#i told sunset about you headers

[sailorjisunq]

บิวกิ้นพีพี

[emmalostinwonderland]

never been so weak (never felt so incomplete)

This was my contribution to @aroyallybigbangrwrb back in June, now updated with a brand new header! I had a couple lovely friends contribute supplemental works to this project as well, and I wanted to compile everything in one post.

Alex is in his last year of grad school when he meets Henry, a keyboardist in a punk rock band with the look to match, and he begins to discover things about himself that he's been overlooking his whole life. Unfortunately, it seems as though Henry will be Alex's one that got away... unless fate has other ideas.

The Fic: never been so weak (never felt so incomplete) Rated: E WC: 11.7k Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (RWRB book-verse) 1. sunset // 2. midnight // 3. dawn

The Art: a fashion study of punk!Henry by @louikazooie

The FanMix: Weak and Incomplete by @cactusdragon517

Snippet below the cut:

Henry behind a keyboard with sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbones and piercings shining under stage lights is hot. He’s undeniably fucking hot, but this Henry? The man with schmear, well… schmeared up his cheeks as he chows down on an egg bagel, is something else. He’s so ethereal yet so intrinsically human. Alex finds himself staring slack-jawed again until he remembers his own treasure — the salt bagel with lox and a healthy amount of cream cheese piled high in the middle — sitting virtually untouched in his hands. He forces himself to focus on unwrapping it, ignoring Henry slowing down and taking his turn to stare. “Hard as it is to admit, you were right,” he says eventually. “British bagels have nothing on the real thing.” “Told you. They say it’s the water.” Alex takes a bite of his breakfast and shrugs. His heart is trying to flutter right out of his chest, but he doesn’t need to show Henry all of his cards at once. “Do you have plans today?” Henry picks at the bagel skin as he asks, and Alex thinks he understands exactly what he’s feeling right now. Sighing somewhat dramatically, Alex makes a show of checking his watch-less wrist and squinting at the sky. “All signs point to maybe. I think I’m supposed to show this hot guy I know around New York.” He glances Henry’s way. “What say you, hot stuff?” Henry rolls his eyes, but Alex doesn’t miss the upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I can pencil you into my busy rockstar agenda.” “Oh yeah? You’d deign to offer me five minutes of your precious time?” “Perhaps. Six if you behave.” He winks and nudges Alex’s foot with his own.  Alex leans in, whispers, “no promises,” and licks a stray dab of cream cheese off of Henry’s cheek.  “By all counts, that should be so disgusting.” “You’re not disgusted.” “Says you?” “Says the blush you can’t hide.” Alex grins. “It’s so cute how red your ears get, baby.” Henry reaches up and covers one ear, though he doesn’t look away from Alex for even a second. “Come to my show tonight.” “You’re serious?” “Yes. You can stay backstage. I just…” Henry hesitates, fiddling with one of his rings. “I have a good feeling about this. I want you to be there.” Alex considers him — the sincerity in his eyes, the anxiousness in his fingertips — and makes a decision. Fuck it if it’s too fast, fuck it if it’s stupid. There’s a part of him that knows deep down that Henry could very well ruin him for anyone else forever.  There’s a part of him that wants to let him try.

[artistesoiree]

Nightfall in Sunridge Ranch

Chapter 1

{'70s Jack Daniels x Fem!OC)

Chapter 2

Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of blood and draining blood (she's a vampire, I feel it's a given), drug mention, mc is a bit eerie and her thoughts can be a bit troubling, Likely incorrect things about the 70s and Paris, France, as I was born in '02 and haven't been outside the PNW since I was born, Jack's too suave for his own good and probably shouldn't flirt with vampires, I hope he isn't OOC? Veronica's maker is interesting…(and is named after my favorite IWTV character) but I'll get into that in later chapters, takes place in the late 70s in a made-up Texan town WC: 3.8k

A/N:

