIT, Haven truly came into her own. She was surrounded by students similar to herself, and lucky enough to spend every day learning more about the thing she absolutely loved. Chemistry came naturally to the girl, and it wasn’t long before she was conducting her own experiments, hoping to push the subject to new heights, beyond anything the world already knew. The only thing that made the experience better than she could ever imagine was the group of friends she almost suddenly found herself a part of. She couldn’t imagine how she had managed a life without the four of them. She even had a nickname among the group: Honey Lemon. (You’d have to ask Freddy why.)

It didn’t take long for the crush to develop. Tadashi Hamada was her friend and her equal. How could she not fall in love? The friendship blossomed into a full-on mutual flirtation after the two were paired up for a class project. She loved everyone in their group, but Tadashi easily moved from best friend to boyfriend. Not wanting to disrupt the group dynamic, the duo decided it would be best to keep their relationship quiet for now. The transition started slowly, with stolen kisses when no one else was looking, and much more free time dedicated to simply spending time together. They would lie awake for hours in each other’s dorm rooms, talking about science, their lives, and their futures.

Haven and Tadashi never got the chance to make the possibility of a future between the two of them official. Their junior year, Tadashi helped his brother Hiro enter the SFIT school science fair. Haven had heard so much about Hiro, and the whole group was there to support Tadashi’s younger brother. The kid was only 13, but he may have been the smarted thirteen-year-old Haven had ever known. Even at his young age, Hiro would be a perfect fit at SFIT. When a mysterious fire broke loose at the fair, everything changed. Students, faculty, and visitors all evacuated, and not moments after the last person was out of the building, the whole place exploded. When the smoke cleared in the early hours of the morning, one thing was clear:

Tadashi never made it out of the building.

Haven had never imagined heartbreak to feel this way. A piece of her heart was missing, and Haven was sure it would never feel whole again. How do you move on from such a loss? Whatever Haven felt at the loss of Tadashi, she put on a brave face when around her friends. Haven wasn’t going to stop being the ray of sunlight and optimism she’d always been, for all of them, for herself, and especially for Hiro. The young boy had now lost both his parents and his older brother, and with all the love she had for Tadashi, she was going to look after Hiro as much as she could.

With SFIT destroyed, the students were relocated to Elias. The new location helped Haven move on. She graduated from Walt University with top honors and started working toward building the future she’d talked so often about with Tadashi. Now she’s attending graduate school, working part time in a lab, and working as a teaching assistant in the Walt chemistry department. Tadashi is on her mind constantly. But Haven is looking forward to better days.  

Second character choice

n/a

It’s time to see that sample para.

Peach cream smudged cheeks. A thin, careful stroke of liner. Mascara. Waterproof. Uncertainty behind saddened eyes. Hair twisted up into a high bun. The best way to keep it out of her experiments. He’d casually remarked that one day. Still she let wispy bangs hang loose. A generous swipe of neutral toned lipstick. Lips pressed together to distribute the color, and Haven sighed.

Heartbreak wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The love of your life wasn’t supposed to die at twenty-one.

Haven stared at her reflection, and the person staring back at her seemed like a muted version of herself. A neutral face, hair up, black dress, black tights, black everything. Haven fidgeted with the peter pan collar at her neck, the white a stark contrast to everything else. It seemed both so wrong and right at the very same time. She’d never been one to conform, and for that moment she knew that even in his death, Tadashi would be proud. Glasses were carefully replaced to their spot at the bridge of her nose. She’d chosen the translucent pair for this occasion.

A faint drizzle had started as she stepped out from the dorms, and she wondered idly how long the students would be able to stay. There wasn’t exactly a school anymore, but that was a worry for Future Haven. The weather wasn’t a surprise, especially for northern California this time of year, but still it felt appropriate. As if they sky, too, knew of the tragedy they mourned today. Meteorology was a science, after all, and whether they knew it or not, the science community had suffered a great loss.

By the time they reached the cemetery, rain poured from the sky. A fitting welcome, Haven thought, quickly stepping beneath Wyatt’s unfurled umbrella. Hers was a bright pink, a perfect spot of brightness in normal dreary weather, but today that didn’t seem right. Eventually Haven knew she’d put on her bright sunny disposition as often as she could, but right now was a time to let themselves mourn.

The service wasn’t terribly long, expected due to the rain. The plot was near his parents’, and every so often, Haven would look over to glimpse at Hiro. She couldn’t imagine how he was handling things right now. When all was said and done, the group began to disperse, planning to gather afterwards at Aunt Cass’s where friends and family could drink tea and share memories. Their little friend group, now minus a member, lingered, and she’s pretty sure it was Leiko who shoved the umbrella in her hand before they, too, left for the Lucky Cat.

So this was it. Haven Lemos, alone, and Tadashi Hamada’s grave. The plot of grass where he’d lay forever. It wasn’t far from where his parents lay, the three of them at least together again in their final resting place. Haven’s eyes lingered on the headstone, and the hyphen within which Tadashi’s entire life lay. All of his accomplishments, his light, his laughter, his love, her love for him, his brain, his smile, reduced to a punctuation mark, followed by a date past which the two of them would never truly be a couple.

Moments passed until finally Haven knew it was time. Gently she placed her hand atop the marble headstone, caressing it as if she would his face. The ‘I love you’ was implicit; she needn’t speak those three little words aloud. Gathering herself, Haven tightened her grip on the umbrella before heading in the direction of the Lucky Cat Café to meet up with the others at Aunt Cass’s.

This wasn’t the last time she’d see this place.

Anything else, love?

sad breakfast club

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

If you choose Namjoon for your partner

Word Count: 1,361

Disclaimer: This is part (20) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Start here:

“Can I play with Namjoon-oppa?” you ask them, quietly. The others nod in agreement, although Jackson looks slightly disappointed that you didn’t ask him. You’re flattered, despite yourself, but Namjoon’s cute dimpled smile, that he tries to hide when you ask, wins you over. You all shift around so that you’re sitting by your partners and the game gets underway. It’s a word game and actually quite funny and addictive so you’re all in fits of laughter by the time Ruby wanders out to see when her and Jackson are heading off. She looks shy about interrupting the hilarity, which isn’t helped by Jackson giving her an amused once-over.

“Oh shit, sorry Ruby-noona – did you still want a lift to the club?” he asks, half-genuine, but half fake-shocked. “I thought you were set up for the night.”

“What? Um no, I’m gonna skip the club, but is it okay if I get a lift back to mine when you’re ready?” she checks. She lives on the same street as Jackson, so it’s a reasonable request. He looks amused.

“Jeongguk finally run out of energy then?” he teases her. She blushes, avoiding all of your eyes. “We’re nowhere near finished with this game so I’m not gonna be going for a while yet,” he admits. “How about you go cuddle up with your little toy boy and I text you when I’m leaving?” he teases gently.

“Okay,” she mutters, shooting a quick glance at you to check whether you’re okay with this plan. You don’t notice at first, because you’re busy watching Namjoon’s arms surreptitiously, as he pulls some snacks across the table to distribute among the players. You feel her looking at you and catch her eye to indicate you’re fine with whatever she’s doing, if she says nothing about you perving on Namjoon just now, to which she indicates immediate compliance. Wow, ‘the telepathy is real’ you think to yourself, laughing internally.

