#well actually this snippet isn’t very festive

[dharmasharks]

hello friend! i would love to hear about "keep a candle burning" if you'd like to share! <3

Hi hi friend! Thanks for asking! I have some festive modern stucky for you for Hanukkah bingo, provided I can get my shit together in time this year! *looks at calendar* *sweats*

Here’s the deal: Bucky’s ex/childhood sweetheart/former best pal Steve is back in town for the first time in years. He's staying with Bucky for a week and day, until the annual Barnes family Hanukkah party. And Bucky can totally, definitely, absolutely last all eight nights without kissing Steve on his very cute mouth.

Here's a rough snippet!

“Bucky. Somebody got murdered on that couch. You’re a grown man with one murder couch and zero end tables.” Steve gestures to where Bucky’s bionic prosthetic, skinned like R2-D2, is charging on the ground near the front door. “How do you have people over?” Ah, there it is. This part of the conversation. But that doesn’t mean Bucky has to make it easy on him. Especially if it means missing out on the way Steve’s ears pink up when he gets a little bit embarrassed, which comes in at number six on Bucky’s power rankings of Steve Rogers Blushes.  “Well, Becca won’t visit, but that’s mostly because of the train ride,” Bucky says. “Jersey City,” Steve muses with a shudder. “How could she?” Bucky shrugs. “You know. Kids.” Steve shudders again. “Still, I don’t know how you’d entertain guests like this.” “Well, you’re here. Not too late to stay at the Midtown Hilton Garden Inn with the rest of the army field band if my lifestyle is too horrible to bear.” Steve wrinkles his nose at Midtown. Then takes a sip of bourbon. Then, very casually asks from around the rim of his glass, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

Happy Friday, hope you have some fun plans ahead this weekend <3

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

What story is up next 🤞 visited on the son

lol it is visited on the son. I was working on it last night actually. These last few weeks of writing Military Brat prompts and au concepts has been a lot of fun but I’m ready to get back to my fics. I’ll do this again after the next chapter of Mama’s boy. I’ll start with the Blood Brothers request I have then go from there with whatever comes up in the meantime.

I do have a very lofty goal of finishing this chapter of Visited by Halloween but I’m not sure that’ll actually happen. I have this goal because I had the idea of Quaritch telling Spider about earth holidays and since on earth Halloween is coming up they decided to celebrate on Pandora. This would mean the recoms would have to make candy for Spider, Quaritch would help him make his costume and then everyone on base would be bullied by Quaritch into participate in trick or treat. And of course Spider would tell his friends so Kiri, Lo’ak and Neteyam would participate too. I’m just totally in autumn/halloween mode right now so ideas like this are really on my mind. Like I said I have no clue if I’ll actually be able to get this chapter out by Halloween. I’m leaning towards writing this concept as a bonus one shot and posting it here on Halloween. But we’ll see how everything shakes out.

Here’s a little snippet in the meantime

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The music pounded through the jungle, the villagers dancing to the beat around roaring fires. The savory scents of roasting meat wafted through the air making Spider’s mouth water. He wanted to race to the feast table to get his fill but he hung back. He knew he’d only be hissed at if he took his portion before the rest of the village. Instead he sat on the sidelines watching the celebration of life, feeling an emptiness in his chest. “Spider,” Kiri screeched, running up to him, Lo’ak and Neteyam trailing after her. In her hands were two plates piled high with food. She plopped down beside Spider and handed him one. Kiri grinned at him, “this party’s fun isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Spider half heartedly agreed. It looked fun for sure.

“Where’s your Sempu,” Neteyam asked, taking a seat.

“Over there,” Spider pointed to his father and his team awkwardly standing on the edge of the festivities. Sempu stoically watched. A few of his friends moved to the music as if they were embarrassed to actually dance. “Jake said if they tried to join the party then one of Ro’awn’s sons might pull a knife on them. Sempu said I could go have fun but everyone seemed angry with me…”

“They just have sticks up their butts!”

“Kiri,” Neteyam huffed, shocked at his sister. Lo’ak giggled.

“Well they do! Spider is the funest person I know. If they won’t let you join the party then we’ll have a party right here!”

“Yeah!” Lo’ak cheered.

Spider smiled, the emptiness he’d felt only moments before, being replaced by warmth. “So what are we going to do first,” Spider asked, turning to Kiri.

“First we feast!” Kiri held her cup high in the air, “and then we dance!” The boys all held their cup up, then they all drank as one. After enjoying their meal they danced themselves silly, spinning in circles until they were dizzy, jumping to the rhythm, racing around each other. After hours the children finally tired, collapsing to the ground, sweating, breathless, and ecstatic.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’ve been listening, for the last little while, to a few new Stewart Lee things. Some new versions of things I’d heard before, some things I hadn’t heard. It’s reminded me, among other things, that I think If You Prefer a Milder Comedian is my favourite of his stuff from his back catalogue (as in, pre-Snowflake/Tornado – Snowflake/Tornado are both very good but they feel different enough from his other stuff in some ways that it’s hard to compare them, also I think my actual favourite show he’s done may be his current one), and I would like to deeply apologize to Mark Watson for that. I really would. What did Mark Watson ever do to you, Stewart? It’s only fucking cider.

But God, that Richard Hammond routine is gold. The fucking patience. The discipline to go through that entire long story with jittery little laughs but so few proper punchlines, knowing that if you play the whole thing straight, you’ll get like 10 punchlines worth of laughs from one line at the end that recontextualizes the whole thing. And I find it so funny that I won’t even go into more detail than that, to avoid spoilers if anyone reading this is interested in Stewart Lee but hasn’t heard his stuff. I’d recommend starting with If You Prefer a Milder Comedian. I mean, obviously I’d recommend starting from the earliest thing by him you can find and working your way forward in chronological order, because that’s what I recommend doing with everything. But if you want to start with “this is a really good one, if you don’t like this then you won’t like him at all”, that’s probably it. Though if you’re willing to dedicate a little more time, Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle isn’t a bad starting point. Gives you little snippets of his routines from across a bunch of years. Certainly gives you an idea of the sort of thing he does, and when I first started on his stuff, it took me a while to work that out.

I usually wouldn’t post anything from bootleg recordings on here, and even try to avoid referring to them too much, but Stewart Lee doesn’t seem to mind recordings of his old stuff being out there, as there are a bunch of them on YouTube. I can’t be blamed for just linking to stuff that’s on YouTube. Also, this show is on DVD, so it’s not like he didn’t want it out there. I saw the DVD last year and really enjoyed it, but the thing I listened to yesterday and today is this bootleg from the 2009 Edinburgh Fringe Festival. And I do recommend listening to that one, if you’re interested. It’s almost exactly the same material as what’s on the DVD, but I think I liked it a bit better in this one. It feels a little more relaxed than the big DVD recording.

I have to admit, I don’t like that show despite the Mark Watson routine. The Mark Watson routine is very well done. I’m so sorry, Mark. He didn’t do anything to you, Stewart! He’s like the most innocuous person in the world. Leave him alone. But it was a good routine. And I have to admit that “a little Welsh bloke” is a funny thing to call Mark Watson. That was weird, Mark, he’s got you dead to rights on that. I mean, I don’t understand how anyone could be even the tiniest bit mean to a pure soul like Mark Watson and then ever sleep at night again, but the Welsh accent thing was weird, it’s fair enough to point that out. This paragraph has oscillated wildly between second person aimed at Stewart Lee, second person aimed at Mark Watson, and third person, which I believe accurately reflects my mixed feelings. It’s okay. I’ve found a way to justify liking Frankie Boyle despite what he did to Mark Watson, and that was far worse.

Also, it’s not really a routine about Mark Watson, he’s fairly incidental to it. It’s a routine about corporate soullessness, and it’s really good. Lots of comedians end their Edinburgh shows one some sort of finale with a meaningful message in it, when they take a break from jokes to do the meaningful bit but then throw in one or two jokes about it at the very end so it’s still a comedy show, and I’m not knocking that way of doing things, I enjoy shows like that. But pretty impressive that Stewart Lee got in a genuinely meaningful thing at the end without ever taking even a brief break from being funny. As far as I can tell most of his Edinburgh shows end with something like that, but I think this one does it the best.

Also, I don’t know if the song at the end was controversial or anything (he ends by singing some of Steve Earle’s Galway Girl), it’s certainly a risky choice and I’d understand if a comedy fan didn’t like it, it’s kind of cheesy and very self-indulgent and rather crowbarred in. When I saw it on the DVD, I thought it was kind of nice, but also a bit incongruent, I wasn’t sure it really worked. Hearing it on the bootleg of the Edinburgh show, in the smaller room (you can’t even see the room, but you can feel the atmosphere through the audio), makes me like it much better. Some genuine emotional resonance in there, possibly just because it’s not mitigated by the awkwardness of actually seeing him do it, like it was on the DVD.

I don’t remember noticing this all that much when I heard the song on the DVD, but on that recording from Edinburgh, it really struck me that he can sing quite well. It helped that I also have good memories associated with that song; the first time I heard it was when I saw Steve Earle live at a folk festival as a kid, it was 10 PM and a perfect night and we were under the stars and I spent the duration of that set figuring out (correctly, it would transpire as I proceeded to listen to all his albums over the next few weeks and then continue listening to them for years) that I’d just added a new person to my list of favourite singers. So he said he was doing that song to preserve good memories associated with it, and I happen to have those memories just ready to be evoked. But aside from that, he’s got a surprisingly good voice. I’d pay for a whole album of Stewart Lee doing Steve Earle covers.

It was a bit weird, how I listened to the whole show. I started the recording yesterday, then paused it while doing other things, picked it back up today. I paused it a bit before the end to make breakfast this morning, and while I was making breakfast, I opened Chortle. Which is something I do fairly often, because even though it’s not the best website (I think I’m honestly more impressed than annoyed that they can get away with so many spelling mistakes as a professional website, yes I realize my Tumblr blog is also full of spelling mistakes, but it wouldn’t be if someone paid me to write this shit), it’s a decent way to keep up with major things happening in British comedy. So I listened a part near the end of that recording, in which Stewart Lee tells a sweet story about why this song Galway Girl makes him think of his wife, then I opened Chortle and read this, then I listened to the song. Bit weird, to do it that way.

I always hesitate to write anything on this blog that acknowledges that Stewart Lee and Bridget Christie have ever met each other, because I get the impression that she’s so averse to that being a matter of public discussion. She went on Isy Suttie’s podcast a few years ago (enough years ago so she’d have still been with her husband, even if they’ve now been separated for a couple of years), which was called The Things We Do For Love, and was for talking about romantic relationships. Guests on there who had no partner only talked about their romantic history; guests who did have a partner talked about their history but also about their current partner a lot. At the end, Isy asked them all a series of questions – guests with a partner got questions about their partner, and guests who were single got questions about themselves. Except Bridget Christie. Bridget Christie spent the entire episode talking about her youth when she hung out with motorcycle riders and dated various guys, did not reference Stewart Lee once, and at the end, got questions about herself. She must have asked Isy to do that, it had to be deliberate.

She explains her reason in something that was quoted in that article: “My story isn’t my story any more. It’s become Stewart Lee’s story. My audience aren’t laughing at my skilfully constructed routine, they’re laughing at the idea of the comedian Stewart Lee putting the bins out. So it’s slightly more problematic for me to do relationship stuff than it would be if I was married to a bin.”

She explains it a bit more succinctly in the TV show Alternative Comedy Experience, where they show clips of various comedians doing stand-up, cut with clips of them talking to Stewart Lee backstage. There were a lot of bits where he talked to Bridget Christie, but none where they acknowledged their relationship until the very end; he just asked her about her work and she talked about her work, which I think was the right way to do it, treat her as a professional comedian the same way you’d treat the others. But in her very last scene, he asked her how she feels about how some people might just dismissively know her as “that feminist comedian”, and he replied, “It’s better than being known as Stewart Lee’s wife,” and then it faded to black and the episode ended.

I can understand that, it seems like good reasoning to want to avoid talking about it, even aside from just a basic desire for privacy in a relationship. I sort of feel like it’s slightly more acceptable for me to mention it here, in a post about him, than it would be in a post about her. I’m taking time away from a post about Stewart Lee to also talk about Bridget Christie, which feels less bad than taking time away from a post about Bridget Christie to also talk about Stewart Lee. Because Stewart Lee is not, in general, in danger of being relegated to just “Bridget Christie’s husband”. Except in the eyes of my mother, whom I showed Christie’s Stand-Up For Her show earlier this year, and the next day she heard me mention Stewart Lee and asked who he is, and I said he’s married to that woman we watched last night, so she does know him as Bridget Christie’s husband.

I almost said I have no comment on the actual issue of their separation, because it’s very much not my business, but actually I have one: a fair bit of that article is about how she recently wrote her sitcom The Change and they were worried people would think the terrible husband is based on Stewart Lee. I watched that sitcom when it came out recently, and it never occurred to me that he might be based on Stewart Lee, it’s clearly not directly analogous to her own life because it’s a story of a woman separating from her husband, and Bridget Christie hasn’t done that. Except apparently she has, and would have been doing so while writing that show. So… yeah, I can see why an article would mention it.

Also, the last paragraph’s a bit weird: “Lee’s statement last night was volunteered out of the blue, with the request we share it, and was not in response to any story Chortle was planning.” What, did he get drunk or something? I mean, I've done some impulsive stuff while drunk, but I've never emailed Chortle.co.uk to update them on my relationship status with a request that they tell the world.

I meant to write about a couple of other Stewart Lee things in this post, but it's gone in a different direction, I think I'll save those for another post. The point is that If You Prefer a Milder Comedian Please Ask for One is a very good show, a recording from a comedy club in Edinburgh is nicer than the one in a bigger room that's been edited for a DVD (it's becoming a problem, I've enjoyed so many bootlegs lately that DVDs and streaming specials are starting to feel over-produced by comparison), celebrity breakups are none of my business, but there is a particular sense of melancholy to reading about a quite high-profile one of those, and then immediately listening to a recording from 14 years ago of that guy very sensitively and sincerely singing a song that reminds him of his wife.

[stellaestra]

how would stray kids interact with mc in high school if they ever met? // high school au headcanons [stray kids/reader]

pairing: skz hyung line + mc [reader]

description: who would mc interact with in high school if they ever met? what kind of interactions would they have? // bulletpoints headcanons + small snippets

genre: platonic, high school au, friendship, humour, hurt/comfort

author’s note: this could be a stand alone or not, the mc is the same bodyguard/intern au!mc...it's just a "what ifs" kinda thing, fellas

p.s. some of the scenarios are based off real life events that happened to me in high school but i overly exaggerated some of them for the shit and giggles,, tell me which event actually happened to me in the askbox lmao I'm curious

pls I'm funny i swear

cw: minor swearing, just teenagers being teenagers, idiots, mention of blood (?) uhh mentions of violence (??)

unedited

// no beta read, we’ll die like men

---

bang chan

mc is a '00 liner,

she doesn't interact with her seniors pt.1

to interact with them; it would have to be a school event or a collab project between the seniors and the juniors

possibly would be approached first by chan during sports day or a school festival for something

he thought that she's a pretty decent track runner when he saw sprint during the sports day track event

after that incident, chan would greet her in the hallways or wherever if he ever comes across her

mc would always awkwardly greet him back

“hey! you’re that really fast track runner, you did great that day!” chan complimented her in the hallways. out loud.

mc prays to whoever above there that chan would stop talking so loud as she could feel her face burn when she felt eyes on her.

cue to her awkwardly smiling at him and nodding, “yep, that’s me, yes, alright, senior chan.”

chan finds her adorable ever since that first few encounters

he also found out that she hangs out with felix just as much as he does

(love rivals (for felix) arc when)

he doesn’t know who to be envious of

that mc gets to spend so much time with lix or

felix being able to spend so much time with her

the never-ending saga

(love rivals (for felix) arc turned into possible rivals to friends arc)

(okay, im joking)

their respective friends group made a running joke

about how chan and mc are love rivals for felix

(it eventually became theirs as well)

(it's funny)

once he made her go off-tangent about felix

she was really passionate about his freckles and smile

for a moment

he really did think that she has a crush on him

no surprises there tho

felix IS absolutely cute

(friends arc?? omg, all for felix, HA)

he really really finds her adorable

he could go on for days

esp her little habit of covering her mouth when she speaks

sweater paws bc he almost always sees her with a jacket on even if it was a hot day

it's like a second skin on her

he once asked her if she ever removes her jacket

“only when im on school ground or during school events like assembly, i’ll take it off, senior chan.”