Howdy, y'all! I wanted to write this because I've been recently inspired to begin writing again. I was inspired by Interview with the Vampire, 70s Texas, little bit of Ethel Cains Album Preachers Daughter, and my own OCs. The writing might be rough, but I'm proud of it. It's told in the first-person POV, and I hope you guys like Veronica as much as I do. She's a wreck and a weirdo .Oh, and the introduction was inspired by the beginning of The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.

headers by @/saradika

I am Veronica Sharpe. I am a vampire who stands six feet tall. I have been blessed with my mother's black curls and my father's family's white streak in it. I have my mother's pale complexion, cheekbones, plush lips, and aquiline nose. I have my father's slender green eyes. My father gave me his height, while my mother gave me the gift of a body with feminine curves. Over the years, while I have maintained my feminine body, I have gained muscle, which has dramatically complimented my figure. I am a strong woman. I am proud of that.

I was only twenty-one when I was turned in the year 1904. I lived in Paris, France, and several lovers sought my hand. One of them was my maker, Armand Sharpe. He was a tall man with a fine figure, and he loved his beautiful clothes and long silk like red hair. He collected art pieces and hung them in his home. He had found me painting in the Jardin des Plantes and asked kindly if he could buy one of my paintings. Armand loved his beautiful women; I was flattered to be one of them. 

He always talked about how I should be grateful that I remain eternally beautiful, that I will never age like most women, and that my youthful beauty will never leave. He always seemed too proud of it. And I am grateful, his beauty is like mine, eternal.

Although I am thankful that I remember my mother, father, and sister, Armand, when we first met, had made it possible for me to have photographs of my family. While I don’t remember my family name, I remember their names. My mother was named Estelle, and my father was Laurent, and my sister was Lucille. But sadly, I don’t know the name my mother gave me when I was born. I expressed my discomfort with not remembering my name to Armand, and he thought of a name for a moment until he told me that my name must be Véronique. It is a beautiful name, a one I deserve.

As time passed, my name changed from Véronique to Veronica. This transition came in ‘64 when a waitress misheard my name and called me Veronica in a thick southern California accent. She was a lovely gal. She was a Barbie blonde wearing a baby blue uniform, which suited her tanned skin tone. Her hair was styled like Farrah Fawcett's and smelled like Adorn Self-Styling Hair Spray. Veronica stuck. The transition was freeing from the name my maker and husband had given me. The name Armand would use to beckon me to his room was the name he would call with desire. 

I am very thankful to the waitress at that Los Angeles diner a couple of years ago; she gave me a new name, and may never know what it meant to me. I am sure Armand felt the same way, it is a gift to give a name to someone.

As I make my way along the winding Interstate 10 in Texas, the sky is painted with the last hues of the sunset, giving way to the emergence of countless stars. The radio fills the car interior with the nostalgic melody of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads." This song has been the background to my travels for the past couple years. With my hand resting on the smooth, black leather steering wheel of my 1964 Ford Mustang, I tap my fingers in time to the music. The car, painted a deep raven black, seems to blend seamlessly with the night. Despite the darkness, I wear my circular black sunglasses with their delicate silver frame. It might strike some as odd to wear sunglasses at night, but I do so to conceal my naturally eerie and unnerving green eyes, a feature that has often drawn unnerving attention. 

I’ve never understood why they were unnerving. They’re my eyes; they’ve been green since childhood. Is there something I’m missing? Green is the color of the earth, why must I have to cover my beauty.

The fuel gauge on my dashboard is hovering dangerously close to empty, and as I glance out the window, a highway sign catches my eye. It reads, ‘Visit Sunridge Ranch, Texas! The Cowboy Capital of the USA!’ I find myself humming in response, realizing that not only do I need to refuel, but it might also be a good idea to find a place to stay for the night. The sun will rise soon, and although I won't burst into flames like in fiction, its rays will still leave me with a nasty sunburn, turning my pale skin red. It’s embarrassing. Armand would scold me like a child when I would come home red. As my husband, he often acted like a father, not my own. Oh no, he decided my father wasn't useful and took him away from me.

