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phoenotopia · 4 years

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2020 October Update

So... we've launched. And our launch was... actually kind of... bad...

This is a dev blog, so I'll speak on it. But before that, we do have the game's steam page up. If you're anticipating the PC release, please do visit the steam page and add it to your wish list. It would help us a lot.

VISIT STEAM LINK

...

So what didn't go so well?

1. We launched in Nintendo's Americas and Europe territory. If you've been following the release, you'd know that America got the game first. We didn't move to launch in Europe at all since I thought the EFIGS languages (English, French, Italian, German, Spanish) were pre-requisites for Europe. By the time I learned that this wasn't necessarily the case, and attempted to course correct, the damage was done. We had half the allotment of keys to do outreach, and maybe some European outlets that would've covered us, did not.

2. When the game launched, rather than a victory lap, what we experienced was more of a public lashing. We did get some reviews that praised the game highly, but just as many reviews lampooned the game for its high difficulty or other failings. I've since released two patches (or 3, depending on how you count it) to address the difficulty. A lot of overnighters. If you recall in the last blog post, I thought it'd be a good start if we got 20 or so reviews on Open Critic. But we've only 8 as of this writing, and the aggregate score isn't so hot. So that's a fail by my metric.

3. A publisher reached out to us because they were interested in physically printing the game! Yay! But... to advance our talks, they wanted to see the game's sales numbers to ensure that there's a good chance their investment could be recouped. And unfortunately, the game's sales numbers are pretty low. They backed out :(

Some hard lessons were learned. The biggest lesson for me concerns how well we playtested the game. Looking at the original playtester list, it's a short list. You may recall from a previous blog post that our ability to test was severely hampered by technical limitations. Add to that, a lot of people on this list are objectively really achieved players. We're talking power ranked in Smash Bros, regular tournament goers, and people who've played and bested every Souls game. And as the maker of the game, I am most blind to the game's challenges.

Now, I'm definitely more of the opinion that you prioritize PC development first. I still have some reservations about some stages of PC development. But if you do PC/Steam first, you have the great benefit of being able to do Early Access, which gives you access to a greater testing pool. I now view it as an invaluable part of the equation. If we had been able to do Early Access for 1 or 2 months before release, we probably could have ironed out most of the game's difficulty and balance problems. Hard lessons, indeed.

There were a lot of other notable events that occurred over the past 2 months - the travails of press outreach, realizing my own limits as a developer, feeling defeated and getting back up again, etc. There's too much stuff to chronicle or go into detail. But it wasn't all bad.

Some good things did happen...

We got a publisher to publish for Japan! It came as a huge relief, because clearly, we don't know what the heck we're doing.

The publisher has been an invaluable source of information and feedback. They've recommended some changes to the game to improve user experience. Some of these changes I was hesitant to do at first because they concerned systems I thought integral to the identity of the game. But after trying it, I have to admit, they're good changes.

So a Japanese version of the game was moving ahead. And it looked like that'd be it. I wasn't planning to move forward with any other language translations due to the game's low sales and our funds being depleted.

But, I was approached by a translator who urged me to move ahead with translations. He told me he was willing to work for only a small price initially and then be paid the rest after from a percentage of the game's sales until the cost of the translation was paid in full.

I was surprised translators were willing to work under such a model since it's entirely likely the game's current low sales trajectory would continue and they wouldn't earn back the full cost of translation. But I was also flattered they were willing to take a risk with me. After that, I approached some others with the same hypothetical deal, and long story short, we're now moving forward with French, German, Spanish, Portuguese and Russian translations. As for why these languages in particular, they were languages for whom I had contacts (because they reached out to me at some point in the past). And also because they were deemed more likely to be profitable based on their home country's gaming market/buying habits. I'd be personally happy to have my native language be represented, but it's not expected to be a profitable territory. But if the game does better in the future, it may justify the costs of translation. There could be a chance!

The plan right now is to get the game supporting these first round of languages and then to patch that into the Switch version as well as launch the PC version with these languages - all in December. A lot of things need to align for this to occur, so a delay isn't out of the question. It'll be busy... I'll update the blog again in latter half of December, probably near the game's PC launch date... OR to announce a delay. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Fan Support

While the past two months have been grueling, one good thing remains constant - fan art! Thank you everyone who submitted. It means a lot to me and the team!

Big thanks to Pimez who's taken on watching over the reddit community as moderator. He also combs the other communities and makes sure I see every new art piece. Despite juggling his own life and all these tasks, he still found some time to draw.

Pimez's piece reminds us that just because the new game's out doesn't mean we can't still celebrate the original flash game. The jail dog is a dog found only in jail and only in the flash game. I imagine Gail is just tossing a stick, and they're playing fetch.

A new artist to this scene æv draws both the Phoenix logo AND a super cute picture of Gail playing the flute. So precious, you want to pinch her cheek. Even the Sand Drake is enthralled!

Another new artist, beet4ppy arrives on the scene with two pictures! One features a no-nonsense battle-hardened Gail looking stoic and tough! Kinda reminds me of Vinland Saga actually. The other, a more cheerful group composition - I must say I'm a big fan of Fran's classic anime-style eye!

A returning artist, Cody G, returns with a picture depicting the tribulations of cooking. Gotta love Gail's frantic expression! I've heard the complaints, which is why we've added an option to slow the cooking mini-game down. An improved button font is also on the way.

Gamesing with two undertale x phoenotopia crossovers. Thomas being a robot builder makes sense taking a role similar to Alphys. But why is Alex dressed like a clown? Perhaps there is a hidden meaning here...

A new artist, Warotar, draws both a pooki wearing Gail's clothes and Gail wearing pooki clothes. Awww. The pooki is a bit scary - it kinda reminds me of a tragic event in a certain anime. But the Gail is adorable!

POL#5655 submitted this one to KM's discord which made its way to me. Here, a stylized Gail appears unnerved by the dark red eyes stalking her in the background. Are they bats or something more sinister?

A new artist, MilesCPW, arrives on the scene with three rare well-vectorized arts! Love it! One scene depicts Gail balancing a bomb on her head - that's a speedrunning trick I only learned about recently after someone emailed me a video O_O

The other drawing gives us new insight into Katash - he could actually look cute if he wasn't trying to kill you.

And the bees... Okay, this one got a chuckle from me :D

A returning artist roccy_chair draws this heart-warming scene from the beginning of the new game. Aww. Mika doesn't get much screen time for story reasons, so it's nice to see her represented.

UnrealWorld_32 returns with another drawing of Gail in Panselo, this time capturing a more idyllic time. I like the tranquil nature of this piece. And Gail does in fact play the guitar, denoted by the guitar in her room.

Returning artist shafiyahh draws a nice portrait of Prince Leo - looking regal and princely. I like the storybook art style of this piece. It made me immediately think of "the Little Prince" - one of my favorite books actually!

Negativus Core returns with a beautiful group composition of Gail and the gang - flying from a Switch shaped window - totally sensible considering the game is only Switch right now. As usual, I'm impressed by Negativus Core's use of challenging angles to frame a more dynamic shot of the characters. Great job!

And it wasn't only artists bearing the banner. I'd like to give a big shoutout to everyone in all the game's little communities (from the reddit to the discords to this tumblr). I've seen this community help newcomers with gameplay and walkthrough advice, discussions, updating the wiki, and so on. It does bring a smile to my face. Thank you everyone!

#phoenotopia

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nekoabiwrites · 4 years

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While The Sides Are Away, Virgil Will Play

So... I don’t know where this came from. Somewhere deep in my soul, I think.

AU: None Pairing: None Words: 978 Warnings: Remus says the F word, sex mention. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: The Sides go out for the day, leaving Virgil alone. They didn’t expect to come back and find him... like this.

It wasn’t often that Roman invited everyone out for a day in the Imagination, and it was even less often that almost all of them would take him up on the offer. Usually, Janus or Logan would be busy with their own work and end up staying behind along with one or two of the other sides, but this time, only Virgil remained back at the house. He’d taken the news much better than Roman had anticipated, which had left the other five sides to enjoy their day.

After completing their epic quest of (non-lethal) sword duels and puzzle dungeons, the group returned to the castle to rest. They trudged up the stairs and collapsed in the drawing room, covering almost every space available.

“I’ll open the portal in a moment.” Roman spoke through his still heaving breaths. “I just need a moment.”

“Take your time, kiddo. I think we all need to catch our breaths!” Patton said, still grinning despite his clear exhaustion.

“I just think we should go and check on Virgil, make sure he’s not curled up in a corner somewhere, thinking we all abandoned him or whatever.” Roman exaggeratedly waved his arms, his dramatics returning.

“It is highly doubtful that Virgil would think any of that, Roman.” Logan responded, “We all made it quite clear we would be returning within the day, and prior experience should reinforce such things.”

“Yeah, well… you still don’t know for sure!” Roman pouted, unable to come up with a better response. The snippy retort only garnered a raised eyebrow from the logical side, which served to rile Roman up further. Instead of starting an empty argument, the prince stood with a haughty sniff and stalked over to the cupboard that held the portal. Without a word, he opened the doors and entered.

The rest of the sides followed suit with Patton almost tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to get over to the portal. Upon reaching the other side, they all ran into Roman – who had not moved more than a step away from the exit. They were also greeted by very loud, unmistakably Virgil-like music and… singing?

Slowly and with a hand over Remus’ mouth to stop him from making any noise, the sides creeped through the hallway and over to Virgil’s room, which was – unsurprisingly – the source of the music. If they had spent more than a second thinking about it, they likely could have opened the door faster as the sound of it clicking open and moving over the carpet was eclipsed by the volume of the music. They were all somewhat in awe and surprise of what they found inside.

Virgil was clearly living his best emo fantasy. While he seemed to play the part of a retired emo kid on a day to day basis, this was entirely different. His makeup was far more pronounced and exaggerated, the dark eyeshadow had been done away with and perfectly messy eyeliner was instead surrounding his eyes. His lip was donning seemingly fake snakebite piercings that glinted in the low light, along with the dark purple stretcher sitting in his ear lobe. Either Virgil had obtained a wig, or he’d somehow lengthened his hair, but he’d been able to style it in the stereotypical fashion, complete with bringing back the purple hair dye for his fringe. The signature hoodie had been haphazardly thrown onto the couch that sat under his window, along with his normal ripped jeans and shoes. Virgil had replaced them with a slightly oversized t-shirt that seemed to have a band name scrawled across it, though it was barely decipherable to any of the sides due to the loud font choice, as well as a pair of highly distressed and graffitied jeans that hung just a little lower than necessary at his hips. Heavy-looking, buckled boots donned his feet as he seemingly performed to an invisible crowd, giving Roman a run of his money with the dramatic show he was putting on. For the added touches, Virgil wore wristband upon wrist band, up to three studded belts and fingerless gloves – some of which looked familiar as they had been passed onto Patton that one time… though Virgil refused to ever touch that subject again.

The sides stood there in awe, watching as Virgil – the most reserved of them all – perform his heart out to the music blaring from his speakers. Not one of them had anything to say… at least until the hand fell from Remus’ mouth.

“PLEASE FUCK ME!” Remus immediately yelled at the top of his lungs.

“WHAT?!” Virgil spun around, hand over his chest like he was dying. He blindly fumbled around for the remote for his speakers, turning down the volume as soon as he had it in his hands.

Remus cocked his hip, his almost hungry grin widening as he continued to stare at the anxious side, “Pierce me like one of your piercin-” Before he could finish, the remote that had been in Virgil’s hand landed squarely against Remus’ forehead with enough force to knock him unconscious immediately.

Before anyone could say anything more, Virgil stormed up to the door, his entire face red despite the white foundation he’d practically caked on. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” He screeched before slamming the door in their faces.

Quiet followed as no one knew what to do. A loud embarrassed groan sounded from behind the door and Roman couldn’t help the snort that punched its way out of him.

“We should probably leave him for a bit. I’ll come check on him later.” Patton attempted to whisper, and they all nodded in agreement. They went their separate ways, leaving Roman to drag his dazed brother back to his room, rolling his eyes and hissing vague responses to the dark side’s mumbles of Virgil’s new-found attractiveness.

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka @notalwaysthevillian @pumpkinminette @doces-e--tuga @coloursintheblur @safesandersides @hogwarts-my-love

#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Janus Sanders #Remus Sanders #Anxiety Sanders #Creativity Sanders #Morality Sanders #Logic Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Dark Creativity Sanders #no AU

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

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Prenatal

A sequel to Get Your Fix, Withdrawal, and Placebo

Special credit to @sherrybaby14 who requested the idea for the first part.

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, sex pollen, breeding kink, mentions of birth control, forced pregnancy..

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Okay, so the fourth part is finally done! Thanks to everyone who has waited patiently for this. I wasn’t planning on posting this today tbh. I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think! <3

A couple days after the gut-wrenching revelation and you were still in disbelief. The news hadn’t even quelled Steve’s libido; if anything, he was even more persistent. You were in the lab as usual, glued to the table as your eyes scanned the floating screen before you. Swipe, swipe, type, go here. It was just as any other day. Other than the pit in your stomach...and the child.

As you finished up the last file of results, the com buzzed and Bruce hit ‘answer’. Tony’s voice came from the speaker. “Y/N? You there?” He asked and the other scientist went back to his work.

“Yeah,” You answered. There was a tone to his voice you didn’t like.

“Could you come to my office for a moment?” It was phrased like a question, but it wasn’t.

“Yep,” You gave a squeak and the speaker went dead. You were thankful that Bruce was as oblivious as ever. You stood and gulped. You just had a bad feeling about this.

Just outside Tony’s office, your stomach was starting to storm. Was it morning sickness or stress? Both, probably. You knocked and Tony called from the other side. You opened the door and your chest clutched. Steve was sat across from Tony, grinning as he watched you enter warily.

“Come, sit. Close the door.” The head of Stark Industries sounded every inch the stony boss.

You shut the door and took the seat next to Steve. You were already shaking as you waited for the levee to break. This was it. You were certain, even with the asshole at your side, that you were about to be fired. The two may have been buddies but it didn’t keep them from disagreeing. Tony sighed and took a paper from atop his desk and slid it over towards you.

“Read that.” He advised dully, “And sign when you finish.”

“What is it?” You edged forward on the chair.

“A safeguard,” Tony explained, “To cover my ass because the two of you can’t cover your own.” He shook his head at Steve, “I get it. what with me and Pepper it seems hypocritical, but this is still a business. I can’t have your personal relations getting in the way of it.”

“I’m not...fired?” You asked softly.

“No, no, I wouldn’t, no not at all,” He almost laughed at you, “You’re a good worker. I’ve never had a lab tech who didn’t threaten to bring out the green guy in Bruce. I like you.” He dropped a pen on top of the form, “And I’m happy for the two of you. Especially this guy,” He pointed to Steve, “About time he got a life.”

You cleared your throat and reached for the form. You sat back and began to read over the font. You could feel Steve staring at you.

“It’s really just a formality,” Tony comforted.

Steve reached across the gap between your seats and touched your hand, “I told you it’d all be fine,” He said sweetly, “Come on, honey, and sign. Let’s make it official.”

You looked up to him and wiped the scowl from your face before Tony could notice. You nodded and brought the pen up shaking to the line. Another was beside it; already signed, Steve Rogers. You scribbled across it and placed it back on the desk as you stood.

“Thank you,” You said to Tony, “Really. I love this job and I just couldn’t imagine losing it.”

“What about him?” Tony raised a brow, “Go on, you two. Enjoy the honeymoon while it lasts.”

With your dismissal, you stood. Steve was all too eager to act the gentleman as he took your hand and led you to the door. He only released you to open it and you shot him a dark look as you entered the hallway. He closed the door as he joined you and once more was holding your hand. You reluctantly walked along with him as he set off down the hall.

“So, have you made an appointment yet?” He asked sweetly.

“No,” You grumbled, “Would you stop?”

“What?” He turned to you as you stopped and tugged him back until he let go of your hand.

“Acting like this is normal,” You crossed your arms, “What you’re doing is...is...wrong. You’re sick!”

He suddenly darkened. The whole room seemed to shift as his eyes dilated and his chin squared. He scratched his beard with a snarl as he glared down at you. Slowly he bent to look you in the eye. “You’ve got to realize that this isn’t about you anymore.” He placed his hand flat on your stomach yet it felt like a lead weight, “So you will do as I say. For the sake of the baby.”

You narrowed your eyes as your lip curled. “Fuck the baby.”

He exhaled deeply and leaned back to glance over your shoulder. The hall was empty. He smirked. “Now you listen to me,” His hand shot up to your chin and latched on roughly. His face was barely an inch from yours as he loomed over you, “You do anything stupid and I’ll just put another one in you. There is nothing you can do. No escape.” Your jaw hurt and you touched his hand as you whimpered, “Your mine. More importantly, that’s mine.” He nodded to your stomach, “And no one is going to hurt my child. Including you.”

He let go and straightened up, his chest rising and falling as he stretched his arms. He casually took another look along the hallway, turned and slung his arm over your shoulders. “Fuck, you got me all worked up,” He said in a low voice as he led you along, “Why don’t you take an early lunch and meet me in the training room? Team’s out for the day.”

“I’ve got a lot of work to you,” You mumbled weakly.