You all play companionably for another hour or so, during which time you notice that Namjoon is getting more and more flirty with you. However, he is equally obviously trying to resist his own urges. Consequently, he ends up accidentally playing ‘come here, go away’ with you, until you’re dying for the others to leave so you can tell him you’ve finished with Yoongi. Jimin and Hoseok somehow steal the final round, shocking themselves more than the rest of you, and Jackson starts getting ready to leave. You possess your soul in patience, knowing that Namjoon won’t head to bed until everyone is sorted. Ruby fails to materialise, despite Jackson’s texts so he taps on Jeongguk’s bedroom door then sticks his head in to check on them.

“Both dead to the world,” he reports. “Guess she’ll have to find her own way home, but hey I tried. Anyway it’ll be light in a few hours.” Namjoon raises his eyebrows wryly, sighs and sees Jackson out. When he turns back from the door, you’re watching him fondly.

He tries to ask if you’re okay but you jump him. His arms automatically go around you and he starts to kiss you back, but then he makes himself pull away. 

“Wait, wait, wait! What about…” he panics.

“Yoongi? Turns out he’s really not so keen on the whole relationship thing,” you confess. Namjoon looks taken aback and slightly skeptical. “No really,” you clarify. “I mean why would he wait around for me to suck his dick, when there are plenty of contenders for that particular job?”

“Oh...I’m…I’m sorry,” he murmurs. You shrug. “I’m okay,” you tell him, sliding your hand up his arm and stepping closer. “At least now I know.”

“Um…Y/N?” he whispers. “Are you sure you want to…?” you interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, closing your eyes and drawing him into your kiss, feeling his hesitation melt away as his arms come back up to cuddle you against his chest. “Can we go into your room?” he asks softly. “Uh-huh,” you tell him, taking his hand to pull him after you. He follows you meekly into your bedroom, with his head down, probably struggling with his conscience a little. But by the time you close the door he seems to have resolved his issues somewhat because he tilts his head cockily and plays with his bottom lip as he watches you drift around, turning the lights on.

“Come here,” he tells you, his voice low but commanding. You’d forgotten how sexy Namjoon can be. In fact it had been part of the reason you’d stopped hanging out with him last summer, worried you wouldn’t be able to resist him for much longer and might make a decision you’d regret. Now you have every intention of making that decision anyway, so you step towards him with a smile on your lips. He grabs you the second he can reach you and pulls you against him.

“I said come here!” he insists, grinding his slender hips against yours and nipping your bottom lip.

“Ooh okay mister bossy,” you tease him. You throw your arms around his neck and slip your tongue into his mouth. He reciprocates immediately, kissing you back and running his hands up your sides to embrace you. You tempt him over to your bed with kisses and caresses – he looks smitten, and your heart gives a jolt as you realise exactly what you’ve been missing out on with Yoongi. You pull back the covers and sit on the edge of your bed, catching Namjoon’s hands in yours again and guiding them to your body. He fondles you with a look of unbridled lust, then undresses himself, without breaking eye contact with you.

You stare as you finally get a good look at his bare chest and note that he is toned beyond what you’d idly speculated. You automatically reach out and stroke him and a smirk pulls at his lips. He kisses you again, gently but impatiently undressing you as he does so. He gathers you in his arms and you can feel the subtle strength in him as he lays you down under him and climbs between your legs. You wrap your legs up around his waist, letting him thrust himself inside you and making you gasp with pleasure. He grunts, verbalising his own desire for you in hitched breathing and the occasional strangled groan.

You cling to him, scratching your fingernails down his back and matching his hip thrusts with your own, until you feel an orgasm start to rush through you. He must sense it as well, because he pauses and then starts to pump his hips faster, making his thrusts deeper until you think you’re going to explode.

“Oh! Namjoon!!” you moan, trying to hold yourself back. He responds by biting your neck and upping his speed just that touch more that you need until an orgasm rocks you, making your legs spasm and forcing one more scream from you.

You try not to go limp as your body is wracked with orgasmic shivers, clinging to him until his hips jerk. This time it’s he who moans and you feel his jizz, warm and sticky, spurt up inside you in jets. He collapses by your side, panting for breath, with his arm flung above his head and his eyes closed. He still has a cheeky grin plastered across his face and you lean across and kiss him.

“Mmmm I needed that,” he sighs, chest still heaving from his exertions. “I’m kinda jealous that Yoongi’s been getting some of that when it should have been me the whole time.” You laugh and smack him lightly on the shoulder, and he cuddles you to him and settles to drift off to sleep.

“You can’t sleep here Namjoon-oppa!” you tell him, alarmed. You try to pull him upright, but he just overpowers you and pulls you back by his side.

“Just a nap,” he bargains. “I don’t want to end this yet.” You know you should insist but it’s such a lovely difference from Yoongi’s unwillingness to share himself that you cave and curl into Namjoon’s embrace, letting yourself drift into sleep.

THE END

[legendaryobservationpuppy]

The Most Effective FRESH DOG FOOD DELIVERY IMO: HEALTH AND CONVENIENCE FROM THE FARMER'S DOG

At an occasion years ago, I talked with somebody who was a quite pet-savvy person. We spoke about dog food, as well as I mentioned adding fresh veggies-- carrots, beans, peas, etc.-- to the young boys' food. She looked aghast. "I don't feed my dogs individuals food," she said. "I don't want to transform them into beggars."

OK, the habits issue apart, when she stated "people food," I could not assist yet question: Well, what is dog food made of otherwise ... food? A minimum of, shouldn't it be constructed from food, genuine food, like the kind individuals eat? If a bag of kibble states it has carrots in it, exactly how's that various from providing your dog a carrot?

The discussion seemed ridiculous to me, and now, say thanks to benefits, it's come cycle ...

THE FARMER'S DOG FOOD REVIEW

WHY FRESH DOG FOOD?

This is the large, underlying concern: Why feed your dog fresh dog food?

At the end of the day, food is food is food is food. What makes one meal different from another eventually comes down to just how it's made, right? Take the carrot example. Boiling and also steaming both prepare the carrots, however steaming protects its nutrients while steaming sheds 60% or more of the carrot's nutrients. Eating a raw carrot may not be best, either, though due to the fact that study shows that some food preparation techniques may really boost the carrot's antioxidant power. Basically, a steamed carrot is a carrot, a boiled carrot is a carrot, a raw carrot is a carrot, a dehydrated carrot extruded right into kibble form is still a carrot ... however they're not all nutritionally equivalent. I believe we can all settle on that, as well as I believe we can all concur that there's absolutely nothing grosser than a boiled carrot. (Actually, perhaps steamed asparagus is grosser?).

Anyway.

If you're mosting likely to eat food, which of course you are, and also if you're going to feed your dog food, which of course you are, wouldn't you want it to be the most nutritionally-rich food readily available? Obviously you do! We all do! And the advantage to our dogs is that they don't have to pick between, claim, a smoked poultry bust vs. drive-thru chicken nuggets because we make the decisions on their behalf. So, it stands to factor that if we know fresh food is best, as well as we're in position to make a decision the most effective food to feed our puppies, we 'd wish to go fresh, yeah?

There are a TON of fresh foods hitting the market (more on that particular in a minute), however we've found The Farmer's Dog to fit our way of living, spending plan, and Coop's belly peculiarities.

