#can i get a uh...ancient verse please?

[malkaleh]

This was going to be a meme reply but I was like no this AU is Too Fucking Much To Expect A Reply To but also I wanted to talk about it so separate post.

So. Everything Is Trauma verse. I’m going to put this under a read more because this has all the content warnings you can imagine for an AU that deals with sex slavery and also discussing my childhood a little bit (which please feel more than free to skip).

This one kind of happened because I’ll be honest, my therapist was talking to me about how I could use writing to rewrite my story so I get rescued and cared for. It was also my ‘I am so so in support of the great fantasy of ‘the villain loves you, adores you gently and would burn the world for you’ but…what if you don’t want that. What if it hurts. What if they would treat you so gently, so kindly - as though you are a precious thing but they will also kill everyone you love, they will rape you, they will chain you down and tell you sincerely they love you.

Except it isn’t. Actually. It turns out (this is drawn from one of the ‘clients of child prostitute (me) are sometimes like this and it Fucks With Your Head). And then also there’s the fact that often this kind of trauma is both deeply fucking weird and deeply deeply boring and awful all at once.

So I went ‘okay what if blorbos went through this’ And it really is a multifandom thing. (May have just added some Rings of Power characters). They will all get away eventually. It’s kind of a fantasy/sci-fi ancient rome vibe. This one is more a series of stories I tell myself but I can tell you about all of them.

(If you are wondering currently contains: The Tudors (OT3 verse versions), Grishaverse (which uh, OT3 verse Henry and Anne and Thomas finding a boy who looks exactly like their oldest son is also a slave here is Something), Band of Brothers (TV), Rings of Power, Criminal Minds, Tortall and I think like, some others are there).

It features the adult characters absolutely looking out for/after the kids as much as they can but it’s you know, limited. Communal found family dinners. Surviving awful.

[terrania]

A Dance in the Darkened Wood

Just two players. papers, tokens, and two d6.

An ancient ritual dictates that when two champions battle to the death, the victorious’ village will gain a year’s protection. Tonight this is you, but something’s wrong. Every death wakes you that same morning, transformed.

On character sheet, mark stats with three points each.

Mark appearance.

A space for wounds.

FORCE- strength, power. Exert will and brutality.

SURVIVAL- speed, biological self. Take blows and avoid danger.

CONCEPTUALIZATION- intellect, creativity, planning, higher thought.

WILLPOWER- bravery, persistence, patience. Get back up.

HEART- love, trust, understanding, for another and the world.

Play starts the moment you lock eyes. You are in a darkened wood.

When you contest an action they take upon you, contesting roll plus method’s associated stat.

When you contest what they enact upon anything else, roll for that thing with your own stats. The winner narrates, choosing to inflict a wound if desired.

With three wounds from the same stat, you are BROKEN. You fail all rolls and can be killed.

When one dies, both reset.

Mark four stat increases and two decreases for their next form. Mark how their form has altered. Reveal simultaneously.

Five loops or until you choose peace.

Ok this could prolly be more readable if it had... more words.... but swagever! i made it and it's mine and it's cool so yeah. :3 uh i don't know if the title counts as part of the word count... i don't think it does?? also this thing in retrospect is probably very difficult to understand if you're not well versed in ttrpgs... i hope it makes, like, enough sense for whoever's reading this anyway. the stats are force, survival, etc... also when i say "contesting," i mean that you are both making rolls, sometimes in different stats, and whoever rolls higher wins and narrates. i have a lotta ideas for how this could be improved... which would require more words of course. i may have to release that thing later this month if i have time, writing for rpgs is really fun. perhaps i could even do some amateur formatting and sell it on itch for $2 a pop... the skies truly is the limit. uh i believe the Slay The Princess inspiration here is obvious, the general word choice and tone is inspired by the twine games by Porpentine Charity Heartscape, especially Howling Dogs. please lmk if you play it i think it would be really fun tbh

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[marthasjourneys]

Rome Holidays

Hi, I´m Martha. I am 39 springs by now and I work as an independent Design Architect. My projects comprehend Industrial and Landscape Design. I am a bit lost in thought person, but I´m happy as I don´t harm anyone when I´m in my cloud. I love what I do for living, I think it promotes wellbeing of everyone and it is really satisfying when you help to improve other lives with your work. I think cultural exchange is a key asset in my profession and you can get advantage out of the smallest details. Happier society makes wellbeing radiate on every direction. I love to travel, get to know new places and people, see how they do their everyday life and learn out from that.

A friend of mine does exactly the same; she travels around the world to discover new social projects in other countries. The last time I saw Bianca, I had gone to Rome for a few days to rest and enjoy the Eternal City…

…I was about to land in Rome, and I thought to myself WOW! I´m visiting Rome…then my private cloud arouse in my mind and I started to dream awaken, I could even see Gregory Peck waiting for me in his motorbike at the exit, to give me a ride to Trastevere, Piazza Navona, Fontana di Trevi, uh!…

What travel agents don´t tell you is how Italian guys are for real…in their field…whenever they see a single lady on vacation, on her own, quietly spending some time at the beach while enjoying some days off happily…

I made my booking on an apartment located next to Fratochi, on the coast and next to Rome. The first thing you need to know if you travel under these circumstances, is, that there is no possibility of hanging out with yourself on a nice walk along the shore, for instance, because you end up glued with every single men about speaking up to you as you walk by while you are lost in your private cloud and dreamy thoughts…and then you hear one saying “Ciao Bella!” (At this moment you think to yourself, “I am not interested on your flirting verses man, who asked you?”). The worst part comes when he starts to walk along the shore with you without any type of invitation (I guess he self-invited himself, and that was enough for him…in his mind…), after a few minutes he broke my freezing silence with “Sei Bella come il Sole!” “…Humm, should I fake a forced smile or give him a finger? I´m not quite sure”. I may have given him a finger, since it is an international sign. I´m sure he had stopped if I had done that. “Maybe if I tell him that I have a boyfriend he´ll get discouraged and will probably leave”, wrong thought! That was a very bad idea as he didn´t care at all and kept walking by my side like a lifeguard as if somebody had asked him to protect my life no matter what.

Notice to sailors: Please be careful with Italian beach single-men! They are heavily armed with verbal glue and it is next to impossible to get rid of them!

After my walk along the shore I managed to find a spot on the sand, among balloons, chairs, umbrellas and coolers. Yes Italian people move in a block and it can adopt the shape of a family or a group of friends. While lying at sun, I got to observe that this beachy harassment wasn´t only practiced on me, they did it with any women that dare to walk along the shore on her own. “Humm, maybe this is why Italian ladies walk in big groups, but, I thought that those big groups of women were rugby teams spending the day at the beach, what a sporty people!”…no, after a detailed observation I figured out that, this Turtle-Group formation acted as a defensive shield against this sticky type of guys.

Another thing to have in mind when you travel to another country is language. Italian can get you in trouble if you pronounce it wrong. One of those days I was visiting ancient temples, churches and cute neighbourhoods in the centre.  After a while, with a city plan in one hand a  bottle of water on the other and my sporty shoes on, I couldn´t find this precise church, so after walking in circles for a while (streets in Rome can get quite confusing), I decided to ask a police man. This guy was very well uniformed and he was quite handsome as well, then, I got next to home and asked: “Scuzi, Il Uomo per favore?” All of the sudden he put himself into the straightest position he could find, and inflated his chest like a lot to me…like saying with his body language, “You have it in front of you”.

At the beginning, I quite didn´t understand this gesture, so I marked on the map the Church I wanted to visit with my index finger and then he looked at me and said “Oh Il Duomo! “, “Prego” I told him, and he showed me the way.  I thanked him for that again and kept going. When I was heading this Duomo (hard to remember the name, there are around 300 churches in one cubic kilometre in Rome…), I noticed I had pronounced Duomo wrong. “Then what did I say?” “Uomo means man in Italian Martha” I said to myself. He must have thought I wanted to flirt with him, oh nonono! I felt really bad for that.

One of those evenings I hanged out with Bianca, we wanted to have a gin tonic so we searched for a quiet place so we could speak. Unfortunately lounge beach bars in that part of the city weren´t the fanciest. Those were located somewhere else, so we adapted to circumstances and went to a regular terrace bar nearby.

We arrived, Bianca asked for a couple of gin tonics and we started chatting. The amazing event came when five minutes after, when a couple of guys arrived and guess what? They sat on our table without asking!!! I went crossed-eyed when I say how daring these guys were acting trying to make up a conversation out of nowhere…so I looked at my friend like trying to understand what was going on. Then I looked back at the boys, I looked at our gin tonics about to be drunk and back at the guys again…but they didn´t get the visual warning at all to my misfortune. Bianca dismissed them and we could then keep chatting for a few more minutes. I asked Bianca “Is this normal?”, “Well, if they see two women hanging out on their own Italian men keep sitting in your table until you say yes to anybody, they are that way”. “What???” I thought to myself. At that precise moment I went squinting at 180 degrees, one eye pointing at the Coliseum and the other to the Roman Forum. My face of unjustly invaded country said it all. Then she said, “Don´t worry we can go for a walk at the beach afterwards”. I felt shivers all over my spine when I heard this.

Another two couple of guys went over our table each one with the same style and manners as the previous. Since they weren´t very creative, Bianca dismissed them as if we were in a fish market store. I couldn´t give credit for what I was living, but at last we were finishing out gin tonics and Anzio battle was about to end.

At nearly 50 mililiters of ending our drinks, three guys remained seated on our table. One of them, I don´t know, but he looked rarely nervous and uncomfortable with the world to me. We asked them “Where are you from?” and they said, “we (two of them) are from Sicilia, and he (pointing at our I can´t stay-still guy) is from Napoli. This was the cherry that gave the final touch to our girlfriend soirée. “Great! We have invited the Rivolta Italiana New Generations (RING from now on) to have a seat in our table, Cool!” (I bet this guy tries his own cargo before distributing, his behaviour is not normal at all!).

After a concise chat with our RING guys, we left the terrace-bar. These Three Napoli Musketeers decided to start walking alongside us without being invited (this time on the street). Then the man under a nervous attack started saying something about a cornetto. Since I didn´t speak Italian that well and my idea of Cornetto was an Ice Cream (there is an ice cream with that name in my country, this is why I thought of an ice cream…). I thought oh, yes, an ice cream would be nice, why not? My eyeballs went back a couple of times in a row when I saw what a cornetto was…as this nervous guy handed me a recently baked warm croissant…you can imagine how stuck that got in my throat, with nothing to drink along…

I came back to my apartment by walk after saying goodbye to these Three Italian Musketeers with an Italian let down way flavour. They changed me the Dance-after-a-drink for a Goodnight Croissant, No Way!!!

This is the first and the last time this happens to me, I can assure to myself. After this treacherous and bumpy evening, Bianca and I managed to hang out successfully after that event, on our own, and had a nice long chat, on our own as well. At least I have one thing clear. The next time I go to Italy, I´m bringing my translator and a bunch of girlfriends to walk peacefully on along the shore.

Thanks for reading, Martha.

[the-art-in-arthesia-is-loud]

what the character tags reference

h. HI.

so the ocs in the rg-verse have their own tags obviously, but their tags are also accompanied by a quote/sentence. i wanted to explain what they mean/reference so yeah!!!! under the cut as always lel

also i mentioned spoilers for final verdict and silent answer (specifically one last dream), the two parts of arcaea's main story, in this post. proceed with caution

———

1. "don't let him go" (ars):

this.....actually has smth to do with lore. i haven't explained much abt ars lore yet. not even in his trivia post, so i'll save the explanation for later~

2. "this is just a dream" (lucas):

it's a part in lucid traveler!

3. "another me" (ana):

the name of the song ana is based off of; another me by d_aan!!!

4. "where are you? please don't be dead." (galactic):

it has smth to do with galactic (and spinel)'s backstory. this quote was said months after spinel's disappearance.

5. "i don't give a f***" (destonio):

references a part in destruction 3, 2, 1.

6. "our fates are distorted" (fate):

references the name of the song fate is based off of; distorted fate by sakuzyo!

7. "to the furthest dream" (felicia):

song name for the song that felicia is based off of!

8. "darkest night i'll confront you here" (tessi/the testifier):

the first lyrics of testify.

9. "what an agonizingly long journey it has been" (abstruse):

initially, it references a tweet the official arcaea twitter/x acc made. now it's known as a quote from the severed eden story.

10. "this is all my fault" (trojan):

it has smth to do with the story. not gonna spoil that~

11. "money can't buy happiness (but creating things can" (logos):

uh.....the first part references her bio. the second part however......is pretty much outdated. i'll give her a new, updated tag soon. but not now. BECAUAE I'M LAZY AYGHHFHF

12. "a special kind of texture" (primeval texture):

references a quote in the primeval-lore-focused comic i posted awhile back!

13. "i exist" (ego eimi):

""Ego eimi" (ἐγώ εἰμι) in Ancient Greek means "I am" or "I exist". The phrase has Christian theological significance due to its usage in the Gospel of John, where Jesus uses the phrase to assert his presence and divinity" — thing from arcaea wiki

14. "like an ice cube" (technicolour):

references technicolour's weapon (bc nearly everyone here has their own weapons honestly); a small looking cube. Don't Be Fooled By It's Appearance, However.

15. "to the new dream" (dahlia):

supposed to reference felicia's tag, ig?? lmao

16. "the embodiment of chaos and destruction herself" (arghena):

this has smth to do with lore, so i can't say it here. it Is pretty odd how she gets a title like this and not destonio, who is literally the god of destruction here....hmmmmmmmmm

17. "it's not your fault. don't blame it on yourself. please." (tempo):

connected to trojan's tag, which is why i can't say the reasoning here~

18. "authentication: successful" (shifta):

references a part in temporal shifting.

19. "i heard the world is collapsing" (callima karma):

kind of a reference to a lyric in the og song, but bc i forgot what it was for some reason, i might be super wrong for some reason. obviously i remember the part where "arcaea" was mentioned, and since this is Not arcaea, i had to change that lel.

20. "the one who got away" (spinel):

you thought that tag is a reference to that one song? you fucking thought wrong. this has smth to do with her backstory, actually. referencing how she ran away and just went 'missing'.

21. "is it so wrong for a girl to like bugs?" (pamolia):

references a part in pupa's official mv. sort of. forgot how it originally went so i Might get this part wrong. UM. ANYWAYS.

22. "butterflies tear people apart" (pupa):

when i was going thru the comment section for pupa's official mv, i noticed a few ppl commenting that exact quote, so naturally, i had to reference it somehow :3333

23. "he was the one who bared witness to her wrath" (tempestissimo):

i think my art related to tessi, lacey, and tempestissimo already implied this enough, but this tag references how tessi fucking murdered tempest. yea. and while we're on that topic, that also references how hikari killed tairitsu in final verdict. and the way tessi gave up her goddess powers and became lacey just to bring tempest back to life is ALSO A REFERENCE TO SILENT ANSWER'S STORY SPECIFICALLY ONE LAST DREAM'S STORY. AND. AND—

24. "last (moment or eternity?)" (lacey):

references last, last | moment, and last | eternity.

25. "you are your very own light!" (hikaru):

that one phigros tip 🥹

26. "welcome to the progression express~☆" (arta):

references my very first artwork of him, actually! and also references how he's a train conductor

27. "the fireworks that bring tragedy" (lumine):

has smth to do with destonio and lumine lore. not gonna elaborate further tho. for now at least.

28. "the math expert himself" (aleph-0):

references how he's a math teacher. also, aleph-0 is a math thing, am i wrong?

29. "class memories (trauma and paranoia)" (clarith):

references her backstory (and also class memories itself ig)

30. "class memories (realist and serious)" (chase):

references his backstory (and also class memories itself ig)

OH MY GOD WE ARE AT THE END OF THE POST THANK YOU IF YOU READ IT UNTIL THIS MUCH OH MY FUCKING GOD.

[atlasforced]

          ❛     v. 002.     beyond the hillsides and valleys deep waits a village so  small that it almost does not exist at all. it is known by many names, but those who are born and breed there call it arcadia. it is a place of great magic; a gateway from the human world to the land of the fae and the holy grounds on which gunmar the black was sent away to the darklands. the war exists fresh in the minds of the older inhabitants, but the younger generation knows no fear. there are no bounds of which they are afraid to cross; they live freely under the sun, unsure of why they hear echos in the night or why their parents warn them never to eat in a strangers house. these children live in the world between human and magic until one boy is chosen to protect both.

          james lake junior     is son to the most renowned apothecary in the  region. he is also the trollhunter; a title only held by one before him. while journeying beneath the bridges of old and past, he came upon a horrendous sight. the deliverer, a troll the young one heard only in legends, was fallen. the amulet of merlin shone in her hands. it called to him in a woman’s voice so soft and sweet he feared it to be a trick of the fairies. but no, the deliverer had one final message for him. the world was not safe, gunmar’s son still roamed free. beware the changelings, the voice echoed, beware what will become of your young. 

