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alxtiny · 1 month

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Ad Astra per Aspera

Prologue.

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: -

Notes: i have taken pieces from various sources but my favouritism towards one piece has started to show TT TT

Series Masterlist | Episode 1

In the beginning, there was only one land—the land of Zaitsev. It stretched across a vast expanse, bordered by mountains that kissed the sky, and oceans that cradled the edges of the world. Zaitsev was a land of abundance, where forests teemed with life, rivers flowed with crystal-clear water, and the soil was fertile enough to sustain the most exotic of crops. Under the rule of the Great King, the people of Zaitsev flourished, living in harmony despite their differences.

The people of Zaitsev were a diverse mosaic. Their faces bore the marks of countless ancestries, their features varied like the colors in a painter’s palette. Some had skin the color of deep earth, others the shade of frosty snow in the sunlight. Hair ranged from the darkest midnight to the brightest dawn, and eyes gleamed like precious stones—emerald, sapphire, amber, and onyx. Their languages were many, their traditions rich and varied, yet they were united under one purpose, one ruler, one land. This unity made the ropes that bound together the land of Zaitsev.

The Great King was a man of wisdom, wisdom that came with age and etched itself into his skin. Under his reign, Zaitsev knew peace and prosperity. Disputes were settled through verse, and the scales of justice held complete balance.

But even in the most peaceful of lands, there are forces that seek to disrupt the balance. That’s when came The Sever

The Sever was not an immediate rupture, but rather very gradual, almost unperceivable unravelling. It began as whispers—rumours of discontent among the people, murmurs of disillusionment with the monarchy. Some said that the Great King had become too old, too distant, that he no longer could give what the country demanded. Others claimed that certain regions were being neglected, their resources diverted to the capital while they suffered in silence. These whispers grew louder over time, but they were dismissed as mere gossip by most. After all, Zaitsev had always been one, always been strong. How could it ever fall apart?

But the seeds of division had been sown, and they began to take root in the hearts of the people. Regional identities, that once held together the nation’s fabric like vibrant threads, began to take on a new significance. People started to think of themselves not as citizens of Zaitsev, but as members of their own regions. The differences that had once been a source of pride now became points of contention. The land of Zaitsev had begun to fracture. Figuratively and literally. Natural disasters were quick to hit. Lakes and rivers became seas and oceans. Mountains grew higher and trenches became deeper.

The Great King, sensing the growing unrest, tried to quell the divisions by bringing the leaders of each region together. He sought to remind them of their shared history, their common bonds, and the strength that came from concord. But his efforts were in vain. The divisions had grown too deep, the grievances too bitter. The Sever was inevitable.

It began in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, in the regions now known as the Northern and Southern Aurora Archipelagos. The people there had long felt isolated, sitting on the very borders, almost ignored by the others. They were the first to break off, as pieces of land that slowly drifted away and formed a cluster, proclaiming that they would no longer be ruled by a distant king who did not understand their needs.

One by one, the other regions followed suit. Hell Volhard, with its rugged mountains and frozen lakes, was next, followed by the fertile plains of Rosenmund. Etard, with its lush forests, and Wolff, with its rolling hills, soon joined. Kischner, Hinsberg, and Levaer, all declared their independence. Aldol, the region closest to the capital, was the last to secede, but it did so with a heavy heart. It was the end of an era.

The land of Zaitsev was no more. What had once been one was now divided into ten—ten regions, each with its own ruler, its own government, its own people. The integration that had been the foundation of Zaitsev was shattered, replaced by a peace that held the fragility of glass.

The Great King, heartbroken by the dissolution of his kingdom, fell into a deep despair. He withdrew from public life, retreating to his palace where he spent his final days in solitude. When he died, there was no grand funeral, no mourning across the land. The regions were too divided, too consumed by their own struggles to care. The king’s death went almost unnoticed, a quiet end to a once-great ruler.

The throne passed to the king’s son, a young man untested and unprepared for the challenges he would face. Unlike his father, the new king lacked the wisdom and patience to navigate the complexities of a fractured kingdom. He was brash, impulsive, and driven by a desire for power. But his actions only served to deepen the furrows that already existed. His attempts to assert his authority were met with resistance from the other regions, who saw him as nothing more than a pretender to a throne that no longer existed.

Chaos reigned. The people looked instead to their regional leaders, the elders who had guided them through the turbulent times of The Sever. These elders, each respected in their own right, became the de facto rulers of their regions. They spoke of the old ways, of the time before The Sever, and sought to preserve what they could of Zaitsev’s legacy. But their visions for the future were as varied as the regions they represented, and there was little consensus on how to move forward.

Of the ten regions, only Aldol remained with a ruler who commanded true authority. The new king, desperate to regain control, focused his efforts on Aldol, using its military strength to assert his dominance. He knew that if he could control Aldol, he could control the rest of the regions. And so, he began to draw the smaller groups into his orbit, offering them protection in exchange for their loyalty. Treaties were signed, alliances were formed, and slowly, the new king began to rebuild his power base.

It was during this time that the Premier Aldolar Council was formed. Composed of the king, the elders from each region, and other influential leaders, the council was established to maintain a semblance of order in a world that seemed to be falling apart. It was a front, a show of negotiation and security. But beneath the surface, tensions simmered, and it was clear that the peace would not last forever.

As life resumed its new course, the people of Zaitsev tried to adapt to their changed circumstances. The memories of the old world refusing to fade entirely. But everything had changed, and there was no going back. The people did what they could to survive, clinging to the hope of a better future.

It was in this climate of uncertainty that a group of dissidents emerged. They called themselves the Guardians, and they were determined to restore the world to its former glory. The Guardians believed that the divisions between the regions were superficial, a product of human foibles.

The Guardians were not content to simply dream of a better world—they sought to create it. They believed that the key to advancement lay in the perfection of humanity itself. If they could eliminate the flaws that led to division—the human emotion. And so, they set out to develop a formula, one that would make humans flawless, unyielding to influence, and capable of creating an infallible society.

The formula was the culmination of years of research and experimentation. It was designed with the purpose of eliminating the weaknesses. Those who consumed the formula would be immune to all emotions that made a human weak. They would be the foundation of a new society, a utopia where Zaitsev was whole once more.

But the Guardians’ vision of utopia did not sit well with the Premier Aldolar Council. The council, already wary of any group that threatened the broken peace, saw the Guardians as a danger to the new order. The idea of creating “flawless” humans was too radical, too unpredictable. The council feared that the Guardians’ plan would lead to even greater conflict, and so they moved quickly to abolish the group. The Guardians were outlawed, their members hunted down, and their research seized by the king’s forces.

The formula, its creation, and its components were taken away from the Guardians. The council feared that the Guardians might resurface, but they kept this concern hidden from the public. To the outside world, the Guardians were a failed experiment, merely a comment in the story. But what the public did not know, and what the media could only wonder about, was that ten people had already consumed the formula.

Among them were the king himself, who had secretly taken the formula in a bid to gain the power he believed was his birthright, and the chief Guardian, who had taken the formula to ensure that the vision of the old world would live on. The remaining eight were subjects from each of the ten sectors—carefully selected individuals who had been chosen to test the formula. They were ordinary people by most accounts: farmers, artisans, scholars, and warriors. Yet each had shown potential, something that set them apart from the rest. After consuming the formula, these eight were set free, their identities kept secret, but not from each other, despite the distance and differences they kept contact in secret.

The decision to keep the formula's success buried was not made lightly. The king and the chief Guardian both understood the implications of revealing the existence of these enhanced individuals to the world. If the truth were known, it could ignite a firestorm of fear and ambition that would plunge the fractured land into further chaos. So, the truth was buried, and the ten who had taken the formula became shadows, their identities known only to a select few.

Despite their enhanced abilities, these individuals did not become the flawless beings the Guardians had envisioned. The formula had indeed bestowed upon them certain extraordinary traits, but it had not eradicated the human flaws.

Among the ten, the king began to notice changes within himself. He became more paranoid, selfish and often lost all reason. He had visions. It was as if his heart harboured all of the worst. He began to see enemies everywhere, even among his closest advisors. The power granted by the formula had come at a cost, and the king was slowly losing his grip on reality. He was forced into solitary, his kingdom depended on the council and the rare moments when he experienced clarity in his thoughts

The chief Guardian wasn’t affected. He didn’t achieve the raw power he had asked for, he wanted more of the formula for himself. He gathered the remaining Guardians who had survived the purge and went underground, forming a resistance against the new king. His mission was one, to get the formula back.

But there was one more who had taken the formula—the scientist who had created it. She was the first to test the formula on herself, driven not by the desire for perfection, but by her unrelenting thirst for knowledge and raw curiosity. She had been a member of the Guardians, though she never fully agreed with their vision. For her, the formula was a scientific marvel, a puzzle to be solved, and she pursued its creation with the same dedication she gave to all her work.

The scientist had not anticipated the impact the formula would have on her. Like the others, she gained extraordinary abilities, but hers were of a different nature. She found that she could perceive the world in ways that others could not, understanding complex systems and seeing connections that were invisible to everyone else. The world became a map only she could read. It was as if her mind had expanded, unlocking new dimensions of the unknown world. She realised that in the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic.

Recognizing the threat, the scientist chose to disappear, taking the original formula and all her research with her. She knew that as long as the formula existed, it would be sought after by those who would use it for their own gain. So, she went into hiding, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. The king, desperate to regain control and fully realising the potential of the formula, ordered an exhaustive search for her, but she was always one step ahead. To this day, she remains the only person who can recreate the formula, and the only one who truly understands its full potential.

With the scientist gone, both the king and the remnants of the Guardians have attempted to replicate the formula, but all have met with failure. Without the original formula and the scientist's expertise, they were working in the dark. The copies they produced were flawed, often with disastrous results. Some led to death or madness, others to physical mutations. The promise of perfection proved elusive, and the failures only fueled the desperation of those seeking the formula’s power.

Meanwhile, the ten who had taken the original formula began to drift apart, each following their own path. Some used their abilities to further their ambitions, becoming powerful leaders or influential figures within their sectors. Others chose a quieter life, hiding their abilities and trying to live as normally as possible. But the formula had changed them, and their lives could never be truly ordinary again. They were marked by their powers, and by the knowledge that they were different.

The king, ever more paranoid, began to suspect that the ten were plotting against him. He saw betrayal in every corner and began to turn on those who had once been his allies. His obsession with finding the scientist and reclaiming the original formula consumed him, leading him to neglect his duties as a ruler. Aldol, the one region still loyal to him, began to falter under the weight of his erratic leadership. The other sectors watched closely, waiting for the moment when they could strike.

As the king’s power waned, the Guardians grew stronger. They had learned from their mistakes, and under the chief Guardian’s leadership, they became a formidable force once more. Their goal remained the same: to reunite Zaitsev and create a flawless society. But their methods had changed. They no longer sought to create perfect humans through the formula; instead, they focused on winning the hearts and minds of the people. The Guardians became symbols of resistance, heroes to those who still believed in the old world. That was until their chief disappeared off the face of the earth.

In the midst of this growing tension, the scientist continued her solitary journey, watching from the shadows as the world she had inadvertently helped shape spiralled into chaos. She knew that eventually, she would be found—either by the king or the Guardians. But she was not ready to reveal herself, not until she was certain that her knowledge would not be misused. She had seen what the formula could do, and she knew that its power was too great to be wielded lightly.

The search for the scientist became a race against time. The king, driven by his fear of losing control, intensified his efforts, sending spies and soldiers across the land. The Guardians, ever resourceful, used their underground networks to track any leads on her whereabouts.

As the tensions between the sectors reached a boiling point, whispers of the formula’s true power began to spread among the people. The story of the ten who had taken it became the stuff of legend, fueling both hope and fear. Some saw the formula as the key to restoring Zaitsev, while others feared that it would bring about the end of the world as they knew it. The media, kept on a tight leash by the king’s regime, could only speculate, but the truth had a way of slipping through the cracks.

In this fractured world, the paths of the eight special beings, the king, the Guardians, and the scientist were destined to cross again. The formula, once thought to be the key to a better world, had instead become fuel for a growing fire. Its promise of perfection was a farce, a false shield, and its true potential was yet to be fully understood. As more people, thieves, high ranking nobles and military officers became aware of its existence the rat race for it became evident.

As the world skittered around the edge of another great upheaval, the paths of all those who had been touched by the formula were bound to converge.

Over a century has passed since the King, plagued with nightmares, ruled Aldol, the crown now sits on the head of his grand nephew, a man of an analytical mind but lacking compassion and sympathy. Guilds of the Guardians remain scattered throughout the continents but since the chief vanished, they have remained largely stagnant. The whereabouts of the scientist and her descendants still remain obscure, but since then have been mostly forgotten about.

The eight subjects have lived their lives and left behind traces of their abilities, passing them down genetically to one of their children and then their grandchildren. The ones that have now grown up and found each other through a chance of fate, and formed an odd band of pirates, each wielding a unique power. They feel an unrest in their bones and pain the earth has felt. They scour the seas, in search of the formula and answers, and to find a cure for their abilities that seem to be cursed by something deep beyond their current understanding.

And the world knows them as ATEEZ…..

Comment under series masterlist to be tagged

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

Taglist: @sushi0517 @yandere-stories

#ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reaction #ateez smut #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez writing #ateez ot8 #ateez poly #ateez pirate au #ateez au #ateez series #ateez ff #ateez lore #alxtiny:adastraperaspera

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transformation4life · 3 months

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At Masters Side

Mark wasn't one for superstition, but ever since a few weeks ago everything has felt like its changed. When you live in a random town you expect not much else to happen except... that's now how it's been. Over the past weeks, people have gone missing. No trace of their existence anywhere. It's caused quite a stir in town. Conveniently... right when these disappearances started going rampant a strange antique store opened up in the town square. People were quick to assume it was the store's doing but no traces of any victims were found in the establishment so the police had no grounds to do anything and the shop stayed open. And that's where we find Mark, currently outside the store. Hoping for a lead. He may not be in any police force let alone a detective but his best friend Kody was one of the missing victims and he wanted answers. "Here goes nothing..." The sounds of a bell rang as Mark entered. Looking around, he was the only one in the store at the moment. Looking further down he sees an old man brushing the floor with a broom. That must be the owner, Mark thought. The owner looked up from the floor and made eye contact with Mark. Mark waved and then walked off. The owner made no attempt to make contact. The store was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside. Shelves lined the store and it was very easy to get lost. Mark looked around for any clues or even a little bit of a suspicious and found nothing. Very demotivating, but he needs to do this for Kody! As Mark walked over to the next aisle he bumped into a box on the floor and it tipped over with something falling out of a box. Mark not wanting to be mean picked it up.

It was... a mask with a strange symbol on it. And a crack?

The eye felt like it was piercing into Mark's soul and he got chills almost immediately. "You know... a mask like that one got sold just a couple weeks ago" The owner suddenly appeared behind Mark. "Gah! D-Don't scare me like that sir... please..." Mark said.

"Ah sorry... I tend to do that sometimes. My apologies."

"I-It's okay... But anyway. You said a similar mask was bought recently" The owner nods.

"I think the guy who bought it looked like someone your age... They had blond hair and brown eyes..."

The description hit Mark like a truck. That was Kody's hair and eye color! A clue!

"R-Really? I see..." "Yeah... you know how it is. I'll leave you alone now. I'll be at the cash register if you need me..." The owner slowly walks away leaving Mark alone with him and the mask. Mark looked back at the mask. The piercing gaze still there. It almost felt like... it was telling Mark something. "Wear me...." Mark looked around. Who said that?

"Don the mask... You will find who you seek..." This time it was very clear. A sudden urge to wear the mask overcame Mark with a unstoppable force. He couldn't fight it.