Backing up one fast action: When I wrote about The Farmer's Dog previously, we switched foods after getting the results of Cooper's allergic reaction examination. At the time, I really did not write a complete review due to the fact that I wasn't certain how handy it would be given that I was so focused on food allergic reactions. We were so pumped to find a recipe that really did not include a single allergen from Coop's list, and also while he's restricted to among the three solutions for that extremely reason, it's made measurable, obvious distinctions in his stubborn belly. I wanted to sing that from the roofs! However, SO numerous of you have actually connected with details concerns I really did not answer in that blog post that I believed I would certainly draw them together in a full evaluation nevertheless!

Note: Because I assume turning proteins is so very vital, we're still rotating in The Honest Kitchen due to the fact that 2 of the three solutions from The Farmer's Dog do include irritants on Coop's list.

The other large point is that our food manufacturing system is deeply flawed. Romaine lettuce, any person? I'm certain you've all seen the congeries as well as gobs of dog food remembers as a result of tainted active ingredients, too. Actually, there's a significant one underway as I kind this: FDA Alerts Pet Owners concerning Potentially Toxic Levels of Vitamin D in Several Dry Pet Foods.

It's critically essential to me that we're feeding Cooper a food where the active ingredients are properly sourced as well as the production is smaller range for much better quality assurance. I fully recognize that no food manufacturing system is excellent. For that, we would certainly have to expand as well as make our very own, which allowed's be straightforward, isn't taking place.

THE VERY BEST FRESH DOG FOOD DELIVERY.

I assume we can all concur that fresh food is the method to go, however that's not without a substantial list of pros vs disadvantages when it concerns pet food. It's not like you can stroll right into the produce area of your local pet store and also pick up a fresh dish, ya understand? Let's take a look at a few of the evident advantages and disadvantages of fresh dog food as well as fresh dog food delivery services:.

Price: Equal parts PRO/CON. I enter into this carefully below re: The Farmer's Dog, yet these services are definitely more costly than getting an average store bag of kibble (though there are several superior kibbles that are similar or even more costly). I do assume it's worth taking a look at the expense of health-related issues from fast food vs. wholesome foods. However you men understand me: I'm NOT somebody that says in a covering declaration kibble is bad. It's not. Although I advocate genuine, whole food, these solutions could not fit your budget plan. #noshame It's my viewpoint that The Farmer's Dog is priced at a reasonable worth. It's most definitely a stretch if you've been feeding normal kibble, however not if you've been feeding premium or, as we were, a dried alternative like The Honest Kitchen.

Packaging: PRO! Alright, you guys. You know I'm consumed with searching for green remedies to every animal care problem. Well, The Farmer's Dog can be found in recyclable packaging AND the insulation is corn starch that you liquify in your kitchen area sink! The brand is dedicated to sustainability, as well, so you can trust that their production techniques are gentler on the setting.

Website/ordering: CON. You can not see the formulas till you create an account. I feel like that's a disappointment for those people that have dogs that are SO sensitive to active ingredients that we can't choose till we see every last active ingredient.

Ease: PRO! Extra on this below, yet having the food automatically shipped is a life saver.

Small-batch manufacturing: PRO! For all the factors mentioned above. And also each packet comes identified particularly for Cooper.

THE FARMER'S DOG VS OLLIE (OR NOMNOM NOW, PETPLATE, ETC.).

Fresh food + shipment is the future, y' all.

Hopefully by now you're on board with the fresh food item, yet shipment?

OK, so I know that you're busy. I'm hectic, you're active, we're all essentially extended so thin it's difficult to maintain. Grocery store pick-up has actually changed my life! I truthfully can't stand entering into the shop-- really, grocery buying is my single most despised chore-- so buying online then driving over and having a person tons it right into my auto is, in my opinion, the best invention of my life time.

At the very least it was.

Till ... Delivery!

Distribution is the next wave of convenience foods, which is SO much better than "comfort" foods like McDonald's or microwave meals since you can pick all your very own healthy and balanced foods and have them given your doorstep. My neighbors, who have 5 youngsters, obtain their groceries provided, and also I'm certain it's altered their lives right! Well, that's just how I really feel regarding fresh food distribution for my pets. I think more people are demanding delivery for more and more things (I have 3 different apps on my phone for takeout/delivery services ...) so you can expect to see tons of fresh dog food shipment brands appear to fulfill that requirement.

After my previous article, I got a lots of inquiries regarding exactly how The Farmer's Dog compares to Ollie. Truthfully? We've never attempted Ollie. I did Google a bunch of the brand names that are currently around, and also almost everything I read placed The Farmer's Dog towards the top for convenience, expense, and also alternatives. Right here's a testimonial from a food blog site I like if you want to check out some particular contrasts.

Just How Much DOES THE FARMER'S DOG COST?

It varies. It depends on the dimension as well as age of your dog as well as his or her everyday calorie requirements. Let's say you enjoy a sedentary pug. Well, your price is going to be reduced-- and also appropriately so!-- than my high-energy, perma-pup Am Staff mix. He needs a great deal of calories in the day to stay up to date with his skittering as well as cat chasing!

That said, they do supply arrangements to do the dish as a mattress topper, which I believe would be an ahhhhhmazing means to blend whole foods right into a kibble or dehydrated diet plan in a cost-effective method.

My recommendations? Try it at 50% off as well as see. It's either going to work wonders for your dog as well as his diet plan (which I truly do think it will certainly) or it will not! But, it can't hurt to try, specifically at such a reduced cost.

ALL-TIME LOW LINE.

At the end of the day, every person wants to do what's finest for their pup. That's it. All of us do the best we can with the criteria we have. No, this isn't mosting likely to be for everyone. It might not be a square meal option for you, either, yet the topper situation might work. Or, possibly you're ready to dive into something brand-new. Everybody's doing their ideal, and as long as you're caring your pet dogs, you're doing terrific. If part of that includes attempting The Farmer's Dog fresh dog food shipment service, I would certainly enjoy to assist you start with a discount: Click below to try it for 50% off!

What rocks have I left unturned? I attempted to answer the inquiries I had obtained via email as well as DM, but in case I missed something, or if an additional question cropped up for you as you were reading this, please leave them in the remarks! I 'd love to supply as much info as feasible, and if I do not understand the solution, I'm always satisfied to connect to the business to find the right information!

[drooliasnott]

Return To Dust, My Love

Very recently, the last few evenings of my relaxation time have been spent languorously re-digesting my views as an adult on the Barry Sonnenfeld feature films, The Addams Family (1991) and The Addams Family Values (1993), based on the original characters by artist Charles Addams. Although there have been many adaptations over the years of the distinctly macabre and darkly wonderful family life of the Addams clan, no other cinematic versions grasp the mythology quite like these movies do. And in light of the brand spanking new trailer for the 2019 animated feature, which I admit had caught me completely off guard and a little alarmed, I thought no better time exists than now to delve back into exactly what kind of black magic it is that makes this source material just so enjoyable and unique. 

Though the Sonnenfeld films are nearly undeniably the jewel of the franchise, one cannot examine the Addams Family appropriately without appreciation for its origin. The energy and attitude generated at its inception by Charles (Chas) Addams for The New Yorker in the late 30′s feels unique even for the time. At 150 single panels, the original comic was a divisive satire on the modern 20th century family that was not only cheeky and clever, but also at times very beautifully rendered. Chas himself was an enthusiastic if not sometimes obsessive artist, often described as drawing with “a happy vengeance.” The through line of the story continues to this day to be positive relationships found within a family. All this plus a heavy splash of aristocratic dignity thrown into the mix, and The Addams Family has proven from the beginning to be a very distinct and sometimes even delightfully surprising blend of flavors. 