“That wasn’t a question,” You turned the corner and he stopped you before the lab. “You’ve got me all riled up and you’re going to finish what you started.” He kissed the top of your head as if he wasn’t speaking in sinister tones, “And then when we’re done, you’re going to call your doctor like a good mommy.”

A couple days later, you were due for your first appointment. Calling itself had been a chore. Steve sat beside you, your phone on speaker, and you begrudgingly asked for the receptionist to schedule a time. He keyed in the time and day in his phone and you held in a sigh. You hated the light in his stupid eyes; how bright and blue they grew whenever he spoke of your pregnancy. The way he reached over to touch your stomach. You had told him to stop doing it where people could see.

You were getting ready to leave the lab; a long lunch to be atoned for by staying late. It was convenient really; an excuse to avoid Steve. As you said goodbye to Bruce, you hooked your handbag over your shoulder and headed for the door. It slid open before you could even press the button and Steve stood in the doorway. Your eyes widened and you quickly stepped out and closed the door behind you.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed.

“Taking you to your appointment,” He said as if you were dumb, “No baby of mine is going to take the subway.”

“I take the subway everyday,” You scoffed.

“Well, not to their first appointment,” He returned, “So, do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” He waved you down the hall and you reluctantly went along. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. “I kinda want a girl.”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged and preceded him into the elevator. “I haven’t really thought of it.”

“There’s a lot to think about,” He hit the button for the parking garage, “Vitamins, tests, eating habits. We want a healthy baby. Not to mention we’ll need to find a place for us...all three of us.” He touched your stomach and you resisted the urge to shove him away.

“I’m just fine in my apartment,” You grumbled.

“Well, I’m not living there and my place isn’t big enough for the baby.” He raised a brow dangerously, “It’s gonna need stability.”

“God, you sound like my mother,” You snapped and pulled away from him.

“Speaking of, I should meet my future family-in-law,” He ignored your anger and smirked. “I think maybe we should invite them to town for your birthday and tell them the good news. I think you’ll be showing by then anyway.”

“My birthday? That’s not for--”

“Another month and a half,” He interjected smugly.

“You’re not meeting my family,” You snarled.

“I’m going to have to eventually.” He stretched his arm over your shoulders as the elevator doors opened, “I mean, you can’t hide this from them forever...and you’ve already met my family. We’ll have to figure out how to tell the team.”

You cringed and let him guide you through the parking garage. Before you had been anxious about the single appointment but now you were in existential dread for your life.

The doctor said that you were about a month and a half along. You had fought for most of the appointment not to hang your head. Steve sat holding your hand through the ultrasound and the following consultation. He eagerly accepted all the pamphlets offered by the doctor and scheduled the second appointment himself. You could’ve smacked him.

Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t he have found another poor soul? Even a willing one?

“I gotta go back to the office,” You said as you climbed into the car.

“Stay late tomorrow,” Steve insisted as he pulled closed his door.

“I can’t, I told him--”

“Call and tell him you’ll be back tomorrow,” He interrupted as he turned the engine. “You’re gonna be busy.”

“Do you ever stop?” You muttered.

“You make it difficult to,” He slithered, “Honestly, that whole appointment I was rock hard. Still am. I just...” He began to drive, his lip running over his lips, “I can’t believe you’re having my baby.”

Neither can I, you thought. “Please just take me to work.”

“Call Bruce or I’ll do it myself.” He stopped at a light and glared over at you, “God,” He reached down and rubbed his crotch. “I can’t wait to fuck you all day.”

You huffed and took out your phone and dialed the lab. Bruce answered and you fed him some spiel about still dealing with a stomach bug. When you hung up, you stewed for the rest of the ride in silence. Steve’s hand crawled up your thigh as he pulled into his parking lot and you bit down on your irritation.

You climbed out of the car and followed him reluctantly. He turned back as he opened the door to his building and reached to grab your hand. He shoved you ahead of him inside and followed, a smack on your ass to keep you walking.

It was like any other time. The moment you stepped through the door he was on you. He tore your purse away and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His hands were all over tour body; neck, chest, stomach, ass. His fingers worked lithely at unbuttoning your fly and he pushed down the zipper. Your feet moved clumsily as he pressed himself to you, his weight leading you across the room.

He slipped two fingers beneath your panties, your jeans tight against his hand. His crotch was flush to your ass and he ground his hips into you as he nuzzled your neck. You struggled to keep your balance as he moved your body with his. You legs pressed to the side of the couch as his fingers snaked lower. He slid them over your clit and between your folds. You closed your eyes as he dipped into the wetness gathering at your entrance.

“I’ll be gentle,” He purred in your ear, “For the baby.”

You cringed as his fingers played with you. You couldn’t help your body’s reaction. You shivered as he spread your slickness; focusing on your bud as he growled into your skin. His lips brushed your throat and you tried not to moan. Despite everything he had done, the hell he had dragged you into, you couldn’t deny the potency of his touch.

His other hand grabbed the waist of your jeans, tugging them down one side at a time until the denim was past your ass. His fingers kept up their dance on your clit and you hissed at the electricity which shot through you. You heard his zipper and felt the smooth head of his cock as it pressed against your lower back. He stroked himself slowly, his knuckles rough against your back as they moved.

He groaned as he slid his cock along your ass, stopping just beneath to tickle your entrance. You bent slightly, bracing the arm of the couch as he leaned against you. The head of his cock stretched you as he pushed inside. You shuddered as your nails dug into the vinyl. You hung your head and his fingers added to the sensation of him against your walls. He bottomed out with a sigh; the fly of his jeans sharp along your flesh.

“I can’t wait, you know?” His voice was deep, airy, “To see you swell. Can’t wait to fuck you just like this. Or maybe you can be on top. Your stomach round; so big.”

His free hand went to your belly as his other flicked your clit in circles. He moved in and out of you slowly. Your thighs shook, legs held snug around around him by your jeans. Your breath picked up as the ripples began in your thighs, crawled up your spine, and your walls pulsed around him. Your orgasm piqued so unexpectedly you yelped. You smothered it to a snarl between gritted teeth as he kept his pace easy; steady.

“That’s it,” His breath was hot as it washed over your hair. “Are you cumming for me, baby?” He chuckled, “You are, you dirty girl.”

“Sh-sh-sh…” You were trying to tell him to shut up but it just came out as dusky breaths.

He sped up and you were forced to bend further over the couch. His hand glided over your hips and to your ass as he stood straight. He spread your cheeks as he watched himself fuck you, the sight roused him further. He moaned and his thrusts came faster, deeper. He slammed his pelvis into your ass, his hands on your hips as he held you in place. Your legs trembled as the rough denim of his jeans chafed your ass.

“You want me to cum in you, mommy,” You blanched at the nickname but were too incensed to think straight. You were slung halfway over the arm as he fucked you relentlessly. “Tell me you want my cum.”

You grunted and pushed your head up. “I--” You squeaked between words. “I….I-I-I want your cum.” Your orgasm stunted your words and you grasped at the cushion desperately. The murmurs tumbled from your senseless lips.

“Ah, shit, shit, shit,” He bent over you and pushed your head down into the couch. Your hips ground painfully against the arm beneath his weight. Your entire body went limp and he continued to pound into you. “Ahhhhhhhh.”

His voice quavered as you felt him explode within you but he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting even as he softened. It wasn’t long before he was hard again and his hands were around your neck, pulling you back so that your back was arched painfully. With your pelvis still pressed to the couch, he rutted against you, your feet barely on the floor.

You could feel his cum leaking out around his cock and down your thighs. More spilled forth from him with a series of carnal grunts as he choked the breath from you. You were gasping as he let go of your neck at last and you fell over the couch once more. This time he pulled out and you felt the gush.

He caught you as you began to slip and dragged you on to the cushions. He undressed you roughly and without words; his pants eager; predatory. You let him as your heart raced and the heat tingled along your flesh. You sat up as he guided you against the back of the sofa, your legs splayed open before him. He stripped himself just as methodically, the front of his jeans covered in a mixture of cum.

He got on the couch, his knees beneath your thighs as he pressed you to the back of it. He slipped inside of your easily; your body trapped between his and the vinyl. “I’m going to fill you up,” He hummed and ran his fingers through the cum smeared along your thighs, “Until your covered in me.”

Bruce wasn’t too happy when you got back to the lab. He was impatient that you had missed yet another day and you couldn’t blame him. You sat across from him and caught up on his reports as he silently went about his work. You were even more annoyed that Steve was starting to get in the way of your work. Even now, you were tired out from hours of fucking. You hadn’t expected him to go so long but his stamina was as superhuman as the rest of him.

It was early afternoon. The lab door opened and Bruce’s dark mood didn’t crack as he looked up at your unexpected visitor. These days though, Steve was rarely unexpected. He lorded over you like a persistent wraith. You looked over your shoulder as he neared, tray in hand. You would’ve rolled your eyes if you had the energy. As it was, you could barely process the endless font in the folder before you.

He placed the coffee in front of Bruce who pushed away enough of his sourness to smile and thank him. Then a bright pink smoothie was before you. You squinted at him and he grinned back in a dare; go on and say something. You set down the folder and did your best to seem unbothered. “Thank you.”

“No problem, babe,” He bent and pecked your forehead. “Thought you could use it. And I got you a few other things.”

Bruce shook his head and focused on his current project. You stood and swept the smoothie of the table smoothly as you nudged Steve towards the door.

“Thank you but I do have a lot to catch up on.” You turned back and called to the grumpy scientist, “One moment, okay?” You urged Steve into the hall and the door whooshed shut behind you. “Seriously, you’re going to get me fired.”

“They’re not going to fire you.” He laughed, “Trust me. Tony’s been telling me to get a life and I don’t think he’ll complain now that I have.”

“Got a life?” You hissed, “Okay, if that’s what you call it.”

“You weren’t complaining last night,” He remarked, “In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You inhaled and glanced around the hallway. “Right, what is it?”

“Hmm?” He raised his brows with a smirk.

“What did you bring me besides the smoothie? Which I won’t be drinking, thank you,” You said bitterly.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s good for the baby. Besides, I’ve found you need little enhancement when it come to your libido,” He winked.

“Steve,” You warned, hands on your hips.

“Just a little something for you and the baby,” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small paper bag that rattled, “Prenatal supplements.”

“Jesus Christ,” You snatched the pills as he held them out. “You were going to give me these in front of Bruce? Can’t you be a little subtle? ”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” He shrugged, “Which is also why I stopped by. When should we tell them?”

“Never, preferably.” You retorted sharply. “But I suppose that’s not an option… I always thought you were supposed to wait until three months or whatever.”

“That’s not that long,” He said excitedly, “We could maybe invite everyone to dinner...or maybe at one of Tony’s parties?”

“Or just tell them privately, separately,” You muttered, “This really doesn’t need to be a spectacle.”

“Have you called your parents?” He asked suddenly. “We should arrange your birthday get together so we can tell them as we planned.”

“Okay, slow down, please,” Your chest was starting to tighten, “This is all a little too fast.”

“I know,” He preened as he pulled your hands from your hips, “I can’t wait for you to be the mother of my children.”

“Children?!” It was half a whine. “I don’t think so. This is the only one.” He laughed.

“You’re not getting this, are you?” His hands squeezed yours and he leaned down to look you directly in the face, “The life growing inside of you is mine and so are you.”

The shadow in his eyes made you flinch. You felt the walls closing in like his grip on your hands. You bit down on your cheeks as you swallowed back your fear and he tilted his head.

“So, are you going to call your parents or shall I?”

tags: @meaganottiz02 @patzammit @thepettyavenger @biasedtitties @thosecikinnn @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @selinbaskaya @lattaex @vitamingrant @lilithhellfire @bbyspiiice @ironlady1993 @blackpantherimagines @kweenkxtrina @heavenlyblyss @letsagomario @shikin83 @collette04 @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @phoenix21love @momc95 @buckycaptspideypool @justballoonfishthings @ms-munchkin @whosmarisaaarw @kxllyxnnx @calspixie @imdiegohargreeves @satinprincessxo @amethyst-the-thot @docharleythegeekqueen @iiqueer-vibesii @carol-damn-vers @l0rd-disick @jilldsumner @hufflebucky @lanabanana-86 @nerdypinupcrystal @notyourtypicalrose @pink1031 @agent-spidey @wassupbitchesssss @lucifersnipnips @thirstyforsomeyandere @xxm3xxj @roses-and-absinthe @stuckybarton @ruff-m3rc @secretlyactivated @asleep-amid-the-flowers @sunstarskyhappiness @xxxelettaxxx @honeyofthegods @rainbowkisses31 @alphabloodfur @xdatbitch @quant-um-fizzx @couldntbedamned @scarletlingeries @directionerfae @bodhi-black @kyllorren @captainarp @sargeant-bbarnes @tuyetnhivo @heartislubbingdubbing @kiwihoee @vanishingod @aekr @purpliepanda @arkhamsanity @lazinessisalliknow @grossceleste @fkngparadise @karabear0091 @jordysgirl87 @amelia-acero @praziameia @steadypetty @shayrey @spn-marvel-nerd @heartbeats-wildly @tea-with-seb @the-lululemon @abesottedlass @poppyshawn @obsesseds-world @jazztherebel @heartislubbingdubbing @desir-ae @adreamemporium @ashrod98 @buckyxwintersxldier @buckybarneshairpullingkink @lazinessisalliknow @kastheabsolutepessimist @daggersofloki @odinson-barnes @marvelmaree @they-call-me-le

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #dark!fic #dark fic #au #series #get your fic #placebo #withdrawal #mcu #marvel #fic #darkverse #dark!verse

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monsterlovinghours · 5 years

Note

Please dont judge me but Scarabee pretending to be a priest and you go for "confession" (confession is theres been a demonic presence following you and your starting imagine sleeping with it)

why would i judge you bby, this idea is just *chef’s kiss*

It had been ages since you’d even stepped foot inside a church, let alone attended confession. But the unease that plagued you with each sunset was weighing on your soul, and you didn’t know where else to turn for answers. Every night, when your eyes closed, you saw it. A gleaming, smirking grin, long claws that raked down your thighs. Teeth bared as they neared your neck, the wash of cool breath on your skin making you tingle from head to foot. And the eyes. Mismatched and cunning, they sent a thrill of equal parts fear and lust through you, and when you woke, it was to gasps and guilty tears and a throbbing between your legs that you just couldn’t shake. You feared sleeping now, worried that this entity, whatever it was, would keep coming for you, edging closer, until it held your very soul in its claws.

The cathedral loomed ominously against the grey, overcast skies, dark clouds swollen with rain shifting over head. Crows perched atop the bell tower, on the arms of the cross at the peak of the steeple, and the sight of them filled you with unease. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself and hurried inside, the heavy wooden doors closing with a thud behind you. Inside, it was dim and quiet, flickering candlelight playing across the stone, casting inky shadows over the carved reliefs, making the saints and angels seem vaguely sinister. A shiver trickled down your spine, but you chalked it up to your dreams, and the residual dread they left you with, making you see omens where there were none. The sound of your footsteps echoed hollowly as you crossed to the confessional booth, shedding your coat as you settled inside, grateful for the darkness and the seclusion. Within moments, you heard the priest enter the other side, could see his dark outline through the grate. You let out a breath and crossed yourself, hoping against hope that this would help.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been...well, to be honest, I couldn’t tell you how long its been since my last confession.”

You weren’t sure if you imagined the note of mirth in his voice when he answered. “What are your sins, my child?”

That voice. It sent a chill through you. It sounded so familiar, like a ghost of a dream you couldn’t place. You paused a second, gathering your thoughts, remembering why you were here. “I...I’ve been having these dreams. A presence comes to me at night.”

“What kind of presence?”

His accent made your skin prickle with goosebumps, melodic and smooth. “An inhuman one. It feels...demonic.” A flicker of heat rose in your cheeks, but you pressed on. “It puts its hands on me, and it feels...Father, it feels good.” Shame rippled through your, like wind through a tattered curtain. “With each night that passes, the spirit feels closer and closer, and I...I’m not sure if I have the strength to stop him on my own. I confess that I’ve lusted after a demon, Father, and I want to repent so it will leave me alone.”

There was a beat of silence. “You sound frightened, child. Has this presence threatened you?” You shook your head, then answered with a soft no. “What does it do when it visits you?”

This particular line of questioning seemed strange; indeed, you couldn’t remember the last priest you confessed to asking any questions at all. “It...touches me. Runs its hands all over my body. Sometimes it...kisses me. On my neck. And it speaks to me. Most of the time I can’t hear what it’s saying, but it makes promises, tries to s-seduce me. Commands me to give in.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

You’re dumbstruck by his answer, by the thought of a priest advising you to surrender to a demon. Wondering if you heard him wrong, you ask in confusion, “Father?”

“Would it be so bad, little one, to give in? To let your body be carried away by pleasure?” That voice, honeyed and mellifluous...you were beginning to recognize it. Fear like ice froze you to the spot, and he continued to speak. “Perhaps that’s all it wants, ma petite. To pleasure that sweet little body of yours. To press its tongue to your skin and taste you. Oh, how badly I’ve wanted to taste you.”

A lump formed in your throat as you looked up to the grate to see a pair of eyes gleaming at you from the other side. One green, one purple. Mismatched eyes full of cunning.

No.