“eh? don’t you feel warm underneath that during a hot day?”

“...i do remove it sometimes, i guess...but i like wearing it bc it’s comforting.”

one time chan saw her without her jacket and wears short-sleeves uniform, he really wanted to shower her in his affections n also it’s such a rare sight that he almost couldnt recognized her

“haha hey, you didn’t wore your jacket today!”

“they’re in the laundry and...today’s a hot day...unfortunately, haah.”

he once tried to ruffle her hair but found her dodging his hand so fast at breakneck speed

that he was kinda concerned

she told him that her hair hasn't been washed yet so it's dirty

but the thing is: she told him every time he tried to ruffle her hair

“you’re not letting me pat your head on purpose.”

“senior chan, i wouldn’t do such a thing.” he noticed the little teasing smile before it disappeared.

he wondered briefly if she has always been this playful and cheeky with others her age

chan is aware that she speaks formally towards him out of habit though so he lets it slide and let her take her time growing comfortable with him.

he knew she was lying but let's her be anyway

bc she's his cute little junior

---

lee minho

another case of mc's "no seniors juniors interaction"

minho’s very attractive so mc will definitely avoid him at all cost

plus, he looks intimidating to her so bye bye

to not step on any of her classmates' landmines that has the hots for him

drama isn't her thing, she already witness a handful and even got thrown into the fire as fuel before

no thank you she liked having her life in high school as peaceful as possible

mc would make her conversations with him very short n blunt

she's not gonna catch anyone's hands today, my dudes

really, she doesn’t

minho thinks of her like a small kitten that needs to be taken care of

bc of how she always scutters away from chan whenever he’s with him

if they ever interact

it would be when the juniors have the collab with their seniors

like a science fair, where the students have to come up with things to showcase

his class coincidentally collabs with her class for that particular event

he told chan about it and he have never seen chan pout and deflate like that

the only person he does that to is felix...if not, it’s jeongin.

chan sure adores this little junior other than felix huh…

then again, felix and mc does hangout a lot and so does jisung and her

so he took this chance as to know more abt her

coughs because jisung seems to be talking a lot about her coughs

(minho + mc love rivals (for jisung) arc pt. 2 when)

(mc really about to fight 2 seniors because she's stealing their respective juniors huh)

(the never-ending saga of love rivals)

he approached her inside that shared classroom for the collab event

she looked constipated when he approached her group of friends

even more so when he directly asked for name and whatnot

it kinda made him want to tease her even more now

he found out her name and what they were planning to do

heard her cursing under her breath

he decided to join their group on the whim

found out that mc is just a little shy whenever he approached her

her friends are somewhat protective of her

he got glared at by one of them once when he wanted to greet mc in the hallways

and mc kind of hid half of herself behind them

so whenever she’s on her own, he would try to approach her as slowly as possible

like. dealing with a cat and you’re a stranger trying to gain their trust

what he never will forget nor stop teasing her was about

her spinning on her heels to walk into the direction she was previously coming from

just to avoid him

he couldn't help but find it hilarious

he won her over when he brings the topic of cats wandering around their school campus

saw how her eyes lit up brightly

“the stray cats here are fun to play with, right?”

“yeah, me and friends decided to name a few of them too!”

he mentioned it to her because he saw her playing with the cats when she was waiting for someone or when she has time to play with them during recess

and the ramblings of a high schooler about cats commences

he wasn’t bothered about how much she talked

would nod along with what she says

because wow, shes really passionate about cats

that's a huge bonus for minho

and that was how minho adopted another kitten

whenever they weren’t busy with their own things, they would play with the cats together

playdate with cats <3

she would tell him that one particular grey cat was called

“this cat’s name is miss universe! they’re so cute, right?” she picked the cat up and cuddle with it, eyes sparkling with joy

“why did you guys name them that?”

“because why not?”

“fair enough point.”

and she laughs

he was glad that she stopped being so cautious around him if he was being honest

since the way chan was talking about her so affectionately made him really curious about her

casually mentions that jisung talks about her a lot

expected her to be bashful about it

but all she does was

“oh, cool, what did he say? I’m a weeb? Hah, he’s the same as I am” + "he should've said to it my face, senior minho, hmph"

so making her flustered backfired on him

poor minho

here’s your “you tried” star

mwah

so yeah, minho adopted a new cat (his little junior)

---

seo changbin

same case as the two above, unfortunately

if they do ever interact, it's short and pleasantries

mc does kinda find him intimidating to certain extent

she's not good with dealing with intimidating looking people

but when he smiles, her shoulders feel less tense when she interacts with him

thinks of him as a pretty cool senior

he made her listen to his rap once n she told him that he's so cool n that stuck with him for days

imagine a junior telling you that you're so cool with that starry-eyed expression

your ego would go off the rooftop

after that, changbin would make it out of his way to greet her in the hallways

RAP MUSIC BUDDIES???? POTENTIAL

pat her on the head occasionally

if she doesn't dodge like hell away from his hands

“why do you keep avoiding them”

“no, don’t pat me, you’re treating me like a cat”

“I’m not?” lies, ever since minho told him that she reminds him of a cat, he really thought about it more

“you have that same look minho gives me when he tries to pat me…hyung…”

“we’re really going to make you call us oppa one day, watch us”

“um, yeah, no.”

“let your cute senior pat your head!!”

“im gonna run away!”

he knows that the younger ones in their friend group do interact with her

esp felix and jisung

for innie’s circumstances, that’s different

she does comes to him every once in awhile to abuse her title of his cute little junior to get a chance to listen to a teaser of his raps or songs he composes

found out that she does like rap songs! a lot more than he thought

they became those friends who shares new songs they found out and share it with each other

even at ungodly hours like 2am in the morning

that would not stop them

“this song reminds me of you”

“hey hey hey listen to this, psst”

“This shit SLAPS, go listen or else im gonna fight you in the school hallway, coward”

he became smug about it and boast about his knowledge to 3racha

jisung complained that he thought she only listened to anime songs or soft indie songs because he saw her playlists before

changbin told them that she has other playlists that’s for more “intense and aggressive” songs

they were floored and the conversation starts like this,

“what do you mean she likes listening to yours and ours music and raps?”

“im not kidding, she does! she even showed me her playlists that were filled with rap, rock and metal songs!!”

“my little mc? likes those songs? are you sure you’re not dreaming?”

“it’s a public playlist, i even followed her playlists”

“If you’re wrong, hyung, im really gonna fight you on this! bc I KNOW her first”

“doesn’t mean that you know her BETTER”

lots of petty bickerings

chan and jisung has a big revelation about mc that day at school

(there goes mc’s little rep within their group of friends)

he did warned them to not tell her that he told them about it and

that they actually are aware of her music taste

or else

she tried to rap really fast one time, trying to rap like how he does

he had to witness her biting her tongue live

changbin would never think someone like her would have

such a vulgar language

every profanity he knows came out of her mouth

he quickly got her something to soothe her wounded tongue

after fretting over her though, he started teasing her

relentlessly

she threatened to sue him

"I'll sue you"

"with what money?"

"my 2 fucking dollars lunch money!"

"that's not enough to pay anything, not even your attorney!"

"fight me!"

he’s that older brother figure that mc would come to whenever she has no one to tell her woes to

their relationship turned out to have lots of playful banters and teasings

he gives very comforting hugs and pats

mc doesn’t want to admit it tho

well, until, changbin caught her snuggling into his hugs one fine day

“admit it, you like them, you like my hugs”

“okay, fine, i DO like them, they’re great hugs, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I KNEW IT”

“You’re so loud, shut up, hyung!”

“OH MY GOD, YOU FINALLY ADMIT TO IT, IM GONNA TELL THE WORLD-KSDFNKSDNF-”

"FUCK- I SAID, SHUSH"

rip in peace, changbin

he didn’t expect someone like her would have so much strength to smother his mouth with her hand and shut it

the more you know

curiousity killed the cat????

---

hwang hyunjin

avoidance at all cost (pt.2) despite being in the same year

why? exhibit a: he's considered very attractive in her year and that her classmates n batch mates have crushes on him

coughs one of the school princes coughs

their batch year prince

she's really gonna swerve away from him

interactions will be kept at a bare minimum

one time hyunjin n some others wanted to borrow a textbook from their class because they have forgotten theirs n he chose hers

she could feel cold sweat forming as she feels the death stare of some of her classmates

that gta [wasted] sfx whenever ur character dies

yeah that's mc

that was probably the last time she would even think about it

when he returned it back to her, he smiled at her, the really cute eye smile and she felt like she made the target on her back bigger lol

goodbye mc you've lived a good life

your friends will definitely will play never gonna give you up during your funeral (it's a promise)

jokes aside

hyunjin would probably noticed the panicked look in her eyes and wondered why

since his friends like felix and...jisung...and seungmin are like on good terms with her

he probably wondered about it a lot

borderlines on overthinking since both felix and jisung are particularly close to her

so she should know that he’s friends with them

ever since that encounter, it would come across his head whenever he saw her hanging out freely with felix or jisung or both of them

or when he come across her in the hallways

sometimes he wants to greet her but it feels like it would scare her away

esp when she looks ready to run into the opposite direction

if he ever made eye contact with her

so his plan to befriend mc has started

tried to join into the trio hangout; jisung, felix and mc

mc never did protest his presence like at all

but does occasionally look stiff when he's near her

eventually shes comfortable enough with him

but not enough to actually hang out with him alone though

that thought kind of made him feel envious towards the other boys

and a little left out

as a teenager, he has too many emotions to handle so

jisung and felilx caught the idea and told him to let her

take her time because she kinda. shy. (???)

that didn't stop him from mulling over it tho sometimes

one day he found her waiting at the bus stop

it was in the evening, she was still in her school uniform

he was kinda on an errand run too

kinda didn’t want to sit on the same bench as her

afraid that she might run away

she noticed him standing there eventually albeit very anxiously and kinda awkward

a casual greeting slipped past her lips which shocked hyunjin to his very core

he splutters back a reply

“on an errand run, errand boy?"

"huh?"

“uh, um, pretend that i didn’t say anything.”

“right, sure, but may i sit next to you, the bus seemed to be late and my legs are kinda tired.”

“oh, uh, yeah, sure, but you didn’t have to ask, y’know?”

“well, didn’t wanna scare you off…"

“it’s nothing personal, if that’s what you’re worried about,” + “it’s just. didn’t wanna step on a landmine and the girls in our batch seemed to adore you a lot and me being close to you might set off the wrong signal…?”

“that’s absurd, you’re...being unreasonable..i mean, its none of their business-!”

“i know, im sorry, my bad, it’s not your fault either, it’s not anyone’s fault, to be honest.”

for a moment, he found her reasoning to be petty and unreasonable until it finally clicks inside her head, from her point of view when he really thought it through.

“...no wait, im sorry, i think, i kinda get why when i really thought about it.”

“yeah, it’s no biggie, don’t worry, im sorry too, we’ll both get over it”

“...um, we’re friends, right?”

“...i suppose so, if you dont mind, dummy.”

a giddy smile crossed his face while mc struggles to not stare at him looking so cute like that as she coughs into her hand, avoiding eye-contact

pretty boys have too much power in their hands

and she’s one of their fallen victims towards their charms

this isn’t fair for her heart

so when the bus arrived

they sat beside each other on the bus

hyunjin did most of the chattering while mc listens

he was so glad he cleared smth up with her

if she allows it, he would definitely tried to hug her

until he remembers that one time changbin told him he almost got punch in the face by her

when he tried doing it the first time and startled her

yeah no not now

maybe sometime in the near future, a long-awaited hug would be great

(if he was honest tho, he really wanted to cry when she told him the truth)

(it felt like a heartache)

but it’s okay now though

they’re friends now (somewhat) and that’s all that matters

---

[masterlist]

[rebellconquerer]

“It’s really not that complicated.”

For Sarah and Sam

Another prompt fill. Will be crossposted to AO3. And to the anon that sent in the request today, yes! My inbox is still and always open for more.

Sarah sighs to herself, digging even further into the bottom of her bag. She knows she has it somewhere. It lives in her handbag during the summer for just this reason.

“Hey mom, can we go into Crescent City Comic? Please?” AJ asks from somewhere along her right side.

She knows the damn fan is in there. Lipstick, chapstick, book, ah! She pulls her hand out and gives a frustrated huff. Old papers, still not the fan.

“Mom?”

“Huh? Um, yeah, sure. Don’t wander off from there though, you hear me? You either stay there or come right back,” she’s all but yelling at his retreating back as he runs the half block towards the store, holding his brother’s hand and dodging in between the crowd of people on the streets.

Sarah shakes her head smiling to herself as her hand finally, mercifully brushes against her fan. She lets out a small sound of success as she pulls it out of the bag, unhooks it and starts fanning herself. The gentle wind, even if it is as muggy as the rest of the mid morning heat, is a welcome reprieve. She turns back to the vendors lining the street, fanning herself slowly as she surveys the various bits of jewelry on display, in the market for a new set of earrings perhaps.

She’d all but dragged the lot of them out to the La Gente music and street festival in the Lower Garden this morning. Sam and Bucky had come back from their last trek to DC almost a day ago in a foul mood. She isn’t exactly sure what happened but from what she has gathered they had a mission go bad, monumentally so, and when they came back there had been insinuations that it was because Jame- Bucky was leaking information, like a double agent or whatever. Utterly ridiculous. Sam said Bucky responded very calmly to the allegation. Sam had not.

It had kind of surprised her that Bucky had come back with Sam in the first place. She’s gotten more used to him being around but it tends to be for a specific event or before they go out for work, not after. But even with her limited knowledge of him, just looking at him when they arrived Sarah could tell he was… upset. Something about the calmness and stillness he carried in his frame that was just… not right. Her brother had done the right thing bringing him home and she’s kinda glad Bucky had let himself be brought back to Louisiana.

She shakes her head, moving away from the stall, she should probably not have him on her mind as much as she does but… there is just something about him, something behind his eyes that tells you there is so much more going on than just what you see.

‘And there is a lot to see’ a voice that sounds suspiciously like her best friend’s whispers in the back of her head, so of course, that’s when she notices him across the street.

He’s standing by three ancient-looking old men and one very smitten looking teenager. Sarah laughs, she can’t blame the teen. James wears henleys very well and this dark grey one is no exception. Plus he has the buttons around the neck unbuttoned just enough so that you can see a glint of his dog tags when he moves… yeah, Sarah pities the poor girl.

Sarah very deliberately does not go to him (she’s an adult, she does not get crushes on her big brother’s friends anymore) and heads to the fruit stall next to where he’s standing. She catches a little snippet of the conversation before the band starts up and has to ignore the little flip her heart does because he’s speaking fluent Spanish to his old people group and the words sound mouth-watering on his tongue.

She shakes her head a little violently, returning her focus to picking out ripe fruits. She is not interested.

Guajira, I love you too much

Guajira, I love you too much

“What you up to, sis?” Sam asks, out of nowhere. Only years of being a mother to tiny humans with quiet steps keep her from jumping.

“What does it look like, smart ass?” she replies, yelling just a bit to be heard over the band.

Sam frowns as he watches her pick out mangoes. “I don’t like mangoes,” he tells her like she doesn’t already know.

“These aren’t for you. AJ loves them, as does Cass. And I cook with them sometimes.” she says, picking out four and twirling the bag closed, the beat of the music is infectious as she begins to sway.

