#foreversnightmare

[carmennivis]

She looks down at her partner for a second, trying to hold her laughter as she clears her throat. "Remember Freyja-- stay serious, will you?" The goddess would remind herself. "So, you're the one i have to speak to these next 2 days? Very well-- let's start and get to the point. How do you prefer to pass the time?"

Nils had been sitting on the slightly too large chair, swinging his legs back and forth. (Remember, no matter who you meet, give them a smile. You got an easy topic! You can do this!)

This was going to be Nils’ attempt at connecting more with other people. While he’s friendly enough to classmates, he’s still mostly kept to himself besides the people he already knew. “Hello! It’s nice to.. meet you.” Although he smiled, for a moment he stopped mid sentence when he felt an unpleasant chill run down his spine.

It seems like God still hates Nils, because the first person put in front of him was a frankly terrifying woman that not only towered over him but also exuded a deep malevolence. If the horns were not enough of a cue, that alone told Nils that this woman was not human. However, he noted, she did she carry the essence typical of dragons either.

“Er. Um…” He stumbled over his words, his nerves causing his throat to feel like it tightened up. He ended up taking a deep breath before attempting to speak again. “I’m.. actually a bard, you see?” He started with a forced smile. “So most of my free time is dedicated to maintaining my flute or practicing a new song.”

Okay, he wasn’t dead yet, that’s a good thing right? If it wasn’t the woman herself he felt like his heart might give out. He spent his entire life listening to his 6th sense, using it to protect Ninian and himself from danger. Ignoring it like this, and purposefully engaging with the danger his power actively tries to protect him from certainly is.. stressful.

“So.. how about you? How do you spend your free time, Milady?”

[chaos-named]

Immortal combat

Seminars are encouraged at the monastery. They help others learn from their peers while strengthening friendship at the same time. Well… most seminars. This seminar, on the other hand, is on… the basis of keeping one’s composure? That’s what the paper says, after all. “Learn how to withstand interrogations that may test your emotional and physical strength.” What wasn’t included in the description was that the instructor would attack you the moment you arrived at the meeting place! By their words, they’ll chase you and your partner through a booby-trapped forest to raise the tension, but if you’re caught… Well, they only smile at you and count down. [Grants Sword +1]

“It enhances the atmosphere” was the only explanation of why this seminar was being held in an abandoned shack in the middle of the woods, but Yune wasn’t complaining. While it would be faster to fly, the walk gave her the chance to appreciate the beauty of nature, the grass beneath her feet, the beams of the setting sun through the trees, the… random pieces of rope on the ground?

“Hello?” She called, as she entered the wooden hut. Inside, no one, and very little besides a couple of rotting chairs, some crates, and a selection of weaponry. Yune picked up a dagger, and admired it. It was nothing special, but the metallic glint reminded her of Micaiah’s shadow. 

Her musings were interrupted by another person’s arrival, a silver-haired lady with… horns? How curious. The other strange thing was her aura, which Yune didn’t understand yet. Yune smiled at her. “Hello, are you the instructor? I’m Yune, nice to-”

Her greeting was cut short when an arrow hit the wall beside her, narrowly missing them both. 

She quickly ducked behind a crate, and heard a call from outside. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you cause you’re a child. Your first challenge is to get out of that shack, my next arrow won’t miss.”

Yune’s eyes found the horned lady’s. “Nice to meet you.” She finished her thought. “Any ideas?”

@foreversnightmare

[artificidel]

when i fucking get you

[enarmor]

Freyja snatched the drink right out of his hand, chugging it all down right in front of him! "Ahh.. How tasty-- bitch." she places the empty cup right infront of him.

"Ah, my first pet name! I knew you'd come around, my love!"

Unphased by and perhaps enjoying her verbal abuse, Sain watches with hearts in his eyes as Freyja wolfs down his drink. It's the sweet kind: with honey and fruit juice and a spoonful of sugar--more true to his preference than a measly mug of ale. The reality of his bar-hopping adventures is that he only drinks things considered 'hard' and 'manly' as a means of showing off. In private, this is where his true colors shine.

And while he was, for a fraction of a second, scared that the queen's 'sampling' would out him, her satisfaction draws a curtain of relief over his eyelids.

"If you desire another, it would delight me to no end to provide you with more!" Fishing through his pocket, Sain produces the last of his tavern-going money. It's a paltry sum, but make no mistake: he would spend more if he could. Reuniting with Kent and Lyn has put him on a tighter budget, lest he receive earful after earful about being frivolous.

