#incorrect prince of stride

[vestige-nan]

The Thorn in my Side, the Pebble in my Shoe: Ch 2

Summary: The main quest line in Mannimarco’s perspective, except that he falls chaotically in love with the vestige just as much as he chaotically hates them.

Fun stuff: Once again, vestige is gender neutral and no physical features (except that they have hands) are described. 

I walked with stride and purpose, my arms poised with dignity behind my back, my chin held high, and with two corpses trailing behind me as my entourage. 

No, Molag Bal was not pleased with losing Aquilarios, but when was the lord of domination ever pleased? Content was not in the daedric prince’s nature (though, neither was it mine), so it was inevitable that any hiccup of the prince’s plan would lead him to throwing a fit. His wont for the blind lowborn was something I couldn’t understand, but I surmised it was something along the lines of dominating those who most resist him or some similar sadistic daedric madness.

I, unlike “my master”, immediately set work to finding a solution to our little lost “prophet”. By delegating all the work to Abnur Tharn.

When I reached Tharn’s quarters, I didn’t bother knocking, instead nodding to my entourage to open the double handed doors. 

With the doors swung open, I strode into the room, my boots clacking against the polished floor. “Hello, Tharn.”

Tharn exhaled, setting down an empty soulgem. He turned and bowed slightly. “Oh please, Mannimarco, do come in. It wasn’t as if I was in the middle of something.”

I brushed imaginary dust off my shoulder, “I don’t have time to play words with you, Chancellor. Did you find what I asked?”

“You mean the vestige’s soul? Yes, of course I did.” He took a soulgem off of his cluttered desk, holding it out to me. “It wasn’t as easy as you assured, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” I said, snatching the soulgem from the imperial. I looked at it closely. It was completely ordinary and unremarkable in every way. It wasn’t especially bright, nor was it broken or bruised. It almost annoyed me in its mundanity. “I expected better from the soul that joined Aquilarios.”

“You’re lucky it hadn’t already been used in enchantments.” Tharn droned on. I rolled my eyes at his unending grousing. How did a hundred years of imperial emperors suffer his incessant whining? “Or worse, used in some spell craft. Then you would have nothing to-”

“Enough.” I silenced, and I ignored the chancellor’s furrowed brow as I released the soulgem from my grip an arm’s length away from me. Instead of clattering to the floor, it floated in the air, and magic followed my deft fingertips as I began my spell. “Shall we see what uncouth filth the “prophet” has chosen to be the savior of Nirn?”

Tharn raised a brow, but otherwise seemed unimpressed even as I split a looking glass out of magic to spy on Aquilarios’s vestige. I wouldn’t admit it, but it irked me that my exceptional talents were wasted on a human unable to appreciate brilliance. What irked me further was the picture in the looking glass.

The figure did not look uncouth and did not look like filth. Instead, a silhouette sat softly on dark grass illuminated only by moonlight and torchbugs. They were studying a diagram of the stars, periodically following them in the sky with their fingers. Their eyes were filled with wonder and reflected the dancing lights of the torchbugs around them. They weren’t particularly stunning, but it would be incorrect to say they were hideous as well.

“Ah.” Tharn droned dully. “The picturesque image of uncouth.”

I wanted to kill him.

“Well, you have your vestige.” He continued, “Not that they seem to be doing much.”

“Yes,” I looked at the image with idle boredom. Then, with a snap of my fingers, the image was gone in a waft of sick, turquois smoke. “I will have to keep a regular eye on the creature.”

“If that is all-” 

“No, that is not all.” I said, returning my hands behind my back. “I have another task for you, an errand that needs handled.”

“Lucky me...”

[incorrect-pos-quotes]

I never realized having a fanboy could be so useful…DON’T STOP KEEP FANNING BOY!

Kuga to Kade Probably because well…he was in a grumpy ass mood

[princeofstride-misquotes]

[incorrectsportanimequotes]

Hallo mates! I'm starting a new blog! Incorrect Sport Anime Quotes! I'll start posting in a few hours. Just wanted to get this going before I sleep. If anyone has any ideas, feel free to submit!

[raayllum]

for janaiweek, day four: princess

The first few days in the royal court are rough, for Kazi. The palace is massive and easy to get lost in, and although Queen Khessa rarely leaves her golden throne and Kazi hasn’t seen her in person yet, Her Radiance probably doesn’t exactly have a comforting presence yet either. 

For the most part, Kazi spends their time in the royal library, cataloguing and translating ancient texts into more modern day dialects. It’s a small sort of sanctuary. Which is why when the bustling of servants reaches their ears, Kazi takes notice. The whole palace seems to be in a tizzy, actually.

Eventually, Kazi overhears two of the maids in the south corridor. “The princess will be here soon—”

Lux Aurea only has one princess, who left for the border a year ago shortly after her elder sister’s coronation. She’s supposedly a talented warrior, well on her way to be their new Golden Knight. Kazi can’t help but feel a shred of curiosity. Is she as haughty as her sister is rumoured to be? 

It’s a little exciting, if Kazi is entirely honest. Which is why they don’t notice where they’re going until it’s too late, lost in the west wing — a part of the palace they’ve never been before. All the glistening hallways are beginning to look the same and empty (this might be where duller aspects of royal business are conducted) so Kazi is relieved when they spot two people down the hall.

Both wear armour, one a taller, bulkier man, the other shorter with a more elaborate headpiece even from the back. Her hand rests on the pommel of her sheathed sunforge blade.

“Excuse me,” Kazi starts, approaching with a finger raised. “Could you point me—”

“Pardon, ma’am,” the older man says grumpily, brows furrowed as both turn. “But you are interrupting an important discussion.”

It is then, looking at the woman’s marks and seeing her headpiece, that Kazi realizes they’ve just interrupted Princess Janai in a private conversation with likely one of her more experience generals. Kazi shrinks. The sting of being misgendered hardly registers, mostly because Kazi can count on one hand the amount of times it’s happened since they came out years ago. Sunfire elves have always been well adjusted when they’re paying attention. “Of course, my apologies—”

“Onan,” the princess reprimands, her tone sharp. She jerks her head towards Kazi. “Apologize.”

“What—“ Then Onan’s eyes catch on the tight, simple necklace Kazi wears around their throat, a chosen identifier for those who identify the way they do. Kazi has been wearing it since well before they cut their hair, as it’s meant to be a signal regardless of presentation. Their throat bobs as Onan eyes it now before he shuts his mouth. “My apologies. I did not see it.”

“That is alright,” Kazi says, still feeling meek, if a bit better.

“You should really be taking this up with my sister, anyway,” Princess Janai says to the general, judging by his badges. “I expect she’ll have time to see you now.”

Onan walks away and Kazi expects the princess to go with him, but she lingers, hanging back. Kazi can’t quite look her in the face.

“It took time for people to adjust to calling me princess as well,” Princess Janai reveals. “Rather than prince. A week at most.”

Kazi looks up, their eyes wide. They’d lived far enough from the capitol to assume reports that the royal family had two sons had just always been incorrect. They gulp. “Princess—”

“You deserve respect,” she says, inclining her head towards Kazi’s necklace. Her eyes are full of understanding. “Never let anyone forget that.”

Kazi nods, numbly, the princess giving them a small smile before she strides down the hallway. Kazi stares after her.

(Years later, when the princess needs a translator, Janai just looks them up and down, taking note of the necklace, and says, “I was told you were the best translator in the city.”

Kazi can tell Janai doesn’t remember them, their interaction in the hall, but that doesn’t matter. They’ll never forget.)

[mommymooze]

Blacksmith

So I had my first ask from @sloth-and-gluttony-are-my-sins, so the absolute first thing I had to do is mess it up. Tumbler, you are mean when they ask a question and then  I ask a question and it doesn’t leave the original dohickey in my mail here so I can use it to respond and then I got all confused but...the important part was someone asked and I wrote and here it is. Enjoy.  Especially Sloth&allthat. 

You first meet the students at Garreg Mach in the summer of the last classes ever held there. Your friend Anna requests your services because the regular blacksmith fell ill. You feel the need to expand your horizons. Working for your father for years, perhaps it was time to start setting up a shop of your own. What better chance than to take this job. Everything is here already except for a smith. They have plenty of horses that need shoes, weapons that need repair and new weapons to be forged.