 Despite the fact that Chas Addams had already well established his characters by the time he came in contact with writer Ray Bradbury, their connection is felt in every further adaptation of the title. While Addams continued to serialize his strip in The New Yorker, Bradbury separately had begun his own endeavor in creating a monster family of sorts, The Elliotts, beginning their narrative with the short story “Homecoming” in 1946. All tales concerning the Elliotts involve the clan slowly gathering together in a mysterious house at the top of a hill, while each short focuses more intimately on the powers of a different, particular family relative. All Elliot stories were later collected in a book, From The Dust Returned, published in 2001, but portions of it have existed in different publications long before then, most notably Bradbury’s famous The October Country. Finding a kinship between them, Addams and Bradbury discussed a potential long-format collaboration, though unfortunately this never came to fruition. However, Addams did supply an original illustration for Bradbury’s “Homecoming”, which is still in use as a dust cover today. The striking resemblance the Elliott House shares with the Addams house is but one of many aesthetic touch points which will last for the rest of the series.  

The groundwork for the series was strong enough to launch several adaptations over the subsequent several decades, finding more palatable viewing content in the mostly forgettable and very safe 60′s television show, which was plain enough to get the Addams Family strip banned from The New Yorker for banal taste, until editor William Shawn’s retirement in 1987. Meanwhile, the 70′s offered an explosion of further efforts to market the title to children and average american joes, producing TV specials and animated crossovers to mixed results.  

It wasn’t until the 90′s when Orion, who by then had inherited the production rights, decided to begin work on a feature film. With a simple return to the story’s roots, the company assigned first timer Barry Sonnenfeld to direct 1991′s The Addams Family. The process was fraught with setbacks and pitfalls, and when the budget rose too high for the struggling company to justify continuing further, the decision was made to sell the film to Paramount, who finished the production and handled distribution. Though it was also met with mixed reviews, it was commercially successful enough to merit the stranger, longer, and bizarrely even brighter sequel, The Addams Family Values. 

Returning to the core of what made the original content special, both 90′s films focused heavily, if not borderline exclusively on matters of familial struggle. However, unlike many of the earlier adaptations, the 90′s films also took great care to place special emphasis on elements of the family which do function well, something which is delightfully counter-intuitive overall. A particular portion of that credit goes to the fantastic casting of the films, the warm and vivacious Raul Julia as the erratic, sensual, and often charmingly innocent Gomez, Anjelica Houston as the ageless, witchy, white-marbled Morticia, Christina Ricci as the irreverent, sharp-witted outlier Wednesday, and Christopher Loyd as the bug-eyed, emotionally un-tethered uncle Fester all make for a very difficult call on whose performance is best above all. Dana Ivey is a delight to hate as Margaret, and Judith Malina is a joy to laugh at as Grandma, but it is really the core cast that shines beyond any previous actors, and it is because of this chemistry that the family relationships can really resonate. Two dynamics in particular stand out as specifically exceptional;

GOMEZ AND MORTICIA ADDAMS

Opposite most long term monogamous relationships portrayed in media, Gomez and Morticia have a sustained romance which continues to burn more and more fiercely as time goes on. However, what makes their marriage unique as a film element is not necessarily their passion (and subsequently very active sex life,) but the equality found present within the marriage. They not only share common interests, (and possibly distant relatives?) but also take into consideration the same moral and social obligations. They value each other’s opinions, and both seek to create situations where the other can live as their best possible self. They are uninhibited in their public declarations of affection, and are adamantly devoted to their children, the family as a whole, and preserving the generations-long Addams way of doing things. They strongly adhere to old traditions, but as a couple they also are surprisingly malleable, attempting to navigate difficulties as a unit, though admittedly Gomez is occasionally a bit less good at doing this.

Gomez and Morticia consistently present a unified front to the Addams clan, and serve as the centerpiece in any scene they inhabit together, even in the very Ray Bradbury-esque gathering of Addamses for Uncle Fester’s surprise party during the finale of The Addams Family. The party is in celebration of Fester, but it is really Gomez and Morticia who serve as the jewels of the scene. It is the strength of their affection on which the emotional crux of the finale swings. What further enhances the succor of this particular relationship again falls to the actors, as time and time again Raul Julia shows a rending vulnerability in the way he portrays Gomez. It seems Gomez is still half-stuck in childhood, or maybe he lives in some tumultuous place inbetween as his innocent heart tet-a-tets with the passionate desires of a man. Morticia in turn seems ageless and timeless, a solid rock on which Gomez can throw his emotions again and again, and it is their intense and unique personality peculiarities that in the end fit them together in perfect harmony.  For a family as bizarre as the Addamses, their relationship is healthier than any other relationship found in canon, or in general just in film at large. 

   WEDNESDAY ADDAMS 

An interesting blend of sociopathy, pragmatism, nihilism, isolationism, and just plain attitude exists in tandem inside Wednesday Addams. It would be too basic to call her an outsider, because though she is aware of her differences, she makes no effort to enhance, emphasize, or change them in any way. She differs even from the Addamses in her nuclear family, citing specifically in The Addams Family Values to her dorky crush Joel that if a man were to ever love her unconditionally, to devote his life completely to her, that she would pity him. This seems a direct call-out of her father Gomez, the coldness of which is both cutting and fitting. She follows up by rebuffing Joel’s clumsy advances with saying she would murder that same, loving man. A literal death threat is as true to her character as much as it is a dime-turn from her behavior towards Joel in the film leading up to that moment. As a young woman, she has already begun to clearly define herself as free and independent, even within the context of the family.

 Wednesday’s views on the relationship her parents share is one of cautious distance, while she also still has her own loving, healthy relationships with both parents individually. Though they love one another, in almost every case Wednesday tends to slant slightly darker, taking the more macabre path of her own accord in a family already well-suited to that kind of thinking. She is both sharper and wittier than her father, and crueler than her mother, and often interacts with Pugsley as if he were a sort of accessory at worst, or sidekick at best. She shows him solidarity as an Addams, but also constantly tries to expunge him so she can be the only child, which is a vendetta she furthers at the birth of Pubert in The Addams Family Values. Many comparisons have been drawn to similar characters of the time, of Lydia from Beetlejuice and Nancy from The Craft, but I would argue Wesnesday’s alignment falls closer to the Daria camp, as she is already firmly established in her thoughts about the neutral impact of family, the trouble with idiot boys, and the negative experience of outside society. Wednesday is purely independent, and resonates a sense of deep internal knowledge and self-worth that extends beyond the parameters of her identity as merely an Addams, and in that way she makes a strangely excellent role model. 

Following the success of both The Addams Family and The Addams Family Values, the series moved on to a saturday morning cartoon of parallel quality with the animated Beetlejuice cartoon. A following additional live TV series, The New Addams Family, also made it to broadcast, but the opinion of most viewers is that the entirety of it should be thrown in a river and destroyed forever. A cancelled Tim Burton adaptation also briefly existed, counteracting the 90′s film aesthetic which seemed pretty much already to be a restrained version of his personal flavor of set design. This leads to today, and the beginning of this meta, when this afternoon I saw the trailer for the 2019 CG animated reboot of the franchise, inexplicably also titled The Addams Family.