"I'll find who I'll seek... we'll see." Mark put the mask on and with that his fate was sealed. The eye on the mask started to glow a bright red as Mark got a massive headache causing him to clench his head in pain. Red fabric appeared from thin air and covered Mark's head and neck. Somehow Mark could still breathe and even see. The real changes were about to begin however.

Mark's body started sweating like crazy. Like years of workouts and training from... somewhere were being done in a flash. This did cause a physical change in Mark however. Mark's thin frame began widening as it packed on muscle. Mark's flat chest becoming much thick with wide and beefy pecs alongside an impressive set of abs. Mark's arms grew in massive size becoming like thick trunks of a tree as his hands grew with them becoming strong and calloused. The once small back Mark had widened like a long treasure map. Thick meaty legs were becoming evident on Mark's frame as he had massive thighs and musculature and a new bigger foot size. Mark's rear also gained some extra bounce and size to them. The final physical transformation was Mark's height skyrocketing to at least 10 feet tall. And now came the new clothes. fabric in various shades of red and black wrapped itself around Mark. It was skin tight meaning all of Mark's new muscles were very visible. A black harness fell from above and fitted itself around Mark's chest. Two eye shaped pauldrons popped onto Mark's shoulders. A belt adorned with the same eye shapes as the pauldrons wrapped itself around Mark's wide waist. Dark red arm and leg guards appeared on Mark's arms and legs, small blades emanating from them. A red and yellow collar prompted up, circling Mark's thick neck. The final change was an exotic headpiece. Two "hairs" splitting out tied together with a white band. The physical transformation was complete.

Mark's headache ended and he became aware of his surroundings again, immediately realizing how much taller he'd become. "What the fuck- oh! M-My voice it's so much more... deeper." Mark then looked below him, realizing his new form. "How did that mask... do this? I have to take this off!" But alas Mark couldn't remove the mask. "God fucking damnit... I can't go out in public like this... What am I supposed to... " This was when Mark realized how big his muscles were. Mark always loved big muscles and even though the transformation was not something he wanted, the muscles were very appreciated. Mark flexed a bit to no one in particular. God he felt amazing when he thought about it. He could get used to this Mark thought, but he had to leave this place without arousing any suspicion. He walked just a bit before knocking something over. It was some sort of device similar to a tablet. "Shit, he's gonna notice me... wait what's going on-" Mark was enveloped in a blue light and whisked away to a place unknown.

An unknown amount of time passed before Mark woke up from unconsciousness. He looked around his sorroundings. This place was not anything he's even seen before! The statues had eyes similar to the mask that caused all this so he knew they were correlated.

"Sooga? Is that you?" A voice rang out. Sooga? Someone starting dashing and waddling towards Mark. The man worse similar garb to the current Mark and also a very strong and prominent gut.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Mark immediately retorted. "Come on buddy, don't play dumb with me! I've been lookin' everywhere for ya!"

"No offense sir, but I don't remember a thing. I was at this store and I turned into... this."

"Huh... really? Strange... I had a dream where something similar happened to me! We're dream buddies now Sooga!" "My name isn't Sooga! It's.... uh..." Mark completely blanked on his name. He should know this right! He was just in that store with that weird old man and he... ugh... who was he?

"Oh I see, having one of those sets of deja vu eh? Don't worry I went through something similar recently too. My soldiers helped me remember real quick." Something similar... Wait is that..? "Let me get you up to speed. You're the loyal right hand man of me, Master Kohga and your name is Sooga! Master of the blades which you don't have on you for some reason and a real beefcake!" Kohga's words flickered something in Mark. What Kohga- no... what his master said was true. How could he forget. How could he forget the day he was saved by him with a mighty banana. The years of rigorous training he had gone through and taught to become what he is today. The conviction of being Master Kohga's right hand man was strong. "Master Kohga! My apologies for ever forgetting about you and the clan." Sooga immediately kneeled. "Now now Sooga it's okay. I can tell you still are loyal to me! Let's get some bananas and plan our next move! Kohga turned around, on his way to the precious banana Yiga Clan hoard. Sooga was not far behind, after all he was always at his master's side.

#muscle tf #male tf #mind change #mental change #male transformation #muscle transformation #zelda tf #character tf

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fgumi · 1 month

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fractured reflections

｡･:*˚:✧｡ synopsis: you start your day fresh and renewed when a chance encounter with your father's customer leaves you feeling put out.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ pairing: taesan han x f!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡ genre: romance, coming of age ｡･:*˚:✧｡ a/n: here's the first chapter! i hope you guys enjoy :) ｡･:*˚:✧｡ word count: 3.1k

✧ comments are appreciated! ✧

The market thrummed with life, a constant ebb and flow of people moving through narrow, tamped dirt roads that wove between stalls like an intricate tapestry. The paths were lined with rickety wooden stalls, their canopies sagging under the weight of brightly colored fabrics and the occasional gust of wind. Bursts of color exploded from piles of ripe fruits—juicy peaches, plump plums, and vibrant oranges—piled high in wicker baskets. Nearby, the scent of fresh produce mingled with the pungent aroma of dried herbs, a heady mix of mint, thyme, and saffron that lingered in the air.

Vendors, their faces weathered by the sun and hands stained by the day’s work, called out their wares in a chorus of haggling voices, ranging from friendly banter to sharp, insistent pitches. The clinking of coins and soft rustle of fabric blended into a symphony of everyday life, occasionally interrupted by the harsh caw of a crow perched on a nearby rooftop.

The heat of the day was palpable, with the sun hanging lazily in the sky like a golden disc, casting long, dappled shadows across the market streets. The air was thick with warmth, carrying the faint, sweet scent of roasting chestnuts from a vendor at the market’s corner. The occasional breeze offered little relief, barely stirring the aromatic haze enveloping the stalls.

As you navigated through the crowd, laughter and conversation mingled with the squeals of children darting between legs, their bright eyes wide with curiosity. The market was a living tapestry of movement and sound, where every turn revealed a new sight: a merchant skillfully slicing through a slab of fish, its flesh gleaming under the sunlight; a potter shaping clay on a wheel with rhythmic precision; and a group of women chattering animatedly as they selected their produce.

The richness of the market lay not just in its sights and sounds but in its vibrant, chaotic atmosphere. It was the kind of day that felt endless, where time seemed to stretch under the weight of the summer sun, making every moment feel both fleeting and eternal.

You reach your family’s store, an extension of your home where the wooden walls showcased your father’s finest creations. The interior was a warm, inviting space, illuminated by soft sunlight filtering through open windows. Rich, earthy tones of wooden shelves and display stands highlighted an array of intricately carved furniture and finely crafted musical instruments.

The scent of polished wood and faint traces of varnish hung in the air, a comforting aroma that spoke of countless hours spent in craftsmanship. You moved with practiced ease, your fingers deftly rearranging items—aligning a beautifully carved cabinet to showcase its ornate details, adjusting the positioning of a zither to catch the light just right. Each piece was a masterpiece, from intricately designed chests adorned with floral motifs to delicate, hand-carved guqins that gleamed softly under the store’s warm glow.

The weight of the day’s work settled comfortably on your shoulders, a familiar burden that you had long since grown accustomed to. The steady rhythm of your tasks provided a grounding sense of purpose. Your father’s reputation for skillful woodwork had spread far beyond the market, earning him respect among those who valued meticulous craftsmanship. Patrons came from near and far, their eyes alight with admiration as they marveled at the artistry displayed within the store.

Despite the acclaim and steady flow of customers, you often yearned for more freedom—freedom that lay beyond the store’s walls. You dreamed of exploring the world outside, of venturing beyond the boundaries of your daily routine. Yet, deep down, you understood the importance of your role. Maintaining the family’s livelihood was a responsibility you embraced with unwavering dedication. Each piece that left the store carried not only your father’s craftsmanship but also a piece of your own heart.

As you adjusted the final details of the display, a sense of satisfaction settled over you. The soft hum of the market outside and the rhythmic clinking of coins from transactions created a backdrop to your quiet determination. Here, amid the wood and varnish, you found your place, knowing that while your dreams stretched beyond these walls, your heart remained firmly rooted in the work you cherished.

As you began working on your guqin, your hands moving with practiced ease to align the intricate patterns, you couldn’t help but overhear the murmurs of conversation from outside. The steady hum of the market flowed through the open door: snippets of gossip, peals of laughter, and the occasional sharp rise of voices from haggling. It was a familiar background noise, a comforting melody of everyday life that you had long grown accustomed to. It marked the relentless passage of time in this small corner of the world, a rhythm that held you firmly in its embrace.

But, today, there was something different in the air. A subtle shift in the atmosphere had rippled through the crowd, a tension that hung like a faint breeze before a storm. It was an indefinable feeling, a sensation that seemed to make the very fabric of the day’s routine stand still. You paused in your work, your fingers lingering over the delicate textures of the instrument as you glanced up from the wooden counter of your store to see what had caused the disturbance.

That’s when you saw him.

He appeared as though he had stepped out of a dream, his presence almost ethereal against the backdrop of the bustling market. He stood out from the crowd like a peacock among sparrows, his figure framed by robes of the deepest indigo. The fabric, embroidered with intricate silver threads, caught the sunlight that filtered through the open door, casting a halo of shimmering light around him. Each movement was fluid, almost regal, as if he were gliding rather than walking.

His posture was impeccably straight, his head held high with an unspoken command of respect and reverence. There was an undeniable air of authority about him, a palpable aura that made people instinctively step aside as he passed. The way he moved through the crowd seemed to part it like waves before a ship, leaving a clear path in his wake.

He was a young man, perhaps only a few years older than you, yet there was a certain coldness in his eyes that made him seem far older. The gaze was both penetrating and distant, a gaze that suggested a depth of experience and an aloofness that set him apart from those around him. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, as though he were not merely present but was meant to be observed, admired, and perhaps even envied.

In that instant, you knew immediately that he was no ordinary noble. The finery of his clothing, the way the crowd seemed to part almost reverently before him—it all pointed to someone of great importance, someone who commanded attention without uttering a single word. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you realized who he was: Prince Taesan, the king’s son.

His presence was both mesmerizing and intimidating, a stark contrast to the lively chaos of the marketplace. It was as if he were a fleeting vision of another world, a world of regal grandeur and unspoken power, and for a moment, the bustling market seemed to fade into the background as all eyes were drawn to him. In your shock, you nicked your guqin. Breaking your trance, your attention returned to fixing your mistake.

Prince Taesan walked with a deliberate pace, his every step measured and purposeful. As he entered the store, the bustling sounds of the market seemed to fade into a distant murmur. His eyes, sharp and discerning, began to take in every detail of the shop.

Taesan’s attention was immediately drawn to the wooden items displayed. His fingers, clad in white silk gloves, lightly brushed against the polished surface of a delicately carved cabinet. He examined the intricate floral motifs with a critical eye, noting the craftsmanship that was both detailed and refined.

As he moved further into the store, his gaze landed on the guqin. The craftsmanship of the guqin, with its hand-carved patterns and smooth, polished surface, caught his eye. Taesan paused, momentarily taken aback by the skillful work on display. There was an elegance to the guqin’s design that spoke of a deep respect for the art form. It was clear that this particular piece was crafted with great care, reflecting a level of artistry that was rare even among the highest of artisans.

Taesan’s gaze then shifted to you. He watched you with a sense of intrigue as you handled another guqin, your fingers moving with practiced ease and grace. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a fluidity in your movements that spoke of both skill and dedication. For a moment, he found himself admiring not only the craftsmanship of the instruments but also the proficiency and focus with which you approached your task.

His attention was momentarily diverted when he approached a zither set off to the side. As he examined it, his expression grew critical. The sunlight caught the delicate carvings, casting a warm glow on the instrument. Despite its beauty, Taesan’s demeanor shifted to one of subtle disapproval.

He turned to you, his gaze piercing. “Is this the instrument that was commissioned by the court?” he asked, his voice carrying a dismissive edge.

You looked up from your project with a jolted look. You schooled your expression, trying to keep your composure under his intense scrutiny. “Yes, Your Highness. My father crafted it with great care, as per the court’s request,” you replied, your voice steady despite the anxiety beneath.

Taesan’s gaze remained fixed on the zither, his lips curling into a derisive smile. “I’ve seen better craftsmanship in the poorest of quarters. This is hardly worthy of a prince’s hands,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

The insult struck you like a physical blow, and your cheeks flushed with a rush of anger and embarrassment. The countless hours your father had devoted to perfecting the zither seemed to evaporate under Taesan’s scornful gaze. The thought of someone—especially a prince—dismissing it so casually was both hurtful and infuriating.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice trembling slightly with restrained fury, “I assure you, my father is one of the finest craftsmen in the land. If you find fault with this zither, perhaps it is not the instrument that is lacking, but rather the understanding of its worth.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible, as Taesan’s critical gaze met your resolute stance. The lively murmur of the market, the rustling of fabric, and the distant calls of vendors seemed to dissolve into a muted backdrop, leaving only the charged atmosphere of this unexpected confrontation.

Abandoning your task, you stepped towards him, your heart racing. The guqin, which had been your focus moments before, was now neglected, its polished surface reflecting the dim light of the store. Your hands were still tingling from the delicate work, but now they clenched at your sides, a mix of frustration and determination coursing through you.

Taesan’s gaze was unwavering, his eyes sharp and assessing, as if searching for any sign of hesitation in your stance. The slight curve of his lips hinted at something—perhaps amusement or annoyance. His voice, cool and measured, broke the silence. “Are you suggesting that I, a prince, am incapable of recognizing quality when I see it?”

You met his gaze unflinchingly, your chin lifting slightly in defiance. “I am suggesting, Your Highness, that true craftsmanship is not always immediately apparent to those who do not understand the art.”

For a moment, Taesan’s lips twitched, the hint of a smile—or was it a smirk?—playing at the corners. “You’re quite bold for a merchant’s daughter,” he remarked, his tone carrying a note of mockery. “Tell me, do you often speak so freely to your betters?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the high stakes of this confrontation. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you, yet you refused to back down. “I speak the truth, regardless of who is listening.”

Taesan tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you with a curious intensity. His eyes seemed to flicker with interest, as though he were weighing not just your words but the very essence of your defiance. There was a moment of silence between you, a palpable pause where the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you locked in this silent battle of wills. You could almost feel the heat of the prince’s scrutiny, mingling with the warmth of the afternoon sun that streamed through the open windows.

“Very well,” Taesan said finally, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge of challenge. “Prove to me that this zither is worthy of its commission. Show me why I should not cast it aside as a piece of inferior workmanship.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you felt a surge of anger rise within you. “And how would Your Highness suggest I do that?”

“Play it,” he replied simply, his tone almost indifferent, as if the request were a trivial matter. “If the instrument is truly as magnificent as you claim, then it should speak for itself.”

For a moment, you hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Playing the zither in front of the prince, especially under such contentious circumstances, was not something you had anticipated. The challenge was daunting, but your pride in your father’s craft and your own resolve left you with little choice.

Without a word, you moved towards the zither. Your fingers lightly brushed against the polished wood, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath them. As you carefully lifted the instrument from its stand, you could sense Taesan’s piercing gaze on you, his expression inscrutable as you positioned the zither on your lap. The market, once a bustling hive of activity, seemed to hold its breath. The noise of haggling voices and the clinking of coins faded into a distant murmur as you prepared to play.

You placed your fingers gently on the strings, taking a deep breath before you plucked the first note. The sound that emerged was clear and resonant, a single, pure tone that hung in the air like a delicate bell. You continued to play, your movements fluid and practiced, each note flowing effortlessly into the next. The melody that emerged was hauntingly beautiful, weaving a tapestry of sound that seemed to echo with the emotions and artistry your father had poured into the zither.