[copiousloverofcopia]

Can we get some Papa's as dad HC please? 👉👈

Ah hah! The one I have been waiting for... I couldn't be the Prime Mover Queen here without headcanons for the Papas as Dad's now could I? Lol

✨Now I wanna do some for them finding out their gonna be Dads or during the Prime Mover's pregnancy. Let me know if your interested

Anyways here we go--

Nihil

The absent parent... I definitely share most of the fandoms HC that Nihil was uh...not a good dad. He was too young to be a dad. He wasn't ready and never wanted really wanted to be one. This didn't change after Primo either...only getting worse to the point he had a whole ass son he didn't even know about 😉. Definitely was more into making sons than raising them. However Grandpa Nihil is the best. He realized he was a shit dad and would try hard to make up for it with his grandkids.

Primo

He was already pretty much Secondo and Terzo's father. When his Prime Mover and him have children, he is ecstatic and determined he would be better than his own. Primo would be very attentive and loving, but have just the right amount of discipline mixed in. His children would be well versed in Psalms and ancient rites. They would also have their own spot in the garden--Primo gushing as their first seedlings begin to sprout.

Secondo

He never thought about having kids...so he only had them because his Prime Mover wanted them so much. He'd be an authoritarian type parent. Definitely the "my way or the highway" or the "because I said so" type. Very military dad, would be too busy to participate in a whole lot of stuff, but would love his kids none the less. When in private he would have moments of pure gold--his Prime Mover walking into the Papal suites to see him on the floor wearing a bonnet and sipping tea next to his daughter's dollies, because she said "it's tea time daddy."

Terzo

The push over parent. Terzo would let his kids get away with murder. He's super attentive and wants to every spare moment playing with them..his favorite would be teaching them to play the kazoo. He would dote on them constantly, especially his daughters....they would be super spoiled. Terzo would let his kids paint his nails and do his hair...but also so help him Satan he's not gonna let them beat them at Uno again if it kills him.

Copia

Falls in love with his little one from the moment his Prime Mover tells him she's with child. He would be so excited to have all the the rats introduced to the baby. Copia is very involved-think PTA, Girl/Boy Scouts, music lessons, etc....he will do it all, and if needed, drop it all to change on his child's whims--whatever makes them happy. He would be relentless with the Dad jokes, having his kids roll their eyes seeing them coming from a mile away, while his Prime Mover would find it super endearing. Copia would encourage his kids love for animals and riding bikes. Although his kiddo would have to help him learn not to run into things 😅.

May add more later 🖤

[tennessoui]

29 G.A.t.W. AU - The C.W.s start 2yrs early bc of Galactic Law EVERY Natborn in the GAR MUST be 18yr old. Obi-Wan is forced to leave behind his young Padawan. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.. Without the Masters being able to be there physically they have to start training programs to help the Pawadans. Every Master now has to teach certain subjects. Anakin finally sees a mind healer & finds inner peaces without the Council breathing down his neck. The Temple Locked Down so No Sith Influenc

so this is a beautiful ask and beautiful future and i followed it like i follow my google maps directions which means maybe 30% of the way but i was watching lord of the rings and thinkin about braids so here is this and i'm very sorry it's what it is

29. Going Away To War AU (Tatooine slave culture, 17!Anakin, preslash/Anakin's pining, mullet!Obi-Wan)(2.3k)

The Padawan braid isn’t the first braid Anakin learns about. It’s not even the fiftieth. By the time Qui-Gon Jinn, Queen Amidala, and Obi-Wan Kenobi land on Tatooine, Anakin is well-versed in the language of braids and what each means. He hadn’t had any of his own yet, seeing as how he was only nine with no accomplishments or triumphs or romantic entanglements to advertise, but if he had stayed on Tatooine, he’d probably have gotten his first braid after he won the podrace.

HIs mother would have done it with gentle hands and a proud smile, and their neighbors would have gathered outside their door to try and be the first one to congratulate him.

Braids are important. They’re sacred. Their style and the beads woven through the strands signify everything important to know about the Tatooinian wearing them. He’d see the freed people’s braids in the marketplace and burn with envy. He’d see a blushing girl braid her lover’s obsidian into his hair to signify courtship, and know one day he’d do the same to someone else. He’d practice his braids until his hands hurt from the motion, wanting to be perfect at it before he’d need to know. After all, as a slave, there wouldn’t be much else he could offer them except beautiful braids and beads.

There is only one braid he doesn’t know the meaning of, and it’s the one that hung down Obi-Wan Kenobi’s shoulder when they first met.

He thinks about asking him, even though it might be considered rude, but before he can, they’re at the Jedi Temple, then on Naboo and then Master Jinn is dead and Obi-Wan’s braid is gone, and Anakin thinks, oh. So the braid means love.

Mourners on Tatooine cut the braids off their dead and then a single braid from their own head, to mean that a part of themselves has died as well. Obi-Wan tries to be extra nice to Obi-Wan after that.

That is, until the man approaches Anakin with a serrated knife and a rueful grin and tells him that because the Council has allowed him to take him as his padawan, it’s time for Anakin to have the Padawan haircut.

The fit Anakin throws at these words could probably be heard back on Tatooine, but his new master must be made of the same strength Lukka crafts the sandstorms from, because an hour later, Anakin is looking at his shorn locks on the floor in a state of horrified shock.

Obi-Wan kneels down at his side as he begins braiding together the lone strand of hair Anakin has been allowed to keep.

“I’m sorry,” his master says quietly. “I know that your hair is very important to you on Tatooine.”

“How will I practice my braids now?” Anakin asks despondently. If he is to have short hair until he’s Obi-Wan’s age (ancient), then he won’t ever be able to practice the courtship braids. The engagement braids. The marriage braids. All the other ones too. Do the Jedi just present their beloveds with sloppy braids?

The thought has him near tears.

Obi-Wan looks very panicked. “Please don’t cry,” he begs. “Jedi apprentices shouldn’t cry.”

Anakin’s vision becomes even more blurred at this. Now he’ll never be able to practice his braids and he’s a bad Jedi.

“Oh blast, that’s not what I meant,” Obi-Wan backtracks, hesitantly putting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. It’s not very comforting, but it’s the best Anakin has so he resolves to make do and lean into the touch. “Well. You can, uh. You can braid my hair?”

Anakin sniffles. “Your hair is short. And ugly.”

His master laughs and ruffles Anakin’s own short hair. “I’ll grow it out, just for you if it’s that important to you.”

He would? Anakin looks up at him hopefully. That could work. It even makes sense, kind of, for Obi-Wan to let Anakin braid his hair. After all, Anakin’s going to be wearing Obi-Wan’s braid, even though he doesn’t love him yet.

Maybe the Jedi do things differently. Maybe the Jedi weave the braid, and the love comes later.

---

“I remember a young boy telling me my hair was ugly,” his master says consideringly, as he lets himself be pushed to the floor while Anakin clambers onto the bed behind him.

“You bring that up every time, Master,” he sighs as he strokes his hands through Obi-Wan’s admittedly beautiful mane of hair. It’s not as long as he’d like, not really, but it doesn at least go down to his shoulders. “I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize.”

“Oh, just once more,” his master smiles with his voice. Anakin will miss this. Anakin doesn’t know how he’ll live without it, without Obi-Wan’s quiet wit and wry humor, his willingness to indulge Anakin no, even if it’s been eight years of braid-practicing.

“Once more might be all we have time for, Master,” Anakin whispers. His fears are not the sort one can say loudly.

“Do not think like that,” Obi-Wan turns his head to the side just enough so that he can look up at Anakin. “It will be fine. I will be fine.” “You’d be better if I came with you!” Anakin argues loudly. “You know I’m old enough! It’s not fair!”

His voice cracks on the last word, making him wince as Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

“The Jedi Council and all Republic legal branches have spoken. We will not take children into a warzone--”

“Then don’t, but I’m almost eightee--”

“--And I agree with them.”

Anakin’s fingers slacken on the strands of hair, loosening the braid. “You do?” he asks, feeling betrayed. “You want to leave me here at the Temple while you go get yourself killed on some Mid-Rim planet?”

“I want you safe, Padawan,” Obi-Wan corrects, breaking away from him so that he may stand up and sit beside him on the bed. “A war is no place for Jedi, but while us knights have no choice but to fight, we would keep our younglings as far from it as possible--even those younglings who are only a few months shy of being eighteen.”

“You’re taking away my choice,” Anakin says quietly, anger abating enough that he has to struggle to hide the fear in his voice. He brings his knees up against his chest and curls tightly into himself. “What if you die and--and--” he breaks off and pulls useless at his Padawan braid.

He knows what it means now after eight years spent at the Jedi Temple. It’s supposed to denote the Padawan from the Master, and signify the respect an apprentice has for their teacher.

But he’s never been able to shake his original conclusion that it was a representation of love, though he’d never say that aloud.

But when he touches it, sees it in the mirror, he’s reminded only of the love he bears for his master. A guilty, shameful love that takes up too much of his mind and heart. He’d fallen in love with Obi-Wan somehow. Now when Anakin dreams of marriage beads, his fingers are invariably braiding them into coppery blond hair. Now when Anakin dreams of--well, other things, it’s always Obi-Wan’s body beneath his, over his, inside of his, around his--

And now the galaxy is at war, the Knights and Masters of the Jedi Temple called to defend the Republic, and Anakin is too young to follow his master.

“And what, dear one?” Obi-Wan asks gently, hand coming up to unclasp Anakin’s fingers from his braid. “If I die, you will let me go as any Jedi would. I will become one with the Force and you will continue forward.”

Anakin almost wants to shake his shoulders. Doesn’t his master know anything about Anakin at all? How could Obi-Wan say these things as if he believes them? If Obi-Wan were to die--if he were to die away from Anakin, without Anakin--if the unthinkable were to happen--Anakin doesn’t know what he’d do.

A part of himself would die as well, he knows that immediately. He’d cut Obi-Wan’s braid from his hair so that the man could be buried with it, and he’d never weave another.

“Have faith in me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tells him softly, hand falling to rest on his shoulders. “I will come back. Or perhaps in a few months you will join me.” He sounds falsely enthusiastic, like he’d do anything to keep Anakin away from the war.

As if Anakin would let that happen as soon as he’s legally able to fight.

“Will you let me braid your hair?” he whispers, slowly sitting cross-legged.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says immediately, sinking back to the floor.

“Will you keep them in this time? For as long as you can?” Anakin asks, shily, running his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair slowly, savoring the softness of the strands.

“I will do my best,” his master promises him. “What will they mean?”

“Good fortune,” Anakin replies, seeing the braid come together in his mind’s eye. Yes, good fortune, a plea to the gods who see Obi-Wan in battle to look the other way. To take someone else instead. He gets to work, collecting a chunk of hair on the left side of Obi-Wan’s temple to braid back.

Nothing’s fixed. Nothing’s better. The person Anakin’s pretty sure is the love of his life will be sent out to fight tomorrow at dawn, and he might die never knowing how Anakin feels about him.

But it’s not like Anakin can tell him either, not when he’s seventeen. Not when he’s Obi-Wan’s Padawan.

He’s always planned to wait until after he’s been Knighted, after Obi-Wan has been given enough time to see Anakin as a man who has a choice whether or not to love him. And, yes, the Code forbids attachment and Jedi cannot marry, but it’s not like Anakin would ever be able to marry Obi-Wan legally even on Tatooine.

But he could give him the braids, if Obi-Wan wanted. That way, when they both died, in their sleep of natural causes, the Goddess Leia knows to keep their souls intertwined as she transports them to their afterlife.

Anakin’s fingers pause as he thinks of something that would make him feel better.

He bites his lip. His mother would disapprove. To give the braids to someone without their knowledge is heavily frowned upon.

Anakin winces, even as his hands change direction. These are extenuating circumstances. There’s a lot at stake here. Anakin can’t risk a life and an afterlife without his master. And he’s going to ask him eventually. Just not now. Just not yet.

The braids for good fortune form a crown over one’s head. The braids for marriage…

They start similarly enough at the temples, but connect to each other at the back of the head, where a third braid is begun. Then each braid is braided into each other. The left braid represents the braider. The right braid represents their beloved. The third braid that begins when the two meet represents the life that they will create together.

Anakin holds the three braids loosely in his hands, staring down at them in some sort of surreal shock. This is not the circumstances he has imagined doing this under, but he’s heartbroken. Not when it’s Obi-Wan who will be wearing his braids.

“Dear one?” Obi-Wan asks, breaking the heavy silence. “I do not mean to rush you, but my knees are starting to hurt.”

“You’re so old,” Anakin quips back, stroking a thumb over one of the braids, the right one--Obi-Wan’s.

“And you are so very young,” Obi-Wan retorts. “The two of us together is the equivalent of one good soldier.”

Anakin’s heart pauses for a second. “Would you want that?” he asks nonsensically.

“What?”

“If you could choose. If I were eighteen. Would you want to be…” Just as suddenly as he gained that sudden burst of confidence, he loses it. He sighs, mostly in disappointment at himself.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan prompts.

“You’d want me there with you if I weren’t too young, wouldn’t you, master?” Anakin finally says.

Obi-Wan hesitates, and Anakin’s chest feels tight. “I would want you safe, regardless of age, dear one,” he settles on saying.

Anakin’s fingers clench down on the almost complete marriage braids. “But if there were no war,” he forges ahead. “If the war never happened. You wouldn’t want to leave me behind. You’d want to stay together.”

Anakin can just imagine the furrowed eyebrows Obi-Wan must be sporting as he tries to figure out what Anakin wants from him.

“Just answer the question,” Anakin begs, tightening his hold on the braids to prevent Obi-Wan from turning around.

“You are my Padawan, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says slowly. “And someone who will one day be my partner, my friend. I would like...very much to be allowed to see you finish growing into the fine man you will be. The one that in many ways you already are.”

“And then?” Anakin asks doggedly. “When we’re both knights. And you’re assigned...a mission. And you get to choose your partner. And it’s me or. Or someone else. I don’t care. Who would you choose?”

“Well, I suppose it would depend on if this fabricated mission depends on stealth. Secrecy. The ability to tell a believable falsehoo--”

“I’m being serious,” Anakin insists, cutting his master off. He almost wants to drop the braids, let them fall apart. Clearly Obi-Wan doesn’t...perhaps won’t ever--

“It’d be you,” Obi-Wan murmurs very quietly, as if afraid to speak louder. “We are better together than we are separate.”

Anakin blinks and then smiles, only a little teary-eyed at his master’s confession. “Yes, Master,” he agrees, finally--finally--braiding the three braids together and tying them off neatly. He pictures the material of their souls responding the same way that Obi-Wan’s hair has. The thought makes him feel equal parts giddy and guilty.

“After all, someone needs to make sure you don’t crash every ship in the Jedi Temple,” Obi-Wan continues dryly.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin agrees again, running a hand lightly over his work.

He’ll tell him when he’s a Knight. Really.

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse -  A dinner and a show

Prompt: any | any | competition

Word Count: 2,460

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Vincent Solaire/Lovely)

Rating: T

Triggers: Explicit implications

Summary: It's a tradition within the Solaire Clan that the King would visit his progenies from time to time. Tonight, Will is coming over to Vincent & Lovely's apartment for dinner. What's not a tradition is the karaoke competition that comes afterwards. 

ConCrit: Y

I don’t know what happened. This oneshot just went out of my control but I had so much fun writing it today! I hope you guys enjoyed it! 

Also, I just realised that all the characters in my oneshots have been eating lately. Oh my god, I got so hungry when I was writing them that I subconsciously includes food in some of the scenes 😭 Food is my love language so I guess it’s cute that the bois and their lovers would sit down and eat together. 

That being said, I hope you guys will crave Korean food as much as I am in this oneshot! 😅

-

“Vincent? I need your help. Can you tell me what’s Will's favourite colours?”

“Lovely - ”

“Because I have some formal outfits in our closet, but they don’t mean shit if Will hate the colours.”

“Lovely, hang on - ”

“Is he allergic to perfumes? Colognes? I have some soft-scented bottles that should be Vampire-friendly! I think? Most of them are floral though… oh! Does he have a favourite flower? Do you think I should buy some before he comes over?”

“What? No, Lovely, I think you’re working yourself up - ”

“I know you bought some blood bags for dinner but do you think we should cook some food too? Does Will like to eat? Shit, I knew I should have bought some groceries yesterday after class!”

“You’re not listening to me at all, Lovely…”

“We have to clean up the whole place too. I don’t know how our furniture gets so dusty so quickly! I just wiped them down a few days ago!”

“...”

“Do you think I should do my hair too? It’s a bit of a mess lately; I could use a trim. Does Will - ”

Lovely's eyes widen as a deep kiss suddenly silences them. Their heart pounds when Vincent brings them close to his chest, trapping his lover in his arms. Lovely's eyes flutter close when he pulls away to press butterfly kisses on their neck. They couldn’t help it; they moan and tilt their head back when they feel fangs delicately drag down their tender skin.

“Vincent!” Lovely hisses, not sure for what, though, when Vincent's fangs pinprick where their pulse is.

“Oh? Are you finally with me again, Lovely?” Vincent breathes, loving how their heart begins to beat faster and faster in anticipation. His chest reverberates when he chuckles deeply. “There we go… I have your attention again, little one.”

They grumbled at the unfairness of it all. Just as Lovely knew all of Vincent’s weaknesses and tickle spots, he knew how weak their knees behaved when he pressed his fangs to any parts of his partner's body. Especially down south.