As I made my way into town, I was struck by its quaint charm and the subtle nods to its cowboy past. Before heading to the nearby motel, I decided to fill up my car with gas. As I approach the motel, I couldn't help but notice the small sign featuring a cowgirl riding a horse and the name "Desert Ranch Motel." It seems like a beautiful place to spend a day. The sign advertised a pool I plan to enjoy once the sun had set.

I hear the soft jingle of a bell as I push open the heavy wooden door to the front desk. Standing behind the counter is a woman who seems out of place in this ordinary setting. Her immaculate appearance and bored expression tell me she'd rather be anywhere else. I glimpse her name tag and see "Barbara" etched onto it. 

"Welcome to the Desert Ranch Motel, where the Old West meets comfort," she recites in a dry, monotone voice. "What kind of room are you looking for?"

The weirdest thing is that Barbara jumps when she looks up at me and tries to act as if she hadn't jumped. Am I creepy? Surely it cannot be my eyes, they cannot be creepy in this light. Was it my staring? My eyes burning into her.

As she asked if I was interested in the suite, I responded, "I will take the suite." I respond, there is nothing fancy about the way I said it. It was monotone. Following my response, she picked up the check-in book to check for its availability, or at least that's what I assumed she was doing.

"Sure... that'll be no problem," she says, keeping her pretty blue eyes on my figure as she checks the lodging book. That will be 15 dollars for the day," Barbara says uncertainly as I hand her the cash. She carefully notes my name in the lodging book and gracefully passes me the key. "The room is 28B. I hope you have a pleasant stay, ma'am," she says.

The prominent feature of the chain is a weathered cowboy pendant suspended from it, effortlessly enhancing the town's rustic charm and Western essence. I wonder who made it; it looks like an artist had a hand in making it. 

As I make my way down the hallway to 28B, the weight of my luggage is a reassuring reminder of the countless times I've journeyed down this similar hallway. I navigate the stairs quickly. Arriving at the end of the hallway, I reach for the doorknob and swing the door open. A smile spreads as I take in the view before me.

The wooden door creaks open as I enter the room, unveiling a spacious living area. The room features a sunken seating area adorned with vibrant patterned cushions encircling a central sunken pit that could double as a fire pit. The brick fireplace is the main focus, making everything warm and comfortable. 

Large windows flood the space with natural light, offering picturesque views of the pool outside. The high ceiling is adorned with several elegant hanging lights that glow warmly throughout the room. The inviting atmosphere makes it a pretty space to spend time and relax.

Behind the conversation pit, the bed steals the attention, decorated with a striking orange comforter and decorative pillows. The bedframe and nightstands complement each other, showcasing a matching wood. The clock on the nightstand displayed 3:02 am, signaling the impending arrival of dawn. Hungry from my long drive from San Antonio, I couldn't ignore the persistent itch of blood thirst at the back of my throat. As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I felt the familiar hunger gnawing at my insides. It is different from a human's regular hunger pains; my stomach feels as if it’s going to turn inside out, and I might die. 

The craving for blood pounded through me, and I know I couldn't ignore it much longer. But living in this arid, desolate town presented a challenge—no nearby life sources could quench my thirst. Then it hit me: In such a deserted town, there is an option: to search for the presence of rats. Although I don't like the taste of rat blood, it satisfies my thirst for blood. Or perhaps the local diner could provide a solution. I could order a rare steak and let its rich blood juices satiate my hunger for the night. I always thrived while killing; there is something so satisfying about that iron-rich liquid spilling down my throat.

As I leave the dimly lit motel room, I check that my purse is securely slung over my shoulder. I mentally record the contents within—my wallet holding a substantial amount of cash, my ID, and the all-important hotel room key. Opening it, I make sure that my favorite perfume is safely nestled among the other items. Knowing I'll smell good despite the bloodbath I’m going to put myself through does put a smile on my face. 