As you played, you couldn’t resist glancing at Taesan, curious about his reaction. His face remained an inscrutable mask, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps a trace of admiration, or at least an acknowledgment of the skill with which you played.

You finished the piece with a final, lingering note, letting the sound slowly fade into the silence that enveloped the store. The marketplace noise seemed to return gradually, a reminder of the world outside. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you.

Taesan broke the quiet, his voice softer than before but still edged with his earlier aloofness. “You play well. But a skilled musician does not necessarily make for a skilled craftsman.”

Your temper flared at his continued arrogance, but you kept your voice steady, fighting to maintain your composure. “It is not my skill that is in question here, Your Highness. It is the craftsmanship of the zither.”

Taesan’s gaze remained fixed on you, and a small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. “Indeed. And I find that while the instrument itself is passable, it is the player who truly brings it to life.”

You bristled at the backhanded compliment, unsure whether to feel insulted or begrudgingly pleased. Before you could respond, Taesan reached out, his fingers brushing against the zither’s strings. The sound that emerged was a soft, discordant note that contrasted sharply with the melody you had played. The prince’s touch, though gentle, seemed to momentarily disrupt the harmony you had created, adding a layer of complexity to the already tense interaction.

Taesan’s gaze remained locked on you, as if daring you to react. The subtle challenge in his eyes and the delicate touch of his fingers on the zither’s strings created a dynamic of unspoken competition between the two of you, a silent duel where skill and pride were the stakes.

“It is flawed,” Taesan murmured, his tone contemplative and distant, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. “But perhaps there is potential here.”

The ambiguity of his words was maddening, leaving you unsure whether he was referring to the zither or to your own capabilities. You met his gaze, your eyes narrowing with suspicion and frustration. “What exactly are you implying?”

Taesan looked up from the zither, his smile widening just enough to reveal a hint of amusement. “I am suggesting that both you and your father possess talent, but talent alone is insufficient. It requires refinement and perfection. There is ample room for improvement.”

His dismissive attitude was infuriating, and you opened your mouth to defend your father’s work, to argue the worth of the craftsmanship that had been so painstakingly created. But Taesan raised a hand, a gesture that stopped you in your tracks. “Do not interpret my words as an insult but rather as a challenge. If you are determined to prove me wrong, then you have a week to do so. I will return then to see what changes you have made.”

With that, he turned abruptly, his robes flowing around him as he began to walk away. The graceful, deliberate stride with which he exited only fueled your anger. How dared he criticize your father’s work so lightly? How could he suggest that you were anything less than proficient, especially after you had poured so much of yourself into defending the quality of the zither?

As Taesan disappeared into the throng of the marketplace, you were left standing there, stunned and seething with a mix of fury and disbelief. The encounter had felt far from resolved. There was something in the way he had looked at you, a glimmer of expectation or perhaps a challenge that hinted at a deeper, unspoken meaning.

You watched him vanish into the sea of bustling activity, your heart still pounding with a restless combination of anger and intrigue. This was not the end of your dealings with Prince Taesan, of that you were certain. The way he had scrutinized you, the challenge in his voice—everything suggested that this was merely the beginning.

As you turned back to your stall, the zither and other pieces of your father's work seemed to take on a new significance. The sting of Taesan's critique and the weight of his challenge lingered, mingling with your determination.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. m!list | next

#bnd imagines #bnd scenarios #bnd x reader #boynextdoor #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor x reader #han taesan #taesan x reader #bnd fic #bnd fanfic #boynextdoor fic #taesan #!nanawrites

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lldolphin · 4 months

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¤INFARED¤

the first part of a jtk x reader saga series...

ᯓᡣ𐭩

/n; this is the first part of a mass series i've been writing for jeff. this story is strictly written for fem!reader because of some future aspects i am planning. long awaited, yet definitely not proofread. enjoy...

The beginning...

---

Groaning, you threw the black hoodie off of your shoulder. The fabric falls to the floor, clinking against its zipper. Your bed squawks when you bounce down onto the plush fabric and spongy mattress. Falling back, with your flip-phone to your ear, your hair tossling onto your cheetah-printed pillow.

"Bad day?" Your friend on the other line speaks, her voice softened by the shitty static quality of your cheap LG white flip phone. You remove it from your ear, your brows furrowing in already frustrated confusion. Your hand's sole bangs against the bottom of the phone, hoping the hit would help the wifi. It didn't. Still upset, you sigh and bring the phone back to your ear.

"Don't even get me started. This new kid moved in recently, and my mom is making me meet him at the neighbor's kid's birthday party this weekend." You explained, hoisting off of your bed with a grunt, and walking over to your vanity. The mascara in your hands opens with a slick pop as you reapply to your clumped, short lashes. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, ridding the smudged black liner that melted from your waterline. You were a classic, somewhat bitchy popular girl. Of course, you didn't want to meet some weird new kid and his older brother.

"Yeah...I told my mom I was sick to get out of that," Your friend started. Causing the brow on your face to rise. It wasn't a bad idea, perhaps you'd try it later if it wasn't already too late. "..Anyways, I gotta go. Work in a few hours, ya'know.." You nod, flipping your phone closed with a click, leaving her without a response.

- - -

That Saturday, you found yourself getting ready for the party despite your constant reminder to yourself that you would fake a sickness. Something to get out of going to some six-year-old's birthday. You weren't allowed to get mad, you completely forgot to carry out your little plan. So here you were, walking down the paved sidewalk with a bag stuffed with candy junk you figured a kid would pig out on. The bag crumpled as you walked, the wind causing it to hit your shin.

When you stepped up to the door, your feet hung precariously on the ledge of the cement steps as the doorbell rang. You groaned, already hearing the roars of cries and laughter from endless amounts of children behind the door.

"Jesus Christ.." A mumble escaped your lips. Not only did you not want to be here, but you were also going to be completely bombarded with children the moment you walked through that door. As if it were magic, just as you were thinking, the door swung open.

"Hi, honey...Thankyou for coming, is this from your mom?" The lady, who was assumed to be the kid's mom spoke softly. A croon in her voice as if she was born, and made to be specifically a mother. The lady was your neighbor, but you didn't know her name. Leaving you with a slight guilt, she seemed kind. Your tongue rolled over the textured bottoms of your front teeth, clicking your tongue and forcing a sweet smile out of your system.

"Sure," You replied kindly, holding out the bag to her as you stepped inside the house. Your parents conveniently were just "too busy" to attend with you, leaving you pissed, and alone. The brown carpeted floor was scattered with small cloth socks, sharp-edged toys, and colorful frosting smears. Flattering. Was the only thought in your head as you took a seat on the uncomfortably flimsy leather couch. Without intention, you had sat next to that familiar new boy and his odd brother. If nobody else here was your age, you might as well get comfortable with the people around you. What's so tough about that? You'd most likely only ever see glimpses of them in the halls after this, anyway. Your friends weren't here to hold this to you, so you turn to the long haired brother.

"Y/n," You start, holding out your hand. He was the stranger one, his grey eyes almost rid of emotion completely as he just stared at your held-out hand. The brother seemed to have noticed because he swerved around his sibling and shook your unattended hand.

"Liu. This is Jeff." An odd pair of names that seemed to feel wrong in your brain. Usually, parents would name siblings with similar sounding names, rhyming names, and alliterated names. The fact that they were both so random scratched the wrong part of your brain. Yet, you appriciated the effort Liu was putting in to make up for his lacking brother. You shook his hand firmly.

"Pretty ass, right?" You attempt loosely at a joke, cocking your head towards the horde of running children around the entirety of the house. A rumble of chuckles escapes both of the brothers, surprised by the response from the previously nonchalant Jeff. Their laughs flatter you, making you perk up your posture and feel a bit better about yourself for a moment, laughing with them.

As the three of you are laughing, and hopefully making the best of your shitty time at the party -- a child walked up to you. Blonde whispy locks topped her small head, green eyes look up at the three of you. Being naturally great with children, you shift in your seat. The leather moans underneath yout movements, as your leg crosses over the other.

"Hi honey, what's up?" You crooned with a motherly-like presence. One that earned an appreciative smile from Liu. If you hadn't just met the two new boys, you would've thought the older brother was definetly your next boyfriend. Despite how odd his brother was, how unpopular he was, and how popular you were.

"We're playing hide 'n seen-k.." The six-year-olds grammar makes you chuckle, sitting up from the rickety couch and looking down at the child as you stand, letting her tenderly take your hand. Her youthful fingers soft with childhood innocence. "We'd love to play! Right guys?" You mutter the last bit to the boys behind you. Despite still being strangers to each other, you might as well make the best of this party.

The long-haired younger brother, which you've learned was Jeff, stood up oddly close behind you. His breath on the back of your neck, making the fuzz rise under your ears. He was weird. Silent. As if he had been stalking you like prey the moment you walked through the door. You heard him inhale, immediately causing your shoulders to roll forward with an involuntary cringe.

"Yeah," He spoke finally, his voice with undertones of gravely static as he pushed past you, following the child. His brother didn't even seem to notice the way you were left feeling disgusted with yourself. He had smelled you. Without any shame, as if he didn't feel any embarrassment.

As if you were like a puppet, forced to follow the two, you walk forward with them. Almost without will, knowing it was better to just shove it all down and forget. Maybe he hadn't taken in your scent. Maybe you were only imagining things. But then, you remember the way he had been looking at you. The way he had been looking at everything as if it had no value to him. As if he wanted to end it all with the snap of his fingers, the bark of his commands.

- - -

Hiding in a dark closet, hand over your mouth. The condensation from your breath makes your hand clammy and warm. You giggle under your breath, hearing the kids trot around the creaky carpet, laughing to themselves as they try to find the three of you. Your neck cranks, flinching back as a chain hits your nose. You yelp and fall back against something warm. Frozen for a few moments, your shaky hand reaches out and pulls on the chain, turning on a dim bulb in the closet that buzzes with electricity. You whimper, your bottom lip quivering with slight fear as you turn around.

"Shutup, they'll find us." Said Jeff, who was miraculously behind you the entirety of your hiding. His smug smirk never wiped from his barely visible features. His hair covers almost everything. He looked like the chick from the ring, standing there with a few long black strands blocking his face, looking down at you menacingly. He ignored the fact that you were horrified, playing innocent.

"Oh...Y-yeah, right." A nod came from you, turning back around and scooting away from him in the dark closet. A taunting voice spoke through the crack of the door. Your brows furrow, trying to figure out who was speaking to the two of you. The voice sounded familiar, yet so unfamiliar.

"C'mon, Jeff. We know yer' in here. Can't hide anymore now." The door was swung open, and Jeff's larger hand pushed you back -- behind heaps of hoodies and jackets. He was hiding you. But why? You knew immediately who it was. It was Randy and his goons, infamous around your school. Especially to you and your girlfriends, gawking at your low-cut tops with pushed-up bras. Finding any excuse to brush their hands on any of you.

"Shit...The fuck are you guy's doing? We're even, remember?" Jeff said, his voice sounded monotone and raspy, as if he had been smoking for years despite your younger age. You hold your hand over your mouth once again, staying silent in the hidden spot you were thrown into thankfully. They were even? But with what? Jeff was new, there was no way he was already tied into this shit with the kind of dogs those guys are.

"Definitely not even," Keith grumbled. You heard the spund of fabric being pulled. Behind your closed eyes, you thought they had pushed back the hoodies covering you. But when your eyes opened, looking through the cracks of the hung jackets, you see the three boys dragging Jeff down the stairs, where he was thrashing.

This wasn't your business. You shake your head and let out a hitched gasp, running out of the closet and around the other exit, looking back at the scene before deciding if you really wanted to just leave...

to be continued...

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #fyp #slenderverse #tumblr #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #series #infared #story series #creepypasta rewrite #creepypasta series

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nilsavatar · 11 months

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DAY 17 - BEGGING

Parings: Jake x Fem!human

PART 2 of DAY 4 - CHOKING/SPANKING

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, SMUT in the end, alien sex, size difference, blowjob, restrains (wrists blocked with a belt), fingering, spanking, P in V, begging, use of pet names (babygirl, little girl, girlie, brat), dom Jake, age gap, difference in power, degradation, cheating, semi-public, mention of Lo'ak x oc. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: After a night of passion in the old shack, Jake shuts down any kind of interaction with Aubree (reader), who, unable to get the man out of her head, begins to waver about her goal to become Omatikaya. But just when she seems to have made up her mind to give up, the very man she wanted to escape from makes his entrance. He cannot stop thinking about her as well and, more furious than ever, imparts her a new punishment.

Inside you will find a hint of Lo'ak x OC. Let me know if you would like a version with him as well.

Word Count: 5,4k

Masterlist - Avatober - Request a fic

As soon as she re-emerged, the first thing she experienced was the uncomfortable sunlight flooding the room. She turned away to seek shelter from the day, stifling a grunt in her pillow. The second thing that stung her was the fresh smell of fabric softener permeating the sheets. She opened one eye, struggling to make out the contours of the room; a grey lacquered wardrobe, a bedside table, the photograph of her family. The noises beyond the door jolted her awake. She pulled herself up, rubbing one eye, and yawned. Memories of many nights before surfaced. As she regained lucidity, she bowed her head to look at her frame as if she did not recognize herself in the skin that had been her shell since birth. She was wearing the khaki shirt she had taken from the avatar assortment, which essentially served as her dress. She had put it on after jumping into the shower, hoping to shake off the chills Jake’s fingers had left as they ran all over her body.

The body of her avatar.

She ran a hand over where the man had spanked her, expecting to find a bruise or at least feel the sore area, but nothing.

The level of connection between the avatar and the human piloting it was astonishing, almost destabilizing. Experiencing every little thing through a puppet, which gave her back an exact replica of the ones it came into contact with; its sensory response to the environment, its impulses, and emotions. The information passed from one brain to the other, making it difficult to distinguish between which was generated by the real Aubree and which by the avatar. Dream and reality mixed together and there were times — always — when she felt more alive when her consciousness slipped into the artificial skeleton than when she was confined to her actual skin. All her senses were amplified during the link. Colors were brighter, her vision more receptive and with a wider range. Her senses sharper, her smell stronger.

God, how good Jake’s scent was, so warm and sensual; the spicy notes blending with the woody ones like an embrace.

No! Just forget about him.

When she returned to her limited human envelope, she found herself unfailingly myopic, deaf, anosmic, and... starving. The only thing to remind her that, yes, that was her reality and that organism also needed nourishment. And for a while, she could put aside the mess she had gotten herself into. She could stop pretending that everything was fine, that she didn’t feel used and thrown away after Lo’ak was assigned as her mentor once again (apparently no others were available, or maybe no one wanted him as a karyu). As the weeks passed, more escapades like that followed, and a mounting guilt began to gnaw at her conscience, stronger with each one. Then nothing more. Jake must have grown tired of her.

Asshole. Like father, like son.

She tied her hair up with the elastic she always wore on her wrist and threw her legs off the bed, intent on getting up. After getting ready to start another day’s work, she slipped her badge into her pocket and went out. She walked down the corridor leading to the canteen, following the hustle and bustle that morning with her eyes and chewed on her lip, ignoring the slight anxiety that she might run into Jake. She still didn’t feel up to facing him. It was an entirely new situation for her, having wild sex on a couch with a married man of a good twenty years her senior. Promiscuity wasn’t unusual for the Na’vi, but heck he had a mate — and not just any clan woman — alongside a prominent position in the clan. He wasn’t exactly someone who could afford an exposure of this caliber, considering his alien origins. What had happened between them was something with the potential to split the tribe in two, as well as his family. It was like shoving in everyone’s face that he was missing his humanity, that the Na’vi ways were a tight fit for him.