Though I respect the nature of some reboots, stylistic updates for one thing seeming somewhat necessary to keep old content fresh, the new trailer immediately had me skeptical. Though the new designs very closely resemble Chas Addam’s orginal designs from The New Yorker strip, something vital seems to be missing, and there is a strange liberty taken with some of the new character models which feels disharmonious, and even borderline disrespectful. And though The Addams Family has a rich and storied history of zany one-liners and satirical cheekiness, the lines delivered in the trailer seem to fall flat. Though many series in this franchise in past have been saltine cracker level boring, one would expect a reboot this late in the game in the popular Pixar-launched CG style would be an opportunity to inject new life back into the old series. But something seems off, and this in turn brings me at last finally back around to the 90′s films. 

The reason the Sonnenfeld 90′s films were good is easy; they have a subterranean classiness. Pulling Bradbury back into it, the earliest and best iteration of the series is infused with a rich, sensual, and genuine darkness. Bradbury's stink is all over the films, from the set design to the Addams Family reunion ball, to the serious performances given to obscene, ludicrous roles and a questionably weak script, by very talented actors. The suburbs seem more ridiculous when the pastel, unfeeling beastliness of uniformity is stood up next to dark, dank, meaty, loving weirdness of oddballs. To make satire work, one has to play a game of balance. Without salty, sweet will never taste quite right, but balance in storytelling has many levels. Visual balance is one thing, but one must also have careful emotional balance. The 90′s films maintain an underlying level of sincerity and integrity, which is what is required to counter the punchy, often goofy scripts and scenarios. The films were good because they had just as much heart as the Addamses themselves, and without heart, a movie will never have any true substance. 

The track record this franchise has with creatively successful projects is pretty poor, but one can hope the example of cult excellence set by the 90′s movies will infuse into some part of the future film, and maybe into further projects later down the line. Voicing your opinion on pop culture subject material is something I believe in as a means to guide new content created in the future, so if you have thoughts on the new movie after it airs, let the world know! Help create the kind of content you want to see in the world by building a healthy, respectful discourse. Only time will tell if the 2019 Addams Family will be any good, but I’ll keep watching till then.

If you enjoyed reading this, drop me a line and let me know! I’m considering writing more meta for other films, and have dabbled up until this point with TV meta, so if you’d like more content in this vein I’d be glad to hear it. Suggestions welcome, though no timetable is attached. Thanks for reading!

[pmwrites-blog1]

What Comes Next

Word count: 2,454 (Complete)

Summary: Lance doesn’t move his hand. “You wanna talk about it? Or we could start up the game and not deal with it right now. S’been a rough day, man. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Or-

The aftermath. They finally talk.

Keith slinks out of the lounge with his shoulders drooping. Matt pauses on his way out and sends him a worried glance. Keith shakes his head. Not now.

Reluctant, Matt follows Pidge and Hunk to see if they can corroborate Lotor’s intel about the rift. Shiro, Allura, and Coran are moving their tentative ally into holding cell for the time being. The fugitive prince complies with the smuggest grin Keith’s ever had the displeasure of seeing. He does not like Lotor.

But.

Keith shakes his head. He does not want to think about that now.

He’s crashing from the adrenaline of the fight, leaving him withered – an empty husk. He doesn’t feel grounded. It’s like his chest is trying to float off while his feet stay glued to the floor, stretching him too thin. At the same time his armor won’t let him breathe right - has it always been this tight?

He’s tired. A creeping dread washes over once he realizes how out of place he feels in the castle now. How stark the contrast is between his black Marmora uniform and the white walls around him.

Fuck he almost died today. Everyone almost died today. Shit he’s thinking about it now.

“-eith? Keith, buddy.”

He jerks at the hand approaching his shoulder. Lance drops it with a concerned frown. “Sorry,” he manages, relaxing a little. “Just jumpy.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Lance scuffs his foot and withdraws.

It’s awkward.

This is going to be a thing now, he realizes. Whatever was building between him and Lance before is scattered now. He doesn’t know where they stand anymore and he has no idea how to rebuild it. Nothing feels right. And suddenly Keith aches for it. He missed his team so much. He wishes he called them more often when he was away.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk cryptids with Pidge anymore or hold parts together for Hunk while he builds. He doesn’t know if it will feel the same when he spars with Allura or lets Coran drone on about something he doesn’t understand. He can’t even begin to think about Shiro; things have felt off balance with his pseudo-brother for months now. And how is he supposed to look Matt in the eye? He made a great first impression there.

With the Blade, he was useful. He knew his place and what was expected of him. He contributed in a way that was tangible and real. He didn’t have to worry about leading anyone anywhere. Nobody’s life hung between his rash fingers.

But he was so terribly alone. It didn’t hit him until now, Lance staring at him two feet away instead of through a screen. With Kolivan, Keith was always moving and working; no time to register his feelings, much less process them. But the coalition has won their fight for today. Everything is still now. He’s hit with whiplash.

Lance is talking to him again, sheepish. Keith almost hopes they are both equally uncertain about their awkward reunion.

“It’s really great to see you again, man. I mean, I missed making fun of your hair and junk. So, uh, I was gonna ask if you wanted to catch up a little, but you look like you need some alone time, so I’ll just –”

“No.” Keith winces at the break in his voice. “I… I really…I don’t want to be alone right now.” He takes a shaky breath. “I missed you guys.”

Maybe they aren’t as disconnected as he thought because something in Lance’s gaze catches. Perceptive sharpshooter that he is, he sees something is wrong. “Okay,” he says. “Meet me in my room after you get changed? We can play video games or something.”

“Okay.”  

Their footsteps echo too loudly when they separate in the hall.

Keith knocks on Lance’s door later, readjusting to the feeling of his own clothes again. He’s still shaky and hollowed out, but the sight of Lance in his stupid lion slippers smooths him out for a second. Things can be normal again.

Something hovers in the air between them. For now, Keith sits on the bed stiffly. Neither of them knows what to say. Keith thinks Lance will just start up the game and let them ease into whatever companionship they can manage for tonight. Instead, he kicks off the lion slippers and scoots next to Keith, their shoulders almost touching. They don’t look at each other. Neither speaks for a long stretch.

“So, what happens now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think Lotor’s telling the truth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think you’ll go back to the Blade?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

“…”

“…”

Keith’s body is trying to float away from him.

“...”

“...”

“Are you okay?”

“…No.”

Keith doesn’t move. Not even when he feels tears roll down his cheeks. If he moves, he’ll collapse, that will be the end of it. He knows he’s a crier, knows what he gets like when he caves in on himself like this. Lance shouldn’t have to deal with it. He should leave. But he can’t move.

Lance breaks him with a touch. All it takes is a gentle hand on his shoulder and then he’s sobbing. His throat winds in on itself. His eyes burn and burn. He feels his nose pressed to the juncture of a neck, his fists tightening around a broad back, his lungs heaving and hiccupping against his will. He hears nothing but his own sobbing and the sound breaks him a little more. Lance’s long fingers run through his hair. He feels them like background music.

He cries.

He cries.