“Then why not get more?” Sam asks, poking at the nearest, clearly unripe mango. He’s such a child.

“They are almost 5 dollars for one. Too expensive.”

Sam scoffs. “Everything is negotiable.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. Her brother always thinks he knows best. This wasn’t a pop-up. She knew this stand. “Mr Gonzalez would negotiate, but his daughter, Benita, is a hard ass. I’ve never gotten her to sell anything for a cent less than advertised.” Sarah finishes pointing at the woman in question.

Oye Guajira, so nice to meet ya

Next time I see ya, we gon’ roll some reefer

Sam does a little salsa two-step and a spin, grabbing her bag of mangoes from her hand. “Let’s see shall we?” he says, plastering on a ridiculous smile and walking into the store.

Sarah huffs out a laugh crossing her arms as she watches Sam sidle up to Benita.

“Why does he look like he’s up to something?” Jam- Bucky asks from beside her. She doesn’t look over at him.

“That’s how he always looks, his face has been stuck like that since we were kids. I told him it would happen,” she mutters mostly to get a laugh out of James. It works, the sound sending a pleasant warmth rolling down her spine.

She risks a glance over at him, and with the smile on his face, it’s dangerous.

“You left your friends behind? Are they all actually your age?” she asks, gesturing to his little old people group still standing a ways behind them with her chin.

He glances over his shoulder at them. “Hey it’s not my fault no one in the younger age group seems to know anything about baseball,” he replies. “Gotta take good conversation where I can get it.”

“Oh it must be so hard for you, poor baby.” she teases.

His eyes meet hers with a small smirk “Easier when I’m with you.” he replies lightly.

Sarah’s grin widens as she tries not to let him get to her head.

“Quite the silver tongue James- sorry. I mean Bucky!” She corrects almost immediately, feeling her face heat up. God, she can’t even get his name right, she clearly shouldn’t be flirting with him.

But he only laughs.

“You always seem to prefer James,” he states with a hint of question in his tone.

She shrugs, the embarrassment still making her feel a little off-kilter. “It’s a nice name, but I know you prefer Bucky.”

His smile gets real. “No one’s really called me James outside of my family, and that was a long time ago,” he says, eyes going distant and unfocused for a minute before he looks back over at her. “But if you like James, you should call me that.”

She has never been more grateful for her dark complexion and inability to turn red as she is at this moment. “No- no I couldn’t. You prefer Bu-”

“It sounds good coming from you. I like it,” he says with finality, that life-altering, heart-stopping smirk back on his face and honestly what can she do but smile back at him?

Brother, it’s true, no doubt she’s flawless

Her love’s a drug, she was getting me yo

“I told you, I’d get it done. Does your big brother keep his promises or what?” Sam says, interrupting their gazing and their smiling.

She looks over to him, pushing the dazed smile off her face.

“4 mangoes for ten dollars, a permanent 10% off produce for the restaurant and-” Sam says, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket with a flourish. “Her number.”

Sarah stares in astonishment. “How the hell did you do that, Sam?”

He shrugs, lips twitching as he fights the smile forcing its way onto his face. “It’s really not that complicated, Sarah. I am very good looking,” he says, finally giving in to that gap-toothed smile.

Both her and James groan dramatically, turning to walk away from him.

“Great, he’ll be insufferable now.” James whispers, ducking in close to her, his proximity dizzying.

She laughs as Sam overtakes them, salsa-ing ridiculously by himself as he walks in front of them and singing along with the band.

“Guajira, I love you too much”

[faebriel]

ok ok I'm insane and couldn't pick one so have two (no need to answer both if you don't want to)

“You talk to him.” Not kindly, but he does.

“I’m used to him,” he shoots back. “I’m the only person who is.”

That makes Niki feel something, some uncomfortable tug in her chest. She mentally kicks herself. It’s not jealousy, she reminds herself, because despite the near-cliff jumping and the long nights without food and the nuclear fallout that has punctuated her last few months, being jealous of Tommy would be the least reasonable thing she’s allowed herself to be, maybe ever.

“You don’t believe me,” Tommy says flatly. “You never - eugh.” He cuts himself off with another ragged sigh, running a hand down his face. “Look, Niki, it’s - we were all together in Pogtopia, right? But I was there first. With him. And you didn’t see the start of it, it was horrible, and I’m glad no one else saw the beginning of it either but it was still just so shit and he kept saying all these terrible things about Tubbo and Fundy and you and,” he takes a shaky breath, “then, when I died, I saw him.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

Well, the voice in the back of her head whistles. If you were still wondering about all this afterlife bullshit, if you want to know where you’re going after your third life, here you go.

and

“You didn’t even - this isn’t about L’Manberg, Wilbur!” Niki shouts.

And then he stops, breathing hard, and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say.

“What else is there?” he asks.

Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, chilled down to the bone. With slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes, sitting in her throat, threatening to spill over into a sob. She swallows - to keep her cool, to stay calm, to keep it together -

And then, something in her chest just snaps.

“You said you’d come back for me!” she cries, and her voice hitches on the lump of tears at the back of her throat and god, she sounds absolutely pathetic. Wilbur’s face softens immediately, which somehow just makes her feel even worse. “In Manberg. When Schlatt put me in prison, and you and Tommy were in Pogtopia, you said you’d break me out when it was safe. I waited for weeks , Wilbur. It was… it was horrible.”

“Niki…” a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face, and he seems unsure which to settle on. “We got you out though, right? After the festival.”

“You looked for the button first,” she says quietly, and he stills.

Her sniffling sounds embarrassingly loud against the quiet background of night.

thank you sm!!! i’m gonna put these under the cut because they got a little long sorry (tw for discussion of suicidal ideation)

to preface: tommy is kind of the accidental but incredibly necessary invisible support beam for niki and wilbur’s making amends in bitter. niki cannot accept wilbur’s actions and apology without first acknowledging her own actions and making steps towards an apology, because otherwise it kind of falls flat? in that ending scene niki finally gets what wilbur is feeling and wilbur finally gets that someone else knows how he feels (it’s not perfect 100% yet, but…. that’ll get explored later)

onto the actual snippet! “tommy talks to wilbur - not kindly, but he does” was very important to me! tommy has stuck by wilbur ever since pogtopia, but the tragedy is that he is not equipped to deal with wilbur’s issues, and it shows. wilbur’s first stream after revival depicts this really clearly, where tommy tails wilbur around the whole time but insults him, is still stuck on calling him the villain, physically fights him at some point, etc. on one hand this isn’t healthy but on the other hand tommy is actually around, which is more than can be said for basically any other ally wilbur has had on the dsmp, maybe excluding his dad, who literally killed him lmfao.

this whole issue is exacerbated by the fact that tommy believes that he is the only person who properly understands wilbur, the only person who gets what happened to him, and feels like wilbur is generally his burden to bear. he failed to stop wilbur from both 1. hurting other people and 2. killing himself after the pogtopia-manberg war - and he doesn’t trust wilbur not to do either of those things again, so he’s stuck hovering around wilbur while wilbur is inadvertently setting off his own trauma and feeling responsible for any way he might fuck up and hating that but not wanting to leave. tommy’s memory isn’t perfect and he isn’t a perfect narrator, what he remembers from pogtopia the most were the scariest parts and that’s understandable but it means he’s holding wilbur to the worst expectations of behaviour (and he does so very vocally). the others showed up later, sure, but in tommy’s eyes he’s the only one who saw wilbur’s descent, and by the time they showed up wilbur had already changed irreversably. tommy tries to rationalise this by splitting the ‘different wilburs’ apart from each other in his head (he does this in canon too - there’s one quote from like late 2020 where he says he and tubbo need to keep on going for who wilbur used to be, not who he became, even though they’re,, the same person), and no one challenges that perspective, so he just keeps doing it even though it’s not healthy for him or wilbur.

and then limbo happened and, oh geez, THAT didn’t help jhfaskjjfsa

tommy is on a bit of a knife edge with niki in this fic. niki’s in this state of “ok, he’s annoying whatever, i’m moving on”, but all tommy knows is that she tried to kill him that one time, disappeared off the face of the map, joined a book club with two people who definitely do not like him, and now is just acting weirdly mellow and polite. she is not someone he wants near wilbur bc what the fuck is she gonna do? what is he gonna do? who knows. he’s frustrated that niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge how he’s feeling (especially bc once upon a time she would have been someone he trusted to acknowledge them - they were friends, they fought together) and he’s taking a big step by telling someone about his concerns here, especially bc tommy doesn’t really like talking about them at all. he wouldn’t be saying absolutely anything to niki if he didn’t truly believe she should stay away from wilbur, even if he’s wrong about him. (sometimes i think i write tommy as a little too emotionally mature here but it all goes out the window when wilbur’s brought up. idk if that balances it out)

ok onto niki: this is the first she has actually heard of limbo! she’s only just come around to the fact that resurrection is possible at all. death is kind of a touchy subject for niki both in general and re: wilbur in the fic - she’s coming off of a period in her life where suicidal ideation was, uh, a big thing (whether you want to read that into canon or not is subjective, that’s just the angle i went with in this fic). the sudden existence of a life after death, miserable as it is - and whether she really believes in such a place, when it only exists in tommy and wilbur’s words - that is a lot of information for her to absorb all at once. death is a weird connection point for tommy and niki here, coming right off of the fact that they’ve just acknowledged each other having those problems - tommy, out of, yknow, altruism, would very much like to keep niki out of that place, and niki is quietly reckoning with the fact that that is where she would have sent him. the concept of limbo from the perspective of a character with no experience of it, even secondhand, is so interesting to me like what kind of eldritch location would you feel like you’re living in asghjkl

(also - i gotta be honest the jealousy angle here but mostly when she’s talking later about dream not deserving wilbur’s companionship kinda came out after this post came across my dash while writing. whoops /j)

-

fun fact, this is the very first snippet of bitter that i ever wrote! all the way back in may!! this is like the moment of the fic - it's where the miscommunication that niki and wilbur have been having is shattered entirely - and so sticking the landing was uhhh kinda important to me lol.

wilbur's entire being in this fic is basically consumed by L'Manberg - he equates his self worth to it entirely. in his eyes, everyone (rightfully) hates him because of what he did to L'Manberg, because L'Manberg was corrupted and he himself with it, etc. niki tries to tell herself this, and while it definitely does form part of her issues with him, it was the betrayal that causes her this much pain - that he seemingly brushed her and their friendship off entirely when he supposedly left her for dead in manberg. because here is what we as the audience know: wilbur couldn’t leave niki in trouble when he heard her life was in danger, even when he was trying to find the button (pretty much the only thing he sees himself as having left at this point) and so he returned. here is what it looks like from niki’s perspective: wilbur told her to wait in manberg until it was safe to come to pogtopia, laid the place with TNT, went to blow up the place, and only returned when he couldn’t find the detonator (and then the first thing she saw him do in pogtopia was encourage the pit behaviour but that’s not what we’re talking about asdfgh). that is massive miscommunication and it’s been brewing between them for months - to make a quirky little reference to the title, niki has been carrying that anger with her so long it's gone bitter. it was never just about l’manberg with niki - not that anger, not her and wilbur’s friendship (hence the little flashback earlier in the fic, bc niki’s relationship to anarchism and statehood or statelessness juxtaposed with her friendships with wilbur and eret - she loves l’manberg bc she loves wilbur, but she loves eret too and those national ties don’t undermine that - is Real Interesting to me) - so when wilbur asks what else there could possibly be (because in his mind, what else could she have bothered staying around for?), she just fucking breaks.

“Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut...with slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes” - prose discussion time! heat and cold are two big throughlines in this fic - particularly for niki, cold is what she is. admittedly when i started with it i mostly wanted to subvert hot = angry and cold = dead but i kinda ended up enjoying this take on it for what it is instead of just as a subversion (also i like the idea of revived people running hot, their bodies r working hard to keep em going). she’s holding onto her feelings and refusing to deal with them, she’s frozen over. descriptions of cold are key to niki’s mental state throughout the fic - cold weight on her chest, feelings of frostbite when she and wilbur hug the first time, ice cold water during the dinner scene, waking up in the cold flat, etc. this was an attempt at describing a more visceral feeling of like, when you’re really mad and you can just feel the adrenaline running through your veins. always felt more cold than hot to me. when she starts to cry, the facade she’s been putting on is finally thawing out and cracking the ice she’s buried her feelings under. (also gives an excuse to write warm comforting hugs towards the end /hj). it’s a loss, it’s catharsis, it’s a whole mess.

and ofc this is all news to wilbur and he feels terrible, because as unintentional as it was, he really really hurt her - because the destruction of l’manberg fucking sucked but above all else wilbur hurt the people he loved because they loved him so much and not in spite of it, because they cared about him so deeply and his death was a massive blow to them. this hasn’t even dawned on him, because how could it? he respects deeply niki (lowkey respects her opinion more than his own at this point) so he has to listen, because it’s niki (“and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say” - because he does), and what she says fucking floors him. in his eyes, he failed her by putting her in danger and then by destroying her home - the idea that she valued him and their friendship so much flies entirely over his head until this moment, and he is forced to re-evaluate the mindset that has motivated him since… basically since pogtopia! the way i write wilbur is like… yes, he’s one of niki’s closest friends and he’s more aware of her insecurities and issues than most (which is why he does always take the time to listen to her, etc) but he does over-idealise her a bit. tbf, i think he does to some extent with everyone (calling tubbo strong on the anniversary stream, for example). also the fact that he really wasn’t around for niki’s lowest moments as a character! he still thinks of her the way she was in l’manberg - confident, steadfast, respected - and this moment shatters that for him as he realises exactly what effect he and his death had on her and everyone else, not just by his actions, but because they loved him and cared for him so deeply.

sorry that this got horrifically long!! and thank you so much for sending snippets in <3333

[faunusrights]

WIP TITLES ASK GAME

Rules: Share the titles of each of your current WIPs, and, if your followers ask, share a preview of the one that sounds the most interesting. Send this on to mutuals who you are curious what they’re working on.

tagged by @texanredrose who probably dislikes me personally for this HGDFSGHJSDF. tbh i often don't title like ANYYYYY of my WIPs until i have to input them onto AO3, so uh. i am going to have to bullshit some names. also i'm gonna do tex's thing and add a little synopsis if i TRULY cannot think of a title lmao.

note: i am NOT counting WIPs that have at least one chapter posted because otherwise we will be here FOREVER AND EVER so uh yeah. this is just stuff trapped in my gdocs. also it's just RWBY for the sake of keeping it simple, stupid,

anyway uh am tagging @edarzhar (bitch) and @flawedvictori too!!! perish,

(this got long so here's a cut)

Bunfeed Bunsolved: The Valley Walk -- YES this is still happening just very slowly. this is the first cinder/velvet fic of the series and i am SO excited because it gets Weird out there. also it's mostly all about how much cinder likes hiking until she's actually doing it. inspired by the horror movie The Ritual (2017) if you MUST have context,

Ode to Stray Dogs -- it's that guard dog!Weiss/Cinder AU i posted the entire plot for a week or so ago! i love love love this AU and it WILL happen and it IS happening i'm just very slow about it sdhjfghjsgdfk anyway weiss becomes cinder's guard dog. that's the fic. also it's very kinky.