 Getting up with the sun, you load wood and coal into the forge, regularly working the bellows to get the heat high enough to soften the hardest metals. Each blacksmith has their own tried and true methods of working and molding the metal into their desired shapes, resulting in weapons and tools to sell in markets. Your family has a history of great craftmanship, you must carry the torch.

Today you are working on fine pieces of steel that slowly will become beautiful custom daggers. The blades requested by the handsome gentleman were specifically ordered to be perfectly balanced, incredibly sharp, shiny and deadly.

Pumping the bellows a few more times, you check the glow of the metal, it is glowing brighter, soon you will be able to work on flattening the steel into shape. You pull the strap of your thick leather apron over your head, tying it behind you. Thick leather pants also protect your legs, your heavy leather boots protecting your feet from metals shards that constantly fall and cover the ground, a hazard of working with metal. Your naked hands grabbing the metal long handled tongs, reaching into the superheated forge and grabbing the brightly glowing hot steel, placing it on the anvil. You reach for your twenty pound hammer with a muscular arm that few, if any, in the monastery could compare to. Your shirt is sleeveless to allow the 100% freedom of movement necessary for your work, your arms forever glistening with sweat from the heat of the forge and materials you work with. You spend an average of 12-14 hours per day working with the metal, molding it under your power, shaping it into beautiful deadly tools.

You begin hammering the metal in a rhythmic pattern, giving a heartbeat to the marketplace. You switch hands every so often, glad that you are ambidextrous, developing the thick strong muscles on both arms evenly. It makes you chuckle-some smiths you know who have a single heavily muscled arm, the other tiny compared to the first. Not that the rest of you is underdeveloped. Your legs, stomach, back, even your neck is muscular having to constantly lift heavy pieces of metal, armor, logs, you name it.  You pick up the glowing metal with your clamps, it stretches well under your will, nice and evenly drawn out and ready to be fired again for its next hammering.

You look up in time to see a young blonde haired man. Dimitri as you recall, standing watching you work. Tossing the steel back into the forge, you turn to speak with him.

“Good morning, what can I assist you with?” You greet him as you wipe your hands on your apron, black bits of carbon staining the front.

“I was hoping you could help me with this?” The blue eyed man blushes as he produces a steel lance with the spearhead bent at a very incorrect angle.

You take the lance turning it around and look into his handsome young face. “Were you using it as a lever? Trying to get rocks out of the ground? How many of you were pushing on the handle?” You smile at him.

“Oh no, I was just sparring and, well, I guess I hit the wall and well, here we are.” His blush has crept down his cheeks and into his neck.

Turning the spear again, you find the point where the metal has given way. You move to the right, standing with your legs and knee holding the handle of the spear against your anvil, using both hands you are able to bend the spearhead back towards its original position, then toss the end into the center of your forge. Pumping the bellows a few times you turn to the owner.

The prince’s eyes are as wide as saucers, he had tried to straighten it back out himself and it would not give at all. You simply grabbed it and straightened it back in the blink of an eye.

“Well, Dimitri, what would you like me to do? Just straighten it back out? Reinforce it to make it harder to bend?” You ask as you pull out another piece of the dagger steel and begin hammering it.

“Yes! That would be wonderful if you can reinforce it some. If it would be of no trouble to you.” He looks away shyly.

“That’s what I am here for. I don’t have the fire built for it today, but I do have some welding set for tomorrow. Should be ready in the afternoon.” You answer, not missing a beat with your pounding the metal, drawing out the furthest end into the point of the blade.

Dimitri stands mesmerized as you continually strike the metal, the sweat rolling down your arm muscles then suddenly drops of sweat are flung into the air with the next strike of your hammer. Suddenly he realizes that he’s been staring at you.

“Just how heavy is that hammer?” He asks.

You hold the hammer out to him, your arm straight, the metal head close to his chest. “grab the handle just under the large metal end. It may be a bit hot if you grab the end itself. “

Dimitri takes the hammer in one hand, not expecting it to be that heavy, quickly he gets a second hand on it before he drops it completely. He grabs the handle with two hands, raising it above his head before bringing it down to waist height, then handing it back to you. “It is quite impressive that you can swing it over your head all day long.”

“You could do it too, just need practice. You are incredibly strong to be able to bend your weapons like you do.” You smile, turning back to your work.  You wave to him saying his spear will be ready tomorrow afternoon.

 After a nice lunch break you are back at work on the daggers. Fine tuning the edges calls for a smaller hammer and more finesse work. Clangity-clang! The higher pitch of the five pound hammer working the metal to a fine sharp edge.

“Hail good Blacksmith! If I may have a moment!” A cheerful voice pulls you from your concentration. You grab your tongs and place the blade in the forge for reheating.

You turn to see a Noble Gentleman whose hair color could rival the center of the forge, glowing as orange as the coals in the middle. His wide smile beckons for your attention. “Good day to you sir. How may I assist you?”

“Lady Blacksmith, if I may inquire.” Ferdinand begins, a look of awe is upon his face. He had no idea the muscles that he was admiring belonged to a woman, a very healthy, muscular woman. He coughs into his fist briefly. “In my last battle I incurred damage to my left gauntlet. As you can see the plates on the outer fingers have been bent, making it difficult to grasp my lance properly. I would pay anything if you are able to assist me with this problematic situation.”

You hold yourself back from laughing in the face of this apparently naive noble asking a woman for assistance with the grasping of his lance. You kick the anvil to keep yourself from smiling as you answer. “I would be happy to assist you with the repair of your gauntlet.” You hold the metal glove in your hands turning it and getting a gauge of the metal that was used for the plates.

“You have excellent maintenance skills. A well oiled and maintained piece such as this will last you many years. If you could give me 3 days to complete the work, I can have it back to you then, good sir.”

“Excellent. My name is Ferdinand Von Aegir. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He proudly announces as he holds out his hand so that you may place yours within it for a kiss.

You shyly back away, hands behind you. “You wouldn’t want to kiss these hands right now. They’re covered in coal and oil and smell like steel and grease.”

“Another time, perhaps.” He bows. “It would be an honor to kiss the hand that makes the finest steel bend to its will.” The smile he gives outshines the sun as he bows, heading off to merge in with the crowds, long strides taking him halfway through the marketplace in a scant moment.  

The rest of the day is spent finishing the daggers, straightening the lance, and pounding the steel to the correct thickness to replace the bent portions of the damaged gauntlet. Bending the metal around rods of the correct thickness, matching that of the removed parts then finally hammering the punch to make the hole in each side, allowing the piece to be fastened to the glove and inner plate.

 The next morning is cool and the heat from the forge is most welcome. Today mostly coal is in, the fire needs to be hot hot hot to work on welding the additional metal to the spear. Tempering the daggers and gauntlet bits. Twelve new spearheads requested.

You begin with the weld, everything pristinely clean the fire exceptionally hot as you heat the spear and steel to be welded. Placing the first piece of steel on the spearhead and removing them both from the heat. Placing them on the anvil quickly and lining them up with shorter clamps, you immediately hammer the two pieces of metal together, joining them into a single piece. Now you must reheat the spear to weld more steel on the other side.

While waiting you grab the first of the three new dagger blades that are on the outer edge of the forge. The metal is heated to orange, not nearly as hot as the welded pieces. The oil in the metal tub close to the forge is warmed sufficiently and you quickly dunk the blade into the oil, swirling it in figure 8s to cool it quickly, tempering the metal and strengthening it. The flames on the oil dies down as the metal cools. You place it back in the forge, tempering the other two blades.

Now the spearhead is hot enough to weld the other side. You hammer the pieces together tossing them into the firey forge to heat to tempering.

Grabbing your waterskin you take a long drink. For being so chilly this morning, it’s gotten quite hot in the shop. You swear the pink haired girl standing close to the side of the front is just there to warm herself. Dimitri begins to walk past and notices you taking a break.

“Your lance is coming right along. I’m well on track to have it done around lunch.” You lean with an elbow on a huge log standing on end at the front of the shop.

“Wonderful. I was hoping to get in some sparring this afternoon. Not that we always practice with regular weapons, but it’s good to keep the muscles toned.” Dimitri smiles at you. He can feel the heat radiating from you even a few feet away. His eyes watch the drops of sweat dancing down between the muscles in your arms. He jolts when you speak.

“I can tell you work hard. Be proud of yourself. I’ll be here to make sure you’re well equipped.” You give him a big smile and wave as he heads off to his friends.

