#She's a hands on kind of Princess she always has been that's!!! A canon Peach character!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lizadale · 3 years

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so i have this post-canon dimigi au file with just a bunch of softfic in it that i totally forgot about until someone brought up "soft" recently and it's kind of a hot mess but. here's 5000 words of it. i can post more if people like it

since it's not during canon, it's Luigi's POV. also might interest those of you who go off about "we've seen drunk Luigi, what about drunk Dimentio?" in my inbox once a month

[]

. . .

“So, are you two…honeymooning?” Peach asks you, bumping a beach ball neatly over to where you’re sitting a few feet away from her, drying off in the sand.

“What?” The question catches you off-guard, but the ball doesn’t. Even though she didn’t formally tell you ‘hey, we’re playing volleyball now,’ you pass it back to her overhand. The princess knows by now that the easiest way to retain your attention is under the pretense of keeping you involved physically. “No? I mean, not in a literal sense.”

“Of course, not in a literal sense,” she says, looking at you like you’re nuts. “You’re not married. You know what I mean.”

“Oh. Right, yeah. I guess?”

You glance over at Dimentio from where he’s sitting in a beach chair several feet away—very pointedly not coming within ten paces of the water—with his nose in a book, looking very out of place on a beach on Isle Delfino. Occasionally he looks up and glares heatedly at the ocean, as if at any second the tide will shift and a tsunami will come sweep him away. He’s carefully tucked under the shade of a large umbrella, except for his bare feet and legs which he apparently has decided to sun. He hasn’t moved since you set him up there.

While you’re distracted, Peach bonks the beach ball off your head and back into her hands. You make a face at her.

“Honeymooning,” you say, amused. You get to your feet and step back a few paces to properly start a volley with her.

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m surprised he came with us,” she says.

You are, too. He fought you for only a couple days on the idea before conceding, mostly due to not having a good enough argument not to. He did not, predictably, get anywhere near the airplane; instead, you took the plane with the others and he teleported across the ocean to you once you were on solid ground and away from the crowd. You think it was less a decision given to his standoffish and aloof nature as it was his tendency to get motion sick when he’s not in control of his own movement. Still, you were pleasantly surprised he didn’t change his mind after seeing you off.

It’s not that you expected him to be an avid beachgoer. But Dimentio enjoys being in different places, and he needed a change of scenery for a while.

“Are you disappointed?” you half-joke, like it hasn’t been bothering you for the whole day.

She catches your next lob and gives you stern look. “Luigi,” she says. “I’m not passing judgement on the company you keep.”

You shrug jerkily. “It’s not about my relationship,” you demur.

“I wouldn’t like to be stuck in a room alone with him,” says Peach. “But I don’t mind Dimentio when he’s with you.” She resumes the pass.

You’ve always appreciated her gentle honesty. “I think he enjoys talking to you,” you tell her, “even if he won’t admit it. I heard that at some point he tried some verbal acrobatics on you and you knocked him on his ass. He likes that.”

Peach’s mouth twists in displeasure. “He likes it, or he just wants to keep trying until he wins?”

“Well. Probably that second one.”

You bounce the next one off your knee, and when she bumps it back you, you set it high off your fingertips in an arc toward the ocean. Peach blinks at you in confusion, about to ask why you just threw the ball away. Then Mario comes tumbling out of the water, leaping up the shore and slamming the ball so hard into the ground that sand sprays all over your shins with the impact. You laugh in surprise; you could feel Mario paying attention, but you weren’t expecting him to come out guns blazing, looking to score an immediate point.

“Mario,” Peach tuts. “You ruined our volley.”

“Don’t set it to me if you don’t want me to spike,” he offers plainly.

You’re surprised the ball didn’t burst with the force. You toe it back into the air and deliberately pass it to him underhand this time. His moustache twitches in chagrin, but he starts a new volley between the three of you anyway. His passes to you are intentionally off-target, though, forcing you to move more. Whenever Peach passes to him high enough, your beloved brother spikes the ball so you have to dive to bump it back. You save one of them with the heel of your foot and punt it off his nose, because you’re petty and you hate losing at sports. The princess has a hard time hiding her amusement, as all the balls to her are returned gently while you and Mario are seconds away from foregoing the formality of the ball entirely and wrestling each other in the sand.

Mario kicks it off your chest so hard you stagger back, and you’re preparing to tackle him back into the ocean when he punches the rebound and sends it sailing away from both you and Peach and up shore. You’re baffled until you realize your brother has just passed the ball twenty yards away to Dimentio, who only briefly casts the three of you an apathetic look over his book before snapping his fingers. The ball ricochets of a series of conjured barriers in a frantic zigzag before he shuts off the momentum, landing it neatly within Peach’s reach. Then he returns to reading as if nothing happened.

“Showoff,” Mario mutters.

“What were you expecting him to do? Something humble?” you ask. You equally want to run over and throttle Dimentio for the unnecessary display as you want to hug him for opting to participate at all.

“No,” your brother says. “I was expecting him to blow it up.”

You guess that’s a fair assumption, too.

“When did he get a drink?” Peach asks, shading her eyes against the sunlight.

There is indeed what looks to be a champagne flute balanced in the sand next to Dimentio’s chair.

“Oh, no,” you say. “Who gave him alcohol? Don’t venders need to ID for that?”

“You’re in my spot,” Mario says, nudging you away so he can stand across from Peach.

You shove him back just on principle of the matter, but you’re now interested in the idea that Dimentio is sitting on Gelato Beach, reading a novel and drinking a cocktail like a stereotypical housewife on vacation.

“You’re blocking my sun,” he greets you when you approach—an incredibly amusing accusation considering he’s under a wide brim umbrella with that exact intention. Having apparently inherited a lucky combination of human genes in all the right places, he doesn’t experience the standard sun sickness the majority of Ancients are vulnerable to, but he still burns long before he tans (you have no idea what a ‘tan’ on grey skin would even look like). His feet and most of his legs are still out in the sunlight, probably to counteract the slight chill the sea breeze creates under the shade.

“What’s this?” you ask him, picking up the glass and taking a sip.

“Something I didn’t plan on sharing,” he quips drily, but there’s no ill feeling behind it. He’s used to you sampling from his food and drink by now. Half the time when you eat out you suspect he orders more than he plans on actually eating specifically because he knows your fork will end up on his plate at some point during the meal.

You’re relieved to find out that it’s just a Rossini, which is pretty mild as far as cocktails go. You’re not sure what you’d do if, less than a full day into your trip, Dimentio was already so bored he decided to get drunk.

“No one carded you for this?” you ask.

He blinks slowly at you, like a cat. “I am three thousand and ninety-four years old.”

“You look maybe twenty, by human standards,” you tell him ruefully. “And your tolerance for liquor matches a five-year-old.”

“Did you come to harass me because your brother kicked you out of your game?”

So, he has been watching. “No, I came to abduct you. We’re gonna build a sandcastle.”

He glares at you critically from over his novel.

“Don’t be like that,” you say. “You’ve had your nose in that book for two hours, you’re probably on your second reread. Put that down. C’mere.”

You pull him from the chair, slowly enough that if he wants to fight you, he has the room to do so, until he’s on his feet. He hesitates for a moment, then sets the book down and pulls his poncho off the back of the chair. You let him put it on, despite wondering how he can stand the additional heat.

“I’m not building a sandcastle,” he says disparagingly, folding his arms under the poncho. It’s only because it’d look really dumb that he’s not wearing gloves out on the beach, and he’s still doing his damnedest to keep his hands protected from the sun. That’s the only reason he insisted on bringing the poncho out with him. Otherwise, all he’s wearing are his regular sleeveless top and a very nice knitted skort you’ve been struggling to not remark on all day.

“Right,” you amend. “You’re coming to watch me build a sandcastle.”

“There’s plenty of sand over here,” he says, like you’re expecting him to.

“Need the firmer sand closer to the ocean to hold it together.” You see his eyebrow twitch and add, “Dio, I’ll protect you from the scary water.”

He wavers for a moment longer, then gives up for the sake of not losing face. You know he’s leery of the ocean because he dislikes the danger of being submerged in water. You’d like to teach him how to swim, but you know better than to do it in the sea — water getting in his eye wound is unpleasant enough without involving salt of all things. The hotel has a pool, though. It’ll take a measure of persuasion, but you have your fingers crossed.

Dimentio walks a couple paces in the sand and decides he really doesn’t like that, so you let him climb onto your back while you journey to the blanket towels Peach has set out closer to the tide line. You’ve been carrying him a lot lately, but you don’t really mind. It’s only been a couple weeks since he recovered enough from his personal battle with the Chaos Heart that his health is no longer an issue, but he’s still exhausted. Dragging him out into the sunlight is probably not your greatest idea.

You spend a good thirty minutes playing in the sand—not really making anything meaningful out of it, just molding walls and seeing how ambitious you can get without it falling apart. It’s busywork, mostly, because while you’re not ready to leave just yet you still need something to keep you entertained. Dimentio doesn’t really watch you at all, instead leaning against your back while you work. You can’t reach a whole lot while sitting upright to support his weight, but there are worse fates. Neither of you say anything, and the silence is comfortable.

The breeze is wonderful so close to the water, but there’s also more moisture in the air. You have no idea how he’s surviving wearing so many layers.

After a while, Mario rolls back out of the ocean with Peach in tow. The princess says something to him you can’t hear over the crash of the waves, and he pads up the beach. She waits for a moment, then comes over and joins your castle-making.

“Mario’s grabbing some snacks,” she tells you. “Is this the castle from Bean Bean?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “My inspiration’s all over the place.” You flatten the half-assed wing you were working on and start over. “I’ll need windows, but I can’t reach much.”

Peach cranes her neck to see the magician crowded up against your back and smiles. “I’ve got you,” she says, and sits across from you so she can work on the back of whatever you’re building next.

Honestly, you keep waiting for Dimentio to announce that he’s done being social and wants to go inside. He’s been suspiciously compliant so far, despite you only dragging him wherever you want to go all day. Right now, he’s only making sure you don’t forget he’s there by rubbing lazy circles across your back, but you can tell from his posture that he’s very close to needing a nap. He may demand to go back to the hotel soon rather than risk drowsing in front of strangers.

A swath of shade suddenly approaches from behind, and you feel Dimentio relax a little against you.

“Bow’s mansion?” your brother asks, pointing at the sand.

“They’re kinda similar, huh,” you say. “I was aiming for the ghost house on Donut Plains.”

“It’s got less windows and no shutters,” he informs you. Apparently, the carpenter’s spirit in him will never die. You could show him a picture of any building from any adventure and he’d immediately place it like he was there yesterday.

The shade doesn’t move even as Mario passes by to hand Peach a cup of strawberry gelato, and you realize your brother has lugged that huge umbrella you left up-shore and planted it where most of its shade falls over Dimentio. Because it’s all you can reach at the moment, you pat Mario’s calf in appreciation, and he offers you some cannoli from the armful of sweets he’s carrying.

You take one, split it in half as best you can, and nudge it at Dimentio until he takes it, grumbling. You know he won’t eat the whole thing because he’s not huge on sweets, but the sugar will do him some good right now; when you turn around, you see he absolutely looks ready to fall asleep where he’s sitting. He doesn’t seem annoyed about it, though. Just…oddly subdued. He takes a tentative bite of the offering.

“Cheese?” he mumbles, obviously having expected a plain cream filling. He presses the rest of it into his mouth and hums in approval.

“Ricotta,” you tell him. “They’re best with coffee, though. Move over.”

You bully him farther onto the towel so you can take up the edge of it, and then you lay on your side facing him and the umbrella.

Mario drifts back over before you get further than that, setting the rest of the sweets near the cooler he brought and interrupting you with a bottle of clear gel. “Foot,” he says to Dimentio, motioning that he should be handed the appendage in question.

You prop yourself back up warily. “…Did I miss a spot?”

Dimentio looks at Mario carefully for a moment, and to your surprise he obeys. You think it’s only because Dimentio knows by now that Mario never touches him without purpose, but it warms your heart to see them interacting somewhat comfortably anyway.

Mario applies a thin layer of aloe to the bottom of Dimentio’s left foot, around the heel and arch. Dimentio wrinkles his nose but doesn’t fuss about it. As Mario leaves to join Peach on their own towel, he tosses the rest of the sunblock to you meaningfully.

“Alright, alright,” you sigh. You admit you pretty consistently forget that skin can burn there. You didn’t think it would be much of a problem, since Dimentio refuses to walk on the hot sand at all, but he has had his feet exposed to the sun nearly the entire time he was reading, and since they’re not as calloused as yours they’re much more vulnerable. You don’t even see any obvious sign of a burn, so you don’t know how Mario just glanced at him and decided aloe was needed.

You shift the umbrella a little so it covers more of the towel, and then you lay back down. “Anyway, c’mere,” you say, making grabby hands at the Ancient.

He gives you another slow blink. The sea breeze has his hair tousled more than usual, even though most of it’s tied back at the nape of his neck. There’s something very ethereal about seeing him outside on a beach. It must be the high contrast. The brightness of the sun, the blueness of the sky, and the vibrant colors of Isle Delfino—and then Dimentio sitting amid all that color, with his cool grey skin and jet-black hair, looking so much like one of those elegant old movie still frames that he could hold your attention for hours.

“…Or we can go back to the hotel?” you hazard at his lack of reaction. “I don’t want you to burn more. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

“No,” he says, removing the poncho, the last bit of color on him aside from his eyes, and folding it against the cooler so it doesn’t blow away. “The breeze here is nice.”

He eases down on his side in front of you, using your arm as a pillow and tucking his head under your chin. The fact that he’s hiding his face means that he’s really intending to sleep. You were right about him needing a nap; you were wrong about him being unwilling to have one out in the open. You curl your free arm around his waist and feel him drowse, utterly relaxed.

You stay awake, because it would be a waste to be too unconscious to enjoy the exorbitant amount of trust Dimentio is displaying right now. He’s such a selfish little shit during regular hours of the day that you take for granted how easily he can melt you with a gesture that says, ‘despite how paranoid I am, I feel safe falling asleep in your arms in a public place because I know you would never let anything happen to me.’

. . .

The storm you’ve been smelling since the plane landed starts to spin closer within the next hour, so you begrudgingly prod Dimentio awake just as the waves are breaking too close to your back for comfort. Peach has already been trying to herd Mario further up the shore, but your brother, in typical fashion, seems to be thinking swimming in those dangerous waves would make for a fun challenge.

“It’s three-to-one,” you yell at him over the wind. “Get your ass above the tide, we’re going back.”

“We shouldn’t have waited so long,” Peach says fretfully, rolling up the towels as spray blows in off the white caps. “It’s going to rain soon, and we have to lug all of this over that hill…”

“Ridiculous,” Dimentio yawns hugely as you drag him off the towel to fold it up with the umbrella. “Why would you do that? Bring it all here.”