He cries.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Long enough to get sore. Keith still doesn’t move, but he starts to breathe evenly again. His muscles unclench and he sags against Lance. He feels better, even if he can barely find the strength to bend his pinky. He’s grounded, stable again.

When he finally pulls back, he’s not surprised to see Lance’s eyes watery too. He almost wants to laugh. Instead, he wipes haphazardly at his face and sighs. They resituate themselves, facing one another cross-legged.

Lance lays a hand on his knee, thumb stroking lightly, just to remind him that he’s there.

“Thanks,” Keith whispers.

Lance doesn’t move his hand. “You wanna talk about it? Or we could start up the game and not deal with it right now. S’been a rough day, man. I wouldn’t blame you.”

He bites his lip, still fighting sniffles, shakes his head. He knows he’s going to ramble. He can’t contain it so he lets it happen, feeling safe with Lance. “I missed you. I missed everyone so, so much. And now there’s all this other stuff happening, and I-I just – this is the first time I’ve had a chance to think about it since I left and it’s kind of hitting me all at once and I’m overwhelmed and I’m scared.”

Lance lets that statement ring off the walls for a moment. He looks down at where his hand meets Keith’s knee. Keith wants to hold it, so he does, squeezing it once. He isn’t wearing his gloves. Lance squeezes back, considering him carefully.

“What are you scared of?” The way Lance asks makes it seem manageable. They can break this down into a list and check things off until they’re gone. Keith’s shoulders drop.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” His voice feels raspier than usual, vowels dragging up his esophagus.

Lance shrugs. “Do any of us really?” he tries to joke. The mirth doesn’t quite reach his eyes but Keith appreciates the attempt.

“This war is so important and I should be where I’m the most help. With Shiro back in the black lion, that means I should stay with the Marmora. I know that’s what makes sense. It’s just distributing resources; it’s not complicated… But being with the Marmora means being alone again.” His voice cracks. Lance threads their fingers together tight.

“You don’t have to go back.”

Lance’s voice is gentle and Keith wants to believe him so badly. His eyes drift to the side, measuring the wrinkles and folds of the sheets. “I can’t put what I want over the mission. I won’t. But, just standing in the castle again… You guys don’t need me here anymore and I thought that’s what was best. But I can’t help but feel like I’m throwing away the only family I’ve ever had. I can’t make that right in my head.”

Lance pulls his gaze and stares him dead in the eye. “Keith, you won’t lose us. We know you care. We know you’re trying to do what’s right. We’ll always be here for you, just like Shiro said.” Their thumbs stroke over the crevices of each other’s knuckles.

“I know.” Hearing that just isn’t enough anymore. Not when he has to hold himself together for weeks on end with only Kolivan’s brutal company at his shoulder.

The castle hums around them for a while. Keith waits for Lance to collect his thoughts. He can feel how warm and ruddy his cheeks still are from crying. He doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. Finally, Lance takes his other hand, grip unwavering and firm. “You should take Red back.”

Keith blinks. They’re back to math. Lance looks at him like it’s already decided and that’s when Keith knows he messed up. It seems an eternity ago that Lance came to him with one pinky up, the same hardened expression etched into him when he talked about best soldiers. “No way.”

Lance shushes him, lips melting into a lopsided smirk. “Look, you’ve shared your piece. Let me do mine.”

Keith’s fingers twitch in Lance’s grasp, but the other boy only clamps down harder.

“No, Keith, I’m serious. Look at me. Hey.”

Keith does.

“You’re not okay. And that’s not okay. You belong with Red. I’m not his paladin and I never will be. I don’t have the connection with Shiro that you do. He works better with you and that makes the whole team more functional. I said it before and I’ll say it again: This isn’t a participation game. And if you’re telling me that you feel like you don’t belong here anymore, I can’t let that go on. Not when you fit way better than I do. Not when this is hurting you this badly. C’mon. We’re friends.”

Lance smiles at him, brows pinched. Keith sees the way his shoulders tighten and realizes Lance doesn’t have half the confidence he pretends to.

“I’m sorry. I messed up,” he says.

Lance sputters. “What?”

“Before,” he clarifies. “When you came to talk to me about this. I said it would just work itself out and that’s not what you needed to hear. That’s not what happened.” Keith feels his chest constrict. “Lance…you don’t think you’re valuable to the team, do you?”

Lance pulls his hands away and freezes. He looks ready to bolt or make a joke, but Keith won’t let him squirm away. He’s failed to connect with Lance, to support him in return too many times now.

Keith’s almost died too many times to take it for granted. He steels himself and nearly lunges for Lance’s hands again. He needs to connect, he needs to push past this wall between them before it’s too late. Something in his core screams for it. He doesn’t want to regret anything anymore.

Keith opens his mouth and everything pours out of him. He watches those blue eyes widen and shimmer with unshed tears again. With every truth he speaks to Lance’s bravery, kindness, skill, composure, and beyond, his hands slide up brown forearms. Keith doesn’t stop there. He hammers Lance in the head with confession after confession.

“You’re our sharpshooter.” His fingers curl around biceps.

“You ground me.” Shoulders.

“You keep everyone together.” Jawline.

“And I love you.”

He’s up on his knees leaning over Lance, brown jaw cupped in Keith’s palms. He doesn’t know how he means it yet. Romantically? Probably. It doesn’t matter. Whatever way it is, it’s true. He loves Lance and Lance needs to know that right fucking now or he’ll explode. So he says it again.

“I love you. I really do. You’re incredible. And now I know what it’s like to be separated from everyone, from you . So, whatever it is that we have together, this partnership thing, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want you to step aside, ever. I’m sick of people walking out of my life. You have to know how much you mean to me.”

Lance starts crying, but a laugh bubbles out of him anyway. He pulls Keith to him again, shoulders shaking as their arms wind around each other.

“Jeez this is way too much for one day,” he chokes out between chuckles and soft sobs. Keith holds him tighter, pulls them down onto the pillow. Lance rubs at his eyes and stares at Keith with his hair splayed over the sheets. “Your mullet’s getting longer. Won’t be a mullet soon.”

Keith blinks.

Lance laughs again and twines their fingers. “Sorry, sorry. Bonding moment, I know. I just had to break the tension before our feelings freaking killed us. See, this is the kind of emo junk I forgot how to handle without you.”

It works, and Keith finally laughs. And once he starts he can’t stop. His eyes squint shut and he fucking giggles until he can’t breathe. Lance arm slings around him until he’s wrapped up in a Lance-burrito, grin so wide it hurts as they keep laughing together, everything stressful and bad leaking out of them.

Eventually, their breathing tapers out back to normal. They lay in comfortable silence, pressed together. Keith feels like he’s home there, burrowed in Lance’s chest.

No, they haven’t fixed anything yet. Lotor’s in a cell two levels below. Keith will have to talk about his suicide run tomorrow. Lance will have to address his role on the team. They don’t know where they’re going. But they know they’re there for each other. That’s enough to rest on.

Lance’s nose buries itself further in his hair. They breathe together. “I love you too, man,” he whispers. Keith smiles, drowsy.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, we will. We’re like Space Ranger Partners or something cool like that.”

“Mm. Sleep now, work on stuff in the morning?”

Lance yawns. “Yeah. That’s enough angst for one day.”

Squished between their chests, their hands weave together again. They squeeze once, twice, a third time just for luck. They exhale together. Their ankles cross.

