Previous/Public In my short, miserable life, I’ve become quite familiar with the back of cop cars. They’re plasticy, uncomfortable, and quite claustrophobic. I shifted around, scrunching my knees and finding a semi-comfortable angle to sit on my handcuffed hands with. “You’re shaking the car,” Undyne complained. “Stop moving. I’m trying to help you.” “Yes, arrest …
Summary: After graduating, Susie finds herself all alone in her small town she can't leave. When her girlfriend leaves her, she goes out to drown her sorrows in alcohol, only to make the strangest connection with another soul... Past Susie/Noelle, future Susie/Undyne. Very slow burn. Not for the faint of heart. A/N: So before I …
It’s the holiday season, and what better time than to start commissioning! After all, commissions can make great gifts, for yourselves, for family members and for me so I can keep my heat on and bills payed and keep creating for yall! Because of this, I’ve recently dropped my prices a bit and added some …
An obol, golden and shining in my palm. The largest spool of woolen thread I had ever seen, tied to my obi. My gourd, tied to my obi. My kanabou, in her sheath on my back. Small gravemarkers, old style, tucked inside my obi. All that was ahead was darkness, the creeping suspicions of death …
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It was easy to return the following day. The memories I had encountered had dissolved into light sketches into hardened walls, looking less like hedges and more like soft stone. With a touch, it bent, almost as though it were made of sponge.
The mind sure is a curious thing.
They were waiting for me outside of the maze today. Well, some of them were. A gate, sort of like the pull-gates I was used to seeing outside of shrines, blocked the entrance to the Maze, as Raikou and his retainers waited outside. A crowd of other traitors followed me as I approached the Maze, …
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A/N: This is a form of astral documentation. I’m going through some stuff and decided to put the specific occurrences of the Maze in this story.
An obol, golden and shining in my palm.
The largest spool of woolen thread I had ever seen, tied to my obi.
My gourd, tied to my obi.
My kanabou, in her sheath on my back.
Small gravemarkers, old style, tucked inside my obi.
All that was ahead was darkness, the creeping suspicions of death around the corner. All that was behind me was the sunlight of life, casting the shadow up on the Death of the Maze.
All I could do was enter.
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