Peach looks at him askance. “What?”

“Bring it here, I said. Or is there sand in your ears?” He yawns again, but stands up slowly, scowling at the sand between his toes. Apparently, he’s either slept off all of his sweetness for the time being or is really this grumpy at being woken up.

“Are you, uh, up for that?” you ask, shouldering the awkward length of the umbrella pole and struggling to not let it tip you. “You still seem really tired.”

“I can manage it,” he announces. “I am feeling oddly generous today.”

Mario comes up behind you after retrieving the chair and hastily passes you Dimentio’s poncho while he’s not looking, lest he go ballistic over someone touching his stuff without asking.

“Here, gimme that, too,” you say, taking the chair from your brother. “You grab the cooler and hold onto it. He can’t teleport anything we’re not carrying.”

“Is this safe?” Peach asks.

“I wouldn’t let him do it if it weren’t.”

“You have survived it twice before, Princess,” Dimentio points out. He flexes his fingertips and closes his eyes, as he often does when focusing on a destination. “Though I daresay you might have an easier time now that you are expecting it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” she says. “You did teleport me, when you saved me from Nastasia. …And then you dumped me about twenty feet onto the hard streets of Flipside.”

“…Yes. Well.”

Dimentio snaps you all onto Sirena Beach in place of a meaningful explanation for that. You take this to mean that either dropping Peach from so high had been a miscalculation on his part, or he’s just generally unsure how to deal with her bringing up that particular part of their past.

You and Mario set all the stuff except the cooler and the towels with the rest of the rentals and make it inside just before the rain starts.

And you seem to have misjudged Dimentio’s reaction to Peach bringing up the whole Void adventure because that’s exactly what they’re talking about in the lobby when you walk in.

“…as crisp as a slap on a winter day, or something like that,” Peach is saying, and Mario snorts beside you.

“No, no, no,” Dimentio corrects her mildly, looking amused. “I believe it was ‘your beauty is as fresh as a slap in the face on a crisp winter day,’ give or take a few descriptors. And I believe that comparison aged quite well.”

Peach looks very unsure how to take this.

“Wait, what?” you ask. “That’s how you greeted her?”

Dimentio gives you an unimpressed glare. “At least I did not outright hit on her.”

Mario has mostly failed his endeavor to not laugh by now. Your face heats up.

“I didn’t—”

“’Hey there, gorgeous,’” Dimentio mercilessly parrots at you, “’what’s a stunner like you doi—’”

“NO!” You shake him. “You were WATCHING that whole time?!”

“Of course I was,” he says, not bothering to pry your hands off his shoulders. “If you had died before I killed you, my whole plan would’ve been dashed to pieces.”

“…Do you realize how terrible and stupid that sounds?”

“In retrospect, yes.”

“You didn’t even kill me.”

“Of course not,” he says peaceably. “But you weren’t supposed to realize that.”

“Now that that’s come up, why was I the only one to end up in the Overthere?” Peach asks.

Dimentio turns his vacant smile on her now. “Because the boys needed an incentive to find their way to the last Pure Heart.”

“Mario and Luigi already had it. It was Luvbi.”

“Who?”

It turns out Dimentio had set Bonechill on the Overthere specifically so Grambi would be forced to hand the Pure Heart over to Mario for safekeeping, and he’s rocked by the revelation that the Pure Heart was disguised as a Nimbi and how he almost got Grambi erased for no good reason.

“I mean, I might have liked him dead anyway,” he remarks offhandedly, because it’s much easier than saying ‘oh shit, I almost really fucked that up.’ “It would have been another honorable achievement in my repertoire. Assassinate God. Seduce the Moon.”

And therein Peach seems to remember suddenly why she never starts conversations with Dimentio.

You start shoving him toward the elevator. “Alright, so. We’re gonna just head on up. I need to wash all this sand off, anyway.”

“Wait! I never got to finish my drink.”

“Oh, my god.” You forgot he had alcohol in his system. No wonder he’s been so sweet and pliant.

“I want to try one of the orange ones,” he says in your ear conspiratorially. “All they had on the beach were strawberry and peach. It’s much too sweet.”

“You want a mimosa?” you ask incredulously.

“Or maybe the yellow one is more fitting, do you think?” he asks, pointing at the pictures above the bar when he stalks you into the cocktail lounge, just before the casino.

You are 90% certain the pineapple version of the cocktail is called a Flirtini and involves some degree of vodka. That’s an absolute no. You consider ordering him something virgin, but he’d definitely notice and get offended, and Offended Dimentio will make a lot more trouble for you than Drunk Dimentio ever will. So instead you ask the bartender to at least make sure it’s only one part champagne to three parts juice.

“Oh, this is much better,” Dimentio comments, downing half the flute once you deliver it. “Not nearly as sweet.”

You immediately swipe the glass out of his hands in abject fear. “Sip!” you yell, startling nearby casino-goers. “You don’t throw back cocktails!”

“Excuse me. Give that back.”

“Sip.”

“I will sip.”

“Daintily.”

He squints at you. You squint back. Very carefully you hand him the flute, and because you’re still watching him all he does is swivel the stem thoughtfully between his fingers.

“Where’s yours?” he asks.

“I didn’t get one.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really like cocktails.”

He gives you a baleful look, and then holds it out for you. It’s because he’s doing it out of spite that you lean forward and let him tip some of his drink into your mouth. He only lets the tiniest bit past the rim before taking it back, still looking particularly saucy that you had the nerve to take up the offer. His nose wrinkles when you lick your lips.

“Daintily,” he says mockingly, throwing back another decidedly not-dainty swig.

You come back up the stairs with him and realize that Mario has taken all of the card keys and disappeared with them, but Dimentio realizes something entirely different.

“You fool!” he says loudly behind you, making you jump. He’s pointing out the lobby window accusingly. “It’s raining!”

It’s coming down pretty heavily now, but you don’t suspect it’ll last long. It’s only a brief shock of a storm blowing by, barely enough to have alerted you at all. The sky is dark despite it barely being around dinnertime. There’s quite an annoyed crowd gathered around the doors; beachgoers forced to return early, tourists with dashed dinner plans, and venders from the rental area spooked inside by the thunder.

“What are you doing,” Dimentio hisses. “You’re missing it.”

You’re not sure why he sounds so affronted. “I don’t have to sit out in every single rai—” you start, and then stop because suddenly you’re standing in your hotel room and he’s shoving you across it toward the balcony. Maybe it’s because you were talking during it, but you didn’t even hear him snap his fingers.

“Shower,” he says.

“I’m—”

“Get out there!”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Nooooooo…….”

“You—” You snort. “Dio, are you okay??”

Dimentio puts his hands on your shoulders and headbutts your back, clearly frustrated. “You’re missing it,” he repeats in a whine.

“I to—I told you not to throw back that drink!” You don’t know what else to do with this exchange besides start laughing. “I can’t believe you—oh my god, it’s okay, look, look, look—” You throw open the balcony sliding doors to the lovely sound of the rain hitting the eaves and railing, because Dimentio looks absolutely devastated that you’re not sitting out in a storm like you usually would, and you’re torn between laughing your ass off and genuinely being concerned for him. “Look, I’m going out, it’s okay!”

He shoves at you again, and you step over the threshold into the warm island rain. You turn around and sit down in front of the door on the floor of the small balcony, facing the room. He visibly relaxes again, and then he sits down as well. He empties the last of the drink into his mouth and reaches his arms out toward you.

You’re not really sure what this means, so you reach back, and he grabs you, and suddenly one of you is sitting in a hotel room and the other is outside getting rained on and you’re holding hands across the divide, and you have no idea what you did to deserve this.

“You almost missed the rain because I wanted a stupid drink,” he huffs.

“Dimentio,” you say earnestly with a bleeding heart, “you’re very drunk, and I’m thinking of keeping you that way.” You bring his hands up and kiss each one gently over the knuckles.

“I’m not drunk,” he corrects you hotly.

The lock clicks on the door as someone slides a card key through the catch, and then Peach is standing there in the doorway. She obviously wasn’t expecting to find the room occupied.

“Oh, you’re already in here?” she asks, baffled. “Mario walked off with your card keys, so I brought them back. We couldn’t find you and you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Keep them,” says Dimentio, lifting his chin defiantly. “He doesn’t need them. He has me.”

Peach’s mouth twitches a little, her eyes catching on the empty champagne flute.

“I told the mixer one part to three,” you tell her solemnly. “But I’m pretty sure they did one-to-two.”

“I see. Daisy says she’ll be here late afternoon tomorrow if she’s lucky. She's having trouble getting away from that wretched chancellor again.”

You grin. That’s sure to be a good time. And you're sure if you check your phone she's probably been blowing up about it all day.

“Are you sure you don’t want a key?” she asks.

“I’ll take one, just in case. You can leave it on the counter.”

“No,” Dimentio says stubbornly. “We don’t need it.”

“What if you’re asleep and I decide to go swimming without you?”

“Do not.”

“Don’t go swimming without you?”

“No! You’re not allowed back in the water!” he blusters. “I can’t get to you!”

“I’m not gonna drown in the pool, Dio—”

“I do NOT care. You’re not supposed to leave the bed when I’m asleep anyway.”

“What if I need to pee?”

“You’ll hold it.”

You look up at Peach pleadingly. ‘Someone save me, he’s too cute.’

The look she returns plainly says ‘he’s not cute, he’s being controlling,’ but you’ve never really been good at taking her relationship advice. “There’s an ice machine down the hall, if you want to work on that headache,” is all she says to you as she leaves, “Mario and I are going to see about dinner when the weather breaks. We’ll come get you when we’re ready.”

. . .

#dimigi au #my writing #alcohol cw

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numberonephantompizza1 · 3 years

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Poppy Fanfic: “Ask Her”

For context: This is a fanfic I wrote in order to join the Poppy Milk dev team and show off my writing skills. Since the callout at the time said we’d need to write a lot of sidequests, I wanted to ask the question of what a Poppy-centered side-quest would be like. I got the idea that it would be from an Asker’s perspective, and everything sort of came naturally after that. Even though I’m on the dev team right now, it’s not canon to Omega Timeline: Poppy’s Story and even has some inaccuracies that contradict canon. With that said, please feel free to read the story below the cut.

---

You noticed something very different inside your room when you woke up. The lights were off and the sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a certain… aura, coming from your door. You were filled with a certain trepidation, but… you approached it. It was hard to see in the light, but it looked… grey.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped through...

...and found about the last person you would’ve expected. The spitting image of Frisk - CORE!Frisk, that was, looking up at you, in the middle of a white void.

“Wh- You’re real?!” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course I’m real. Have you been taking all this multiverse stuff for granted? Everything is real somewhere,” Core answered, simply.

“I… I don’t… and you, me…” you panted, starting to feel a small panic attack coming on.

“Focus,” Core snapped their fingers, grounding you back in reality. Okay, this was happening now.

“Let’s get down to business. Simply: you don’t like me. And I don’t like you. But we BOTH like Poppy. Poppy, my dear, sweet angel… has unfortunately recently come to the realization that Askers ALSO exist in the multiverse. And now she wants to do a ‘meet n’ greet’ with one of her fans. Trust me, I TRIED to talk her out of it, but she can be darn persuasive when she wants to be. And as you’re now realizing, that’s where you come in.

“I wanna make you a deal. You play along with whatever Poppy wants until she gets bored of this. If you’re on your best behavior - and that means, don’t give her anything bad, don’t tell her anything you KNOW she shouldn’t know, don’t use any magic, and be a general good influence - if you play nice, in exchange, I will allow you to hang out with ANY resident of the Omega Timeline.

“Want to spend a day full of wacky hijinks with a Papyrus, or even an Underswap Sans? Consider it done. Want to know how Deltarune Chapter 2 plays out ahead of time? I know a Susie with your name on it. Whatever you want, so long as you play by the rules, and don’t ask for anyone obviously ridiculous. So… do we have ourselves a deal?”

You contemplated that offer, and everything that was happening, trying to suppress your inner urge to geek out for just a few moments. The Omega Timeline, Poppy, and all the AU’s you could think of and more were real. And you just got an invitation to visit them.

“Yeah, of course!” you nodded excitedly, though your enthusiasm only seemed to make Core more anxious.

“Don’t make me regret this…” Core sighed, as the whiteness seemed to melt away into a cozy-looking house with wooden floors and lime walls, where you were standing directly outside of a white door. Core seemed to have disappeared.

Technically, there was nothing stopping you from exploring. So you did just that. You walked up to a shelf with some family photos. One was a photo of Poppy, Core, Dusted and Rust all together, in some meadow, looking happy. At least, you assumed Dusted and Rust were happy, they didn’t show up well on camera. There was another photo of Poppy alone, looking somewhat younger than she did on the blog, seated on a chair in a photo that looked far more staged. She held an actual poppy flower in her hand and smiled brightly.

You opened the cabinet doors, curious of what knick-knacks you might find in there. Some crayons, a few random glass cups, some art by 3-year-old Poppy that was so poorly done its meaning was hard to decipher, and a locked box. You reached for the box--

“Getting a bit sidetracked, aren’t we?”

You jolted up, and faced Core behind you. Even though they were child-sized, they crossed their arms with the poise and authority of a stern parent. You laughed anxiously. “Ahahaha… ahaha… ha……..”

“...Strike one.” Core said, and vanished. The meaning of that was all-too clear. Deciding not to dilly dally any longer, you went to the room you suspected to be Poppy’s, and knocked.

“Just a sec!” Poppy said, and opened the door. She looked up at you, and gasped. “Wow, Granpa really did come through…!” She twirled excitedly. “You must be my adoring fan, aren’t you?” she asked.

You stared down at the girl in stunned silence.

“To be honest, I kinda figured you’d be some gray guy with sunglasses, but that’s kinda silly in hindsight. How you doin’?” She asked that last line in a mock accent as you continued to stare.

“Baby,” you said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you quickly tried to change the subject. “Yeah, it’s… y’know, it’s great to be here…” You clasped your hands together, biting your lip. You were in an Undertale AU, faced with the AU granddaughter of another AU character. You still weren’t entirely over that. Was this fever dream? Fandom heaven, or fandom hell?

“I know! Once I heard you guys weren’t from the Omega Timeline, I realized I hadn’t met even ONE of my fans… even if you guys are super annoying some of the time.”

“Uhhh, yeah…” you wondered if you should apologize on behalf of the askers who put Poppy in the hospital that one time. Then again, it seemed kind of awkward, and it might have been best not to bring that up while Core was watching, which was always. Looking down at the cutesy girl, it was almost tempting to pull her into a hug, but you managed to keep your composure.

“I wanted to do something a little more special than just some sorta interview, though, because you ask me questions all the time anyways,” Poppy said. “Granpa said you’ve never been to the Omega Timeline before, so I wanna give you the big tour!” Poppy went to the door. “I’m gonna be outside when you’re ready!” She left the room.