“I’m serious here, Vince.” Lovely whines. “There are so many things we have to do before Will comes over for dinner tonight. I want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

Vincent gives Lovely a deadpan look. They would’ve coo at how adorable he looks if it weren’t for his Vampiric speed and his habit of chucking them onto the bed whenever Lovely is being too stubborn to listen to reason. “Lovely? A question: are you dating my Sire or me?”  

Lovely blinks; they didn’t expect that. “Uh, you, duh.”

“Then trust me, as your boyfriend,” Lovely has no idea why Vincent emphasised that last word, but they knew better than to interrupt him when he gets like this. “That everything’s going to be fine. Besides, I told you that while this might look like the whole ‘meeting the parent’ shtick, the relationship between a Sire and their Progeny is way more than that.” He patiently reminds them.

“Well yeah, but he means a lot to you.” Lovely points out. Now, why did Vincent look so surprised at that? “So that means he’s important to me too. That’s why this dinner has to be perfect.”

For a moment, Vincent said nothing. He just stares at them in wonderment.

Lovely let out a surprised squeak when Vincent suddenly crushed them in a hug. “How did I get so damn lucky with you, Lovely?” He murmurs, face buried on top of their head. “Sometimes I think that you’re… too amazing to be real.”

So soft and sweet; that’s Vincent. Lovely lets him cuddle them like his personal teddy bear until he's satisfied.

“Now, I need you to do something for me, Lovely. Do you think you can do it?”

Lovely raise an eyebrow. “Depends on what it is, Vince. I haven’t eaten anything yet, so I can only give you at least four hours in bed - ”

“N-Not that!” Vincent hurries to interject, a brilliant red blush runs across his cheeks despite him being a Vampire. He coughs once to get them on track, playfully glaring at Lovely for trying to distract him. “Geez, Lovely. It’s still way too early for… that. But we're definitely going to revisit that. Anyway, I need you to calm down for a second, OK? Will is a pretty chill guy and an open-minded Sire. He knows how much I love you, so you have nothing to worry about.” He gently assures them, rubbing calming motions up and down Lovely's back.

Lovely could feel their anxiety melts away. Just enough for them to finally breathe again ever since Vincent dropped the bomb that William Solaire will be coming over for dinner tonight.

Apparently, everyone in the Clan knows that the King would visit his Progenies at least once a month to check up on them. Just like how a parent would drop by their children's home for a visit, in Lovely's opinion.

“Ok. You win, baby.” Lovely sighs, loving how his rubbing eases the tense muscles. They arch their back like a pleased, spoiled cat when Vincent messages that spot below their shoulders. “Ooooh, yes, that’s the spot!”

Once Lovely's bones feel like they could melt at any time, they throw Vincent a grateful smile.

“Now, there’s the smile I’ve been missing the whole day!” Vincent teases. “C’mon Lovely, let’s plan for dinner before we take our nap. How do you feel about seafood?”

“Oh, I can go for some seafood. It’s been a while.”

“Spicy steamed crabs with scallops, battered pan-fry oysters and some chilled bowl of rice top with raw salmon and sea bass with slices of your favourite veggies? All Korean-style."

“Hell yes. I think we have all the ingredients for that. Wait. Err, can Will handle spicy food?”

"Uh... I have no idea. Maybe we should hold back on that spicy steamed crabs with scallops just in case."

Ever since the two started living together, Vincent really took a shine when it came to cooking and baking. The idea of providing for Lovely makes him ridiculously happy, and besides, him whipping up healthy and delicious food for them results in much richer and sweeter blood flowing within his lover for him to feed on so… win-win!

As the two of them traverse to the kitchen to start preparing the ingredients for dinner, Lovely slowly gain the confidence that their dinner tonight with Vincent's Sire will turn out alright.

And before both of them knew it, the sun had set.

After a fresh shower, the entire apartment is now spotless (to Lovely's standard), and dinner is served on the table, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it!" Lovely announce just as Vincent finish putting down the plates. They smoothen out the creases on their clothes, roll their shoulders before taking a deep, calming breath and answer the door. Like a soldier marching towards the battlefield.

Seeing his partner's dramatic reaction, Vincent just shakes his head.

As soon as Lovely opens the door, William Solaire greets them. "Good evening. I hope I'm not too early. The evening traffic has been quite a hassle lately. I figured that even if I'm a bit early, I could help you and Vincent in the kitchen." Will explains. In his arms is a bouquet of white pear blossoms, yellow gladioluses and red tulips. When Lovely stares at them curiously, Will smiles knowingly. "Vincent informed me that you don't drink, so I decided that flowers would be the appropriate gift as oppose to a bottle of champagne."

"They're so pretty." Lovely reply, breathless when they receive the bouquet. "Thank you so much, Will! I'll put them in a vase now. Oh, and please come in." They graciously step aside to let Vincent's Sire in.

While Lovely is busy rummaging for a vase in the storeroom, Will and Vincent make small talks over at the dining table. Vincent passes the ancient Vampire a tall glass of blood which Will accept with gratitude.

"Hey, Will. How's it going?"

"I'm fine, Vincent. Thank you for asking." Will reply after dabbing the bloodstain on the corner of his lips. "The Clan is the same as usual; Our Newborn members have finally settled in nicely, much to Sam's relief. I plan to visit them next week."

Vincent tops up Will's empty glass before replying. "That's great to hear." He's about to say something else before a loud bang against the wall in the storeroom stops him. "Uh, Lovely? Is everything OK in there?" He calls out.

"It's fine, it's fine!" Lovely shouts back. "I found the perfect vase for the flowers!"

Vincent groans in exasperation. When Will throws him a confused expression, Vincent is compelled to explain. "Look, Will, Lovely has been freaking out about tonight's dinner the whole day. They think that if it turns out anything but perfect, you're going to be disappointed in them. So just... just play along, alright?"

Will chuckles; his heart warms at the thought that Lovely holds him in such high regard. What an adorable human. "Is that so? Very well then, I will play the perfect guest towards such kind hosts."

And true to his words, when Lovely joins them at the table after putting the vase full of flowers on the coffee table in the living room, Will waste no time in kicking his charm to the max. In between their meal, Will makes sure to compliment Lovely's outfit (which earned him a shy yet pleased blush from Lovely and a jealous kick at his shin from Vincent). He then comments that the spicy steamed seafood dish is his favourite, and when desserts are introduced, Will gently helps Lovely open up by asking about their interests and hobbies.

Will is pleasantly surprised to find one of the many common grounds they share: their love for analysing music.

"I find RM to be one of the most brilliant lyricists in this generation." Will states once his bowl of red bean shaved ice is empty. "His songs are undoubtedly impactful for the youths of today. Not to mention that I'm quite fond of his wordplays."

"You're into K-pop!?" Lovely ask, utterly gobsmacked. Their eyes are wide in shock.

Vincent snorts. "Alexis is a BTS fan. Somehow, she managed to convert Will too."

When Lovely turn to face Will once more, their expression frozen in disbelieve, he adds, "We're planning to catch their concert once the situation permits it."

Will's pop culture admission finally broke the ice. Lovely laughs in delight before launching themselves into an animated conversation about modern music with Will.

However, it wasn't long before their topic suddenly went off the rail when Vincent claimed that he's a better shower singer than Lovely.

"Oh please, Vince, I thought you were dying in the bathroom," Lovely interjects with a roll of their eyes. Vincent splutters at his partner's cruel remark, but Lovely presses on without mercy, much to Will's amusement. He resolutely keeps his mouth shut despite his growing grin slowly making its way up to his face. "Face it, you're tone-deaf. Being a Vampire doesn't magically make you a good singer."

"Those are some fighting words, Lovely. Can you back them up?"

"We can settle this tonight if you want. You and me; we can duke it out in a singing swag off with Will as the judge." Lovey declares with a smirk before they head into the living room. All revved up as if their previous anxiety over dinner had never happened.

"Oh my..."

Vincent turns to Will with a grateful nod. "Thanks for helping them relax. And hey, you don't have to stay if you have some other plans tonight, Will."

Will stares back at his Progeny with a faux, scandalous look on his face, complete with a hand on his chest. "Why, Vincent, where would I be anywhere but here? It's not every day that I get to see you humbled by your lover. Don't think I forget that you were once known as the Playboy of the Solaire Clan."

Shock looks good on Vincent's face. It's cute that he actually forgot how he was before Lovely walks into his life. Oh, Will is going to milk this for all its worth.

"Alright! The system is set up!" Lovely announce from near the TV with a microphone in their hand. "Will, come on! You need to help me prove that Vincent sings like a dying cat. Here, here!"

"Oi, oi! We haven't even started yet!" Vincent rebuke and flits over to grab the spare microphone. "You know what, Lovely? I'm so confident that I'll win this that I'll let you go first."

Lovely grins viciously and accepts his offer. Once Will makes himself comfortable on the couch and signals for them to begin, Lovely open their mouth,

Will couldn't stop smiling as Lovely sings their heart out, and Vincent makes his grand entrance after they're done (singing one of Will's favourite songs in hopes to sway his Sire to his side). Vincent and Lovely are having the time of their life, teasing one another as they sing. Will commits this night into one of his most cherished memories.

*"Dari apa yang aku perhatikan

Manusia mahu senang tapi tak semua mahu berkorban

Dari apa yang mereka katakan

Ada yang jawab jujur tapi selebihnya kuat beralasan..."

However, as the night grows long, Will doesn't have the heart to tell them that they both are horrible singers.

-

Tonight, it's Sam's turn. Will deliver three knocks on his door before Sam swings it open. He looks exhausted, unamused and seconds away from running out of the house.  

"Good evening, Sam."

"Good evening, William. Before you come in, can I ask why my Progenies insist on having a karaoke competition tonight? On the night where they knew you were coming?"

Will begins to smile widely. Both he and Sam could hear a heated argument between Frederick and Bright Eyes from the living room.

"No, you can't sing Bambi, Bright Eyes. I won't allow it! You're going to break the windows!"

"Oh my god, would you let me live, Freddy!?"

"We've been over this; you can't sing! Wait. What are you - put down that microphone - "

Music starts to play at maximum volume, and then,

Sam closed his eyes and sighed deeply and in resignation when Bright Eyes began to sing louder to drown out Frederick's shrieking.

**“Feel it like memalla itteon mam wiro

seumyeodeun danbi

dabi piryo eopji

Because you’re my favourite..."

"I don't know what had happened - and I honestly don't want to know - but I hope you're ready to deal with these two tonight."  

"Why, Sam, where would I be anywhere but here?"

-

These are the English translations & link to the songs that Lovely and Bright Eyes were singing: 

*“From what I can see

People want the good life, but are not willing to sacrifice

From what I hear

Some are honest but others are full of excuses...”

**“Feel it like timely rain that seeps into my dry heart

No other answer is needed

Because you’re my favorite...”

[rosiehunterwolf]

... Morro

XD y'all really like your Morro, don't you? This is the second Morro request I've gotten (third technically, but there was an issue with the other one so it's not going to be filled) and the first one blew up XD, got way more notes than any fic I've posted before even though it was just a short little thing.

Since I already did a typical Morro fic, though, I decided to try something a little different with this one and tie it into the movie!verse. Hope you enjoy!

Spirit of the Deep

Summary: With Garmadon defeated for good, the ninja are eager to find another way to busy themselves. When Kai finds out about an ancient temple rumored to hold some sort of treasure, the others are immediately in.

Not all adventures are good, though. Before the ninja know it, they are in over their heads with a discovery they will never forget. (Movie!verse AU)

“It’s just through here!”

Kai’s voice rang through the temple, and Lloyd pushed his way through the vines, looking around carefully, his sword drawn. “Kai, not so loud. I don’t have a great feeling about this place.”

“Gee, I wonder why!” Jay squeaked from behind him. “I mean, look at this place!” He waved his hands at the crumbling stone walls, overgrown with weeds and vines. “Kai, what made you think it was a good idea to come here?”

“Oh, Jay, stop being such a coward. It’s going to be fun! There could be puzzles! Or booby traps! And most importantly, treasure!”

“You’re excited about booby traps?”

Lloyd stopped, holding up his flashlight to examine something on the wall. It looked to be an engraving of some sort, like a whirlwind, and below it, some sort of runes that Lloyd couldn’t read.

With a start, he realized the others were far ahead of him now, and he darted after them, desperate to keep up. “Guys! Don’t leave me alone like that! Are you forgetting I don’t have powers to protect myself like you guys do?”

“Fat lot of use powers will be when Kai and Jay inevitably trigger all the traps and the floor disappears beneath us,” Cole grumbled.

“Hey!” Kai yelped, at the same time Jay said, “Do you really think there are traps in here?”

Nya sighed. “If you’re so nervous, Jay, why did you even come with?”

“The rest of you guys were all going! I wasn’t going to be left behind!”

“There does not appear to be any signs of life,” Zane said. “I do not think anyone has been here for a long time.”

“What about traps? Can your sensors detect any traps?”

Zane frowned. “No. There seems to be some sort of interference with my signals.”

Kai suddenly stopped, the others bumping into him at the lack of warning.

“Kai?” Cole asked. “Why’d we stop?”

“There’s something in there.” Kai didn’t elaborate further, stepping over the rubble of the crumbled wall and disappearing from sight.

“Kai, wait!” Nya yelped, hurrying after him.

“So much for sticking together,” Lloyd grumbled as he followed the others into the room. “Seriously, one day this is going to-” he stopped short of walking right into Cole. “What is it?”

The earth ninja simply pointed, and Lloyd went slack.

In the middle of the room, there was a pedestal, intricate carvings in the side of it emitting a faint green glow. Atop it, a scroll was rolled up, the paper worn with age.

“What is that?” Nya breathed.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it one bit. Maybe we should just go-”

“Can it, Jay.” Cole grabbed the lightning ninja by the back of his shirt. “We didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

“What’s an old scroll doing all the way out here?” Lloyd asked. He reached for it, but Kai stopped him with a sharp yelp.

“Lloyd, don’t! I saw something like this in a movie once! This is a trap. When you take the scroll, the weight on the pressure plate will lift, and the whole place will come down around us! We need to find something that’s an equal weight to replace it with.”

Lloyd eyed the pedestal. “I don’t think…”

Nya sighed. “Kai, you’re confusing movies with reality.”

“I’m not! Trust me!”

“Fine.” Lloyd turned to the group. “Do we have anything?”

Cole pulled something out of his bag, holding it out to them. “I have a rock.”

They blinked at him. “Why do you have a rock?”

Cole shrugged. “Maybe I like rocks.”

Kai shook his head. “Okay, whatever. That should work.” Taking the rock from Cole, he positioned himself over the pedestal. He took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

In the blink of an eye, he had switched out the scroll for the rock. There was an ominous creaking sound, and they all held their breath, waiting. A few small stones clattered down from the roof, but other than that, nothing.

“We did it.” Unrolling the scroll, Kai’s relieved expression quickly changed to one of disappointment. “It’s just a bunch of symbols and gibberish.”

“Zane, do you think you can decipher it?” Lloyd asked.

Zane took the scroll from Kai. His brow furrowed. “This does not appear to match the dialect of any of the official Ninjago languages.”

“Lemme look at that.” Jay took the scroll from him, and Cole scowled at him.

“Be careful with it, nitwit! As far as we know, this is a priceless artifact!” As the others squabbled over the scroll, Lloyd approached the pedestal. Now that he was closer, he could see that there was an engraving on the top that he had missed before.

A funnel, sort of like-

A whirlwind. It was that same symbol he had seen near the entrance.

“Hey, guys,” he called. “I think this may be important, I saw it earlier-” Reaching out, he let his fingers lightly brush the engraving. Suddenly, there was a bright flare of light, and a gust of wind that seemed to come from nowhere sent Lloyd hurtling across the room. He groaned, rubbing his head.

“Lloyd!” Suddenly the others were beside him, Kai gripping his arm so tightly his knuckles turned white. Lloyd waved him off. “Kai, don’t worry, I’m fine-” he stopped, realizing that the fire ninja was no longer looking at him.

Lloyd followed his gaze and froze.

Hovering over the pedestal was a young man with long black hair, a green streak running through it. His clothes were ripped and disheveled, and he was examining himself in awe.

Most noteworthy, though, was the fact that Lloyd could see right through his body.

The man looked up suddenly, spearing them with his gaze. “Who are you? Where am I? What happened to me?”

“Oh. Oh my gosh.” Jay gripped Lloyd’s arm. “I think we just awakened a ghost! Oh my gosh, Lloyd, what have you done?”

“What have I done? Kai’s the one who brought us here! Blame him!”

“Me? You’re the one who touched the pedestal after I clearly told you not to!”

“Well, maybe if you guys had listened to me about the symbol, I wouldn’t have!”

“The scroll distracted us! Blame Zane, he’s the one who couldn’t read it!”

“Me? Nya was the one who-”

“Enough!” a voice bellowed across the room, and they all froze, turning to look at the ghost. “I can’t believe a bunch of kids just released me from the dead. I can’t believe I’m dead!”

“We’re not kids!” Nya snapped. “We’re ninja.”