The daggers are ready for the next tempering, followed by the spear and gauntlet pieces. Now you pull out your files, working the edges of the metal on the spear so there are no sharp bits, making it smooth and shiny.  Only a few files are needed for the spear. The daggers however need much more work, fine tuning the angle of the blade, then having to switch to stones, finely oiled and the edges drawn out until they can cut a hair.  You almost have one dagger complete when Dimitri returns for his weapon.

You’ve polished it up, removed any burrs, smoothed the handle and sharpened the edge.

“Thank you so much, your work is magnificent.” The prince starts off well, placing his payment on the anvil, then reaching for his lance. However once his fingers brush yours, his shyness gets in the way. “Such a beautiful spear completed by a sharp...Uh..no..Sorry. I brought you a muffin.” He says grabbing the lance and stuffing a bag with a large blueberry muffin contained inside into your hands before he turns beet red and runs off.

You laugh, realizing you had not stopped for lunch yourself. Grabbing a bite to eat you finish your tasks for the day.

 The next morning you finish the gauntlet for the red haired noble, polishing the whole thing until it glows. You decide you’ll make the deliveries during lunch. The schedule is light for today and you’ve always wanted to see the students in their ‘natural environment’. You spend entirely too much time trying to knock the smithy smell off of you. Now you smell like coal, oil, iron, steel and lavender. At least your skin is more pink than black on your arms and face. Your hair is pulled back, you’re wearing a fluffy gray blouse and dark gray tight pants with leather shoes.

Most of the students are gathered in the dining hall. It isn’t hard to spot the tall young man with his glowing red hair that is just brushing his shoulders. Of course, for some reason, he has announced his own name, confirming you have found the gauntlet owner.

“Such an unexpected surprise!” Ferdinand says as he stands and bows to you. “It looks magnificent! Do you mind if I try it?”

You nod, smiling at him.

He stuffs his hand into the gauntlet, the fingers wiggling and grasping at his other hand. He looks into the gloved portion, slipping it off. “It is perfect!” the redhead announces loud enough for everyone to hear. “There is something different, there was a spot inside that somehow does not bother me at all.”

“I attached a bit of moleskin to some places that were rubbing at the base of your fingers.” You point to the area.

“Simply magnificent! Your work is perfection with every effort! Thank you! Thank you!” He says graciously as he hands a bag heavy with coins.

You look at him curiously, this was far more than you were expecting, a whole new gauntlet would have been cheaper. “Are you certain?”

“Ahh yes! It fits me like a glove!” He smiles, holding his hand out, waiting for yours.

You cautiously take his hand and he gently brings his lips to your knuckles. You find this cute and can’t help but giggle.

He laughs cheerfully as he turns and heads back to his room to retrieve the missing match for his review.

 You head out towards the classrooms, looking for Professor Byleth. As you’re walking you hear a voice approaching from the right.

“Ooooh. Looks like a lovely, gorgeous lady is about to find out this is her lucky day” A male voice schmoozes as his footsteps come closer, suddenly a deeper voice chimes in “That’s the blacksmith, idiot. She will break you like a toothpick.”

 Alone again, you enter the classroom. Byleth looks up from the desk where she was grading papers.

“Almost have your order complete for the lances. Have you seen Yuri?” You ask, holding out a box.

“He just left, I bet you can catch him if you hurry, just head towards my room, right by the sauna.” Byleth answers, giving you a wave.

 You run out heading towards the entrance to Abyss. You hope you can catch him before he heads down. Something about being underground just gives you the creeps. Like at any time the roof is going to collapse on you. You’re running and thrilled to spy him just around the next corner.

“Hey!” you call out, gasping for breath. Your job doesn’t normally call for you to run.

“Hello there, friend.” He sweetly calls back. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Needed a change of scenery, so I thought I would make a few deliveries, here.” You say as you hand him the box.

“Oh, these are nice. I knew you would come through.” He says as he takes one of the daggers out, twirling it in his fingers. “Sharp as an eagle’s eye too.”

“It’s buy two get one free day.” You nudge his shoulder, fortunately he catches himself before you knock him completely to the ground.

“I pay fair a price. I don’t like owing anyone for anything.” Yuri frowns deeply.

“Well I heard there’s someone you know that makes a wicked fruit tart, one of those would be payment plenty.” You grin.

“That can be arranged.” Yuri smiles and winks.

[starfaring-princelotor]

To Break A Geode

Summary: Prince Lotor discovers how fickle emotions can really be between Allura and Reader. 

Pairings: Lotor x Reader, Lotor x Allura

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Warnings: Jealousy, ambiguous friendships.

“Stay away from Lotor,” she said, “He can not be trusted.”

There was a condescending tone in Allura’s voice when she commanded the group to obey her order. One that you recognized when Keith was outed as being half-Galra. You didn’t like it, but the team came to an unanimous agreement anyways about the Prince. Bringing an arm up to rub your elbow, you glanced down at your feet in slight discomfort. One voice couldn’t win versus six, so against your personal judgement, you followed the crowd. Perhaps you were just...surprised with the sudden turn of events.

Given, you didn’t trust Lotor at all either, but it left a bad taste in your mouth to just treat him like a caged rat after he swooped in and saved everyone. Not just Voltron, but the coalition and Blades of Marmora as well. Then again, you knew how the Princess thinks. You knew how everyone in this room thinks. Weighing the good deeds versus the bad. That’s all this war really was, right? Fight evil with the universe’s strongest weapon to come out victorious for all subjugated free-kind.

Once everyone had filtered out of the room, sans Keith, you sent him a worried glance. Did he hear that same tone, too?

Knuckles softly rapped on the metal door, though you were sure the Princess could hear you over the hum of the Castle’s engine. The door slid open and Allura’s brows rose up in curiosity, to which you sheepishly waved at her. Those dual-toned eyes showed you everything: she was tired. Exhausted. Stressed. And she had every right to be in the middle of this abrupt change of plans. Her familiar gentle expression came back when you offered her a kind smile. The smile of a close friend.

“Come in, come in,” her room was, well, suited for a princess, “What are you doing up so late? I thought you humans loved to sleep?”

Allura sat on her bed, patting the plush blanket besides her, and you followed suit with a small laugh, “We do, but I just wanted to...well, Allura, about today, when you said - how are you holding up?”

Her smile faltered just a bit at your question.

“I mean, with everything. Are you...you’re alright? Earlier, you just seemed a bit…” you waved your hand in a circle, but Allura’s heavy sigh halted your words.

“I...” she started, face downcast in slight shame, “I suppose with Voltron almost being destroyed as well as all of our hard work - our months of planning only to fail - everything has been a little...taxing.”

“Hey, you and me both. And the team. Everyone was just way too tense. Made me a little nervous too, y’know? You could cut the air with...with a flaboxian knife. Flaboscian?”

Allura finally, finally cracked an honest smile at your joke. That wasn’t the right word, but she appreciated the way you were comforting her time of need with that horrendously, incorrect Altean accent. You were all friends on this ship and as such, you found ways to ease the Princess’ heart when her duties became too heavy on her shoulders. The Princess meant well, you know it. She was royalty, yes, but still maintained that positive outlook on life. Sometimes, she just needed a friend to show it to her once in a while.

“Here, c’mere,” you opened your arms, offering her a hug and she surprisingly accepted it without a fuss, “Just take a deep breath, alright? All this stress is gonna give you white hair.”

“I already have white hair.”

Another laugh, this time from the both of you. She pulled away with an appreciative smile gracing her face. Your hand rubbed up and down her arm, making sure she was fully relaxed. You noticed Coran do this for her several times and, once you asked her if it would help, she agreed to let you try during one of her more emotional and vulnerable moments. And, well, you’re damn glad she trusted you.

“...I suppose with Lotor here, on my ship, the stress keeps stacking up like that Tetrix game. Is that the one? The one with the blocks,” Allura asked and you grinned, happy she too was making light of the situation with lame references.

“Yeah, one of my favorites,” your eyes flicked to the side momentarily before you took a deep breath, “...Allura, about Lotor...I think we should - I’m going to talk to him.”

Instead of returning back to her order hours ago, she shook her head in disapproval, “I do not think that is a great idea. He’s cunning, a snake. You saw how he could take down Voltron just by himself. He has an ulterior motive and I don’t trust...”

You gently squeezed her arm, thumb rubbing little circles on her sleeve, “What? So we’re just gonna...keep him in there? Forever? ‘Till he passes out from boredom? C’mon, Allura.”