She walked into the room and saw Lo’ak in front of the sink drinking a cup of coffee; she faced his back and stared at the muscular curve of his bare shoulders. It always amazed her to discover that Earth foods were edible for natives as well.

Did I really have sex with this guy’s father?

He was wearing clothing she had never seen him in before; leg guards covered his shins to above the knee, a warrior’s waistband, and his usual armbands. The moment her eyes lingered on his butt, Aubree cleared her throat and exclaimed a smiling, “Good morning!” He turned, lowered his arm, and stared at her: he looked tired. He didn’t seem to have just woken up, yet he took her breath away all the same. Lo'ak was remarkably handsome. Tall, athletic, with a killer smile and warm, cunning eyes. The traits he inherited from his father were marked enough to make him somewhat familiar to her species, but recalled her all too well of the olo’eyktan. And honestly, after what they shared, the last thing she needed was the constant reminder of their little adventure and the coldness that followed.

“About time.” “Did I oversleep?” she asked in a chuckle, approaching and pointing at one of the chairs arranged around the table. “Nah, it’s not even noon yet,” he retorted sarcastically, showing her his cup. “Time to finish this so I would come drag you out of bed.” “Seriously, how do you Na’vi always get up so early?” she rolled her eyes. “Rhythms of the village, there is no time to waste. Coffee?” he asked her and started fiddling with the machine. Was he in a sour mood? “Thanks.” For a while, the only sound was the hum of coffee being brewed. Aubree drummed her fingers on the table, unsure of what to say.“Sorry, I was in desperate need of some rest. The extended bond with the avatar is really debilitating.” “Once you transfer your consciousness, this will all stop,” he grumbled, and she refused to acknowledge him.

Consciousness transfer. To admit that it terrified her was an understatement. She felt dizzy just thinking about it; the procedure posed a significant danger. What if Eywa had refused the passage through her eye if she had not considered her suitable? What If she would never have been able to separate herself from her human nature?

“No need to stress your pretty little head about it. You've still got a long way to go before you can be reborn in your new body. Let’s concentrate on overcoming the rituals so you can be part of the People. You don't wanna croak during the Iknimaya, right?” he said in that smooth, biting way that angered her. She was about to answer him harshly, but she froze and took a deep breath before his eyes. “I'm not up for arguing before breakfast.” “This is new.” He handed her a white cup and she grabbed it, thanking him. He looked at her, suddenly frowning. He was really in a bad mood, but she had no idea why. The woman brought her cup to her lips and blew on it, following his figure intent on wiping a cloth on the kitchen countertop. “No breakfast for you?” “I already had it, like, six hours ago,” he replied, not even glancing at her, and huffed. “Have a drink, at least. It's not a good idea to wait too long between meals. Snacks are crucial.” He turned and raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so nosy about my diet?” “I’m just tryna get along with you. I can't keep changing tutors every other day,” she explained. “Says the crybaby who went whining to my dad because she didn’t fit in with my methods. Yet here you are.”

Touché.

“By the way. What happened with him? He never backed down from an assignment. He didn't quit, not even with me.” “Huh, nothing really. I guess I was one commitment too many in his busy schedule,” she lied, but Lo’ak wasn’t buying it. Anyhow, he shrugged and leaned against the counter, arms folded and legs crossed. “Ready to go?” “Are you trying to make me die of hunger in the pod?” she bounced him and he chuckled at last. She much preferred the sassy Lo’ak, rather than the testy one, not even having the confidence to investigate the reason. “Anyway, our training today is called off.” “What?” “My research is way behind and I can't keep ignoring it.”

A lively flash of rage crossed the bottom of his eyes; his expression hard and his lips tight. “You have done nothing for weeks except work in the lab, or vegetate in your room.” Aubree sighed and rested her chin on her palm. “It was like ten days, tops.” “That’s not the point!” The beginnings of a roar vibrated in his chest. “You haven't made any headway since I started training you again. Wanna become Omatikaya, yes or no?” The realization hit her like a brick wall — she was speechless, not knowing what to say. Before she was so sure, she would have answered that question without hesitation, but now her conviction painfully falters. Working is all she did. She was doing what she knew, what kept her grounded, what she did best. Aubree was being a Ph.D. student; she was being… human. Shutting herself off from the world within those four walls.

Her voice faded to nothing, and she lowered her gaze: she must have sounded so pathetic. Lo'ak's tongue flapped parched against his palate. “Forget it. It was already too late to do anything today,” he scoffed, making an annoyed face, his tone laced with irritation. “Fine. But let's make it clear, no more beating around the bush. Starting tomorrow, it’s back to business, princess,” he snarled, shaking his head, and setting her back on her feet, giving her a resounding spank on her rear. “Now get your ass in the damn lab and keep your eyes glued to the microscope.” Aubree blinked, taken aback.

Beads of sweat soaked her hair. Sinking her nails into the back of the couch, she savored every second it took for his palm to collide with her now purple, sensitive skin, full of anticipation for that throbbing pain that triggered tremors of annihilating pleasure. Electric shocks surged down her spine, pooling in her lower abdomen, synchronized to an invisible rhythm that resonated solely within him. But the most beautiful thing was his quickened breathing and the snorting of laughter that followed her whimpers.

The woman clutched at the doorframe with trembling fingers, her chest heaving up and down with slight breathlessness. “What’s up with you?” He muttered, “Did I hurt you?” He wetted a hand under the jet of the sink and ran it over her heated forehead and then over her neck. She emitted a hiss at that contact, and the frown that had formed on his forehead distracted her from the flash of moments before. “You're all flushed. That’s all it took to turn you on?” he questioned, almost amused, and gave her a sidelong glance. “I forgot that you nerds are a bundle of kinks. Like brats with hormones raging.”

Well, that’s rich!

“I thought you were going back to the village,” she grunted, glaring at him. Lo’ak raised his arms in surrender before she could bark at him. “OK, OK! But these are the consequences of staying holed up in here. Do yourself a favor and get some fresh air from time to time. You're as white as a ghost.” She stared at him in silence before retorting sarcastically, “Thank you.” He raised an eyebrow and finally stretched his lips into a sly smirk.

“OK, let’s recap. Since Lo’ak was being a dick, the olo’eyktan offered to teach you. You guys were all flirty, and then he brought you to the abandoned lab. You had a fling and haven't seen each other since.” We had more than one, actually. “We weren’t exactly flirting,” she retorted crossly, and Liv shot her a sardonic grin. “You’re totally screwed, if all you heard of the entire sentence was ‘flirty’.” Aubree rolled her eyes and settled herself better on the sofa. She checked the wall clock in the break room: another quarter-hour and she’d be back on her job. Liv understood exactly what she was thinking and turned serious. “Do you feel like talking about what’s bothering you? Besides the guilt, I mean.” She shrugged and bit her lip. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of stuff. I feel kinda crappy about Neytiri, but at the same time, I tell myself I shouldn’t because it’s no biggie for Na’vi to get physical outside of marriage; it doesn’t take away from their bond, and I might not be the only one. But then I’m like, whether he wants it, he is still somewhat human, and in our culture, that's cheating. Let's not even get started on the age, status, and Lo'ak situation. Oh, and this whole deal of becoming Omatikaya.” “Isn’t that what you want?” “... I have no idea anymore. Is it really that important? The consciousness transfer. My avatar being Omatikaya isn't enough? Honestly, what good could I do for the clan? I’m a researcher.” “I believe this is the heart of the matter. Do you hesitate because you think you are inadequate, or is it just his rejection making you hesitate?”

“You good to go back to HQ on your own?”

Anger surged through her gut at the thought of how he had dismissed her. Not even the decency to take her back. Perhaps she had to admit that a small part of her was disappointed, even though she already knew he was an inaccessible man for so many reasons. A man who should have remained in her fantasies.

Lo’ak is right. I’m still a teen in the throes of hormones.

“I anticipated it would happen with Lo’ak, to be perfectly honest.” Liv thought it better to rub it in her face. Aubree extended a leg, striking her thigh with her foot. “You better not say that again.” “Why? He's clearly into you. He would be a better choice than his father, don't you agree?” In response, the scientist sipped her tea very serenely. “Mm, nothing to say? Just a heads up, no insults or threats?” Didn't you tell me to stay away from him? “I’m going to be superior and won’t validate you.” “Oh. Oooooh, you fancy him as well, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

“Who are we talking about?” exclaimed a voice behind them. Out of surprise, they practically spilled the contents of their cups on the floor. “Mind announcing yourself when you walk into a room? You're so stealthy, you're gonna give me a heart attack, eventually.” “Rather, what do you have there?” Liv asked to throw Spider off the previous conversation. Something they adamantly did not want anyone to know, least of all the olo’eyktan’s son’s best friend. “Wasabi fries.” “Wasabi?! How do you get some of that here? Mind to share?” “Didn't you complain about gaining two kilos just a few days ago?”

“Excuse you?!” “What’d you say?!”

Spider looked at their menacing faces in disbelief before rolling his eyes and reaching for the bag. “I have yet to learn to shut up when you’re together.” Aubree held back a satisfied smirk, picking up a handful and heading for the door, already with a few in her mouth. "I'm gonna head back to my computer," she mumbled with her mouth full, trying to cut it short before the guy pushed her to speak. That would have been awkward. “Already?” “Lo’ak gave me an ultimatum, remember?” At the mere thought of having to return to the lab, with no other distraction from her predicament, that slimy feeling came up again, heavy as a rock.

Although her senses were limited as a human, she sensed the trail of his scent even before the sound of his footsteps reached her ears, as if she had registered it somewhere inside her; rapidly felt a start of breathlessness. Like a dog that drools at the sound of the bell, that has been associated with its meal. She looked up from the monitor and met Jake’s intense gaze. She forced herself to smile at him despite the loud voices in her head fighting for the upper hand. One was insulting him and admonishing her to get away from him, the other begging her to pounce on him. “What's the meaning of this?” His eyes hadn’t let go of her for a second and burned into her, although she couldn’t quite understand what they were hiding. I mean, it had been at least ten days since their last encounter and they hadn’t spoken since then, nor had they seen each other. Aubree had been careful not to be around him. Of course, she didn’t want to look like some doting student with a schoolgirl crush. Too late.

Just as she was about to speak, Jake once again took the floor. “What the hell are you doing here, girlie?” The nickname was a real low blow. “I’m working,” she replied lightning-fast, trying to hide the slight concern that was rising as she focused on that paradoxical context. She tried not to make any shrill sounds as the man indignantly rotated the swivel chair she was sitting on and planted his face in front of her, dangerously close. “I was falling behind on my research.” Aubree almost huffed, ignoring the sinister glint the yellow of his eyes was painted with. What did he expect after his treatment? “What about your training?” He hissed then. “I took a few days,” she chimed in, wanting to bring that conversation to a close. “Lo'ak and I have decided that we'll be back to full strength tomorrow. Now if you don’t mind...” She walked towards the cooler with the samples to be analyzed, with every intention of making him take the hint. She was not pleased to see him.

Liar.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days.” Really? She squeaked internally. “Sorry for making you waste your precious time. As you can see, I’ve been busy,” she said with a hint of sourness. She felt him follow her with his gaze as she placed the slide under the lens and bent over the microscope. “I noticed,” his tone was ice-cold. “I take it you don’t give a damn about becoming one with the clan.” “Convenient, right? One less ketuwong (alien) to deal with,” she exclaimed, furrowing her brow. “What brings you here at this hour anyway, olo’eyktan? Your mate must be wondering where you are.”

She waited with her back to him for an answer that didn’t come, but when she turned to meet his eyes, she wished she hadn’t; wished she hadn’t opened her big mouth at all. Jake approached slowly, coming so close as to pin her against the table frame, she felt his breath on her face. This was cheating. Her mental capacity when he was this close was equal to zero. “I suggest you move your equipment out of the way,” he whispered, as piercing as a bullet whizzing through the air could be. “Why?” she asked stupidly, already out of breath. His magnetic gaze slid under her eyes and she licked her lips reflexively. “‘Cause when I’ll shush you, I won’t give a shit if I break something.” Her throat went dry, and a series of conflicting thoughts and questions crowded into her head. She did as he recommended. The bluish light of the monitors barely illuminated him, and that semi-darkness reminded her of the first night when he had taken her to the old shack. When he had spanked her like a naughty little girl. She took a good glance at him. He looked exhausted, with his tense shoulders and those deep circles under his eyes.

Aubree sighed: no, she couldn’t pretend. She couldn’t kick him out.

He moved away to give her room to move. “On the table,” he said without changing his expression. He sounded like he told her he wanted a glass of water, yet she shivered anyway and obeyed. He moved a few steps towards her and Aubree held her breath as he imprisoned her in his arms, his palms resting each on one side of her thighs. “Pull up your skirt.” Everything happened quickly, he stood between her legs and she could do nothing but stare at him from below, too astonished to produce any thoughts: he undid his waistband with deliberate slowness, completely at odds with the furious expression he apparently no longer held back. “You just love pissing me off, baby girl.” He almost seemed to snarl at her and something slimy crawled around her stomach as she watched him towering over her. Jake was right. There was something in the animalistic light that had shone on him that attracted her dangerously. He pulled his tewng down to his ankles. “Open your mouth.”

All the air eluded her lungs in a puff as soon as she absorbed that order. It didn’t take her more than a millisecond to realize what he wanted. A strange electricity coursed through her back and she straightened up on the table almost unconsciously until she was in line with his belly; at the right height. She inhaled and exhaled imperceptibly, before taking courage and looking up at him in defiance of shame. In defiance of him. Jake watched her from above and her frenzy probably increased as he gave himself a few shakes; Aubree licked her lips expectantly, discovering herself hungry. Feeling their hands join, Jake raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lifted. She took him in her hand, hesitating just enough that the man sank a hand into her hair and pulled her forward: a sweet rush clutched her intestines.

“What if someone walked in?” “They’d enjoy the show.” “What if your son or wife came in?” “Neytiri never comes here,” he tugged her. Aubree parted her lips and let him slide on her tongue, sighing as she felt his strong taste. She let him guide her movements, wanting to understand what he liked and how; meanwhile, the rough way he was thrusting all the way in, his grip tight behind the nape of her neck, his breathing getting heavier and coarser, everything was driving her crazy. She went toward him until she felt the tip against her throat and tears slipping down her cheeks and had to rest her hands on his thighs.

“Shit.”

A powerful gasp caused her to glance up at him once more, as he stared down at her with a wild, languid look. His lips agape and his breathing broken. She couldn’t hold back a sigh, feeling him contract on her tongue in reflex. She felt herself plummet into another world and increased the rhythm, sucking hard. In a flash, he pushed her away, and Aubree didn’t even have time to catch her breath as he smothered her with an ardent kiss. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to drag him off her, but he resisted and had little hope against his strength. He pulled away, pulling her lower lip with his teeth, and then moved to her jaw and left ear, leaving a trail of goosebumps where his lips passed. Aubree’s thoughts were clouded and her heart was racing.

“Strip,” he whispered overbearingly to her before pulling himself up. Another order that upset her tummy. She was out of breath, her panties soaked and shivering on her skin without even being touched. No one had ever done that to her; she had never enjoyed giving pleasure to another, much less obeying them. Aubree stood up, despite her now jelly muscles, and stared at him, fully reciprocating the intensity of his gaze as she curled her fingers around the hem of her blouse and pulled it up to slip it off. Jake hissed as soon as she was totally uncovered, perhaps because she hadn’t worn a bra once again and her locks fell free over her shoulders. With no shame, she flashed him a smirk under her lust-darkened eyes; she couldn’t be embarrassed if he stared at her like that. Her pencil skirt slid down her legs along with her thong, leaving them on the floor. Jake bridged the distance between them and grabbed her face, but being very careful not to kiss her. Again the no kiss rule of last time. He seemed irritated by the way she stared at him defiantly, waiting for his moves.