The ghost looked at her. “Right.”

“We are!”

“Um,” Lloyd swallowed. “Mr. Ghost, sir-”

The ghost rolled his eyes. “It’s Morro.”

“Okay, Morro- we could get in a lot of trouble if our master found out what we did. So, um… maybe you could consider… going back? To wherever you came from?”

“Are you kidding?” Morro laughed. “I was trapped in there for years! I’m never going back!”

“Uh, I think you are.” Kai stepped forward, igniting his fist. “Get back in! Or else!”

Morro’s eyes widened. “An elemental master. I’ll be damned.”

“And there’s more where that came from!” Nya shot a jet of water at him, and Morro shrieked, darting out of the way.

“Watch it! Didn’t anyone ever teach you that water kills ghosts?”

“To have a ghost roaming the city would be unwise.” Zane stepped forward, ice crackling between his fingers. “We have you surrounded. Please go back inside your pedestal.”

“Two can play at that game,” he muttered. As Zane blasted him with ice, a powerful gust of wind shot from Morro’s hands, repelling the ice.

Lloyd felt his jaw go slack. Suddenly, the whirlwind symbols made a lot more sense.

“You’re an elemental master, too?” Cole whispered.

“Got a problem with that?”

The others turned to look at him. “What do we do, Lloyd?”

Lloyd glanced back and forth between his team and Morro. “I have a feeling we’re not going to get rid of him. And… Master never told us about an elemental master of wind. He should probably know about this.”

“Alright.” Nya turned towards Morro. “We’re going to take you to our master. Cooperate, or else.”

Morro sighed. “It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice, do I? Fine, let’s go.” And, in a flash, he was sliding into Lloyd’s body.

Lloyd screamed, falling to the floor as the chill overtook him, the feeling of a foreign presence taking over his brain-

“Okay, okay kid, I’ll stop!”

Lloyd looked up to see Morro had left his body and was hovering over him, the others just behind, their expressions ranging from horrified to furious glares at Morro.

“Lloyd, are you okay?” Kai reached out, helping him to his feet.

“Geez, kid, you act like you’ve never been possessed before.”

Lloyd blinked at him. “I haven’t.”

Morro snorted. “Look, it’s not going to hurt you. I’m a ghost- I’m weak to water. The city has water everywhere- dripping from the roofs, pooling in the streets- the protection of a human body makes it far less likely that I’ll die on the way there. Besides, a ghost floating around isn’t exactly subtle, and… I have a feeling that attention isn’t exactly something we want.”

Lloyd exhaled slowly. “Fine. Do it.”

This time, he was prepared as the coldness numbed his body, although it still wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

The others looked at him anxiously. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Lloyd?” Nya asked.

“It’s fine, it’ll be over soon. Now come on, let’s go find my uncle and get some answers.”

Let’s hope this guy actually knows what’s going on.

It took Lloyd a moment to realize the thoughts were Morro’s, but he found himself thinking the same thing. If Master Wu couldn’t fix this… he didn’t know what he was going to do.

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations, pt.2

The moment you’ve all been waiting for

Chapter Two: A Clarity

By the early evening, they had made it. Their journey was long and rough, leaving their muscles aching and in desperate need of rest. Ahead was a rather large shack nearly hidden by the towering elms all around it. Jean wasn’t really well versed in architecture, but he remembered one of Armin’s late night ramblings about an ancient style of housing that the cabin-like building resembled. It was a nice, homey looking place. Though it seemed long abandoned with ivy spreading up the walls and leaves camouflaging the roof and scattering the ground. To the east came a loud shushing sound, easily identifiable as a clogged up creek. Bingo.

“Yeah, tell me about it. We’re definitely going to have to stay the night here.” Marco chimed, trying to conceal the excitement that the sentiment brought.

They set the rest of their stuff by the rock-lined fire pit before making their way to the waterside. Water was building up rapidly, overflowing to the sides. Blocking it’s path was a massive oak tree, water only barely trickling over the top.

“Oh shit,” Jean began, rolling up his trousers and stepping in for a closer inspection.

Marco followed suit, yards of thick rope in his grasp. “Luckily it’s fairly hollow.” he called from behind Jean over the sound of water forcibly hitting the log. “The tree itself won’t be too heavy, it’s just stuck. Look there,” he gestured to the base of the tree trapped in the thick walls of the compacted mud. “It’s just trapped. If we attach rope to either side and pull at an angle, perhaps we can free it and get it to the surface.” he concluded with a small, self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of his little assessment. Marco always seemed to take joy in the simplest things, and Jean would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing.

Jean smiled devilishly. “Well done my brilliant friend. Let’s get this started.” Marco gave a dramatic salute before getting to work, tying the rope tightly to one end of the tree. Jean took a nearby stick to dig at the tough mud, aiming to loosen its grip on the tree. Marco noticed and began to do the same. Soon enough, they felt a thudded movement of the tree as water poured in from the sides.

“It’s coming loose!” Marco leapt. “Jean, I’ll drag the rope up my end, you meet me with your end, ok?”

Jean lifted the rope. “Ok, aye aye captain!” he yelped.

With just enough force from Marco’s end and Jean coming to meet him on the same edge of the creek, the water ferociously gushed in, releasing all the built up tension behind the log.

“Alright ready to flip it?!” Jean called out over the rushing water, and was met with a swift, “Yep, heave!” With one last bout of labor, they had gotten the bulky tree over the edge of the water, the makeshift dam no longer able to wreak havoc on their water supply.

And with that, Jean dramatically flung himself into the semi shallow water, the flowing tide steadying to a more constant trickle as it evened out. Marco starred in bafflement before howling with a poorly contained laughter.

“Jean! What on earth are you doing!” he cried between laughs. Jean had that devilish grin on his face again, and Marco knew exactly what was coming - he was next. “Jean, Jean no. Splash me and I will have no choice but to go in and defeat you myself.” he pleaded, threatened, warned, but despite his desperate cries and admonishing face, Jean got closer, arms in position to fire water directly at him.

“I’d like to see you try.” he said menacingly, before pushing a massive wave of water to the surface, full on drenching Marco on the spot.

Oh. This was war.

Marco hurdled into the deepest part of the creek, a battle cry leaving his lips as he shoved a tall wall of water onto the other. Managing to side step his first attack, Jean beamed as his eyebrows furrowed, face contorting to that of a jester.

“Jean, oh my God.” he chuckled, a standoff between the two men putting them at a pause. Jean bent low in the water, soaking his chest.

“Well? Gonna come and get me?” he taunted, smirking his most devilish smile. Marco eagerly leapt at him, arms wrapping around the bulkier man in a wrestle. The two danced in and out of the embrace with Jean finally gaining the upper hand, slamming Marco backwards into the water. Marco let out a small cry, soon to be muffled by the incoming water enveloping the pair.

The two quickly resurfaced, Jean looking more than pleased with his second consecutive win, and Marco coughing and hacking up stream water.

“Oh shit. Marco, I'm sorry, are you ok?”

“I'm-” Marco proceeded to nearly cough up an entire lung, obviously not having been prepared to be body-slammed mercilessly into a deepish body of water.

Jean sloshed his way over to his choking friend patting him on the back hard as if that would somehow help the situation.

“Jea-” cough “It’s fin-” couch “Just sto-”

“It’s not fine, I almost drowned you! Here um I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Jean said in a panic, rushing to stand behind Marco. Of course the Heimlich maneuver wouldn’t do a damned thing to help, but Jean didn’t need to know that, as for Marco’s master plan to work he needed to lull the other into his trap. Now directly behind him, Jean couldn’t see the absolutely devious grin on Marco’s face.

Jean hurriedly wrapped his arms around the other’s torso and before he could start the first compression Marco turned to face him at the speed of light. Confused and a bit startled, Jean froze in place, finally realizing the deep shit he was in once he saw Marco’s lopsided and evil grin.

Fuck. He was tricked. That cheeky little bastard.

“Wait, Marco-”

Before Jean could plead for his life, Marco's hands were already steadfast onto each of his shoulders.

“Now, accept your defeat!” Marco dramatically yelled as he forcefully dunked a yelping Jean under the rushing current. He let out a downright maniacal laugh, still reaching Jean’s ears over the rumbling sound of being dunked into the water.

He grabbed blindly in Marco’s direction, finding what felt to be his shirt and hoisting himself up with a gasp. The quick movement and general unsteadiness of the creek caused him to lose his balance, Marco catching him by the waist before he capsized again. Marco looked at Jean with a satisfied grin, and Jean could only sigh exasperatedly after finally catching his breath.

“Why do people think you're the nice one?”

“What? You started it. All I did was finish it.”

“You’re a demon.”

“Only for you~”

Jean promptly shook the remaining water from his hair, making damn sure it got on the smirking devil in front of him. Marco chuckled at his petty revenge, turning his head to avoid most of the incoming droplets, though not retreating his arms holding Jean upright.

Their impulsive little duel in the water had them both utterly soaked, Marco’s white shirt practically useless as it clung tight and sheer on his body. Of course, Jean had seen his bare arms and chest before but never this close up. Never with said arms still wrapped around his damn waist. They were really no further than a foot away from each other and Jean felt his face heating up as he looked everywhere but Marco’s face. His sun kissed shoulders were speckled with freckles that matched his cheeks and it made Jean want to know just how much of Marco was covered with them.

Whoa.

What?

Back the fuck up.

He did not just think about Marco’s naked body while being held this close in his arms and shit shit shit abort mission. NOW.

Jean rather abruptly shook himself out of Marco’s gentle hold, looking absolutely everywhere but at the man himself. His face was probably bright red with the embarrassing amount of heat radiating off it. He could practically feel the questioning look on Marco’s face but Jean was absolutely not going to let him voice it.

“Hey, you hungry? Let’s uh... get dressed and get some grub, shall we?”

Though it was technically a question, Jean didn’t wait for an answer. He was up and out of the water before Marco could so much as say “polo”.

Jean didn’t walk towards the shed so much as run to it.

The embarrassment and guilt ate at his psyche and all Jean could do to stop it was just pretend it wasn’t there. He wasn’t going to make things awkward for the rest of the night because he was… Imaging his best friend naked? In a not so dude-bro way? No. No, he hadn’t assured that yet. He was only thinking about his friend’s freckles… And there was nothing inherently inappropriate about that. Right. Jean was fine. Marco was fine. Everything was fine.

He decided to go with that explanation for now.

Jean dressed in the shed first, putting on what sort of resembled sleepwear before hanging his soaked clothes to dry over a tree limb. Marco did so next, coming out of the shed dressed in plain brown pants and a thick white tunic that hung low, exposing a part of his dotted chest. Jean tried not to notice, really, he did, but it was hard. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to it.

Seeing the sun begin to set, Marco took initiative and got a head start on a fire in the pit yards away from the shed. Jean dug through the bags to grab food, sheepishly bringing it over to Marco at the fire pit.

“It’s uh just wrapped rations, nothing special.” Jean explained, handing the sitting man a packet.

“Thanks Je-” Marco began before a scream escaped Jean’s lips,

“But I snuck BOOOOOOZE!” he exclaimed, holding out a bottle of hard liquor. Marco’s mouth flew open.

“You sneaky bastard!” Marco teased, causing Jean to stick his tongue out playfully.

“I know, you love it” Jean said, sitting cross legged not but a palms length away from Marco.

The sun quickly fell behind the mountainside, leaving a distant dim glow as the crackling fire took its place as the center source of light. The smell of wood burning and the trickling sound of fresh water reminded Jean of how much he missed simply just enjoying the outdoors.

“Yknow,” Marco began as Jean opened the bottle and took a swig. “I’ve never been camping before.” Jean raised his eyebrows in disbelief, handing him the bottle.

“This is news to me, you sure know how to navigate in the wilderness!” Marco chuckled, taking a swig.

“Guess you can teach me a thing or two more,” he winked. Jean stirred, his hands finding stability only when the bottle was passed back to him. Jeez Marco had no right looking so-

“Well then, a toast!” he exclaimed perhaps a bit too loudly.

Marco looked at him quizzically. “Hah, to what?” Us he wanted to say, almost feeling the word slip off his tongue before correcting it.

“To Marco’s first night outdoors!” He held the bottle up in triumph, taking a large swig before handing it back to Marco, who did the same. They laughed heartily at the sentiment before settling to let the booze make its effect on their minds and bodies.

The moon’s soft white luster shone down onto the pair, reflecting off the fracturing water of the now ever-flowing stream. Broken images of adjacent trees appeared as inky veins dancing upon the water’s surface, nearly as mesmerizing of a sight as were the blinking flames in front of them. For a short while, there was a tranquil sort of silence. The soft sounds of a forested night; a lullaby, as Jean and Marco simply sat there, existing together under the dull shine of the stars.

The crackling heat of the fire provided ample warmth and light, allowing Jean an inviting gaze toward his companion's calmed face, eyelids shut softly as he enjoyed the slight chilly breeze. Jean let his eyes scan down the expanse of Marco’s figure, stopping at his toned, freckle-peppered arms. For reasons he could not decipher, Marco’s freckles enveloped his mind. Unbeknownst to Jean, he reached out to touch them, tracing shapes and constellations into the dots adorning Marco’s arm.

Marco startled a bit at the sudden touch, though upon seeing Jean’s peaceful, zoned out state, made no turn to move. His heart stammered in his chest, the light tracing of Jean's thumb on his arm spreading chills throughout his entire body. His mind abandoned any rational thought as he watched, rather felt Jean’s pointer finger and thumb gingerly dance across his skin. It was such a gentle gesture, one Marco hadn’t seen Jean ever perform. As his feather-light touch ran ever so slightly higher, Marco couldn’t hold back a twitch, halting Jean in his place. What on earth was he doing? Jean yanked his hand back close to his chest and averted his gaze back to the trees, the creek, the shack, hell anything but Marco.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely audible over the steady whooshing of running water. For the second time that night Jean’s face felt hotter than hell itself.

“It’s okay,” Marco whispered back, looking over at his now abashed friend. “I… don’t mind.” he finished and Jean glanced up, dilated eyes looking up through his lashes, not knowing what that response meant.

“Listen, Jean, I-” Marco began, liquid courage pushing him almost as hard as Ymir’s words the previous night. Jean crossed his arms in front of his chest, uncomfortable and otherwise unmoving as he took in Marco’s increasingly anxious behavior. “Fuck it, I just- Gah.” he swore, bringing his hands to grab nervously at his reddening face. Jean shivered, though he doubted it was due to the chilling air. What was the matter? Was it him? Did he make him uncomfortable?

Assuming that was certainly the case, Jean tugged in his legs close to his chest, demeanor physically decreasing. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have.... Was weird. I-” he was silenced by Marco’s fingertips resting on his knee in an action of reassurance.

“I liked it.” he hurriedly quipped, before his eyes widened and his cheeks grew a more prominent crimson. Marco turned away and looked off into the fire, seeming to contemplate something, though his hand stayed placed atop his knee. If Jean was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified. Terrified of himself, of fucking everything up, of how nice it felt to be touched like this…

Despite being a self-proclaimed womanizer, Jean was often untouched, making the sensation of Marco’s fingers upon his knee amplified and probably more intimate than was intended. But still, he longed for more, so much more. His mind went foggy as he tried to decipher what this all meant, what this entire night had ment. His skin felt hot as he took a deep breath, looking at Marco with equal amounts of concern and desire.

The want to always be close by to him, the walls of confidence and arrogance that seemed to falter and collapse when with him, the unjustifiable jealousy towards Ymir who had only just became close-ish to him, his obsession with seeing him laugh, seeing him happy, seeing him prattle on about his childish feather collection and seeing those freckles and that damned smile: it was all leading towards the same answer, an answer Jean didn’t know he was ready to fully confront.

Marco was still facing the dwindling fire, a heavy look weighing his features down. Unsure of what to do, but knowing he ought to do something, he rested a hand atop Marcos. He turned away from the smoldering coals to look Jean in the eyes, features flashing a whole myriad of emotions Jean couldn’t even begin to decipher. The tension between them grew as they both stared at one another, neither of them knowing how to proceed.

As if God Herself had had enough of the two’s back and forth antics, a downpour of rain started to fall from the darkened sky. Feeling the icy drops of water on his skin, Marco instinctively let Jean go, making his way up and off the now dampening ground.

“Ah shit, looks like the storm followed us here.” Marco awkwardly blurted, the contrast of the casual line with the previously tense staredown like chalk against a blackboard, finally breaking the impenetrable silence. Marco turned to start towards the shed, though when Jean didn’t follow, he threw him a worried glance. Jean knew he had to go in - this type of rain only meant bad news to come and it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin another pair of clothes... But something was stopping him. He was nervous. Nervous of the fire in Marcos eyes yet realizing he wanted it more than anything.

Seeing Jean unmoving as rain drenched his body, Marco bit his lips nervously, swimming with his own uncertainties and nerves from it all.

“Jean…?” he re-approached calmly, voice cautious as if approaching some sort of wild animal. The air grew colder and wetter as the winds picked up, Jean’s mumbled response rendered inaudible as he shook in the frigid air. He slowly stood, still fixating on the ground as the two made their way inside.