He heaves it onto the bar, ready to slide to the tavernkeep, but a thought at the back of his mind stays his hand: "Mm. First, why don't I come up with something romantic to call you? Princess? My queen? Darling? Beloved?"

[melusinezephyr]

"Zephia. I've heard that it's a very special day. " The goddess walks from behind the dragon, a smile on her face. She was never one for gifts. All she knew was what humans offered to her for good tidings. "When humans give me gifts... it has always been fruits. But I believe someone such as yourself deserves much more." She hands her a small bouquet; their petals are colored strangly... something that wasn't normal in nature.

Purple; It's mysterious color... many find its appearance in nature strange, mystical, unnerving.

"Only the best for you." Freyja mumbles lightly, unsure if this was the right thing to do or if Zephia would even accept it.

"Oh goodness, Lady Freyja, how... delightful to see you." Zephia smiles, geninuely, at the other woman as she turns quickly on her heel to see her approach. She wasn't usually the type to bother with celebrating her birthday, not anymore. There were too many years to count anyway, and it was not worth the trouble to even think about pesky and pathetic humans swarming her with well wishes.

But Freyja was different. She wasn't human, was she?

Zephia blushes slightly as the other woman passes her a bouquet of flowers, a soft hum escape her lips when she holds them up to admire them. She would have to perserve these later, to hold dear what Freyja had given her.

She leans over, brushing a soft kiss against her companion's cheek.

"Thank you, dear. Quite lovely indeed. Definitely the best."

[nagaficat]

a kiss to make someone else jealous sorry sigurd!

Deirdre does not think twice when she notices another woman glancing in the direction of her husband. It is not the first time and it certainly will not be the last. He is a handsome man! Often she catches her own eyes drifting toward him--how could she fault someone else for doing the same!

But the woman approaches Deirdre and, with an arm about her waist, pulls her close. Startled, Deirdre does not immediately back away until after her lips are kissed.

The woman doesn't look at her after she pulls away. Her eyes stay on Sigurd and she smiles at him in a way that sends chills down his wife's spine.

[rockroselazuli]

(o・・o)/

send (o・・o)/ for my muse's opinion of yours.

Freyja is tall and intimidating -- not that that bothers Lapis, of course. They met shipwrecked and in poor condition; Lapis held no hesitation in accepting her as a comrade.

She can even relate to Freyja in a distant way. The woman's woes of being an outcast amongst the humans resonated with Lapis. She is, of course, a humans herself -- but she knows all too well what it's like to be different from everyone else. To walk on eggshells lest she be identified as something other and cast away.

She's not entirely sure what Freyja is, though. She has horns and can transform into a giant goat. Which is cool and all. And Corrin refers to her as "Lady Freyja," which leads Lapis to believe that Freyja is of high status indeed. Of course, Lapis would have treated her with respect regardless -- but higher status means that Freyja is someone Lapis must protect with her life.

Being a knight is her job, after all, and so long as she's stuck in Ilia with kings and queens and whatevers, she's going to abide by chivalrous law and lay down her life for their continued safety.

.｡*☆ Freyja and Lapis have achieved C Support!

[beholdenning]

a kiss after one muse has killed for the other

➵ kiss meme.

Perfection begets perfection. Tools are ultimately as perfect as their master, as the hand who wields, as the one who grips.

She is perfect. They meld to her hands like water. They do her bidding to the letter, as they were made, and are made perfection in turn by her grace alone.

Who else could ever wield them like this again? Without her, they would be no better than driftwood, useless, obsolete, no more than a gallery piece manufactured by the scores, value plummeted from market oversaturation; An exchangeable.

And yet, she picked them. It is all they can do but to deliver the perfection she wields them with, to treasure her more than they know she will ever treasure them. So they serve faithfully, absolutely, because it is all they can give in return, because it is an honor to be chosen, to be gripped so.

The arrow Denning loosed protrudes perfectly from the enemy's eye, threaded through the smallest gap in the helmet: A single, clean shot. Others like the armored knight litter the ground around them and their Lady, their Master.

Their...

They kneel before her. She graces them with her blessing; Leaning down for something like them, pressing her lips lightly to their own like a Queen's favour. They accept it with the stoic gratitude she expects from them.

They will fulfill her every expectation. It is their duty. It is the least they can do for her, for she does not need them as much as they do her.