Her eyes swam with uncertainty, for your safety, for the team’s safety, for the universe’s safety.

“It’s your ship, your rules, but I really think if we gave him one chance…”

The catwalk to the cell wasn’t the hardest part. Neither was staring down the infamous Prince Lotor. No, the most difficult part of this whole situation was beginning a normal conversation with the exiled man before you. He had watched you the entire time, minding your every step, every sway of your arms, even the bounce of your hair. Since team Voltron had carted him off to this cell, he has had no one visit his prison. Well, that is, until now.

In fact, he had no idea who you were. The intel his generals gathered led him to believe you were a stow-away, some unfortunate refugee team Voltron took in out of their bleeding hearts. Nonetheless, Lotor did not like that he had no useful information about you. He stood to his full height, most definitely dwarfing your smaller self, but you only offered him an innocent smile and open heart.

“Hey, can I get you something while you’re there?”

He arched a sharp brow and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Now, you squirmed uncomfortably and waved your hand in a loose motion.

“The..Paladins are busy at the moment, but I can bring you a, uh, book? A meal?” you tried again and, this time, a spark of curiosity flicked behind the Prince’s eyes, “C’mon, I’m not trying to interrogate you or nothing. I’ve been in your position before, I know how boring it gets in there.”

Well, if you wanted to play like that, then he supposed he would allow it. Just to pass the time, he reasoned. Your odd sense of kindness was refreshing after all the events that took place, but oh no, he would not admit that out loud. Lotor’s eyes softened, just a bit, just to give you a fake sense of security, then he sat himself back onto the marble sofa. Not the most comfortable spot, but prison is not meant to accommodate anyone’s wants.

“Yes, I suppose some company would be appreciated,” with every word he spoke, your smile grew, your trust grew, “You are an Earthling, correct?”

“Uh huh,” you plopped onto the floor in front of his cage, hummed then looked up, reconsidering your answer, “Well, I - sorta? I was abducted. Peacefully.”

Those two words did not go together in Lotor’s mind and it only made him want to ask more questions. It must have shown on his face for you chuckled lightly at how silly “abducted” and “peacefully” seemed to contradict each other. To him, it sounds like you willingly surrendered. Were you that foolish of a human? Lotor waited patiently for you to continue as your laughter died down, allowing a short silence between you two.

“It’s...a long story.” “Darling,” Lotor finally cracked a small smile, “I am not going anywhere.”

Your eyes lit up, “Alright, so, we have this endangered species on Earth called tigers...”

Lotor stood in front of your door, tall and regal and, strangely, wondering why he was here. He had his own personal agenda to do, his own plans he needed to follow, yet his feet led him to your room. And in his hands? A bowl of what Hunk called “chicken noodle soup.” Yes, a strange flu has been making its rounds around the castle, though it only seemed to be affecting humans. The Alteans and himself were considered lucky.

He knocked on the door and, once he heard a faint “Come in,” the entrance opened. There, laying under a thick comforter in the dimmed room, was you in all your sickly glory. Rosy nose and cheeks, sniffling with tissue scattered over your lap, and a holographic screen floating in front of you. A quick glance and he saw you were looking at pictures of tigers. Lotor tsked, eyes lowering in disapproval, but you only met his look with a bashful one of your own. Caught.

“You are supposed to be resting, are you not?” he stepped in, three large strides, then sat at the edge of your bed, “I believe it was Shiro’s orders.”

“But I am resting!” a flat, blank look from him, “Aw, c’mon...you gonna rat me out? Tattle on me? That’s pretty lame, Lot - Prince Lotor.”

“I will do it,” blunt and to the point, then Lotor offered you the tray, “Only if you do not finish your meal. Hunk said, and I quote, ‘The only thing that should be left is the spoon.’”

“Does he want me to eat the bowl too? Yeesh,” but you smiled and Lotor mirrored it unconsciously, “But, really, thanks for bringing it.”

Lotor gave you a nod and let you eat, his eyes wandering around your room. A Voltron poster signed by the crew, some odd plant, a showcase of what looked like gemstones and...rocks? Crystals? You saw his inquisitive gaze stick to the glass and, with a grunt to get his attention, you pointed at the display in excitement. If you didn’t have the bowl of very hot soup on your lap, he wouldn’t have doubted you’d jump up and get it yourself.

“You know what those are?” you motioned for him to get one and he did, bringing you one of the more larger rocks, “Here, I’ll show you. These are geodes. You got geodes on - ah, look, I’ll just demonstrate, okay?”

You were practically vibrating in your seat while you dug into your bedside drawer and took out a laser tool. The soup laid forgotten for now, but Lotor was intrigued by what he first thought was junk ore in your hand. It certainly looked like garbage, but judging by that knowing gleam in your eye, you were about to teach him a thing or two about geology. You pushed the tip of the laser pen close to the rock’s surface, just about ready to flick it on.

“Ooh, this is the best part,” you turned it on, a humming red glow cutting into the surface and Lotor’s pupils focused intently on it, “What do you think is gonna be in it? Quartz? Calcite? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find some opal!”

Your enthusiasm was contagious and Lotor was now waiting in...anticipation. Forget the food, forget your sickness, he wanted to know what was inside this rock. What has gotten you so riled up that you would even forgo your own meal and your own illness? Once the laser cut through all around the rock, you placed it on his hands, but all he did was...stare. What was he supposed to do with this?

“Now, you just crack it like you’re opening an egg,” you made the motion with your hand and Lotor followed suit.

The geode opened with little force and Prince Lotor actually flinched in surprise by the loud noise. He was definitely not expecting that, but when the shimmering crystal glimmered in the dull light of your room, he parted his lips in awe. It was so...purple. Deep, dark shades of wine slowly mixing into soft lavender greeted his eyes and he felt like he found a sacred treasure no one else had discovered before.

“Oooh,” your eyes widened at the mineral, “I was hoping for a cool gem. Balmera has so many different stones, much more different than Earth. But, hey, it’s amethyst! Wow, I haven’t seen one so opaque before.”

“Amethyst, you say?” he repeated while bringing it closer to his face, “It is quite...gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it? And there’s even more mysterious ones in those geodes,” you felt better, whether it was the soup or spending time with him, you weren’t sure, “Hey, why don’t you keep that one? It suits you.”

Both of you conveniently missed each other’s flushed cheeks.

Allura noticed. Her sharp eyes saw the way Lotor’s gaze would slowly drift to stare at you when everyone was in the same room. She could hear the soft inflection in his voice every time he answered one of your curious questions. She noticed how casually you two would sit close together and even go as far to playfully touch his shoulder or allow him to place his hand on the small of your back. You two were happy, but Allura was not. She was suspicious.

“- and he told me that the Galra have this thing called, uh, c...cnark…cnarktyqgw...” your hands paused in braiding her hair as you tried to remember how to pronounce the word, “Ah, well, I can’t say it, but apparently it’s a type of gem that changes colors depending on your mood. Isn’t that the coolest thing ever? I want one!”

Allura was worried about you. So happy, so care-free, so easily manipulated. Or, perhaps, she just didn’t want Lotor to take you away from her. She didn’t want you to get hurt. Who else would be here to offer comforting hugs when life became too overwhelming for her? Who else could possibly talk so freely to her like an actual friend? Who else will gossip childishly about how the latest fashion on Earth was simply horrendous? Allura felt you continue your braid, but you had gone quiet, whether because you were reminiscing about your time with Lotor or you were too focused in your handiwork.

“You two are getting awfully friendly,” there it was, that faintly concealed threat, but even you could hear the hint of concern.

“Well, yeah, we’re great...friends now,” your cheeks tinted at that, “I think I like him.”

And yet, when you said those words, Allura’s heart softened. You were genuinely delighted. Delusioned, perhaps, but happy. As your friend, was she not supposed to intervene? Protect you? Enforce her warnings even more? As your friend, was she not supposed to be just as cheerful for you? You, who supported her. Wasn’t it time she did the same? Allura decided that now was a good time to get to know Lotor more. Set some boundaries, so to speak.

“Is...that a bad thing?”

“Darling, a word, if you have time,” Lotor, ever the proper Prince, stood tall and serious in the observation deck.

You were sitting on the ground, knees pulled up to your chest and arms caged around you for self-comfort. Allura had told you their plan to turn him over to Zarkon in exchange for Pidge’s father. You knew why they agreed to do it. They cared so much for Pidge and her struggle to find her father. It was the emotional choice and, if you hadn’t met Lotor before, you weren’t sure if you would completely disagree with their decision. Now, though, things have changed. Your heart has changed.