Fight or flight kicked in, and you bolted from the booth, leaving your coat behind to the sound of echoing, terrible laughter. You were nearly shocked to stillness again to see the sanctuary in a state of ruin, the stone crumbling and pitted, the wood rotted and splintering. The candles were nothing but pools of wax surrounded by shards of red glass, the font by the door filled with stagnant rainwater. You screamed and dashed out through the door, which fell from its rusted hinge at your passage. From behind you, that voice echoed once more, following you out into the street.

“See you tonight, ma cher.”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #priest scarabee #this is an interesting twist on an AU #look priest play is...#a thing

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baekberrie · 5 years

Text

🌩n o i r - bbh🌩

🌩 Genre: Angst, romance, teacher x student Au

🌩Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

🌩Warnings: no self-acceptance, jealousy

Her face lightened up at the sight of the test being handed on her desk, eyes shining like thousands of diamonds, cheeks tinted in a glittering red reached her eyes as she held up the paper with the impeccable result, a proud A+ impregnated in the white sheet of paper. You could only curve your lips into the most genuine smile you could muster while sending an encouraging nod in her way. Fingers closed around your heart, squeezing it where it'd hurt the most because you knew, that even if you hadn't spoken a single word, you had lied to your best friend. The genuine smile that hadn't reached your eyes, could she see through it? While the other girls complimented her, you could only glance down at the test on your desk, you had turned it around so that no one would've been able to see the result written on it. Not even your friends.

The teacher had written an encouraging 'Keep up the good work!' next to the strong C in the corner of your test, but it seemed as if the letter was laughing straight at your face. It felt ridiculous, that had been a perfectly good grade, a result that encouraged you to give even more the next time, one that showed you that you had the potential to be something even better. But... It wasn't enough, not at all. Not when you had given your all on this test, not when you had told yourself that you'd ace this test with a 100%, not when your best friend had achieved what you hadn't been able to.

"What did you get?" Your friend's voice suddenly shattered your train of thoughts, her curious cat-like gaze bored immediately into your soul, a bright smile curved on her lips- she was delighted and proud of herself, you could almost imagine the swelling feeling of your heart and the yearning to tell your parents about the success, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, overpowered by something unfamiliar, something overwhelming that you couldn't name, but you hated it. It was bitter and it felt as if your heart, your mind, was covered by a black veil that fogged your view.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you feigned another smile, "Secret," you chuckled, feeling slightly embarassed of the result you had achieved, it would just look funny next to her A, wouldn't it? There was no way you could show her. She pouted in disappointment but didn't insist.

Of course, she had to get an A, you thought, like always, just so perfect and good in everything she does, it irks me. I hate it.

Trembling took over your body as you held up the test to the teacher, disgusted and disbelieved in your own self. The adult male didn't miss the painful expression that you hadn't been able to mask. Your gaze snapped up to his when he grabbed the paper, but not actually taking it, just letting the gentle warmth of his fingertips graze your shivering skin. Mr. Byun who you'd til this day always felt drawn to, Mr. Byun who you'd always gaze at with enamored eyes, Mr.Byun with the low and calming voice- with the heartbreaking smile, Byun Baekhyun that you had secretly fallen in love with. Today, you couldn't hold his gaze for more than three seconds before diverting them again, a feeling of shame and guilt pooling within your chest until it's limit, it was too much and you feared that it might overflow, you couldn't bear it on your own. You just wished he wouldn't catch on the layer of water gathering on your irises, ready to cascade down your face.

Although his worried orbs searched for yours, there was no way you could let him see- let him see what you had thought, even if just for a second. He couldn't find out about the somber strings of negativity entangled from every angle of your body, tightening around the font of your feelings. Baekhyun would eventually find out about the horrible person you were- that you envied your friend because she was better than you in everything, that you had absolutely no talent- no capabilities, that you weren't enough, ever.

Teeth drilled into your lower lip as you tried your best to gulp away the thick tears, a metallic taste spread on your tongue as you wished for nothing but to disappear.

"Alright good job everyone, you all did very well on the test, I'm proud. You're dismissed." Mr. Byun announced while adjusting all the tests neatly on his desk, his thin spectacles placed low on the bridge of his nose and eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he glanced down on the papers. Shouldering your backpack, you made yourself ready to leave.

"Miss Y/n," The honey-like voice that you found yourself craving to hear in your sleepless nights, it called you, and you could only stop in your tracks with fear and nervousness. You couldn't tell whether your heart was picking up its rate, was it because you were going to spend some time alone with him?- or because he was wanted to scold you about something? Perhaps your grades. "I'd like a moment with you please," He continued, not giving away any of his real intentions, and intrigued, you watched when he removed the glasses from his face, folded them neatly and soundlessly placed them on his desk.

As soon as the classroom had emptied, he proceeded to close the door, on his way back to his desk was when he loosened the black-tie from around his neck, popping a few buttons of his shirt- giving you the chance to witness a few inches of his milky skin as he sat down on the edge of the table. Even in your darkest times, he could make you wander to such thoughts and you couldn't decide whether he was dangerous or perhaps just a very beautiful dream, an escape.

"Come," He said, and for a few moments you felt as if your feet had been glued onto the floor, but eventually you moved- and walked to where he was sitting. There wasn't anything stern or raging in his eyes and you could only internally sigh with relief.

"Is everything alright?" Oh no, you could handle worried stares, but when people straight out asked you that question, there was no way tears wouldn't well in your eyes because obviously, it was so not okay. Not at all, nothing was okay, not you, not your belief in yourself, you were just a mass of shattered glass, and you started to think that not even his healing voice could fix you this time. "You seemed very upset, do you want to talk about it?" No. But-

It was too late when a sob escaped your lips, one sob and countless tears, now that it had begun, you couldn't control it, and you hated it that he had to see you like this, this weak, this embarrassing. Hands flew immediately to your face, letting your hair cover your condition like a curtain. But no matter how much you covered yourself, there was nothing that could stifle the evidence of your sorrow.

Even though your tears, a shiver covered your spine when you felt the soft hand from before resting on the small of your back, pushing you ever so gently closer to him, you didn't stop him. You didn't stop him when his arm came around your shoulders, letting you come in contact with his strong yet incredibly soft chest as his hand rested close to your collarbone and his head leaned in close to your neck, lips brushing lightly over your ear when he once again whispered; "What's wrong?"

It was hard speaking through your strong sobs, but when Baekhyun's hand slid from your shoulder down to your back and stroke soft circles of heat with his thumb you magically found yourself calming down. You didn't know how he did that, how he with his sole presence could purify your darkened heart.

"I- I will never be enough," You cried, hand fisting a handful of his white, expensive button-up, but he couldn't care less about the wrinkles forming on it as he finally closed both of his arms around your frame, letting you petite body press completely against his.

"Hey," He soothed, "What is this about? " His cheek pressed affectionately against yours, his lips caressing your skin with a touch feather-light and you had no idea if it was safe for him to hold you this close to him in his own classroom, if it was safe for you to give away all of your heart to him right now, to let him hear your throbbing heartbeat, to let him see your weaknesses. But his comforting scent felt like home and in this moment where you felt lost in the darkness you didn't know resided within you- he was the only source of light that you were willing to follow.

"Whatever I do will never be enough, I will never be the best I can be, I just hate everything about myself at the moment. I'm a horrible person, I- I felt envy towards the people I love- I-"

"Y/n," He demanded softly, the sound of his voice vibrated soothingly from his chest as he spoke.

"Don't compete with others, there's no point in doing that. Every student has his own fortes and struggles, you are no different. There are certain things in which you can't succeed at once, you have to fight your way up there." Biting your lips, more tears welled inside of your eyes- not because of sorrow, but because his words hit home, just like the rest of his being did.

"Don't hate yourself for not reaching your goal just yet, don't give up on yourself like that, you have potential, you are amazing and as your teacher, I know you can get there if only you befriended yourself instead of fighting with yourself. You are you, you don't need to look at others, okay?" He said, two fingers lifting your chin so that you could meet his strong gaze filled with sincerity and determination. "Whichever your goal is, you don't have to reach it alone, you don't have to rely on those who make you feel pressured, you can come to me and we'll figure it out. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Your voice trembled but was by now definitely stable enough to form sentences.

"Sometimes, we're bound to feel envious, but it's only in our nature, it won't make you a bad person, you just want to do your best, I know how you feel, but sometimes, we have to be stronger than the envy and force ourselves to ignore those thoughts." Baekhyun was taking in every detail of your face as he let his heart speak, fingers gently combing through your hair and gently curling stray hair behind your ear, you only nodded.

" You're a good girl." He cooed, leaning in to place his lips close to yours, landing on the corner of your mouth, lingering there while all you could do was close your eyes and succumb to the softness of his texture against yours, feeling eager to lock your lips with his- but knowing it's yet too soon for that. When he moved his lips to close them shortly on every inch of yours, leaving pure pecks that wouldn't lead to something more, nothing more but the proof that loved him, and now you knew he did too. And perhaps one day, you'd be comforted by the gift of a breathtaking kiss, like the ones you'd dreamed of.

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I don't know about you guys, but these days, I am this person and I'm trying to fix it.

it kinda sucks, might delete later.

#baekhyun angst #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader angst #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun x reader fluff #baekhyun one shot #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun drabble #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun #exo #exo baekhyu #byun baekhyun #bbh

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oldtowrs · 5 years

Text

MAYBE’S AND WILDFLOWERS - REMUS LUPIN

inspired by this song and a strong love for remus lupin

summary: a lonely, rainy night brings the reader to remus’s doorstep. remus, after loving the reader since their younger years at hogwarts, cares for her and wishes more than anything that she could be his. but doubts cloud his mind, what with the war at hand and his lycanthropy plaguing him every month. he could never be good enough for her. or maybe he could never be more wrong. maybe...

word count: ~3.5

sin speaks! hey! harry potter imagines anyone? sorry i’ve been gone for so long. this school year is kicking my butt, and i’m most definitely not here for it. anyway, please enjoy this piece about remus lupin. and no-caps is intentional. i’m going for a more aesthetic look now.

soft knocking pulled remus from the scent of old leather, yellowing pages, and worlds of inky black lettering come to life and into the land of the living. hazel eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. its old hands, lit only by the crackling flames of the dying fire in the fireplace, read a time later than even sirius would think to bother remus at. curiosity dogeared the delicate page while paranoia pulled the wand from his pocket and ran through his list of useful spells to use in duels. these were times of war, after all, and remus did not want the eyes of those he loved running over his name in the daily prophet, in the same simple, font as every other name on that list: the list of the dead.

but on the other side of the oaken slab was a sniffling woman, h/c hair soaked and hanging about her shoulders, which were covered by a navy jumper that looked slightly too big for her and oddly familiar. a smile found his lips along with a soft ‘y/n?’ as he realized the jumper was one of his. it had been a gift to her around their fifth year, when he had grown out of it and given it to her. he remembered how she pleaded with him, saying she couldn’t bear to part with the woolen article she had come to associate with the lovesick and bright-eyed boy he had been.

but they were older know, their minds a little sharper, a little wiser, and their hearts a little more broken and wary: something that remus realized as her red-rimmed and tender eyes met his and he realized the glossy trails on her cheeks were from her tears, not the rain that had begun during remus’s escapades through the land of muggle fiction.

“o that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,” she recited meekly, voice cracking as she mumbled their “password” of sorts they had established one night by the fire months ago, when the war had really begun to pick up. anyone could impersonate anyone these days, foul intentions hiding behind a veil of love and familiarity. acts of soul-tainting murder of the innocent witches and wizards of the magic community were becoming quite frequent in the prophet. remus longed for the day he would be able to hug her close and spin her around, victory and laughter flowing through their young veins as the war came to an end. he might even kiss her. but to get there, they had to get through the war: together and alive.

okay, so maybe he was still a hopeless romantic irreversibly stuck in a sickness called love. it was just quieter now-more scared.

“beauty is terror,” he recited back, dark brows furrowing and shadowing his earthen, sunlit irises and his smile melting and washing off with the rain at the sight of her tears. “what’s the matter?”

“i don’t want to be alone right now is all.” she mumbled, sniffles worsening with every second she stayed in the rain. “i didn’t know who else to go to.”

you’re the only one i want to go to.

“of course, of course.” remus said, a small garden of blushing roses blooming beneath the star-like freckles on his skin as he realized she must be freezing. a twinge of guilt spiked his heart for not letting her into the warmth of his small, run-down cottage the moment she found herself on his doorstep.

i wish i was the only one you wanted to go to.

his pinky finger found hers in the quiet darkness of the night, just as they used to on their rounds about hogwarts, the badges of prefect pinned to their robes proudly, and pulled her through the doorway. a soft, nostalgic smile crept onto the edges of his lip as he realized he had forgotten just how many stars seemed to bloom and burst in his heart whenever he touched her.

do you feel those stars too, budding like wild spring beneath your fingertips?

shivers ran along y/n’s spine, her form quivering with cold and her tears as she tried to rub some warmth into her arm with her free hand as remus lead her to the old, tweed covered couch, plopping her down onto the plump, old cushions.

“these wet clothes won’t do you any good, will they?” he hummed affectionately as he knelt before her to look into her downcast eyes and tuck a strand of h/c behind her ear. “what do you say, i’ll go grab you some dry ones and make you a nice cup of tea?”

“i’d like that very much,” she sighed, trying to give him as much of a smile as she could. it made his heart soften warmly.

even if its a mere ghost of you, i’m still happy i can make you smile.

“chamomile, please.” she murmured, as remus stood to fulfill her wishes and to care for her with only a minor fraction of the affection he held for her.

“‘with a spoonful of honey and a splash of milk,’” he chuckled, reciting the words she had used all those years ago to describe her favorite cup of tea warmly. “i remember.”

“of course you do,” she said, a hint of laughter and lovely familiarity in her tone. it made him smile.

yes, of course. how could i ever forget you?

he left her sitting on his couch, though it was silly, with regret in his heart, wishing he could be the one to warm her up, not the fire or one of his old, moth-eaten cashmere sweaters. his heart longed to hold her, if only for a moment, just as it always had; his affections for her had been a part of his lovesick heart for as long as he could remember. but just as he always had, he’d keep quiet about what he felt for her: the girl who deserved the world and more, who deserved to live a safe and happy life, who deserved every lovely thing he wanted to give her, but could not.

all these thoughts tumbled over and over in his mind, each thought adding a drop of bittersweet love to the ocean his heart harbored as he filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on the stove to boil. melancholy mingled with tender love in his soul as he then walked to his room and shuffled through his closet, deciding which of his jumpers would suit her best: rusty orange or forest green?

green, he decided, remembering the preferences she had whispered to him on late nights in the library or early mornings by the lake just beyond the castle walls of hogwarts, she loves green. green like the trees by the lake, like the fields of the english countryside.

so he slipped the jumper off its hanger and grabbed a pair of shorts she had left after one of her visits a little over a month ago. and just as he was about to leave the room, he decided she would look absolutely adorable wrapped up in the plush blanket on his bed, and grabbed it too.

she was shivering when he reentered the cozy little living room, his heart aching and his arms feeling heavy as he imagined gathering her against him and pressing kisses to her hands, her hair, her cheeks, anywhere, just to warm her up and to see a lovely blush spread across her features: the one that had always appeared whenever they would talk about nothing and everything as the stars shown above them, ancient deities of silver and gold stardust watching them from above. he always wondered if they were up there, observing the blossoming of wildflower love in his heart with every smile sent his way, with every laugh that hung in the air a moment after it stopped, with every tear that caressed her cheek and every shy brush of their hands and bodies against each other in pure, innocent companionship.

did they ever watch that love unfold in her heart? or are the flowers of lavender, crimson and gold confined to bloom in erratically lovely patterns in the ragged mountain valleys of my heart alone?

“here,” he said warmly, placing the little bundle of clothes in her delicate hands and the blanket around her shoulders. “i’ll go make some tea for the both of us, okay?”

she nodded, numbly, but there was a small hint of the familiar glint of lovely light in her eyes, growing warmer and brighter by the second. he admired it, that little glow, for maybe a moment longer than was friendly. but maybe she held his gaze a little longer and with a little bit more desperation than she would’ve if her love for him went only skin deep.

but he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t take advantage of her loving soul like that. he would just memorize the little upturn of her brows over her innocent eyes as they peered up at him thankfully, the way the corners of her lovely lips quirked upwards in a small little grin that he found adorable. he would admire her, memorize her, and tuck the little piece of her into his heart, to protect and regard with love until the day he died.

oh… she was so beautiful.

the kettle shrieked from somewhere in the kitchen, and remus tore his gaze from her e/c eyes and the edges of his finger tips from her own, and frantically ran to the kitchen, identical blushes blooming on both of their features, though that little piece of heavenly knowledge was unknown to him.

remus was a rather tall man, slightly toned and strong, with scars littering his body from his lycanthropy, giving him an edge that contrasted with the gentleness that radiated from his soul, lying just beneath the skin. it commanded his every movement to be one of genteel clemency. his kindness shown through the scars and the pain and prejudice, even as he did something as simple as removing the kettle from the burner and plopping two bags of heavenly mixes of spices, herbs and flowers into their mugs: one chamomile, one earl grey.

water followed, flowing gently from the kettle’s spout, steam rising to great remus’s skin in a cozy fashion. then the honey, melting like warm sunshine into the cups of brown and gold, bringing sweetness to every drop. then the cream, just cold enough to take the burning edge off the lovely drink, but not so much that it took the healing warmth out of the mugs remus worked so hard to perfect.

tidying the little counter space, he took the mugs and sauntered through the tiny hallways of the cottage and into the living room. warmth filled him as his eyes set themselves on y/n, finding her and only her-just as they always had.

the sweater, much too big for her, was bunched up around her lower waist while the sleeves were rolled up to her wrists, the fabric being much to long for her smaller arms. the blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders once more, although much of it pooled on the old carpet beneath her. she had moved from the couch to the floor, he realized, probably to be closer to the warmth of the fire. its orange glow shown on her exposed legs, as she had taken off her rain-soaked pants in favor of the shorts. she looked up at him with her starstruck eyes, a twinge of bewilderment in her irises that foretold of the way her mind wandered around in her thoughts. the fire had seemed to heighten the sparkle in them and the tears had begun to release their aggravated hold on her soft features. she was adorable and remus hoped to merlin that she couldn’t see his blush that had remained since leaving her the bundle of clothing.