[arcstral]

( a kiss to prove a point )

The Hero-King's noble nature was clear as the freshest river, clinging steadfast to his morals like the tadpoles that might stick all their lives to one single pond. Ask him of love and he would say that it was a beautiful union of feelings and hearts as one. Actions expressing love should thereby adhere only to the greater occasions for which they are deserving. A kiss by that law was the meaningful gift that belonged between two people alone, one for which he was loathe to squander even in the fleeting clutches of a nightmare without permanence or record.

"I am a man of Naga and you are not my god. Know your place. Only those who love one another should touch," this human king tells the goddess of dreams who lays temptation at his feet, with a straightness to his shoulders, an unstained clarity to his eyes, and then at last a proud turn of his head that denies even a paragon of beauty his attention. No doubt he must be infuriating to her in that way. Who is he? To deny her? Even the mortal men of his time have hated him just the same, if only worse; blazoning their annoyance for a King who stands so tall despite his many adversities, a radiant existence as if in the sense of being above all other black and coloring evils.

But this is not his domain and not his kingdom. The world of dreams is so different from Altea or Archanea. And it is not his. He is not the king in control here so much as the willful guest, the conundrum of a regal yet helpless fly caught in her web that has convinced himself of his rights to lecture. All is not well. When she kisses him, that touch of lips and teeth means more; it's an action of turbulence, spreading its ripples wide; there is the first spark of his emotion beyond his regality and his calm, the realization that he is more powerless than he thinks.

"How...you dare!" Marth hissed, broken from his equanimity by the prick of her touch and thorns. Everything of this dream, including her, smelled noxious and sweet. A cloying smell that could dye even a pure-white existence to the darkest black beyond his own understanding. He hadn't even realized he grabbed her by the wrist until his fingers twitched; he'd realized even less that it was to pull her closer.

[goldoanheart]

a kiss against the cheek after discovering the other is napping 

kissies (still accepting)

The Goddess of Nightmares? Napping so easily in the middle of the monastery? Surely Kurthnaga must be dreaming.

But he still can't help but find it a little bit interesting. He kisses her cheek softly, like he would if it was his own sister that he had found slumbering here.

"I suppose even goddesses have to sleep sometime."

[anankelotus]

a kiss to anger a third party  hiiii

kissies! (still accepting)

Anankos can't help but wonder what they've done wrong as the self proclaimed Goddess of Nightmares walks over to them. Or rather, what exactly they did to make her want to approach them in the first place. Because they certainly do not wish to... anger her? A nervous hand tugs on the edge of their hood, as if that will make them disappear from their fellow professor's sight.

It doesn't. And of course it doesn't, that would be just their luck. Not that it was going to work in the first place. Other Abyssians around watch in awe as she willingly decides to speak to them. At least they think its awe, it could honestly be fear. But something in Anankos burns, like it hasn't before, an anger that was perhaps lingering far deeper than they even knew they had in them.

And their mouth is on Freyja's before they can even think about what they are really doing. They have not kissed someone in a terribly long time, and it is clumsy and awkward. But they do feel terribly satisfied once it is over. Like they have gotten an unspoken anger off of their chest, though they are not exactly sure who in the world they were trying to anger.

"Eeep...! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me, I truly wasn't thinking! I'm really sorry...!"

[bxldrsdraumar]

a kiss to distract lmao, lol even

"No, I must - I must get back - "

He feels the hands tugging at him, the fingers digging their grip into the crevices of his mind, and he loses focus for a moment, floundering at what exactly he needed to get back to.

Sigurd feels the lips against his, and for a moment it feels natural, expected, and he leans into it, arms snaking about the owner's waist and tugging them closer to him, groaning into the kiss as the fingers in his mind dig deeper, deeper, clawing at his consciousness, his memories, and finally there is a flash of a bright smile, a laugh that is like rain against his ears, the scent of lavender hair that is almost -

Almost -

Like the moonlight he sees before him when his eyes flutter open. He wrenches away, shoving Freyja from him furiously. "Monster!" he spits, clutching at his head.

[artificidel]

Something about them was off, she could sense it, see it. Everyones feelings were obvious, but not theirs. That alone intrigued Freyja, but the additional odd feeling they gave her added to it. They feel, non human, someone who-- by all accounts, should not exist. "You seem fun at gatherings, whats on your mind?"

Ephidel knew what they were on this ship. Despite every native being at odds with one another, the morph knew they could all stand under a banner against them.