“Y...Yeah?” your voice was shaky from crying and after you stood up, you hastily wiped at your tears before facing him.

Oh, Lotor was falling in love with you. When you looked up at him with wet eyes, openly distraught and vulnerable, his heart felt the urge to protect you. So, he did. He brought a hand up to gently thumb away your tears, but the touch only urged more to fall. Your frown deepened and he carefully brought you close in a tender hold. Instantly, your arms wound around his waist, clutching him in hopes to stop time itself.

You could not help but let one thought run through your mind: Did you not deserve happiness?

“If this is to be our last moment together, then may I kiss you, little star?”

May I give you a piece of my love should fate deny me another day to live?

You gave him your answer by nearly leaping up on him and meshing your lips with his.

“Emperor now, huh?”

“Are you surprised?”

You huffed at him and his cocky, little smirk, but holding him in your arms, you can not even begin to tell him how relieved you are he was alive. After the Kral Zera fiasco, leaving you worried and alone a second time, you had half the mind to bop him one right across the face. Instead, you cupped his jaw and released an exasperated sigh while his hand gently combed through your hair.

“I was...concerned, maybe,” you admitted to which his grin only widened even more, “Okay, I was very concerned. You came back all broken and bruised, what was I supposed to think? You fell down the stairs?”

Lotor chuckled at the irony, “Then allow me to alleviate your worries and repent for my past grievances. Would you care to join me for a walk through the garden?”

“As long as you tell me where you got each and every plant, then yes.”

He liked that about you. The never-ending thirst for knowledge. Though, while strolling through the thicket of his carefully laid out garden, he had to cut the tour short. The lab called him about a new discovery and, while you were happy he and Allura were working together now, it did make you a little sad he had to leave so suddenly. You knew nothing about this magic they were researching on, but regardless, you occupied your time with snooping around the ship. Perhaps find Lotor a small gift to drop on his bed, something to show you still appreciate all he has done for Voltron. For you.

Allura hadn’t meant to let him hold her hand any longer than necessary. In the heat of the moment, of her doubts when it came to the Altean knowledge hidden in her mind, she allowed Lotor to quell her thoughts. He was comforting, encouraging, and gave her all the right words to boost her confidence. Lotor was actually...friendly. Just like you. That was why you two stuck together like stars and space.

“I can not do this without you,” Lotor pleaded, eyes imploring for her help.

You were able to befriend him, and more. She took your advice with a grain of salt and decided to give him a chance, only because she knew it would make you proud. To see your close Altean friend flourish, forgive, accept that there are more to people than just what is on their skin, what their culture instigates. A small part of Allura was still clinging to the idea of Lotor somehow manipulating you. Lotor somehow manipulating her. She couldn’t let go of that, not when so much relied on her shoulders as both a Paladin and the last Princess of Altea.

Allura chewed on her bottom lip, still hesitant, but did not pull away from Lotor’s grip, “What must I do?”

Allura understood now. You were not weak for accepting him. You were strong. Brave.

Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.

Months passed and you saw Lotor less and less. Yes, there were some days Allura and Lotor allowed you to hover around them while they worked because, well, what are friends for? They spend time together, all three of you, and it was fun. It started out fine, enjoyable even. The three of you sharing different knowledge, different perspectives, different ideas. But there was something growing between Lotor and Allura. Something you refused to believe before your very own eyes.

Allura wouldn’t do that to you. Lotor wouldn’t do that to you. They were your friends.

The first stab was when you kissed him. After a long day of staying cooped up in the lab working on those revolutionary ships, you had asked him to join you for dinner. Some one on one bonding time. It was refreshing, listening to those stories about distant planets and how he once rode a beastly aquatic fish to escape near death. Laughing together, reprimanding him for such recklessness, then he would playfully remind you that he was the Emperor now, and you held no power here. Though, when you pressed your lips against his, you felt something different.

He hesitated.

The second stab was when you were spending quality time with Allura. Grooming her, braiding her hair, and just reveling in each other’s familiar presence like old times. Her hair was so soft, but she was so rough. You liked that about her. You liked listening to her talk excitedly about how plans were finally falling into place. Voltron joining the Galra Empire was stronger than ever and peace was finally seeming possible. Yes, you were proud, but your nose tickled in warning.

She smelled like him. She had his scent on her.

The killing thrust was happening now. Your hands went numb at the sight of them kissing each other, arms embracing in a gentle hold, one you knew all too well. Eyes closed with a lover’s blush dusting their cheeks, mind lost in each other’s passion. They were completely enamored in the lock and blind to everything around them. This was their moment and you weren’t in their thoughts at all. And just like that, you shut down. Your vision glazed over with that dark pit of emptiness and you felt nothing. Not the shake in your knees, not the quickening pace of your heart, not even the pain of knives stabbing into your back.

You were their friend. Weren’t you supposed to be happy for them?

They separated when the sound of rocks hit the metal floor. Those gifts seemed so useless now. Geodes, who would ever want them? Ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside. Were they speaking to you? Who called your name? You could see their lips move, see Allura’s eyes widen in surprise and growing realization. Then, you felt something hold onto your limp hand. Slowly, your empty gaze met his, met Lotor’s, and cosmic eyes you once found so beautiful in the dead of night now seemed completely strange to you. Foreign. Who was this man? And why did he hold no remorse, no guilt, behind those orbs of his?

Just slight concern, like there was a little green bug on your nose.

Your legs automatically pulled you back, out of Lotor’s grasp, and when the door slid close behind you, Lotor felt truly shocked.

Not because you left, but because for once in his life, he does not know what to do.

You were glad your body’s system shut down like that. It skipped over the pain, locked it away for later, and now in the quiet of your room, you were able to try and process your thoughts. Now you felt the sickening clench on your gut, now you felt the creeping discomfort claw into your arms. Now, you felt...alone. Your chest hurt, either beating too fast or beating too slow, and the tears, fuck, they just would not stop. No matter how hard you wiped them away, they just kept falling.

Then came the sobbing, the wailing, the choking and hiccups that stunted your breathing. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. You wanted to sleep, but it wouldn’t come, so all you could do was find a corner and cage yourself. Imprison yourself for now. You needed time and, thankfully, no one had yet to try and step into your comfort zone. And who would come, anyways? What would Allura say? What would Lotor say? What would YOU say? You did not want to say anything. You couldn’t say anything. Your voice did not matter.

Lost and alone wasn’t even the right words. You felt left behind and forgotten.

Lotor had been watching you for quite some time now. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his presence, for when you looked up, sometimes he would see faint recognition flash behind your eyes. Then, sometimes, that haunting darkness would come back and you would recess deep to the corners of your mind. You would sob violently in one moment then go dead silent the next. These turns of emotions within you greatly disturbed his own confused feelings mixed in his chest. It left him feeling sick, as if there was some black acid in his throat deteriorating his insides.

You were docile now. Lotor cautiously grasped your hand and opened your palm, watching your every move to make sure he wasn’t overstepping your boundaries. Then, he placed an oval gemstone in your hand, watching the color switch from peridot green to pitch black. Your eyes glazed back to life, slowly blinking at whatever this was Prince Lotor decided to gift you. He said nothing, for there were no words that came to his silver tongue during this vulnerable moment between the both of you. With you watching, he traced the tip of his finger over the blackened stone. The heat left trails of bright violet in his wake. 

It was so...beautiful.

[notveryglittery]

trampoline

summary: moral of the story: don’t leave patton and roman alone when they’re bored.  words: 1,779 |  ships: platonic royality & moxiety. platonic lamp.  warnings: roman and patton acting like drunk fraternity boys, panicking notes: this one was so much fun. inspired by this post from @prinxietys!! “theo-doze-a” nickname from @katatles-the-fish‘s post here!

read on ao3! | read more incorrect quotes ficlets! 

It was any other day in the Mindscape.

Logan was in his room, working on various schedules. Thomas had spent the last few days visiting his parents and as such, had been in full on relaxation mode. Not much had gotten done and the Sides, for the most part, hadn’t minded. Now, though, Logan felt it necessary to make up for lost time, and was making plans for the last few weeks of the month. No one blamed him for wanting to be ahead of the game and Virgil, in fact, encouraged it. They all understood that it’d help Virgil out in the long run and so even Roman and Patton had left Logan alone. His door was open, just in case, and classical music could be heard drifting down the hallway.