Untitled Velvet/Cinder Fic I -- it's untitled and it's a fic! this one is about, erm... a high-class restaurant/bar/whatever that also doubles as a kinky hook-up joint because you can pay for the servers to let you get freaky with them??? im SO sorry this au legit was so spur-of-the-moment but anyway velvet is there being very hot and cinder, emerald and neo are there like 👀s about it sfdhjsgdfgk

Untitled Velvet/Cinder Fic II -- HAH THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!!! this one is also just a stupid dumb kinky idea but anyway it's about... um... well... it's... [makes vague gestures] i feel like if i try and explain this one people are going to be like 'really' at me BUT IT'S REALLY HOT OKAY I'M JUST!!!!!!!!!!! look if i say it has excessive cum and involves like all the girls of rwby can we just agree to leave it there,

Pâte à Choux -- velvet/every girl. they have sex. every girl. and velvet. i TRULY need to say no more,

Untitled Cinder/Neo Fic -- okay this one is good. cinder and neo gatecrash a mistrali wedding in which cinder talks to everyone to gather just enough knowledge to pretend to be a very distant relative whilst neo demolishes the buffet. they are both dressed terribly and get really drunk and whilst the groom is very suspicious of these two two nonbinary lesbians cinder gives the wife a really expensive gift and so she's like 'do not fucking kick them out MICHAEL' and it's very stupid and dumb. anyway they do this once a week,

Untitled Cinder, Mercury, Emerald, Neo, Roman Fic -- chatlog! been poking at this one for a bit... it's just the CRME + Neo groupchat and it's a disaster also it's cinder/velvet again I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW SHUT UP I KNOW

Untitled GWS!Weiss/canon!Weiss fic -- you know the one. very horny. also very sad???

The Grimmification of Ruby Rose -- here's the bitch!!! this is happening albeit very slowly. in this AU, grimm are actually infected people (THIS WAS BEFORE CANON MADE IT COOL) who turn into grimm over a period of weeks/months! ruby gets infected when she's 15 and decides to kill salem before salem can kill her. currently tinkering with the idea of making it ruby/velvet but don't quote me,

Untitled Faunus AU (aka The Academy of Menagerie) -- a modified version of my Everyone Is A Faunus AU, in which all the cast are faunus and attend the academy of menagerie, which has been invited to participate in the vytal Festival for the first time in its 25 year history. naturally, teams RWBYJNPRCFVY etc show up and wreck shop.

The Misadventures of Blake Belladonna's Silicone Dick -- THIS IS HAPPENING I SWEAR TO CHRIST it's SO funny i have to finish this eventually!!! anyway this is about a non-binary transmasc blake (aka my regular blake) who uses a packer!!! people find out and things get ridiculous. namely it somehow ends up on the roof at some point,

Untitled Snowboarding AU -- this one is one of those horny ones that isn't horny on the surface but is getting there. anyway ruby wins tickets for an all-expenses-paid trip to one of the schnee resorts up in solitas and gives them to blake and velvet who end up there in her stead. they meet weiss schnee, professional snowboarder, and it turns out that when weiss is amped on adrenaline sahe is absolutely 100% down 2 clown... so yeah it's weiss/blake/velvet fhgjsfdj

Untitled Dishonored AU Spinoff -- for Tex!!! the person who inflicted this upon me. it's a little story set in the dishonored au in which we focus on velvet--in charge of the vale rebellion--and cinder, who is a Crime Lady looking to help the rebellion out if only so she can get back to doing crimes all the damn time. its also about velvet strategically avoiding all of rubys text messages as she runs around like a clown. people die!

My Summer Car/RWBY Crossover -- this is another one i'm gonna get to EVENTUALLY. in which taiyang and summer leave for vacation in mistral and yang goes and hangs out in vale for the summer, leaving ruby in the house alone with nothing but a shitty old car for company. probably ruby/velvet. shenanigans ensue.

Sims Medieval/RWBY Crossover -- i've been working on this one FOREVERRRRRRRRRR and it Will happen. it will. ruby is the bardic hero of the kingdom of vale in service to her majesty glynda goodwitch! along with nine other heroes, ruby has to help save vale from an untimely end... but the old queen salem still lingers in the shadows, and threatens to consume all the kingdoms in her great maw. can ruby, armed with little more than a lute and her wits, help save vale? probably not but she CAN play a banging ballad,

Untitled Taffeta/Sienna/Sherveen Fic -- dicks out for milfs that is all

Untitled Ash/Ghira/Taffeta/Kali Fic -- dicks out for dilfs that is all

not as many as tex but then again if we counted all the motherfuckers still in progress................. yikes. anyway here's that. i've probably forgotten a few/ignored ones that are similar concepts to these just in their own little branches (the aufeis fic has like a BILLION snippets in my files i just count em all as the same thing sdhjgf) but whatever. anyway. pass the curse along.

[infinitevariety]

A Kind of Spooky Feeling

Having embraced the festive spirit last December, Aziraphale finds himself wrapped up in the spooky season this October, with Crowley insisting they celebrate the entire month of Halloween.

Chapter Fourteen: Full Moon (AO3)

Snippet:

Crowley is visibly vibrating with excitement beside him, while Aziraphale is still trying to wrap his head around what is actually going on.

“Zombie life drawing?” he mutters to himself.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” says Crowley.

“It’s certainly something.” Aziraphale will grant him that. “It’s all an act, of course?”

It has to be. Aziraphale may not be up to date with the latest goings on with human invention, news, and politics, but he’s fairly certain the start of a zombie apocalypse wouldn’t have passed him by. At the very least Crowley would have mentioned it, surely.

“Well yeah, but it’s an immersive experience or something, so for a couple of hours just pretend it’s real.”

“Oh, good. Yes, I can do that.”

Aziraphale is contemplating the merits of pencils verses paint when the door across the room opens and the subjects enter. They move slowly, shuffling feet and unsteady gaits, and are flanked by more guards. Once in the centre of the room, surrounded by easels and artists, the three zombies are ushered on to the three plinths. Each faces a different direction, to give the artists several angels to work with.

Full chapter on AO3!

[ashxketchum]

Writer’s Month - 4

If I can just do this whole week consistently, I would feel so much better about myself, I kid you not. 

Fandom/Pairing: Beyblade/TyHil (HAHAH WHAT ELSE WERE YOU EXPECTING FROM ME!) 

Prompt: play, modern setting ( so I already had something in works with a class is putting on a play plotline, I’d shared the progress earlier too, and decided to add to it as much I could at work today. Again this is written on my notes app, so expect a lot of mistakes! Tagging @rainbow-pearls cuz I think she would like to read the minor continuation of the earlier snippet, and maybe @zadien too?) 

~

“Why are you still here?”

Tyson opened an eye and peeked at the source of the disturbance. Only one person in their school was brave enough to wake him from one of his infamous naps without fearing the consequences. The brunette was standing in their classroom’s doorway with a disapproving look on her face and her hands fixed on her hips. When she saw him wake, she started to make her towards his desk.

“Gee, Hilary why do you think?” Tyson muttered in reply, trying to stifle a yawn as he opened his eyes fully and stretched his arms over his head in order to rid his body of the slumber that he had been so peacefully encompassed in until a few minutes ago.

“You know we’re supposed to be preparing for the school festival right now. Together. As a class.” She was standing right next to his desk now, but even then the glare she sent his way did not seem to have any effect on him.

“I don’t think I’m a group activities sort of person.” Tyson said, locking eyes with her, a determined look on his face.

“Says the guy who almost cried a river when his teammates left him.” Hilary scoffed at him.

“I didn’t cry, and let me rephrase that, I’m not a group activities person at school.” Tyson retorted, ears a little bit red from the brunette’s accusation. 

“Oh come on Tyson, this will be fun!” Hilary groaned defeatedly, she propped herself over the desk Tyson had been sleeping on until a few minutes ago, knowing very well that it will be a while before he is convinced. Tyson was then forced to straighten up and lean back in his chair or else his head would’ve collided with her hip, and any remaining feeling of drowsiness left his body as he did so. “Chief has been working really hard for this, you know.” The brunette added, tilting her head sideways, to meet his eyes.

“In other words, he’s driving you all crazy and you need me to rein him back in.”

Hilary held his gaze before narrowing her eyes in annoyance, “He is driving us crazy, but I’m more than equipped to handle him and he has really been working hard so as his friend you should be there to support him. Just like we are always there to support the team.” She looked at him pointedly, stressing on certain words loudly and making him wince as she did so. Tyson groaned, she knew him well enough to know that the ‘I’m always there for you’ trick always worked immediately on him.

“And what exactly are we doing this year? Another cafe? Do you really want me to be around food and other edible items?” Tyson challenged her, trying to display a somewhat proud look on his face, even though internally he knew he’d already lost the battle by showing interest.

“No. I would not be here forcing you out of this chair that you glue yourself to every morning if I knew that our ingredients would be in danger.” She scowled deeply at him before continuing, “Frankly I’m surprised you don’t know what our class is putting up despite sitting through the meetings in the past week.”

Tyson shrugged guiltlessly, “I’m just as good at zoning out as I am at spinning tops.”

Hilary rolled her eyes and shook her head at his statement, after forcing the scowl off from her face, she looked at him with a sober expression and replied, “We’re putting up a play. Chief wrote it himself, and he is directing it too.”

Tyson leaned back further in his chair as a look of utter surprise settled on his face at her words, “You’re letting Chief direct it?”

“Well of course,” stated Hilary matter-of-factly, “he wrote it so he should be allowed to be in command.”

Tyson feigned shock and disbelief as he responded in a high-pitched voice, “Hilary Tachibana is letting other people be in command? Are you okay Hils? Do we need to take you to the hospital for an examination?”

Hilary shot him a seething glare and promptly got off the desk in annoyance, resting her hands on her hips once again she retorted, “I can’t always be in charge of everything obviously, even I am aware of that-” Tyson laughed out loud but quickly concealed it as a cough once his eyes met the brunette’s and she continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “Besides as the lead of the play, I have enough on my plate already. There isn’t much time left to take control of everything else.”

Her words sunk in much faster than usual for Tyson, his brows furrowing as he stood up too quickly, almost knocking back the chair he had been sitting in, “You’re playing the lead?”

His voice came out louder and squeakier than he had expected but his brain was already swirling for him to take notice of his tone or even his friend’s bewildered reaction.

“Y-yes.” Hilary stammered, completely taken aback by Tyson’s sudden reaction, she took a few steps back, eager to put some distance between them, as a confused look settled on her face.

“You’re playing the lead in a play that Chief wrote.” Tyson repeated, more to himself in an attempt to make sense of all the scenarios that were now popping up in his head. Hilary however, thought that he was addressing her, so she simply nodded in reply, still looking confused over the sudden change in Tyson’s behaviour.

Having been friends with Chief since they were in elementary school, Tyson was aware of the kind of stories and fantasies that his childhood friend preferred to indulge in. When it came to Beyblading, Chief was all about logic and facts, but when it came to his hobbies, he was more of an emotional sap, something people couldn’t usually tell by looking at him. Tyson however, frequented Chief’s room more than probably any other of the latter’s friend, which is why he understood better than anyone, that Chief was a romantic and sentimental nerd at heart. Which is also why it didn’t take the World Champion long to reach the conclusion that their class was probably preparing a cavity inducing love story for their school festival.

The real problem for Tyson was that Hilary had just told him that she wasn’t directing or organizing the class, as he had expected her to, but was actually taking part in something that he knew, without even taking a look at it, was probably a fairy tail-esque, love story.

He could feel anger course rapidly through his veins at the thought of any of his male classmates standing on the stage opposite from Hilary and professing their love to her, or even worse...

“Do you have a copy of the play?” Tyson snapped at her, he hadn’t meant to get mad at her and he could tell that even though she nodded and went around the class towards Chief’s desk to pull out a copy, she was upset by his angry tone and if he didn’t rein his emotions in quickly, they would slowly be heading into the argument territory. His suspicions were confirmed when she came back to him and thrusted the thin booklet into his hands harshly and folding her arms across her chest, passing him a steely look as he quickly skimmed through the play.

‘The Dragon and the Princess’

Tyson had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he read the title, he wanted to go through the contents as quickly as possible so he decided to show his disgust with the work when he reached the very end of it.

...the princess looks longingly into the eyes of the stranger…

Tyson’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he imagined Hilary gazing ‘longingly’ at a faceless classmate of theirs.

He quickly turned the pages again.

...the stranger bends down and plants a kiss on the Princess’ left hand…

His grip on the booklet tightened and he took a deep breath to compose himself and turn the pages a bit carefully in order to not rip through them in his anger.

...-queue music-

he grasps her hand and slowly leads her into the middle of the dancing couples, placing a hand around her waist…

Turn, turn, turn.

… stop music

they kiss…

Tyson slammed the booklet shut and next to him Hilary jumped, putting a hand on her chest as she sent him a glare for scaring her.

“Who’s playing the other lead?” He was surprised by how quiet his voice had become, in contrast to the anger building up inside him.

“Well, we haven’t picked anyone yet. Chief isn’t really satisfied by the performances he has seen, we’re actu-”

“I’ll do it.”

His statement was followed by a few minutes of total silence as Hilary stared at him in surprise with Tyson returning her gaze with an angry, determined one of his own.

“You’ll play the lead?”

Finally she spoke after what seemed like an eternity, her voice laced with doubt, as she still continued to stare at him, now looking like she was trying to search Tyson’s face or read his expression in an attempt to figure out if he had really meant what he had said.

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

Tyson repeated his words, his voice more firm and resolute this time around as he refused to back down from her gaze. Hilary continued to look unsure, eventually she turned her gaze downwards and it dawned on him that she might not want to do this with him at all. The anger that had been building up inside him like a bubble suddenly burst and his heart sank. He wanted her to raise her head so he could search her face for any clue that might point towards her not hating the idea of doing this stupid play with him. Tyson couldn’t help but think to himself that he might need to flee the country if Hilary flat out refused to do the play alongside him. Luckily they were alone in the classroom, not having witnesses for what was about to be the most embarrassing moment of his life was the only silver lining.

Then she looked up at him very suddenly and Tyson’s heart almost stopped, with her eyes shining brightly and a wide smile covering her face, she replied “Oh Tyson, that is wonderful! Chief said I wouldn’t be able to convince you to do anything, hah I can’t wait to look at his face when he hears this.”

A wave of relief washed over him and he had to stop himself from sighing out loud, he passed Hilary a nod of acknowledgement in silence and tried to maintain a straight face, hoping to not show the brunette how the thought of gazing longingly at her or kissing her hand in the near future was making him feel extremely giddy.

“Now come on, we’ve already wasted so much time here, Chief must be getting antsy!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Tyson begrudgingly followed Hilary out of the classroom and they made their way towards the gymnasium where their class was supposedly prepping for their showcase in silence. Well almost in silence, as Hilary skipped happily ahead humming a chirpy to tune to herself, apparently elated with herself over how she was able to convince Tyson to get off his lazy bum and actually participate in a school event. Tyson was a few steps behind her, the heat of the moment fading as he neared the gym and the idea of acting in a stupid, romantic play started to settle well in his mind. The guys would never let him live this down, he could picture the scene when they’d find out about this particular extra-curricular activity of his very clearly by the time he entered the gym, Max’s howling laughter, Rei’s forced attempt to be encouraging as he contained his own laughs, Kai’s stupid smirk which would also be mirrored on his elder brother’s face.

[panharmonium]

@captain-jaybird​ @solo-by-choice​ - i love you guys XD

So, the fic in question was originally a collection of ten location-based vignettes following the development of Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship from AotC to RotS.  I wrote it seven years ago and only ever showed it to my sister and @dyingsighs, so unless I fall hard back into Star Wars at some point, I probably won’t ever post it in its entirety, because I don’t think I have quite enough energy to do the kind of rewriting it would need in order for me to feel like it meets my current standards.  HOWEVER - given your replies, I pulled the only two vignettes from it that I do actually still like, because I know it has been literal years since I made any Star Wars-related work for you, and I feel like this is the least I can do to thank you for your many years of fandom friendship! 😊 

@all my old Star Wars peeps: Ancient fic snippets under the cut!  Consider this an affectionate “hello there” from me - I hope you guys are all doing well out there! <3

-naboo-

Anakin is insistent.

“Come on, Padmé,” he cajoles her.  “Just a little walk.  I get to be here without breaking any rules for once and you want to just sit inside?”  He flings open the embassy’s balcony doors and gestures out over the city.  “Look at this day!”