Seeing the empty room in front of you, you were tempted to snoop again, but you’d learned your lesson after last time. You headed straight out after Poppy.

You couldn’t help but gasp in awe of the serenity of the great outdoors as you were beckoned to it. You’d been outside before, obviously, but everything just looked so… nice. The blue sky, the grassy grounds, the ornate buildings… you’ve seen this place in pixel art and a couple drawings before, but seeing it with your own eyes was another story. And the next thing for you to nearly faint at was seeing the Undertale characters running around, Sanses, Undynes, Frisks, even goat moms.

Poppy smiled. “...It’s nice, isn’t it? I KNEW taking you on a tour was a good idea.” She smirked. “Now remember, just because this is a meet-up doesn’t mean it’s free, and there WILL be a fee at the end of our ride.”

“...Uh… I left my wallet at home,” you said, patting your pockets, “And I don’t have any, uh... ‘G,’ I think. Unless the G stands for ‘Gratitude,’ amiright?” you did finger guns.

“G stands for Gold,” Poppy corrected you bluntly, unamused. She returned to her chipper attitude just as quickly, though. “Now, let me show you around!” She led you down the street.

Walking with her, seeing so many versions of your favorite characters in the flesh, walking around… well, the temptation to talk to SOME of them was irresistible, Core be damned. You did resolve not to go too far off-track, but you shared some words with the folks you passed by, Poppy thankfully stopping each time you did. You met two Frisks - one boy, one ambiguous - an Underswap Undyne, a human version of Toriel, and surprisingly, a version of Princess Peach.

You and Poppy approached an elegant fountain, stood upon proudly by a statue of a mustachio’d CORE!Frisk. “This is the Timeline Plaza! It’s sort of the local park, where people meet up to do... stuff. Just hang out. Make a picnic. Play ball. All that good park-y stuff, y’know? And there’s stores in all directions, so it’s pretty good.” She proudly showed off her home to you, with a smile.

You talked to more on the way to the next place. An Inverted Fate Papyrus. A weird Ralsei who said his name was “Noyno.” An Asgore wearing a hoodie, who you assumed was swapped with Sans. (Poppy did scold you a little bit for this, telling you that just because someone has a hoodie you shouldn’t assume they’re swapped. You apologized.)

“This is Grillby’s! One of them, anyways. The nearest one to my house. It’s pretty good if you want an OK burger. Sanses love the place, though. It’s… kind of unhealthy. And a little gross.” Poppy said. “Especially when they just drink… raw… ketchup.”

“Can’t handle a little ketchup?” you smiled mischievously. “We drink it by the gallon back in my universe,” you lied.

“...I really hope you’re joking,” Poppy said, alarmed.

“Am I?” you smiled brighter.

“...W-well, we’re not going in there, so you can FORGET about drinking that much ketchup!” Poppy said, afraid of the sheer power of your ketchup-drinking.

You and Poppy moved onto the next spot. You met an Underswap Alphys who seemed to be trapped in a red-and-gold palette. You met a robot dressed as a circus ringmaster, who claimed to be a Chara. You met a Dummy dressed in a Frisk shirt. (You didn’t assume it was swapped with Frisk this time, which turned out to be a mistake, because it was.) Poppy stared at you awkwardly now, wondering why you were talking to all these random strangers. Finally, you and Poppy reached your next destination.

“The theater! Where we show off all the greatest hits! Including MY movie, which, not to brag, but it’s--”

Except, you’d been distracted by a hyperdeath Asriel, and were ignoring Poppy for the moment.

“...” Poppy spoke up. “That’s what I don’t get about you.”

“Huh?” that seemed to wake you up, and you looked at her.

“Everytime it’s always, ‘have you met Underswap Sans,’ or ‘have you met JangoTale Frisk,’ or some other weird thing. You always ask that. But… they’re just people. Why do you always assume I know some random Sans or Frisk or someone?”

“I…” you were a bit taken aback. “...I don’t… we don’t assume you know them, they’re just… they’re just important.”

“Important?” She asked. “...I-I mean, yeah, EVERYONE’s important, but, I don’t really get what you mean…”

“They’re all--” You paused, trying to collect your thoughts, think of everything you knew from the blog, and tried to actually talk to her. “...They’re like friends to me. Kinda.”

“...You guys are friends with them? I thought you were stuck in your world…” she frowned.

“No, it’s like-- I’m not ‘friends’ with Underswap Frisk, or-- or Storyshift Frisk, or Shifty or whatever, I’m just friends with… Frisk.”

...Poppy stared at you like you just said the ground was turning to jelly, or something equally bafflingly inane. “...I… think you’re confused. Look, sometimes newcomers struggle with this. Your Frisk isn’t the only Frisk--”

“I know! It’s… You don’t get it. This world, these worlds are so special and creative, and they mean a lot to me. I know we can be really edgy, and I know we ask weird questions about Dusted and Rust, but that’s all because… because...” you paused.

Poppy looked, seeming upset about hearing her siblings mentioned in the context of ‘edgy’ questions, not seeing what you were seeing. Core, standing behind her, holding up a hand signal.

The number two.

You were getting carried away. You overstepped.

“...Um… I’m sorry.” You pulled her into a hug as Core vanished. “There’s really no reason for us to ask those questions. We can just be dumb sometimes.”

“...” She hugged back. “Yeah, it’s okay. I knew you guys were super weird and dumb before I convinced Granpa to let you in here, so I guess I should’ve seen this coming,” Poppy smiled, regaining her confidence as you did your best to not be offended at being called weird and dumb.

“Okay! I think I have just one last stop in mind to cap this tour off on a high note! Literally, hehehe…” She giggled mischievously. This time, you didn’t stop to talk to others, following her directly as you approached a peak overlooking the town. For yet another time, and probably the last, you couldn’t help but ogle at the town’s beauty. “Pretty good, right?” She sat down.

“Ha… with all the climbing, I was worried we’d fall down a mountain,” you joked. Poppy seemed to roll her eyes, as you sat beside her. “...I guess I get how you can call this place home. I mean, once I stop nerding out, anyways. You don’t see stuff like this in my… reality.”

“Just gallons and gallons of ketchup, huh?” she commented. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah.”

And you two just stared into the distance for a while. ...She wasn’t just a character. She was a human being.

...Or, technically just a ‘being,’ scratch the human part. Still, you felt a bit desensitized to all this. And so did she. You related in that way.

“I can’t say you exactly passed with flying colors, but you fulfilled your end of the agreement well enough.”

Without any warning, you were back in a white void with CORE!Frisk, just like before. You almost forgot about the deal you made, what with all the time you spent with Poppy. You stood.

“Uh… yeah. So, my reward…” you drifted off, remembering the offer Core gave you. The chance to meet just about any AU character of your imagining… or at least, any that would be peaceful enough to be in the Omega Timeline. Which still left a WIDE variety of options…

Who did you want to see? What mattered most to you?

...

Thinking deeply… you told Core their name.

“...Oh. Really? Well, I guess it makes sense for you that you’d want to see them,” Core remarked. “I can’t guarantee they’ll give you what you’re looking for, but a deal’s a deal. Let’s head off.”

You and Core went somewhere else.

---

And that’s all she wrote! If you read this far, thank you. Working on the game since then has been fun, and I think you’ll like what we have in store. Until then, ciao.

#undertale #omega timeline #poppy's story

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice.

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it .

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?”

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl.

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field.

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine.

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more.

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him.

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him.

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it.

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed.

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance.

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips.

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean.

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life.

“Are you going to finish that?”

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face.

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction.

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous.

Her home address would be in that file too.

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”.

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime.

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion.

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest.

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.”

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.”

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles.

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful.

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils.

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings.

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night.

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples.

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now.

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path.

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice.

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms.

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission.

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too.

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely.

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall, abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray.

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign.

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter.

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men.

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be.

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey.

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before.

So opinionated, so bold.

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his.

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue.

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly.

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear.

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again.

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand.

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision.

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin.

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance.

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan.

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine.

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration.

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn.

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose.

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow.

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss.

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.”

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her.

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much.

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind.

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world.

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair.

August didn’t even cry, not since then.

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.”

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August.

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father.

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous.

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents.

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost.

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy.

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him.

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August.

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!”

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain.

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care.

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic.

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be.

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters.

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed.

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest.

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can.

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest.

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight.

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips.

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time.

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions.

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs.

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you.

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false.

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man.

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession. “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief.

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.”

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers.

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm.

“Did you ever love me?”

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves.

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go.

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still.

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life.

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him.

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever.

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue.

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August.

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart.

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself.

I will have my vengeance.

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #The Way to Hell #August Walker Fanfiction #Mission Impossible Fallout #Henry cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x OFC #henry cavill x ofc #Mission Impossible Fanfiction

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rainbowwing251 · 3 years

Note

Oh, curious for the headcanons for the Mario Bros!

I haven’t played too many of the games in the Super Mario Franchise, but I think I can do this!

But first, I would like to make this statement: I am very sorry for all of the Mario fans out there. Fire Emblem fans may have lost a localized Shadow Dragon and the Blade of Light, but Mario fans lost Super Mario 3D All-Stars (I have a digital copy of that game, by the way. I want to get back to playing it at some point), Super Mario Bros. 35 (which was a very fun game, in my opinion), the Super Mario Bros. Game & Watch, and the ability to upload your courses in Super Mario Maker on the Wii U (though I guess that was going to happen at some point).

Needless to say, you guys have lost a lot. I hope that these headcanons will make you feel a bit better!

Starting off with Mario, I think he would be a ler-leaning switch who is incredibly ticklish. He isn’t as sensitive as his brother is, but he’ll still break down in laughter if someone were to put their hands on one of his worst spots.

Before I begin the lee!Mario headcanons, I would like to make an announcement: Mario is canonically ticklish! This is shown in Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door, Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga, and Mario & Luigi: Dream Team. There might be more, but for now, these are the games that Mario can get tickled in!

If you want to know how Mario can be tickled in these games, feel free to ask! I got this information from the Mario Wiki, and I would be more than happy to provide the links to the pages that I found all of this information on!

Now that I have gotten that out of the way, I’m going to list off Mario’s worst spots. Those spots are his sides, his knees, and his neck.

His often gets targeted by Luigi, Princess Peach, and Princess Daisy. All three of them love to sneak up on him and launch a surprise tickle attack. He’ll react as if he had just jumped into a pool of lava, and it’s one of the funniest things that you’ll ever see in your entire life.

He doesn’t squirm around or fight back all that much while he’s being tickled. He may prefer to be the ler, but he won’t get mad at his ler for making him laugh, especially if it’s Luigi. Mario seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy a good laugh every now and then, and tickling would definitely help out with that.

If his ler is Luigi, and if he gets in the mood to fight back against him, he will do so, but not out of anger. He’s not going to discourage his brother from tickling him. If anything, he’ll try to initiate a tickle fight so he can encourage his brother to fight back and turn the tables.

He is weak to teasing, but only if the teasing is coming from someone he knows. Don’t try to tease him if you are a stranger to him, he will hate it. A lot. Don’t tease him if you are anything like Bowser or Bowser Jr., either. He’ll hate it even more.

If he knows who you are, then you are more than welcome to tease him while you tickle him. He is especially weak to Peach and Luigi’s teasing. Something about Peach’s tone and the way that Luigi teases him just kills him on the spot.

Teasing is one of the few things that can make him blush. His blush will be a light pink color when you start tickling him, and it will gradually darken as you keep going. Teasing will speed up the darkening of his blush.

Mario’s lers are Luigi, Peach, and Daisy, as I mentioned earlier. The Toads will occasionally join in on the fun if they think he needs a good laugh. In Smash, the first three people in the previous list will continue to target him, but now, they are joined by Link, Ness, the Villagers, and the Inklings.

Let’s move on to ler!Mario headcanons. To me, Mario seems like the kind of ler that will tickle those who want or need to be cheered up. He will not tickle someone into hysterics (unless he is explicitly told to do so), and he will not overstep any boundaries.

His favorite way to tickle someone who’s has a particularly bad day is to lightly tickle their sides and the bottom of their ribcage to get quiet giggles out of them. He’ll keep it up until one of the following occurs:

His lee tells him to stop. He will always comply with this the request, even if he hasn’t been tickling that person for long.

His lee tells him to increase the intensity of the tickling. He’ll do his best to comply with this request without making it harder for his lee to breathe (unless he is explicitly told to tickle them until they are nearly breathless. He’ll hesitate to go through with this request, but he will eventually fulfill it).

His lee has been cheered up successfully. He’ll retract his hands as soon as his lee tells him that they are in a better mood, but if they tell him to keep going, he will comply.

Unless he is tickling Luigi, Mario will not initiate a tickle fight with anyone. He doesn’t know why, but the idea of getting into a tickle fight with anyone that isn’t his brother sounds unappealing to him (though he will occasionally make an exception).

The idea of teasing anyone who isn’t Luigi also sounds unappealing to him (but once again, he can make an exception), so unless you ask him, he won’t incorporate teasing into his tickling. If Luigi is the lee, then he will let loose a flurry of teases that are meant to make him laugh a little bit more than he already is.

Obviously, Luigi is his main lee, though he will go after Peach and Daisy from time to time. In Smash, Luigi is still his main lee, but he will also target the younger fighters. Out of all of them, Ness and the Inklings are the ones that will be targeted the most.

It’s Luigi time, now! He is definitely a lee in my mind.

I recently made a post about the most ticklish fighter for each Smash game, and how they would get into a tickle fight with one another. In that post, I said that couldn’t come up with an idea as to who the most ticklish fighter of Smash 64 would be. After thinking about it, I decided to give that title to Luigi. I hope the upcoming headcanons will make my reasoning clear.

Luigi is FAR more ticklish than his brother is. He’ll jump at the slightest of touches, regardless of whether or not the touch was intentional. He will squeak if you catch him off guard. He might fall over if you tickle his worst spots. And he secretly loves it all.

He doesn’t like to admit to it, but he enjoys being the lee due to the fact that he is getting attention. It’s not like anyone is intentionally ignoring him, but he definitely lives in his brother’s shadow for the most part. To him, tickling gives him the attention that he secretly craves, and it also gives him the satisfaction of making someone else smile, even if he’s the lee.

His worst spots are his underarms, his stomach, and his ears, but you could tickle him anywhere and he would laugh.

He is VERY squirmy! Seriously, he’s worse than both Pit and Shulk, and those two are even more ticklish than he is! If you pin his arms down to his sides, be careful while you are tickle him, because he could knock you down on accident due to his squirming.

Despite all of this, he won’t try to fight back, unless he’s in a tickle fight. If that’s the case, then he will try to get payback on his ler, even if it ends with him getting tickled to death.