“You’re pissing me off, baby girl.” She almost purred as soon as that obnoxious nickname caressed her ears. God, how she loved it. “Why don’t you do something about it, then?” she taunted him anew. She couldn’t help it. Something inside her was tempted to stand up to him. The woman furrowed her brows and her breath caught as he casually slipped the belt out of the loops of her skirt. He tugged at her wrists, wrapping the surrounding belt, and fastened the buckle in the tightest possible hole. Next, he turned her back with a snap. Aubree gasped, remembering the spanking from the previous time when she felt him bend over, just before he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. She couldn’t even resist as he vehemently slid something silky between her lips and let out a surprised moan. Her panties. “That'll do for now,” he growled, letting go of her grip on her hair to incline her over the table, joining his fingers to her bottom. She breathed through her nose faster and faster, feeling exposed, helpless, and mortified. The student perceived only his body and his voice. Everything else in the world had disappeared. Someone could have walked in for real, but she wouldn’t have noticed, so absorbed in their own little bubble. Just when she was trying to relax, his palm slapped her buttock, and she cried out, her voice muffled by the fabric of her underwear. She hated how this treatment eager her to no end: it was completely irrational. He spanked her again. Aubree lost count of how many times he did it. She could only realize the burning pain on her skin fused with an electric sensation that made her toes curl and her back arch. Finally, at last, his fingers trailed down her flushed cheeks and brushed the folds of her intimacy. He stroked her clit, but it was a fleeting, light contact as if he was mocking her. And so he probably was. Aubree stifled the sound of protest that was about to escape her, but the amused snort he blew into the back of her head made her understand her efforts were futile; he could pick up even the slightest reaction of her body. He was in complete control of her.

The other hand ran down her back until it tightened its grip on her neck. He withdrew it up in a fluid movement, and then slid it down to her mouth to take the fabric from her teeth. The woman gasped loudly as she grabbed her breath, just in time for his index and middle fingers to work their way between her lips. One finger alone had, to say the least, the same circumference as two human male fingers. She opened her mouth and felt his giant fingertips caressed her tongue at exactly the same time as he penetrated her with his digits and bowed her back in reflex, moaning shamefully aloud. “You pathetic little girl.” Jake blew almost amusedly into her ear as he picked up a cadenced rhythm, and she bent her head back. Into the darkness, seeking more contact against a body three times the size of hers, shuddering even more at the inability to move, he twirled his fingers inside her, stimulating a point that took her whiff away and made every muscle tense. As if he read her mind, the man increased his speed, making sure to touch that spot with such precision that she felt her orgasm rise like a wave. It was at that moment that he stopped; his hands slipping away. She felt so, so empty.

“Jake...!” You asshole.

Frustrated, she tried to free her wrists, but he pushed her forward on the desk, her cheek pressed against the icy surface, completely at his mercy. She was about to give up any form of pride and beg him to untie her, but was interrupted by her own cry as he penetrated her, slamming their hips together and stooping to clamp a hand around her throat. The burning that flooded her at that sudden stretching, so extensive that, for a split second, it seemed to rip through the flesh, went straight to her head. Jake moved in that rough way of his and Aubree realized how much she had missed him. Consumed with the desire to enclose him with her legs and arms, to scratch his back and watch at his face. That was yet another punishment, taking her from behind without giving her the opportunity to steal his most forbidden expressions. To steal his kisses and moans. As he pushed deep inside her, surprising himself that he could fit in such a tiny body, everything dissolved and became undefined. Aubree was a weeping mass of saliva and whines beneath him. Suddenly, she felt his breath against her ear.

“Apologise,” he growled, and his hand descended to cup one breast and then go over and start jerking her off as if she wasn’t already at her limit. She sobbed in response, opening her lips and trying to articulate something rational. “...S-sorry,” came out simply before a mighty thrust made her inarcate. She felt the orgasm building anew in her belly and she closed her eyes, desperately praying that he would let her come. “Please, forgive me.” “Say you’ll never skip training again.” “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “I’ll never skip a day of training again!”

He bit her neck and welcomed his sudden increase in furious speed: it was the last straw. The knot in her abdomen melted, and she was overwhelmed by a wave of liquid glee that spread through every single nerve ending. She writhed against the desk, tense, before collapsing immediately afterwards without any energy left. Jake came soon after her and rested for several seconds his forehead on her sweaty back, catching his breath. She blinked her damp eyelashes and stared exhaustedly at the door, immersed in a contented bubble of bamboozlement that couldn’t quite shield her fear of being detected anymore. She then sensed his hands reach for her wrists, on which she was leaning clumsily, and help her up to undo her belt buckle.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in a murmur, running his thumb over the slight red mark that was surfacing on her skin. Aubree turned her head towards the warmth of his chest behind her back: his face was so close, his scent everywhere. “I’m fine,” she answered in an almost hoarse voice. How much had she shouted? A vague embarrassment washed over her as she brought about the last forty minutes. But she was far too exhausted and tired to give it the importance it deserved. He was about to let go of her hands when she clasped her fingers to his; Jake looked at her circumspectly and with a glimmer of hesitation, because she was begging him with her eyes to stay. “You know I can’t. Do you need me to walk you to your room?” “That would be way too sketchy.” He nodded, once, dressed, and headed for the door, but before he crossed the threshold, he said something that shocked her.

“Lo'ak deeply cares for you. If you wish to pick him as your mate after Unitaron, you have our approval.” And he left.

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completely-normal-about-trolls · 10 months

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Poppy's Secret Stash

A/N: I never wrote on tumblr before, so I don't know how this works or how formatting works. Also this was written on computer so I don't know if that changes any formatting.

@vacayisland

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Poppy smiled and giggled to herself, pulling out a brand new scrapbook and her supplies. She set out all her fabric, colorful paper, some glitter, and some popcorn to snack on, before getting to work.

In her younger years, back when she was simply Princess Poppy, she LOVED to make stories with her friends about bands and singers they liked, like Violet Wonder, H.E.A.R.T, No Map, and BroZone - especially Brozone - to name a few. They would sit up, late at night, giggling and scrapbooking the stories to their hearts content, and then sharing their stories with the other trolls their age. Before DJ Suki was Dj Suki, she was MAP-LESS. Everyone talked about her scrapbooks, which ranged from midnight getaways from abusive parents to be with Roman Bass, lead singer of No Map, to being being the sixth hidden member of H.E.A.R.T and dating ALL FIVE MEMBERS! Even to being the secret girlfriend of John Dory, leader of BroZone! Poppy was always jealous in awe of her friend's talent, and happy sad that she ended up leaving behind the scrapbooks in exchange for turntables.

Poppy, also known as POPSTAR_X3, was famous for one series as well. She had authored a self insert scrapbook, about her being the "pet" of the BroZone brothers, in a universe where crime ran rampant. The boys, known as the Dory Brothers in her books, kept her safe from all harm as long as she kept them happy. The books were fairly short, about ten chapters each, but she had written about.... Well, she lost track after 15.

See, while most of her friends fell out of the fictional scrapbooking, she would always find time to make these stories about her and her favorite bands. She had an entire bookshelf full to them, that she had successfully hidden away from Branch. If Branch even found one of her books, she'd probably die from embarrassment. Especially since he was one of the people she wrote most about.

Poppy's head jerked up from the page, her eyes wide as she heard some faint voices.

"Are you sure you can just barge in?" That sounded like JD.

"Yeah, Poppy said she was hanging out with Satin and Chenille today. I just need to grab a couple of things." Oh God, that was Branch.

"Well hurry up! I gotta piss so freaking bad!"

"Just go in the bushes!"

Poppy's heart started to beat at a hundred miles a minute as she scrambled to put her supplies away. The lock clicked, the doorknob turned, and Poppy frantically shoved her supplies in a nearby drawer just as-

"Poppy? What are you doing?" Branch asked with a little smile, surprised to see her in her own home. He was supposed to be hanging with his bros right now, and he was, as evidence by the four head peeking through the door.

"Branch! I, uh... Satin and Chenille had to cancel for some, uh, fashion emergency!" She lied with a giggle. "So I just, you know... Decided to have a me day! How are you? How ya doing? How ya been?" She said awkwardly, trying to hide the mess popping out of the drawer. "I'm not hiding anything. What- What- Why did you...come in?"

"I needed to grab my ESK," He said, grabbing a box that said "Emergency Survival Kit". "Are you ok, Poppy?"

"Yeah no I'm fine! Totally fine! Completely fine!" She forced a smile and some giggles before stopping abruptly. "Please leave."

Branch just gave her a weird look before noticing the open book. The one thing she had forgotten to hide. "Oh, I didn't know you write-"

"I don't!" Poppy said, grabbing the book and holding it to her chest. "I'm holding this for a friend!"

Bruce furrowed his brows and tilted his head. "The Dory's Pet-"

Poppy blushed heavily and tossed the book out an open window. She hadn't realized the title was still visible.

"Poppy," Branch said calmly as he closed the distance. "What going on? You know I want judge you." He held her hands and met her nervous eyes. "You can be honest."

Poppy bite her lip and looked at the ground. "I... I write fanfiction..."

"What's that?" The brothers had made their way in the pod now, all staring at Poppy as if she had grown two heads.

"It..." Poppy started and sighed. She pulled away from Branch and grabbed some of her scrapbooks, handing one to him and his brothers to look at. "It's something my friends and I did when we were younger. We would make up stories about ourselves being friends or being in relationships with band members. Sometimes we would make the main character ambiguous so that the reader could be the love interest... I know it's weird, especially now, but... I like it. It's kind of a guilty pleasure..." She smiled gently at the book in her hands, titled "Into the Brozone", which was about Penelope becoming the sixth and only female member of Brozone. Penelope was a fictional version of Poppy, one where she was just an average troll. No royal duties, no kingdom to worry about. Just a troll who wanted to sing and hug and dance (and be Clay's girlfriend.)

"Well..." Floyd said as he thumbed through the pages. "It's well written. And since you're writing about real trolls, then I don't think there's anything wrong as long they're ok with it." He smiled and handed the scrapbook back. "But please, don't write me as straight ever again."

Poppy smiled brightly. "Of course." She took the book back and looked over at Branch. Her heart started to beat faster. She was so nervous about what he would think. I mean, she wrote about falling in love with him and his brothers (among other singers) for years, even if she didn't realize it. There has to be something creepy about that, right?

"Floyd's right," Branch said with a smile. "This is pretty well written."

"Which one is that?" Poppy asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Branch flipped over the book and looked at the cover. "To Hook a Star," he said, going back to where he was. "Apparently, it's about you trying to win my heart." He smiled and handed the book back to her. "We all have our quirks, Poppy. If you like doing this, then do it. Have fun. You should probably ask my brothers or your friends before you write about them."

"You don't think it's weird?" Poppy asked.

"Oh no, it's definitely weird. But as long as you're happy, and no one gets hurt from it, then I think you should keep writing." Branch smiled and cupped her cheek. "Just write about me a little more, ok?"

Poppy chuckled softly. "Of course..." She looked over at the Bros, all looking at the cover of one book. JD looked confused, Bruce looked very concerned, Clay look terrified, and Floyd looked like he was about throw up.

"What?" Poppy asked nervously. "Which one is that?"

They all looked up at her, still looking confused and concerned. JD flipped the cover around so she could see it, before yelling in unison with his brothers. "SOLD TO BROZONE?!?!"

#trolls #trolls band together #trolls brozone

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theeye2000 · 7 months

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The Hubs of Humanity 1

Prologue:

Back in the early 23rd century, as humanity began spreading its wings into the cosmos, the European Space Convention envisioned a groundbreaking project. They named it HUSB – Harmony of Urbanity and Space Bridges or as the public called it “The Hubs of Humanity”. At the projects core stood the idea to create a network of space stations and infrastructure pieces, each intricately designed to reflect Europe’s intricate designs and reflecting the architectural wonders of a wide range of European cities. It was like taking a slice of Paris, a bit of Barcelona, small snippets of Amsterdam and tiny amounts of Vienna and sprinkling their iconic look´s into the seemingly infinite abyss of interstellar space. The cities in the sky fostered significant cultural exchange, scientific collaboration, and good old human connection. Picture space stations modeled after the elegance of avant-garde designs of Berlin, the timeless charm of Rome or the sophistication of the medieval center of Prague.

Construction kicked of on a massive scale and for a while the project was the talk of the galaxy. The stations became marvels of their own right, embodying the spirit of humanity and its creativity. But as fate would have it, the early days of the 24th century brought a devastating cosmic cataclysm. An insidious computer virus, born from the depths of the digital unknown, infiltrated the project´s communication networks and databases. It spread like a raging wildfire, leaving chaos in its wake, and toppling the human economy and causing the once-thriving interconnected system into disarray. The fallout left a haunting legacy for the project, as the collapse progressed and databases where wiped clean many station dwellers decided to abandon their ships, leaving them adrift and causing them to vanish into the vast expanse of space without any trace left. They became cosmic ghosts, silently orbiting in the darkness, their stories and beauty lost to the void. Quickly forgotten by the rebuilding civilization that emerged from the ashes. Their memory fading into obscurity becoming fragments of an era long gone by. The civilization moved continually forward, leaving behind the mysterious past.

Many generations passed, and with the shift of cosmic currents, some of the long-forgotten stations reemerged from the cosmic background, having become new, beautiful obscure or even haunting shells of their former selves. Slowly many of them revealed new and diverse tapestries of fates. Some not just remnants but thriving hubs of life, sustained by reformed ecosystems and their resourceful inhabitants which had found a way to adapt to the sudden challenges of having to find ways to sustain their ways of living in space. Others had undergone large alterations, their original purposes re-imagined by advanced AI and machinery which was once designed to keep the stations operational. These technological custodians ensured the continued existence and advancement of these magnificent stations, evolving them into marvels of automated efficiency and sustainability.

The Hubs of Humanity: Aetherian Arboretum

Now after many of them had been long forgotten and become legends of a marvelous past the first of these celestial relics appeared at the edge of Humanities capital solar system. As it floated trough the vast reaches of the cosmos by pure chance it passed the outermost surveillance satellites of the Human system SOL1. There it was a space station which echoes the grandeur of an age long gone. A picturesque and mesmerizing blend of elegance and the neon glow of a bygone era. Tall ornate structures with their sinuous curves and intricate floral motifs rise from the main ring like structure and into the star lit fabric of space. Facades adorned with dim luminescent neon colors cast a surreal picture upon any eyes there to observe it. As it silently orbited throughout the cosmic ballet of space rocks of a region referred to as the Oort cloud it was greeted by a group of space vessels. Drawn towards it they cautiously approach the abandoned celestial haven.

As a group of explorers set foot onto it for the first time again, they marvel at the fusion of design and cosmic functionality. As they wander the deserted streets, the air is filled with an eerie silence, only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of nature overtaking the space. Vines gracefully cascade town the sides of once bustling structures as they intertwine wit the fading light of neon signs that once proclaimed the names of businesses now long forgotten. The corridors and walkways once trodden by station dwellers, now play host to a delicate tapestry of nature. Moss covering lower grounds and growing through cracks in the flooring and resilient ferns and flowers also pushing their way through the seams. Tables, doors, and windows adorned with wrought-iron designs being claimed by encroaching vines. The almost ghostly neon glow flickering and casting a dreamlike scene into the explorers´ eyes. The grand arches and domes of the once famous trading hub now softened by the embrace of ivy and climbing roses.