“one order of chamomile tea, spoonful of honey and a splash of cream for a lovely ms. y/n,” he smiled, winking goofily as he carefully settled himself on the floor beside her, a hint of his old boyishness still lingering about his mannerisms. memories of many late nights by the fire in the library washed over the pair, the reverence for such treasured moments showing in their twin smiles; one was wide and toothy, parting scars in its wake, while one was more reserved, soft and plump and wonderfully shy.

“thank you,” she mumbled, soft voice calm and gentle as ever as she took the mug from him with delicate hands that brushed his ever so softly. he swore, her voice could calm the raging sea and bring the mountains bowing before her. if only her words could end the war that ravaged the wizarding world, then maybe he could gather some courage and…

“of course, y/n,” he replied happily, cutting his train of thought short. another radiant smile spread across his face like wildfire, as he felt the weight of her head and the slight dampness of her hair befall his shoulder as she snuggled up to him. an arm wrapped loosely around her waist and the weight of his chin on top of her head brought the same smile to her lips. she sipped her tea quietly, humming her pleasure as the warm, flowery taste of it slide down her throat, warming her from the inside out and softening her nerves.

but then melancholy sunk in again, like the rain’s chill into bone, and her voice became small again. “remus?”

“hmm?”

“do you ever feel lonely?”

the truth was that, ever since leaving hogwarts, remus had felt a sense of loneliness creep up on him, like a thick fog unwilling to let the light in. and while he and his mates, y/n and lily included, always met up for dinner at least twice a week and joined up with the order, remus hated returning to his little countryside home only to find it dark and void of any life but him.

he often wondered what it would be like having someone else live with him, someone to share meals with, to wake up and admire the sunsets and the chirping of the birds with or to stay up late and admire the stars above, hands entwined. often, the someone remus longed for eventually took the shape of her, the soft-souled woman whose weight, he found, was pleasant and comforting; the solid feeling of her beside him, leaning against him, bodies accommodating the other’s, was a feeling so warm and homey that not even the feeling of returning to the house he grew up in could compare.

“yes.” the truth slipped from his lips. “often times, yes, i do.”

“do you ever wish there was someone who you could just…i don’t know, share your life with?”

always. it's always been you.

“yeah, someone quite specific actually,” he said, slightly surprised at himself for saying such things. “do you?”

“yes,” she said. her eyes grew glassy and a far away look glazed over them, the flames dancing through the e/c of her irises. “he’s been that someone for so long now. and i’ve always thought there was a chance he loved me back, ya know? but even after all these years, my heart just keeps on loving him, but he’s still said nothing.”

love?

her eyes turned to him then, almost pointedly. but as he lifted his chin to return her gaze, he saw the depth which they held, a depth that was so warm he felt he could’ve fallen into it, let it envelope him in a moment and swallow him whole. they were the depths of the ocean, screaming his name, and remus believed hers were the eyes he could drown in. maybe he already had.

leaning closer to her, his voice became a whisper, a shred of broken vulnerability wavering like a single flame in the wind of his tone. “maybe he’s scared.”

“of what, do you think?”

“of the war,” remus said, truth spilling from his lips as if he had taken a vial of veritaserum. “of himself. of not being all that you deserve. maybe he just wants to give you the whole world, the universe even… maybe he’s just scared that he can’t.”

“well, maybe i don’t need him to give me the world,” she said, almost knowingly, eyes dropping to his jawline, to his slight honeyed stubble, to his defined adam’s apple, to the tip of his collar bones that just peaked out from beneath the cotton t-shirt and cashmere sweater. tears brimmed and her eyes became pink with tender sadness again, supposions and maybes ready on her tongue and falling from her raw, worried lips. “maybe, i just want him to give himself a chance. to give me a chance to show him that while he is far from perfect, i love him, and have loved him for years… just the way he is. maybe i want to show him that i don’t need the world. i just need him.”

“maybe he's scared he’ll hurt you in ways you should never be hurt. maybe he’s scared of what he can’t control, and what it’ll do to you if you get ever closer.” he’s almost crying too, but those tears will never fall. not till much later in their lives, when he holds her ring-adorned hand with his own, golden circles of metal shining on both their fingers in the midday sun, words he’s spent every night, day and waking moment tailoring to show her just how deep the rivers of his love runs spilling from his sun-kissed lips.

“maybe i don’t care that he could hurt me. maybe i would rather be hurt by him, than not have him at all,” she said softly. “maybe i want to spend his most vulnerable moments cleaning his wounds and caring for him the way he deserves, even if it is me that has been hurt more than he has. maybe i want to spend my every moment showing him the same kindness and goodness that he shows that world, but cannot see himself.”

somehow, in the midst of their oceans of maybe’s, his hand had found her cheek, rough calluses meeting soft skin, galaxies rising to the surface, aching to blink through the veils and shields that had been built and sewn over time into a lovely light.

their lips had somehow gotten so close to one another, that they breathed the same air and the heat that radiated from the blooming crimson patches of bashful daisies and brilliant peonies on their cheeks was warmer than the fire which they sat in front of.

“maybe he wishes, more than anything, that he could kiss you,” remus said, lust and love mingling into something sweetly divine in the ragged baritone of his voice.

“maybe i wish, more than anything, that he would.”

and in a moment, remus found himself sinking into those deep and lovely depths, the force of his love a rip current pulling him out to sea and away from the safety of his maybe’s and his assumptions. his lips found hers as his eyelashes fluttered closed, tickling his skin delicately as they ghosted the curve of his flushed cheeks. it was soft, but soon remus found himself leaning into the kiss, the rip tide pulling him under into the soft gentle depths of the woman in his arms.

but after a moment, the petals of their lips drew farther away and their eyes fluttered open, irises glistening with tears in the firelight.

“y/n.” it was a moanful sigh, filled with years of longing. “my love, it’s always been you. you’ve always been my maybe’s.”

“please, rem… please don’t let me just be a maybe. ”

“oh y/n,” he sighed. “if you’ll have me, my love…. i’ll turn our every maybe into an always.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #hp

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rthemars · 4 years

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80s and 90s Rave Flyers

The rave flyer represents early electronic music's most emblematic artist medium, they document an era of peace and love, unity and respect and eradication of barriers. Flyers are an artistic history of the subculture of which hold memories that can never be buried or discarded, however it is because of these crazy, unique designs that makes them mean something. Whereas any boring and normal flyer would be thrown away and forgotten.

Rave flyers from dance music’s early days showcase a unique style of artistry that portrays the hustle, physicality, DIY spirit and harmony of the subculture in its various habitats around the world. Their colourful, trippy style incites imagination and kicks off vibrant stories of musical influence and hedonism, and I think it’s amazing how these strange designs can really capture that sense of passion for fun and freedom.

This first example of rave flyers is filled with different hypnotic patterns, that when put together is really trippy to look at. It shows just how effective simple patterns can be when used well, like in this piece where different shapes act as a frame to showcase the patterns, then layering these shapes to create simple but busy imagery. To top it off an eye has been placed inside of the triangle, eyes are commonly seen in rave flyers because they connect to spirituality and soul. They can also represent the illuminati which is all about a conspiracy, one that opens your mind to unthought of things for many people.

With these crazy patterns comes just two colours, black and yellow, however this isn’t a dull combination and is rather a bold, punchy mix with a prominent contrast. Once again you see this in a lot of rave flyers as these are the colours of the smiley, a symbol of positivity in and outside of rave culture.

Next is one of Fantazia’s many rave flyers where shadows have been included effectively, the shadow of a hand covers a lot of space which I think is a clever and simple way to fill in empty space. Nothing in this collage really makes sense but this is just reason it’s so intriguing and makes you wonder, however everything of course could have a possible meaning. For example the pyramid could be yet another indication of the illuminati, or it could just be there for absolutely no reason, it’s up to you to decide but either way it adds curiosity.

I really like the style of this piece, compared to most this design is quite toned down and not so crazy. The colours are pleasing to view and are actually quite calming, this is uncommon because rave flyers must attract partiers and that usually associates with bright colours. However in this piece the illustration speaks for itself, it also covers a lot of space with the text and makes it an important part of the design.

This flyer displays a really interesting concept about the world and the way we think of it, usually see see the world as gigantic however this piece shows that, from a different perspective, the same thing can look completely different. This is done by collaging fingers onto an image of space and earth, to look like its pinching it. The not add another layer it looks as though you can see it through a hole, ripped open in the sky which to me suggests looking through the simulation.

The colours are really appealing to me because they're bold but comforting, the sky blue is really rich, beautiful and a good contrast to the dark space colours. The font used for the text is interesting because it’s really quite simple, usually in these rave flyers the text is distorted in one way or another. However for this piece the designer chose to keep it clear, in both the font and layout.

The next flyer consists of floating head that’s cut open, with spheres flying out of it. The description of it sounds absurd and pointless, however when you see it as art it’s really intriguing and interestingly weird. This shows that the concept doesn’t have to make sense or there may not be one at all, because the art speaks for itself and leaves lots of room for curiosity.

Behind these objects is a CGI background, this gives them a space to be in so it looks like it is somewhere and not just an illustration. Lines have been used to determine depth and length of the floor, similarly seen in the face and spheres. This is a very clever technique that also adds an aspect of geometry to the piece, therefore if I was to create something with a digital background I would be sure to use this feature.

Finally this rave flyer’s main focus is the illustration, it holds so much importance as it is jam packet with different objects and characters. The first thing I notice is a woman holding a baby up to the sky (or universe), above this baby is a beam of light which I think represents a sacrifice to other life (aliens in UFOs). Meanwhile there 8 of these strange looking, tiny beings surrounded in a circle, their arms are up as if they're praising/supporting the act which is almost cult-like. Trying to figure out a concept is an adventure in itself and in the end you can come up with some crazy thoughts, but once again it’s all there for interpretation as well as looking really interesting and impressive.

Universal imagery was very popular in rave flyers back then including pictures of aliens, flying saucers, CGI landscapes and optical illusion art. There is a clear aspect of space in this piece thanks to the background, it’s filled with stars and includes many planets that might not be realistic but that's what makes it just a little more intriguing, possibly referring to another galaxy.

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cheriesjubiles · 4 years

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please don’t look under the read more i’m just testing

Can you imagine a world where we're all represented by a font? Huh, I wonder which one I would be? sees Arial Too straight. No! Not in that way! Just, straight, as in unexciting. sees Badaboom Too.. uh... Deadpool.... BROADWAY! Now that's the one! Now THAT'S the one! Hello Internet, welcome to GAME THEORY, where instead of putting a joke here I want to ask you a question. If your personality were represented by a font, what font would you be? Take a moment and put your font in the comments. I'm really curious to see what everyone has to say. Maybe find a couple new cool fonts to use. I'm getting bored with ol' Calibri 11. And with that out of the way, it's time to talk UNDERTALE. Now I don't think I've ever gotten this many requests to cover a game. Well, except for FNAF. And I suppose FNAF 2. OH and there was FNAF 3. Wait a minute, should I be worried about something here? Anyway, across the board on YouTube, Reddit, and Twitter, you all have wanted Undertale. And honestly, I'm glad you brought it to my attention. True loyal theorists will know that Earthbound is my favorite game of all time. So a self aware RPG in a similar style, WHOA MAN, it's like a gift from the indie gaming heavens. Undertale is a game where every character, from goat mom to grind fodder has a sympathetic design and a unique personality, motivations, goals, fears. Whether you're saving or slaughtering them, the game makes you feel something every time you enter an encounter. But to me, one character stood out amongst all the rest. SANS. A skeleton named after the font, Comic Sans, hence all the font references at the beginning of the episode. If you haven't played Undertale I'm sure that was a really weird opening. ANYWAYS, Sans is, well, there's a lot of mystery around this guy. And before we get into it, let me put up a very special spoiler warning: UNDERTALE is a game best experienced blind. So if you haven't played it, pause the video and come back after you've finished. I PROMISE YOU, I PROMISE you won't regret it. Alright, so everyone out of the pool and ready for the adult swim? Good. Because I'm feeling pretty determined to get to the bottom of Sans' mystery. So just to recap for those of you who haven't played the game and ignored the SPOILER WARNING, or just need a refresher, Sans is one of the two skeletal brothers who appears in the game. His partner is Papyrus, a loud, goofy trap lover also named after a font. But in the world of Undertale their origins are a big question mark. All you really know is what's given to us by a shopkeeper in Snowdin, who explains that Sans and Papyrus, quote, “just showed up one day and asserted themselves.” Weird, right? What's more is that, well, Papyrus is just kinda the goofy sidekick. Sans is much more complex. He likes fart jokes, but he's also incredibly powerful and deadly serious. Not only is his boss battle the hardest in the game, he's one of the only characters who has knowledge and power over space and time. He can take shortcuts around the world through ridiculous routes. Even is walking through walls. He also acknowledges that he's only one of infinite versions of himself, making self-aware commentary of the various timelines that you've played through in the game. He can even count the number of times he's killed you. He acts like an arbiter of this world, passing out judgements on the player's actions in the game, even explaining the secrets of EXP and LOVE, or EXECUTION POINTS and LEVELS OF VIOLENCE, just to clarify. In short, he just doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the world of monsters. But then, what, or who, is he? Well, the idea that he doesn't belong in underworld seems to be correct. The evidence seems to point the fact that he WAS, in fact, formerly a surface dweller. In the true pacifist ending of the game, as the group looks out onto the horizon, Papyrus asks Sans about the giant ball in the sky. Sans says, quote, “we call that the sun.”

This is important because A, the usage of the word WE, and knowledge of the sun shows that Sans has a kinship or knowledge with other humans, and B, that despite he and Papyrus both being skeletons, or, supposedly, brothers, and apparently appeared in underworld at the same time, they clearly-- uuuGGHH take two CLEARLY have two very different histories. Why would Papyrus not know the name of the sun but Sans would? We get further clues to Sans' origins as we hear him say multiple times he wants to "go home" or "go back." He says as much during his dinner date scene at the Mettaton hotel. He notices that the player wants to go home and says, quote, "i know the feeling." He then continues, "maybe sometimes it's better to take what's given to you." As though he ended up in the underworld by accident. AND in a genocide run during his boss fight he says, quote, "look, i gave up trying to go back a long time ago." End quote. And before you say he means going back to the surface world, that's clearly not the full story. His very next line of dialogue is, "and getting to the surface doesn't really appeal anymore either." Key word here, is EITHER. Yes, he seems to hail from the surface and wants to go back, but based on his dialogue he no longer considers it his home. It's as though the surface world he once knew is gone, as though he's from a different time. It's pretty intriguing. So we're left with a being that appeared out of nowhere, presumably from being from the human surface, but from a different time period, who seemingly has the power to teleport. That's a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. But here's where things get REALLY interesting. Sans has a hidden workshop that takes a fair amount of searching to find. You could say it takes a lot of DETERMINATION to unlock. Anyways, obligatory determination references aside, as you start to look for this easter egg Sans gives you a key to his room and says "it's time you learn the truth." After some searching you find the workshop which contains items that leave even more questions. A photo album featuring Sans and a bunch of smiling people you don't recognize, a badge, blueprints with illegible handwriting, and a broken machine hidden behind a curtain. In the latest update, one more detail was added. A handdrawn picture of 3 smiling faces with the words “don't forget.” so what does it all mean? Well a lot of Undertale theorists have been linking these details to a feature to a character named W.D Gaster. A ghostly character who never truly appears in the game. Honestly, covering him is a theory all unto itself, and probably one best saved for another day. Even still, none of the Gaster theories I've seen have been able to explain all the details. In particular, the photo album, and the badge. And that's what kept nagging me as I researched Undertale. A badge? That one in particular really stuck out to me. Why would such an oddly specific item to be hidden in the huge easter egg of a room? Something that supposedly reveals the truth about Sans? Badges just aren't important in Undertale. Then it hit me. What if this badge isn't from Undertale? What if this badge is from a completely different game? And was, in fact, the most important badge in the history of gaming? The Franklin badge. Now, for those of you wondering what I'm talking about, the Franklin badge is a pivotal item from the Mother series. You know, the one with Earthbound. Or, maybe you don't know that one either. Uh, you know, the one with Ness from Super Smash Bros? Yeah well, Ness is from Earthbound, and Earthbound is the second part in this larger Mother trilogy. Alright? Good. Anyway, the Franklin badge is a really important part of that series. It gets its start in the very first game and carries through the whole trilogy, saving your life multiple times in the process. It's SO important that nintendo has made it a staple item in the Smash Brothers series. So I asked myself; what if the badge in Sans' drawer was THAT EXACT badge?