Luigi can easily become overwhelmed by tickling, and he might become scared of you if you go too far with it, even if you didn’t mean to do so. This is another thing that you should take into consideration if you want to tickle him.

I probably should have said this earlier, but I can totally see Mario sending the Polterpup after Luigi if he sees him in a bad mood. I can also see him destroying his brother with tickles as payback for laughing at him at the end of Luigi’s Mansion.

Before I list off the names of his lers, I want to make one final lee!Luigi headcanon. Be warned, this headcanon will contain a spoiler for the plot of Luigi’s Mansion (and a possible spoiler for the plot of Luigi’s Mansion 3).

After the events of Luigi’s Mansion (and possibly Luigi’s Mansion: Dark Moon and Luigi’s Mansion 3), Luigi would therefore suffer from frequent panic attacks due to trauma. He became afraid of people sneaking up on him, and he fears that something will jump out at him at any given moment. He’s especially afraid of paintings after seeing Mario in one during the first Luigi’s Mansion and Luigi’s Mansion 3.

To help him recover from his trauma, Simon and Richter will tickle him after he makes a full recovery from a panic attack. Overtime, his anxiety will decrease as he begins to replace the terrifying thought of someone coming to harm him with a more positive image of being tickled by Simon and Richter. He hasn’t made a complete recovery just yet, but he is on the right path.

In his homeworld, Luigi’s main lers are Mario, Peach, and Daisy. In Smash, Simon and Richter will join those three, and they will all work together to help Luigi recover from his trauma.

As a ler, he is rather nervous. His nervousness can be compared to Pyra’s nervousness when she was getting used to the idea of tickling other people.

He’s always afraid of something going wrong while he tickles someone. He’s worried about his lee passing out, worried about digging his fingers a little too deeply into someone’s skin, and worried about his lee getting angry at him. Needless to say, he has a hard time with tickling other people, and he might leave his lee lying and waiting on the ground.

If this happens to you, you have two choices. You can either wait it out, or try to help him with calming down. You can even encourage him to tickle you. That way, he’ll know that you are comfortable with him, and he will regain the courage to tickle you.

He doesn’t like to tease his lees (even if his lee is Mario), but unlike his brother, it’s not caused by a lack of interest in teasing people who are not related to him. Instead, it’s due to the fact that he will make himself blush if he tries to tease his lee. He knows that people will take advantage of this weakness, so he won’t tease his lees.

Just like his brother, he won’t engage in tickle fights, unless they involve his brother. However, unlike Mario, he’ll stay away from tickle fights because he knows for a fact that he will likely lose the fight.

In his world, Mario and Daisy are his main lees. This is carried over into Smash, where Simon and Richter will join them (though Luigi tends to tickle them far less often).

And that’s that, I suppose. I’m a little nervous about posting this, but I’ll be brave and post it anyway.

P.S Is Luigi canonically ticklish? I have a feeling that he is, but I’m not entirely sure about that.

#tickling #the colorful words of the color gray #tickle tour #I can’t think of a tag for the Mario franchise #I don’t why but I got really nervous during the making of this list #why was I afraid of posting this? I have no idea #I wish that didn’t happen #but it did #by the way this is my 100th post #which doesn’t mean anything to me #but I guess it’s pretty cool

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beevean · 4 years

Text

SEGA and the eternal issue of “Sonic’s girlfriend”

[Translator’s note: here is the original article written by @latin-dr-robotnik, originally written on the 18th of May 2020]

Today we’re going to talk about one of the aspects SEGA is more secretive about: Sonic’s relationships.

[Translator’s note: this article was written to celebrate Seaside Hill Paradise’s 200th entry. If you’re fluent in Spanish, I highly recommend you to check it out! And if you aren’t, go follow Latin’s Tumblr blog if you haven’t already and you’re into Sonamy, analyses, gushing about music and shitposts.]

This article concludes my Sonamy trilogy, and I recommend you to read the previous two articles: “SEGA and the eternal issue of the Sonamy dynamic” and “’I love you’ – forbidden words in Sonic”. This means this is a shipping article – if you’re not interested into another essay about the love life of a blue hedgehog, I can redirect you to other articles such as “Sonic and speed: are we misunderstanding them?” and “What went wrong with Classic Sonic’s music in Sonic Forces?”.

Everybody else, welcome to today’s article!

It should be noted that this article focuses more on the semi-official and strictly official aspects, since there is really not much to say about the fandom. Nowadays the fandom has a relatively peaceful coexistence, creating art, fanfics and more, for all kind of ships; sometimes there’s an occasional fight between ships or a ship that clearly is not appropriate… but besides that, everything seems relatively calm, at least in my experience and compared to other fandoms.

Too cool for relationships...

Few things are as mentioned and yet silenced by the official SEGA media as the fateful words “girlfriend” and “Sonic” put together. In official terms, Sonic has always been this young, cool hedgehog, with a pure love for nature and never too worried about life, but with a moral code that makes him fight against injustices. During his first years, Sonic was almost impatient and a little emotionally distant, although as it was the ‘90s and things were not so clear for the young SEGA star, different interpretations would take the character through different paths - some more radical than others. As the years went by, and going through many redesigns, certain aspects of his personality would be perfected, exaggerated, or even flanderized. His position on relationships, on the other hand, would remain relatively constant over the decades, with a few particular exceptions.

The this is that Sonic, in the words of his own creator Naoto Ohshima, has always been considered “a young man with a child's heart”, which has helped to substantiate and understand why the character would remain relatively distant from his feelings, and much closer to his own interests associated with the life of adventure.

... or is he?

Despite everything I just said, they tried in many occasions, if not succeeded, to give Sonic a girlfriend, with various results.

As carefree as Sonic is, and as much as SEGA tried to clarify this point over and over again, the people behind his character have always tried to introduce one or more relationships into his life. Even Naoto Ohshima himself has made his own suggestion as to who might be a hypothetical partner for his character. The different interpretations I’ve mentioned have tweaked Sonic’s character to make it more apt to certain types of dynamics, and the cultural gap between the East and the West (which I analyzed a few years ago with the first article of this “trilogy”) also has a considerable impact on the type of relationships that would be established for Sonic from very early in his history until today.

Author’s note: the concept of “Sonic + human woman” of 1990 wasn’t completely forgotten, no no, it was brought back 16 years later, in… well… the worst way possible.

Let’s see an example. Going back to his very origins, in his pre-Sonic 1 sketches Sonic was often depicted with a stereotypical damsel in distress, Madonna, his own “Princess Peach” that ended up being scrapped for many reasons, including the similarities with Super Mario. As the years have gone by, this concept has not disappeared, but rather the writers and directors of the series have taken it down different paths over time. While Madonna was too cliché, other candidates for the role of “Sonic’s girlfriend” would quickly appear to try different dynamics, directly or indirectly endorsed by SEGA.

Sally Acorn

For many years, Princess Sally was for Western fans the first person who came to mind when they thought of “Sonic’s girlfriend”. Since 1993, and for 2 more decades, her relationship with Sonic has gone in many directions, but fundamentally the most amazing thing about this whole situation was that she was Sonic’s official girlfriend (at least in the Archie Comics canon). It was also one of the many headaches for SEGA in the last decade.

Originally a fellow fighter against the macabre Robotnik from the 1993 animated series Sonic The Hedgehog, Sonic and Sally’s relationship was always marked by their opposite personalities; while Sally tends to plan ahead and is much more focused on the seriousness of the task, Sonic was the type to destroy robots first and think later. “Opposites attract,” they say, and by the (premature, I might add) end of that series both were already more than friends. They had already kissed a couple of times.

At the most critical moment in their relationship, Sonic, after a year of being missing in space and presumed dead by everyone, returns to Mobius only to end up back in potential danger, decides to ignore the wishes and warnings of Sally, who’s clearly emotionally traumatized and stressed by both the general situation and the responsibilities she had to carry out for her kingdom in the absence of her parents. The result of this explosive cocktail was one of the most infamous scenes in all of Archie Sonic, "the Slap", where Sally finally reacts violently to Sonic's selfish statements. The hedgehog's response? Well, a long exposure to the screams about her experience - also traumatic - up to that point. In the end, both end up screaming and crying in front of virtually everyone.

What followed in the next decades was an expansion of that original SatAM canon in the Archie Comics, in which its various writers introduced varying degrees of drama and increasing conflict to demonstrate the strong bond between them, destabilizing or even stabilizing it again, multiple times. They would be together for some time, then they would be apart, eventually rekindling the flame of love passionately, until a final sacrifice on their part and the eventual resetting of the entire Archie Sonic canon.

In their last years, after the Super Genesis Wave, Sonic and Sally’s relationship went back to being platonic. a good friendship with the advantages and disadvantages of their personalities - Sally’s leadership and Sonic’s extreme confidence - while the focus was put on the flourishing relationship between Sally and her best friend (and old computer!) Nicole.

Regardless of the way their relationship ended, it's undeniable that Sally has left a huge mark. Being a product of the West, her existence was never really accepted by the Sonic’s Japanese creators, but because the bulk of the fandom is here in the West, Sally's presence has been strongly associated with Sonic, the Freedom Fighters, the comics... and also the ship wars between her and the character we’re going to talk about next. Her very existence was a living contradiction to the Japanese central canon, an official girlfriend who broke all the ideas that existed for Sonic in terms of his conception of relationships and lead him through unique paths. Whether for better or worse, Sally broke the mold.

Eimi. Rosy. Amy Rose.

On the opposite side of the spectrum there’s Amy, a character that was originally conceived as the Minnie to Sonic’s Mickey, but with her own dynamic.

Despite Amy’s existence being strongly tied to Sonic’s, once again Sonic Team tried to avoid the classic cliché (in this case to copy Mickey and Minnie), opting then to establish Amy as the one interested in a relationship, while Sonic runs away from this idea. For this dynamic to keep working, Sonic’s feelings have to be kept hidden, with excuses like his “shyness”, which leads to ambiguity, or because, as said before, of his “child’s heart”.

The most interesting thing is that Amy kept her canonical status of “self-proclaimed girlfriend” since 1993, which makes her “official” and “not official” at the same time, but there are some traces left from the Sonic manga of 1992 (which in turn influenced Amy’s original design), where a prototype version of Amy (or, as it was spelled there, Emi/Eimi) played the role of Sonic’s girlfriend (or Nicki’s, to be more precise). With this detail in mind, Amy can be considered, at least in the East, the very first “Sonic’s girlfriend”, even before Sally – but her situation is much more complex.

Sonic Mega Drive (top) and Sonic Boom (bottom), representing some differences in different Sonic continuities.

In any case, the manga would be the first and only time Amy was officially considered “Sonic’s girlfriend”, because in the following decades and in several continuities the core of their dynamic shifted to Amy chasing Sonic. Both would get closer or further away depending on each case (in Fleetway, for example, Amy ends up marrying another character, while in Archie Sonic there would be only a few instances of potential interest, quickly overshadowed by convenience or other things directly or indirectly related to Sally), but generally no continuity would establish an official relationship. In some cases, such as Japan, it wouldn’t even be necessary to clarify the state of the relationship, since their cultures accept more easily the dynamic that Sonic Team proposed as an “official relationship”. Just looking at the artwork highlighted on Sonic Channel (run by SEGA of Japan) shows how much more accepted the relationship is, even though Sonic Team’s official artwork still avoids any kind of public confirmation. (Author’s note: I’ve written more about Amy according to the East and the West in the first article of this trilogy)

Unlike Sally, there is no “opposites attract” situation between Amy and Sonic, and, at first, there is no prior friendship from which a potential relationship could flourish. We witnessed their dynamics from the first moment they met, and it would not be until years later that there would be a minimal basis for interaction from which various official continuities would bring both characters closer together.

Technically Amy already knew that her destiny was tied to Sonic and the events of Sonic CD on Little Planet, thanks to her tarot cards (an element that has disappeared since then), but for Sonic it was just another day of adventure, and although we’ve seen how Amy's feelings have progressed, mostly in Adventure 1 and 2, Sonic has never reflected on his personal feelings; it’s an aspect of the hedgehog that to this day remains a mystery to the audiences.

Also unlike Sally, Amy has appeared in multiple continuities of all kinds and because of that her relationship with Sonic has been affected in various ways. The main videogames canon has remained ambiguous and unchanged for 25 years: Amy would stay close to Sonic and offer some good moments to reflect on her feelings about him (some of which I mentioned in my post about Sonic Unleashed and Amy’s emotional support), while Sonic would remain distant, uncomfortable, shy, and, more recently, potentially affected by her apparent loss.

Sonic X is the first official attempt (by Sonic Team no less) to offer an expanded view of our characters. There’s a lot of discussion about how Sonic is slowly opening up to Amy’s advances, and these developments follow a line that we discussed in previous articles of this trilogy, and how, during the 2000s, the Japanese writers of the series kept slowly deepening the interactions between the two, reaching very important symbolic moments like Sonic X Ep. 9, 52 and 76, among several others. I am purposely leaving out specific details to direct your attention to this fantastic thread by Yvanix Rose that highlights some key details about how this continuity worked the Sonic-Amy dynamic. [Translator’s note: the thread is in Spanish]

Sonic X, episode 76.

Another essential continuity for the development of this dynamic was Sonic Boom, since, despite having been a separate continuity with its own interpretation of the characters, its existence managed to influence the main canon in some way in the years that followed its original release in 2014.

Sonic Boom made two important changes in the dynamic: Amy did no longer externalize her feelings with the same frequency or intensity (speeding up a process that already started in the main canon in 2008), and Sonic was noticeably more nervous and insecure of his feelings for her, even being jealous in several occasions. These changes got the dynamic closer to the “friends who have secret feelings to each other but they’re too shy to admit it” trope, and in the second season it could even be said that there are signals of the “secretly dating” trope. Nothing was officially confirmed yet, but the changes to the dynamic offered a fresh perspective to work from: winks and inferences about a relationship that was not talked about but seemed to happen behind the scenes.

Sonic Boom S1E16.

Sonic Boom’s approach also opened the door to working a little more on the characters’ new personalities. Taking a little inspiration from the original foundations of Sally and Sonic’s relationship, Boom now presented situations where Sonic and Amy’s perspectives actively clashed with each other, leading to discussions and moments that showed a little more of the mundane details of the friendship they had, rather than appealing to more classic behaviors of the main canon, like Sonic leaving the scene in a hurry. Considering the way things turned out the last time we saw this kind of dynamic on screen, it was pretty safe to assume that their new opposites were now attracted; the implied secret dating and so on only helped to give it more sustenance - which the fandom would eventually take to the extreme.

And lastly there’s IDW Sonic, the comic series that replaced Archie Sonic after its cancellation in 2017, and the most recent arc that offers an interesting perspective. Starting its continuity from the end of the events of Sonic Forces (which at the same time took on certain characteristics from the post-Boom era, particularly as far as Amy is concerned), IDW Sonic didn’t waste any time in presenting the way in which it would carry out its dynamic between Sonic and Amy.