I stroll across the road from the motel to The Kingsman Diner, relieved to see that it is open 24 hours a day. Knowing that no matter what time, I can always find a warm meal here is a comfort. Approaching the front door, I couldn't help but notice a small cluster of mice scurrying around towards the back of the diner.

Sneaking towards the back of the restaurant, I quickly grab a mouse and sink my fangs into its body. Draining the blood from it and tossing it into the garbage. I continue doing this to a few more mice, draining and tossing.  It is not human, but it will do for the night. I need to drink multiple in order to feel fine.

Lost in my bloodthirst, I fail to notice the creak of the back door swinging open. Suddenly, a gruff and low voice startles me from behind.

"Darlin, what are you doin’ near my garbage?" The man asks, and I freeze, realizing someone had caught me. I feel my heart racing as I quickly toss the mouse into the garbage and turned to face him. There was a little blood on my chin, and my hands are stained from the unsuccessful attempt to clean up the mess.

What am I doing? Did Armand’s lessons in cleanliness and manners exit my brain the first moment I stepped foot on American soil? I should vanish now. Wipe his memory, he never saw me.

But as I answered, "Nothing," he gave me a questioning look, and I’m grateful for the overhead light illuminating his face. He was very handsome, with a man in his forties with a strong, tall frame, warm brown eyes, and a mop of dark brown, short hair. A well-groomed mustache adorned his upper lip, adding to his cowboy appeal. He stood before me in well-worn jeans cinched with a leather belt, an apron over his chest, and a vibrant blue flannel shirt. He held a black Stetson cowboy hat in his hand, completing the look of a true cowboy. God, he has kind eyes, clean-shaven eyes, and a beautiful smile. And a confident swagger to him, Armand never really had that sort of confidence or swagger. He was quiet and foreboding. 

"Why do you have blood on your hands and chin there, Darlin?" The man asks, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow as if trying to assess my appearance. My mind races as I desperately tried to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. "Were you drainin’ those rats?"

I stammer nervously in response, causing his brows to furrow even deeper. "I, uh, yes...?" I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "I may have taken ecstasy in my motel room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. In the past I loved to drink the blood on ecstasy, it feels lovely."

"Why in the world would drinkin’ rat blood even cross your mind as a good idea?" the handsome man asks, leaving me speechless. Incompetent to conjure a coherent response, I found myself unable to answer him. How about we forget this ever happened, and I whip up something to satisfy that hunger of yours?"

I nod eagerly, awaiting his following words. "What are ya in the mood for?"

"Can you make mashed potatoes and a rare steak? It's been far too long since I've had a meal like that, not since I left San Antonio," I tell him, wiping the extra blood on the sleeve of my black blouse. It won’t be seen anyway. His face cringes for a moment as I do that. God, he needs to stop staring at me.

As the man mulls over my request briefly, he gently scratches his chin and nodded in agreement. "Come on in. Why don't ya take a seat at the counter," he offered as we entered the cozy diner. "Maybe after you freshen up a bit..."

Pausing, I glance down at my hands and suddenly became conscious of my messy appearance. The fancy clothes I bought for myself have blood splatters on me, and my hair is nowhere near presentable. I should’ve washed up in my motel room. 

"Oh, excuse me, where can I find the restroom?" I ask, and he gestures towards the doors at the back of the diner, clearly marked 'Men' and 'Women.' 

"I'll be back. I'm sorry you had to see that, handsome stranger," I say to him with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. His chuckle is a welcome sound as my eyes wander up and down, finally landing on the name tag labeled ‘Jack’' "Jack, a handsome name for a handsome man," I remark, a twinkle in my eye, nervously laughing. Has it been this long since I’ve been around a man? He must think I'm an idiot. 