…

It seemed like this untouchable silence was to follow them inside as well.

The two men stood face to face in that rustic styled living room, Marco leaning against the east most wall and Jean standing limp by the door, neither sure if they had the courage to initiate what they both so desperately wanted. Marco looked at him with practically every traceable emotion etched onto his features. Jean could feel his remaining walls starting to chip away, a long running crack threatening to crumble the blockade into an unidentifiable nothing. Fine. He knows what he’s got to do.

A second of contemplation later and finally, it crumbles.

Jean makes his way over to the other, wordlessly and with his brain running damn miles a minute. Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean continued to step towards the other, stopping just a footstep in front of him. He looked a bit startled, though not afraid. If anything, Jean would say Marco looked… hopeful? Relieved? He reached out, hand grazing Marco’s hair as he settled it onto the wall behind him, leaning closer still. Marco was essentially trapped between the wood wall flush against his back and Jean, enclosing arm, yet he still did not look uncomfortable.

He had already made it this far… It was too late to chicken out right? Last minute thoughts raced in Jean’s mind as Marco's eyes looked up into his from wherever they were set before. His gaze was intense, his eyes aflame with a fire Jean had never seen in the other before. Now he wasn’t necessarily great with feelings and general social awareness, but looking into those fire orbs Jean saw nothing that said ‘Stop’

And so Jean said ‘Fuck it’

Jean finally closed the remaining space between them, lips meeting lips and- oh. OH. Jean’s body ignited with a sense of overwhelming intensity and desperation, the long awaited action of this sending his mind into overdrive. He was kissing Marco. Marco was kissing him. Marco didn’t hesitate to cup his jaw, Jean leaning into the touch before grabbing onto his arm. His other hand slid down from the base of the wall to slink around his waist, pulling the goddamned beautiful man closer.

Marco took initiative in deepening the kiss, eliciting unexpected hum from Jean’s lips. He let his other hand fall to meet Marcos waist, wanting nothing more than to graze his heated skin underneath the damp cloth, though Jean pulled back for a second, allowing room for retaliation or, possibly, resentment.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

Marco nodded, fingers toying with the man's wet hair. “It’s more than okay.” he replied before Jean resumed his actions, lips meeting his with urgency. If it didn’t feel real at first, it sure as hell felt real now, and Jean was soaring.

It was sudden when Marco pulled back, hands moving to graze up and down Jean’s chest. Jean looked at him with nothing but fondness and ease, all his barriers down for him and him alone in this moment. Marco looked in his arms, skin burning with heat and eyes flaring with longing.

“Well…” Marco chuckled nervously, and Jean grinned. “This is unexpected,” Marco finished his sentence in a hush whisper.

Jean bit his tongue, more worried about this reaction than he had expected. “In a… good way?” he asked as anxiety crept its way into his slightly shaking hands. Marco put his forehead to his, getting a better look into his eyes. “You tell me,” he taunted.

Jean’s features took a turn for the serious, as he softly rocked his forehead against Marco’s. “Marco…” he began, the tone of his voice causing the said man to tremble slightly. “You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this... with you.” As Marco peered through the darkened wet strands of Jean’s hair, he saw his eyes were glistening. Tears. Jean was crying. Unable to spit even a syllable out in return, Marco simply brushed his lips against his in a kiss. This time, it was Jean who returned the action with haste. Marco cupped his cheeks and felt their fresh tears mixed with warm flesh as they kissed once again, this time, with mutual cognizance.

Jean began laughing between kisses, almost unable to comprehend what was happening. He hadn’t realized how damaging it had been trying to ignore his feelings for Marco, nor how euphoric it would feel to finally acknowledge them. Marco pushed him back impishly and Jean caught his near-fall before grabbing Marco’s hand and holding it in his own.

“Is this real…?” Marco asked mindlessly, focusing entirely on their hands entangling as Jean rubbed his thumb over his forefinger.

“It better fucking be,” Jean half-joked. “'Cus if it’s a dream, please don’t ever wake me up” he concluded, studying Marco’s lightly speckled skin in the little light the shack provided.

“Hug me, please” Marco hushed, embarrassed at the question despite having kissed the man already. Jean flushed, the demand sending chills down his spine and making something in the pit of his stomach flip. Without a word, Jean snaked his arms around him, Marco hesitantly leaning his head on Jean’s broad shoulder. It was an apprehensive embrace at first, as if they still were somewhat afraid this was some kind of prank. He held him, too, and Marco’s hands were tangled around his neck. After a moment of comforting solace, it seemed Marco had finally realized that yes, this was in fact real. “Thank you.” he muffled into the crook of his neck.

Jean smiled, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. “No, thank you,” he said.

“Why?” Marco chuckled. Jean stroked his back, stepping somehow even closer in the embrace.

“Because you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” he worded earnestly. Marco giggled cutely and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, nearly eliciting an embarrassing gasp from Jean.

“Says Jean fucking Kirstein.” he emphasized, kissing his neck again. Jean flushed furiously. He was seriously going to die.

“Mhph- don’t tease me, Bodt” he bit, forcing Marco’s head up as he collided with his lips again. Marco’s eyes widened as their bodies hit the wall, hands once more exploring and teasing through clothes.

Jean hiked his hands up Marco’s shirt, feeling his hot torso beneath as he thumbed the outline of his toned chest. Marco rutted against him, his hands moving to his hips in an attempt to bring him closer. “Ah-“ Jean hitched, his breath wavering as their clothed bodies rubbed against each other. Kisses deepened and tongues grazed curiously. All that could be heard in the little shack made for two were breathy moans and wanton grasps as the night took a physically fervent direction.

__________

Jean woke up in a daze, last night barely able to find its way back into his mind as his eyesight adjusted to the morning light. He shifted slightly before noticing Marco lying naked on his chest, hand snaked behind his head.

A smile easily spread over his tired face as the shining sun was proof the evening they shared wasn’t a dream or another figment of his imagination. It was real, and he treasured the feeling of Marco’s soft skin touching his. Careful to not wake him, he shyly traced false patterns on his speckled shoulder, elated at the prospect that he could just do that now.

A slight gust of cool wind slithered under the door and into the room, making Marco shiver slightly in his sleep. Jean pulled the fleece blanket to better cover the both of them as he continued to swipe his fingers across his skin. But it was too late, as Marco had already opened his pretty brown eyes.

Not being near awake enough to communicate, he entangled himself with Jean’s body as he reveled in the feeling of his skin being touched. Jean took this as full confidence there was no regret concerning what had happened and he kissed his forehead, hand ever so softly tickling his back.

Marco hummed, smiling into his touch as he slowly eased awake. He moved his head further into Jean’s chest, peppering him with small kisses as both of their quickening heart beats thumped against one another. Jean’s comforting touch faltered slightly, not being able to focus on much of anything other than the soft lips against his chest. Noticing this, Marco lifted his head up to be eye-level with him.

“Hi,” he grumbled cutely, voice deep and ridden with sleep.

“Hi,” Jean grumbled back, reaching slightly to place a quick kiss on Marco’s nose. They admired each other's sweat-lined skin before Jean spoke up again. “So,” he gulped, and Marco let out a low, grovely chuckle.

“We fucked and now you can barely look me in the eyes?” Jean went bright red. Hearing Marco’s joking tone and following chuckle didn’t lessen the effect this sentence had on him.

“I- sorry. Just never-” he began, and Marco placed his fingers on the man's chin.

“Me neither.” he confirmed, letting out a shaky breath.

Jean swung his thigh over Marco’s in a desperate attempt to get even closer - a clear sign to Marco that he was content with their situation. He snuggled closer, the blanket enveloping the both of them from the cool winds.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

Marco’s sun-kissed cheeks went pink, those words being uttered to him by Jean only ever being a part of his late night fantasies.

“Of course,” he managed, and Jean obliged, leathery lips kissing him in a delicate action of reverence.

“Jean,” Marco began, breaking the kiss. “Before anything… y'know. I have to know your feelings on, this, I guess. I’m not- I can’t just leave until I have absolute clarification. Listen, if this was just a one-off, I understand, but-”

Marco was silenced by Jean using his thigh to maneuver himself on top, resting atop the man before answering his plea. “I don’t want this to be a one-off, Marco. Believe me, last night was a blast, but you need to understand it’s you that has me smitten - you who has me wanting to stay in this stupid shack forever. And for some goddamn reason, you fuckin like me just as much as I like you.” he answered wholeheartedly. Marco opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Jean continued on. “Fuck, what I’m trying to say is it wasn’t the alcohol or anything that led to last night. Marco, I kissed you because for a long time now, I knew I didn’t want to be friends. And… being alone with you it just - it opened that up for me and-”

His words caught in his throat as Marco used his same technique to hoister himself on top. He smiled from ear to ear, a sight Jean couldn’t get enough of. “If at any point in time you would’ve made a move, I’d’ve been yours. That talk I had with Ymir? It was about you. Jean, if you’re serious, I need a definitive-”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase: fuck yes”

Marco could’ve squealed, elation running through his veins as he watched Jean’s equally giddy reaction. He adored Jean, his bluntness, sarcasm, and tender heart. Not everyone knew of Jean’s warm heart, they hadn’t given the jock the chance. But Marco did, and to Jean, that’s all that mattered. They kissed for the thousandth time before laying back down in a fervent embrace, both knowing they had to get up and head back to camp soon but neither making the move to do so.

Eventually, and begrudgingly, they got up. A little cleanup and packing was done before they got fully dressed, ready to make the trip back. “We still have several hours,” Marco pointed out as he slipped his backpack on.

Jean grinned. “Yeah?”

Marco nodded. “We could… if you wanted to, hold hands?” he finished. Jean blushed despite how juvenile it may have seemed as he took Marco’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze of assurance.

“You never have to ask to hold my hand,” he chuckled.

A few hours had passed as the overcast sky seemed somehow even brighter than usual, their spirits beyond content with themselves and the world around them. Jean looked at Marco as their hands stuck like glue, neither daring to let go. Overwhelmed with adoration of the man next to him, Jean snaked his hand behind his waist, pulling him close. Marco stopped out of surprise, returning the action and turning his head to kiss him.

“Fuck you,” he snipped as he smiled. Jean played with his hair.

“You already did.” he quipped, causing Marco’s face to glow a bright red.

“I- ah-” he stammered as Jean kissed him again.

“I don’t ever want to go back,” Jean whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder as they slowly began to pick up the pace again. Marco rubbed Jean’s back lovingly as they stayed conjoined at the hip.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll find time to sneak around. Especially at night”. Jean closed his eyes for a moment, imagining several nights of being close to him before waking up the next day to have it be their own little secret. That was okay by him, and by Marco too.

It was nearly nightfall when the pair had finally made it back, the sleeping quarters seen just ahead in the distance, lit by the torches lining the paths. They sighed, letting go of each other as they attempted to keep some semblance of normality of who they were before.

A hacking noise was heard, and Marco whipped his head to the side to see Ymir chopping wood. “Ymir?! What are you doing out so late?” Marco gasped. Ymir got up, striding toward them as she spoke. “Dumbasses back there are bickering. I’d rather be out here in order to avoid a headache.” she said flatly. Jean could only nod, as he had no idea what to say in reply.

“Fair enough,” Marco said nervously, watching as she crept closer to Jean. She pulled down the collar of his shirt and smirked.

“Ah Marco, it seems you finally learned how to ride horses.” she quipped. Jean nearly died right there on the campground and Marco let a hand shoot up to cover his mouth in surprise.

“Ymir!” he exclaimed before laughing out of embarrassment and defeat. She cackled before resting an arm on his shoulder, eyeing Jean’s absolutely horrified expression. “I’m proud of you, really. It was about time something was done about you two.”

Jean straightened out, a hand covering half of his face.”You… oh shit. You won't-”

“Tell anyone?” She finished, cutting through the bullshit. “No, ‘course not. That’s up to the two of you.” she smiled, calming the boys down.

Marco looked at her with a gentle gratitude. “Ymir, thank you. But… How do we keep this from everyone else? I just- I’m not ready. Jean isn’t ready.” he suggested before looking to Jean who was nodding furiously in confirmation. Ymir put her hand to her chin in momentary contemplation.

“Look, I’m not telling you all my secrets. But I can give a few. For now though I’ll just say this: if Christa and I can get away with it, so can you two knuckleheads.”

Jean’s eyes widened. So many bombshells in one evening. Ymir and Christa? Together? Thinking of it now, he wasn’t that surprised, but the sudden admittance of it caught him off guard. “Wow” is all he could muster before Marco tenderly put his head on his shoulder, making his face flush a light pink.

Seeing this, Ymir couldn’t help but grin. They were cute, and she unfortunately had to concede to that. “Well, I’m turning in for the night-” she began as Marco brought her in for a hug, interrupting her goodbyes.

“Thank you Ymir, really” he whispered. She patted his back. “Anytime man.” she concluded before breaking the hug to turn back. “Sleep tight!” she winked, and Marco looked back at a flushing Jean.

“How do you feel?” he questioned, unable to read Jean’s expression.

He ruffled Marco’s hair. “Good,” he said. “Really good”. He cupped Marco’s cheek and leaned in to meet his forehead. They breathed in the warmth of each other before pulling back, knowing they had to actually go back this time. “Meet me in my room, twenty minutes.” Jean hushed, and Marco bit his cheek.

“Fifteen” he quipped, jogging off to report their mission.

“Deal.”

[super-predictable98]

The Girl From Night Raven | Twisted Wonderland AU

Chapter 6: I Just Can't Wait to Be Prince

Warning: strong language, mention of death and trauma, angst

(The Girl From Night Raven Masterlist)

It all started when Dire Crowley decided that entering the drama club would give students extra credits to pass the subjects they were failing. They were about a month and a half away from the winter break and they were expected to present a full play by then while also studying for their final exams.

"But sir! They don't even like theatre, they will ruin the play!" Vil protested as the new batch of students including Ilse, Ruggie, Ace, Deuce, Kalim, Floyd, and Leona joined the first rehearsal.

"Don't worry, Roi du Poison," Rook tried to cheer his friend up. "Maybe we can discover some great talents! Beautiful voices... Voices that can help us at the VDC when we're back from winter break."

"I thought it would be the perfect idea to help motivate the students and help with their report cards," Mr. Crowley smiled, pleased with his decision. "I could let you fail, but I didn't, for I am gracious."

"What are we doing, Vil?" Ilse asked.

"Rapunzel."

"And that's goodbye," she turned around trying to leave.

"Nooo" almost all the boys exclaimed at the same time, except for Leona, of course he couldn't care less if she left. He was only there to make up for all his absences.

"Please, Mademoiselle Sucre D'orge! You will look so gorgeous on stage, pure beauté!" Rook held her hand.

"I can't, this hits too close to home, every single woman in my family... They are all the same and now I'm trying to be different, but I know what I'll be cast as, look at me!" Ilse's eyes filled with tears. "And I don't wanna do it, I don't wanna be like them. I don't even need the extra credit, I just wanted to get an A+."

"Tater tot, you're the only person here who I believe has any sort of talent, please stay," Vil rolled his eyes. "I promise you won't be cast as Mother Gothel."

"How can you promise that?"

"Because I'm the one casting and I wanna be Mother Gothel..."

"You're gonna be Mother Gothel? Okay, that might be more entertaining than I thought," Leona mocked.

"What about it? Back in the ancient days, men played all the roles, there's nothing wrong with that!"

"But, uh, if you don't mind me asking, Ilse," Kalim mumbled, insecure of her reaction. "Is Mother Gothel real? Was she really like that?"

"She still is, she's about 300 years old and that bitch doesn't die!" Ilse groaned. "She's so much worse than in the story and my mom is just like her, bet they will be thrilled to watch the play..."

"Wait a second, I thought she died after Rapunzel cut her own hair and all that," Ruggie mused.

"Oh, I wish," she shed her blazer and put her hair up, getting ready for whatever she would have to do next.

"Chop-chop, potatoes, we need to warm up before we start! Because we are in such a hurry, the auditions will have to be quick, one verse of a song and three lines of dialogue, it should be enough, I'm very good at identifying talent," Vil stood in front of the mirror. "Now follow my lead."

After the auditions happened it only took a few hours of deliberation between Rook and Vil. Before the exhausted students could go back to their dorms, the cast list was stuck to the wall with an arrow. holding it in place.

"I'm done, I can barely move," Ilse groaned.

"Starfish, come here! You won't believe it!" Floyd called.

"What?" she made her way through the crowd. "Ilse Gothel, Ilse Gothel... RAPUNZEL? I'm gonna play Rapunzel?"

"Isn't that amazing?" Kalim exclaimed.

"Wait a second, who's my prince?" she went back to the list hoping to find Kalim, Ace, Deuce, or Floyd's name there, but of course she couldn't be so lucky. "Leona Kingscholar... I'm gonna go back to my tower and jump, bye!"

"Wow, look at that! Seems like we're scene partners, huh?" Leona smirked. "We'll get to kiss and everything, bet it's your dream come true."

"No, you disgusting... Cat!"

"I'm Flynn's understudy," Kalim grinned. He was too pure to ever do anything bad to get the part, but he would be lying if he said he didn't wanna do it at least once.