Amy makes her feelings for Sonic very clear, and he is surprised but unable to match them. However, Sonic doesn’t want to outright reject her, and suggests that she come with him; she refuses, claiming that she has duties to the Resistance, setting the tone for the rest of the series. (IDW Sonic #2)

“Sonic’s girlfriend” today

As I mentioned earlier, after the reboot Sally was no longer considered Sonic’s girlfriend, and her disappearance after the cancellation of Archie Sonic in general is a sign that we may not see her ever again, even as a friend. As of today, in 2020, only Amy has been left in her “unofficial, but…” state, with various minor events taking place both in the main canon and in IDW Sonic:

In 2018 the official SEGA shop wrote a description for a piece of Amy Rose merchandise that said “celebrate 25 years of Sonic’s girlfriend”; the mistake wasn’t immediately corrected, despite the fandom pointing it out immediately.

The video game canon has remained dormant, with Team Sonic Racing in 2019 featuring more of a regular friendship between Sonic and Amy, sharing rivalries and quiet moments alike.

On the other hand, since IDW Sonic and Sonic Boom laid their foundations, we've begun to see a certain shift in the way the two characters are presented. While we’ve talked about IDW Sonic already, Sonic’s social medias have done multiple “Twitter Takeovers” where Sonic characters answer questions from fans, and Sonic has always answered more like his version of Boom to the inevitable question about Amy and his “feelings”.

Recent official animations like Sonic Mania Adventures and Team Sonic Racing Overdrive have shown Amy flirting with Sonic in a more casual way.

The current dynamic seems to be pointing towards “Sonic’s hidden feelings”, and I think we are at a perfect point to change the approach. SEGA in general seems more open to the idea of bringing these characters closer, probably as a marketing strategy, but without yet separating themselves from the central ideas that defined the dynamic for the last two and a half decades.

Conclusion

The idea of “Sonic’s girlfriend” has been one of the most experimental and controversial in the almost three decades that this series has been around for. SEGA has opened the door to all kinds of ambiguities, developments and interpretations, all with their pros and cons, instead of settling on a definitive position. As iconic as these characters, conceived as Sonic’s “romantic interests”, have become, they have also had their share of criticism and controversy, especially in the fandom.

The presence of Amy as the only “official but self-proclaimed girlfriend” today says a lot about the control SEGA (specifically SEGA of Japan) regained over the characters, after decades of interpretations that offered different alternatives with various degrees of success. At her best, Sally represented an ideal relationship with Sonic, much more complete and profound than the back-and-forth game between Amy and Sonic. But at her worst, this same relationship represented everything wrong that could happen by associating Sonic with the emotional spiderweb of a romantic relationship. SEGA hardening its control over the characters seems to have put an end of this type of situation where Sonic ends up being involved in a romantic telenovela, but at the same time it has revitalized the flirting game and the implicit associations that give fuel to the fandom fire.

From my humble interpretation, I think we’ve reached a point where Sonic and Amy have shared enough stories and moments to solidify the core aspects of their personalities and their friendship, allowing them to take the next step, which is to play around with the idea of “something else”. 25 years ago it was hard to see how these two characters could work together beyond “it’s SEGA’s word”; today there’s enough of a story to find a rhythm and chemistry for them, and the series of situations they've put themselves in (e.g. IDW Sonic’s plot arcs) are increasingly helping this case. The topic of “Sonic's girlfriend” may be a controversial one for SEGA and the fandom in general, but the doors have slowly been opened for this debate to develop and be investigated with interesting results, and I think that, in this new decade of 2020, there’s a unique potential to explore this kind of discussion, without sacrificing in any way the central principles of Sonic as a character. Thank you for joining me in these 200 entries, and hopefully we’ll see each other for many more.

#sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonamy #translation #analysis #long post #happy birthday latin!#this one was so hard #i had to cut a lot of shp-related parts sadly #but this whole project was very fun and enlightening

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thethrillof · 3 years

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sephiroth + pats on the head

as much as im getting into ff7, i’m def missing a lot of pieces to fully do stuff in canon. so! fucking around in something that barely has a canon! aka ~super smash bros.~

warning for alcohol. and some silliness.

Sephiroth is staring at a ceiling.

Light wood grain. Well put-together. Nothing at all like a medical bay.

Which is a ridiculous thought. He was nearly a God, alongside Mother, who already is. He has no need for medical assistance, and nothing could keep him down even before.

His heart is thundering. Each beat pushes blood through his veins more quickly than the last. It’s too loud, and leaves the ceiling under his watch wobbling uncomfortably.

He refocuses to a noise beneath his pulse. No. Above.

Literally above, there are voices chattering above where he’s lying flat on his back, words dropping from where the others are standing to thunk heavily against his ears.

“—-just tipped over, oh my gosh!”

“Damn, ‘Belle, you weren’t kidding.”

Too close.

He rolls to his feet.

The room doesn’t cooperate. Neither does his wing, which slams roughly against something else. His eyes slide from the wiggling room to track the thing, belatedly leaping out of its reach.

It wouldn’t have hit him. For one, he knocked it away from him too quickly for a reaction.

Also, it is a stool. Stools are rarely known for their attack prowess.

He looks back up, meeting the gazes of several.

A dog in a smart outfit: Isabelle. Foolishly kind, refused to stop talking to him despite Cloud’s request. Not a threat outside of battle. A princess in pink: Peach. Rarely a threat outside of battle. Also foolishly kind, offering him tea, also refused to stop speaking to him despite Cloud’s increasing distress. A SOLIDER--no, soldier--in a bandanna: Snake. Distrustful, but attempted to speak with him as an equal. Somewhat dangerous, equipped with many weapons he does not use in tournament battles.

No. Not at all dangerous. When was the last time he found anyone but

None can strike him down but Cloud Strife.

Another being swims to life in front of his eyes, behind the bar the others are resting their elbows on. A…giant bird, adorned with glasses and feathers like a mustache. Shot glasses are under his feathery hands.

Glasses to wear, and glasses to prepare. Sephiroth bites off a chuckle too late. What is wrong with him?

The bird delicately coughs. “…Perhaps you would like to try…my coffee to drink, instead, coo…”

Sephiroth aims the Masamune towards his beak. The wooden bar is sliced awkwardly through instead, rattling up his arm.

“You might want to sit back down,” Peach suggests sweetly. The bird keeps cleaning the held glass. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink, dear.”

Drink?

He doesn’t stop laughing, this time. Alcohol had affected him less than drugs, even before he embraced what he truly is.

Though those drugs that he had been given were specially-made. Nothing used on normal humans worked, blasting through his system within an hour.

Everything about this World is specially-made, or altered to fit. Even he himself has had to accept handicap to truly to descend to battle. The Hands were stoppable as anything, but fighting them was enough of a distraction to keep Cloud away from him, and Sephiroth would not be stopped. Not by distraction, not by artificially-induced limitation in battle, not by…the stack of glasses against where he was, maybe, just seated.

If the Hands could limit his ability to fight…

No. Alcohol had never affected him so. SOLIDERS could not become drunk past their first dose of Mako, and Sephiroth had never drank before his own dozen. He could never see the point of inviting such weakness, physical and mental. Genesis had said too many biting things before his true self was brought to light, and too many kind ones. Angeal’s puppy…Zack…had always laughed, more and more, and offered a bottle he promised would take the edge off, but…

Why is he thinking about this.

“You’re suuuper drunk, sorry!” says a bright voice.

“I am not,” Sephiroth replies flatly.

He’s sitting on the floor, however, without quite remembering when he decided to do that. Nor when he’d chosen to set the Masamune down across his lap, with his hands steadying him instead of resting on his sword’s hilt.

“You are,” the dog says, and her repetition of “Sorry!” is sharply undercut by giggles.

“Really,” Snake says from the edge of his vision. He should be looking at him. No, he’s not dangerous, he already told himself that, but then he’s looking still.

“Isabelle is…a lot more tolerant than you thought,” Snake tells him, swirling his own half-empty glass and smirking over it. “Than I did, either, I’ll admit it. But I’m not the jacka—uh, not the one who decided to challenge her head-on.”

Impossible. Sephiroth is above such things.

Though muddled memories suggest that is exactly how this happened. Peach leading her merry group in the direction of Smashville, telling him, who should not have been listening, that the dog could drink anyone under the table. Anyone. Everyone. Even Gods.

(That may have meant Palutena. This may not have been a challenge. He’ll consider these options later.)

“I am not drunk,” Sephiroth insists.

He may be more affected than he thought, however. The voice that burst from his throat was his own, but there should be no tone, let alone the tone of someone so petulant.

He sees Isabelle, who was seated next to him, reach out to do…something. He is too—impaired—to do anything but brace when he realizes where she’s aiming.

Her paw settles on his head.

A bloom of warmth spreads from the touch. Through his scalp, down his face, suffusing him in the chest and stomach where the…alcohol…had just barely touched.

“Don’t worry about--oh!”

Sephiroth curls his wing around himself, stopping the…touch.

He peers over the edge of his feathers suspiciously. Isabelle’s expression morphs from shock to more giggling. “Really, really really! Don’t worry about it. N-nobody’s going to drink and tell! E-even if you do look silly! We’re all silly here!”

And to his bewilderment, all of them raise their glasses when she does. Even the bird, with his empty one.

“It’s just for fun! We’re all adults. All the f-fighting is fun, but it’s--it can be a little stressful, too, right? So we just come here and party after, sometimes. It’s all good! It’s all great!”

“Even if Brewster’s usually better at cutting us off,” Peach teases to the bird across the bar.

“Don’t blame the guy. We all wanted to know who’d win.” Snake waves lazily from his side.

He still braces when Isabelle reaches out again. This time, she pats a short pattern along his wing before settling back on his head, and he watches the feathers intently to make certain she didn’t put something on them, to make the warmth spill down.

Maybe he is drunk. At least he’s…comfortable. He is not in danger. He can’t be. He’s the most dangerous being in this room, in this World.

But somehow this doesn’t steady him as it often does. In fact, a stab of cold crawls from his chest, so abrupt that he looks down to make sure metal or ice hasn’t pierced it. Yet, it looks entirely normal.

He can bear the most terrible agony. A chill is mere discomfort, and that is nothing at all. He can tolerate discomfort without thought, most times, but now he…doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to be cold. He didn’t even notice how cold he was.

He doesn’t want to.

Something is telling him he has to be.

But why? Why does he have to be?

He can stop it. He just was warm.

Sephiroth leans over until his head presses back against Isabelle’s paw--and then softly thumps on the edge of her stool when he overbalances. She just laughs more, gently scooting him until his head is loosely resting against her side.

And he’s proven swiftly correct. This will work to keep the warmth in.

#goodbyenorthernlights #jules writes

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elegiacmarquise · 5 years

Text

More love for the pink damsel

This is a rant, the first and the only, that I wrote a while ago and which I posted previously on DeviantArt and reposted on the Mario Amino, few days after the release of Super Mario Odyssey, after a new wave of hatred towards Princess Peach...

Considering that, nevertheless, the princess' relationship with most fans has always been ambiguous, what may have seemed to be tolerable, now is no longer acceptable speaking from the prospective of Peach's admirer, and hoping to be a spokesman for who, like me, genuinely appreciates her.

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But before starting with the proper rant, why do I post this writing, even if they passed almost two years when I did write it? A YouTube video made by the quite famous personality of RelaxAlax which I Iink below.

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youtube

Quite shallow, huh?

But this will NOT be an hate speech towards Alax, the rest of his videos are actually enjoyable and sometimes funny, but despite what he says in the video is nothing more and nothing less than what most Peach's haters actually say, I'm fearing that even due to this video, people are convinced to hate the pink princess without even knowing the truth behind her character.

But I must've taken you a lot of time, let's begin this speech, which was inspired by an older one (now deleted) posted by a friend of mine on Deviantart.

Let’s get started from the most recurring insults about the personality

"Peach is weak!!!"

While it’s true that for most of the games the Princess is kidnapped by Bowser or any enemy, it’s also the case that several times she has proved to be not so helpless, and even trying to escape to her kidnapper more than once indicates that Peach is not just staying there to patiently wait her hero; indeed, she was the only one along with Rosalina and Toadette who was been able to defend herself.

Some proofs? Super Princess Peach, Super Paper Mario, Super Mario 3D Land/ World, Mario + Rabbids Kingdom Battle, Super Smash Bros series...

"So why is she always kidnapped?!"

Nintendo logic. Just joking, I think that the reason is due to the fact that Peach, like anyone else, is an human being, with her fears and anxieties, and so what can she do if suddenly there is a monster bigger at least the triple of her accompanied by an huge army? Not everyone is badass, and she obviously is not always, but is it a good reason to hate her? I don’t think so.

Also remember that even two stronger characters like Mario and Luigi often struggle during the battles with Bowser, how could a delicate princess?

So, in a more general view, how much it’s wrong to blame the victims and not the kidnappers? Why does everyone hate Peach for this and not BOWSER?

And there are Daisy, Pauline and Zelda, who were kidnapped as well, but still worshipped as goddesses...

"Peach is stupid!!1!"

If the Princess was actually that stupid,she wouldn't be on a throne ruling a whole kingdom peacefully nor even to try a time machine or even called to try to find a cure to a plague that affected the Mushroom Kingdom. She may not have an IQ of 300 like Dr Eggman,but that doesn't mean she's stupid.

Characters who are REALLY "stupid" on purpose, like Wario and Waluigi, loved because they are. Now, people, don't tell me you aren't uncoherent.

"Peach has no personality!1!"

So, a sweet and kind personality shouldn’t be a good character trait? Great, so we wasted years and years of characterization in a video game character.

Even a little development is always putted in while creating a characte and, as we are seeing, Miyamoto and Nintendo are generally developing the character of the princess, in the best, demonstrating that even the princess is not a fossilized archetype in Mario's existence for thirty years. She’s so sweet and kind, but also has values, friends and a dignity that defends strenuously.

Guys, Peach is human, so she has flaws, and that's right, but saying that she doesn’t have personality is an insult to both her and Nintendo in general.

Let's compare for a moment Peach and Rei Ayanami from Evangelion, and see who is not supposed to have personality. (although Rei also has a very strong, still not obvious, characterization that develops in the course of the series)

"Peach is a Mary Sue!!!1!"

A Mary Sue would theoretically is a character with too unnatural characteristics for their universe or species, overly powerful and often accompanied by a tragic backstory; in short, it's misleading in their context. By applying this description to Peach, how should she be a Mary Sue?

As explained in the previous paragraphs, the Princess, still mostly human, has a magical power that is always inferior to those of other characters, such as Rosalina; and comparing it with the Star Guardian, shouldn’t be her chararcter be more similar in the description of a Sue? Consistency, this unknown concept...

I see you already with the forks in your hands, but let me clarify one thing, even a character like Rosalina is not a Mary Sue, she still has her flaws, and we love her as she is, but if Peach is one, Rosalina fits the definition WAY more.