Amid this fantastic scene of haunting beauty, unexpected inhabitants had found their niche – flocks of chickens, descendants of once domesticated birds, had adapted to the continuous darkness of the abandoned space station. Their plumage had taken on otherworldly beauty as it reflected the surrounding hues of dim neon lights. Their feathers colored in ethereal blends of deep purples, electric blues, and luminous greens they created a mesmerizing spectacle of shimmers and shadows as they moved through the silent station. These avian inhabitants adapted to the perpetual darkness of the station developing nocturnal rhythms and clucking that harmonized with the faint hum of the station´s former vibrancy. They had become the unexpected guardians of this rediscovered neon-lit legacy.

As the explorers reluctantly tore themselves away from these mesmerizing scenes, they delved deeper into the bowels of the ship, where they uncovered relics and objects of the once flourishing and passionate inhabitants. It also became evident that the station had undergone its profound metamorphosis, triggered by the exhaustion of its fusion systems and batteries several generations ago. The once state-of-the-art machinery had gracefully transitioned into a state of energy conservation. Basic life support systems hummed softly, maintaining the atmospheres delicately balanced atmosphere as the surroundings were bathed in the perpetual dim glow of neon lights, nurturing the lush flora overtaking the stations interiors. The artificial gravity modifier, a relic of advanced technology, continued to function on a minimal level. Its low persistent hum serving as an unseen orchestrator, allowing the abundance of plants and neon-feathered chickens to thrive in their cosmic sanctuary.

As the explorers continued their way through the corridors, they marveled at the ingenious processes that had sustained the stations delicate balance over the years. In this cosmic tapestry, the explorers sensed a quiet resilience. An enduring legacy left by a bygone era that unwittingly had given rise to this flourishing microcosm. The space station, now reemerged as a living testament to adaption, whispering its story of metamorphosis through the hushing echoes of its few still operational automated systems, the soft neon-glow of plant lights, and the vibrant clucks of chickens against the backdrop of the celestial stage.

With high anticipation, the explorers access the ship´s extensive database, eager to unveil the secrets hidden within the almost dreamlike structure they had been navigating. As the displays flickered to life, they revealed intricate schematics and blueprints of the station. The designation “Aetherian Arboretum” adorned the digital representations of the mighty station´s architecture. The name resonated with an ethereal quality, capturing the essence of this celestial haven. Armed with the new knowledge of the station´s identity, the explorers felt a deeper connection to it. As it stood as a testament to human ingenuity and the enduring spirit of exploration as it transcended its initial purpose as a hub of exploration and trade, evolving into a beacon of life amid the cosmic abyss. The name now etched into humanity’s records once again it was soon to become a thriving celestial haven again.

The news of the Arboretum´s rediscovery and its unique transformation captured the imagination of Earthlings in a wildfire. Recognizing its unique historical and ecological significance, authorities and swiftly declared it a protected zone and placed it under historic and natural preservation. The once-abandoned station a testament to the harmonious coexistence of nature and technology, underwent careful restoration with the goal of preserving its unique atmosphere while allowing eager tourists to experience the surreal beauty of the station in a small selected section. During the beginning of its restoration, the celestial sanctuary was moved in a stable orbit around Saturn, creating a celestial backdrop that added to the mystique of the cosmic destination. As visitors disembarked onto the transformed space station, they marveled at the now again neon-lit arches, domes and towers, the vibrant flora and the more than enthusiastic clucking of the specially adapted chickens. Educational Programs were established quite quickly to inform about the Arboretum´s rich history, its transformation and the unique ecosystem within it. Conservationists closely monitoring the neon-feathered chickens, ensuring their well-being and natural behavior are not disturbed in any significant way. As the space station orbited Saturn, the "Aetherian Arboretum" stood not only as a destination for eager earthlings but as a symbol of the boundless potential for exploration, preservation, and the celebration of the cosmic wonders that unfolded beyond the confines of Earth.

#humans are weird #humans are odd #scifi #sci fi #science fiction #scifiseries #futurism #scifi worldbuilding

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enjomo-arch · 10 months

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thought i'd share the npcs i work on regarding ace's birth island Dryville.

zed is the saloon's bartender that usually stands behind a weathered wooden bar. he has a sturdy figure with a grizzled, rather unwelcoming at a first glance expression. he's usually dressed in worn, dark pants, a faded in color button-down shirt, and suspenders. he looks like someone who has endured the harsh elements of the frontier and by no means that's basically coming from his younger years. zed was an outlaw before he settled down in the town where rouge came from as well. you could name them friends from past, long before she met roger he was like an older brother for her.

on his head zed wears a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, that adds to his weather-beaten face. he has a greying beard, his skin is adored in many wrinkles from his old age, his hands are calloused and scarred after years of taking care of his saloon. when rouge was pregnant with ace and she was escorted to the island by garp, zed took care of her and later of ace as well when he was growing up. he'd let rouge work with him in the saloon as a waitress and usually ace was spending his time up the stairs. whenever zed could check on him he spent time with ace, explained him why rouge had to work so hard for him and hers living. he respects zed a lot and if needed he'd sail back the whole new world to get back to his island and help. currently zed is around 70 years old.

miss jaina is the keeper and the owner of the general store in the tanmesa town. she wears a modest ankle-length dress made of soft, green fabric, a white - faded apron, stained with dust and challenges of daily chores and transactions wrapped around her waist. her blonde hair, often is pulled back into a neat bun or held by a black net. some of her blonde strands may escape from the bun, hanging around the conturuous of her face.

the general store itself is her most important business where she welcomes many locals with her fresh food, flowers and items she can receive from trades at the south part of the island where the docks are. inside you can see well-organized shelves putting on display an assortment of the goods ranging from canned food to ammunition. jaina is overall a very warm and welcoming person. she'd often sell rouge items by a lesser price and give ace some sweets when he came along with his mom. he might've destroyed or tripped some things from her shelves but she was never mad at him. truly, jaina was like a good grandmother to ace and a bit of financial help to rouge. currently she's around 60 years old.

#ii. hiken › out of character .#ii. hiken › meta .#i'll make more npcs soon but brief description of my own canon for ace : D

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childofaura · 2 years

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Happy Weekend! Speaking of, I heard that you talked about Nishiki Areku a lot and I’m quite surprised there isn’t a review about his art from you just yet!

So, is it ok to ask your opinion on Nishiki Areku's art, if the FEH Artist Opinion ask is still there?

LMAO I APOLOGIZE, I TALK TO MUCH ABOUT NISHIKI AREKU BUT HOT DAMN I JUST LOVE THEIR ART. It's part of having the 'Tism.

It's been a while since I've done an artist review so for anyone new here, I review artists based on posework, colorwork (shading, lighting, color stuff), expressions, anatomy, and the range of characters they've drawn. They're up there with Argon in terms of being my favorite artist to see.

Nishiki Areku's drawn Resplendent Alm, Seiros, Ingrid, Niime, Summer Dimitri, Bertram, Jeralt, New Year's Askr, and Duessel. And I just... love their art so much, just adore it. They've drawn such a HUGE range of characters in age, gender, builds, etc.

Older, rugged characters like Jeralt, Niime, etc:

And youthful characters like Ingrid, Alm, Dimitri, etc:

They're probably one of the most versatile artists in terms of age range, besides Kozaki Yusuke of course (given he was the artist for Awakening and Fates). One of the things I like about their art is how detailed they draw their faces, giving them defined noses instead of little dots or lines. The materials are detailed too, the worn metal of Jeralt's armor (and the new shiny metal of Alm's armor), the folds of fabric for Niime's outfit, it's great. And the anatomy doesn't look funky or anything, it looks appropriate for each character.

OH, AND THEIR POSES:

(Sorry for the green in Seiros's image, I'm pulling these pngs from the FEH wiki)

The poses are so strong, forward-driving, powerful. And just as a side note, I love their expressions! Especially how Seiros gets dragon eyes. And gosh I love Askr's happy smile (And Embla looks gorgeous too).

I WILL say there's one or two criticisms I have with their art, though one is more specific to a singular character and the other does have to do with all their art.

Alm. I truly do love their work for Resplendent Alm, the colors, the action, the details. But Alm is so... baby-faced. He doesn't look like he's seventeen, he looks like he's twelve or thirteen years old. I think it was just a slip-up on their part, because we've seen them draw Dimitri accurately and he's the same age as Alm at the start of 3H.

The colors that they choose to color the inside of the characters' mouths is super dark, and it's a tiny bit distracting. Askr, Dimitri and Seiros look fine, but on Jeralt, Alm, and kind of Niime it sticks out. It seems like the colors they use for the mouths fluctuates. I think part of it has to do with the skin-tone of the characters clashing with the mouth colors.

Those are super super minor issues though, because the artwork overall still slaps. Nishiki Areku's easily a 10/10 of an artist and I want them to draw Shura, Reina, Miklan, or Alois.

#Fire Emblem Heroes #FEH #ask game #Nishiki Areku #Seriously though if you look at their Twitter they actually just posted what looks to be an expression study #And AUGH they're so good at drawing a wide variety of faces #I really really want them to draw more characters; maybe draw Zelkov or Mauvier too if they get introduced to FEH

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foxgloveawake · 7 months

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Mending the pieces. AI assisted imagery fun.

This is the prompt I wrote to get these images (with minor tweaking here and there when I wanted something different):

((diorama, kitsch, center of the frame fabric patchwork heart stitched together with different colorful patterns, pins, threads, tattered, sewing needle, an out of focus white woman with long dark curly hair holds up the heart on her back, black and white polka dots, high key lighting, surreal, mint green background, magenta, yellow, blue, orange, fine art, busted seams, tattered, surrealistic, hopeful, middle range shot, minimalist background, messy floor, broken, healing))

I have seen posts on here that basically say to kill yourself if you use AI art generators 😳. I am still not quite sure how I feel about it. I think I am wanting to explore and experiment with this new thing, to figure it out. I keep wondering if we are indeed approaching a new age, with all this AI progress. It’s a little scary. I try to make sense of it.

#mine #ai artwork

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wellofhavoc · 1 year

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Christmas Shopping for Young Traditional 2-D Artists

Hey there! I know it's early, but I'm already starting to see some posts about the common experience of being a kid artist with parents wanting to get something a little nice, and so they got a kit like these as a gift:

And one thing I never see under these is what a young artist might actually prefer to get.

These kits can range from $20-$50 depending on the quality of the material, company, and location. This kit was actually 18.6 OMR (46.76 USD) but I will be using a prince range of about $30 assuming you're going for something NICE but something they can USE.

This list is primarily of categories and things to consider getting YOUNG artists (4-12) but I don't see any reason you can't tweak some of these to be for older artists!

I'm also going to focus generally: Quality over Quantity. A good, nice set of art materials (whichever you choose) will always last longer, be more useful, be more fun, and be more loved than a cheaper set with more. I don't want to mock people who buy these sets, because I know they're purchased out of love and the want to make someone happy and tell them "I love that you're being creative," and I treasure every memory with them. I treasure less the memories of markers like those short ones in their either breaking in my hand because the plastic was too thin, or the tip snapped off, and the water colors never working- the set is just bad. It's a scam made to make you buy it.

So instead, let's find some products you can get as a nice present with the same intent. Let's be real, almost no kid ever used EVERYTHING in these sets, at least not all at the same time. Think about if your artist has ever said they wanted to try something specifically, or maybe they just have a favorite medium.

If not and you think "my young artist already has that, they use it all the time!" maybe the way to go here is by choosing an "upgrade." Type and quality of materials don't make the artist, but this is about getting something that looks or feels really nice for a special occasion, so that's what we're talking about today.

Paints:

I would not get a child of any age paint as a primary gift. I will explain more about what that means in a moment. For now, though, let's entertain different paint types- skipping past "finger paints," as any non-toxic paint really can serve as a finger paint, and into the main three types.

Watercolor- Paints activated with water! Easiest to clean, and if your artist tends to only want to paint some of the time and not every day, you're never in danger of them drying out and going bad. You can just went them and reuse them each time. Can be stored in almost any dry space, like a closet or shelf- even a tote if they seal well. Very easy to find non-toxic variants. For 10+ artists, though, watercolors can be a bit anticlimactic. They've used them before, and you might want to get them something new. In that case, go with gouache. They're like an acrylic/watercolor hybrid that can dry and layer easily unlike watercolors that usually come out transparent no matter how much of a pigment you layer on. They can be used on the same paper and even thinner paper since they're not so wet they'll warp any material. Can also go onto cardboard for school projects, which watercolors won't really work on.

Acrylic: Rubbery when it dries, easy to pick out of fibers if it gets stuck in your carpet- let it dry in chunks, do not wipe- dab if wet. It's very possible though with the right cleaning product and a little time. It dries somewhat quickly so older artists can work on projects faster rather than having to wait until layers dry to continue. Most commonly non-toxic.

Oil: Stays wet a long time. This can slow an artist down and give another artist a longer time to work and blend colors for a smoother look. Almost impossible to clean fabric without some heavy product, untreated wood is ACTUALLY impossible. Can stain clothes, lighter paint on your walls and cabinets, and even leather. I would definitely save this for an 10+ kid. Non-toxic variants DO exist, but look very carefully and closely so as to make sure this refers to accidental EATING and not just BREATHING if you're brave enough to give this to a toddler.

These are not all the paints out there, but they're usually what people are deciding between at the store. As for "primary gift," I would get a cheap set of paints for any new painters and then get some nice brushes. This means five year olds who just started and 12 year olds who only painted in art class twice a year. Expensive products can be fun surprises, but I know I was intimidated by some "nice" supplies I got as a kid. I wanted to make sure that I didn't waste it- that I used it f-or the "right thing"- because I didn't want to use nice material on something that looked bad.

Also, if you're a parent looking for this to be a long time thing, you probably also don't want to see your child mixing all of the tubes from that $80 paint set into a nice brown mess. Let them explore and be artists, but I'm sure they'd be just as intrigued by the mixing of colors and experimenting with which colors do what if you got a respectable $5-$10 set of primaries from Walmart.

Why I recommend brushes: As long as they're not the kind to pluck out the hairs, a nice set of hair brushes will last years. I still have some from my first set, and they're still my favorite. Take the time to look up how to care for them (rinsing them at the end of every session, using soap and sometimes conditioner to keep them healthy) and they'll serve you for a long time. I would stay away from bristled brushes and find something soft. In reviews, look for things like bristles falling out and the tips falling off entirely. Then look for texture. Soft brushes are better at picking up pigment and bristled brushes are better at creating texture. Even if your watercolor set comes with a brush, at least get a couple soft ones from the store.

Markers:

I'm assuming you want to go up a bit from Crayola, but stay away from Copic. They're cheaply made, overpriced, and are suspected by some users to have actually stopped filling their markers with as much ink as they used to.

I use Prismacolor personally, and they're essentially the same concept: A marker you can blend like paint using a blending tool. You can color a whole picture and then go in and blur two colors together. It works better if the color is still wet, but the alcohol in the blender reactivates it. Just like watercolor- great for those who might leave a project in the middle. If you have a child you're worried about putting them in their mouth, they use non-toxic ink, but it's probably still a risk if they were to do it continuously.

I would also suggest looking into brush markers, which act a bit more like water color pens. They do make a bit of a mess, but are easier to clean than paint pens, which just have paint in them. Paint pens are better for artists who want to draw on non-paper. They're usually used on car windows for graduations and weddings. Some brands are translucent, so look through the reviews to make sure they're opaque for an easier time for your artist. Non-toxic variants are available for both.