"Cool! I'm Maximus," Ace celebrated.

"Um, we're Maximus, you mean, Crab," Floyd giggled.

"Yay, you're a horse..." Ruggie teased.

"Shut up! You're a stupid iguana!"

"Not iguana, chameleon," Ruggie corrected. "And I'm very happy with it!"

"I play Queen Arianna! That's so exciting!" Rook clapped.

"Wait, I'm King Frederic, does that mean...?" Deuce grimaced in terror, after the whole PPS thing, the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with that weirdo.

"We're married!" he laughed.

"Oh my..." Deuce sighed, accepting his fate.

"Vil, you hate Leona as much as I do, why did you cast him as the male lead?" Ilse marched across the room to ask.

"As much as I dislike him, I'm thinking about the play, I can't let my feelings get in the way," he explained, locking arms with her on the way out. "It was a very difficult choice between him and Kalim, but Kalim is a little... Childish, he's too young, his voice a bit too high. And I hate to say this, but Leona is talented."

"This is gonna be torture."

"I know, but it's part of your job as an actress."

"I'm not getting paid."

"You're getting paid in extra credit. Tater tot... remember what the mirror told you right before sorting you into Ignihyde?"

"Don't be too proud."

"Exactly, that's the perfect moment to take the advice. The mirror is never wrong."

"You are telling me not to be too proud? Vil Schoenheit? That's rich... But don't worry, I'll do it, but only because I don't want Leona to kill Rook if he takes my place."

——————————————————

When the first day of rehearsals finally came, after a night of studying for finals and hearing Idia curse at his teammates, Ilse dragged herself to the Pomefiore ballroom.

"Aren't you excited? We're finally gonna start!" Kalim sat by her with his usual cheerful smile. "And if I'm lucky, I'll get to be your prince!"

"And if I'm not I'll have to kiss Leona," she leaned against him with a frown. She's been thinking about the second thing the mirror said during the ceremony... Don't let your ambition get in the way.

Maybe joining the play to get an A was a huge mistake. She was being too ambitious and this was just the Great Seven punishing her.

"Come on, it's not that bad, we're gonna have fun!"

"Allez, cherie, come here," Rook asked, waving his hand at her. "Put your hair up, let me get your wig on."

"It's our first day, is that really necessary?" she walked over to his prop table.

"This is a lot of hair, you need to get used to it, like you've been living with it your whole life. It can't look heavy, it has to be effortless."

Regretting almost every single one of her life decisions, Ilse relented, taming her wild curls in a bun and letting him put her wig on. It was extremely long and it must've been at least two or three pounds of blonde hair.

"You look so beautiful! Oh my, you are the perfect Rapunzel!" he stood by her in front of the mirror.

"Not really my type," Leona murmured inaudibly. "I like your mane."

"Well well, potatoes! I hope you are all ready to start! Today we are going through all the solos. Rapunzel, When Will My Life Begin, you're up," Vil pointed at the center of the room covered in white Xs made with tape.

Of course it being the first time they rehearsed, it was far from perfect, but he was pleased with the performances, at least they weren't totally hopeless like he thought... Especially Ilse. She seemed happy, almost like she always wanted to play Rapunzel.

That was until her face completely transformed as Mother Knows Best started. It was evident to anyone watching how uncomfortable she was even though she tried to hide and just power through it.

"Rook... Wouldn't it be better to have a little break? I think Ilse is crying a little," Kalim whispered.

"That's acting, Roi d'Or, just acting! Isn't she magnifique?"

"Mother understands, mother's here to help you. All I have is one request..." Vil sang, standing by Ilse. "Rapunzel?"

"Yes?" Ilse responded, her voice wavering slightly.

"Don't ever ask to leave this tower again."

"Yes, Mother."

"I love you very much, dear," his tone was condescending, exactly like her grandma's and her mom's.

"I love you more," tears gathered in her eyes.

"I love you most... Don't forget it, you'll regret it. Mother knows best!"

"I can't do this," she ran out of the room without another word.

"Wow, was my acting that good?" Vil was partially worried about her, but also kinda flattered.

"No, idiot, she's just fucking traumatized," Leona grumbled.

"Kingscholar, go get her," he pointed at the door.

"What? Why me?"

"I can go!" Floyd, Ace, and Klaim said almost at the same time.

"No, it's a prince's job to save the princess so that's what you're gonna do! Go ahead, it's bonding opportunity, create more chemistry on stage, just go," Vil waved him off.

With the biggest scowl on his face, Leona made his way out of the ballroom and used his sensitive ears to follow the faint sounds of sobbing coming from one of the bathrooms. He was already over that whole situation, if he didn't need the extra credit so much, he would just leave, but...

"Ilse?"

"What do you want?" her voice came through the door.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I fucking look okay? No, I'm not! I'm quitting."

"Ilse, we need you to continue, you're literally the main character and I really don't wanna play opposites with Rook..."

"Go away, I'm not feeling well and you're the last person I wanna see right now! I thought I could handle it, but it's too hard, they left all this resentment in my heart. I thought I was finally free when I left the tower but I'm not... Why am I telling you this? You don't care."

"Fuck..." he pressed his back to the door with a huff. "I'll tell you something, but if you say a word to anyone, I'll bite your pretty little head off, understood?"

"Huh?"

"When I was seven, back in elementary school, there was a production of The Lion King. My parents made us participate, Farena and I."

"What?"

"I know how you feel, I played young Simba, he played Scar. Even back then, I understood the irony of that situation, he was playing the King of Beasts fighting for his throne when we all knew he'd never have to fight for it. It hurt to watch, it hurt to think that my brother was getting all the praise just for being older. That's when I got my scar, it was an accident during the opening night, but don't tell anyone! They think it's a different story."

"You... Played Simba?"

"Yeah, okay? I did! I just can't wait to be king and all that bullshit!" he growled.

"I can't imagine you as Simba," she giggled. "When your parents come to watch us, I'll have to ask for pictures."

"Oh, so you're doing the show!"

"Maybe... If you sing I Just Can't Wait to Be King, I will," Ilse smiled.

"No way!" Leona shook his head.

"Well, then I guess you gotta get ready to be very intimate with Rook... Roi du Léon."

"One verse! And you play Zazu!"

"That's fine by me," she opened the door just a tiny bit to watch him.

"I'm gonna be a mighty king, so enemies beware," he started, rolling his eyes with zero enthusiasm.

"Well I've never seen a king of beasts with quite so little hair," Ilse continued, running her fingers through his mane.

"I'm gonna be the main event like no king was before. I'm brushing up on looking down, I'm working on my roar," Leona continued, with a face that would make anyone sure he would rather be doing anything else.

"Thus far a rather uninspiring thing," she teased.

"Oh, I just can't wait to be king!" he sang surprisingly well. "Happy now?"

"You have no idea..."

"Come on, let's get back there before Vil has a heart attack or something," Leona offered his hand. "Actually, that might be good."

"Stop it," she laughed. "Can you roar? Like an actual roar?"

"Of course I can, stupid question."

"Can I see?"

"I would, but you'd just be too scared, I'm quite intimating."

"Such an idiot... Come on, give me a roar!"

"Why do you even want it?"

"I just wanna see it, cause I don't believe you can do it. Come on, when I asked Mal to breathe fire for me, he did it!"

Leona turned to her agape, how impudent could someone be? Questioning his abilities like that? But at the same time... He didn't wanna lose to Malleus, he felt a weird excitement having her challenge him in that way. That sweet feeling you get when you know you're about to win a bet.

He smirked and tossed his mane to the side before locking eyes with her and letting out a mighty roar. The entire dorm must've heard it, because several squeals and screams followed, which only made him even prouder of his thunderous power. He might not be the king of beasts back home, but he definitely was the king in that school.

The look on Ilse's face was his favorite part. She was surprised, of course, but also amazed. She wasn't scared in the slightest, her eyes were sparkling in awe and she was... Blushing? Why was she blushing?

"For the Great Seven's sake! What in this side of the mirror are you doing?" Vil scolded, coming out of the ballroom to drag his leads back inside. "This isn't a jungle! If you keep acting like a savage, I'll kick you out and you can say goodbye to your extra credit, Kingscholar! So undignified..."

"Hey! Don't blame me, she was the one begging for it," Leona chuckled. "Literally."

"Are you okay, Mademoiselle Sucre D'orge?" Rook ran to check on her. "You seem a bit flustered. Was Roi du Poison's performance too overwhelming for you?"

"I was so worried, have you been crying?" Kalim took one of her hands.

"Of course she has, it must hurt to be reminded of something she doesn't like," Floyd took her other hand and Leona rolled his eyes with a huff.

Bet they couldn't make her smile the way I did. They don't have tricks and know her weaknesses like I do!

Wait, what was he thinking? Why did he want to impress Ilse anyway? She's an annoying idiot who is always flirting around with everyone, a stupid unimportant idiot... Who gave him her steak when Ruggie got to the cafeteria late, and saved him when he went into overblot, and watched him sleep after, and made the headmaster let them back in the tournament, and brought him chicken wings when he got hurt, and took care of Cheka when he was being especially irritating.

What was this weird feeling? Like someone was twisting his insides every time one of those idiots tried to win her over? No, it couldn't be. She has been and always will be an idiot. An idiot he liked to have around, but still.

"Hey, Leona-san? Are you there?" Ruggie snapped his fingers in front of the dorm leader's face.

"Yes, asshole, I'm fucking here. Let's move on, yeah?"

Tag list: @elliethesuperfruitlover

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary:  Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

                                                                         ******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

[hopeaterart]

PMTOK HORROR AU: INTRO

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO! Nearly four thousand words! (I’m trying to get back into writing, so if you guys want to see another part of the games translated into the Horror AU, send me an ask!)

The circle was completed.

The Craftsman took a deep breath, raising up and putting the vial of Blue Paint on his nightstand. The blue lines were glowing slightly on his floor, the circle just big enough for one person.

Good enough for him, it was an emergency anyway. The Sailor was already too late by a few days. He walked to it’s middle, bit his thumb, and let the blood drip upon the lines. They glowed brighter.  “Flipflopside.” He muttered, and his world was engulfed in blue.

When colors came back to him, he was at the gate of the town. He entered town, and sighed as he recognized the decorations all around. Had circumstances been better, this festival would’ve been Olly’s first exposure to the outside world.

But Olly having disappeared a week ago, along with some very important supplies, was the reason the Craftsman had scrambled to gather and create the necessary blue paint to teleport.

He stopped at the town square. Where... was everyone? He frowned at all the decorations strewn around. It was like an hurricane had gone through town. He groaned in exasperation, before continuing his way toward the Lady’s Castle. If the town was having problems, then she would be too busy to offer help with finding his son.

He... honestly doubted anyone would’ve been generous enough to help in the first place, which is why he had prepared arguments about why his worry over his son going missing wasn’t just a parent thing (which it wasn’t, but it was the main reason, and they didn’t need to know that), but rumors had it that the current human lord- or in this case, lady- was a generous and kind one.

Yeah, if she was anything like her uncle, then he wasn’t holding onto hope.

He finally arrived to it’s front door, knocking once. He was expecting to have to knock more, and then for someone to come open the door. Instead, the door grinded open, having obviously been left as such. He hummed in concern, looking around, before entering, on-guard.

And just as he entered, the door slammed behind him, making him jump. He hurriedly turned back toward it, trying to open it again in vain. Door locked. He groaned in exasperation. He was getting rusty.

He slowly walked through the corridor, his footsteps echoing around him as he looked around. The place was strangely... dark and silent. For some reason, he felt like he was the only one there. He reached the end of the corridor, opening another door (this one properly closed, but not locked) and arrived at what he could only assume was the lobby.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and out came the Lady. Long blonde hair, dark skin, and pink eyes... yep, no doubt, it was her, even if there was something... off about her that he wasn’t sure he could place. He had never formally met her, after all.

“How good... to see you...” She said in a discordant voice, and that immediately squashed any doubts the Craftsman had about this being her normal self. There was, at least, hypnosis involved.

“Answer me this... shouldn’t this miserable kingdom be unfolded... and be refolded unto glory?...” He shook his head, a hand reaching into his apron to get his paper scoring tool, the sharper end gleaming like a shiv. Better safe then sorry.

“And what of those... humans?” The venom dripping from her voice surprised him, even if he wasn’t a fan of other humans himself. “Shouldn’t they be silenced forever?” Oh, he didn’t like were this was going. Whoever was pulling the strings on her, they were the kind of scum that would make even the former Count recoil in horror.

“... I see... Last question.” She started as he grind his teeth together. “Will you crease yourself and be reborn, like me-”

“Lady of humans,” He started as he took a step forward. She didn’t react at that, freezing and keeping lifeless pink eyes on him. “You’re not in your right mind right now. Please, let me try to undo whatever magic is making you act like this-”

“Wrong answer.” She started, and the Craftsman realized he had made a mistake. “Right answer. It matters not.” She said, tilting her head in a stilted manner that exposed her shoulder and the thick silver lines on it. No doubt, powerful binding magic was at work. “Your replies are all paper thin.”

The floor suddenly opened under him, a discordant goodbye accompanying the fall. And then his world was wrapped in pain and darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a cold ground, and five faces -or at least what he assumed where faces, what’s with the loss of his glasses- were looking down on him. “Oh, he’s waking up, he’s waking up!” One of them said, making the four others back up as he sat up.

He blinked, blurry. “Have any of you seen my glasses?” He asked. “They’re round with black frames. Their lenses are thick, and they have a retainer with purple and yellow beads.” The retainer was especially important to him, a reminder of the only relationship he remembered fondly. “If any of you are well-versed in magic, they’re also imbued with some pretty powerful protection spells.”

“Is that why they didn’t break?” Someone asked, handing him an object that shone under the dingy dungeons light.

He nodded, taking them in hand on pushing them up his nose. “Yes, thank you.” He then blinked as he regained vision, and looked around. All of those people... “You’re all monsters?”

One of them flinched at that, while another took a defensive stance. “Is that a problem, old man?”

“No, of course not.” He answered, bringing his knees to his chest. “If anything, I sympathize more with monsters than humans. We’re terrible.”

One of the monsters, who looked pretty young, came nearer. “So you don’t hate us?”

The Craftsman chuckled, patting the little plant monster’s head. “When you get my age, you don’t have much energy left for hating everything in sight. So I keep it for people who are truly deserving.” Like the chucklefuck who broke into his home, kidnapped Olly, stole most of his magical supplies and half of his Origami ones.

Suddenly, the door opened. More monsters, but those ones moving just as stiffly as the Lady earlier, entered. “Come with us...” The one standing at the front, who wore a ancient demon mask, ordered. The Craftsman got up, groaning as some of his bones popped, as everyone exited the room. He was about to follow them, when the masked monster held a hand up. Restrained fury was radiating off of the monster. “Not you.”

And just like that, he was alone again. He sighed, sitting down on the ground. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? The wall over there seemed pretty brittle...

He got up the inspect it, gently dragging his palm across it. Hello? A little voice suddenly asked, making him jump back in surprise. Oh no, please don’t leave! It said again. Was it coming... from the wall? 

He caressed the wall again, frowning. “Are you... trapped inside?” He asked, feeling dimensional magic weaved into the wall.

Oh, yes I am! The voice of the young girl started again. I’m in a very strange place, like I’m trapped in-between dimensions!

“You will be delighted to hear to your situation is nowhere that severe, then.” He snarked. “You’re merely the victim of a dimensional spell. Nothing that can’t be broken.”

Really!? The voice exclaimed, it’s (her?) happiness evident. I think there’s some Paint nearby, could you use it to draw a magic circle? I can use my own magic for the rest. He hummed non-committedly as he got up, heading for the boxes pilled in a corner.

After a strong enough push, they toppled, their content spilling. Mostly empty vials of Paint, beside one that seemed to hold enough for one circle. But more importantly, a crack in the wall that was big enough for him to slip through if he tried was there. But just as he was about to leave, the little voice made itself known again. You... you’re not leaving, are you? She asked in a tearful tone.

He stayed frozen for a moment, before groaning in exasperation and turning back toward the wall. He quickly made his way there, emptying the vial over his fingers and drawing a circle around himself. It then started glowing a golden color, the image of a hand appearing within it. “Shapeshifting magic, uh?”��He picked at the wound on his finger, opening it again and letting blood drip once more.

The Craftsman watched, bewildered, as his arms flattened and folded like accordions. He then gathered himself, and ripped the wall away, shaking his arm back to normal as whoever was trapped in the wall detached herself. “Whoo! I’m finally free from the wall!” She exclaimed cheerfully as the Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief. Blonde hair, golden hair, the hat with two points... and those eyes... “Hi, my name’s Olivia! You-”

“I know who you are, girl.” The Craftsman interrupted, bringing a hand up. “I’m the one who designed you.” That seemed to shock her, her hat flying of her head as her eyes sifted sizes.

“What!?”

“And I must admit, whoever folded you did an excellent job. Almost makes me jealous.” He wasn’t jealous, but fucking furious, but not at her, and that wasn’t important right now.

“But- you- I-”

“Look, for now, let’s focus on getting out of here before those guys come back, alright?” He proposed, grabbing Olivia’s small hand and squeezing them gently. She nodded, an adorably determined pout on her face as they went through the secret passage. “Stay behind me, don’t make a noise, and above all else, do not tell anyone your name, got it?”