Well first off, it made Undertale connected to my favorite game, thereby making it even COOLER, but that's still a pretty big logical leap. I needed more. Let me tell you, as I started looking, more and more pieces started to fit into place. At the end of Earthbound you're given a photo album, covering your adventures throughout the game. To me it's one of the best, most satisfying endings in gaming to look back on your journey in picture form. And what does Sans happen to have in his other drawer? A photo album with pictures of Sans with people you don't recognize. Of course you don't know them, they're not characters present in Undertale. And note the word that's used here, PEOPLE you don't recognize. Not underworld monsters. So that's 2 items oddly linked to the Mother series. But then, how do the blueprints and broken machine fit in? Well, in the final stretch of Earthbound, Ness and his 3 friends must travel to the past in order to have their final battle against the evil alien Giygas. To do that, Dr. Andonuts (remember him, by the way, he's going to be important later) with the help of the science geniuses Apple Kid and Mr. Saturn, create what's known as the Phase Distorter, a machine that allows people to travel through time and space. Except, it comes with a cost. It can't transport organic material. As a result, the young heroes must put their souls into robotic bodies to use the machine, and thus, save the world. I played this game back in 1997 and I'm not ashamed to admit that when I first saw this scene, I cried. It's DEVASTATING. Doctor Andonuts says goodbye to his son, these characters you've grown to love and care about are suddenly promising to sacrifice their lives. For all they know, there is no possibility of them being able to come back home. It's this incredibly dark departure in the final moments of what was otherwise a fun, quirky, and colorful RPG. So what does all of this have to do with Undertale? A LOT, actually. But the first thing you need to know is that Mr. Saturns are known for their, let's say, unique linguistic style. That would explain the illegible handwriting on the blueprints. And the machine? I think a broken Phase Distorter is behind that curtain. Now that may seem like a stretch, but it actually explains a lot. If Sans wound up in Undertale via Phase Distorter, it could provide a reason for why he's a skeleton. He used the machine as organic matter and suffered the consequences. Not killing him, but turning at least a part of him into a pile of bones. That could also explain why Sans has given up hope for going home. Remember the Phase Distorter is a time machine. By being in underworld, he's not only in a different place, but based on how he talks, he's also in a different time, with no hope of travelling back to the time he came from. But the crossovers between Earthbound and Undertale continue. When you speak to Apple Kid at the end of Earthbound, he's blown away by the astronomical odds of Ness overcoming Giygas, saying that he's going to continue studying the trait called courage, in order to harness its power. Seems awfully similar to the same experiments happening in Undertale around the trait of determination, no? Especially since so much has shown that Sans was a key player in those experiments. But I'm sure you also want physical evidence right? Well don't worry, because I have plenty. During one of the endings of Undertale, we see Undyne and Alphys hanging out on the beach on the surface world. A beach that bears a lot of similarities to the tropical resort location named Summers that you play through in Earthbound. In fact, the geographic layout of the surface bears some striking similarities to the world of Mother. When Undertale's crew of monsters are finally able to reach the surface and look out over the earth, they're met with a beautiful sunset falling across the landscape of a tall mountain, a large city, and a sandy area adjacent to water. Notice the sun's reflection to indicate water, and a lack of trees in this middle section here, hence the sand.

Well, in Earthbound you have the big city of Fourside, complete with skyscrapers, which you reach via a desert that just so happens to be adjacent to some water, and to the east, the mountain in Onett where a meteorite lands on Earth. I always called it Aw-nett. But if that's not clear enough for you, Mother 1, Earthbound Zero, Earthbound Beginnings, whatever you want to call it, it's had a lot of names, had a map laying out the same geographic landscape. A tall mountain to the east of a large city, separated by a desert, with all of it up against a coast. I don't know about you, but to me it seems like there's a definite connection between the world of Eagleland (Eagleland? Again, unclear how its pronounced.) between the world of Eagleland and the surface world of Undertale. But the strongest physical connection, one that definitely unites these two franchises, comes from none other than Papyrus himself. He wears a custom-made costume known as his “battle body”. But if you look really closely at the design on the armor, you'll notice some markings on the chest. Is it just a throwaway detail? Ohoh NO, that right there is an exact match to the ones that appear on the chests of Starmen, the most iconic enemy of Earthbound. And look at the way he stands! I always thought it was awkward until i saw the two characters side by side. Papyrus’ curved arm and hand is a DIRECT match to the curved arms of the Starmen in the Mother series! In short, we have some incredibly strong proof that the Earthbound universe is somehow connected to the Undertale world, which brings us back to our initial question, WHO IS SANS? Well, what if we took it one final step and said that Sans happened to be Ness from Earthbound? Sent through the Phase Distorter during a test of courage, carrying the Franklin badge and his photo album and his trusty backpack. Not only do all the items in the workshop suddenly fit, but so does Sans’ behavior. Remember, Sans can seemingly teleport. And Ness just happens to have the PSI ability to teleport. Now look the way Sans always stands, hands in his pockets, directly facing the camera. It's a very similar stance to how Ness is depicted standing in most marketing for the game. It even explains why Sans bleeds when you finally hit him. He is, or at least, WAS, a human. Oh and finally, Sans is only one letter removed from being an anagram of Ness. That's just a fun one. I thought it was worth mentioning. But if there was any doubt, we have to look no further than the creator's previous work. Toby Fox, the man behind Undertale, had previously worked on a Halloween hack for Earthbound. But this just wasn't a simple reskin. The Halloween hack tells the tale of Dr. Andonuts after the events of Earthbound. Remember, I pointed him out? He's the one who made the Phase Distorter. In Toby Fox’s version of the story, we see that after Giygas' defeat, the souls of the kids never return home. Instead, by going to the past to defeat Giygas, they create a new timeline that they're stuck in. As a result, Jeff never reunites with his father Dr. Andonuts. And Dr. Andonuts goes crazy with guilt, because HE’S the one responsible for creating the time machine, and extracting the souls of his son and his son's friends to send them back to what he assumes was their death. In his mind, he's killed 4 kids. And in Toby Fox's game, he's lost his mind trying to deal with that guilt. I'm telling you, this hack is DARK. that said, you see a lot of Undertale in this game. The appearance of Amalgamates, the first use of the awesome song Megalovania, the prototypes for Flowey? And the theme of having the choice to be nonviolent in an RPG, SPARING your enemies. But then why's all this matter to the theory? Well, remember, in Toby Fox's version of the story, the kids don't come back. They're stuck in the past, with no hopes of getting home. Just like Sans. And, in the hack, one character is oddly missing, with no explanation as to why. NESS. Presumably in this timeline his soul is in a different place than his 3 friends.

In short, Undertale is a continuation of Toby’s version of Earthbound, with Ness never being able to get home, adopting the name Sans, and accompanied by Papyrus, a former Starman, an alien force able to speak English and still equipped with his armor, and signature posture, but without any knowledge of earthly things... like the Sun. The pieces all just seem to fit. Now all we need is an appearance from Pokey/Porky and we’ve got ourselves a true sequel. But hey, that's just a theory. A GAME THEORY! THANKS FOR WATCHING!

#it’s the sans is ness game theory video copypasta

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secret-captain-swan-blog · 4 years

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Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16

Read on: Ao3

“Are you ready to go love?” Killian asks. He’s in the kitchen, drying the last of the plates from dinner.

Emma peers her head out of the bedroom, a smile on her face.

“Almost, I just need shoes,” she says.

It’d been a week since Emma had made peace with the Queen. Killian is endlessly proud of her courage and wisdom. He knows for a fact that forgiveness isn’t easy. The fact that Emma was able to forgive the Queen so openly, well, he admires her for that.

It was earlier this week that Emma booked her flight home. Killian’s throat had caught as he looked at the date on the ticket- just a few days before Christmas. Less than two weeks away. He’s tried to imagine spending Christmas without this woman who had firmly planted herself in his life. The thought of Christmas with Ruby and Granny, which had previously been a comforting thought, now makes him feel empty.

It was from this anxiety that he’d suggested they take one last trip to the opera house together. Emma had admitted that she was uncomfortable asking the queen for tickets and Killian agreed. Instead, she’d gotten them from the international student center at the university. It was for a ballet and Killian thought it would be a nice goodbye to a place that had been part of their journey together.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as she walks out of the room a moment later with a smile on her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress with long sleeves and a jeweled belt around her waist to accentuate her thin frame. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, curling over her shoulder. Killian’s eyes linger over her dark eyelashes and bright red lips.

“Do I look alright?” She whispers.

Killian swallows, thinking about how lovely she looks, and how little time they have.

“Wonderful, love,” He manages, before offering her his arm.

Emma grabs her purse, opens the door, and leans on him as they walk out of the apartment. The path to the tram from Emma’s apartment is second nature to Killian now, as is the signature way they board the tram- Emma first with her card and Killian with his leap.

With the change of season, it gets darker now. The tram ride is a blur of light against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Killian weaves his arm around Emma and pulls her close. He cherishes each tiny moment of closeness they get. He wants to feel her for every moment they have left.

They get off at “Opèra” and make their way up to the opera house. The seats aren’t in the private box this time, but among the other International Students in the balcony.

“Maybe we should have invested in opera glasses at this point,” Killian mutters, as he finds his seat. They are still velvet lined and comfortable.

“Nah, it’s nice to see the formations from here. Balcony is good for ballet,” Emma tells him. She glances down at her program. “It’s a guest performance by the Royal Ballet. I saw them do a different show in London. They were spectacular.”

Killian smiles at her, impressed that she’s become a ballet aficionado. Killian doesn’t even know what the show is. He reaches for Emma’s program.

“Anastasia?” He asks, looking at the font swirling on top of a grey background. It’s unfamiliar to him.

“Didn’t you even see the animated movie growing up? With Meg Ryan?” She replies.

He shakes his head after racking his brain and coming up with nothing.

“It was a classic at one of the group homes I was at,” Emma says. “I’d watch it all the time.”

“Is it about the Romanov girl?” He asks, thinking to a history class he had in England.

She nods. “Yeah, well, the movie is like completely fairy tale. It’s about an orphan who discovers that she’s Princess Anastasia and for some reason she’s in Paris and Rasputin wants to kill her. The songs are great. And there is like this cute, little singing bat.”

Killian laughs, trying to picture it. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

Emma nods, “Anyway, weird that there is a ballet about it.”

Killian flips through the program, looking for more information. Emma folds her hands on his shoulder and rests her chin on them, peering at it.

“But look, this ballet was made way before that kids’ movie,” she points out.

“What does that mean?”

But then the orchestra begins the overture and the lights dim. They both take their gaze from the program to the stage.

The first two acts are lively, full of pre-Revolution Imperial memories. It’s balls and family and ornate displays of royalty. It’s like the kind of vision that lives on the corners of Killian’s memory.

When the third act comes, everything changes. The ballet is now set in a mental hospital in Berlin. The girl who believes she’s Anastasia is dancing madly across the stage. Her steps are crude and wild. Killian shivers, gooseflesh appearing on his arms. She’s delusional. She’s mad. It’s terrifying.

Beside him, he notices Emma gripping the armrest of her chair, her eyes glassy and distant. He reaches out and strokes her arm, then cards his finger through a few strands of her hair. She glances at him, stirred by his touch. Her eyes are haunted and tired. He’d hoped that his touch would soothe her, but she looks so tense.

He tries to understand what could have provoked this. She’d seemed fine at the interval. Then a realization dawns on Killian: she could be remembering.

He’s kept his suspicion quiet for months, ever since Emma asked him not to mention it. He understands her request. No point getting your hopes up about something that might not ever happen.

But he still thinks she might be the real deal. A bit of his soul starts to soar as he thinks of it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine Emma remembering everything and discovering that she is in fact the Lost Princess. He imagines her being fitted for gowns and going to balls, looking brilliant as always. He imagines her moving into a castle, being taken care of properly for once in her life. He imagines her finishing out her PhD here, writing her dissertation while balancing her royal duties. He lets himself dream of her life being here in Misthaven, instead of oceans away on a continent he’s never been to. He likes the certainty of her in this fantasy and perhaps that is the true fantasy of it. A life where Emma is firmly beside him for good.

The final bows are taken and curtain drops. Emma reaches for his hand.

“Can we hurry out? I really need some air,” She tells him.

He nods, squeezing her hand and following her down the aisle. They don’t linger in the lobby. He follows Emma’s lead and they go right to the door.

Once they are in the cool winter air, he watches her take huge gulping breaths. He pulls her towards him into a hug. She doesn’t resist him and she rests her head on his shoulder. He realizes she’s shaking a bit.

“Are you okay, love?” He asks.

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not really.”

He doesn’t want to ask her, but the fantasy, the hope of epiphany, can’t leave his mind.

“Have you, erm, remembered anything that’s disturbed you?” He asks softly, letting his head drip down to speak into her ear.

She looks up at him, her forehead wrinkling, “What do you mean, remembered anything?”

He frowns, not knowing how to keep from her from realizing what he thought. Before he can explain, she makes the realization.

She draws away.

“Oh my god, Killian. You can’t still possibly think that I’m Princess Emma. That can’t be further from the truth and you know that as well as I.”

He grimaces, upset that he triggered this reaction in her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, love,” He says, as Emma takes a few steps back. “I just saw your face and you looked so disturbed. I hoped, foolishly hoped, that it was because you were having some sort of lovely epiphany.”

“Well, I’m did and I’m not,” Emma retorts.

“So what is on your mind?” He asks.

“Let’s go sit by the river,” Emma says.

He knows she’s stalling some sort of conversation, but he follows her nonetheless. He’s pleased that Misthaven is having a small winter heat wave so that it’s tolerable to sit outside. They cross the love-lock bridge and sit along the quai, legs dangling over the water.

He thinks of their first night together at the opera, when they sat together in this same spot, sharing a bottle of champagne. That’s when he tried to kiss Emma for the first time and she shied away from his kiss. So much has changed since then. A wave of reassurance falls over him. If they can go from that embarrassing night to where they are now, they can surely overcome whatever is disturbing her now.

“I was just thinking about how that Anastasia, or I guess her name was Anna,” Emma says. “She had an excuse.”

“What do you mean an excuse?” Killian says.

“For what she was doing, all the pain she is causing,” Emma tells him.

“I don’t believe you’ve caused pain to anyone,” he says, perplexed. “If anything, you’ve made my life, the Queen’s life, much better.”

She shakes her head.

“I did have an epiphany during the show,” Emma says. “But not a good one.”

“Oh?” He questions, daring to reach out and stroke her hair again. She doesn’t draw away from his touch this time. He’s grateful for that.

“I was thinking about Alice,” she says. He can’t help but grimace at the name, a fresh wave of pain flooding over him. “And how disappointed you were that she wasn’t your daughter. You were so upset. I was too. It was like a true loss to realize that someone you thought was your daughter wasn’t.”

Killian nods, the grief still lingering in his bones.

“And I realized that it was exactly what we were doing to the queen,” Emma says. “We’re leading her on, celebrating our sabotage.”

Killian runs his hand down her back. “Emma, love, I don’t think that we’ve been trying to misinform her for a while. I think that she’s come to care for you regardless. Didn’t you say that she said that to you?”

“But it doesn’t matter if we’ve given up on it,” she protests. “That was our intention. We wanted to hurt her. We wanted to take advantage of her pain. We wanted to profit off of it.”

She looks up at him. “It’s despicable. I can’t imagine that we wanted to give that pain you went through to anyone else.”

“Oh Swan,” he says. “I know that was our intention, but can you accept that we’ve done more good than bad? You’ve made the queen so happy.”

“No, there’s no excuse,” Emma says sharply. “We aren’t crazy. We aren’t in a mental hospital, imagining that we are someone else. We were greedy. We were unable to see the Queen as a human person with emotions. It’s disgusting. I’m sorry I was a part of any of this.”

Killian frowns. “Sorry you’ve been with me?”

“No, no, Killian, never,” she says. “I just feel guilty.”

“I know,” he says.

He pulls her towards him. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she says softly.

He kisses her hair, “I love you too, darling.”

“What if we visited the Memorial Gardens tomorrow?” Emma asks.

“Of course, love. Your wish is my command.”

“I just feel like I need to make reparations with the real Princess Emma,” she says.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” he teases. “But for now, let’s go home, shall we Swan?”

The cobblestone path curves up the hill, flanked by rows of houses. The architecture of the houses match the castle in a way. Emma thinks it’s nice. She’s never been in this part of Misthaven before. It’s on the Old Town side of the river, up the hill from the Opera House and Saint Anne’s.

The cobblestone path gives way to an elaborate iron archway made up of floral designs and patterns. A plaque against the wall next to it reads, “Misthaven Memorial Gardens.”

Emma swallows, thinking how bizarre it is that this path leads right to these gardens. It’s as if it’s always been leading her this way. It’s as if Misthaven itself in its fundamental architecture was leading her to these gardens. It’s funny then to think that she hasn’t been there yet. She’s been to art galleries and parks and mountainside hikes and to the opera house. Yet, she hasn’t been to the part of Misthaven that seems to truly lie at its heart. This place that has existed to capture and memorialize the pain of a nation. Emma’s engaged in that pain through stories, through personal testimonies, but she hasn’t let herself be fully immersed in it.