But it was not the ostracizing that kept them away, that kept them alert, that kept them staring out over the horizon without rest. They had bigger concerns than the vermin that may band together against them.

The morph felt her approach far before she spoke, but there was no hostility in her aura.

They are silent for a moment, considering how to articular their answer.

"I do not know how long it has been since I've been upon Elibe, and what these rumors might mean for it. ... if it might signals my God's return."

Ephidel regards her, and for once appreciates the quiet company.

"Would he have me back...?"

They longed for purpose. For meaning. For love.

"Or have I become defective?"

[enarmor]

a kiss to make the other stop being stubborn 

"F-Finest Freyja...!"

Their lips connect, and worlds collide. At first Sain is taken aback--that his charms worked, that he wasn't being literally or metaphorically skewered--but he soon realizes what this means. And so, with solemn understanding, he closes his eyes and leans in. Freyja will be spared not a drop of his passion. Sain's hands slide up her back to say he needs her, knead into shoulders to say he treasures her. That she would even look his way sends sparks of hope into his heart. When they burst into flames, he is bound to her will.

But all good things must come to an end.

Time steals away even this small joy from Sain. He isn't counting the seconds, the minutes. But were he to retell this story (and make no mistake: he will) he'd describe it as the moments between moments; the thousands of eternities split into just a fracture of time. Freyja starts to wane. So does he, for it is only knightly to do so. She is a lady, and he is a protector... To demand anything more from her would betray the noble ideals he serves.

His hands, lips, hope and heart all return to courageous Sain. And for it all, a goofy smile rests upon his face.

"...I understand. Know that I shall never forget you. These precious moments you spared for me... Shall be kept dear as long as I live."

He is off. A knight will always have work to do.

[nagaficat]

Sigurd, shut up and get the fuck out!

Professor Kent had made sense when he explained the importance of keeping records and grading her students. It does seem as though it would be necessary for them to understand their own growth and progress. But it is difficult! She sees strengths in each of them, even those that do not always show up for class. It pains her to attempt to assign them each a letter to show where they are at. That would mean putting some ahead of others and she loves them all equally. (Well, perhaps not all. Her darling Seliph is in her class after all!)

Deirdre sighs loudly as she stares at the grading charts in front of her. She has opted to use the staff room for her grading instead of her office today. It is nice to have her own space where she might be easily found if one of her students needed her but it can get awfully lonely. The room is small and dark even when the sun is at its highest and there is only so much filling the space with freshly cut flowers can do to liven things up. At least here there is the chance that another staff member might stop in to tend to their own business.

"This is a nightmare!"

@foreversnightmare

[peerlessscowl]

"You know, the more you pout and scowl the uglier the face gets." The goddess of beauty would know a thing or two, but this was more to get under the skin. Freyja is an observer, she picks and chooses thoughs who look the easiest to piss off, which isnt the greatest idea in a boat where they'll be stuck together for awhile "Why the long face? Got people who hate you back home" she asked, faking innocent.

As it always did at such nags about his expression, Raven's brow furrowed, deepening the grimace on his face as he turned to regard the woman who had set herself before him. It always seemed to be beautiful women lately who took such issue with his face, apropos of nothing - not merely beautiful, but exceptionally beautiful.

"If my face bothers you so much, you don't have to look at it." Were they not on a boat, he would have offered, helpfully, to remove himself from her presence, but for the moment, and for the foreseeable future, they appeared to be trapped together.

But then she continued as though he had not spoken, and her words made him grit his teeth. Not simply the needling, the tease of someone who merely wanted to be annoying, to get a reaction, but the sheer wrongness of the statement caused his gaze to frost over as he considered her.

Hated? No, he'd no one remaining at home at all, and those who might have known him by name, nevermind by his face, would have all but considered him a ghost, a phantom that haunted them, if not in their guilty consciences, then by stalking the battlefield, the thorn of his rage in the paw of the Lycian Alliance.

If he were thought of at all, and not pushed restlessly into the afterlife along with the rest of his kin, a mere footnote, an afterthought in the annals of Lycia's long history.

He said none of this to the woman, for his eyes had alighted on the most prominent feature she bore - a set of wickedly curved horns, nestled, camouflaged amongst the thick tumble of her starlight hair.

Raven's eyes narrowed. "You'll want to cover those before we reach land, my lady, lest you see how hateful my countrymen can truly be."