Crayons:

People are going to be mad at me, but pastels are just grown up crayons. Oil pastels or softer pastels can make a mess, but normal or chalk pastels are really easy to clean up and almost never make a mess in the first place. Would probably be easier to wipe off than your average wax crayon, actually. Most are non-toxic, but read the labels and do your research beforehand, as they might be harder to find from stores and brands you trust due to them not being as popular as the previously listed categories.

I suggest pastels because they're a fancier crayon-type-material and you can find pretty much any kind for any age of artist. They blend easy at any time, don't dry out, and you can replace a set pretty easily if your artist gets hooked. All of the joy and ease of oil paint with none of the sacrifice. If you're looking for accessories: get a brush or a cheap sponge set so they can play with textures.

Colored Pencils:

Gotta give it to Prismacolor again. This time, I'll even tell you they're okay for younger users AS WELL AS non-toxic. They're wax based, so don't store them in a warm place, and you can ALSO blend with these! You can buy a big or small set, and with the layering and blending abilities, they can still make any color they can think of. If your artist has SENSORY ISSUES and hates the chalky texture of pencils, the wax centers are super smooth, so they won't have to worry about that.

If you're not into Prisma, I would stay away from sets of short but plentiful sets. If a pencil is shorter than a few inches, it could be hard to grab at all, much less after many uses. You've literally cut how long that pencil could be used comfortably in half.

Paper:

I'm not going to get into paper (as that's a whole bag in its own and is unique to each medium) but if you are determined to get some nice paper for a specific thing, try asking "What kind of paper is good for 'brush markers/acrylics/pastels/ect'?" at your local art store or an online sales associate. Youtube artists also cover this a lot.

If you're getting canvases, I would also pick up a can of white gesso so your artist can prep that canvas and maybe some sealant. Canvases that are hung can fall hard and chip paint or get gouged easier while being moved, so store them properly- especially if they have something on them. Of course, this CAN happen to paper, but since it's usually in a book or stack or box.

Get a thick ringed sketchbook for the most ease of use- you can flip it over without bending the binding, you can rip out pages more easily, you can leave it in a hot car or drop it in a puddle and unless the paper's really thin most of the book will probably be fine.

Get a bound sketchbook (one with glue or string binding the pages like a normal book) for style and the ability to do "spreads' (art that uses two pages next to each other.) There are really no other benefits, and this is the worst one for any kind of paint because you have to prop it open to let the paint dry.

#artists on tumblr #traditional artist #gift ideas #young artists #havoc blog

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flordemagnolia01 · 11 months

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‘Avatar’ Guides Our Eyes Towards the Beauty of Life

Amid environmental devastation that is occurring in the form of rising temperatures, melting glaciers in the South Pole, animal endangerment, wildfires, and land and sea pollution, we can lift our eyes and see the broken beauty of life.

Both ‘Avatar’ and ‘Avatar: The Way of Water’ have breathtaking visual imagery that displays how CGI and filmmaking have improved throughout the years between 2009 and 2022. The complexity of the different range of colors palettes and lighting of the film enhances the beauty of Pandora, the emotions of the characters, and the reality of the events whether it is good or bad. Every scene of the film is highly detailed, colors are realistic and resemble how light and color interact with each other in real life. The aspect of color and lighting engages with the rhetorical appeal of Pathos, or emotions, due to how the film uses these aspects to play with the emotions of the audience. Without putting importance on color and lighting, the film would be dull, not amusing the audience's emotions in a way where they would leave the theaters with a new perspective of the world.

In an interview with director James Cameron and cinematographer Russel Carpenter hosted by ‘Vanity Fair’, Carpenter states that “The sun is a major element in both the visuals and the story of The Way of Water, particularly when the daily eclipse creates a dramatic nighttime showdown in the third act. Here, it’s a gentle backdrop for the Sully family as they fly to find a new home- but as with everything in an Avatar movie, it’s far more complex than it looks.” (Rich)

Russel Carpenter and his talents in cinematography are a vital force in illustrating the story of ‘Avatar: The Way of Water.’ Without proper technology and understanding of the aspects of virtual filmmaking, the movie wouldn’t succeed the way it did when it was released in theaters. The lighting has to be strategically understood; how does the blue Na’vi skin react with the lighting or surrounding colors? Where is light being emitted from? How do the fabric and clothing react? The color palette and the lighting go hand-in-hand when it comes to pushing the story to a subliminal level. The audience will focus more on the aspects of dialogue and plot of the story, while under those aspects, the colors and lighting will provide a foundation for the dialogue and plot to stand on. Think of it as layers that support the film to convey its message.

In the third act of ‘Avatar: The Way of Water,’ the Metkayina clan along with the Sully family prepare to attack the RDA after the discovery of the dead mother Tulkan and her calf. Humans constantly seek things to make a profit, one of them being ‘Amrita’, an anti-aging liquid that is produced in the glands in the brain of the Tulkan, whale-like creatures of Pandora. The Amrita can only be reached by killing the Tulkan. One vile of it can cost up to $80 million on Earth. No longer are the humans seeking the valuable Unobtanium metal they desperately desired in the first film. The RDA and Quaritch use the dead mother Tulkan and her calf as a trap to get the attention of Jake Sully, who is a refugee in the Metkayina village protecting his family from humans. After the battle begins with the Metkayina, the Sully family, and Payakan, the Tulkan-spirit brother of Jake’s son Lo’ak, fighting the RDA in daylight, an eclipse occurs when the battle shifts from defeating the RDA to defeating Quaritch. The dramatic contrast of the colors makes the audience sense the seriousness of the upcoming conflict. The change of light to dark foreshadows the upsetting events that the Sully’s will face; the death of the eldest son, Neteyam.

Neteyam’s death is heartbreaking to Neytiri, Jake’s wife. The colors and lighting portray the grief of Neytiri, influencing the audience to connect with her emotionally.

At Neteyam's Funeral, the colors present illustrate Neytiri's and the clans' emotions. A change of color and lighting can be seen when Jake and Neytiri transfer their memories to the “Spirit Tree” of Neteyam. The change from grief to joy and gratitude can be seen in the scene. According to the Na’vi, everything connects with spirituality. All living things have a soul which can be recycled into the consciousness of Ewya and be used back into living matter. All life energy is borrowed and must be returned one day. The native protects the life of all forms by what is known as “The Three Laws of Eywa.” Eywa gave these laws to the Na’vi to guide them from participating in any activity that may be destructive to the environment.

In different scenes, the characters can be seen enjoying the clear, nighttime skies and honoring and respecting the land around them. The colors enhance the beauty and the vibrance of life. The rainforest is diverse. The oceans are endless. Life is precious and our Earth can also share with Pandora in its respect towards the environment. Native tribes in the past and present on Earth are good stewards of the land around them. Nature is cared for and protected. Our world is beautiful. Our world can provide the resources each organism needs to live.

Though our Earth is being industrialized massively, we can see past the skyscrapers, past the wildfires, past the melting glaciers, and look up and see how beautiful and marvelous our planet Earth is.

#look up #protect our planet

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proserpinewrites · 11 months

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motion, bling, change (for Ru)

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Imagine with me for a moment: you're on a walk, a perfectly normal sort of perambulation. And then you see a man who walks like a cross between David Tennant, a Boston Terrier wearing dog sized shoes, and an underfed wolf that has just spotted a rabbit. That is how Ru Riddon, when not actively trying to do otherwise, walks. There's a slight bounce to his step, provided his joints aren't acting up. He walks fast, and unless he's actively paying attention to where he's going, he walks INTO things. Not being clumsy requires his full attention, and it requires that no one speak to him while he's moving. Surprisingly, he is rather flexible but that has more to do with his affinity for stretching based exercise than anything else.

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

One small hoop earring in each ear, he has a silver set but favors the gold set that he bought with the first royalty payment from his very first book. One gold plated medallion of Lathander's symbol on a long chain, that belonged to his late husband. One large (think pigeon's egg sized) silver locket on a similarly long chain that he only opens in private. If you were so lucky as to be shown its contents or catch him looking at them, you would discover that inside the locket are three miniature portraits painted a hundred years prior. The first is of a well dressed middle aged human man with a long face and slightly beaky nose, large dark eyes, and dark hair streaked with gray swept back from his face with pomade. The second is of a tiefling girl, a Zariel tiefling at a guess, with a bright smile, twin braids, and a look of mischief in her eyes. The third is of a shy looking half-elven girl with eyes as dark as the man in the first portrait, and hair to match. A little squinting will tell you that she's wearing a locket very similar to the one that Ru currently wears. These pieces only come off of his body if they or Ru himself is in need of a wash/polish/etc.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

After he lost his family, after he got away from the place they died, he took a pair of scissors to his hair. At the time it was nearly waist length and a rich auburn, but by the time he felt satisfied he'd shaved down to the bare skin of his scalp. When it grew back in, it grew in streaked with gray even though he hadn't even gotten to his third century of life. Over the next fifty years or so, lines appeared on his face to match the laugh lines that had lived there even before his grief. His husband was a master tailor who had enjoyed using Ru to try out new designs for waistcoats or gambesons, whatever he felt the need to experiment with at the time. Andreas favored rich jewel tones in the clothing he made his husband, gilded embroidery. By and large, Ru packed all of these clothes away after he died. Too many memories locked away in that clothing, he would have told anyone who asked him. No one did, and he's happy to keep the reasoning to himself. His personal taste is plainer, the colors more muted and the fabrics far less busy. No one cares if an author dresses like every other middle aged elf in the city looking to go unnoticed, and he hardly ever performs music anymore, so it's easier.

#insp: ruadhán riddon

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barongtagalogs-blog · 1 year

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Filipiniana gowns embody the Filipino people’s rich and diverse cultural heritage and historical roots. Local Filipino dresses are known for their intricate designs matched with vibrant colors.

Over time, the trend of bringing traditional concepts into the modern age is steadily increasing. One of the popular approaches is getting the Filipiniana dress and revamping it with a stylish appearance and style.

This revamped approach has given a new spotlight to shine across these local dresses, but why so? Look into how the Filipiniana dresses and gowns fell from obscurity and made a comeback in the trending modern world.

Traditional Filipiniana Attire

In the old times, Filipiniana traditional dresses were worn as a status of grace. These dresses are designed with intricate patterns and choices of vibrant colors. These gowns are an equivalent to the more modern dresses and gowns people associate with. These gowns help women have a stand-out feel and display their social status during formal occasions.

The Temporary Fall

While traditional gowns were quite popular in its time, in the following years, they have experienced a big decline. Western clothing and fashion trends from outside countries are becoming more prevalent. The recent popularity and influence has made a huge shift for traditional garments.

Many Filipinos opt for contemporary styles in their daily lives, which results in the decline of traditional attire.

The Rise of Filipiniana in the Modern World

Despite its decline long before, recently, there has been a notable resurgence of interest in bringing traditional Filipino fashion back into the spotlight. Many organizations and individual parties within the Philippines have this desire in reconnecting the Filipino people to their roots. They have made tireless efforts to promote and modernize traditional clothing.

This approach has resulted in today’s barong tagalog and Filipiniana gowns adopting a streamline and modernized designs while still keeping many notable features that helps it retain its identity.

Elements of Modern Filipiniana Fashion

As mentioned, many organizations and designers have been implementing different approaches to bringing traditional clothes into the modern age.

Modern Filipiniana fashion incorporates new fabrics and materials, blending them with the traditional design approach. The implementation of modern components makes these attires more comfortable and versatile.

Additionally, Filipiniana dresses, gowns, and sets designed in the modern age often feature new colors and designs. It makes the dresses stand out from their traditional counterpart by having mixed colors and intricate embroidery.

Many fashion and clothing designers experiment with patterns in infusing a fresh approach towards traditional dresses. Furthermore, modern designers would apply innovative creativity in streamlining and enhancing the dresses’ overall style. They adapt modern preferences into traditional styles, offering custom options that fit both worlds.

The Global Appeal of Filipiniana Fashion

Adopting traditional Filipiniana dresses, gowns, and sets has impacted culture. The trend of bringing traditional concepts and putting a modern twist on them has given Filipiniana fashion a big comeback.

The general audience has already begun to show a certain interest in applying traditional clothes to special occasions ranging from weddings to graduation ceremonies.

This trend not only brought traditional fashion back into the local public interests but also garnered significant attention from global audiences. Filipinos from overseas and foreigners have begun implementing traditional wear into their twists at their special events. So, if you are looking for the best Filipinianas for your events, place an order at Barongs R Us today. Contact us for more details!

#barongtagalog #philippines #barongs #philippine culture #custommadebarongtagalog #filipinopride #madeinthephilippines #filipinoculture #filipinowedding #pinoy #filipinocommunity #ladiesbarong #modernbarong #pinoyinusa

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hecatemoon87 · 2 years

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WolfBlood - A Viking Fantasy Story

[A James Delaney & Eddie Brock AU]

Chapter Summary: The WolfBlood princes, James and Eddie, are taken prisoner after a long and bloody battle. They are marched to the enemy capital where they will meet the Queen of Rakovec. Unsure of her intentions, the brothers have no choice but to comply.

Warnings: Violence, Blood, and War

Word Count: 3,774

Masterlist

Prologue: The WolfBlood Princes

On a crisp autumn morning during the second year of Horace WolfBlood’s reign, two princes were born. The king had only been expecting one child, but was surprised to hear that his wife, Queen Salish, had given birth to twin sons. News spread far and wide of the princes’ birth, not only because King Horace now had two healthy heirs, but twins were seen as divine, a gift from the gods.

Therefore it didn’t take long for the rumors to begin. It was said that the princes were not the actual sons of Horace, but of Marrok, the great Wolf-God of the west. The other kingdoms, RavenSnow, BoarsReign, BearStone and DragonBane all turned a watchful eye toward the WolfBlood Kingdom. It hadn’t been the first time the gods had bred with mortals. Half god princes were seen as a threat and the kingdoms took the rumor seriously.

And as the princes grew into men, it was apparent to everyone that they were different. They were faster and stronger than the other boys. They excelled in combat, triumphing over their opponents with ease in the training ring. In addition, their skill in archery and horse riding was incomparable, winning any tournament they entered. All of these feats were impressive and could be passed off as athletic prowess, but there was one thing that made even the WolfBlood citizens think that their princes were fathered by Marrok. It was their ability to go into the sacred berserker state without the aid of the magical potion, dyreeliksir.

Going berserk was reserved for the battlefield. However, as a right of passage, young warriors who completed their training would drink dyreeliksir. Once the potion was consumed, they would go into the forest, meditate and connect with their animal spirit. This connection meant that anytime they partook of dyreeliksir, they’d possess the powers of their kingdom’s sacred animal. The twins, at a young age, could access these powers without the aid of dyreeliksir. This gift only strengthened the rumor that they were part god. But whatever the truth, there was one thing that was undeniably certain. The princes had a destiny before them. Whether it was for greatness or for ruin would only be revealed by time.

Chapter 1: Prisoners of War

The footfall of a thousand WolfBlood warriors shook the earth violently as they collided with their enemy. The loud clash of metal against metal rang out into the cold winter’s day. The virgin white snow that had fallen the night before was now trampled and tainted with the color of blood. War cries and screams of the dying echoed through the air, imprinting the chaotic energy into the fabric of time. The opposing armies struggled against each other, neither willing to relent. Yet only one would triumph that day, although the price would be high, paid with the lives of their brethren.