Until now. That’s why she’s here. She wants to feel it all. She wants to understand Princess Emma who was lost, who was murdered on this night. Maybe if she can make sense of it, she’ll stop feeling guilty for a crime she didn’t commit.

The gardens are wooded with the same lovely old trees that Emma noticed in their other forest walks and in the woods near the Du Bois house in Belgium. There isn’t any snow today, because of the unusually warm weather. Indian Summer is what Emma used to call it in America. She wonders if it has the same name here.

She reaches for Killian’s hand and leans on his shoulder. They walk through the forested path till they reach a clearing. It’s all neat gardens here, arranged in a European style with a long pool down the middle, flowering artfully arranged on either side.

“There is a walled garden over there,” Killian says, pointing. “And a bog garden over in that part. There is even a Japanese garden in that area. The Royal Family put it in while I lived there.”

Emma sighs. “I want to know more about that.”

“About what?” Killian asks.

“I want to know what it was like when you lived here. When you left here, that night. Can you tell me?” Her voice is small, soft.

He nods and tugs on her hand. They walk around the castle. Her eyes are drawn to the high ramparts, the swirling towers of the castle in the imposing grey stone. In this back part of the castle a long meadow stretches out, forming a grassy plane that gives way to the forest.

Killian beckons her to a bench. They sit.

“I don’t remember it perfectly,” he says softly. “I was very young.”

She nods, scooching over so that their legs touch. His arm wraps around her back. The other points up at a tower.

“Do you see that? It’s the princess’s tower,” he says. “We knew it was coming for weeks, that there was a threat to the kingdom, a barbarian rebellion brewing deep in the town. There were preparations made. The King and Queen worked out a plan with Liam to make sure the Princess could escape. They knew that their fates were likely fixed, but they wanted Emma to have her best chance to live.”

Emma looks at the tiny tower at the top of the castle, imagining inside a little girl’s bedroom.

Killian continues, “Liam was posted to Princess Emma’s room and stayed there day and night with her till the threat passed or came to fruition. I was ordered to stay there with her as well, so I’d have a chance to escape under Liam’s protection. Liam was to go to America with the girl to seek asylum there. I wasn’t allowed to go, there was worry that one more child would make the thing so risky.”

Emma nods, watching the story dance across Killian’s face.

“Gods, Emma, I wish I could forget that night. It’s haunted me my whole life. Sometimes I still dream about it.”

Regret seeps through her. She’s asked too much of him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to keep going. I didn’t know-“

He shakes his head, before reaching out to stroke her hair. “Emma, I want you to know all my stories. Even the hard ones. The haunting ones.”

She reaches out to run a thumb over his eyebrow, then along his jawline.

“That night there were gunshots in the castle that awoke us and everything was put into motion. Liam smashed the window, the beautiful stained glass one in the Princess’s room. He had this repelling kit that was already ready to go. He had me hold onto his back and put the Princess flush against his chest. We repelled down and it was terrifying. We didn’t know if there were snipers in the woods. If there were, I’d be the first shot. There were arrows, no guns. It’s hard to get weapons inside of Misthaven, so we think now that they only gave those to insurgents. Anyway, the arrows flickered by my head and I wondered if I was going to die.”

Emma can’t imagine a boy so young dealing with such a terrifying realization.

“When we were half way down, I heard the worst noise I’d ever heard. There was a gun shot, then a scream. I recognized as the Queen’s and I knew she’d been murdered. If she was dead, then surely so was the King. I remembered how kind they were, caring for me and Liam after everything we’d been through. They gave me a chance at an education, a chance to have a good home, to be well-fed even. And now they were gone.”

Emma gulps. She thinks of the woman she knows who is full of more compassion than she’s ever known. She suddenly sees a new side of Mary Margaret. The side that cared for Killian as a child. She might not be her mother, but she was something of that for Killian. Emma’s heart soars at the thought. She can picture Mary Margaret doting on a tiny Killian, reading him books and giving him bon bons.

“My brother told me to run when we reached the ground. He told me I’d be safe at my grans. He took off in one direction with the Princess and I went in another. I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see him. I thought that maybe one day he’d return to me. Or he’d call or send for me. There was nothing. I ran through those woods on my own, my heart thumping in my chest, wondering if I’d get caught, if I’d be found. But I wasn’t. I made it to my grans’ safely. She was surprised to see me. She wasn’t particularly nurturing, too old to be as grandma-like as I’d hoped, but she provided for me.”

Emma senses his story ending and leans her head against his shoulder.

“I’m shocked that the queen survived. I’m still upset, sometimes, that Liam didn’t. I used to lie in bed at night as a teenager, when I was in the young offender’s institution, and look at the ceiling and think about that scream. I used to be so angry at the Princess. She was off in America with my brother and here I was alone and betrayed. It’s sad now, I suppose. They both are dead. I was the one who was better off.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her to him.

She doesn’t realize that he’s teared up until he says in a choked-up voice, “You don’t know how much joy you’ve brought to my life, Emma. I was so sad. I was struggling for so long. And you’ve given me so much hope.”

“Oh Killian,” she replies. “You’ve given me so much too. I’m so grateful for you. Every day.”

There was a part of her that was fighting for so long; that was angry and walled up and hurt for so long. But Killian broke those walls down. Mary Margaret did too. Misthaven truly has been responsible for everything good in her life.

She wishes she could thank it. She wishes she could give something back to this place that has given everything to her.

Her eyes sweep across the field, as she imagines little Princess Emma running across it with Liam. It’s almost too real, too vivid before her eyes.

Where the field meets the forest, she sees something for a moment that she thinks is a figure. At first she shivers, thinking they’ve been watched this whole time. But the figure is too still to be real. There’s three figures.

Oh.

“Is that a statue over there?” She asks Killian.

He nods.

“Let’s go see it,” she says.

They walk across the field slowly, hand clasped tight. The field is dotted with wild flowers, beautiful in the bright light of Indian Summer, but for a moment she imagines them as arrows. She can see the scene of horror, almost too vividly, almost too real, like a ghost of trauma that existed here. It’s like pain dwells so deeply in this space that she can see it before her, as if she was there.

They read the statue. It’s brass, shiny, showing how new the pain is. This isn’t the kind of revolution that happened years ago, but one that floods the memory of everyone in this small country.

The statue is of a family, the Royal Family. She sees Mary Margaret at once. Her hair was longer then, wavy and young. She was so young.

And the King. Emma’s not thought much about the King, as if he was just a side character to this story, but she sees him now, kind-faced and noble. She wonders if he played little games with Princess Emma. She wonders if Mary Margaret loved him as fiercely as Emma herself loves Killian. Yes, she thinks, she must have.

Her eyes finally find the Princess. Emma can’t help but take a step closer. The small girl, with ringlets and a familiar tiara. With a lurch in her gut, Emma knows why it looks familiar. It’s the same she saw in the pawn shop where they met the hooded man in August. It couldn’t be… but she knows it could.

She follows the little girl’s features, her wide eyes, so full of curiosity and hope for the future. Emma fills with rage at everything taken from her, that future ripped away from the small girl.

Emma’s gaze finally lands on her chin. Without thinking, Emma lifts her hand to let her thumb rub over the tiny dip in her chin, just as Killian has done many times to Emma herself. They��ve all been right. They are the same.

It’s so silly, she thinks now, that they wanted to plan this giant con based on blond hair, an accent, and a dimpled chin. It only makes her feel more stupid, more guilty.

So guilty, in fact. It slams Emma in its enormity, tears springing unwillingly to her eyes. So much has been taken away from this family, from Queen Mary Margaret, and she was willing to continue that. Emma wanted to continue to hurt this woman who has been hurt more than anyone deserves in one lifetime.

Emma feels nauseous, dizzy. She can’t be here. She can’t be part of this. In even planning out the impersonation, she participated in this violence against Misthaven. She’s perpetrated the same crime that has been carelessly carried out by greedy girls, by violent men, by rebels who sought to hurt the country that has given her everything.

“Emma,” Killian asks, grasping her arm as she begins to sway. “Are you alright, love?”

She doesn’t want his companionship right now. She’s struggling for breath and the only thing that can free her is admission of the truth.

“I just need some space,” she says. “Do you mind if I walk a bit on my own? I need to clear my mind.”

“Yes, of course, Swan,” he says, dutiful as ever. “I’m going to read for a bit in the English gardens, just around the other side. Come find me when you need me.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek, as her eyes stay glued on the statue.

“Emma,” he whispers. “Look at me.”

She turns to him. He cups her face in his hands, his eyes sincere with concern.

“Don’t get lost in your thoughts, love. Don’t build higher walls.”

She tries to nod, but instead, he lurches forward to put a kiss on her lips. There is an edge of desperation to his lips, as if he is trying to keep her with him. As if he knows what’s on her mind and wants to keep her grounded, before chaos erupts. As if he knows they might only have now.

“I know,” she says, trying to give him a smile.

He squeezes her hand before he walks away.

Emma stays at the statue, her gaze meeting the Princess’s for a few moments as she watches Killian round the castle and out of sight. With her mind made up, she turns. She feels like she’s possessed by a force not of her own. It’s like her feet are willing her in the direction of castle, regardless of what her mind says is foolish or right.

She approaches from a side entrance. There are security guards there with metal detecting wands. They search her bag and let her enter. Inside, sits a desk with a receptionist. She’s struck by how tiny Misthaven is. If this was anywhere else, she wouldn’t even be able to get this far.

“Hi, I’m Emma Swan,” she says. “Is it possible I could speak with Prime Minister Mills? She knows who I am and I think she’d like to listen to me.”

The woman looks surprised, maybe at Emma’s accent or how forward she is, but she nods and picks up the phone. She speaks something in French for a few moments, before turning back to Emma.

“The Prime Minister will be down in a few moments,” she says.

Emma nods, trying to stay calm. She looks around what she thought was a lobby, but now she recognizes it as an entrance hall to a castle. There are twin tapestries on each wall, ornate gold cross hatching across the roof. A magnificent chandelier dangles in the middle of the ceiling.

She wanders closer to the wall, almost in a trance. She wants to reach out and touch the wall, feel the cold stone under her fingers. She feels like she’s lost in one of her old childhood dreams of castle corridors. She shivers as she pulls up the tendrils of memory from those dreams- being a Princess, waiting for someone to save her. She thinks again of social workers from her childhood. The ones who told her that her brain made up those stories, those dreams, to mask whatever truly horrible thing had happened to her as a child. She wonders if she and Princess Emma are akin in that way- having brunt trauma as a child. There’s that.

“Emma,” a voice interrupts.

She was expecting to hear the crisp tutting of, “Miss Swan,” from the Prime Minister. But instead, Emma turns to see the Queen. Her heart swoops.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks.

Emma shakes her head, “I was looking to see the Prime Minister, but actually, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh?” The Queen says.

“I think we should talk,” Emma says.

“Yes, okay,” Mary Margaret replies. “There is a quiet sitting room in the center of the castle. I’ll tell Prime Minister Mills to meet us there when she can. I was just visiting her earlier today and I know she’s quite busy with errands today. Poor dear, on a Saturday too.”

Emma doesn’t have words to form, so she simply nods. Her stomach feels queasy again and dizziness floats through her. God, her hand is shaking.

Emma knows what she has to say. She knows what she has to do.

She follows the Queen through the hallways, until they approach an insignificant looking door. The queen pushes the door and it leads to a small chamber. It’s a bizarre place, with octagon walls and only two doors- one of the floor and one at the top of a tall staircase that curves around the room.

“There are only two entrances,” the Queen explains. “One from the ground floor and one from the Royal Offices, which is now the Prime Minister’s office.”

“Oh,” Emma says, looking up.

An octagonal piece of stained glass covers the ceiling, filling the chamber with colored light everywhere.

“Shall we sit?” Mary Margaret asks. “I can ring for some tea if you wish.”

“No tea,” Emma says.

She feels weird being with the Queen not at her Summer Palace, or the Southern Palace. This space that feels so loaded with sad memories.

They sit in two armchairs in the room. There isn’t much in the chamber- an ornate rug, a fireplace, and a trunk being used a table. It’s so cramped in the small space, yet so much empty air hangs between them.

“I have to tell you everything,” Emma whispers.

“Tell me what, my dear?” The queen asks.

“I have to tell you about what we did, or tried to do,” Emma says.

“Whatever do you mean?” Mary Margaret reaches for Emma’s hand.

She pulls it away. “Killian and I. We befriended you under selfish pretenses, awful pretenses. And I feel wretched about it.”

Emma feels the tears returning, sticking in her throat. “I think I’ll feel awful about it till the day I die.”

The queen frowns and nods Emma to continue.

“We both were in need of money. I needed, and still need, to fund my last semester of graduate school. Killian’s always wanted to open a bookshop. We both had these dreams that needed funding. Killian was approached by a man who wanted to offer us money for me to impersonate the Lost Princess. We were both uncomfortable with the situation and said no,” Emma pauses to sniffle, to breath, to force the words out.

The Queen mistakes that for the end of her admission. “Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing.”

Emma shakes her head. “We didn’t. The more we thought about it, the more we realized that I am very similar to how the lost Princess, your daughter, might be. I have an American accent. I have blond hair, green eyes-“ Emma looks up at the queen, at the bits of her face that mirror her own. “I have your chin. We both knew that you might believe that I am your daughter. We sought out your friendship in hopes that we might profit off it. It was selfish and greedy. We celebrated each time that you thought I might be your daughter.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret breathes. Her face is disappointed, as she should be.

“We kind of gave up on it over time. I think I realized that my friendship with you was enough. That I didn’t need to convince you to think I am your daughter for you to treat me with that same care. But if I really knew better, I’d have told you up front about our plan. I still deceived you.”

The queen swallows and frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, burning with shame. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you. I’m sorry I got mad at you for keeping secrets when I was keeping secrets of my own.”

“What makes you tell me now?” The queen says.

“Ever since Killian found out that the child, Alice, wasn’t his, I’ve been realizing something” Emma murmurs. She realizes that there are tears on her face. “That same pain that Killian was going through, it was exactly what had happened to you time and time again. You’d gotten your hopes up. You thought you’d found a family, but you just were being tricked. And I was doing that to you too.”

There is a moment of silence between them, tension waivers in the air. Emma waits for her admonishment. Or a prison sentence. Or whatever she feels she need to tell Emma.

But Emma is free now. The guilt that has clung to her grossly, sticking behind her knees, making her scratchy, is gone now. She wipes away the tears that linger the creases of her eyes. Whatever comes, she said what she needed to.

“I’m leaving in just a few weeks or so,” Emma says. “But I can leave sooner. Or if there is some other punishment, whatever it is. I’m sorry.”

The Queen’s assembles her visage, before closing her eyes and sighing.

“Emma, this isn’t your fault,” Mary Margaret tells her.

“But-” Emma starts, looking at her hands. She twists them awkwardly, too ashamed to look at the queen.

“I told you months ago. You are valuable to me. You matter to me,” The queen says. “I didn’t say that to you because I thought you were my daughter.”

Emma looks up.

“I said it because you are my friend, my mentee,” the queen said. “I do admit, I got my hopes up at first that maybe you were her. I wanted to share things I loved about her with you. I wanted you to fill her void. But that day, when Regina found us when we were riding, I realized that I cared about you Emma Swan, not Princess Emma. I connected with you. With the girls that came before you, they were fake in their interests. They weren’t lovers of literature, like you are. They didn’t care about opera or tea or intelligent conversation. You’re different, Emma. You’re authentic.”

The queen’s speech makes her feel dizzy. She doesn’t know if she should fall into her arms and together share a soulful cry, hearts joined in a combined lost-and-found reunion. Another part of Emma, the part of her that is instinctual and conditioned from a lifetime of loneliness, just wants to start running.

Before Emma’s internal conflict can come to fruition, a voice interrupts them.

“Your majesty, your highness,” A voice says from above.

Both of their heads turn to take in Prime Minister Mills walking down the stairs.

“Prime Minister,” Emma says.

“Regina,” Mary Margaret echoes.

“I thought I’d interrupt,” Regina says, midway down the staircase, “I hope you don’t mind. I heard you were looking for me, Miss Swan, and I am in fact, looking for you as well.”

Emma turns to face where Regina has curved around the room on the stairs. Her stilettos beat out a staccato against the steps.

“Oh right, sorry to bother you Prime Minister,” she mumbles. “I heard you are very busy today.”

“No, you were one of the people I needed to see today, so honestly it’s perfect timing,” Regina says, walking down the final curve. “I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, your Majesty, but I also believe that I am about to make an entrance at the perfect time as well.”

Emma and Mary Margaret exchange confused glances.

“This week, during our usual meeting, you mentioned that Emma had forgiven you and that you’d agreed to be friends again. As you both know, I’ve been concerned about your friendship for a while. While you both protested that there was no false hope between either of you, we both know that was a lie. You’ve both just said it yourself.”

Emma wants to protest, but she knows that the Prime Minister is right. They did just say it.

“So, I went ahead and did something a little wild. I hope you forgive me, but I am, in fact, Prime Minister. I had samples of DNA taken from each of your places of residence and tested. I must admit, I was a little impatient to get to the bottom of it and find out once and for all who this woman is.”

She gives a vague wave at Emma.