Virgil, meanwhile, was in the Commons. While he’d normally spend this time in his own room, listening to music or a podcast, he had decided the living room might be more comfortable today. He had taken up most of the space on the coffee table, with various adult coloring books. He preferred colored pencils but there were crayons and markers available to him as well. Roman had provided the mediums where Patton had offered the art. Instead of listening with headphones in like usual, Virgil had his music playing quietly through the speakers of his phone. Sunlight spilled into the room through the open blinds.

Patton and Roman, ever the extroverts, thought spending their time alone sounded dreadful, and as such, were in the kitchen together. They’d already baked three batches of cookies (chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and oatmeal raisin) and were working on a double layer cake. It’d be frosted with buttercream and they’d decorate it with pink flowers and raspberries and it was going to be delicious and beautiful. Their baking spree came to a halt, however, when Roman slipped out of his long sleeved maroon henley and down to the simple tank top underneath. It’d been getting warm in the kitchen, what with the oven on for so long. Patton found himself distracted by Roman’s arms and a thought came to him quite suddenly.

“Roman,” he began slowly, setting down the piping bag he’d started to fill. “You’re strong, aren’t you?”

Roman had seemed confused for hardly a second before he was beaming at Patton, looking a perfect mix of delighted and cocky. He made it work, somehow. 

“Of course!” He boasted, flexing. Patton swooned a little. “As a Prince, I must be in order to rescue damsels in distress!” He continued to show off before Patton’s curious, yet slightly mischievous, look caught his attention.

“In that case…” Patton peeked around Roman and into the living room, where Virgil was still distracted by his coloring. He leaned in closer to Roman and whispered, rather conspiratorially, “how far do you think you could throw me?”

They tried to be careful as they snuck out the front door but their giggling caught Virgil’s attention. It might also have had something to do with the bad feeling he had suddenly in the pit of his stomach. He followed the pair outside, from a distance, and rolled his eyes at how utterly unaware they were. Virgil watched as Roman first conjured a trampoline; he couldn’t hear them debating on how far or close to put it to the house, but he got the idea after they moved it a couple times. That bad feeling intensified when Roman created a ladder next and gestured grandly for Patton to climb up it first.

Before Roman could follow, Virgil darted forward and caught him by the wrist.

 “What are you two up to?” He asked, not meaning to sound distrustful. He must’ve failed at it because Roman pulled away, looking slightly insulted.

“We’re testing my strength!” Roman defended. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about!” 

With that, he ascended the ladder after Patton, and before Virgil could follow, snapped it back out of existence.

“Roman, I swear...” Virgil muttered darkly, before bolting back into the house.

Meanwhile, Logan had closed his door and was laying down on his bed. He’d decided a break to rest his eyes would be advantageous, and was admiring the swirling galaxy that was his ceiling. It was quiet and peaceful and— 

The sound of footsteps bounding up the staircase and down the hallway pulled him from his reverie. He’d just sat up when the door slammed open, banging against the wall.

“Virgil,” Logan said, “what ever has gotten into you?”

Out of breath, Virgil gestured wildly back to where he’d come from. 

“Roman… is about to… yeet Patton… off the roof!” He was shouting, or trying to at least, while sucking in lungfuls of air. “Onto a trampoline!” He inhaled sharply one last time before approaching Logan, who’d had yet to move, and grabbing his arm. He yanked him off the bed and out of the room. “You’ve got to stop them.”

Logan stumbled after Virgil, whose grip wasn’t loosening any, and adjusted his glasses as they went. 

“I don’t know how you expect them to listen to me.” Logan sighed as Virgil led them down the steps. “You know how those two get once they’ve got an idea.”

 They continued outside and around to the back of the house. The trampoline had been relocated a few more times and they could hear Patton laughing.

Virgil finally let go of Logan and began to pace nervously.

“Roman, Patton,” Logan called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “I’d like to speak with you, please.”

“Oh great,” Roman yelled, peering over the edge of the roof. “You went and told on us?!” He shot Virgil a look of betrayal.

Patton appeared next to Roman and waved. “Hi, Logan!”

“If I recall correctly, to “yeet” is to throw an object forcefully over a long distance.”

Virgil groaned. “Yes, Logan.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw!” Patton cheered.

“Am I to understand that you plan on throwing Patton off of the roof and onto this trampoline?”

“Yes, Logan, congratulations.” Roman said in a tone entirely too mocking given the situation.

“Have you considered how reckless and dangerous that is?”

“Aww, Lo! It’ll be okay!” Patton reassured. Virgil wanted to scream. “Roman’s super strong! And I’m the softest puffball we got!”

“Patton,” Virgil clasped his hands together as if he were begging, and honestly, he was this close. “Please do not do this.”

“We’re doing this, Theodozea!” Roman argued. “He’ll be fine! Won’t you, Patton?”

Patton nodded rapidly, glasses going slightly askew from the motion. 

“Here!” He said suddenly, pointing to the trampoline, and snapping his own fingers. A plethora of blankets and pillows appeared, covering the surface so thoroughly that it was a good thing there was a net surrounding the frame to keep them from spilling over. “Is that better?”

“Patton,” Virgil repeated, voice pitching higher, and sounding extremely distressed.

Without warning, Roman scooped Patton up into his arms. He squealed excitedly. 

“Ready, darling?” Roman asked, striding to the edge of the roof closest to where the trampoline was set up. 

“Roman!” Virgil snapped, finally having apparently reached his limit. “Roman, I swear to God, if you throw him off that roof—!”

“Honestly, you two, I fail to see how this is beneficial in any way, whatsoever.”

Roman spun in a few circles, as if trying to gain momentum, before he swung his arms out, and tossed Patton over the roof. Virgil screamed. Logan’s gasp came out strangled, as if he was properly surprised Roman had actually gone through with this ridiculous plan. Patton let out a peal of laughter, tucking his legs against his chest. He went flying through the air and Virgil felt his heart trying to beat itself out of his chest.

“Patton!!” he cried, rushing towards the trampoline. “Patton, oh my God, Patton, fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hands were shaking terribly as he watched Patton disappear into the pile of cushioning. Logan was following, face gone pale.

Before anything else could happen, Patton burst out of the nest of blankets and looked around gleefully. 

“Judges?!” He exclaimed, as if Virgil and Logan would rate his landing.

“Patton, move over!” Roman called from the roof. While he backed up to get a running start, Patton scrambled out of the middle of the trampoline and off to the side.

“Oh, for…” Logan mumbled, sounding like he was going to be sick.

“Roman, no!” Virgil’s voice cracked, hands reaching uselessly up, as if he could stop Roman from launching himself off the roof and onto the trampoline. 

Roman was stupidly graceful in his movements and Virgil was going to murder him for the unnecessary backflip, among many other things. Much like Patton, he vanished underneath the padding, before appearing again, hair an absolute disaster, and out of breath.

Roman snapped his fingers and the trampoline dematerialized. He and Patton and Patton’s pillows and blankets landed on the grass. Patton fell over, laughing himself silly.

“I hate you both,” Virgil panted. He allowed Patton to reach forward and take his hand, pulling him into the pile. 

“We aren’t friends anymore,” he insisted, “unfollowed, blocked, reported.” As he went on, he wrapped Patton tighter and tighter in his arms, until there was absolutely no chance of Patton getting away.

Roman crossed his arms, pouting. “See! He’s fine! I told you there was no need to worry!”

“You did no such thing,” Logan pointed out. 

Virgil could have mentioned that Roman did say so, before Logan had arrived, but he had no intention of standing up for Roman right about now. Logan stood out of reach so that he couldn’t be dragged into the cuddling. 

“Are you finished with all of…” He gestured to the mess, “this? I have more important things to be dealing with.”

Roman huffed. “Sure, yeah, fine, whatever.” 

He moved to join Virgil and Patton in their snuggling but Virgil pierced him with an absolutely murderous glare. Holding his hands up in surrender, he sighed in a very long-suffering sort of way. 

“I get it. Not your favorite person right now.” Still, Roman smiled sweetly at Patton as he stood. “I’ll go get those cakes ready to decorate, dearest.”

Patton nodded happily, still quite content to be enveloped in Virgil’s arms. Once the two were alone, Patton gently nudged his nose against Virgil’s neck. Virgil shuddered at the contact but held Patton all the more, as if the touch was further proof that Patton was okay, safe, alive. 