James and Eddie WolfBlood led the charge that day, leading a small battalion to defend one of the remaining fortifications of the WolfBlood Kingdom. The other units had been dispatched to fight at the northern border, defending the kingdom against DragonBane armies. On the eastern front, the Kingdom of Rakovec, a recent unification of RavenSnow and BearStone kingdoms, was engaged with Prince James and Prince Eddie’s army. The odds were not good for the princes. The Rakovec army had sent three thousand warriors and they had only one thousand. Their chances of winning were impossible they knew, but they fought on. Each of their warriors had consumed dyreeliksir, throwing them into the sacred mindset of the berserker. The WolfBlood army raged, taking the lives of hundreds of Rakovec warriors in their wake.

“Behind you!” Eddie shouted as a Rakovec warrior charged up behind James.

James turned with the quickness of a wolf, slicing his ax through the air and cleaving his enemy’s head in two. Eddie threw up his sword just in time as another enemy warrior attacked. He pushed the warrior back and kicked the other man square in the chest, forcing him to the muddy earth. Once the man had fallen, Eddie brought down his broadsword, skewering his opponent through the heart.

“There are too many!” James yelled.

“I know, we can no longer hold them back!” Eddie yelled back.

“To Valhalla!” James shouted, inspiring the remaining WolfBlood warriors to repeat his words.

With a last mighty war cry, the WolfBlood warriors rushed forward eager to end their lives in combat that would grant them access to the Great Hall of Odin. It would have been a glorious conclusion to the princes’ lives if they had died. But fate had other plans for them. In the end, the princes and six other WolfBlood warriors survived and were taken prisoner.

The prisoners were forced to their knees and their wrists bound with rope. The general of the Rakovec army tiredly walked over to stand in front of the twin princes. His name was Birger Bjørnepote. He was an older man with graying hair and intelligent green eyes.

“You fought admirably, but it was all in vain. Your tactics would have fared you better if you had simply given up your eastern front and sent your forces north to fight the DragonBane army,” Bjørnepote said.

“Thank you, general, but I think your advice comes a bit late, doesn’t it?” James said.

“Indeed it does. If only I had thought a simple letter to King Horace would have deterred him from sending his sons and warriors to the slaughter,” Bjørnepote said, sardonically.

“If only,” Eddie said, spitting out blood from his mouth.

“Honestly, I’m amazed you lasted as long as you did. Your warriors must of ingested quite an amount of dyreeliksir. You do know that too much of it can be lethal?”

“That was the idea,” Eddie said.

“Ah, so you did expect them to all die. How interesting,” Bjørnepote said, nodding.

“Is there a point to this conversation, general?” James asked, annoyed.

Bjørnepote looked off toward the war caravan. The troops were preparing to return to the Rakovec capital, Horbánimr. The battle had ended at nightfall, so their plan was to depart in the morning. A light snow had begun to fall from the heavens, coating the remnants of the battle field. The moon’s rays reflected off the snow, emitting an eerie pale glow. As if death itself hovered over the field, absorbing the spirits of the dead.

Bjørnepote returned his attention to the princes and gave them a mirthless smile.

“I see your kingdom and all that is happening in an objective sense. I can see clearly what you cannot,” Bjørnepote said.

“Speak plainly,” James said.

“Very well. Your Kingdom is at an end. It is time to make some choices,” Bjørnepote said.

“Choices? Offered by who, your Queen?” Eddie said.

“Aye, Queen Ravina eagerly awaits your arrival. She has much to discuss with the Wolf princes, so I suggest you get a good night’s sleep,” Bjørnepote said, turning away to go and monitor the preparation of departure.

It was very cold, so the prisoners were allowed a campfire, mats to keep off the frozen ground and blankets to keep warm. Around the fire huddled six of the prisoners, including the princes. The men sat in miserable silence, mourning their fallen brothers in arms, their corpses still surrounding the camp.

“What do you suppose the Queen will offer you?” Geri said, suddenly speaking.

“Don’t ask such a daft questions,” Freki said.

Geri and Freki were part of the six prisoners. They were cousins to the princes, from their mother’s side. They had darker complexions, large brown eyes, tan skin and black hair. Freki was a bit smaller than Geri, but both were well built and solid warriors. They were named after Odin’s wolves.

“My assumption is that she wants us to forfeit our birthright. Give her the kingdom so she can push back the DragonBane army. Then lay claim over the west,” James said, picking up a twig from the tender and tossing it into the flames.

“Do you think the Dragons felled the northern battalion?” Geri said.

“I don’t know, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Eddie said.

“Do you think the stories are true? About the Queen, I mean?” Geri asked.

“Why do you ask so many bloody questions?” Freki said, rolling his eyes.

“Because we’re surrounded by the dead, you twat. If we don’t show that we are part of the living, the psychopomps might mistake us for those who need guidance to the afterlife,” Geri snapped.

“I highly doubt she’s a terrifying Ogress who enjoys the taste of human flesh,” Eddie said, chuckling.

“Not that story. I heard she takes in the most handsome men and puts them in a harem. Like they do for women in Arabia,” Geri said.

“The Queen is half Arabian. Perhaps she’s introducing some cultural influences from her mother’s lands,” Freki said, laughing.

“Perhaps she’ll put us in the harem. If she’s beautiful, it might not be so terrible,” Eddie said, laughing and looking over at James.

James stared into the flames, deep in thought. But he heard his brother’s joke and shifted his intense blue eyes onto his brother.

“A pleasant fantasy. That is if we agreed to relinquish our kingdom. But what do you think she will do if we deny her?” James asked.

Eddie nodded, his jovial state now dampened by the thought of torture.

That night, the men slept listlessly. The light of the morning sun found all six warriors wide awake, ready, but apprehensive for the departure to Horbánimr. The Rakovec soldiers who were on the last watch walked over to the prisoners’ camp. They roughly guided them over to the back of a wagon and formed them into two lines. They proceeded to tether three of the WolfBlood warriors in each line to each other. The lead prisoner facing the wagon itself was then attached to the wagon. As the caravan departed, the wagons heaved forward and pulled the prisoners with them.

It would take seven nights and eight days to journey to Horbánimr. It would not have been such an arduous journey if it had been any other season aside from winter. Snow dunes swept over the roads causing the wagons to come to a stop in order for Rakovec soldiers to dig their way through. The surface of the roads were frozen solid, forcing the horses to walk slowly to avoid slipping. By the time they saw the great walls of Horbánimr rising up from beyond a snow covered hill, the prisoners were exhausted, cold and hungry.

The caravan made its way to the city's grand northern gates. Two giant wooden doors barred the entrance and were flanked by two massive stone statues of Viking warriors holding a broadsword to their chests. A soldier approached the gate, pulled out a horn and blew into it three times. The bellowing of the horn echoed loudly. After a long pause, the wooden doors began to groan open, allowing the caravan to commence over the threshold and into the city. As they traveled inward, the prisoners could see that the city was immense.

“Odin’s ax…” Eddie said in awe as they walked. “How many people do you think reside here?”

“I last heard nearly seven thousand,” James said.

“Seven thousand? Úlfr-Steinn can only sustain two thousand,” Eddie said, speaking of their capital city back home.

“How could they have built all this in just a year?” Geri asked, amazed.

“The city itself is old, it used to be Dreki-Hjarta,” James said.

“Dreki-Hjarta? Then this used to be DragonBane territory,” Freki said.

“That’s right. The battle of Drálgjakn nine months ago was won by Queen Ravina, she took Dreki-Hjarta as her prize,” Eddie said.

“And that is why King Draco storms our northern border, so he can cut through our territory to gain access to the western side of Rakovec,” James said, disdainfully.

“Ah, because the only clean access point to Dreki-Hjarta is from the western front. North and East are too mountainous,” Geri said, nodding.

“So, basically, WolfBlood is fucked,” Freki said, shaking his head.

“More or less,” James muttered.

The procession continued through the main street, their destination, the Queen’s palace. As the caravan moved onward, curious citizens came to the side of the street to watch. Some cheered merrily for the return of their soldiers, while others booed and hissed at the prisoners. At one point, a rotten tomato hurtled through the air and smacked Eddie on his shoulder. Seconds later, James narrowly dodged a stinky turnip that was aimed at his head.

“Oie! Fuck off!” Freki shouted angrily.

Freki’s outburst was not helpful. In retaliation, an onslaught of rotten vegetables peppered the prisoners.

“Well, that was brilliant. Mind keeping your mouth shut the rest of the way?” James snapped.

Up ahead, a large building started to come into view. They could tell by the extravagant nature of the building that it was the Queen’s palace. It was a dark wooden structure atop a glistening stone-white foundation. Once the caravan entered a fork in the road, it halted abruptly. A group of Rakovec warriors came back to untie the princes and began escorting them toward the palace. The rest of the caravan diverted to the left, toward the soldier barracks and the prison.

“Stay strong and stay alive!” Freki shouted to his cousins.

“You do the same, see you on the other side!” Eddie replied.

They walked up the palace stone steps and entered through a pair of heavy oak doors. The Rakovec warriors who had taken them from the caravan halted at the door. A set of palace guards came to the door and resumed responsibility for the prisoners. The interior of the palace proved to be extraordinary. It was constructed of the finest wood, in which every inch of it was meticulously polished. Grand wooden pillars that supported the roof had intricate designs etched carefully into the wood while elegant blue and purple silk tapestries imported from Arabia decorated the walls.

The princes were taken deeper into the palace, winding through the expansive hallways until they were stopped in front of a door. A guard moved forward and knocked. A soft voice came from within and the guard stood to the side as he opened the door. The princes were led into a large bed chamber where a hearth with a roaring fire crackled pleasantly to the left side of the room. The heat of the room caressed their frozen skin, providing a much needed respite from the winter’s cold. A medium sized bed filled the center of the room, a large bear skin covered the floor in front of the fire. A set of blue velvet curtains hung at the only window in the room. Two comfortable chairs were placed in front of the fireplace and from one of the chairs a woman stood up. She had long black hair streaked with white. It had been styled into a single braided plait that hung off her shoulder. The woman was clearly of Arabic heritage and for an older woman, she was beautiful. Her most noticeable feature, however, were her eyes. They were the color of light lavender, a signature mark of a mage.

"Greetings, princes and welcome to Horbánimr. Here you are our guests,” the woman said, her voice low and smokey.

Eddie gave James a hesitant look as if asking his brother to engage in conversation with this woman of magic.

“Tell me, is it a Rakovec custom to first take your guests as prisoners?” James asked.

The old woman laughed softly and smiled.

“No, but this is no standard invitation either, wouldn’t you agree?” she said.

“I suppose not. Well, since we are here, why don’t you tell us who you are?” James replied.

“My name is Nashwa, I am the Queen’s mage,” she said.

“And the reason for our…invitation?” Eddie interjected.

Nashwa turned her focus on Eddie, her lavender eyes dancing over him with interest.

“That is an explanation best left to my Queen. She is currently occupied at this moment. However, as you wait, I encourage you to bathe and dress into something fresh. You reek of sweat, blood and rotten vegetables,” Nashwa said, smiling as she walked over to the door.

The guards came over and cut the rope from their wrists. They then followed Nashwa from the room, the door closed and the sound of the deadbolt sliding into the place was heard from the other side. James immediately went to the window, pushing the velvet curtains to the side. Heavy iron bars prevented access to the window and James sighed heavily with disappointment, letting the curtains fall back into place.

Eddie glanced around the room and spotted a large partition. He walked over and peeked behind it and found two wooden bathtubs. Steam coiled up from the heat of the water making the bath look extremely inviting. Understanding that escape wasn’t an option, Eddie stripped down and slipped into one of the baths. The warm, therapeutic water enveloped his body causing him to groan in pleasure. He could feel the tenseness in his muscles slowly melting away. He rested his arms on the side of the tub and closed his eyes to soak. James heard the splash of water and Eddie groaning. He came around from the other side to see the tubs. He followed suit and disrobed, sliding into the healing waters of the bath. He closed his eyes as well, suddenly feeling very tired.

Feeling a bit more rested, Eddie found a bar of soap and cloth sitting next to the tub. He lathered up the cloth with suds and began the work of scrubbing the thin layer of grime that had formed over his skin. James tilted his over to see that Eddie was washing. He decided he too should commence with bathing before the guards came back to take them to the Queen. As the brothers washed, the water of the tubs changed from clear to gray. Once they were thoroughly clean, they climbed out from the tubs and dried themselves.

“Looks like they left some clothes out for us,” Eddie said, nodding his head over to the bed as he dried under his arms.

Naked, they walked over to inspect the fresh clothing. Each set provided a navy colored tunic, black wool trousers, wool socks and a black leather belt with a silver buckle. By the foot of the bed sat two pairs of black leather boots.

“Fantastic, they’ve given us matching outfits,” Eddie said, unamused.

“Interesting power move, making us feel like children. Remember that mother used to dress us in matching clothing?” James said, picking up the trousers and putting them on.

“Ah, you think this was done intentionally? You think the Queen is trying to tell us that she’s our mommy?” Eddie said, chuckling as he shrugged on his tunic.

James gave his brother a mirthless look and slid into his tunic.

“I think she is just attempting to belittle us, that’s all,” James said.

Eddie nodded uninterestedly and idly touched his neck. When his fingers did not find what they were searching for, Eddie’s eyes widened in panic.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie hissed and rushed back to the dirty clothing he had dumped in a pile by the tub.

“What is it?” James asked, confused.

“The damn necklace, I swear I fucking had it when we entered the city,” Eddie said, shifting through the clothes in haste.

His fingers finally connected with a thin brown leather strap. He lifted it out of the clothing revealing a necklace that held an obsidian wolf head amulet.

“Oh, thank Freya’s tits,” Eddie said, sighing with relief.

The necklace had been a gift from their mother. She died mysteriously a few days afterwards, her death was never fully explained to the brothers. The princes were devastated by this news, they had been twenty years of age at the time. Their mother was from DragonBane and had married their father for the sake of an alliance. It was not a marriage of love, but of convenience for King Horace. He did not allow his wife to visit home and only permitted her relatives to come to visit her. James and Eddie knew of their DragonBane side of the family, but they had not seen them for almost eighteen years.

“Eddie, don’t be careless with that, it’s irreplaceable,” James said, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“Leave me alone. It’s been kinda distracting becoming a prisoner of war and all,” Eddie replied with the same level of annoyance.

The abrupt sound of the deadbolt being released outside the door ended their argument. James had been lacing up his boots and Eddie hurriedly grabbed his pair and began to do the same. The door opened and Nashwa stepped inside, four servants then entered the room, holding covered trays. They placed each tray on a long side table that was against the wall closest to the door. As the covers were removed the delicious aroma of food filled the room. The food consisted of roasted beef, duck and pork, a basket of bread and roasted vegetables. Three flagons of mead accompanied the meal.

Nashwa’s pale lavender eyes drifted over the princes as the food was laid out.

“My, you two certainly are handsome. You clean up very well,” she said, smiling.

The brothers stood awkwardly, uncertain how to respond to the flirtatious comment by the older woman. But Nashwa was unphased and turned to find the food was prepared.

“Ah, the food is ready. Please eat and drink to your fill. After, I shall take you to the Queen,” Nashwa said.

With that she and the servants left the room and closed the door, leaving the brothers alone once more. Immediately the brothers approached the table and began to eat hungrily. They had not had a proper meal since the day before the battle. Their stomachs rumbled as they bit into the succulent meats and stuffed their mouths with roasted vegetables. They finished with the bread and guzzled it down with mead. With their hunger sated, the brothers sat down in front of the fire. It was slowly dying, so Eddie got up and added a few logs to the flames.

“Whatever happens, no matter what, we stick together,” James said.

“No matter what,” Eddie said, agreeing.

They sat quietly staring into the fire, watching the hypnotic dance of its flame. Sedated by food and warmth, the brothers slowly drifted off into the dream realm. Whatever was to come, they would face it together.

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