Jack’s chuckle resonates through the room, carrying a warmth that seems to surround the entire room. "Not a problem, darlin'," he says in a soothing, reassuring tone, his words comforting to my ears. He flashed a kind and friendly grin, and as he did, the well-earned wrinkles around his eyes deepened, adding character to his face. A rush of heat floods my cheeks, betraying the blush that crept up in response to his gaze. Sensing my reaction, he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly, his eyes shining with a knowing glint. 

Dieu qu'il est beau. (god he is handsome)

“I will be right back, Mr. Jack,” I chuckle nervously before heading toward the restroom. Mr. Jack?! Why would I call him that? Also, I says I would be back not even a minute before. Must I repeat myself like a babbling imbecile?!

I quickly went to the restroom, but the encounter was still fresh in my mind. As I stand in front of the mirror, I meticulously wash away the stains from my face and hands, taking care to remove every trace of the blood. It's hard to believe that my first impression of this rugged man was being covered in blood. I can't help but wonder what  Armand must think of me. I did always turn to him for advice. He was always a posed man; he would get angry when I wasn’t. 

But I do not remember even doing anything that vastly embarrassing with him. Did I do something wrong when I was with him? Have I always been this way, and he was helping me? Should I have not left him? I cannot act like a lady around a handsome man who saw me draining mice near his garbage. Well, not that it is a ladylike thing to do, but there are nicer ways of satisfying my thirst. But fuck being ladylike, Armand would use that word so often I never liked it.

Wait, that businessman wanted to get with me at that party in ‘71. Why am I realizing this now?  Have I always been this aloof? I need to do better.

“Bloody lady, ya doin’ alright?” I hear Mr. Jack from just outside the door, “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes or so,” 

“Sorry, I got lost in thought. I’ll be out in a minute!” I reply, and my cheeks redden due to my embarrassment. Splashing water on my face, I walk out of the restroom with a slightly embarrassed smile, rocking on my heels momentarily. “Sorry about that, it’s been a long day.” 

Mr. Jack chuckles again, “‘s alright, darlin’ you not from ‘round here, aintcha?” He asks as I sit down at the counter where he’s prepared my food. God, it looks delicious. Staring at him, a little confused, he smiles again. “You ain’t got an accent like us, ya almost sound European.”

“No, I’m not from around here. I was born in Paris, but I’ve been traveling alone for a while,” I reply, grabbing the fork he’s set out for me. He tilts his head, confused.

“Ya look lil young to be travelin’ for a while,”

“M-My…uhh-” I begin trying to find a good excuse: “My family ages well. I am in my thirties,” Okay, that’s not a bad excuse, and it’s true I do not age. Thanks, Armand; one of the only good things about this gift he gave me. He still deserves to die, though. 

"Well, I’ll be damned ya do look good, sugar,” Jack tells me with a suave smile on his face, “that white streak in ya hair is real pretty too, them eyes of yours are real pretty too. I always liked green eyes on ladies,” 

“Why thank you, Jack. You sure know how to make a lady blush,” I giggle momentarily, hiding my face behind my hand, and while taking a bite of the steak he made me, and god if it isn’t delicious. That cowboy sure knows how to make a meal. 

He and I both chat for a while and continue eating the meal he had prepared. He pauses for a moment before asking, “You says you were born in Paris, that meanin you french?” 

“I suppose?” I reply, thinking for a moment. “I grew up there, my parents were born there too. But I have not been there for good while, I am losing my accent.” 

“Clearly, you barely sound French anymore, sugar. Are you still speakin’ the language?” he asks, and I nod with a bright smile.

“Oui, j'aime toujours cette langue,” I say, and his eyebrows raise. Is he impressed? “I say, yes, I still love the language.” 

Jack chuckles as he takes my empty plate and cleans it quickly while I wait at the counter. Should I wait for him to come back? Or should I leave? This feels weird. My legs begin to sway underneath the counter, waiting for him to come back, my chin resting on the backs of my hands. 