“The lab tests came back this morning. Emma Swan, Your Royal Highness, you are Her Majesty’s daughter.”

The news slams into Emma. She grips a table to steady herself as the world seems to move around her.

She’s the lost princess? She’s Princess Emma?

But she can’t be. It must be a joke. A prank. It must be some sort of “get this little orphan’s hopes up and then crush them.” Because she can’t actually be the kind of person that anyone cares about this much. She’s a fake. She’s an impersonator. She’s the kind of person who has had to work her whole life to every tiny thing. She can’t be a princess.

But yet, she looks up and Queen Mary Margaret’s eyes are full of love, tears rimming her eyes.

“Yes, of course, she is,” Mary Margaret whispers.

Emma tries to think of Mary Margaret as her mother. She tries to apply the word mom to the elegant queen before her. But all she can think about is how small the room is, how oppressive the walls feel, and trapped she feels. She knows she’s not trapped. She knows that she finally has a family, which is honestly what she’s wanted her whole life. But all she wants is to run.

“Sorry,” Emma says. “I just… I have to go.”

She doesn’t turn back to look at the shock on Mary Margaret or Regina’s face. She doesn’t try to process the tears in her own eyes or the fact that this lifelong instinct of running is kicking in. All she can think is that she has to get out.

Sorry for a long long delay on this chapter! Let me know if you read it so I can figure out if I should keep going on finishing it!

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs ff au #CS modern AU #CS fic #emma swan #killian jones #cs crew #cs mafia #i honestly don't really remember what the tags are

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eryiss · 5 years

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Chapter Ten - Coronating

Summary: Laxus Dreyar, prince of Fiore, has been trapped in the town of Magnolia for months by order of his grandfather. After a failed attempt at leaving ends up with the prince injured, his grandfather punishes him by adding a new guard to his retainer team. An arrogant, up-tight, overly confident, handsome bastard named Freed Justine. [Fraxus | Fantasy AU]

Warnings: Mentions of blood, a relatively graphic murder, and mentions of child abuse. This is a bit of a dark one, but I hope it's satisfying. And as this is the final chapter, I hope you enjoyed it.

You can read this on FanFiction, Archive of our Own, or under the cut. You can find the chapter list here. Hope you enjoy it ^.^

Chapter Ten – Coronating

Standing at the foot of the cathedral, Laxus felt weird. He was filled with a contradictory mix of nervousness and confidence. Looking at the large wooden doors closed before him, the biggest sensation was pride. Pride in himself, who he had become, and who he was going to be.

A king.

It was the first day of the new year, and the day of his coronation. He was dressed in his most decedent clothing, a luxurious red robe resting against his shoulders. The suit he wore was emblazoned with golden trimmings, mixed with a black velvet lining. In that moment, he looked more regal than he ever had before. It was incredibly empowering in a way that Laxus couldn't put into words.

Standing nearly a foot beside him, was Freed. He too was dressed in his most lavish clothing; the same outfit he wore during his exhibition fight with Gildarts. Although the rush of the day meant he hadn't spent much time with Freed, Laxus knew he looked beautiful.

He always did look beautiful, actually.

Having Freed nearby did a lot to calm Laxus down. To have someone who was unequivocally on his side, ready to stand his corner, filled him with a sense of confidence nothing else could. To have that man not only be his guard and protector, but also his lover, meant the confidence gleamed increased tenfold. He even dared to smile a little; a year ago he wouldn't have dreamed he and Freed would have such a relationship. Funny how it turned out.

From the cathedral, Laxus could hear his grandfather's speech. He spoke of how honoured he was that he had served for them, and how he knew that Laxus would be an equally fair and strong king. Laxus had heard the speech before, and knew he was soon going to be introduced formally, and his nerves flared.

A hand pressed against his back, comforting and soft. It was Freed's, and Laxus pushed back against it. The action was small and the moment fleeting, but Laxus appreciated it.

"Please rise for your new king!"

Laxus readied himself, and Freed removed his hand. The large wooden doors were slowly opened, revealing Laxus to the congregation in the cathedral. People from all aspects of life had gathered, ranging from nobles to shopkeepers. The richest and the poorest. The people who Laxus would soon be serving as their king, all represented by the thousand people now standing and watching him. This was his moment, the beginning of his reign of king.

He began walking slowly down the aisle. The sound of his boots resonating against the marble echoed around the silent chamber, and Laxus kept his eyes trained forward. Everyone was watching him, perhaps assessing him. It was intimidating.

A moment later, as prepared, Freed began walking behind him. He too was being sworn in, as knight of the realm, and to hear his footsteps spurred Laxus on. Freed was there, so he could do this.

Even with that in mind, the walk seemed to last for an eternity.

When he reached the front of the cathedral, he stood before his grandfather. Makarov was sitting at his throne, crown resting beside him. He was also dressed in his finery and was wearing an expression that exuded pride. Laxus dropped to one knee before him, bowing his head and looking at the white marble before him. He took the moment of rest to calm his nerves and steady his breath, closing his eyes.

He heard a slight shifting to his left, and saw that Freed was now kneeling beside him. He glanced to his retainer, who sent him a split-second smile before keeping his eyes on the marble.

Although he couldn't see it, Laxus knew that his grandfather had stood up from the throne. He walked towards the two kneeling men and stood in front of Freed. His sword had been removed from his scabbard and Laxus, from the corner of his eye, could see the blade resting on Freed's right shoulder. It rested there a moment before Makarov started to talk again.

"Freed Justine," The king's voice resonated through the cathedral. "As knight of the realm, it will be your sworn vow to protect this land. You will fight to your last breath to keep this kingdom safe and will do so without hesitation nor fear. Do you swear to withhold this vow for as long as you live?"

"I swear," Freed promised without hesitation.

With a slow movement, the sword moved from his right shoulder to his left. Despite the expectations of the ritual, Laxus couldn't stop himself from looking towards his retainer and lover. He didn't seem even slightly nervous.

"As knight of the realm, you will be expected to put the life of your king before your own. You will vow to keep him safe and protected no matter what detriment comes to you. You serve him, and act as his guardian," Makarov continued, voice still loud enough for all to hear. "Do you swear to withhold this vow for as long as you live?"

"I swear," Freed promised again.

"Present your right hand," Makarov demanded.

Freed did as he was told, presenting his hand to the king. The blade of the sword was placed upon it, and with a slow movement Makarov cut the skin. It was deep enough to leave a scar, but Freed didn't so much as wince at the pain. A layer of blood covered the sword, of which Makarov raised into the air. He walked to a font made of glass, tall and thin with clear water filling it, and placed the blood-soaked sword inside of it. The blood washed off the weapon and merged with the water, giving it a thin red colouring.

Footsteps approached Freed, and his still raised hand was covered in a bandage. A small healing spell was chanted, and the bandage was removed, revealing a deep but clean scar. Freed lowered his hand, a small smile on his face.

"I now pronounce you Sir Freed Justine, knight of the realm and protector of the nation," Makarov declared.

Laxus couldn't imagine how that must have affected Freed. From being seen as a criminal in the castle's dungeon to being perhaps the most respected knight in the kingdom, it must have been euphoric to feel. If anyone deserved to feel that way, Laxus was damn sure that it was Freed.

There was silence for a moment. Laxus watched with a bowed head as Makarov removed the sword from the glass font and wiped it dry. He then approached the two men again, this time standing in front of Laxus. The blonde felt the weight of the heavy sword against his right shoulder, and his nerves flared up again. But he could do this, the crown was his damn birth right and this nervousness was nothing he couldn't deal with.

"Laxus Dreyar," Makarov began again. "As king of this land, you must vow to commit yourself fully to its fulfilment. You must be willing to sacrifice all aspects of yourself for the betterment of the people over whom you will rule. You must strive to bring greatness to all your subjects, to make sure they're safe in all aspects of their lives. Do you swear to keep this vow?"

"I swear," Laxus said, voice waving slightly.

The sword was moved from his right shoulder to his left.

"As king of this land, you must vow to show respect to this kingdom and its people. You must understand the issues faced by your subjects and treat them with care. You must also show ruthlessness and authority in times of strife and austerity. You must make decisions unthinkable for the greatness of this land, no matter the reflection it has on you and your character. Do you swear to keep this vow?"

"I swear," Laxus said again, voice strong now.

"Raise your right hand."

Laxus did so and felt the cool steel resting against the palm of his hand. A moment later the blade started to slice into him, creating an identical cut to the one Freed had been given. It was painful of course, but Laxus did his best not to react to it. He glanced at Freed again, who gave him a small smile to comfort him. It was enough to keep Laxus silent.

As he had with Freed, Makarov stood back from Laxus and walked to the glass and marble font. He placed the sword in the water again and allowed Laxus' blood to mix with Freed's. The water became redder, and Laxus felt himself smile. The combination of blood was meant to symbolise the souls of a knight and a king being bonded together.

With their relationship, it felt like more than that.

Someone walked towards Laxus and wrapped his hand in a thick bandage. They then chanted a quiet spell that sent tingles down Laxus' spine as the wound was sealed in a scar. When the bandage was removed, Makarov walked to the throne and picked up the crown.

"From one king to the next," Makarov stated, his voice cracking a little. "I present to you the crown of this land."

As rehearsed, Laxus looked up. The ornate golden crown was placed atop his head. It was a small sensation but thrilling. Makarov walked back to the throne and picked up a large wooden box. Laxus frowned a little, not knowing what this one. They had rehearsed this day multiple times, and this hadnt happened once.

"And as your grandfather, I present a gift to you," He said, opening the box. "A sword, imbued with the magic of our family."

From the wooden box, a weapon was shown. It was a long, silver sword with a jutting diagonal blade. In the centre of the blade was a thin lining of yellow gemstones. It was a beautiful weapon, one that Laxus had never seen before.

"With this sword, the element of lightning will be yours to control," Makarov stated.

Laxus raised both hands and allowed Makarov to place to weapon in them. Even as he touched it, he felt a slight ripple fizzle through him. His newly scarred right hand, which touched the hilt of the weapon, was momentarily overtaken by ripples of lightning. It should have been painful, or at least noticeable, but all Laxus could feel was comfort. As if he was naturally inclined to this weapon and the lightning it apparently contained.

Makarov stood back, a look of pride on his face.

"You may both rise."

As instructed, Freed and Laxus both rose to their feet.

"It is perhaps the greatest pleasure of my life to introduce your new king," Makarov continued, and his voice was wavering now. "King Laxus Dreyar."

He was the king.

As the two men turned to face the rest of the cathedral, everybody had knelt for them. It was surreal, to be the leader of these people; to have their respect in such a way. But, for reasons that Laxus couldn't fathom, he wasn't panicked by this. Maybe it was because he had his grandfather's help, maybe it was because he had Freed on his side, he didn't know. But he wasn't panicked, he wasn't scared. He was excited. Because he could do this.

And then there was darkness.

It was instant. All the light streaming from outside of the cathedral vanished within a second, as if the sun had disappeared. The many candles in the cathedral were the only source of light, and they flickered manically as if a wind was trying to extinguish them. Laxus looked around, trying to find a source of this, but found nothing. People were starting to panic.

"Dark magic," Freed said, and Laxus glanced to him. "I'm not sure what type. But there's a lot of it. I think it's an entrapment spell."

"Like your runes?"

"Similar. But rather than making a wall, it makes a haze," Freed removed his sword from his scabbard, and Laxus tightened his grip on the weapon he just received.

From the door where they had been standing, Bickslow and Evergreen ran towards the two men. Makarov also approached them from behind, looking as panicked as everyone felt. Laxus looked outside of the windows to see a thick black mist had started to form and thicken. It didn't seem to be getting into the building, however, which was good.

"How does it trap people?" Makarov asked, also looking at the fog.

"It depends on what the caster wanted. It can range from changing your direction, so you simply walk back on yourself, to ripping the flesh off anyone who goes inside it. I've no idea how bad this will be."

"Fuck," Laxus hissed. "Can it be broken?"

"Not in it's entirety, no," Freed frowned. "But magic can always be overwhelmed by other magic. If enough power hit a concentrated part of the fog, it should break through, enough to get people through it unharmed at least."

"Okay," Laxus nodded. He needed to take control. "Ever, get the doors open and blast the fog with everything you've got. Bix, get everyone you know who has even an ounce of magic in a group and have them join Ever. Gramps, you need to get everyone to calm down so nobody does anything stupid. Anyone who isn't a knight or working on the magic needs to be together, near the doors so they can get out if the fog clears."

They all nodded, going to their specific jobs. Evergreen was almost immediately blasting the fog with whatever Fairy Magic she had. Bickslow was rushing through the guards and royal staff he knew had magic, directing them to Evergreen, and Makarov had begun addressing the panicking crowds.

"I should help Evergreen," Freed stated, but Laxus put a hand on his shoulder before he could move.

"This ain't a coincidence, this is an attack. And if you're gonna attack a coronation, the obvious target would be me," Laxus explained quickly. "If they focus on me, they can't hurt anyone else. And if you're defending me, it'll take a lot longer to kill me. More time to get people out."

Freed nodded. "Of course."

As they readied themselves for attack, a loud clattering came from above. A moment later, the bricks making up the ceiling gave in, slamming to the floor and cracking the throne that they landed on. The debris barely missed the two men, and they spun around to see the cause of the destruction. When they looked up, they were met with a thin layer of fog streaming down, pooling in front of them.

The fog started to shift and change. It grew to a silhouette of a man, tall and broad shouldered. As the knight and king readied their weapons, the figure of shadows began to grow more details, magical energy pulsing around them. Then, a moment later, the shadow left and revealed its creator.

Ivan.

Laxus hadnt seen him since his exile. Since he walked into the man's laboratory that night. Since he saw him experimenting on the lacrima that was intended to be forced into his body. Since Makarov had mercifully ripped open the shackles Laxus had been bound by before his body was ripped apart for the damn crystal that Ivan claimed would make him powerful.

Of course it was him doing this. Of course the psychopath was so power hungry that he couldn't handle the fact that Laxus was becoming king and not him. Of course he was willing to break his exile to fuck over Laxus' life again.

"Aren't you a smart little boy," Ivan spoke, and Laxus felt rage fill him. "But so easy to predict. Your grandfather filled you with all his kindness bullshit, as expected. So of course you'd save your redundant fucking subjects over yourself."

Ivan took a step forward, and Laxus found himself frozen.

"The fog wasn't to trap them, son," He spat the word out. "It was to distract them and trap you."

"Why are you here, Ivan?" Laxus demanded, white knuckling his grip on the weapon.

"Because I refuse to let a weak child spawned from a slut take the position that is mine!" Ivan suddenly roared, darkness swirling around him. "You will not be king, son. That title was meant for me and me alone."

"So are you gonna kill me?" Laxus spat back. "I am so much fucking stronger than I used to be, so fucking try it."

"Are you now?" Ivan grinned, expression mad. "Or do you just have a new pet to look after you."

He turned to Freed, who had barely managed to stop himself from plunging his sword through the man's chest. The only thing that had stopped him was the fact Laxus had a sword of his own, and if he wanted his father dead then he would have done so himself or given the order for Freed to do it. But as Ivan looked at him with animalistic sadism, Freed felt more and more tempted to kill the man without the order.

Freed knew what Ivan had done to Laxus. The manipulations, the torture, the experiments done to him in the late hours of the night. The blonde still had nightmares from time to time, still struggled with the trauma of what he went through. What this bastard had done to him.

"Mr Justine, a pleasure to meet you at last."

Ivan took a step towards Freed. With a sudden lurch, he pushed his hand forward and wrapped it around Freed's neck. He lifted the man off the ground by his throat, shadows hazing around his hand as he did so. Laxus watched as Freed began to struggle for breath, grabbing for the hand wrapped around his neck.

"If I send a man to kill my son, that is my business and nobody else's!" Ivan roared again. "If you decide to stop him, then I am justified in seeking revenge."

Laxus acted without thinking. He raised the sword and tried to strike out at Ivan's arm. The smoke around it swarmed around the weapon, stopping it before it could make contact with the man. Ivan slowly looked towards Laxus with a maniacal smile plastered on his face. He maintained eye contact with him, tightening his grip around Freed's throat.

"I would kill him," Ivan said without emotion. "But I think it would be more fun to see him get swarmed, don't you?"

Ivan threw Freed to the side of the room like he weighed nothing. He clattered onto the floor, catching his breath. Laxus ran towards him, but a thick wall of smoke stopped him. He tried to push through it, but his movements slowed as if he were walking through water, until he eventually was forced to stop.

"Look up, dear child," Ivan demanded.

Laxus did, and through the hole in the ceiling came hundreds of small white specs. When they got closer Laxus could see they seemed to be paper figures of people. They spun around each other, merging into larger forms of the same paper figure. About twenty of the figures now stood in the cathedral. Laxus turned to Freed, who looked… terrified.

"Shikigami," Freed whispered, and Laxus' eyes widened.

Shikigami was a forbidden magic. It was one of the few forms of necromancy known to still work. It was one of the cruellest forms of necromancy as well; the person casting the spell needed to kill the person to bring them back. And even when they did, they weren't truly brought back. They were just puppets, projected on a paper doll with their bodies being used by the evil person who brought them back. And now Ivan was using it.

Using it on Freed.

Laxus tried to break free of the shadows, to use the sword in some way, but he couldn't move. His head was immobilised now, forcing him to watch as the paper dolls began to advance on Freed. He couldn't do anything.