Let’s talk about the character design

"Peach always wears pink!!1!"

Come on, guys, hating a character for a color is a such superficial thing that, would do kindergarten children the most.

Pink is a color like all the others, in the spectrum of colors, so anyone can wear it, even males.

(Trivia: up to a few decades ago, pink was more of a masculine color, given to boys since it’s a lighter version of red, a color considered manly)

Peach is looking good with pink and no one in Mario games seems to complain too much about that, and so, so why do we fans do?

"Peach is girly!!!!1!”

And so? A female character to be worthy of this name must be a tomboy or a badass with a gun on her hands? You have great prospects in mind, my dear ones, just like that.

Seriously, why does a character who likes to cure herself, should be banned from today's media?

However, almost all the girls in the Mario games are femminine, even Daisy, despite being described as a tomboy, so it doesn’t seem a good excuse for hating a character.

"Peach is blonde!!!1!"

Guys that stereotype that everyone who is blonde must be stupid it's not only extremely outdated, but there are a lot of people who consider it quite offensive. Open your minds! Go, go! The isn't any relations about the quantity of melaninine on the hair and the actual intelligence.

Even Rosalina and most of the Zeldas encountered in the games are blondes, but nobody seems to care.

"Peach has an annoying voice!!1!"

All the characters in the Mario games have their voices emphasized, guys, and Peach isn’t an exception.

There are characters with even more exaggerated voices, trust me, like Daisy, Toad or Rosalina's new dubbing, but for certain reasons, only Peach should be demonized for that by fans.

"Peach is a prostitute!!1!"

This is one of the most recurring insults that are ever placed against our hated Princess, and that's what I'm wondering where most haters have been losing their credibility.

Did Peach ever wear provocative clothes? NO. (unless you have a fetishism towards biker suits and similar outfits)

Has she ever tried to seduce anyone she saw? NEVER (what you see on Rule34 and other lewd sites is not canon, I'm sorry)

Let's be clear: Peach is just the opposite of the stereotype of the prostitute, as being a sweet, gentle, and that kind of girl who rarely makes sloppy thoughts; And yet Mario is not the kind of game that is suitable to show sensual girls often.

Another point: how do people define as that Peach and not Pauline or Valentina from Super Mario RPG, who are wearing much revealing clothes (and not even worthy to be called with those sick names)? Mystery of the Faith.

PS. Giving a prostitute to someone is not fashionable anymore :3

Now, let’s analyse that kind of insults that relate with Peach’s relationships with other characters

"Peach isn’t grateful to Mario!!!!1!"

Ever since Peach has never been grateful to Mario? WHEN? She kisses him, and fills him with cakes. What should the Princess do more with him? having sex is not a good answer, and it doesn't even marrying him.

Mario is still a sweet and family friendly series, if you want NSFW art, go to rule34 or look good at deviantart, but don’t expect explicit scenes in similar games.

"Peach is a tyrant who abuses Toads!!!1!"

But since that is so, seriously, did I miss some details? And no, The Game Theorists, aren’t worth as a source of inspiration since theirs is only a mere SPECULATION (also badly made imho).

To me Peach has always seemed like the OPPOSITE of a tyrant! She’s a good sovereign who’s caring for her subjects, and most of the Toads are happy with her guide and willing whenever she needs help.

I guess you are thinking of the Toad used from the princess during Super Smash Bros: If we analyse well what our beloved mushroom does during the frames in which we can see him, we can notice that doesn’t acts as a shield for the princess, but is determined more than ever to attack with his spores, so for me this isn’t a point to demonise Peach at all.

Then do you think that in Smash bros Rosalina does something way more serious?! She fights with a Luma, one of her CHILDREN all the time. But since she is our beloved star waifu, Peach is not worth to be compared lmao.

Again this time implore the sacred goddess of the consistency for forgiving their vain words...

"Peach betrays Daisy!!!1!"

Peach and Daisy have proven themselves to be best friends since the first time they appeared together, and even now their idyllic relationship hasn’t stopped being shown in the games and even in that LINE stickers that came out a while ago!

How Peach Should betray Daisy? For Rosalina, for Pauline? I think all the girls in the world of Mario are friendly to each other, so I don’t see any reasons in a betray, since at worst they are in a friendly rivalry.

"Peach is much less sexy than Rosalina / Pauline!!!1!"

If I can understand why Pauline can be considered sensual, how should Rosalina be? She’s wearing just a turquoise dress, which does not reveals much, and which can only be sexualized in the most indecent fanarts drawn by FANS indeed, but we all know the new religion that places the guardian of the Lumas to a brand new god.

However, all of Mario girls have been designed to be beautiful, not sex objects, not even Pauline, and none of them will agree to be your beautiful waifus condescending to all your fantasies, deal with it!

"Peach is not tomboy like Daisy is!!!1!"

And this is what connects to the previous point where the Princess was insulted to be girly. Assuming that even Daisy, in her own way, is girly (if she was totally a tomboy, she wouldn’t certainly wear those long dresses with ease, nor she would have her notorious passion for flowers), it’s not nice to have a bit of variety in the characters personalities? Go on, Peach is a gentle and sweet girl, Daisy is exuberant and sporty, Rosalina, calm and majestic, Wendy spoiled yet powerful, Toadette cheerful and curious, and finally Pauline concrete and passionate. Everyone compensates their gaps with the others, and this balance between the girls is fine, so please do not compare all the girls, Peach first, to Daisy.

"Peach appears too much in the games, so she's overrated!!!1!"

Guys, our princess is one of the protagonists of Mario's videogames, along with the plumber, his brother, Bowser and Toad, so it's natural that she often appears in the games. After all, Peach (after Pauline, who belonged for long time to another series) is the first of the princesses to appear, so it's logical that Nintendo would value that in this way.

And another little thing: the word overrated does NOT mean popular in its own universe, it means overly popular among its FANS.

And Peach has relatively few fans compared to the other main characters.

And, as the final cherry on the cake, let’s talk about Odyssey, who can have reassume prevous points, but what is equally needed, because of the following reasons

"PEACH IS A BITCH WHO HASN’T ACCEPTED MARIO'S PROPOSAL, STUPID AND UNGRATEFUL!!!1! THAT’S OBVIOUS THAT MARIO CHOOSES PAULINE!!!1!"

And here we come to the juice of the speech, and at this point I would like to ask: but have you seen the final cutscene of the game, or are you just knocking on your keyboards to don’t make feel the keys alone and misunderstood?

Let’s assume that after a long, tiring journey along the WHOLE world, with a monster bigger at least the triple of you who is doing everything to organize a NOT-wanted marriage with you; and immediately soon after being rescued, at the end of an extravagant battle, you have not one, but TWO contenders for your hand, what are you doing? The doll who gives all of herself to her hero just because she saved you? But in which period are we, in the nineteenth century?

Guys, let's talk seriously, would you immediately answer to a such serious question, which can change the rest of your life, on the moon under such conditions? I really don’t think so.

So Peach did, showing her intelligence, and why not, joking over it. It wasn’t the place nor the time for Mario and Bowser to move such proposals, and I honestly think that Peach done right to refuse both of them, I believe, momentarily.

And so centuries of feminist struggles went cancelled because of a video game character...

"PEACH HAS LEFT MARIO AND BOWSER ON THE MOON!!1!"

Yeah, okay, Odyssey's final was what it was, but you can’t hate a character because she's not a puppet in Mario or Bowser's hand. Tell me, you first complained that Peach had no character and now that she has explicated it, in good, you hate her the same? Consistency, this unknown concept...

However, for this detail, have you noticed that Peach eventually called Mario on the Odyssey, even though it had already started to fly? Mario had all the time he needed to get on board with the Princess and her friends. Even if Mario couldn't make it to the Odyssey (which is also unlikely under a cautious analysis of the cutscene), I even highly doubt that not only Bowser but all the other wedding's guests (including PAULINE) were diying there, surely there was at least ONE other vehicle which could bring back them home.

Also think about Peach's dialogues in the post-game: she completely forgave Mario's misbehaving and she's still happy to see him to the point to give him all the moons she gets! So she’s not that ungrateful...

And that's what I needed to say. Guys, please stop hating Peach, she didn’t do anything, and certainly she doesn’t deserve your insults.

In these times, the princess is among the main characters the most hated, even much more than Daisy or Zelda, who have their great slice of fans, who would do anything for them and even considering them "better" in Smash Bros.

I'm sorry to have written this rant but I'm sure this time is really needed...

Fandoms, Mario included, can be beautiful places where you can meet fantastic people but at the same time you can witness this free hate episodes even from famous personalities...

Thank you for reading, and see you soon.

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

P.S. Below I show you the main places where the princess is hated for the above reasons.

Gamefaqs, TheTopTens.com, Marioboards, DeviantArt and Youtube

P.P.S. Please, do not go to the video I've mentioned only to insult the youtuber: despite that entry is far from being well-crafted, he made enjoyable content as well. He deserves respect as well and if you really want to discuss in the comment section about the subject, please be polite

P.P.P.S. If you hate Peach and you feel to comment here, please write maturely, well-structured comments. If we can have a mature dialogue, it's best for both of us.

#princesspeach #princess peach #rant #stop hate #mario princess #nintendo #stop peach hate #give her a chance #super mario odyssey #princess daisy #rosalina #underrated characters #stop character bashing #super smash bros #cute princess #peach #give her love

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artlessictoan · 4 years

Text

ao3 req for femme sak/butch tema where they’re at a con and tema is a cosplayer with a big fuck off weapon. gotta admit, the biggest difficulty was who the fuck they’d be cosplaying as since it turns out I’m not familiar with many gigantic weapon wielding characters in any of the things I watch or play.. I was sorely tempted to have them cosplaying as themselves for a while there.

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

This place was too loud, and crowded, and she was sorely regretting wearing an outfit with quite so many frills and petticoats – no matter how cute she looked in it, the heat of a thousand bodies packed together in a poorly ventilated hall was just not worth it.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, what was the point in dressing up, I don't think anyone's even looked at me since we got here.”

Naruto was still waving goodbye to the kid who’d asked to have her picture taken with his particularly campy take on Aquaman, though her words quickly had him giving her a Look out of the corner of his eyes, a knowing smirk plastered across her face. “Your ego is showing,” he sang.

She was definitely not pouting. “Easy for you to say, how many photos have you been in so far?”

“Yeah, but I asked to be in most of those.” He had to jog to keep up with her long strides, but he still managed to throw out several compliments to some of the other cosplayers they passed by.

“Exactly! How are you so confident just walking up to complete strangers and asking that?”

“You just gotta be more like me,” he said, and it was a testament to their friendship that he knew exactly what she was going to say in response to that, because the second she opened her mouth, he interrupted her. “Loud and with absolutely zero shame!”

Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that.

Together, they navigated their way around a large group of very excited teens clustered around an artist’s stall, her friend still nattering at her side, “It's your first time at a con, of course it takes some getting used to, don't be so hard on yourself.”

He was right, annoyingly, but she’d always been something of a perfectionist and she’d put so much time and effort into her elaborate cosplay – hours of researching patterns and materials, practising various sewing techniques before she ever even touched the base dress she’d managed to discover hidden in a charity shop after almost two weeks of searching, hell, she’d even had to learn how to dye cloth in order to get the perfect colours for her grand idea – just a little appreciation of her work would be nice.

“I’m pretty sure no one is impressed with me,” she said, pulling at the ruffles lining her bodice, “I’ve seen at least six other Princess Peaches wondering around and they’re all way more convincing than I am.” And by convincing, what she really meant was slender and delicate.

Both things with she was decidedly not.

Naruto clearly saw her reasoning, because he was quick to try and pull her out of it. “You’re exaggerating!”

“No one wants to take a picture of a buff Princess Peach.”

“Hey-” he grabbed her gloved hand and pulled her away to a relatively quiet area, his voice and expression deadly serious “-you look amazing and I won’t hear another word otherwise, buff femmes are a gift to the world and you should be proud.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him back with a snort. “I know that dummy, I’m not feeling sad, I’m just pissed that no one here has any taste.”

Indeed, her body was another thing she worked very hard to perfect and she was absolutely not ashamed to show it off. Though it did make finding an equally – if not more – strapping butch who’d treat her like the princess she absolutely deserved to be a little difficult. She was a simple girl, with simple tastes, all she wanted was a handsome woman who could bench Sakura’s not inconsiderable bodyweight.

“You sure you’re not just sulking, because you’re not the most popular girl in town?”

“Do you want to get punched? Because that right there is the kind of talk that will get you pun…” Her voice cut out in a breathy gasp.

Samus Aran herself was casually waltzing down the aisle.

Sakura grabbed Naruto's arm for support, as every hopelessly gay bone in her body crumbled to dust.

His asking what was wrong went completely ignored, she could only stare at the vision marching between tables, the crowd instinctively parting before her, like minnows before a shark, all eyes turning to follow her strong, confident strides.

“Daaaaamn.” Naruto had apparently followed her hungry gaze, because he let out a long, appreciative whistle. “How long do you think that getup took to make?”

Unlike the handful of other Samus cosplays she'd seen today, this was the character as she was meant to be, fully armoured, shoulders wider than a bus, legs for days, well over six feet of pure Warrior. Her hand cannon was somewhat… exaggerated – compared to canon at least – but honestly, that just made Sakura's throat even drier.

And, just when she thought all air had long since vacated her body, Samus pulled off her helmet and the dark face with a roguish smirk and mess of blond curls pulled into a chaotic ponytail that was revealed stole the lingering gasp she didn’t know she still had in her.

“Hey. Sak. Sakura. Oi.” She vaguely heard the words coming from somewhere to her left, but could not bring herself to look away.

A rough hand slapped across her eyes.

“Hey!” she yelled – well, tried to yell, breathless as she was it came out more as a wheeze than anything even slightly intimidating – and whacked Naruto's hand away.

“Oh, good, you're still alive, you were starting to turn purple there, I was worried I'd lost you.”

Her glare was half-hearted at best, but it was probably a good thing he'd reminded her that she still had many important bodily functions that really shouldn’t be put on hold just because a pretty girl walked by. Though, now that she was thinking about it, she really wanted to sneak another peek at the vision of Raw Amazonian Energy that had left her in such a state to begin with.

The woman was now chatting to a very convincing Bayonetta, her wide grin showing off white teeth and crinkling her slightly crooked nose – it looked like it must've been broken at some point, but Sakura was very much into the rugged look, so frankly it just made her all the more mesmerised.

“You should go talk to her.”

She blinked out of her trance once more, as her head snapped around to stare at her best friend. “What? No. No way. How?”

Naruto, bless his heart, just smiled and said, “Walk up and tell her you really like her costume,” as though that wasn't such a monumentally impossible task that she wanted to weep just thinking about it.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“C'mon, it's not that hard," he said, dropping an arm across her shoulders. "I bet she gets it all the time, there's nothing to be embarrassed about!”