They sleep well that night. Their tears dry by morning.

[baseballbatcrossnecklace-blog]

Baseball Bat Cross Necklace

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[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Void Forge: The Beginning Part 1

“The Bastille was located in the heart of the ancient Nerubian Empire, several hundred feet beneath the surface of Dragonsblight and the Borean Tundra.  In fact, there was no actual way of determining where exactly the Nines fortress was located from the permafrost simply because of the ever changing defenses.  You see.  It was quite the marvel of magical mastery.  Raelyndia Duskhollow; Former Mistress of the Nine and Lazarius personally was so advanced in her creation of the temple to her god that she’d build an impenetrable base for operations.  Funny how it was impregnated by a seige only a century later by one who claimed to serve her, only to collapse it entirely.   Though that is not the story we are here to tell.  The key to the success of this singular entity was that the Bastille was moving, always.  The tunnels were so tightly intertwined with the lei lines of the world, carved out by the old god itself Yogg Saron on its path to nestle itself into the soil.  It was this magic that allowed her to claim such a place for her own.  It was this power that fueled her ambition to create her own Black Empire, or at least be bold enough to rival the one of the past. . .”

Sitting on the surface of a large wooden desk, the fine dressed Gilnean man dangled a leg off the edge, allowing it to swing while his hands; gloved in a fine white linen gently padded the top of his knee.  Algus Kross, the steward and personal guard, friend, father figure; to name a few, to the Inquisitor himself was peering into a room with only a handful of younger cultists who seemed to be looking over scrolls they’d been given for the purpose of this discussion.  

“Mister Kross.” poised a young man, roughly early twenties.  The male was human, and sitting beside an equally young green skinned orc.  The two hardly missed a beat as to their racial differences, it was non-existent. “If the Bastille is constantly moving, then why do we not feel it?  Why can’t we experience any shift?”

Kross couldnt hold back a cracked smile as it broke along the side of his mouth in response to the boys question. “My son, do we feel the planet spinning endlessly in the cold vast reaches of space?  Do we experience a shift when we are hurdling at a tremendous rate?” Kross honestly didn’t have an answer to counter the question, he was trying to pass through this one hoping to get by without retaliation.

“No but the Bastille is no planet.” exclaimed another younger elf, his blonde hair shadowing his fel fire eyes.

“True, yet we do not fully understand how or why the shift happens. . . you see-” Kross was suddenly interupted by the door opening.  Standing in the door frame of the tiny classroom was the Confessor, in all of her glory.  Verzatea Duskflame as she was known by the council, and those who served.  The dark woman silently cleared her throat a second time.

“When this structure was so valiantly raised from the ashes of its corpse like a phoenix rising to the heavens, our Inquisitor and myself witnessed something so breath taking that words alone could never truly express its greatness.”  Poetic, and eloquent were her words.  The woman’s diction was precise and powerful, and without so much as a hint of doubt.  She was firm, yet gentle at the same time.

“What did you see?”  asked one student.

“Yes, tell us. . . did the old ones aid you?” whispered another.

Kross silently rested himself along the surface of the desk while Verzatea closed her gleaming viridian eyes, thinking back to the day.  A flash of memories, synapse striking quickly in her mind, firing off bullet after bullet of the horrific visage she’d succumb to that night...

Lazarius standing atop the pile of rubble, fresh from his infusion of the bone fragments of the former Twilight Hammer leader Cho’gall.  His powers grown exponentially since.  His full abilities in motion as she surrounded them in a cocoon of shadow fire.  Their embracing of the dark powers given to them by their master.  Lazarius sprouting several hundred tentacles from his spine and body, using the sheer force and gravity of his void encompassed body to quite literally ‘raise the Bastille’ from the dead.  All the while, entities of the shadow realm trying to break the shield in which she so desperately trying to use to protect them both.  

Skyward they went, pulling the corpse of their fallen home up from the rubble.  Fires of black and crimson, voided in a purple flash, flares of detonating magical embers bursting second after second as they raced to the surface of the collapsed tunnel.  Though at the top, salvation.  It was their only chance for survival now.  There was no turning back.  Together, Lazarius and Verzatea would pull forge their way into the future with their final puzzle piece complete once more.  The home they so desperately needed to continue their success.  The Bastille was the lynch pin and with it, they would secure their place in the North as yet again, a dominant force...

She opened her eyes, the entire room training their vision on her while she stood there, motionless, silent and without so much as a flinch of her eyelash.  On the edges of their seats they waited, oh how they nearly begged to hear the greatness of their leaders.  As if mythical figures represented through Bard song and fable.  But Verzatea, she was humble.  She was no seeker of fortune and glory, she didn’t want to be recognized or even thought of as anything more than a silent party within the collective hive.  And without a single smile, she turned to exit the room.  Leaving them with only a simple answer.

“The future. . . and it is glorious.”

Nearly each of the younger students fell back into their seats, bewildered, curious and now left thinking even more so than before.  Their minds a buzz as they began to whisper and chatter among one another. Could that have been her ploy all along?  Get them to focus more on what they could be, than what had been?  Kross knew, and cleverly gave a smile as the Confessor exited the dark classroom.  He’d spent a great deal of his time with Verzatea during their time in the Kash’ebahl estate, she lived there for several months.  Kross placed a hand on the table top and gave it a slow palmed slap to catch the attention of the younger individuals.

“Alright, settle down. . . ��� he said. “The connection between the Void and manipulating your surroundings, let us beg--”

“What do you think she meant?” their line of questioning began.

“Is there something she saw in the future. . . did she see this?”

“Are you certain we can also see things like this, or was it a situational experience!”

Kross smiled yet again.  It was odd to see him in such good spirits, yet being dead and cursed had its disadvantages.  One of them was that despite his ageless appearance and lack of time.  He was able to still enjoy the inquisitive minds of the apprentices who started their lives here with them.

“The Confessor speaks in a manner that remains subjective to the individual who is going to use it to his or her advantage.  She speaks clearly should you listen to her words and reach beyond what is simply said, to what the deeper meaning stands for.  You all are here because in some way or another you have been shunned, abandoned or simply left to rot in a world that would otherwise deem your views and ideals as punishment.  You live in a corrupted system that sees your genius as a threat because that is exactly what it is., you threaten the world because you seek to bring about their destruction.  It is no different than the insect and the bird above.  Neither is truly malevolent, though to either side; the other is a threat.  Should the bird eat the insect, it is viewed by its peers as the enemy.  And should the bird be overwhelmed and devoured, it would appear as though the insects are.  We are unique as we sit beyond the scope of what is good, or bad.  We are here to do one thing, and that is rebuild an empire through Chaos.  It is the natural order, through it the cycle can reset.  It will repeat and be reborn a new.”  Kross finished, his eyes weary as they shut to contemplate his words.

“Do you believe that we are growing closer to that goal Mister Kross?” asked an elven female several feet from the front of the room.

Kross hardly needed a moment to think on the question.  His eyes opened yet again.   White, nothing but white.  His cornea was missing, iris, pupil. . . it was a pool of empty white.  He looked at the girl and nodded his head.   Speaking softly in his gruff and withered voice.