The dolls were starting to flicker now, gaining the bodies of people Ivan had killed. Laxus saw the leading doll to be the same yellow haired madman who had attempted to kill him months prior; of course his father had been responsible for that. But Freed had been the one to kill him, so the only way that Ivan could be using his corpse would be if he brought him back to life, only to kill him again to add to his arsenal of zombies

It was sick. Twisted. Evil.

The madman's corpse raised an arm, and a stream of yellow and black energy shot from his hand. Freed barely managed to stand before he was hit by the attack, knocked into one of the cathedral's pews, his back cracking as it happened.

Advancing quicker now, the dolls got closer and closer to Freed. The knight managed to stand up again, holding his sword, and Laxus could hear Ivan tut. He made a gesture with his hand, and the dolls sped up further. Some stayed back, such as the madman's corpse, and started to cast spells. Some spells Freed managed to deflect with his sword, but others hit him and knocked him back further. He was clearly getting overwhelmed, and the attacks weren't stopping.

Laxus felt sick.

"You said you've gotten stronger, Laxus," Ivan taunted. "But you haven't. All you have is a new guard, and he's about to die. And then you'll die too."

Laxus couldn't speak. He couldn't even move his mouth.

He was forced to watch as another of the madman's attacks slammed into Freed's stomach, burning through some of his clothing and leaving burns on his stomach. Dread filled Laxus as he watched Freed struggle to get up.

The dolls were on him now, surrounding him. Shadows started to form around the mass of dolls, and Laxus felt sick. He knew what was happening; they were trying to turn Freed into one of them. They were going to make Freed a lifeless corpse that was at Ivan's control. Laxus couldn't do anything, and the shadow was so thick around him that nobody else in the cathedral could do anything. He was going to die, and Laxus couldn't do anything.

And then something in the darkness changed. It was no longer made of wispy shadows, but instead a thick viscous ink. A familiar looking darkness, one that gave Laxus a small amount of hope. Freed's magic had always looked like that.

An angered, mutated roar filled the room. It was Freed.

With an explosion of inky darkness, the dolls were thrown off the man and ripped apart. The blackness dissipated a moment later, revealing Freed. But he was different. Half of his body had been replaced by the demonic form, his entire face now grey and scaly with large purple horns coming from his head. The right of his chest was grey, with black feathers sprouting form him. His face was contorted in a snarl aimed at Ivan.

This was the most demonic he had ever been. If he could, Laxus would have smiled.

The dolls were quick to reform, and Laxus could see from the corner of his eye that Ivan was panicking a little; Freed's magic had been kept a secret even from him. And now he was backfooted, because he didn't know just how strong Freed could be.

Nobody knew. Freed was a juggernaut of magic energy with just his forearm replaced by his demonic self. With this much of himself demonic, he might very well be unstoppable.

But Laxus was still trapped.

He couldn't leave Freed to fight by himself; Ivan always had contingency plans and Laxus didn't want Freed to face that alone. But he couldn't move, he was stuck mid run with his hand gripping the sword. He thought through everything he knew about magic in hopes of a way of figuring how to get out. One such idea came when he heard the sound of Evergreen casting another spell on the fog around the cathedral.

Magic can always be overwhelmed by magic.

Ivan was a powerful magician, but he was doing this on his own, and his power wasn't limitless. Keeping Laxus in place must have been the least important of the spells he was using at that moment, and therefore the weakest. Logic dictated that it could be overwhelmed pretty easily with magic. And, as king, Laxus now had a sword imbued with magic.

He had never used magic, but knew it was focused around emotions. He needed to put his emotions into overdrive – just as Freed had when they were training – and then hopefully his sword would react.

So, everything he had been in denial about throughout his life, he let go.

How scared he had been of his father throughout his childhood. How much pain he had been in through all the experiments made upon him. How terrified he was of falling asleep when his father's presence was in the castle. How disgusted he was with himself as a child, when Ivan had convinced him that he was a weak boy with no hope of surviving. How hysterical he had been throughout his teenage years when he felt he needed to follow his father's instructions under fear of death. How relieved he had been when his father had been exiled.

How relieved he was when he saw Freed alive again.

That last through sent a roaring scream through Laxus' mouth, and Ivan turned to him instantly. Lightning crackled over the king's body, shooting down him into his arm and into the blade of the sword. An erratic stream of lightning shot out of the weapon, cutting through the shadows and releasing Laxus.

An exhilarating sensation of power coursed through Laxus' veins, as if he were alive for the first time. He looked to his father with a snarl on his face, who looked back at him with wide eyes. Laxus had the upper hand now.

Good. Ivan should be scared.

"You tried to kill me," Laxus said, voice calm. Deadly so.

He raised the sword to the air and shot off another beam of lightning. Ivan barely managed to protect himself by forming a shield of darkness which absorbed the attack. Laxus started to walk towards his father, who took a step back.

"You manipulated me and tortured me as a child," Laxus continued.

Another shot of lightning left the sword. Ivan protected himself again with a cloud of shadows. They were getting more desperate now.

"You tried to have my friends killed in front of me."

A third shot of lightning left the sword. Ivan tried to protect himself, but the crackling beam hit his shoulder and made him scream.

"You were my father, you were meant to make me feel safe. Meant to love me," Laxus growled.

Another shot of lightning hit Ivan in his chest, making him fall to the ground at the foot of the throne. Laxus ran towards him, leaning over him before he could get up.

"But you didn't. You hurt me, scared me, and made me feel weak," Laxus whispered. "But that's okay. Because I have people who do care for me. Who do love me. Who do make me feel safe."

Laxus placed the tip of the sword against Ivan's stomach.

"So there's no real fucking point to you, is there."

Before Ivan could speak, Laxus forced the sword deep inside of him. He took pleasure in feeling the mans insides burst around the metal, until he felt the gentle clink of his sword tapping the floor below Ivan, who was now fully impaled. Laxus leant forward, forcing eye contact with Ivan, who's face was a picture of fear.

He always had been a damn coward.

"Goodbye, father."

Lightning flooded the sword, frying the man from the inside out. He screamed out in pain as his life left him, smoke forming and raising from his body. Laxus watched as any light left in his eyes dies out, and his soul left his body for the final time. Suddenly Ivan slumped, body going limp around the sword.

He was dead.

Everything stopped at once. The smoky magic, the dolls, the darkness. It all went.

Laxus removed the sword from his father's corpse and tossed it to the ground. He breathed heavily, catching his breath as the lighting dancing across him died away. He placed his boot against his father's back, kicking it down the three steps that led up to the throne.

Freed ran towards him, and Laxus relaxed slightly when he saw him. The knight dropped his demon form, and the moment they were close enough to one another Laxus pressed his lips against Freed's. They kissed for a short moment before breaking apart, and Laxus cupped Freed's cheeks.

"Are you okay?" He whispered, voice tender and soft now. He placed their foreheads together.

"I'm fine," Freed panted. "Are you?"

"I'm okay. He didn't hit me," Laxus assured him.

"I meant," Freed's eyes shot to the corpse of Laxus' father. "Because it's okay to be affected by it. Even though you did what was right."

"I know," Laxus nodded. "He was evil, though. And I won't miss him. and perhaps I'll even come to terms with it one day."

"I love you, Laxus," Freed whispered. "Nearly didn't get to say it."

"I love you too," Laxus replied instantly. He pressed his lips against Freed's again.

Laxus felt his knees buckle under him, and Freed quickly guided him to the throne, where he sat.

It was a spectacle to see. The new king, sitting in his throne for the first time, his robes soaked with blood. His sword was slung to the side, covered in his father's blood, and his crown was hidden under debris somewhere. He looked exhausted, barely awake. But he was strong in that moment, perhaps stronger than he had ever been in his life.

Standing beside him was his guard, retainer and lover. His clothes were ripped, his body covered in newly gained wounds, and his eyes swelling with a demonic magic that many considered to be evil. He stood proud beside the throne, hand on his sword protectively as they both looked over the congregation, who looked back at them.

For a moment, there was silence.

"Long live the king!" Makarov declared. A moment later, a roar from the crowed followed him.

Long live the king.

Fin.

#fraxus #freed justine #Laxus Dreyar #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail #writing

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kin-the-muffin · 4 years

Text

Growing into a Mask: Ch 2

(FINALLY)

I walked into the classroom from where I had been waiting awkwardly in the hall for Toriel to begin heralding my arrival at Ebott.

It was a pretty normal high school class. There was a large group of boys and girls texting busily on their phones, a slightly smaller body of muscular teens pretending to be interested, and the remainder was split between other, smaller cliques. The part that made it ‘pretty’ normal instead of ‘normal’ normal, was that a third of the students were monsters.

After standing at the front of the room for a few seconds, I noticed almost everyone did a double-take. The entire class was absolutely gaping at me. I began to sweat and silently prayed Toriel wouldn’t suggest they ask me questions.

I cleared my throat and squeaked out “Um, hi, you can call me Corey.” and smiled weakly. I groaned inwardly and wished I had decided on a different name instead of sticking with my given name.

A girl in the second row looked like she was about to slam her head on her desk and a quartet of rough-looking teens in the back quietly chuckled and glanced at each other.

“Alright, Corey, you’ll be sitting there for the year,” Toriel pointed to the seat to the left of the girl I had noticed.

I nodded and walked past the first row to sit at my new seat. I tried not to pay heed to the fact that everyone’s eyes were still on me.

The girl turned to me and said “Hey, Corey, I’m Li Feign Chi, but you can call me Feign,” with a pleasant smile, “and this is Fuku,” she gestured to the fire monster in front of her who waved at me.

[Li Feign Chi is a girl with a clear love for bright colors but an obvious lack of knowledge when it came to fashion. She almost made up for this with her spirit and great figure. Her hair was split into three sections. The sides and the top, which was pulled back into a loose bun. The top was dyed the primary colors in three stripes. Both sides were dyed, from front to back: purple, green, and orange. She wore a baggy blue t-shirt with a pink heart on the left side, a short, light green skirt with green stripes, and torn tights that were a sparkly silver. The only colorless parts on her person were her pale skin, her slanted light pink eyes, and her brown combat boots. Surprisingly, the most eye-catching items were her bright magenta fingerless gloves and silver-and-gold bangle bracelets.]

“Um, hello,” I wondered for a moment if she was an immigrant due to her slight accent. I guessed somewhere in Asia because of her pale skin and the shape of her eyes.

I guess Toriel noticed the short interaction and said to Feign, “Feign, would you be Corey’s first friend? Maybe show her around Ebott High and teach her how things work?”

I thought I caught Feign looking almost exasperated for a second. Oh, please don’t tell me she’s one of those girls. It might’ve been my imagination because she smiled brightly and replied, “I’d be glad to, Ms. Toriel!”

Suddenly, the bell rang and the class snapped out of the trance I had accidentally put them in and began putting their things together. They chatted with friends while inconspicuously sneaking extra glances at me. A few teens who had been getting ready to leave ahead of time waved to friends and bolted out of the door.

Before I left, Feign stopped me and asked if I could stay a little longer. After I replied in the affirmative, she walked up to Toriel and started talking to her.

I stood awkwardly by my desk, wondering if I should have said no. I was playing with my phone in the front pocket of my hoodie and had just pulled it out to play some Minecraft when Feign walked back over to me. By now, the class was empty, even Toriel had left.

“So, Corey, here at Ebott High School, we have a group of students--a club, if you will--called the ‘Ebott Buddies’. They show around new students and be a friend to them. I’m one of the only students in it, though technically the student council is supposed to take care of it but anyways!” Feign mumbled the last part with some contention, “I, Feign, am now your official ‘Ebott Buddy’!”

I just stared for a second. “...Do you have to do that or is it your choice?”

“This’ll sound like I’m lying, but I promise, it’s ‘protocol’.”

“That’s pretty, um, different. So why did you ask me to stay?”

“Oh, right! Would you like me to get all the boring stuff of showing you around over now?”

“Um, you really don’t have to do that. Won’t your family be worried?” I stumbled slightly over my words at the kind offer.

“As long as I call, my sister will be okay with it.”

“W-what about your parents?”

Feign sighed, “I guess I should just tell you now to save future time. I...am an immigrant!” she accompanied her revelation with jazz hands, “My parents are still in Japan and I live with my older sister here.”

“Oh, I was wondering about the accent…”

“Yeah, I just can’t get it to go away. I still rock at English though!” Feign winked comically.

I smiled at that, Maybe I was thinking of her the wrong way… “Well, as long as we both call home, then sure, thanks!”

“Speaking of, where do you call home? I live down by the pool on 17th.”

I panicked for a second, nervous one of the answers running through my head would leap out without my consent before I realized that she meant my current home.

“Um, do you know the skeleton brothers? Sans and Papyrus Font?”

“Yeah, everyone knows them. I don’t know them very well of course, but Sans sometimes helps me with science and stuff. Are you related to them?”

“Well-” I held up a finger but stopped, “I...I don’t know how to answer that…”

“Alright then. What about your parents? Wait, are they dead?” a horrified look crossed her face and I couldn’t tell if she was acting, “I hope they’re not dead… I would feel like such a muffin-head if they were!” Feign covered her face with her hands.

“No! No! They’re not dead! They are very much alive, I promise!” I hurried after her dark query.

“Oh, thank goodness!” she wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, “I’m glad I’m not a muffin-head, heh, heh,” then she released me from her grasp. “Sorry about that.”

“I-it’s okay, Feign. I- um- there was a… a situation between them and so they sent me here. To live with the Font brothers. For a little while.”

“Oh, okay then. How long are you gonna stay?”

“I don’t know… a few years or so?”

“Oh, cool! We’ll have lots of time to hang out!”

We continued talking until Feign pointed out that she should actually show me the school. So we both called home and quickly explained why we weren’t back then Feign began the tour.

We didn’t mean for it to take so long, we really didn’t, but we talked and got distracted plenty. Eventually, my unease towards Feign faded away as I learned more about her.

Turns out, she had never seen a firework until she had come to live here a few years ago. I found this surprising for an Asian. And since then, she had basically become a demolitions expert at age 17.

“Every morning, my sister, Megan, has to make sure I don’t bring a vial of gunpowder of firecrackers to school,” she had laughed, “but she doesn’t know about a secret pocket I put in the other day, so let’s just say her efforts are futile.” she winked.

Once she had finished the tour, she told a teacher who was staying late that we were going. We then headed for the exit.

While walking, Feign sparked a new topic I was wary of.

“Hey, um, I know this is sometimes considered a bit rude to ask but…” for the first time since I had met her, Feign looked unsure of herself.

“I’ll try not to be offended. Ask away.”

“...Can I see your magic?” she quickly covered her mouth as if she had just spilled a huge secret.

“Oh! Um, my magic is kinda unreliable, but I guess I can show you some,” I put my fingers together. “Uh, this will look kinda freaky sooooooo, yeah. Just a warning.” I brought my hands about a foot away from each other and Feign gasped as blue strings had appeared and attached to my fingers. I grinned at her reaction as I twisted my fingers and adjusted where the strings were stuck. After fiddling with them for a few moments, I held up my hands to reveal an intricate pattern in the web.

I looked up at Feign to see how she responded. Her face was mostly filled with wonder though there was definitely another emotion I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Whoa. That’s so cool but, yeah, kinda freaky,” she scratched her face, “What do they do and what are they called?”

“I can sorta control them, to an extent,” all but one string disintegrated. I held up the finger the string was attached to and the thread wiggled as it stood on its end. “And, uh…they can…take people’s...souls…” I immediately regretted sparing that part. The last string disappeared.

“That… IS FREAKING COOL!!! How?”

I blinked at her feedback, “Oh, well, first I use blue magic to pull it out, then I, uh, just. Take it? I don’t know, I’ve never done it before… And I just call them Soul Strings.”

“That’s amazing! It’s so cool that you have blue magic, though I guess it’s customary for skeletons! Can I see your bone attacks?” Feign gasped and her eyes widened, “Wait, do you have blasters?!”

I swear, if this were an anime, her eyes would be sparkling!

“Uh, thanks! No, I don’t have bone attacks or blasters…” I could feel my face warming up from the praise.

“Oh, okay. The Soul Strings are cool enough. Alright, your turn!” she looked at me expectantly, almost like a puppy.

“M-my turn for what?”

“I just asked you an invasive question, now you ask me one!”

If she were Lesser Dog, she’d be through the roof, I almost laughed aloud at this thought.

“I mean, are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

“Um, alright then.” I thought for a moment trying to think of something that would still respect her privacy, “Uh, what trait are you?”

“Pfft, that’s boring but fine. I am a…Trust soul!” Feign did jazz hands again.

I thought through the seven traits. “A-a Trust soul? But there’s no such thing! There’s just Determination, Justice, and Patience and stuff.” Ink said this was a normal Pacifist Timeline, just straight Undertale!

“Oh, no, those are just the big ones. There are more between them. My soul is sort of a blueish-purple.” Feign put her hands to her chest and when she pulled them away, they were cupped around a floating indigo heart.

Ink, you crap-hole of a liar.

After I gave Feign a satisfactory ‘whoa’ she closed her hands and the heart disappeared in a flash of blue sparks.

#GIAM #Undertale AU #Undertale fanfic #growing into a mask #sry i took so long #i had it sitting on my desk for the longest time #all i had to do was turn it into text

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