“Sorry to scare you, kiddo,” Patton apologized.

“Just promise it won’t happen again?” Virgil requested, rocking them back and forth a bit.

“I promise,” Patton agreed.

[conspiracies-and-crime]

The Jack the Ripper case

Information about the case: The Jack the Ripper murders were a series of murders that took place in London, England. Jack the Ripper went after women, specifically prostitutes. It has been over 100 years and this case is still unsolved, no one knows who this “Jack the Ripper” as though there are suspects and ideas on who it could have been. There is also a speculation on how many women were killed. Some think that it was only five murders others believe it was eleven. It is said that he was a madman without a clear motive for the murders.

Notes:

All the victims were prostitutes

Women rather than men.

Most women in the white chapel district had to turn to prostitution for survival.

Women rather than men.

Most women in the white chapel district had to turn to prostitution for survival.

Took place between 1888 &  1891

It’s been > 100 years since this case took place.

100’s of suspects.

The white chapel district is were most-all murders took place

Is known for violence and crime.

Said to not have a clear motive

Most say that he only claimed the lives of five women.

Known as the “canonical five”

Some think he claimed the lives of eleven women.

The murders were in the newspaper and the public eventually became fascinated with them.

The public became so upset that the police commissioner + the home secretary resigned from the case.

Eight possible suspects.

August 31, 1888, at 3:40 AM was when the first victim was found.

The first victim was Mary Ann Nichols’

Found by a man named, Charles Cross.

Claims he was walking along buck’s row when he noticed a bundle near the western end.

Another man, Robert Paul approached the body with Cross.

Mary Ann Nichols’ was found on her on her back with her thought slit violently and she was disembowelled.

Only dead for a half hour.

The killer could have been nearby when Paul and Cross found her.

September 8, 1888, Annie Chapman was found in 29 Hanbury street.

Chapman was discovered by John Davis, an elderly man from the building on the street.

Chapman's throat was also slit but this time her womb was taken.

Dr, George Baxter Phillips served as the divisional police surgeon at the time had thought to have knowledge by how Annie Chapman's womb had been removed.

The killer was either a doctor or had basic anatomical knowledge.

On September 27 i888 the central news agency got a letter from the alleged killer basically saying that he had been hearing that the police had caught him but he wouldn’t stop the murders but instead he would send an ear to the police as a joke. He says that he laughs when they say they are on the right track and he won’t stop until he’s caught or dead. He brags about his last murder and how he gathered some of the blood in a ginger ale bottle to write with but it thickened up too quickly for him to write with. He jokes about them thinking that he’s a doctor.

The letter wasn’t released to the public until October 1st.

People thought the letter was faked by the journalist.

On September 30th 1888 at 1:00 AM the body of Elizabeth Stride was found on Berner street by Louis Diemschutz.

This time only her throat was slit making the police to believe that Jack the Ripper was interrupted when Diemschutz approached.

This was the second victim

People question whether this was actually the doing of Jack the Ripper as her throat was cut quite hastily & didn’t have any of the other things that had happened previously.

When she was examined at 1:15 AM it was determined that by that time she had been dead for 30 minutes.

Only 45 minutes after the discovery of Stride the body of Catherine Eddowes was found Mitre Square.

This was just west of the Strider murder.

Her body was very mutilated including her face. Her uterus was removed along with her left kidney.

The body was 10-15 mins away while walking.

After Eddowes was killed he made his way back to the first murder.

East from the body of Eddowes (?) was the only solid clues for investigators and police in the case.

The clue was a piece of Catherine Eddowes apron.

Found by Alfred Long in the doorway of an apartment block nearby Goulston street.

This was east of the Eddowes murder site.

Nearby written in chalk was a message that read “The Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.”

This was a sign of the anti-Semitism that was in this specific area.

The big thing about this clue was that it was found east of the murder site.

This was in the direction of Elizabeth Stride's murder site.

The murder that was committed 45 mins prior to this.

This meaning that the killer entered an area that, at the time, was swarming with cops.

Despite this showing that the killer could easily escape places that he could have been living in the east London area.

A postcard was received by the police on October 1st and was written by someone who had been claiming to be the Murderer.

It was written in similar handwriting.

This time talking about how he wasn’t kidding and how he couldn’t finish and how there would be a double even in the paper.

No one in the public knew about this so this lead police to believe that it was the killer as he described it in detail.

On October 13, 1888, police spent a week searching people's houses in East Densworth but found nothing

October 16 a man named George Lusk had received a letter.

He was the head of the Mile End Vigilance Committee.

This was a group to help assist the police.

The letter was signed. “From Hell”

Was delivered in a box w/ half a kidney.

The kidney was believed to be Catherine Eddowes’ kidney.

This was later to be found to be a prank by a medical student meaning that some people didn’t take this seriously and it was something they would joke around with.

(~~A month later) On Nov. 9, 1888, the body of the 5th & final victim Mary Kelly was found in her bed at 13 Millers Court.

She was found by her landlords assistant who was seeking rent.

This was the most gruesome murder.

Kelly’s body was disembowelled & “virtually skinned down”

“The sight that we saw I cannot drive from my mind it looked more like a work of a devil than a man” This is what the landlord said about the state of the body.

Some people claimed that they had seen the killer.

All murders were committed on a weekend.

Killers appearance.

In between 25-35

Roughly 5`5-5`7

Stocky, fair complexion, moustache.

Seen wearing a dark overcoat & dark hat.

Looked perfectly sane, frightfully normal.

Yet capable of extreme violence and cruelty.

. . .

Sir Melville Macnaghten, the Scotland yards head of criminal investigation department in 1903, though he had a vague idea on who the killer was.

Knew that Jack the Ripper had a basic knowledge of anatomy.

Possibly a doctor.

His notes say that he had narrowed his list of suspects down to three names.

Suspects of Jack the Ripper.

Suspect #1: Montague Johnson Druitt

A barrister who may have had an uncle + a cousin that were doctors.

~ His time of death he could have been around the age of 40.

Supposedly had an interest in surgery.

Might have lived with a cousin.

Who was practising medicine close to where the murders occurred.

It also appeared that ~ a month before the first canonical murder happened his (Montague) mother went insane.

Wrote down that he too thought he was going insane.

(though most people going or that are insane don’t know they are/going insane)

In Macnaghten’s notes, it says. “From private information, I have little doubt that his own family suspected this man of being the Whitechapel murderer; it was alleged that he was sexually insane”

After the last murder, Montague disappeared

4 weeks after the last murder he was found dead.

The body was found floating in the Thames river on December 3rd 1888

Suspect #2: Michael Ostrog

Russian doctor & criminal

Been in an asylum previously for homicidal tendencies.

Macnaughten wrote in his notes that he couldn’t find a strong alibi for his whereabouts during the murders.

Wasn’t evicted because there wasn’t enough evidence linked.

Suspect #3: Aaron Kosminski

A polish & Jewish resident in Whitechapel.

Spent time in an asylum in 1889

Resided in asylums until his death in 1919

Known for his hatred toward women

Specifically prostitutes.

His description matched with the killers

Name recently was in headlines

Featured in the book, “Naming Jack the Ripper”

Russell Edwards (the author) talked about how a shawl was bought at an auction and contained his DNA proving that he was the killer.

Bought under the impression that it was found at the murder scene of Catherine Eddowes.

Edwards got help from a molecular biologist Jari Louhelainen from Liverpool John Moores University.

Seman on the shawl was linked to Kosminski.

With this discovery, people thought that the case was closed

“I’ve got the only piece of forensic evidence in the whole history of the case. I’ve spent 14 years working on it, and we have definitely solved the mystery of who Jack the Ripper was. Only non-believers that want to perpetuate the myth will doubt. This is it now -- We have unmasked him.” - Russell Edwards.

Louhelainen may have made a large mistake.

Dr. Louhelainen identified a mutated piece of DNA on both the scarf and in Eddowes relative Karen Miller.

Mutation believed to be 314.1C

Only found in 1 - 290.000

The match was incorrect it wasn’t 314.1C instead was 315.1C.

Mutation shared with > 99% of people of European descent.

Kosminskies DNA was linked using Mitochondrial DNA using a subtype that wasn’t unique.

Suspect #4: Jill the Ripper

The theory that Jack the Ripper was actually a female

~~ a hunch of inspector Abberline

When everyone was looking for a man instead of a woman would explain why the killer could slip by unnoticed.