“The Inquisitor leads us one step closer to victory with every passing moment.  He is tireless, unwavering and without any sign of slowing down.  Yes. . . I believe we are reaching the apex of our collected goals.  Soon others will realize this.  Many will despise us.  Many will ignore us.  Some may even try to take from us, that which we cherish the most; our lives. . .but some, like yourselves. . . some might aid us.  Join together with our cause and become legends in their own right.  Much like you are today.”  Kross peered across the room.  His voice shaking only for a moment before he cleared his throat and moved a hand back to the scroll nearby. “The connection of the void and how it manipulates your surroundings. . .”

“It is the evident process in which the two unbalanced forces mingle between one. . . “  started one student as silence overtook the scene.

As if pulling back from the room like a spectator, and panning down the hall, we would be moved to an entirely different area of the Bastille.   To the vent pipe in bedded into the wall, through the metallic shroud and down the tube further and further.  

“It allows us to shape and forge constructs to fit our situation through the equal distribution of spacial representation an. . . “

Through the duct work further, beyond the library, beyond the alchemists working tirelessly in their lower rooms.  Pass left and right beyond the different living quarters and kitchens.

“The first rule begins with the mind and only then can we project further into the physical world with our collective manifestations. . .”

Past the Pit of Nyotha, beyond the area where Lazarius hides the largest of his tomes, relics and items that none will ever see.  And directly into the Inquisition chambers.

“Light give me strength!”  screamed a man who was bound to a chair.  His elven ears drooped, he was in pain.  His chest filleted open like a fish that was being prepared to be sold at market.  His insides were nearly ready to burst from the remaining mangled mess that was perhaps just a layer deep.  Another jab or poke and a fountain of gore may have just come pouring out into his lap.

“The light. . .my dear boy, does not touch this place.   Nor shall it ever. . . unfortunately it is the current state of your predicament that the only salvation you will ever see. . . “  said the shirtless Inquisitor as he stood only inches away from the mans face.  He was covered in blood, and gripping the chin of the bound man. “Lies with me. . . now I will ask you one more time. . . tell me who Wrathion sold the Mogu artifacts to, and where they took them.”

And this was it.  Lazarius would either kill this bound man to extract the final bit of pain from him.   Or he would get the answer he required.  Either way.  He showed no remorse, and that was part of why his Inquisition was done as his Mistress had taught him.  In silence, in darkness, and with control.  

“I’ll tell you. . . please. . . please don’t. . .”

Ah, information.  Sweet, sweet information. . . .this would be interesting.  He thought to himself.  Let the fun. . . begin.

@susan-gampre​

@pyravari​

[chubbywangji]

so, i figured out how to fit chubby!keith into my ongoing sheith fic

slight issues of this:

need to figure out how much keith weighs right now

he’s already softer than his former usual because he’s been depressed and skipping the gym for a few… months… yeah, and his appetite has been doing the, “you either want to eat everything or nothing, there is no middle ground” depression thing — but between allura and hunk (and sometimes rolo and nyma, his quirky neighbors), he’s been getting fed decently

need to figure out how much he’s going to weigh eventually

slightly related: need to figure out how much shiro weighs aside from, “more than keith currently but he’s six inches taller so that makes sense” and, “more than he did when keith lost him the first time, but back then, shiro was dangerously unhealthy for several reasons, so shiro having put weight back on is a good thing”

this isn’t entirely necessary but i’m tempted by the idea of keith weighing more than shiro eventually (though probably not more than shiro’s twin brother ryou, who is the cute chubby twin with the season 4 haircut vs. lean, toned long-haired punk guitarist takashi)

equally tempted by the idea of shiro bridal carrying keith even after keith weighs more than he does

need to figure out the eventual ratio of soft chub to muscle chub going on here, because i feel like keith’s going to have a bit of both worlds

part of the weight gain is going to come after he starts seeing ulaz (who, as a therapist, is already treating most of the cast) and gets put on very desperately needed antidepressants

part of it, though, will come out of him getting to be gym buds with zethrid, who is an amazing muscle-chub lesbian already and nine inches taller than keith but very appreciative of things like this one time he kicked his abusive dickbag foster brother in the crotch so hard that bryce had to go to the ER to get his balls extracted

this will not amuse keith, since one of his biggest motivations to get back to the gym was trying not to outgrow his pants (because he is broke and has a chip on his shoulder about mooching off of his rich-ass bestie allura or his decently well-off “it’s complicated” to get new pants)

shiro is going to win that debate eventually but still

need to figure out how keith’s weight is going to end up distributed

aside from, “hips and thighs get quite a bit of it, and probably his ass too, and when given that keith largely lives in tight jeans (with his sweats largely serving as gym clothes, pajamas when it’s cold, or things he can wear while doing laundry), poor shiro may blush himself to death because his obliviously chubbier boyfriend bent over in a pair of tight-ass pants”

need to figure out some of the other characters’/outside world’s reactions to chubby!keith

of more immediate relevance is shiro and ryou’s aunt, who is going to be seeing keith for the first time in five years, come christmas — and while he isn’t exactly chubby yet, he was downright scrawny, the last time aunt satomi saw him, so

most of the characters will probably take shiro’s approach of, “i get that you’re upset about needing new pants, but can we try focusing on something more important? like the fact that you have been having fewer days where you wake up feeling like no one would miss you if you got hit by a bus (which, fyi, we definitely would)”

seriously, even lotor’s opinion is going to be like, “i am: 1. so annoyed that you make getting chubby look so hot, and 2. jealous that you are capable of gaining weight like this without even trying while i am over here, a perpetually freezing mess with a shit immune system, because i have trouble keeping any body fat on. how is this fair, street rat.”

but then shiro, pidge, hunk, and lance’s band is going to start Making It, and shiro is going to attract Skinny Groupie Boys (though not girls since shiro is pretty open about being gay), and he would rather not have them around, and some of them will be at least kind of offended that galaxy garrison’s hot lead singer is going off with a guy who doesn’t live on kale salad and overworking himself at the gym

then shiro is going to get sick of being harassed by Groupie Boys and take advantage of an interview to go, “HEY THIS IS KEITH HE IS MY BOYFRIEND AND I LOVE HIM PLEASE STOP TRYING TO HAVE SEX WITH ME JUST BECAUSE I DON’T MAKE OUT WITH HIM ON STAGE LIKE HUNK AND LANCE SO YOU ASSUME THAT I AM SINGLE, I AM HAPPILY SPOKEN FOR BY KEITH, TYVM” which will…… be a thing

granted, the short-term effect will be that keith barely holds it together before begging off and running to antok/kolivan’s place to ask kolivan to talk him through the, “oh god shiro just called me his boyfriend and he did it in an interview that will be published on the internet, this is getting Too Real, what do i do” anxiety spiral as if this is a thing that most people ask of their academic advisors

and then keith and shiro have to talk about it over breakfast, and keith will likely decimate a quite sizable stack of pancakes (while kolivan insists that he does not treat keith like a son, and antok just goes, “uh huh, suuuuure you don’t babe, when are we signing the adoption papers”)

but on the other hand:

chubby keith is very cute

in his case, chub goes from being associated with his depression but not terribly bothering him to eventually being associated with hm getting better and working on his recovery

not enough chubby!keith content has sheith in it

long haired pretty boy punk shiro being super flustered by his chubby boyfriend being so beautiful and sdkfkdhg jfc shiro loves him so much

chubby keith is super cute, thanks for coming to my ted talk