Sunny skies or not, Padmé can’t quite wrench her gaze away from the festival itinerary in her hands.  However many times she’s been over it, she can’t help but feel they must have missed some small detail, and in a situation as precarious as this one, the slightest slip could be deadly.  “I can’t, Anakin.”

Anakin’s carefree expression starts its rapid but familiar descent into a scowl.  “Why not?  No one’s going to bust a Senator for showing one of her Jedi guests around.  We can just walk the perimeter of the Festival platform – ”

“Anakin – ”

“You can pretend to show me the security arrangements or something – ”

“Anakin!  You’re supposed to be here to prevent an assassination attempt on the Chancellor.  This isn’t a social call.”

Anakin lets out his breath in a huge gust, waving a hand dismissively.  “That?  We’ve got that under control, Padmé.  Don’t even worry about it.”

“I am worried about it.”  Anakin opens his mouth as if to make another placating remark, but Padmé cuts him off.  “This is serious.  I can’t leave the embassy right now.  I’m not going out for a stroll.  I’m not doing anything until the Festival is over and done with tonight.”  When Anakin’s scowl does not subside, she sighs and makes a passing attempt at smoothing things over.  “I’m sorry, but the Festival of Light is enough of a headache without adding assassination threats into the mix.  I’m just a little tense right now.”

Anakin comes extraordinarily close to signing his own death warrant by rolling his eyes at her, but he stops just short of an irrevocable mistake.  “Yeah, you and everyone else,” he says instead, a very particular brand of irritation edging into his voice.  “But whatever.  Go ahead and read that thing again.  I’ll just come back when everyone’s got their bad feelings under control.”  He sweeps out of the room with the type of stormy bluster only he can manage.

Wrestling down a surge of irritation of her own, Padmé tosses the itinerary onto the desk.  Anakin, for all his moodiness, is partially right – she has the elegant program memorized back to front, and poring over it further is only going to make her feel worse.  And, come to think of it, there are a few other security measures she needs to double check with the rest of the Jedi task force.  

Pushing back her chair, she sets off in search of Anakin’s derisively referenced “everyone else.”

Most of the embassy’s guests, including the recently arrived contingent of Jedi knights, appear to have vacated the premises – emulating Anakin’s shining example and enjoying the day, perhaps, or, in the case of the Jedi, probably walking the security perimeter in preparation for tonight’s festivities.  After making inquiries, Padme finds a staff member who directs her to the rear of the ornately decorated building, where she discovers Everyone Else in the courtyard, boots and cloak discarded against the wall, dappled sun playing over his inner tunics.  

She hesitates on the steps.  It’s bad form to interrupt a Jedi in meditation, not that she has much opportunity to commit such faux pas.  Anakin rarely meditates, resorting to the ancient art only when he has failed in his attempts to outrace or outright beat his troubled thoughts into submission.  

But this doesn’t seem like meditation, exactly, not the kind she recognizes.  Obi-Wan is performing what looks like some kind of kata with a ritual slowness, pivoting and stretching with unhurried grace, flowing smoothly out of one stance and into the next, like liquid filling a clear vessel.  He holds himself suspended for an interminable count between each position, bare feet rooted on the sun-warmed flagstones, the only thing moving around him dust motes drifting through heavy beams of sunlight.

She doesn’t really mean to stay and watch, but there’s an almost hypnotic quality to the rhythmic motion – exertion of the body, sun and warmth and muscle and bone intertwined with stillness of the mind, an empty calm space, peace in the eye of the storm.

He sinks into a low stance with his back to her, head bowed, upward-facing hands loosely fisted, elbows bent and tucked in at his sides.  Then, after a long, still stretch of time, the calm murmur of his voice, rippling with something like amusement.  “Good morning.”

She blinks.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s quite all right.”  He seems to come back from some far place, and straightens, turning to address her.  Holding her gaze for a moment, searchingly, he draws some private conclusion.  “You are disturbed.”

She presses her lips together by way of response, grudgingly impressed yet cursing Jedi perception to the lowest pit of Chaos.  “It’s not important,” she says.  “Just the festival.”  She changes the subject.  “What’s that you were doing?”

Obi-Wan paces over to the courtyard wall to retrieve his footwear.  “One of the alchaka forms,” he says, pulling on the soft nerfhide boots.  At her blank look, he adds, “It’s...a type of moving meditation.  One of the oldest known to the Order.”

“It looks relaxing,” Padmé says.  Would that she could expunge her own anxieties with such artfulness.

He shrugs slightly.  “In theory.”  He bends down and scoops up his cloak with an easy physicality.  “The intended goal is to clear one’s mind.  To...release troubled thoughts.”  

Something about the crease in his brow seems to belie this statement.  Thinking back, she remembers suddenly what Anakin had said earlier, and, surprised, frowns. “Are you worried about the festival tonight?  About the assassination attempt?”

He blinks at her for a moment, as if she had only just reminded him about the possible catastrophe.  “No.  No, I don’t think so.  Even if the intelligence we’ve gathered is accurate, I doubt the Separatist forces will be able to achieve much when they must first go through six Jedi.  And Naboo’s finest,” he adds, glancing up at the overhead balconies, where far-away security personnel stand sentinel, their uniforms smears of dark red across the golden walls.

“But you are worried about something.”

A beat.  Then, “No.  Merely practicing good habits.”

She laughs humorlessly and sinks down onto the steps.  “Tonight could be a disaster.”

Obi-Wan thinks for a moment before responding.  “If so,” he reminds her carefully, “it is one which all your worries will be completely unable to prevent.”

“I know.  But when it’s my people concerned...and the Chancellor, obviously...”  She ticks things off on her fingers.  “Public support for Queen Neeyutnee...the well-being of the Republic...”

“Fate of the galaxy.”

“Little things.”  

They exchange almost shy grins, private smiles.  Padmé feels one tiny knot of tension uncoil inside her, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh, ineffectually commanding the rest of her anxieties to untangle and be gone.  “I need some of that alcha-whatsit business, clearly,” she says ruefully.  “I’m a mess.”

Obi-Wan takes a step back and looks her up and down.  “I agree,” he says.

Excuse me?  Padmé suppresses a surge of indignation.

“You will forgive me for saying so, but a senator is no good to her people preoccupied.  She must keep a cool head about her at all times.”

“I beg your pardon –

“Therefore,” Obi-Wan plunges ahead, and Padmé suddenly sees the glint of humor starting in his eyes, “I feel it is my duty in this case to help you attain such calm.”

She narrows her eyes at him in mock severity, but inside, she feels her mood beginning to lighten.  “By insulting my competence?”

“By exposing you to some of that alcha-whatsit business,” he says.  “If you like.”

Padmé hesitates.  This is Jedi business for sure, far outside her arena.  But Obi-Wan just smiles reassuringly at her and extends a hand.

“Not to worry, Senator.  I have it on good authority that I am a reasonably competent teacher.”

Padmé eyes his hand for another moment, then slaps her own lightly into his open palm.  “Very well then,” she says.  “I submit myself to your reasonably competent tutelage.”

“Obi-Wan, I don’t think this is for me.”

Padmé looks down at her bare feet, torn between luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-soaked stones and fretting over the ever-widening stance Obi-Wan is asking her to assume.

“Patience.”  He sticks his own soft-booted foot against the inside of her ankle and slides one of her feet out to the left.  

“Obi-Wan – ”

Still applying a gentle pressure against one foot, he pushes the other further away.

“I don’t know how to do a split, Obi-Wan,” she warns him, tamping down on a little flare of alarm.

“That’s far enough.”

Thank goodness she’d worn a relatively uncomplicated dress today.  Senatorial garb was nowhere near so flexible as the Jedi’s simple tunics.

She looks up at Obi-Wan, who, by virtue of her lowered, bent-kneed stance, is now slightly above her.  “What now?”

“Now,” he says placidly, sinking into the same low stance beside her, albeit with considerably more familiarity and ease, “you do as I do.”

All right, then.  She waits for him to begin, but the only thing he does is close his eyes, and she can’t close hers if she’s going to follow him, so she waits, doing nothing.  Her legs begin to protest the prolonged exertion in this unfamiliar position, but the trace of fire starting to bloom in her muscles doesn’t bother her.  It’s...ferocious.  It burns the way she does inside, sometimes.  

Obi-Wan cracks an eye open and looks at her.  Padmé doesn’t flinch.  “What?” she challenges.  “You aren’t doing anything yet.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.  “I am breathing,” he says.

“So am I.”

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says, and in the span of a moment, he seems to grow in authority before her.  His voice shifts into the calm certainty of a millennia of tradition, the well-worn tracks of an ancient, unbroken line of instruction.  “Attend.”  

He closes his eyes again, and this time she watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of tunic as his ribs expand.  “All meditation begins with the breath.  You breathe in life, I breathe in the Force; without either of those things both of us are nothing.”  

What a strange thing to say.  “I’m not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan.”

“It does not matter.  You are not Force sensitive, but the Force is in you nonetheless.  We are all of us full of it.  Your people are full of it.  Your planet is full of it.”  He breathes in, slow, and she attempts to follow him.  In.  Full.  “Your breath must fill more than your lungs.  Without breath, the body starves.  Without the Force, life starves.  Therefore you must let it suffuse you.  Breath; the Force.  Everywhere.  Small, forgotten places.  Empty places.  You must allow yourself to be full.  A gas expands to fill a container – your breath will expand to fill you, if you allow it.”

She does not answer.  She is breathing.  He falls into silence beside her, joining her rhythm.  Inhale, beat, exhale, beat.  She does not count the minutes.  They slip by into nothing.  

“Now,” he says.  “With me.”

She trains her eyes on him and follows as he moves, one bright light and its smaller, slighter reflection, moving in a bumpy sort of unison.  The fire in her leg muscles climbs higher, but it doesn’t faze her.  She breathes it out, from everywhere, the small, forgotten places.  She exults in it.

“Balance,” he says, maneuvering her hands to the proper places, the knuckles of one fist pressed flat against a vertical open palm, two hands meeting just in front of her lower abdomen.  “Two opposing forces.”  He sticks his foot back against the inside of her ankle, and she slides her feet apart without needing to be told, dropping back to the correct position.  “Close your eyes.  Breathe.”

In.  Full.  Small, forgotten places.

“Now,” he says, stepping back from her.  “You will count.”

“How high?” she asks.  Her legs are screaming with a pleasant sort of exhaustion, but she’s wobbly, and this position isn’t easy to maintain.

“One hundred,” he replies.  Then – “Three times.”

Her eyes fly open.  “Obi-Wan, that’s – ”

His eyes are glowing with suppressed mirth.  “Three times, apprentice.”

If she starts laughing, she’s going to fall.  “Obi-Wan, three times is too many – ”

“Protest again and it shall be six.”

“You know,” she grunts, wriggling down in an attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position, “I’m beginning to think I’ve done Anakin a disservice.”

He raises an eyebrow archly.  “Because...?”

“All this time, he was telling the truth about you.”

Obi-Wan snorts.  “Impudence.  I’d have been running circuits around the Temple for that kind of insolence.”

“Somehow I doubt that ever stopped you.”

And there’s the smile – trademark Kenobi, dimples and all, subtle and half-hidden behind the close-trimmed beard.  “No,” he agrees.  “You are quite correct.  I became an accomplished marathon runner.”  Dropping down to the same low, planted stance she is struggling to maintain, he returns to the matter at hand.  “Let us begin.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“Mm.”  He has already closed his eyes.  She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made it to twenty while she’s still dithering around trying to get her breathing in order.

“This is the silliest thing I’ve ever done with anybody.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but the corners his mouth curl up.

“But,” she says, never one to skimp on gratitude, “I like it.”  Her legs are shaking and she can’t count the number of joints she’s heard crack since they started this ridiculous exercise, but the anxious tangle in her chest is now tiny threads blowing in the wind, unwound and strewn about by breath and motion.  “And I do feel better about tonight.  So thank you.”

“I come to serve, Senator.”

Formal response, for someone who just moments ago had been shoving her into positions more suited to a gymnast than a senator.  She smiles to herself in private amusement and closes her eyes.  Reminds herself to breathe, full, everywhere.

And begins to count.

-chandrila-

Padmé has to give Obi-Wan credit.  By now, she has watched him extricate himself from Senator Se’lab’s clutches three times, and while a moonlit cocktail party in a garden of this size provides the Jedi with plenty of spaces to hide, the shadow cast by a group of hulking Ithorian senators is a more creative choice than she had expected, even from him.  Observing him from her position on the other side of the lush garden, she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the deadly seriousness with which Obi-Wan keeps the Ithorian delegation between himself and the beverage table towards which the Bothan senator had stumbled.  

She cannot pass up such a rare opportunity to tease him.  Excusing herself from her group of colleagues, she sidles across the garden towards him, ensconcing herself in the shadows behind the wide backs of Ithorian senators Stonk and Bendon.  “Master Kenobi,” she greets him, smoothly.

Obi-Wan’s cool voice betrays nothing.  “Senator.”

Padmé fights to keep a straight face.  “I see you’ve made Senator Se’lab’s acquaintance.”

“I have made his acquaintance several times,” Obi-Wan replies.  “He had little memory of our first meeting at our second, and no memory of our second at our third.  Forgive me, but if I can avoid a fourth such performance, I will.  I grow tired of introducing myself.”

Padmé stifles a smile.  It isn’t fair, that one so skilled in diplomacy to earn himself a galactic-wide nickname should hate it so much.  “And did the Honorable Senator from Bothawui tire of your company?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Then how – ”  She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.  “You didn’t – ”

Obi-Wan gives her an affronted look.  “Senator Amidala, what sort of nefarious rogue do you take me for?”  He chances a harried glance past the Ithorians, checking for any signs of his unwanted companion’s return.  “Along with the memories of our previous two meetings, the good Senator appeared to have forgotten how exactly it was that he’d been able to achieve such an impressively amnesiac and befuddled state.  I merely reminded him about the open bar.”

“Formidably underhanded,” she says, approvingly.  “But then, that’s why they call you the Negotiator.”

Obi-Wan makes a face at the nickname.  “Yes,” he says.  “And if I could only negotiate myself out of this whole affair, I would perhaps believe the title to have been aptly bestowed.”

“Obi-Wan,” she chides him.  “The best negotiators know when to call for assistance.”

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, in what might be a faint feather-brush of amusement, then follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where the clearly intoxicated Bothan senator is making his weaving way through the festive crowd back towards them.  Obi-Wan’s eyes widen very slightly, in definite alarm.  “Indeed.  Very well said.  In that case, my lady, consider my distress signal activated.”

She extends an arm to him formally.  “Walk with me.”

Thanks to the friendship she and Bail share with Mon Mothma, Padmé knows the Chandrilan Diplomatic Gardens better than most in attendance.  She knows Obi-Wan, too, better than most, not because he opens himself to her, exactly, but – well, being in her position, one hears things, and Padmé is well-practiced at extracting trivia and truth from Anakin’s well-worn litany of complaints, worries, and fears.  

She guides them serenely down a lesser-used path, the raucous festivities behind them fading into a murmur.  “Here,” she points.  They turn through a simple, cream-colored arch into a wider space, far-away party sounds now faint, distant enough not to grate on the nerves.  All about them, only the cheerful babble of water, tumbling from multiple small falls into a network of mossy pools and rock-bordered streams.

Obi-Wan turns his head from side to side to take in the shimmering falls and eddying pools, chin rising as if in response to some sound only he can hear, features lightening. “We’ve a place very like this, in the Temple,” he says.  “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Padmé knows this.  Knows too that it is a favorite haunt of his, though she will not tell him so.  Better he think her fortuitous choice a welcome coincidence, for she knows what she knows about him from Anakin, and, strictly speaking, should not have access to such confidences.  

“I’ve heard of it,” she says instead.  “It’s much larger than this, though, I think.”  She waves a hand at the small garden.

“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan intones, as though reciting an oft-repeated adage, and extends a hand gracefully under one of the falls’ streams.  To Padmé’s surprise, the water curves around his upturned palm, bending as if repelled by an invisible barrier before continuing its swan dive into the clear pool below.