He comes back a couple of minutes later, and I've been looking around the diner, taking in the details of it all. It’s a very cozy diner. The warm lighting adds to that. If I lived here, I would be a regular, I know it. 

“How long you in town sugar?” He asks, snapping me out of my daydream. 

“As long as I want, I tend to keep myself in different towns for a few days before leaving. But I can stay in a spot for months if I’d like. Why do you ask?”

“I wanna offer you a job, if you’d like it. It would be watiressin’ but it pays good with tips.”

My eyes widen for a moment. Is he serious? His expression says he isn’t; extra cash would be nice. I have been running out of it since I left France and stole an excellent sum of Armand’s fortune. It would be nice to stay in one spot long and not be on the run. He also did find me with blood all over me. Why is he offering me a job? Did he not find me in the back with blood all over me..he does not have good awareness.

“I like that a lot. It would be nice to have extra money and save up a good sum.” I say to him, and his lips curl into an almost sly smile. He looks too mischievous with that mustache of his, but that is a reason he’s a joy to be around. He is much better than Armand, so much better.

“Sounds like a plan darlin’ let me get ya the uniform,” He tells me, walking to a closet in the back and coming back with two things, a red dress, it has short sleeves and seems that it would end at my knees. What’s in his other hand is an apron, simple enough. “Here’s the uniform, keep your hair in a bun and simple earrings. You got shoes that could go with it?”

Pausing, I think back to the clothes in my luggage, more specifically, the shoes I’ve been carrying with me. There are a couple of options, and others that would never work for that uniform.

“Would a pair of red-heeled sandals work?” I ask, unsure if that’s what he is asking for. 

“I believe they would darlin’. You can wear those with the uniform. Have you ever waitressed before?”

“When I was in Paris, I worked briefly for a cafe. Is this similar to that?”

“You’ll do great sugar. Now go get some rest and I’ll see you here at 2pm okay?” He asks, and I nod quickly, my arms gathering the uniform he handed me in my arms. 

When I leave the diner, the sky is empty; spare it for the stars sprinkling in the sky. This town is eerily quiet. Paris was loud, and so was Los Angeles. I like quiet; I've always liked quiet. Maybe I should stay here. Until Armand uses his fledglings to find me again, then I will run. I do miss him, the chase is more fun knowing he misses me. But for now, I will stay. 

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I do plan to have more chapters, as this is just the beginning; I've got a bunch planned!

Taglist: @morallyinept @604to647

[alieinthemorning]

Half Truths [Kairi]

Content: Character Study, AU: Canon Divergence, Kingdom Hearts 3, POV First Person

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots.  Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Header:@verumking

'I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. Did Master Yen Sid tell you?

I’m training to become a Keyblade wielder like you and Riku.

That’s right. No more waiting for you to come back from your adventures.

I want to get out there and do my part to help.

Merlin has used his magic to bring us to a place where time doesn’t matter.

We can take as long as we need to complete our training.

He's an amazing wizard.

Oh, and by “us”, I mean me and Lea. He’s really sorry for all the trouble he caused.

I told him it’s fine, but he won’t stop apologizing.

I’ll admit I was a little scared of him at first, but I’ve gotten to know him better.

All he ever wanted was to help his friend. Honestly, it’s hard not to like him.

Every now and then, I catch him staring at me. When I ask what’s wrong, he says,

'I’m not sure. I think I’m forgetting something. Don’t know what.’

Sora, I think it may have something to do with you.

Your journey is all about helping people: some that you’ve never met before,

And some like Lea that you have. They’re all counting on you.

It won’t be easy, but I hope you’ll remain the happy and cheerful Sora I know.

There’s no heart your smile can’t reach.”

I looked up from my writing, turning to Lea. “What’s wrong?” I always knew when he was staring at me.

He quickly looked away and shook his head. “Nothin’, sorry.”