Olivia nodded, following the Craftsman as they slipped through the crack. They quickly walked out of the cell, both of their eyes shifting around to make sure no one was coming. The corridor seemed closed off, magic keeping the dungeon isolated from the rest of the castle.

“Unhand me!” As they heard a voice come from the other room, they quickly hid amongst the boxes near said room. The Craftsman flushed himself against the wall near a small crack, chuckling to himself as Olivia imitated him, before peering inside

The sight of the notorious Count folded into what was basically a wet floor sign would’ve made the Craftsman laugh if it wasn’t for the implications behind the type of magic needed to restrain him. There was also the fact that he was being held up by multiple clothespin, and the shadows. Two of the deformed monsters were holding up another above their head, the creature obviously struggling. 

And then it stopped moving, almost flattened as it was folded, powerful magic shifting and contorting it’s body. And then it was brought to a truly humongous shadow, a beast that opened it’s mouth with a mechanical sound. The outline of two sharp fangs was visible as the poor soul was placed within it’s mouth. And then...

KA-CHICK

The Craftsman looked away just as the beast closed it’s mouth, a metallic sound similar to the one of a stapler stapling sounding out. Well, at least he knew where that binding magic came from now, and where one of his supplies went. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to enchant a stapler!?

Poor Olivia was shivering in fear next to him, and he offered her a hand to hold just as the door opened. A horde of monsters, the last one being the demon-mask wearing one, got out. “Alright.” He started. “That was the last of them. Now, there’s only that old bastard left...”

As they left the corridor to go “fetch” him, he quickly made his way inside the room, relieved to find the door unlocked with Olivia still holding his hand. He made his way to the folded up Count, who had a miserable expression on his face. “Sir?” He asked.

The Count opened his red eyes. “Oh, a human!” He exclaimed, a surprised lilt to his voice. “My apologies, with all the chaos happening around here, I forgot that my beloved’s castle was on human grounds.”

“Your beloved’s castle is the middle of Flipflopside.” The Craftsman remarked with a raised eyebrow as he neared, taking the clothespins off. “If she wanted to live amongst humans, this wouldn’t be the place.”

“Ah, touché...” The Count commented as he fell to the ground, quickly figuring out a way to move. He then turned toward Olivia with squinted, and she squeaked. “And this young lady would be...?”

“My daughter.” The Craftsman hissed, not missing the sudden animosity in the Count’s tone.

To his credit, the Count immediately backed off. “... My apologies. Now, I do believe there’s another exit here,” he started, turning toward the other end of the room “but it’s hidden by an illusion spell. I would dispel it myself, but...” He shuffled a bit.

“I’m on it!” Olivia cheerfully declared, floating up to the wall and gently caressing it. Immediately, the surface fell away into Paint particles (which the Count was quick to waddle to and absorb, no doubt he wanted to collect enough magic to try and break out of his binds) as the young girl turned toward the two men.

The Craftsman nodded in approval as Count congratulated her, waddling up to her. “Incredible job, miss! Now, we can get out!” Olivia beamed, bouncing up and down in the air to a rhythm only she could hear as they made their way to a spiral staircase. 

Just before they started climbing, the folded monster turned toward the Craftsman. The older man frowned. “What?” 

“You have a very talented daughter.” The Count answered him as he started making his way up the stairs as fast as his body let him. The Craftsman smiled to himself.

“I know.” He started making his way up the stairs, Olivia’s hand back in his, when he noticed that she seemed unfocused. He stopped. “Is there a problem, girl?” He asked, turning toward her.

The younger girl looked up at .him, smiling. “I’m your daughter?”

A few seconds, then a shrug. “If you want to be,” He wasn’t the one who had folded her, but he was the one who had made the initial plan and cut out a piece of his soul for her, and he couldn’t be much worse than Olly’s kidnapper.

They finally made it back outside, the Craftsman shielding his eyes from the sudden light. They walked along the long balcony for a bit, until another door opened. Out walked the monster from earlier, the one with the demon mask, and the Lady. He heard the Count gasp behind him. 

“Why are you still so... flat?” The brainwashed woman asked him. “Why won’t you join me in folded glory...” She weakly reached her hands out to them. “Come, we can reshape you...” The fear shining through her eyes was yelling at them to run, run as far as you can, and never turn back. 

The Craftsman was very tempted to follow that message, ready to grab Olivia and jump over the balcony fence, before the masked monster opened their mouth. “Patience, Lady. This will do just fine. So...” They turned toward the Craftsman. “Why did you come to this castle, Craftsman?”

His eyes narrowed, pulling the paper scorer out again. “Someone stole what’s mine. I came here to ask help to get it back.” And it seems I’ve found my thief.

The masked monster made a sneering sound. “Is that how you see your son? A mere possession?”

“Wha- don’t talk about what you don’t know!” The Craftsman snapped, hand tightening around the tool in his hand.

“... Last chance, Craftsman.” The monster started. “Volunteer yourself to my cause, and let me fold you into something greater. Simple offer. Yes, or no.” The only thing that stopped the old man from going ‘go fuck yourself’ was Olivia’s presence. He instead shook his head. “Of course, I didn’t expect any less. And I wouldn’t have it any other way...” The monster snapped his fingers.

Another mind-controlled monster came into view. The Craftsman recognized him as one of the monsters from earlier. The Count snarled behind him, a surge of powerful magic catching him off-guard. “What have you done to my people!?”

“Folding them to my will. Look at your precious Lady.” The monster started, gesturing to her. “She’s better this way, don’t you think.” The only answer was a hiss. “Now...” The mask-wearing monster turned back toward the Craftsman, one violet eye glowing. “Prepare to be Folded!”

The monster jumped the Craftsman, hissing and snarling. Caught off-guard, he went down like a sack of potato, falling on his back and barely keeping the monster off-of him. He dropped the scorer, weakly moving his legs as his arms came up to hold the monster’s claws away from him. Olivia gasped in horror. “Dad!”

 “Wait, miss.” The Count started as he watched the Craftsman successfully move one of his hand to the monster’s throat. “I do believe that your father as the situation in hand.”

The Craftsman continued to hold the monster away from him, his hand tightening around his throat, before grabbing the paper scorer and stabbing the monster through his eye. Dark purple blood stained his hand as a pained noise came out of the monster, the scorer getting wringed out. 

The monster was then knee-d into the stomach, the Craftsman successfully throwing the monster off of him and over the fence. He got back up, groaning and doing his best to ignore Olivia’s horrified look. “Is that all you got?” He asked the masked monster, who sighed.

“Of course, how stupid of me. You did go by Mercenary when you were younger.” The masked monster noted as he started floating ominously. “I suppose there’s no point in maintaining this charade any longer...”

The monster shook, his arms raising in the air, before suddenly flattening and unfolding. Colors faded away as the illusion spell was uncast, revealing violets and yellows as a little boy wearing a crown revealed himself. The Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief, the Count made a noise of confusion, and Olivia gasped. “BROTHER!”

No... no, no, no, NO! It couldn’t be... “Wh- what are you doing here?” The Craftsman asked, putting his scorer back in his apron as Olivia started shaking.

“Please, brother...” She sobbed. “How many times have I told you you needed to stop? Please! You can’t do this!”

The boy simply sighed. “Why couldn’t the Craftsman have simply left you in that wall where I put you... Sister, I am afraid that if you stand in the way of my ambition, we will not be able to share my glory as family.”

“Brother-”

“I am not your brother anymore.” He stated, flipping his hair. “I am KING OLLY!” He then floated up and out of reach, floating in the sky as he cast a disdainful look to Flipflopside. “By the time I’m done, all those miserable humans will be folded... and those flimsy monster subjects shall be reborn as Folded Soldiers, serving me!” He then turned his look upon the Craftsman and Olivia. “And I shall fold, crease and bend this world to my whim... the birth of an Origami Kingdom!”

Olly snapped his fingers, a bright violet light emanating from his hand. It took a moment for the Craftsman to realize that was a signal, but he quickly dragged Olivia to the floor when he realized. And just in time too, as something yellow and charged with magic razed right past where his head used to be a second ago.

He quickly got up, scanning his surroundings as Olivia held onto him for dear life, the Count screeching right behind him. Streams of binding magic surrounded them, all controlled by Olly, all coming from different directions. “Follow me, you two!” The Count yelled over the rush of magic, hopping on the fence and then on a lower part of the roof. The Craftsman quickly followed him, hand tight around Olivia’s.

“GRA-BLAGH!” The Craftsman turned toward the voice, confused as he saw what was possibly one of the ugliest man he’s ever seen come to them at high speed in a rocket-propelled hot-hair balloon. The Count quickly jumped in, followed by the Craftsman and Olivia. “A’m ‘ere, Count!”

“Thank you, Warrior.” The Count started, smiling for what was probably the first time today. The Craftsman decided to give them as much privacy as he could as he turned toward the Lady’s castle.

There was five streams of magic in total. The red one came from the North, the blue one East, the yellow one South, and the purple one West. As for the green one, it seemed to come from the clouds. They seemed to take material form as they tightened over the castle, similar to shiny ribbons.

To his horror, the Castle was then ripped right off of the ground, the stone floors breaking away with it as it was lifted in the hair and above them. He blankly registered something lilac and yellow falling off of the castle as the other man with them (the Warrior, he thinks?) and the Count shrieked.

He sat on the floor, Olivia joining him and hugging him close as the Warrior yelled something incomprehensible. They then felt the machine machine shake. “What’s going on?” He asked the Count, who had slid next to them.

“They magic streams ur giein’ use some problems.” The Warrior answered for him. “Sae hing oan tiiiiIIAAAAAH!” The machine had collided with the red ribbon, making the Craftsman, Olivia and the Count fly out, with only the last one getting caught by the Warrior. He then tried to reach for the other two, but they were already too far away.

And as they fell, the Craftsman could only look as the ribbons carried the castle away. He closed his eyes as he saw it being placed upon the top of the dormant Sulfur Crater, a single thought circling in his head.

What the fuck did I get myself into this time!?

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 4

i'm sorry i'm out here still posting things so late but here's my fourth and final 4kingdoms-verse oneshot for @beybladeweek2021, mostly this is late because i was out of town last week but these prompts were also the hardest to make a oneshot about, somehow i managed to make a quirky little story about max anyway.

this takes place probably somewhere right before the beginning of the main fic, or close to it anyways. and i feel like this needs the small explanation that 4kingdoms max looks a bit different because the north has no sunlight (don’t ask me how that works. it’s fantasy)

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Fears / Animals / Winter

“Aaugh!”

As patient as Max is, the strange sound of Giancarlo’s sudden scream followed by a soft, barely audible thump of something hitting the floor in the walk-in closet is enough to snap his attention from the game console in his hands. He casts a curious look across his bedroom to witness the striped leg of a plush toy sticking out through the narrow crack of the closet door.

Now he can already tell what has happened. Regardless, he drops the game on the couch and jumps to his feet to see what his knight has gotten himself into in the closet.

“You opened the forbidden door!” Max gloats at Giancarlo, now standing ankle-deep in a sea of plush toys. “I told you the games are in the second from left, not from right.”

“Is this why you call that door ‘forbidden’?” Giancarlo asks, one hand still on the handle of the closet door that the avalanche of toys descended on him from. “I expected something more... I don’t know... scandalous... or personal.”

“This is personal. They’re all mine.” Max crouches over to pick one of the plush toys up, the yellow mascot character of a popular Eastern children’s game franchise. “Oh man, these take me back. I haven’t really seen them since Mama ordered them to be put away. She said I was too old to keep them in my bed. But I refused to have them taken out, so I got this closet for them instead.”

“Aha. I don’t mean to judge your decisions, but I think there’s a few too many for a closet of this size.”

“Well, they fit in just fine before you opened the door like an idiot.”

Max lets his eyes scan the colourful blast on the floor, admiring the chaos of all the scattered shapes of different stuffed creatures, some more nostalgic than others but each and every one so familiar to him; some expensive and store-bought, some hand-made by his father or someone else, he hardly even remembers at this point; it’s been so long since he was gifted these toys, and at least a couple of years since Judy wanted them sealed away.

And then one of them catches his eye over the rest, one that makes his heart skip a beat of bittersweet joy and longing. He tramples and kicks his way past other toys to get to the middle.

It’s a plush dog, one whose tattered, worn-out shape isn’t particularly distinguishable as a dog. It has an elongated body and small stubs for legs, folded ears – well, one ear, as the other has come off and been lost to time – and a small, thin tail that’s also on its way to come off its stitches but is barely hanging on, miserably drooping down from the back of the caramel brown animal that’s so thoroughly covered in dirt and dust that it looks grey. The dog’s black button eyes are intact, at least, and it still has a red little tongue sticking out of its mouth.

Max is momentarily frozen in place staring at the dog. This toy brings back so many memories, some of which threaten to turn his stomach as the long-forgotten anxiety rushes back in one tidal wave, it climbs up the ladder of his spine like an unwelcome visitor from the past; but at the same time, he loves this little dog so very dearly, his childhood favourite.

“Look at these, Your Highness!” Giancarlo suddenly yells, snapping Max out of his thoughts. “Really fitting, aren’t they? Doesn’t it make you think of something?”

Max turns to see his knight holding three plush animals on his arms: a snake, a fox, and a miniature horse. Max does remember all of them, but none were his favourites. They must have been gifts from his earlier childhood, he has no memory of actually getting them or ever feeling particularly attached to them.

“Umm,” he says, “no, not really.”

“Don’t you remember? The fairytale? A guy talks to a fox, a serpent, and a horse...”

“No, can’t say that rings any bells.”

“Really?” An idiotic grin spreads on Giancarlo’s face, the same one he flashes every time he gets to feel smarter than his young king. “It’s a traditional Northern folktale! Each animal represents one fear that the dude has, and he has to face them one by one. Well, I don’t really remember the details, but it was something like that.” He lifts the tiny horse closer to his face, as if to study it more closely – or to face it, to stay true to his own words, Max assumes. “Was the third one really a horse? I think it was. I guess horses can be scary to some people. They’re big animals and all.”

Max rolls his eyes, truly wishing that Giancarlo would shut up for once and clean up the mess he’s caused in the walk-in closet – or just do anything else and leave Max be, to sort out the sudden, fairly uncomfortable onslaught of memories caused by the discovery of his old stuffed dog toy.

Instead, Giancarlo keeps talking, as he always does.

“If there was a story about my fears, it would probably be... hmm... never eating cannoli ever again... and never going on another date...”

“Some incredible fears you have,” Max comments. “Tells a lot about your psyche.”

“And what are you scared of, Your Highness? What would you face if you met this guy? Nei-i-i-igh.” Giancarlo waves the tiny horse at Max, truthfully not the embodiment of terror by any stretch.

“Me? Well, nothing, really.”

“Come on, now, no need to be shy. You can tell the good old Gianni.”

“I mean it – I have my magic, so there’s no reason for me to be scared of anything.” There’s nothing that Max can think of that he wouldn’t be able to shield himself from with his magic powers, especially his ability to turn invisible. If nothing can catch him or do as much as touch him, what reason would he have to be afraid? If anything, he loves the thrill of almost being caught but disappearing out of sight on the last second. Max prides himself in being bold and resourceful, the master of stealth, and the youngest Genbu-ou with the ability to summon the holy beast of Genbu in the known history of his kingdom.

As long as he has his magic and the golden locket of Genbu around his neck, he cannot think of anything that could cause him fear; and as the king, he can have all the materia he could ever want, so he never needs to worry about running out of cannoli pastries or whatever else.

“Okay then, tough guy,” Giancarlo snorts. “And what’s that you got there?”

Max’s gaze returns to the dog on his arms. It stares back at him with its pitiful button eyes, black and lifeless.

“This used to be my favourite,” he replies, finding the words coming out of his mouth with slight hesitation. “Papa made it for me...”

“Oh? Prince Tarou knows how to sew stuffed animals? Well, I guess that makes sense, since he’s such a talented craftsman – but still... It’s hard to imagine a burly man like him making something like... that thing.” Giancarlo forces down an obvious cackle, raising a hand to his mouth to hide his amusement. “I mean...”

Max knows what he means, the puppy with a hot dog-like physique is a pathetic sight, but he cannot help feeling just a little insulted by Giancarlo laughing at it. This puppy brought him so much comfort during a time of turmoil, and it was specifically made by his father for that very purpose. Tarou most likely stitched it together over a single night all those years ago.

“You mean what?” he challenges the royal knight, his tone arrogant.

“Uh... Well, you know... Oh, never mind.”

* * * * * *

When he was younger, Max had no objections over his sheltered life in the Snow Glory Palace, as it never even occurred to his child’s mind that it could be anything but; and the thought only came to him as he entered the rebellious years of puberty and by the questionable ideas that his whimsical knight planted in his head, the thought that it would be exciting to sneak out of the palace every once in a while and wander around the royal capital out of sight.