“Just a game,” Obi-Wan says, in answer to her unasked question.  “And an exercise in control.  One practiced by Temple younglings.”

Not any game Padmé knows.  She and her sister – then later, her handmaidens – were more apt to occupy themselves with jumping straight into the water, shrieking with glee, than with avoiding its flow.  “What’s the objective?”

“Just this,” he says.  “Stay dry.”  He curls his fingers up to his palm and then flat again in a gentle wave, the water above his hand twisting in a delighted dance before resuming its tumble around an untouched sleeve.  “Even the youngest initiates, when exhibiting proper control, can easily redirect a flow of water around their forms.  One stands under the falls, keeping dry, while their agemates or teachers attempt to break their focus.”  He quirks a smile, one laced with equal parts memory and mischief.  “One gets distracted, one gets wet.”

She smiles at him.  “I take it you were good at this game?”

“I was passable,” he says with a diffident shrug.  “But I did not win every time.  My own clan members’ antics were at times difficult to ignore.”

“And Anakin?” she asks.  She can’t help herself.  

Obi-Wan pull his arm out from the falls, hand disappearing back into the long sleeve of his robe.  “Terrible,” he says bluntly.  “Without a doubt the worst in his class.”

Padmé refrains from making an unbecoming snort.  So she will have something amusing to hold over Anakin’s head when she returns to Coruscant.  

“You mustn’t misunderstand me, of course; Anakin is highly capable and could easily manipulate the water were he left to his own devices, but I’m afraid his mental discipline left much to be desired.”  Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head.  “Anakin is so easily distracted – he reserved his limited ability to focus for very singular pursuits.”

“Such as...?”

Obi-Wan looks to be almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but that would be un-Jedi, and he settles for a narrowing of them and crooking his fingers sardonically into the universal sign for quotes.  “‘Fixing stuff,’ I believe he said.”

Padmé can’t help but laugh at that, and Obi-Wan indulges her merriment graciously.  Looking re-energized, far more hale and hearty than he had in the reception area proper, he stretches out a hand.   Ribbons of water arc away from the falls all around them, streaming through the air and coalescing into a shining globe above his palm, a miniature model of Mon Cala.  The sphere’s globular surface ripples and turns slowly, casting small refractions of moonlight over the courtyard.  Small-scale beauty, to be sure, but Padmé only has eyes for Obi-Wan’s face, lit with reflected light from below, a study in simple happiness.

A Jedi at play, she realizes.  Most people didn’t believe there really was such a thing.

“That’s lovely,” she says, peering into the globe’s transparent yet distorted depths.  Something about it...she is suddenly reminded of Anakin, in another time and place, levitating a muja fruit in much the same way, and with the same burst of simple enjoyment.  “But I thought frivolous uses of the Force were discouraged.”

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows at her, accepting the friendly challenge.  “Frivolous?”  He turns his hand so that the palm now faces outward.  Rippling with light, the globe coasts several feet away and comes to rest over a pathetically drooping momus bush, its leaves yellowed and cracked, balmgrass spiky and dry around its exposed roots.  Obi-Wan twitches his fingers downward, and the globe disintegrates, water sluicing down in a joyful shower onto the parched earth, transforming the yellow dust to a rich, wet brown.  He gives her a significant look.  “The preservation of life is never frivolous, Senator.”

Her smile climbs its way out of her with ease.  Of course.  An answer for everything.  “I stand corrected.”

In the distance, a chorus of laughter rises above the sound of burbling water, followed by what sounds like someone calling for a toast.  Obi-Wan casts a lingering glance at the falls, then back at the arched entrance to the grotto.  “We should return,” he says, and if that is reluctance in his voice she will not comment on it.

She nods in agreement.  “You’re right.  Typho will start to worry.”

Taking her outstretched arm, Obi-Wan frowns.  “I am quite certain I gave Captain Typho my word that no harm would come to you whilst I am your escort.  He must learn to trust me.”

“He does trust you.  But he’s a worry-woolamander.  It’s his job.”  It was, after all, why she had personally selected him to replace his retired uncle as her new head of security.  But, at the same time, she had grown weary of the constant trail of guards orbiting her at all times, rings of human satellites, so many she can hardly blink without catching a glimpse of security burgundy in her peripheral vision.  Far preferable to have an escort of one Jedi, especially this Jedi, than that wall of armed guards.  

And besides, Obi-Wan had promised.  While Captain Typho may not appreciate the import of such a gesture, Padmé does – Obi-Wan Kenobi’s word is worth his weight in solid aurodium bars and more.  He has nothing left to prove to anybody, on that count.

At the threshold to the main garden, wide flowering pathways thronging with diplomats and officials and lackeys alike, Obi-Wan takes in a resigned breath.  “Once more into the breach,” he proclaims, with tragicomic stoicism.

She cocks her head at him in sympathy.  “Straight to the dance floor,” she advises, and they set off, she steering him in the proper direction.  “I doubt even a Bothan will try to cut in on a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan snorts under his breath.  “Her Highness is grown very devious, in her slippery Senatorial position,” he murmurs.

“And Master Kenobi very witty, in his old age,” she shoots back.

Obi-Wan favors her with a grin, a real grin, full and shining with rarely displayed pleasure.  He bows to her, ushering her onto the formal dance floor with a graceful sweep of his hand.  “You had better hope your earlier supposition is correct,” he says, eyes glinting with the same clever playfulness she’d seen in him earlier.  “The Bothan senators have hooves, you know.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

what did the chickadee and phoenix say to the hybrid?

this was supposed to be a short snippet,,,,,,, anyway, Lydia meets the Maitlands but make it the ~wing au~

----------------------------------------

  “Greeting ghosts,” Said the strange little fledging that entered the attic. “I am Lydia Deetz. Do not be afraid.”

  “Why aren’t you afraid of us?” Barbara asked.

  “Because you aren’t scary,” Lydia said. “I mean, look at me in comparison.” She spread her sagging wings (did she ever lift them?), and Barbara realized there were four of them. “I’m probably the freakiest thing to ever walk among the avians. You got competition.”

Realization dawned on Barbara, but Adam got to it first.

  “You’re a hybrid!” Her husband yelled, nearly flinging his sheet right off of him when he pointed to Lydia.

  “Adam!” Barbara scolded.

  “No, it’s okay,” Lydia said. “I prefer the term ‘hybrid’ over ‘mutant’ and ‘monster.’”

  “I was gonna say it’s rude to point,” Barbara said, pushing Adam’s hand down.

  “Ah,” Lydia nodded. “But yes. I am a hybrid. In the blood. Unfortunately.”

She spread her wings in a mock bow to them, and Barbara could see veins of white riddling the insides of the upper pair. She then winced, fangs flashing in the dim attic light when she grimaced in obvious pain, and let her wings go limp. They landed in a heap on the ground, strewn out like scraps of ruined cloth.

  “Are you alright?” Barbara asked worriedly, feeling a flash of maternal instincts zip through her like lightning.

  “Fine,” Lydia answered before the question could completely leave Barbara’s mouth, as if it were normal for her to brush off her discomfort when around other people. She shuffled her feet and tilted her head at Barbara and Adam. “Why are you in sheets?”

  “We were trying to scare you,” Adam told her.

  “You’re not doing a very good job,” Lydia said. “What do you look like under there? Are you horribly disfigured?” Her shoulders lifted, but her big bat ears remained completely drooped. “Are you like me? May I see?”

Barbara and Adam took off their sheets. Lydia’s expression dimmed.

  “Oh,” Lydia seemed disappointed. “You’re pureblooded.” She sniffed. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Adam said. “I’m Adam, this is Barbara.”

  “Oh, woah,” Lydia’s eyes dilated hugely, like a cat that just saw its owner’s foot move under the blankets. “You’re so shiny.”

Barbara blinked, then realized Lydia was talking about her. Even in death, her feathers continued to glow like fire. She extended one of her wings to Lydia.

  “You can touch them, if you’d like.”

Lydia looked up at her in shock. “Really? You’re not afraid of me, like, contaminating you?”

  “No...”

  “Or infecting you with my ‘dirty blood’?”

  “No.”

  “Or ripping your wings out of your back like I’m a feral WingEater because I’m jealous of how pretty and normal you are and want to ruin all purebreds in an envious rage?”

  “No! Do people really say that stuff to you?!”

Lydia actually laughed. “Wow, you really haven’t met a hybrid before.” She shuffled her feet. “But-- I can really touch them?”

Barbara smiled warmly at her. “Of course, sweetheart.” She nudged her wing closer. “Go on. I promise I don’t have Drop Feather Fever.”

  “Even if you did, I don’t have feathers!” Lydia said, then reached out and brushed Barbara’s wing. Her touch was light and gentle, as if she were worried she may hurt her new friend, and her short, stubby claws tickled against the skin beneath the feathers. “Wow... They’re so soft! And warm!”

  “Yup!” Adam strode over, looking proud. “You, little bat-moth, are looking at a real Phoenix Avem! WAIT--”

Lydia leapt backwards and the mane of yellow-orange flannel moth fur around her neck and chest bristled like a startled cat.

  “YOU CAN SEE US?!” Adam yelled.

It was only then that Barbara realized that Lydia shouldn’t have been able to see her or Adam. She had been so distracted by the adorable fledgling that it hadn’t dawned on her at all.

  “Uhh,” Lydia’s fur settled. “Yeah?”

  “But we were told that the living ignore the strange and usual,” Adam said.

  “Well, perhaps it’s because I, myself, am strange and unusual,” Lydia said. “Also all of my internal organs are purple and I can’t have a period due to a ‘compromised reproductive system caused by faulty genetics,’ so I’m not exactly very far from the boat you’re rocking in.”

  “Trust me, sweetie, the no period thing is a blessing,” Barbara said.

  “Everything else is a curse, though,” Lydia said with a sad smile.

Barbara frowned at that, but before she could press on what she meant, Adam stepped in.

  “Okay, well, since you can see us, do you mind leaving and never coming back?”

  “Adam!” Barbara flared. She thought of not seeing this little girl again, and it made a cold pit open up inside of her and she couldn’t really explain why.

  “Not her,” Adam said quickly. “Her family!”

Lydia scoffed. “We’re not a family.” She sounded a touch offended. “We’re father, daughter, and Delia.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Barbara inquired, “Your mother, she...?”

Just when Barbara thought Lydia’s ears couldn’t droop any further, they somehow got even lower.

  “She... She’s dead...”

Adam grimaced. Barbara’s wings tensed against her back for bringing such a traumatic experience up.

The good news, though, was that the role of mother was up for the taking. And since Lydia clearly felt anything but a parental bond with that Delia woman, Barbara knew it was at good as hers.

She could feel the mammary feathers and nesting season hormones coming in already! Literally. She imprinted on Lydia when she touched her wing. That was her chick now.

  “Oh, honey,” Barbara murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Lydia shook her head, making her ears slap around her face. She gazed around the attic with sparkling eyes, as if she were holding back tears.

  “She would have loved this place,” Lydia said. “She was Vesper! Which, you know, explains,” She gestured to herself. “She would call me her ‘weird little moon,’ but it was never in a mean way. And we used to have our own little full moon festivals so I would grow up with proper Vesper traditions and culture! We would hang up all the blankets in the house on the trees and make these forts that we would burrow in and watch the moon from. She taught me how to properly pray to Valtiel and everything! And we would do the moon dances on the ground because I can’t fly, but she made the effort to learn how to for me. We couldn’t actually go to the festivals, though, because,” She gestured again. “She worried about me all the time and didn’t let me do a lot of things, but what we did do was amazing.” She then blinked out of her daze and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you talking about my mom.”

  “No, it’s okay!” Barbara assured her. “We don’t mind!”

  “Really?” Lydia tilted her head and her ears flopped over with the movement. “‘Cause my dad never wants me to talk about her. It’s basically against the law in the house. Among many things.” She raised her wings slightly and did a voice that was apparently supposed to be her cicada Cimex father, “‘Lydia, no talking about your mom! Lydia, no eating bugs, it’s weird and basically cannibalism! Lydia, no coming around me because even though I say I’m trying to change my views of you I still see you as an unrepentant monster who I fear will eat my throat out while I’m sleeping and it makes me guilty not because the way I think of you but because I fear of what you’ll do to society and I was the one who brought you into the world to wreak suck destruction on civilization!’”

Barbara and Adam stared at her in shock.

  “Dads, am I right?”

  “That’s…very concerning,” Adam said.

Lydia shrugged nonchalantly. “Everything about my existence is concerning, so…” Her face then scrunched up and she pressed her floppy ears against the sides of her head like she was trying to keep out a noise that Barbara and Adam’s Avem ears couldn’t pick up. “Oh, ow. Stop worrying so loudly! I’m okay! I’m, like, basically immune to it at this point!”

Barbara and Adam both blinked in confusion, but then Barbara understood.

  “You’re a mind reader.”

Lydia pulled her hands away and smiled slightly. “In the flesh.”

Barbara wondered what that was like--

  “It’s pretty cool, actually.”

--to hear everyone’s thoughts, all the different ways they thought about you and judged you, possibly pretending they liked you when really they hated your guts.

  “When you put it like that…”

  “You surprise me more and more, Lydia,” Adam said.

  “Better than scaring you,” Lydia said. “You guys are really cool. I like you. You’re probably the best thing about this stupid house.”

  “This house is not stupid!” Adam blustered. He grabbed Lydia by the shoulders, making them lurch and the moth fur bristle, and spun her around to him so he could scold her. “It’s a classic Victiorian-- OWW!!!”

Adam ripped away from Lydia as if he had touched fire, while Lydia shrunk away, instinctively wrapping her wings around herself. Adam shook his hands in the air while flapping his wings in obvious distress. 

  “Ow! Ow! Ow! What HAPPENED?” Adam yelped.

  “Sorry,” Lydia whispered. 

  “Are you okay?” Barbara asked her husband. He splayed his hands open for her, and she winced when she saw angry red blisters starting to form all across his palms. “Oh.”

  “It isn’t lethal!” Lydia said, and she sounded very meek compared to the snarky girl that had been talking a few seconds before. “Well, I don’t think it is… But you’re dead, so it’s okay! The pain will go away within a few hours!”

  “HOURS?!” Adam squawked, as if he were a parrot and not a chickadee. He made a woeful noise. “Just cut my hands off!”

Lydia’s ears drooped even lower. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Maitland. I should have told you.”

  “That your really soft fur is EVIL?” Adam said, and Barbara knew he was playing with Lydia, now. However, the little fledgling didn’t seem to realize because she still looked anxious.

  “It’s-- I take after the moth my Cimex side is from. A southern flannel. The worms have venomous hairs, so…” Lydia fluffed her collar of fur. “I do, too. And they sting pretty badly. But not all the time! Only when I bristle them. Thank the goddesses.” She shuffled her feet. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” Adam assured her. “A little blistering never hurt anyone. Oh, look, boils! Wonderful!” He laughed. “It builds character!”

Lydia cracked a small smile at that. When her nervousness didn’t recede, Barbara opened one wing to her, beckoning her to come closer. After a moment of shock and delight, gauging if it were a trap, Lydia skittered over and burrowed herself into Barbara’s feathers.

She fit perfectly. 

[quillsandsabres]

The Crawling King - Book Review

At the library a couple days ago, a cover sitting on a stand caught my eye:

The book is called The Crawling King, written and illustrated by Einar Baldvin. It contains seven short stories, all of which fall under the horror. Snippets of writing exist between stories as well. Illustrations accompany every story. I am not an artist, so I can't comment much on the artwork other than how much I loved it. They look mainly like ink drawings with thick line art and are often shaded with scribble or blots. I appreciate how the art changes in some aspects to better fit the atmosphere of the story (for example, using colors vs. just black and white, or varying the “cleanliness” of the line art).