“Lea.” I pressed. He would always shake it off as nothing, but something was really bothering him, and as his friend, I wanted to know what.

He placed a hand on the back of his head and gave me a short smile. “What? I am.”

I giggled at his antics as he sat down on the log in front of me.

It was quiet for a moment before he spoke up again. “A letter?”

“Yup.”

“To Sora?”

My eyes widened a bit at his forwardness. “Mmm,” but I answered regardless. “Technically yes. But I won’t send it. It’s more for me.”

“Ask Merlin.” Lea gestured to my letter. “He’ll deliver it for you.”

I guess I wasn’t all that clear. “Yeah, but it’s okay.” Another route then. “I just like talking to Sora, even if it’s on paper.” I hugged the notepad to my chest.

No matter how far apart we are.

Lea hummed, finally understanding. He looked off to the side for a moment before his eyes popped. “Oh!” He pulled two sticks of ice cream from behind his back.

“Ice cream? Really?” As odd as it was, I was overjoyed to see it.

“Yeah, I asked Merlin to pick these up.” Looks like he was using Merlin to the fullest extent. “Ya know, we did both summon Keyblades. Gotta celebrate.” He passed me one, which I happily took.

“You’re sweet, Lea.” As I went in to take a bite, I felt his eyes on me. More intense than usual. “What?”

And again he tried to brush it off. “N-nothing, I just…” That, now, all too familiar sad gleam was in his eyes.

Enough with beating around the bush. “You’re trying to remember what you forgot?”

“Well, I, uh… Yeah… Yeah” He finally admitted, turning his gaze toward the sunset.

I hate seeing you like this.

“So tomorrow—you and me in the ring. You ready?” I tried switching subjects.

“Course.”

“Don’t hold back, Lea, promise?”

He turned back to me as if ready to say something else, but he paused, shock crossing his features. His jaw fell slack, and his hands twitched open, the ice cream falling into the grass below.

I just about jumped out of my skin when the tears fell. “Are you okay? Lea!”

I tried to move in closer, but he turned away. “Yeah, sorry.” As much as he apologizes, I knew this one was different from the rest.

“You’re crying. What’s wrong?” I tried once more.

He finished rubbing away the tears but still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Something in my eyes.” He sniffled.

“Lea…” He looked at me but quickly averted his eyes then stood up.

“I’m… gonna go. Sorry.”  

I smiled. “‘Kay, but stop apologizing.”

“Fine… but on one condition.” He bounced right back. “Call me Axel from now on. Got it memorized?” He placed his finger on his temple.

I nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Axel.”

Once he was finally out of sight, I picked up the forgotten ice cream.

A sad smile found its way to my lips. “Oh Axel… you forgot one for Roxas.”

Sighing, I threw the dropped ice cream over the edge of the cliff, then sat back down and picked up my notepad.

I looked over what I had written. “These words are hers, specifically for you. Sora.” I sighed again and flipped the page.

“I am without a name,

No Name, if you will.

They say that I’m the second failure

No. i2

And yet they have given me such an important job

'Have the boy deliver the final blow’

I’m sorry everyone

But this puppet must play her part.”

Riku and King Mickey dropped off mine and Axel’s new outfits. I was excited to try mine on, but also a bit surprised that we received anything at all. We were brand new Keyblade wielders, and although this land is without time, that doesn’t mean the others worlds are. We’re still inexperienced to the darkness outside of Merlin’s magical illusions.

I twirled in the mirror, admiring my new clothes. It was such a cute pink dress, but the tightness of the skirt seemed impractical.

“Oh well… it not like I’ll be doing much of anything anyway.” The truth hit me like a cold wave. “I’m just being pulled along like the rest.”

I met my own gaze in the reflection. Nothingness stared back. I didn’t know what Kairi looked like, not even the color of her eyes. I didn’t have any memories, only the feelings that lingered in the remnants of this body. I dropped my gaze back to my boots and exited the room.