Max has always been adored by commoners, as the only son of their beloved (by now former) king, the strong yet beautiful and hauntingly intelligent Mizuhara Judy, the only female Genbu-ou of their lifetime; and as much as Max loves the attention and savours the constant awareness of his status of importance that doesn’t escape anybody in his kingdom, he’s equally entertained by the idea of walking among all these people on a lower social ladder without their knowledge, freely entering spaces where his appearance would normally cause a considerable brouhaha. The complete control over whether he’s perceived or not gives him a great amount of satisfaction.

And, most importantly, his ever-so-predominant mother has no idea about it happening right under her nose. As much as Max loves his parents, like any teenager, he has an innate need to break free and seek independence from them, do as he pleases without their scrutiny, without any adult paying attention to him...

at least sometimes.

How many times has he traversed the narrow streets of the ancient royal capital, heard the snow crunch under his shoes without anyone seeing it’s the young king leaving a trail of footprints on the ground covered in white? And when the snow is quietly falling from the sky, the shield of magic around him reflects his surroundings, camouflaging him from other people’s line of sight, he blends perfectly into the arbitrary dance of the snowflakes in the dark.

Then, sometimes, when he finds a suitable corner or shade or hideout for himself, he plans a delicious little display of seemingly appearing out of nowhere into the spotlight. And all the attention is once again drawn to him.

It’s borderline addicting, that calculated spectacle, the thrill of a surprise and act of rebellion that Max is perfectly aware he’s not allowed to do. That his ice queen of a mother would be absolutely furious if she knew.

Now he’s again walking down a cobblestone street, the stone fence of a cemetery on his right-hand side. There’s a layer of powdery snow on the stone, like the icing of a sugar cake.

A cake, oh, a cake sounds excellent to him; and he’s now across a bridge, and the familiar sight of a cosy little coffee shop greets him some feet away. It has a sign outside, a metallic one, shaped like a kettle that’s hanging above the entrance, the shop’s name written on it in cursive.

Max walks over to one of the shop windows and takes a peek inside, bathes in the golden light coming from the other side of the glass. As expected, nobody pays him any attention, none of the people sitting around the lovely little tables inside see him.

He’s ready to be seen, however, and decides to step inside, greeted by the ring of a bell attached to the coffee shop’s door.

“Good evening!” he says cheerfully upon his entrance, flashing a wide grin to everyone in the shop.

People turn to stare at him. Nobody is smiling back at him.

“Er, good evening,” replies the person working behind the counter. Their voice is polite but wary, they stare at Max like everyone else in the shop, with an expression of wide-eyed confusion.

This is not what Max expected. Where are all the delightful gasps, all the “Oh, Your Highness!” and “It’s the young king!” and “This is such an honour!” – all the surprised smiles and the rush to be the first to shake hands with him? He darts some quizzical glances around the shop, eyebrows raised, but his grin remains.

Maybe he’s come here a few too many times. He should have gone somewhere new instead, not the closest place he could think of.

A bristly feeling that he’s very much not used to suddenly spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes: embarrassment. He’s embarrassed that his magic trick failed, the trick he was so confident in, so proud of.

He needs to get out of here.

And the next moment, he’s walking down a different street, this time in the heart of the city of Resting Palace. The lights here are so bright that they illuminate the black sky and give it a hue of light purple instead, almost a dirty tone, it looks dusty and devours the stars and even the Moon.

He’s walking past numerous people, but nobody turns to look at him. Nobody does as much as grant him a smile of acknowledgment, no faces light up with recognition when he passes by.

He stops to stand in the middle of the street. Someone immediately bumps into him from behind.

“Oh, sorry,” the stranger says and hurries away without looking at him. He doesn’t even have the time to say it was his fault for stopping so abruptly.

Max turns on his heels, lets his eyes wander aimlessly in the scenery. There’s a hotel to his left. There are people everywhere, but none of them are looking his way.

Now another person bumps into him. This is an older man, staggering on his feet and visibly losing his balance for a moment, and he turns to stare at Max with a sullen face.

“Hey, kiddo,” the man groans, “stop blocking the walkway, will ya?”

Max only stares back, not knowing what to say or think. Kiddo? What is this? Why is this person talking to him like this? He’s so dumbfounded by this behaviour that he simply hangs his mouth open without making a sound. Nobody in his entire life has acted this way towards him, and it’s making his blood run cold under his heavy cloak.

On a bewildered whim, he suddenly turns to whoever is passing by his left-hand side on that very moment. “Did you hear how that person talked to me just now?” he asks the passer-by. “How dare he?”

The person he’s talking to casts him a look of utter confusion. He can immediately tell this person doesn’t recognise him, either.

“No, I’m sorry,” the person mumbles hastily and hurries away. Max stares after their disappearing back.

What is happening? What is happening? How could this possibly be happening to him? Now panic is seeping into his heart, he arbitrarily grabs the sleeve of whoever happens to pass by him next.

“Excuse me,” he says breathlessly, “you know who I am, right? Right?”

Another astonished stare, but at least this passer-by is polite. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Are you perhaps lost?”

“No!” Max’s words now escape as a desperate eruption of discomfort, “I’m the king! The Genbu-ou! Don’t you recognise your king?!”

The stranger’s expression changes slightly – to that of pity, to Max’s horror.

“I’m sorry, boy, I don’t have time to play around with you,” the person says, and the next moment he’s gone.

Max spins around, glancing wildly in every direction, looking for anybody who recognises him. This is the royal capital, isn’t it? It definitely is, he knows the exact street he’s on, but for some reason nobody knows him, he’s only a mile away from the Snow Glory Palace and nobody knows that he’s the king, how could such a bizarre thing ever happen?

“I look like the Genbu-ou, don’t I?” he asks yet another stranger, this time a younger person, a teenager just like him.

The person stops to stare at him, evaluates him with her eyes for a moment, as if she has to think about it first.

“I guess you do,” she finally says, “a little. But Genbu-ousama has spots of black in his hair and skin as clear as snow.”

What? What?

Max drops down to his knees into the snow and now he’s on the riverbank; he hauls his shaking self closer to the aquamarine glow of the water, and he crouches over to look down at his own reflection on the surface.

His hair is yellow like the Sun, bare, the splashes of black brush strokes gone. But his face – his face is covered in something – small dots everywhere, his skin is infested with them, they spread from the centre, the bridge of his nose, in every direction on his skin, he lifts his hands to his face and—

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is covered in cotton candy clouds of pink and purple, they rotate ever so slowly around the axel of the chandelier in the middle, with stars blinking in and out through the veil.

He rolls over in the four-poster bed that feels like an entire ocean to him. The pillow under his head is wet, it feels gross and he grabs it with two tiny hands, tosses it away as hard as he can and it lands on the edge of the bed. It knocks a couple of his plush toys to the floor.

He can hear voices from behind the bedroom door. It’s Mama and Papa, they are yelling at each other again.

Max rubs his tear-stained eyes and crawls out of bed, wrapping his enormous blanket around him like a cape, he drags it along across the carpet as he makes his way to the door. He stands on tiptoes and opens the door as softly as he can.

He makes his way to the hallway’s railing just in time to see his parents walk into his view downstairs. They’re not yelling anymore but still arguing, in quiet voices now, Max can tell they are spewing arrows of poison at each other even if he can’t make out the words.

He’s staring through the narrow hole in the railing as Papa spots him, it’s probably a subtle sniffle that gives him away up there.

Seconds later, Papa has climbed the stairs and has knelt down to talk to Max in a voice that’s meant to be soothing but is seeping with recently suffocated agitation, and it makes him uneasy.

“Are you having trouble sleeping again, buddy?”

“I don’t want Papa to go away,” Max says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his orange sleeping gown.

Papa gives him a lopsided smile, pats the top of his head. “I’ll come visit you often, I promise. And – this is only temporary, okay? I will keep talking to Mama, and maybe I’ll be back home in a couple of moons. Papa will bring you lots of presents then, but for starters...”

Now something appears from behind Papa’s back, he’s holding a plush toy dog that has a silly face with a tongue drooping out, its body so long that it nearly matches Max’s height. Papa hands it over to him.

“I made this for you, to help you sleep better. I call it Sleepy, but you can call it whatever you want.”

Max stares down at the dog’s face. It has plain black buttons for eyes, and a third one for a nose.

He presses his own little nose against the button, immediately smearing the dog in the snot and tears of a six-year-old.

“Take me with you, Papa,” he says, the words muffled against the dog’s snout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“You won’t be alone, Max, Mama will be here.”

“She’s always working, she never pays attention to me.”

“That’s not true...”

“I don’t want to be alone, Papa.”

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is velvet blue, with the silver sickle of a crescent Moon glowing faintly in the night’s silence.

His heart is beating in an anxious rhythm inside his chest. He quickly sits up in the bed, driven by the panic of the lingering terror of his nightmare that makes his fingertips tingle and his stomach turn, and he gasps for air.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The momentary urge to rush to his feet, to check that he actually is who he’s supposed to be in the mirror, recedes quickly upon the realisation that he’s in his own bed, in the royal palace, exactly where he should be. He’s covered in sweat, the blankets feel uncomfortably sticky against his skin, he tosses them aside.

Then he notices three shapes in the darkness, sitting at the end of his bed. A row of three plush animals is staring at him from a distance.

A fox, a serpent, and a horse.

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

Requiem 4

Hey everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying this story! Sorry it took me a little longer. I’ve been falling asleep more frequently. I wish I didn’t feel so tired all the time… the doctors think I have narcolepsy but I won’t be able to get tested until everything is open.

Disclaimer: I don’t own My Next Life as a Villainess.

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Gerald Stuart prided himself on being able to read his fiancée, Katarina Claes, very well. He had known her since she was eight, had known her the longest out of all her friends, and was engaged to her. He knew her likes and dislikes, what made her upset, what made her smile—Gerald was sure he could write a book simply on Katarina’s ‘katarisms’ within a day and have it published within the week.

So when Gerald had visited the Claes manor to see his fiancée, he immediately knew something was off when he saw her.

“Sister! Please put on something more proper!” Keith cried as Katarina raced up to greet Gerald in a strange outfit with… a surprisingly short length skirt. He felt his cheeks flush at the sight of her shapely legs.

“It’s fine, Keith! Mother says I can wear this around the mansion! What do you think, Prince Gerald? I think it’s great!” Katarina was expressive as usual, and if he wasn’t versed in how she was, he would’ve fell for it, but Gerald zeroed in on Katarina’s face. Her smile was there, but her eyes—they had a melancholy look in them. It was like she was about to cry, whether in joy or sadness, Gerald didn’t know, but the distant gleam in her eyes, as if she was here, but not, made Gerald pause.

Something was wrong, and this made Gerald very alarmed.

“Katarina…” Gerald murmured, concerned. He raised a hand to her cheek, and Katarina blinked, confused. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, a small second, Katarina appeared as if she was about to cry. She bit her lip, as if she was holding something inside, but soon she was smiling again, and the moment was gone.

“Of course I’m okay, Prince Gerald! You’re starting to sound like Keith—he’s been fretting over me too!” Katarina laughed. Keith and Gerald watched her, waiting for her to crack, for her to come clean about what was on her mind.

But it never came.

And that worried them more.

“Just because Mother gave you permission to wear those strange clothes doesn’t mean you should be wearing them everywhere, Sister.” Keith sighed. Katarina patted his arm.

“It’s fine, Keith! Maybe when I go to the Ministry of Magic with Mother, she’ll let me get more fabric for more clothes!” Katarina was excited, sparkles in her eyes at the thought of wearing more clothes like she wore in her past life.

“You’re going to the Ministry of Magic?” Gerald inquired, raising a brow. Katarina nodded.

“Yeah! Mother says she wants to take me! I don’t know why though! Maybe a job opportunity?” Katarina wondered.

“There’s no need for that, Katarina. After graduation we’d be getting married, remember?” Gerald pointed out, gently smiling.

“Oh! You’re right! Then I don’t know…” Katarina trailed off.

“You know, Sister would be much more suited for working than being Queen anyway.” Keith’s eyebrow twitched.

“Oh really? Actually as Queen she’ll be quite busy.” Gerald’s smile twitched. Katarina watched them both with a smile.

‘They get along so well! Maybe I should arrange for them to hang out more!’ Katarina grew excited at the prospect.

“Katarina?” Gerald’s voice called her out of her musing.

“Uh yes, Prince Gerald?” Katarina jolted. Gerald grasped one of her hands with his affectionately.

“I would like to join you on this outing, if that’s alright with you.” Gerald had a distinct suspicion this meeting with the Ministry was important—his gut telling him he should go to be there in case she needed protection.

“I-I’ll go too, Sister! This way Mother and you will have more support with whatever you’re doing!” Keith was quick to chime in. He eyed the third prince with a glare, but Gerald wasn’t phased. Katarina was what mattered the most.

“Oh! That’s a good idea, Keith!” Katarina praised him. She clapped her hands together. “What if we invite everyone? Maria said she was thinking of applying to the Ministry of Magic, and I’m sure Nicol would love to see all the ancient archives!”

“Whatever you want.” Gerald and Keith told her, just happy she was normal again. They listened as Katarina babbled excitedly about getting everyone together.

“Oh! I should go tell Mother we’ll have everyone coming with us! Excuse me!” Katarina bid them farewell and hurried into the Claes manor. Gerald and Keith watched her go with smiles. However, when she was out of sight, they sobered immediately.

“Something’s wrong.” Gerald said.

“I tried getting her to tell me, but she just said she was fine and waved me off.” Keith told him. “But that look in her eyes…”

“It looks like she’s about to fall apart at the seams.” Gerald finished for him. He turned to Keith, serious. “Did your mother say why they were going to the Ministry?”

“No. She just told Sister to be ready soon, but Mother appeared to be very conflicted, like a lot was on her mind.” Keith answered. Gerald’s expression turned pensive.

“Has she ever been like this before? Katarina I mean.” Gerald asked Keith. Keith furrowed his eyebrows, thinking.

“My sister’s always been a little strange… sometimes I’d catch her muttering in a strange language when she’s talking to herself. I’ve caught her writing in a notebook in also a strange language, but when I asked to see it, she freaked out and kept switching between language—like she was so flustered and scared her brain couldn’t focus. I never wanted to terrify her like that again, so I never asked about the notebook, but I know she hides it somewhere in her room. I just thought it was a diary…” Keith recalled a young Katarina rambling frantically, trying to get him to forget about the book. Keith appeared more troubled the more he remembered. “When I was getting adopted by Father, he mentioned something about Sister having night terrors like I did so he thought we’d bond. I tried asking her about those, but she just said they were gone now that I was there, so I didn’t need to worry. I thought I was special then—I made Sister’s night terrors go away, but I can’t help but wonder… sometimes I find she has dark circles under her eyes, like she’s been having bad dreams, and I wonder if that’s really true they’re gone.”

“Sometimes she’d say things—strange things like she needed to learn how to survive in case she ever gets exiled one day.” Gerald added his own two cents. “I’d ask her what she had meant, and she would startle, realizing who she was talking to, and immediately say it was nothing. I don’t think she’d ever meant to say that to me…” Gerald explained. “I thought it was just her being silly because how could Katarina ever think she was going to be exiled? She had to know I cared about her, that I would never let that happen. I’d sooner kill myself than causing her the pain of banishing her.”

“I’d kill you first.” Keith frowned. Gerald gave him a look before sighing.

“I wonder… does this have anything to do with her trying to break off our engagement all the time?” Gerald mused to himself. Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Sister tried breaking her engagement off?” Keith was confused.

“Unfortunately. She would say things like when I found someone else to love, she wouldn’t stand in the way. I just thought it was because she didn’t know how I felt about her, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something bigger going on here. Something she’s not telling me…”

Keith observed his rival, and saw he was truly distressed by something bothering Katarina to the point it was affecting her mental state—just as distressed as him.

Before he could say anything, however, the object of their discussion was running towards them.

“Keith! Prince Gerald! Good news! Mother said we can invite everyone! Let’s let them know right away!” Katarina called.

“Of course, Katarina.” Gerald smiled.

“It will be fun, Sister.” Keith smiled as well. Katarina paused, watching them.

“Are… are you two okay?” Katarina asked. She placed her hands on both their foreheads. Keith and Gerald both felt their heartbeats speed up at her touch. “You don’t feel warm.” She noted.

Gerald gave a little laugh, grasping her hand as she was pulling them away from their foreheads. Keith watched in envy that he could touch Katarina so freely.

“You know me, I can be a bit protective.” Gerald told her, smiling tenderly. Katarina smiled in return.

“Don’t worry, Prince Gerald! I’ll protect you from any wayward snakes!” Katarina promised, probably not realizing what Gerald meant, but Gerald was fine with this, used to it, and laughed softly.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He grinned.

“Sister, let’s prepare the letters to invite everyone.” Keith interrupted them, eyeing Gerald sternly. He gave Katarina a gentle smile. “They’ll all be excited to hear from you.”

“You’re right, Keith! We have to hurry! We’ll be going to the Ministry soon after all!” Katarina replied.

“Yes… soon” Keith echoed.

He was sure they would have more answers after that.

He hoped more than anything.

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

There’s chapter 4! Sorry the chapters are so short! My sleep disorder makes it harder to write longer chapters, so I try to compensate with shorter chapters and quicker updates if my health allows it.