Now for the writing itself:

Baldvin's writing style made me a fan. Each of the stories reminded me of fairy tales, except even darker. Little dialogue exists and the sentences are fairly straightforward. Yet, when the story needs it, Baldvin concisely explains monsters and gut-wrenching horrors that leave me reeling. I don't read horror much, but the ideas presented here feel wonderfully fresh—almost inspirational for my own writing.

The pacing also stood out to me. Sometimes, when I already figured out what the conclusion or twist would be, the story felt as though it was going too slowly. Otherwise, the events unfolded quickly, but not so fast that I missed an event or had to go back and reread. Baldvin slows down when describing the monsters I mentioned above, almost forcing you to look the beast in the eye before letting you move on in the story.

However, as one general criticism, I have to say the stories are hard to read sometimes. The font is a little confusing and in some short stories, such as one titled "Hunger," the increasingly messy tatters of paper forced me to reread sentences over and over, unable to figure out what a word was meant to be. I remember actually just moving on once or twice since I spent far too long struggling to read it. I know this was likely a conscious design decision, but they could've made the text easier to read by perhaps writing the words in a different color, like a blood red. Overall, this is a small issue that hardly tainted the experience.

Also, as I mentioned above, I could reasonably see the conclusion of the story sometimes just by reading the first few lines. This is likely due to foreshadowing, but also partially because some stories are very predictable. Predictability isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did make the stories drag more than anything. As a result, some of the stories were forgettable or annoying.

For anyone who wants a further review of some of the short stories (including spoilers), I'll put my thoughts on my favorite and least favorite story below. If not, skip to Final Thoughts for my rating and the link to purchase the book.

Favorite: “The Fool who Thought it Could Play the Clavichord”

First of all, this title describes me to a T, so of course I was drawn to it.

Second, to summarize the story, a Fool played the clavichord every year in the town festival. They played terribly. However, the townspeople were happy to plug their ears with cotton so that they could applaud their cherished Fool.

One day, two visitors arrive to the town, just in time for the annual festival. But, after hearing the Fool's performance, the two immediately head backstage and cut the Fool's hands off. The Fool runs away and dies outside the town.

In town, a series of spiders found his hands and drank the blood streaming from them. They communicate with the hands, telling them where to crawl. The hands find and grab the two visitors, dragging both to the forest where the Fool's body lay. The spiders used their silk to reattach the hands to the Fool's body, and the Fool strangles the two to death.

The town mourns the loss of the Fool by leaving a clavichord on the stage when he was supposed to perform. However, the rotting corpse of the Fool would appear each year just to play for the people, more beautifully the more years passed by, for as long as the town existed.

This story's tone takes a far different tone compared to the rest of the stories on the list. The ending feels bittersweet, rather than sickening, twisted, or mockingly sad. The Fool and the town's love of the Fool felt refreshingly sweet amongst the darkness of the story, and even spiders, usually villains, are painted in a good light thanks to them helping the Fool. I appreciate that, even though the Fool was not good, the villagers and even the Fool's family did their best to support the Fool's performing, something that doesn't always happen to people in the current day. Many people struggle to really enjoy an activity when they aren't good or are afraid they may not be good. The only difference is that, in real life, those people will get better, unlike the poor Fool in this story.

Least favorite: "Mother"

A boy named Jarin visits his mother, but instead meets a giant centipede that claims it is his mother. The centipede forces Jarin to stay there. In an attempt to find his actual mother, Jarin tries to enter the bedroom every night. The centipede blocks the way almost every time, but when he finally could peer inside, he witnesses a horrific scene: his mother, momentarily escaping the centipede, before succumbing to dust, signaling the rebirth of the centipede. Jarin continues to try to enter the bedroom each night to see his mother for at least a second, eventually staying so long that he convinces himself that he is happy living like this.

The artwork for this story is some of my favorite and the premise is highly interesting. However, the part that gets grating is the narration. Multiple times, the narrator will state something about how a mother's love kept Jarin from leaving. The story, being only about 10 pages, only really needed this statement once to get the point across. The repetitions continued though, and felt tiring or like a jarring tangent from the story. Understandably, love is a strong motivator in many stories and in life, but stories can accomplish this without rubbing the motivation in the reader's face. Other than the grueling description of the mother's fate, not much stands out about the story.

Final Thoughts: 

I would highly recommend this to anyone who is a fan of horror. For anyone hesitates to consume horror, just know that I am a coward. So if I could handle it, you can too.

Star Rating: ★★★★☆

Please check out the book and some other illustrations on the author’s tumblr, @einarbaldvin​ !

[little-ligi]

hi! I would love to see about your WIPs for 13, 14, & 15 if you haven’t already and it isn’t too much trouble!

Hi!! It is never too much trouble to talk about my wips! It is one of my favourite things to do while procrastinating... So I can pretend I am actually being productive! 😂😂 Thank you so much for the ask!!

13. Will fic - This is a Will lives fic where he comes to Camelot for Christmas to visit Merlin and is his usual surly self and doesn't get on with any of Merlin’s new friends. Poor kid.

Will pulled his bundled knapsack closer to his chest, scowling at anyone that looked at him. Hunith put a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “I hate it here,” he grumbled. “But you want to see Merlin, don’t you?” “Course I do.” He looked around Camelot’s marketplace again. “But why couldn’t he just come home for Christmas?” “He has to stay here for the prince.” “Stupid fucking prince,” Will muttered bitterly. He hated that man. That smug self-centred arse. “Will.” Hunith gave him a look. The one she used to give him and Merlin when they were younger and they were complaining about something. “He is a very generous young man, kind and loyal. He let Merlin invite us for the Christmas festivities.” She leant close to whisper in his ear. “Even though he believes you’re a sorcerer.”

14. have him sent to my room is after the iconic (flail) mace fight in episode one. Arthur demands Merlin is sent up to his rooms... possibly to fight him again, possibly to snog him senseless, I haven't decided yet!

Eventually the guards stopped in front of a set of fine double doors. One guard knocked. “Enter!” was shouted from within. The guard opened the door and took a single step inside. “Your Highness.” He bowed. The second guard pushed Merlin forwards, through the doors. “Leave,” the prince said and the guards bowed and backed out of the room, pulling the doors shut with a resounding clunk behind Merlin. The prince was lounging in a chair, one leg up over the armrest. He had changed clothes since Merlin had fought with him in the market square. He now wore a loose white shirt and tight brown breeches. Merlin noticed the flail mace hanging over the other armrest. “Well, well. There’s something about you, Merlin,” the prince said again, in much the same tone as he had that afternoon except for the emphasis he put on Merlin’s name, drawing the vowels out.

And 15 will be under a cut for NSFW content 🙈🙈🙈 ((oh dear why did I include it on the list)) Feel free to ignore that bit if you want.

15. Manservant's Duty is a terribly awkward explicit fic. I have no idea where my mind was when I started writing this one... but at the same time I have a particular fondness for the adorable awkwardness of Merlin in this! It is a manservant's duty to... um... look after his master's *ahem* morning glory... 🙈🙈🙈🙈 and Merlin (and me) is embarrassed about it (and doesn't do a very good job the first few times he tries....) This is the least nsfw snippet from it...

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the prince?” Gaius asked as Merlin burst through the door. Merlin let out a humourless laugh and began pacing. “I can’t do it! I can’t work for him. You won’t believe what he just asked me to do!” He shook his head fiercely, his cheeks heating up again. “What did he ask?” “He asked me,” Merlin started, cleared his throat and began again. “He asked me to… you know, his… you know…” He made a hand gesture, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Gaius frowned. “What his what?” Merlin made an embarrassed squeaky groan. He could feel his face burning. “He asked me to…” He took a deep breath. “Rub his sword!” Gaius lifted one eyebrow, it arched perfectly over his right eye. “Yes, you have to look after his weapons-” “No, Gaius, not that sword, not the one he fights with…” Merlin put his hands in his hair, tugging it in frustration. “His… morning… glory…” He gestured at his own crotch. “Oh!” Gaius waved a hand in understanding. “Yes. Of course he did.” “What do you mean, of course he did?” Merlin’s voice sounded a little shrill now. “That’s one of a manservant’s duties,” Gaius explained.

Well.... ummm. There you go.... ligi blushes... 

[ickle-ronniekins]

everything and more, part I

request: from @gwenandtheunfortunatename: Hey!! I mentioned something earlier ab a prequel to “everything and more?” Maybe some snippets of their relationship developing each year that’s not too disgustingly fluffy (Ik imma demon) but still cute? Like everything to how they first met to where they were in ur fic?? Idk

A/N: of course darling! i apologize in advance if it gets sappy and annoying that’s just who i am as a person lmao but i’ll do my best to keep it ~chill~ also this is going to be a mini series so i shall post when each part is up and ready :D will update as i go on, original piece is linked below loves!

tag list for fred: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @how-do-life-does @semmelsemi @perksofbeingawf @cottageoflove

other: @gwenandtheunfortunatename @bbystrawberry0421 @valwritesx

PART I | EVERYTHING AND MORE

Year 6

Fred Weasley had never really fancied a girl before.

At least, not one that mattered, anyway.

He first noticed you at the beginning of your sixth year—the Beauxbatons students had begun to filter into the Great Hall, and most of Hogwarts went wild at their arrival. You stood up and perched yourself higher on the bench, awe-struck and clapping with everyone else as your guests arrived and took their places. He watched as your hair danced across your shoulders, he watched your necklace bounce against your neck, he bit his lip when you smiled brightly. And to Fred, you were glowing.

You were golden, and he was smitten.

He’d done not much else that term except try and grab your attention, but it wasn’t working... or so he thought. You pretty much lived up to the expectation that Ravenclaws spent a majority of their time studying. Little did he know, he turned out to be a bit of a bad influence on you. Not truly bad, of course—it an exciting way. But much to Fred’s dismay, a lot of your time was spent in a place he wasn’t exactly fond of—the library.

“You alright, mate?”

Fred’s brothers had caught him staring at you across the Great Hall during a feast one evening, and began to snicker like little schoolgirls.

“Never seen him so interested in anything before,” Ron joked, punching his older brother in the arm.

Fred didn’t take his eyes off of you, though. He just breathed in deeply as his brothers and friends continued to tease him mercilessly.

George said, “Reckon he won’t go for it. He gets flustered around pretty girls.”

Which was... kind of true? Fred didn’t seem to get flustered when he finally plucked up enough courage to talk with you that evening when he spotted you heading back towards the Ravenclaw common room, but there have been times when it was known to happen. It was sweet.

Fred elbowed his twin in the ribs and said, “Would you lot shove off?”

He ran a hand through his long red hair, something you’d come to realize he did a lot when he was feeling rather nervous.

“Just go for it, mate,” Harry provoked him. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Fred shook the bad thoughts from his mind.

It was a late evening for you. Nearing almost midnight, you strolled out of the library, completely worn out by the amount of work you’d managed to finish in spite of all of the festivities going on with the Triwizard Tournament. You knew what everyone around you was thinking—it’s the first bloody night and you already had work? But to you, there was always room for studying and improvement.

The corridors were empty now, as you’d presumed, and you did your best to avoid any and all Hogwarts ghosts (and wandering professors!) because you were bloody exhausted and didn’t want to get wrapped up in conversation. But much to your dismay, it happened anyway.

But not with a ghost.

With that witty boy, Fred Weasley. He turned a bend and you nearly walked into one another. You were so tried.

“Bit early in term for studying, isn’t it?” he joked.

“It’s never too early—it called for a late night,” you replied, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. And then, teasingly, “Bit late in the evening for a stroll, eh?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, but you somehow knew that Fred Weasley probably didn’t go to sleep before midnight, anyway. He stuck his hand out in the dark corridor. “I’m Fred, by the way.”

But you knew. You didn’t need him to know that, though. “Hi. I’m Y/N,” he had a firm handshake, but not in an intimidating way. Something struck you about him, though.

“Can I walk you back to your common room?”

He was surprisingly charming. “Sure,” you replied, smiling at him. “Thanks.”

You and Fred had one class together last year. Potions. Not that you could really chat him up during that time anyway, or Snape would have your heads. It was a shame, because you always thought you’d get on well, and because you’d always wanted to tell him just how much you actually admired his and George’s pranks—they always gave you a good laugh. Harmless, they were, and you didn’t see anything wrong with that.

You really wanted to prank someone with him, actually. And he seemed to light up when you finally did tell him.

“Oooh,” he teased, “we may just have to make that happen.”

“Don’t tell any of my fellow Ravenclaws,” you said warningly. And then, softer, “Reckon they wouldn’t quite understand.” Fred laughed. “Well—thanks for the company, Fred. I’ll see you soon?”

He grinned before leaning against the wall near the entrance to your common room. “Yeah, soon.”

You were certain you went to bed with a very large grin plastered on your face.

The Great Hall was supposed to be quiet, as everyone was working on their assignments, but Snape could only shush so many students at once. Across from his twin, George threw a piece of parchment at Fred to catch his attention. “So?” he asked, “spit it out, then.”

Fred looked at him quizzically.

“Did you or did you not finally speak to Y/N?” Ron asked.

Snape threw a warning glance in their direction. Fred nodded inconspicuously.

The boys waited with baited breath. “And?” Harry, Ron, and George all asked together.

“And,” Fred replied through gritted teeth, “it was... nice. She’s rather sweet.” He wanted to keep most of the details to himself. His little secret.

Annoyed, Ron threw his quill at his older brother and his ink splattered all over the pages of blank parchment. Hermione hissed and slapped Ron on the arm, as if to scold him. Ignoring this, Ron rolled his eyes and turned back towards Fred, eyes wide and itching for more information. But Fred’s lips were sealed in a smirk.

Ron ruffled his hair and sighed, “You’re killing me, mate.”

Fred was about to fire back with some sarcastic comment, but was distracted when you sauntered into the Great Hall with some fellow Ravenclaws. When you walked past the Gryffindor table, you bit down on your bottom lip and slowly raised a hand and mouthed, “Hey,”

Fred did the same, his cheeks flushing red.

This time, when the boys started to snicker, Ginny was the one scolding them.

“You’re all gits,” she told them seriously. But being Fred and George’s little sister, she’d learned quite a lot about teasing from them over the years. “Leave poor Freddie alone. He’s emotional because he’s in loooove,”

But instead of fighting her on it, Fred stayed silent as everyone laughed quietly, his eyes following you straight to the Ravenclaw table, where they stayed most of the rest of the afternoon.

Most of your evenings were still being spent, regrettably so, in the library. Work was piling up and you were fretting about studying. You wanted to be more carefree. You just needed to let loose a little, so you left.

It was unreasonably warm for a winter day. Almost summer-like. You were walking with a very heavy bag slung over your shoulder when you spotted a very happy looking Fred down the way in front of the entrance. “Hey, Freddie!” you called, catching him by surprise.

When you caught up to him, he teasingly mocked, “Hey, Y/N!” just as excitedly as he picked you up and spun you around in a bone crushing hug. You felt your cheeks flush red and your whole body felt warm. “Where’re you off too?” He glanced at your bag you placed on the ground beside you and frowned. “Library? On a day like today?”

“I’m afraid so,” you told him begrudgingly. “It’s beautiful out.”

“Shame, really. Was going to ask you to join me. But you wouldn’t skip studying now, would you?” His narrow eyes were driving you bonkers.

You smirked at him and placed a hand on your hip. “Try me, Weasley.”

“Am I becoming a bad influence on you?”

“Maybe,” you admitted, picking up your bag again and heading towards the entrance. When you turned around only to see him awe-struck, with a confused yet impressed look on his face, you asked him, “Well are you going to join me, or what?”

The grounds were especially beautiful that day.

For a few reasons, you supposed.

You and Fred had left your bags and warm robes near a tree somewhere and took to a very long stroll that lasted most of the day.

He was easy to talk too. You liked that. Nothing felt forced or rushed or awkward. He was just... him—funny and charismatic and charming, consistently making you laugh and question yourself—but only in the best of ways.

And you were intriguing to him. He always told you that you didn’t really live up to the Ravenclaw stereotype—rather than the studying, of course. He loved listening to your stories you told, and the way you laughed at his jokes. He was falling for you quickly and he never wanted that feeling of free fall to end.