“Hey Axel!”

“Hey. Liking the new look.” He complimented.

I giggled and twisted, showing off more of my outfit.

“Cut your hair, too.”

My smile almost flickered to a frown. ‘Did I? I don’t remember cutting my hair…is this the effect of the replica?’

“Mm-hmm.” I wanted to get as far away from the subject of my hair as possible. “So, you gonna try yours on?”

He looked down at his own outfit. That same old Organization cloak. “Uhh… I dunno. Maybe later.”

“But you always wear the same thing.” Maybe pressing him would work today.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” He smoothly waved me off. “This is how you picked me out of a crowd. I make myself easy to remember.

‘He’s doing it for them.' I swallowed the gasp threatening to escape. “How thoughtful.”

As I moved to sit next to him, he bashfully scratched the back of his head. “Nah, not really…”

“Our training is almost finished.”

“Yeah.”

It felt like it had been months since Lea— Axel and I had been here, clashing blades. When I asked Merlin how long it had actually been, he told me only about a few days.

Once again, I found myself overlooking the cliff side with Lea—Axel.

“Somewhere inside me is Naminé.” Empty words and empty feelings. “If we can free Roxas, we can free her too.”

Can we free me too?

“I guess so.”

“Naminé was made from when Sora freed me from his heart.” At least, that’s what I was told. “So, now that she’s a part of me again. I figured all was right.”

But she wanted a life of her own,

and I want a life of my own too.

“But she can’t look at this forest, feel the wind on her face, none of it.”

What does this face look like, I wonder.

“And if she could, it would be different for her.”

Would it be different for me too?

“Her time was short, but she lived it,” Did she really? “And that makes it hers.”

“What right did I have to take those feelings and experiences back?”

What right do I have, sitting here, training to fight with the Keyblade, seeing this sunset. These should be things that you—yourself see, Kairi.

“They don’t belong to me.” None of this does. “Nothing’s as it should be.”

Nothing is ever as it seems.

“Not for her or Roxas.”

Or me.

This is a one-shot about how the Kairi we see in KH3 is a Xion Replica [how that happened I don’t know, maybe i’ll get a better idea after Xion’s comeback is revealed]. In this story, we go through the events of KH3 through Kairi’s point of view [even if it is really small]. Her thoughts and feelings of being a pawn in Xehanort’s game.

Replica Kairi knew about her demise so she shared the Paopu with Sora so he could find the real Kairi. The reason why Kairi cries at the end is because she knows it is her fault.

This is what I had left for myself. The only notes. I still think this concept is interesting and I might come back to it someday, but I really did want to post what I already had.

10/15/23 Update

Still a really interesting concept. Might come back to it someday.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[snoooze]

[ohaewsred]

teh & oh-aew headers (episode 3)

like or reblog if you save or use, please.

[hereinspite]

I Told Sunset About You twitter headers.

like if you save/use them, please :”)

[b-brightvc]

pp krit icons

like or reblog if u save. don't repost pls! <3

[tehohaews]

I promise you, that I will always love you. That's never going to change. And I'll love you too and that's never going to change. I promise.

[euiobarcode]

header PP Krit para twitter 🙃

[snake-and-mouse]

Oh when he was trying to see if Bas liked him: Mmm nooo I can't touch his knee 🥺😣

Oh trying to see if Teh likes him: I shall crawl over to him on my hands and knees and make very direct eye contact until he feeds me by hand and then I shall make myself at home in his lap like it belongs to me

[swolix]

大 : ⌗ ITSAY HEADERS ⌗ : 大

大 : like or reblog if u save : 大

大 : don't repost : 大

[liaaaannee]

I Promised You The Moon Ep 1 × Best Scenic Moments

[iamlunarcollins]

• I Told Sunset About You (headers)

☆PLEASE LIKE OR REBLOG IF YOU SAVE☆

[haikvh]

★ i told sunset about you ; headers

[snoooze]