Sakura dug her heels into the floor as he gently, but determinedly, tried to push her forward. She might’ve had more success if she weren’t wearing such dainty pumps. “Exactly, she's probably sick of it and I should just leave her alone and admire her silently from afar.”

Naruto, bless his heart, looked at her like she was the stupidest person alive.

Honestly, she couldn't really say that she wasn't.

Before she could distract him by pointing out the stall selling ninja gear at the opposite end of the alley to where Samus was waving goodbye to Bayonetta, he was shoving her firmly in the direction of the beautiful thief of her heart, despite her legs’ adamant refusal to cooperate with his wishes.

“No, no, Naruto, don't you dare do this to me, I will end you, I will slit open your stomach and strangle you with your own intestines, I will-”

Her deranged muttering came to an abrupt halt when her friend carefully lifted her by the arms and threw her into the poor, unsuspecting woman’s chest.

The way she was caught wasn't half as suave and romantic as every period drama she'd ever watched had led her to believe it should be and the armour the woman was wearing was apparently made of steel, if the painful clanging of her forehead against it was anything to go by, but they both managed to stay standing and a deep, husky laugh was quickly washing away all memories of pain and embarrassment. And quite possibly her own name.

“Woah there, Princess,” a warm voice cooed softly, as Sakura finally managed to blink her vision back into place and stand up by herself. “You alright?”

She then made the terrible mistake of looking up, into the intense green eyes staring down at her, light curls of hair framing her strong, striking face like a halo – and that just had to be what she was, an angel, no earthly being had any right being so perfect – at which point she lost all higher brain functions. Perhaps she managed to make a strangled affirmative noise, because the woman gave a relieved smile and took a small step back, though her hand lingered against Sakura’s waist, ready to support her if needed.

“That’s good, the crowds can get a bit wild here, huh?”

Her mouth must’ve been acting on autopilot now, because she was speaking, before she even really processed the question, “Oh, it wasn’t the crowd it was-”

Naruto.

Flicking her gaze all around her, she searched for the tell-tale blond spikes of her best-friend-turned-worst-enemy, but, alas, he had melted away into the throng of people surrounding them, forever lost. Which was probably a smart idea, because when she next saw him, she was going to destroy the idiot.

“Never mind,” she said, giving one last glare to an innocent bystander, who very quickly turned around and started walking back the way they came, “just a friend being a dick.”

The woman’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but she quickly shrugged it away and lifted her ludicrous hand cannon to rest in the nook between her exaggerated shoulder pads and her neck. “Well, even if it was a bit violent, it’s nice to meet you; name’s Temari.”

Sakura just barely managed to stutter out her own name, before her eyes decided that this was the perfect time to greedily drink in her elaborately realistic cosplay while she was up close. The longer she looked, the more awed and – in the subtle way of a fellow creative witnessing a masterpiece – somewhat jealous she became. “That costume is just… amazing, are those actual LED lights or is it just glow paint? And how’d you work out the joints in the armour?”

“Not a damn clue! My brother’s the artist, I just model some of his work for him-” she flicked a glossy business card out of a small, hidden compartment in her arm cannon and held it out to her “-he does commissions if you’re interested.”

Well, shit. There went any hope of a common interest.

While Sakura was trying not to pout at the words ‘Black Ant Costuming’ and come up with a graceful escape route, Temari snorted. “And in return for doing all his advertising for him, I got him to make me a Samus costume, because no one else has the figure to do her justice.”

The wink she gave was at once both shamelessly theatrical and utterly devastating. Sakura was pretty sure that her brain had just melted into a puddle of love-struck goop and was no longer controlling her body’s actions – it was the only excuse she would accept for the breathless, swooning giggle she let out in response.

“Th-that you do,” Sakura said, only half aware of what she was even saying anymore.

Her extremely besotted state was probably clear to everyone in a ten-meter radius, but Temari had the grace not to point it out directly.

No, her eyes were too busy scanning up and down Sakura’s own outfit. “Not that you really need Kankuro’s help, you look super cute already.” Apparently Temari didn’t notice the blood rushing to her head fast enough to explode it, because she barrelled on without a care for her heart’s wellbeing, “That dress… are those the lesbian flag colours, or is my bi ass just reading into things again?”

Shit, she was definitely making a weird face by this point. “I-I wasn’t expecting anyone to notice-” she said, her voice sounding a million miles away.

Temari leaned down a little, the golden-brown skin of her cheeks turned just slightly red and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “You know, I actually ship Samus and Peach real fuckin’ hard, and you are straight-up adorable, mind if we take a cute shippy pic together? Just a hug is fine if you’re not comfortable wi-”

Sakura had spent many years trying to smother that loud, aggressive, unrestrained side of herself under layers of shy, demure femininity. How well it had historically worked was up for debate, but, now, in the face of a gorgeous woman who ticked every one of her boxes – and several she didn’t realise she had, she thought, once more eyeing up the oversized weapon Temari waved about with ease – her carefully constructed façade was immediately thrown out the window.

“NARUTO!”

All around her, people jumped, even Temari flinched and took a step back. Just as she was getting ready to yell again, she saw a familiar face peek up from behind an artist’s table; she knew he wouldn’t have gone far when there was the opportunity to watch Sakura fail at flirting to enjoy.

She pulled her phone out of her purse and threw it at him. “Hurry up and get over here, you’re taking pictures of us.”

Just barely saving her phone from an untimely meeting with the cold hard ground, he clambered over the table he was hiding behind, apologising profusely to the poor vendor whose stock he was rearranging.

Sakura paid him no mind, spinning back to face a slightly bewildered – but very amused – Temari. “Hold me bridal-style while I kiss your cheek.”

A single brow raised, before that smug grin that had so captivated Sakura in the first place returned and she was effortlessly hoisted in two strong arms. She was so thrilled to be there; she didn’t even think to complain about the hard plastic covering them. Especially not when Temari whispered in her ear, “As you wish, my Princess.”

---

#ictoan writes #sakura haruno #temari #sakutema #temasaku #naruto #FINALLY IT'S TEMA TIME #also wooow i'm just gettin slower and slower with these aren't i #i will proofread in hell

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regionalcoins · 5 years

Text

Romance Headcanons.

NAME: Mario Mario NICKNAME: Bro, Big Bro, Superstar, Murphy, Big Red, Little Red-Cap, Red Man of Mustache, Red ‘Stache, Plumber, Plumber-Boy, Hero, Mister Mustache, Pokey Little Flab-Biscuit, Gonzales, The Great Gonzales, Super Mario, 1-UP Boy GENDER: Cis Male ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic Demisexual PREFERRED PET NAMES: Mario doesn’t necessarily have a preferred pet name, as any pet name is enough to fluster him. However, he is a bit partial to “darling”, “sweetie” and “sweetheart”. Italian pet names are also very powerful in being able to fluster him. FAVOURITE CANON SHIP(S): Mario is often flirted with by many female characters over the course of the games, but it goes without saying that my favorite canon ship is Mario/Peach. I do also appreciate Mario/Pauline in AUs pertaining to his past. FAVOURITE NON-CANON SHIP(S): Everybody knows by now that I love Mario/Geno. It started as a bit of a secret guilty pleasure ship, but thanks to a certain bunny (cough, @sternenteile, cough), I’m more open and shameless about it. OPINION ON TRUE LOVE: Mario wholeheartedly believes in true love. No matter how it manifests, he thinks there’s love in anything, whether it be romantic, platonic, or just the goodness in your heart. Let it never be said that he isn’t a hopeless romantic. OPINION ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: He believes very much in love as first sight considering that’s how he fell for both Pauline and Princess Peach. However, this isn’t to say he’ll fall in love just based on looks; they speed up the process, sure, but in order to fully hook him, you need to be a nice person with a pleasant personality. HOW ‘ROMANTIC’ ARE THEY?: When in a relationship, Mario is the textbook definition of romantic. He’ll do everything he can to spoil you; pet names, affection, random unexpected acts of kindness, gifts, fancy outings, and so on. He isn’t above fighting the world for his love and he’ll always let you know just how much you mean to him. IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: As stated before, he is often drawn to looks, but once he gets to know the person behind them, looks no longer concern him. That being said, he adores big pretty eyes, long hair, and folks who are taller than him. IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: When it comes to preference in personality traits, Mario tends to fluctuate. His #1 preference is “be a nice, kind person”, but that’s to be expected of somebody with a strong moral compass such as Mario. Other personality traits he often falls for, however, are generosity, zest for life, confidence, a passion for fun, and although he hates to admit it simply because he’s a lil too proud and unwilling to burden others, he appreciates a lil bit of concern and restriction. UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Poor hygiene. He doesn’t judge on “””ugly””” looks because that isn’t his business. UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: He greatly dislikes when folks are rude, hateful, spiteful, tone deaf, and so on. As said before, Mario has a strong moral compass and expects it to be matched in some way, with sour personality traits such as the aforementioned falling way below his sense of fairness. IDEAL DATE: Anything is the ideal date so long as he’s with his significant other. It could range from sitting at home enjoying lunch, or being out on the town splurging for all the latest fashion and knickknacks. If it’s up to him, however, he’ll go out of his way to spoil his loved one with clothes, jewelry if they enjoy it, big dinners and flowers. For all the years he’s been adventuring, he’s racked up a fair amount of coins that would allow him to spoil his S/O to the highest extent. If said S/O prefers a less flashy, more down-to-earth kind of date, he’ll do things such as cook you homemade Italian cuisine, and buy you cute lil things like plushies and flowers. He’ll also purchase movies for the both of you to enjoy. DO THEY HAVE A TYPE?: It’s been shown in canon that he seems to have a thing for tall folks in places of power. Pauline and Peach greatly tower over him, and both are in societal places of power; a bustling town’s mayor and a large kingdom’s royal monarch, respectively. However, this often extends into his love of confidence. AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH: Mario has only been in one official relationship and it lasted for about two and a half years. The break-up was mutual and amicable, reason being Pauline became busy with running for New Donk City mayor and lost her romantic feelings for Mario along the way. In my headcanon, Pauline realized she didn’t feel romantic feelings for Mario anymore because she found out she was a lesbian, but I’ve left this part open-ended in my muse backstory so that any and all Pauline partners that crop up can spin their own take on interactions. Whether or not she’s a lesbian depends on the whim of the partner. That being said, Mario didn’t feel any hard feelings about the breakup, and he is still friends with Pauline today. PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: Anything and everything; kissing, hugging, hand-holding, nuzzling, sleeping together, cuddling, playing together, sharing, etc. COMMITMENT LEVEL: Mario is deathly loyal. It’s no secret that he’d die a million deaths for the person he loves, whether that love be romantic or platonic. When in a relationship, he’s committed ‘til the end. He’d never hurt you and he’d never play with your emotions. He would sooner die than do such things, and that’s saying something because he’d also take a whole magazine of bullets for you if it assured your happiness. PAST RELATIONSHIPS?: One, with Pauline.

Tagged by: @ghostbustingreen, thanks bro!!!! Tagging: YOU!

#minigame round! (dash games)#long post //

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gamebunny-advance · 6 years

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I'd like to read more about your personal interpretations of Pac & Watch. Your drawings about them have so much personality... apparently Pac is still married? May you please expand about their relationship? (Pac's, Ms.'s, and G&W's)

Huh, I don’t usually (if ever) get asked about my headcanons like this, but I’ll be happy to talk about them!

I guess since you’re asking about all three, I’ll tell ya everything, but it’s probably gonna be a long and boring read. I’m not really the fanfic writing type, so this might also kinda be disjointed. Sorry in advance!

Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man

Pac-Man (real name “Puck”) met Ms. Pac-Man (real name “Pepper”) in Pactown when she was a showgirl. A long time ago Pepper used to live as a man (deadname *“Otto”), but after hearing about the adventures of “Pac-Man” (I consider this to be more of a title than an actual name. There have been many Pac-Mans over the years, and Puck is just one of them) decided to adopt the title for herself as a performer. Soon word of “Ms. Pac-Man” spreads far and wide, eventually reaching Puck who decides to check-out the Pac who’s also claimed his title. Upon his arrival to Pactown from Pac Village, he’s attacked by the ghost gang who is also attacking Pepper. Together they fend them off and gradually fall in love. Eventually Pepper retires from being a performer to settle down and raise a family with Puck (adopting two kids: Junior and Baby). Occasionally they cross paths with the ghost gang and other evils, but they’re happy with having a simple home life together.

Relationship-wise they are very much in love with each other. Despite being older (over 30) they still act like newly-weds, always holding each other’s hands in public and calling each other pet names and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing. It embarresses their kids to no end. When Pac-Man went to join smash for a while, they both got kinda lonely without each other, but Ms. Pac-Man still visits often and when she can’t she sends lots of letters and homemade meals to him.

*This part is inspired by real life. I figure it’s a well known story among Pac-Man fans, but the original Ms. Pac-Man game is actually based on a ROM hack called “Crazy Otto”. I believe what happened was that Midway (The NA distributors of Pac-Man) bought the ROM then converted it to be a direct sequel to Pac-Man. I thought that it would be interesting to incorporate that history into Ms. Pac-Man’s backstory. Originally I didn’t even headcanon Ms. Pac-Man as the same species/race as Pac-Man because the original sprites are so different, but I decided that that was a little too complicated for something like this. ^^;

Ms. Pac-Man’s previous job as a performer in the big city is based on how she was depicted in the original ads for the game, usually being shown as a glamorous figure with a strong attitude. Pac-Man coming from a small town is mostly based on the Pac-Man World/Pac-Man the New Adventures canon, where it looks like the Pac family is based in a rural/suburban town. I wanted there to be a more natural progression from Ms.Pac-Man’s original “independant woman” attitude to becoming a domestic housewife. She still has all of her original spunk (she’s even still a little flirtatious out of habit), but they’re still completely devoted to each other and would never assume that the other is being unfaithful in any way (and neither ever have been).

youtube

Pac-Man and Mr. Game & Watch

When Pac-Man joined smash, he kinda felt a *little* out of touch everyone. Although there have been modern Pac-Man games most of the Pac-Men(?) in those games are actually different people. Puck is the “Classic” Pac-Man and doesn’t really have the know-how of his more modern colleges. He even finds it difficult to relate to Mario who is only a year younger than Pac because their experience gap is so large.

Although originally puzzled with meeting someone who is still 2-D, when Pac-Man meets Mr. Game & Watch, he feels an instant sense of nostalgia and they both bond over their mutual out-of-touchness. However, Mr. Game & Watch isn’t just out of touch with the times, he’s out of touch with how to function as a normal person. Despite appearing humanoid, G&W is very alien to this world. How he even crossed dimensions is a mystery even to himself, but now that he’s here, adjusting has been difficult.