“Bloody hell—is it dinner already?” You asked suddenly. You were lying in the grass with your eyes closed, discussing something about life after Hogwarts, when you shot up. Fred didn’t move as quickly as you did, though. The sun was beginning to set. You couldn’t wait for summer days when it was bright until the late evening. “We’d better get a move on—regrettably back to my house table, I’ve always thought it rather silly to not let the houses eat together, no? Always driven me mad.”

You pulled Fred to his feet and brushed some grass off of his shirt.

“Promise me something, okay?” he said. Teasingly, he continued, “unless you’re afraid.”

You furrowed your brow. “Well that depends—” you tugged on his arm playfully. “Kidding. What’s up?”

“Promise me that when you get bored of sitting with your housemates at the second task tomorrow,” he took your hands in his and pulled you closer as your heartrate sped up a considerable amount— “that you’ll come sit with me.”

“Why’s that?” you asked shyly.

He blinked and smiled softly. “‘Cause—I want to spend more time with you.”

There was palpable tension between you two. Just inches from each other you were, and he seemed to be leaning in closer ever so slowly. You caught yourself doing the same and your heart skipped a few beats. There was a light wind running itself through your hair and it made goosebumps rise on your arms and neck. Was it the wind? Or maybe—

His lips were nearly on yours.

It was so soft, you didn’t even know if it was real.

Then an awkward sort of grunt came from the trail beside you.

An uncomfortable, awkward looking Hagrid was running a hand through his very ratty, messy hair, and trying his best to act as if he hadn’t seen what was about to happen. Doing his best to hide his frustration, Fred sighed quietly through gritted teeth, squeezed your hand and pulled back, glancing towards the Gamekeeper. “How’re you, Hagrid?”

“Doin’ well, Freddie!” Hagrid called gruffly, still feeling slightly uncomfortable in the moment. To you, he said, “Miss Y/N.”

“Hi,” you waved back swallowing over a lump in your throat. Then Hagrid nodded at you both and continued to make his ways towards the castle for the dinner feast. You and Fred couldn’t help but laugh slightly.

And just like that. Moment over.

Regrettably, Fred sighed. “C’mon, then,” he interlocked his fingers in yours, “dinner awaits.”

At the Gryffindor table, it seemed as though Fred seemed to be the center of attention. Nothing new to him, actually—however, this time, he really didn’t want to be. Everyone seemed to be interested in what was going on with you two.

“Did you kiss her yet?” Ron asked.

“C’mon, just tell us already,” Harry pleaded.

“Don’t you two know that Freddie doesn’t kiss and tell?” George teased.

Hermione and Ginny just rolled their eyes at the boys—but still eyed Fred curiously.

But Fred stayed silent. Not something most people were used too. He just ate his dinner, smiled cheekily at his friends, and counted down the seconds until he could see you again.

“D’you reckon this is going to end well?”

Fred placed a hand on the small of your back, inching you forward to get a closer look. “Don’t go soft on me now, Y/N. Besides, it’s harmless—he’ll find it funny once we’re through with him.”

Pranking Fred’s twin brother was now making you more nervous than ever.

George was sitting at the Gryffindor table, flirting obnoxiously with Angelina Johnson, discussing something about Quidditch—dragging out the real thing he wanted to do—ask her out. You and Fred had strategically placed a hiccoughing sweet directly next to George’s plate, and to your satisfaction, he’d taken it and was holding it in his hands. Fred knew he’d go right for it. Angelina was sitting next to him, not supremely impressed by the fact that his flirting was, well, mediocre—at least compared to Fred’s.

She sat looking half bored, half amused when George finally took a bite of the sweet. Fred squeezed your shoulders, anticipation flooding his bones.

It was almost an instant, really, that George began hiccoughing uncontrollably. Angelina looked at him, perplexed, and began to giggle as George hiccoughed more and more. It was supposed to be a prank, but Angelina seemed to find it almost... charming? There was a new sort of gleam in her eye, one that wasn’t there before, one that seemed almost—admirable.

It was still funny, though, seeing George do everything in his power to stop this from happening, as he wanted nothing more than to ask Angelina on a proper date. You and Fred fell into a fit of giggles until he pulled you out of the entrance and onto the grounds. It was warm, but you still tried to hold back a shiver.

“Not one of your best, Weasley,” you told him. “Still funny—however I reckon George is going to be getting more than a date by the way Angelina was fawning over him. They’ll be snogging all night.”

“Ah, well—can’t win them all.” Fred replied when he finally caught his breath.

You smiled. “I regret to think Angelina may now be head over heels.”

“You think?” he asked and you nodded. And then—his hand was around the back of your neck, his thumb sweeping over your soft, rosy cheek. A heartbeat increase. A nervous smile. “And how do you feel?”

You prayed to any and all gods that no Gamekeeper, no twin, no nosy student would interrupt you both this time. It was hard enough walking away from that moment before, wanting nothing more than to press yourself into him but not being able too. But everything seemed to be moving in slow motion this time around.

You heard McGonagall’s muffled yells from the Great Hall—something seemed to be happening with some Slytherins, but her voice was drowned out by the blood pounding in your ears. Fred’s heartbeat increased and everything around you both seemed to come to a standstill, and you could see nothing but the rise and fall of his chest.

That free falling feeling again hit Fred like a ton of bricks, his stomach dropping in the best way every time your eyes moved from his, to his lips, and back again.

With a surge of confidence, you replied, “Like I’ll fall in love.”

You pulled on his tie and stopped just before your faces touched—making him wait just another moment. By the look he gave you, he was going mad and so were you. Then, slowly, you pressed your lips softly to his.

They molded together and moved in sync as you slung your other arm around his shoulders and he tightened his grip around your waist. The entire world stopped for Fred—nothing mattered except you—his hands on your waist, your eyelashes brushing gently against his cheek, his lips interlocked with yours.

You parted first, and he looked stunned. Like maybe he thought he’d be the one to kiss you first. You were nervous he’d be upset, but his cheeky smirk told you differently.

“You’re always going to surprise me, aren’t you?” he asked breathlessly.

You tugged on his tie again before leaning in for another nip. “I wouldn’t doubt it, Weasley.”

reblogs + feedback are always appreciated!

[rubickk7]

Meme for Fic Writers - 1, 8, 13!

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Uh. Hrm. I guess AU, with humor? Happy Endings, for sure. But otherwise I’m kind of all across the board. I have a couple of long-fics, several one-shots, a few that are set in canon, but most are an AU of some kind. They all have some humor, and a couple have quite a bit of angst. But it all works out in the end.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

The entire first section of The Only Exception (with the floppy hair), because I felt like I hit the dialogue pretty well for how the characters would speak on the show. It was also a lot of fun to write.

 “You need us to go where, now?” Eliot leans back in his chair, clasping his hands in his lap as he quirks an eyebrow at Margo. She’s been feisty since they started the high council meeting, more so than usual, and he’s not sure why.

 “The Fillorian Fucking Festival.” She tosses down a paper in the middle of the table with a sigh, and Quentin reaches over to slide it his way.

 Eliot glances at it before focusing back on Margo. “Why are you so unhappy about this festival?” he asks. Profanity flows out of Margo like breathing on her best day, but the downward tilt to her mouth tells Eliot there’s more going on here than just her colorful vocabulary. “Oh, is it one of those things where they require a representative from the court so we can approve their goat or cow sacrifice? Well, not it; I did the last one and you know the ruckus it caused when I snuck that goat away to sweet freedom.”

 Margo fixes him with a glare, and he shrugs. “What? Fillory is still here, our crops are still growing, there is no ‘wrath of the gods;’ so clearly the sacrifice was only for show or there would have been armageddon by now.”

 “El,” Quentin says, holding up the flyer with a smirk. “That’s the actual name of it—the ‘Fillorian Fucking Festival.’” He hands it over to Eliot, who skims the flyer.

 “Huh,” he says. “Come ye to the tenth annual Fillorian Fucking Festival. Find your soulmate for all eternity or just the night.” The flyer has an image of what Eliot is sure is a very nice heterosexual couple that appear to be very much in love, their hands clasped while each holds a flame in the palm of their other hands. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes while two moons are vaguely outlined in a starry sky above them.

 Eliot slams the flyer down on the table. “Fillory has an entire festival dedicated to fucking and I had no idea it existed? What the fuck, Margo?”

 “Oh, I’m just as pissed off as you are,” she says, her arms crossed. “But even more so because you get to go and I’m stuck dealing with the not-so-fucking Lorians.”

“It’s not dedicated to fucking,” Fen breaks in. “And it only happens every few years, because it’s dedicated to finding your soulmate.” She smiles brightly, her eyes sparkling as she sighs. “They only put ‘fucking’ in the title to get everyone’s attention. And because of all the brothels that are set up on the festival site.”

 “Finding your soulmate?” Quentin breaks in. Eliot’s eyes cut over to him, a soft smile automatically forming on his face as he takes in Quentin’s crooked crown, and his gentle brown eyes that are focused on Fen. “Like, a real ‘only one in the entire world for me’ soulmate?”

 “Mmhmm,” Fen says, nodding. “Do they not have soulmates on Earth?”

 “Only in Disney movies,” Margo says, sitting down in her chair. “And the best fanfiction ever written.”

 Fen gasps, a horrified expression on her face. “Oh, that’s so sad! Well, finding your soulmate isn’t exactly common in Fillory, but the hope of it—it’s so romantic. I used to dream of holding the Fucking Flame in my hand, waiting to see if it would pull me towards my destiny.”

 “The Fucking Flame?” Eliot says, exchanging a look with Quentin. “Fen—how many fucking things are there in Fillory?” Fen opens her mouth and Eliot cuts her off, “—never mind. Just, give me the rundown on this festival. God, there’s a Fillorian version of Encanto Oculto and I’ve just been sitting here helping run the country like some ignorant first year.”

 13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

My buddy @theaudity linked me this article when they beta’ed my HP AU, and it’s really stuck with me - https://litreactor.com/essays/chuck-palahniuk/nuts-and-bolts-%E2%80%9Cthought%E2%80%9D-verbs

I specifically go through my drafts for the word “ feel” – and every time I find it, I try to make the phrase more active/descriptive.

Thanks for the ask!

[bittybattybunny]

What are Ru’s parents usually like? Are they nice? Are they mean? Are they neglectful? Are they helicopter parents? Do they spoil him? This can be for any AU you want to talk about.

I have two variations on Ru’s parents depending on the AU!!

His parents are Alena (mother, from a smaller country to the north) and Regis The Golden (Father, king of Solgario by bloodline. Descended from the sun god Solgaria.)

Some AUs they are the most loving, supportive, semi smothing parents in the world. In others. His dad is the biggest fucking prick ever. However, these tend to be the AUs in which I have Ru has a more Naive prince without a hint of Malice.

TLC is an AU in which his father is REALLLYYY bad. Regis is semi-abusive towards his sons in terms of favoritism and verbal comments. You can see a bit in the way Arulius speaks about his father in flashbacks. It’ll become more evident as well. His father really hates supernatural creatures and thinks they are trying to take over the world (they aren’t they just live there).

Regis is very perfectionistic. he seeks perfection. This is why Arulius developed the “Prince Perfect” persona he used as a prince and hid most of his inner feelings (leading to our grumpy sea noodle) Ru knew if he didn’t live to his father’s standards the consequences would be bad. Anytime Ru had a shortcoming his father lashed out with flames. he can’t count the servants burned to cinders. (in Moon Guardian Regis is the same way he is in TLC. I’ve mentioned before Sena really doesn’t hate Ru in that au.... he hates Regis for a good reason. He went for Ru to get to Regis) and after his brother's where born he wanted to protect them from their father. Granted. Regis ADORED Marcus and Morgan more than Ru since they could use magic. however, he couldn’t just change the crown prince to his youngest son who he favored since the kingdom adores Arulius. So he just berated his son hoping to break him. he didn’t.

There’s actually an AU in which Regis beheaded Eclipse after she had saved Arulius from a worse fate than death because she was a witch. Ru beheaded his own father in retaliation.

Regis favors Marcus over Morgan and Arulius because Marcus had the strongest magic and ease of control. he also could do a lot of healing and such so this was a good power to the king. Morgan’s magic was more subtle and curse based so his father neglected him.

I have a few AUs in which Regis is actually on very good terms with his family though. I have this one called “The Fairy Cinderella” which is about a Novelist and the book he’s writing based on a weird interaction he has in the woods. His father is a detective and loves his sons and two granddaughters. He’s a simp for his wife and jokes around a lot, only getting serious when he realizes who the random woman his son has over is.

Another AU he’s also a loving father is my Lamia AU. he’s the one who actually purchased the lamia who his son named Eclipse. and even was willing to break his son’s engagement if he wanted to marry the snake instead.

I also have a werewolf AU in which Arulius is a werewolf and accidentally bit Eclipse, turning her. he’s a little prickish but means well and wants his son happy and to break his curse. he’s a bit standoffish but he is a king in a medieval period he has a lot of work to do.

honestly of his parents I change Regis the most as needed.

Alena is a little different. She tends to keep the same personality. She’s motherly but she has her husband whipped. Alena is in a wheelchair in every AU but the cause changes. In TLC she’s in a chair after complications with the birth of the twins. Other AUs she was born that way.

Alena is a soft-spoken woman who hides a sharp tongue when it comes to the men in her family. She worries a lot about her children and wants them happy but knows life loves curveballs.

Alena is where Marcus and Morgan get their magic from. While Regis is considered a “Child of the Sun” Alena is considered a “Child of the Moon” Like Eclipse. She comes from a family who worshiped Mother moon and as such was gifted with magic. She can’t use it as well as her sons can but she can faintly see the strings of fate.

Alena is also the one who started Ru’s nickname of being called Ru. That’s why he only let’s loved ones use it. His father always refers to him as Arulius. But Alena calls him Ru, Ru-ru, little Ru etc.

Here’s a snippet of Alena and Ru from Moon Guardian’s script:

“ARULIUS LUKA LAW WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING.” the queen’s voice was stern, making the prince flinch as he turned to look at his mother with a sheepish smile.

“Hello dearest mother!” he gave a nervous chuckle, “I was simply. I just.” he fumbled around on his words as he tried to think of a recovery, “There’s a comet I really wanted to see!” he sighed, “And the castle view blocks it!” he balled his fists annoyed.

Alena sighed as she wheeled over to where her son was and motioned for him to bend down and pinched his cheeks.

“Oww! Ow!! Mother! Please!” the Prince whined as she released him. He stood up with tears on his eyes as he wiped them with his sleeves, “I mean no harm! I even changed my outfit!” he spun to show the blue ensemble he was wearing, “No one can even tell I’m me!”

“Sweetheart, changing your clothing won’t disguise you. Ru. My darling, bright boy. You’re a giant with bright brown hair and golden eyes.” She pointed out with a smile hiding the fact she was mocking him.

He scowled as he sighed, “yes well. That’s what the hood is for.” he pulled it over his face and produced a mask from his belt, “And I got one of those masks from the Sun festival to make sure no one sees my face.” He showed her the violet mask with yellow eyes and mouth, “Because of its coloration even if someone noticed my eyes they can’t tell if it's the mask or not.” he smiled, “and brown hair like mine isn’t uncommon. Mines just a little red. Common really! And I’m wearing flats! No heels!” He explained all the steps he’d taken, “Mother, please. I just.”

“You just want to play some.” She sighed, “Alright. But don’t let your father find out! He’ll have a conniption if you were found intermingling with commoners again.” 

“Thank you mother!” he kissed her cheek and donned his mask as he ran out of the palace with a wave.

She sighed as she moved to the window to look at the evening sky, “Well. They say the comet is the chance of meeting your fate, so I wonder what you’ll find my dear Ru…”

this is the only picture I have with his parents but they look the same in all au’s minus clothing

Alena is where he gets his nose from :’3c