He hasn’t fully developed a lot of concepts like good and evil. Basically, he has trouble with any intangible concept and has a very black and white way of thinking. He isn’t emotionless per say (he knows when he’s happy or when he’s upset someone, etc.), but there’s a lot he doesn’t know/understand about feelings and morality. He lacks tact and is bad at communicating with people, so he doesn’t have very many friends among the smashers. This gets Pac’s dad-instincts to kick in and he eventually starts trying to help G&W learn how to properly express himself (a task that’s being shared with Princess Peach).

Once when Ms.Pac-Man came to visit, G&W got curious about their relationship. Although he was kinda familiar with the concept of “love”, having heard about it from Peach, he had never seen it expressed in such a way before, so he began emulating the Pacs to test out his new concept of “love” (mostly the kissing). G&W has a habit of emulating anything that interests him to gain experience, so he wound up making romantic gestures to anyone that he “loved” (which is anyone who he considers even remotely important to him, including Pac-Man). Of course this isn’t appropriate in most situations, but pretty much everyone knows that he does it because he doesn’t know any better, so no one takes it seriously. After being taught about the different kinds of love and how to “properly” express it (specifically the difference between romantic and platonic love), he determines that his feelings for most of this friends is actually platonic, but is still happy to have made any friends at all. There is one person that he has romantic feelings for, but that’s a different story.

Since then their friendship has been riddled with discussions of the good old days with the occasional snarky banter. They get along pretty well and Pac-Man has learned to accept most of G&W’s quirks. Even after learning about his involvement in the Subspace Army, Pac is still happy to be friends with G&W. What happened happened, but right now they’re best friends and it’s gonna take a lot to change that.

So yeah, that’s the gist of it! I don’t really ship a romantic Pac & Watch because I feel like it messes with established canon too much (namely that Pac-Man is married and has kids), but I do like the idea of them being very close to each other. They both have relationships with some of the other smash characters, but you only asked about the Pacs and Mr. Game & Watch, so I’ll leave it at this for now.

If you want to know anything else, then feel free to ask me.

#personal post #mr game and watch #pacman #pac man #ms pac man #super smash bros #Anonymous

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crowndanced · 5 years

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○ *:･ﾟ✧

EXCAVATED FROM THE LIBRARY OF THE GOBLIN KING.

( DO NOT REBLOG. )

Summary: A small party hosted by Prince Jareth’s father in celebration of finding his long lost sister, to show the relationship between the two fae children. VERY pre-Labyrinth movie canon. Mostly from Magic’s POV, third person. Unformatted.

Today was the day.

The little Goblin Princess has been awakened, all her royal classes cut short, only to find that, after lunch, she was whisked away back to her room, stuffed into a frilly purple and white dress, placed into uncomfortable low heeled shoes, her hair being yanked into a tightly braided bun, and having makeup applied to her face.

And she hated every second of it.

She stood now, in the hallway outside the room of the party, with her father, mother, and brother. It was the first party she had ever attended, even with her father hosting them regularly. She had no idea what would be different about going to a fae party rather than a goblin one. Goblins were often rowdy and fun, which she liked, and she already had in the image in her young brain of a fae creature being haughty and gastly. She shuddered, messing with the lace cuffs on her sleeve.

“Jareica,” her gaze came from the sleeve to her mother, who was know kneeling in front of her, “something troubles you. What is it?”

Jareica could hardly focus on her mother’s face being so close to her own- the swan fae was known for her beauty and lovely voice, even in far away kingdoms. “I-I just,” she stammered, “I dunno. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this, mom.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lillyith assured her daughter, rubbing her head, “I’m sure all the other princes and princesses will be nice. And besides, you look adorable in your dress!”

Her daughter made a face.

“You don’t like it?” Her mother asked, and she nodded vigorously.

“I don’t like it at all! It’s so weird to have something covering your feet, and plus it’s really easy for someone to look up it, and-”

“You’ll be fine, Jareica,” her mother interrupted her rant, starting to stand, “when you’re queen, you’ll have to get used to it.”

The princess sighed as her mother made her way back to her father, watching them link arms. Her mother would never understand; she loved dresses and womanly things in general. Despite having inherited a lot from her mother, the princess thought they were strikingly different. She sighed.

“Jareica?”

The next person she looked up at was her older brother, who had appeared suddenly by her side. “Yea?”

“You needn’t worry,” he grinned, “when I’m king, I’ll let you wear whatever you like to a party like this.”

Her eyes gleamed as she replied, “Really?”, to which he nodded.

“Indeed.”

“Children,” the booming voice of their father, King Jored, captured their attention, and the young goblin royalty turned to looked at him, “it is time.”

Jareth and Jareica hurried over, Jareth beside their father and Jareica beside their mother, as the door opened into the ballroom.

“Jare, quick, your mask!” Her brother whispered, and she slipped on the black feathered crow mask. Her father had told her that they always host masquerade parties- no exceptions. He never gave a reason as to why, but it only confused the little Princess more as her eyes met thousands of eyes of other creatures.

Leaving the side of his wife and son, King Jored stepped forward, starting to address the attentive crowd.

“My fellow people of the Fabled Kingdoms…”

Jareica didn’t pay attention to her father’s speech; she had heard him rehearse it enough before the party. Instead, her mismatched gaze wandered about the ballroom, which she had never seen decorated until now. Everything was draped in white, complete with glitter, floating candles, and full of people wearing different outfits and masks. A sea of strangers, and she and her family stood at the very edge of it.

She suddenly grew rather nervous.

Her mother had assured her that they would be nice to her, as she was a princess, but even so, she couldn’t help but worry. They would only be nice to her out of respect for her father, who often terrified the peoples of different kingdoms with his loud voice and often cold facial expressions (she also figured his beard played a role in their fight). But he was a gentle man; the only time she had seen him truly angry is when someone was close to besting his mirrored maze around their castle.

“... and I would like to introduce you all to my daughter, the lost princess, Jareica.”

She stiffened as her father’s gloved hand outstretched to her.

With a gentle nudge from her mother and a wink from Jareth, she stiffly walked forward to take her father’s hand, who in turn lead her closer to the edge of the staircase they stood atop of. There was polite applause, and even a few cheers.

The lost princess. She hated that name. She hated being put up in front of these fae creatures like this. She hated this dress, she hated this makeup, she hated everything about this-

But she would pull through it. Or, try to, anyway.

An awkward grin came onto her face as her father whispered, “Smile, my dear.” Jored brought down their hands, and giving hers a small squeeze in reassurance, finished, “Let the party officially commence.”

As the clamour started back up again from the music and the people in attendance, Jareica let out the breath she had been holding. Jareth, gotta find Jareth…

Though her parents would’ve preferred her to try and hold this out on her own, she wanted some sort of resort to go to, and that happened to be her older brother. He had been the one to find her, after all, and he seemed to understand her more than their parents did (as most little girls often think).

She found his hand as he walked after their parents, and clasped it tightly. Behind his feathered owl mask, his brown-blue eyes lit up questionably, but then turned kind as he saw it was only his little sister.

“Nervous?” he asked, and she gave a silent ‘yes’. “It’s alright; I’m a bit nervous too.”

“Haven’t you been to some of father’s parties?” asked she.

“Well, I mean…” he cleared his throat, “actually, I haven’t. I’d always wanted to, though.”

“Why didn’t they let you attend?”

“Oh, they were going to,” he shrugged, “I just wasn’t sure when. They never told me.”

“Oh…”

After a brief silence, Jareth finally said, “You want to get some food?”

“...Alright,” said his sister.

“One thing, though,” he bent over, face now in front of hers, “let me see a smile.” She gave the same awkward smile as before, and he laughed. “No, you silly crow. A real smile,” his grin turned wicked, “or I’ll put you in the Bog of Eternal Stench.”

Sensing her brother’s jest, she giggled and beamed a real smile, full of pristine white teeth. Jareth seemed satisfied with this, for his grin returned to normal. “Like this?”

“Exactly. Let’s go get some dinner.” He rose then, and lead her by the hand through the crowd.

As they passed by adult faes and fae children their age, Jareica couldn’t help but hear their whispers.

“-Too dependent on her brother, that one…”

“What’s going to happen when she becomes Queen?”

“Lost princess, hmph. More like a publicity stunt-”

“Hush! We all heard the news about their lost daughter-”

“-Might be an imposter, someone picked up off the street-”

“-Might even be human…”

Jareth must’ve heard them too, for he hurried by the gossiping fae as quickly as his little high heeled feet could carry them. As they approached the table full of food, his black gloved hands rested on her shoulders, “Never you mind them, Jare. They’re just… how do humans put it… Jackasses?”

She tilted her head. “What’s a jackass?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “I heard a runner use the term once. I assume it’s a bad thing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She giggled, and he laughed with her. “Oh, wow, look at all the food…!”

And so the Goblin Prince and Princess spent the next fifteen minutes helping themselves to all the food and drink they could eat (save for the peach flavoured wine, which their mother caught Jareth attempting to drink, earning him a scolding). Magic could put hanging out with her brother at a fae party up there with attending a goblin one.

Next came the dancing. As expected, the children danced with their parents, and although it was rumored that the Goblin royalty were rather good dancers, Jareica found herself struggling to keep up with her father’s broad ballroom dance steps, and her mother’s gracefulness and posture. It was only when she danced with Jareth, who spun her around more times than necessary, that she felt she was getting better at it. By the end of the dance with her brother, she found that she had way more glitter on her than needed, probably from his outfit (he had an obsession with the stuff that she could never quite understand).

The next thing on her agenda (or at least, her family’s agenda), was her father leading her around and introducing her to the royal families of the other Fable Kingdoms, as they were called. Dryads, nymphs, wizards and witches, all different manners of fae creature…. However, the princes or princesses of each kingdom seemed to look at her with disdain, hidden behind their fake smiles and different masks. The only ones who seemed genuine about their feelings towards Jareica was the prince of the ice elves, called Jaqoni, and princess of the autumn fairies, called Talishiana. Even their parents had been nice to her.

After slipping away from their father, she soon found her way back to her brother, who had finished a conversation with the prince of the forest elves.

“Jareth, I think…” a breath, “I think I want to go back home now. I’m done.”

“You’re done?” He questioned, cocking an eyebrow, “Did you tell father and mother?”

“I can’t tell them now!” she interjected, hands gripping at that annoying skirt, “They’re busy talking with some weird guy that I didn’t pay attention who he was!”

Jareth’s eyebrow remained raised for a minute at the end of that sentence, then fell back down. A single gloved hand reached for her own, and she took it quickly. “Alright. I’ll go tell them that we’re retiring for the night.”

“Thanks, Jareth.”

A single snort, and the blonde head of her brother turned towards the source.

A group of princes were huddled around a table behind them, all snickering at the Goblin Royalty.

“She doesn’t know who the King of the Winter Mountains is!” the leader, a light skinned fae-child whispered, to which more laughter ensued, “Honestly, it’s like she was found yesterday.”

“Hey! I was found two weeks ago!” She stamped her foot, and Jareth put his arm out, a gesture telling her to be silent. She obeyed.

“Aw, alright, two weeks,” the kid continued, “whatever; it makes no difference. It means you’re just stupid. Everyone who’s anyone knows who he is.”

“That’s enough, Lerand.” Jareth spoke, “Go get the tree moss out of your brain and then come and talk to us.”

After a chorus of ‘ooos’ from Lerand’s group, he spoke again, “Shut it, glitter tights! What’re you gonna do, throw me in that Bog of yours?”

“I would have,” Jareth said, “had you been a human and not prince of the pixies.”

Lerand let out a titter, and now Jareica could see the small, transparent, shimmering wings on his back. “I keep telling you, glitter boy, it’s ‘Prince of the Mischievous Ones,’ not ‘pixies’!”

“That’s what humans classify you as, though,” Jareth continued. His sister could see his ever growing smirk, knowing he wasn’t going to end this nicely. “And if you say a single word to either me or my sister again, I’ll…” his grin was at full capacity now, “I’ll tell your mother.”

Lerand’s posture stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare-”

“Ah, not a word, remember? And yes, I would dare, thank you for asking. I trust we are at an agreement then?”

The Pixie Prince glared at Jareth, and the Goblin Prince’s grin became more cheerful than wicked. “Wonderful! I shall see you at the next party, Prince of the Pixies.” And he lead his sister away from the group of now laughing fae children, and Lerand yelling at them to be quiet. Jareica herself stifled a giggle upon remembering her brother’s display.

“Thanks, Jareth,” she said, beaming up at him.

He smiled down at her as well, “No problem, Jareica. Lerand needs to know his place anyways.”

“Is threatening to tell his mom the worse thing you can do?”

“Indeed. The Pixie Queen has been known to deal out such silly and embarrassing punishments for her subjects, as well as her son, and since Lerand is a prideful fae… well,” she paused for her laughter, “I’m sure you can imagine.”

“I can indeed. I just pictured him with one of our chickens on his head!”

“... That’s not a bad idea, actually…”

Finally, they found their parents and told them they would be retiring from the party for the night. Although King Jored had wanted them both to stay a little while longer for political reasons, he excused them to their chambers for their sake (and also because his daughter was giving him what the humans called ‘the puppy dog pout’, which he was not immune to). On their way out, Jareth made a quick stop to a pale lanky woman with light green hair and the same wings as Lerand, and whispered something to her. The woman nodded, and then took off, and the last thing Jareica saw before the doors shut was the woman dragging Lerand by his wing tips- a soft spot for their kind, she remembered reading- out a side door of the ballroom. She grinned wickedly.

“Serves him right for bad mouthing me,” her posture straightened and she strutted up to her brother, who linked arms with her.

“You know what this calls for?” He grinned.

“What?” she asked, eyes lighting up.

“I’d say… a song.” And the next thing she knew, he was spinning her around, singing at the top of his lungs.

“No one can blame you

For walking away.

Too much rejection.

No love injection.

Down in the underground

You'll find someone true.

Down in the underground;

A land serene;

A crystal moon.

Ah…”

It was a ballad at this point, she realised as she twirled, one that he sung sometimes to himself.

“It's only..” he paused, then his face lit up as he recalled the words, “It's only forever.

It's not long at all.

Lost and lonely.

That's underground.

Underground…”

Then she was flying, dancing with her brother at a quicker tempo, and she laughed and leapt around with him, glitter from his costume flying around.

“Daddy, daddy, get me out of here. Heard about a place today. Nothing never hurts again. Daddy, daddy, get me out of here. I'm, I'm underground. Sister, sister, please take me down. I'm, I'm underground. Daddy, daddy, get me out!”

And so, the castle echoed with the song Jareth sung and his sister’s laughter, accompanied by the goblins forming a chorus from it, as the blissfully unaware fae continued to hold their party behind closed doors.

#drabble tag tba.#○ *:･ﾟ✧ | sister sister take me down. ( rel. magic. )#○ *:･ﾟ✧ | im crying about david bowie again. ( ooc. )

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