A midwife could also have anatomical Knowledge.

Blood on her clothing wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow.

Though all eyewitness accounts pointed to a man.

Suspect #5: Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward (The royal conspiracy.)

Often scoffed at.

Prince Edward was frequent to places that the victims were found.

An activity that led him to contract syphilis which drove him to insanity

Caused him to have a child with a local woman which led the queen to demand that everyone who knows of the child to be “Taken care of.”

Some believe that the insanity spawned by syphilis drove him to commit the murders himself.

Conspiracy theorists believe that he was never discovered because royal aids assisted in covering his identity.

This theory is often called ludacris as there isn’t any evidence to back it up.

Suspect #6: Walter Sickert

Patricia Cornwell (Known for her crime novels and devoted her time to find out who the killer was) claims that Sickert was obsessed with Jack the Ripper.

This is proven true

Referenced Jack the Ripper in some of his paintings.titling one of them “Jack the Ripper's Bedroom”

Cornwell claims that one painting mirrors the body position of the fifth victim Mary Kelly.

Claims that another painting mimics the facial wounds of fourth victim Catherine Eddowes

Reports of Sickert ‘Cosplaying’ as Jack the Ripper for fun.

Cornwell debunks that Sickert was in France at the time of the murders.

Saying that he has sketches of music halls in London at the time of three killings at least.

Analysis of forensic paper expert Peter Bower who identified three of Sickert's letters and two of Jack the Ripper's letters from a handmade paper run with only 24 sheets of that paper.

The possibility of both Sickert and Jack the Ripper writing on the same paper that only has 24 sheets in existence is very unlikely.

While that is undoubtedly evidenced all of the Jack the Ripper letters are unconfirmed.

Suspect #7: Joseph Barnett

Suspicious because he actually lived with Mary Kelly.

May have lived in 10 different locations in East London.

So he knows the area well so he can navigate back streets.

Worked as a fish porter

Reported was in love with Kelly.

According to the Daily Telegraph Barnett referred to Kelly as his “wife”

She was only a roommate.

Disagreed with her life as a prostitute striving to make money to keep her off of the streets.

Saying. “Marie never went out on the streets with me”

Theorised that Barnett committed the first murders to keep her off of the street.

Which for a little bit worked.

When he lost his job Kelly went back to the streets.

Financial struggles lead to fights.

Barnett disliked her love of Gin.

When Kelly brought back two different prostitutes it stirred one final fight which Barnett found unacceptable.

The fight got violent

A window was broken.

Not too long after Barnett moved out of the house.

10 days later Mary Kelly was found dead.

He was questioned for 4 hrs but was set free.

Having lived there he would know knowledge about the house of which included how to unlock the door from the outside.

Also knew Kelly's schedule and tendencies.

Details say that she was killed in her sleep rather than by someone she invited in.

Clothes were folded by the bed “As though they were taken off in an ordinary manner.”

Was wearing a nightgown.

As a fish porter, he would have anatomical knowledge.

Because he knew Kelly other prostitutes would know him allowing him to get close enough for a “sneak attack”

One newspaper at the time stated that some of his friends called him Jack.

Matches both physical and mental descriptions of Jack the Ripper that were created by police & the FBI.

The murders stopped after Mary Kelly.

With his lover , that he was trying to keep off of the streets, now dead he had no reason to keep on killing people.

Suspect #8/Last suspect: James Maybrick

His death matched with the stop of the killings.

Died a year after the killings.

Upper-class cotton merchant

Resided in an estate called the “Battlecrease House” in Liverpool.

Some think that this is a large detail as they think that he wasn’t an upperman & was instead a local.

A wealthy cotton merchant would be able to travel on weekends.

Wouldn’t be killing in his own Locale (Local area)

A diary was found under the floorboards of Maybricks estate.

His diary is signed. “I give my name that all know of me, so history does tell, what love can do to a gentleman born. Yours Truly,

Jack the Ripper.”

The diary held intimate details of the killings.

Scientific tests prove that the diary matched the time of the Jack the Ripper killings.

The diary was discovered by a scrap metal dealer named Mike Barett.

Admitted to the diary being fabricated but then later took that back.

The details of how he got the diary are shaky.

Some say it fell into his hands from being handed down in his family others say Barrett discovering it himself or his associates discovering it and then bringing it to him.

If the diary truly was found under the floorboards of the estate than there is a very strong possibility that Maybrick is Jack the Ripper.

Following the diary, a golden pocket watch was found as potential evidence.

The pocket watch apparently has the initials of each of the five canonical victims scratched into it.

Including the phrases “I am Jack” & “J. Maybrick.

The scratches were analysed from an electron microscope and Dr. Stephen Turgoose who said that the scratches were not done in modern times.

Another Dr. named Robert Wild, in Bristol’s Universities Interface Analysis Center, suggests the scratches “could have been very, very old and were certainly not new but it was difficult to be precise”

The watch, which was displayed and discovered in a Liverpool Jewelry Shop by a college caretaker named Elbert Johnson.

Dated in 1846

Purchased for 225 Pounds. ( 294.88 US dollars.)

My Thoughts.

My thoughts on the Jack the Ripper case. Well, I personally have a fascination with unsolved mysteries, especially unsolved murder cases. This one in particular really caught my attention just in how the victims were chosen and how it has been so long and we have so many suspects but only a couple of them would actually make sense and possibly could be Jack the Ripper but there are places where the theory and reasons to suspect to the person kind of fall out or it would lead to at least a couple of loose ends or it starts to not support it as much as it could and some of the evidence isn’t the best so you can get confused about the true killer. As for the case itself, it is a sad thing that had happened but I honestly can see how it could stay a mystery for so long. With that many suspects and different evidence showing up and being debunked so often and random throughout the years. Like the instance where the shawl was bought at an auction and the molecular biologist got the wrong mutation and said that it was a rare one before finding out that he had said that it was the wrong one and it was actually a mutation that every descendant of a European has the mutation. Things like that can keep it a mystery although I think that we will probably solve it eventually seeing that we have a couple that might actually have been Jack the Killer.

This case is actually the case that really got me into crime and unsolved mysteries I find it fascinating about how we could solve it years and years after the crime had happened and ended. I honestly love the idea of studying cases whether they’re ongoing or if they have already ended and haven’t been solved. Even cases that have been solved are just fun to write my thoughts down or talk about my thoughts and theories about it.

My theories and who I think did it.

Okay, I have three different theories that I think committed all of the Jack the Ripper murders. I’m going to go from the one that I don’t think is very likely and I have very little evidence for to the one that has the most and that is more likely. Now let’s begin.

The Jill the Ripper Theory: Okay I think this one could be likely because at the time that the killings were going on (1888) women weren’t allowed to have a title of a doctor or anything of the sort. So when the first or second letter for Jack the Ripper was sent (now thinking back to it I do believe that it was the first letter sent in.) it says that they were shocked that people were actually thinking that they were a doctor. This leads me to believe that it really could have been a women at the time. Plus in 1888 it would be normal that a midwife would have blood on her clothes so she could have passed it off that she was just a midwife so she could slip in and out of crowds easily which could explain why the killer wasn’t found or spotted on the night of the double murder. It could have also thrown off the police because they were told to be looking for a man but instead they should be looking for a woman. Although there is something that is holding that piece of evidence back that it that the killer had been described by eyewitness accounts and at that time you could easily tell the difference between a man and a women as they had very different figures due to the corsets that they (women) would always wear. Being a midwife would also give her anatomical knowledge that Jack the Ripper obviously had otherwise how else would (s)he be able to disembowel his (her) victims and take out their womb the way they did.

Joseph Barnett: This one definitely has more of a chance than the Jill the Ripper theory does. Barnett actually lived with the fifth and last victim Mary Kelly. He had actually told the Daily Telegraph that she was his “wife” when in reality she was actually just a roommate that he lived with so people naturally started to say that Barnett had loved Kelly and because he disagreed with her being a prostitute people believe that he committed the first murders to scare her off of the street which actually worked for a bit. He said that “When Marie was with me she never went onto the streets.” This was because she didn’t need to because he was working as a fish porter. He was thought to be able to get around so easily because he may have lived in 10 different places in East London so, he could get around quickly because he knew his way around. Because he didn’t like that Kelly was a prostitute they often got into arguments they would also fight because he didn’t like her love of Gin. But when Joseph lost his job as fish porter Kelly went back onto the streets and continued with the prostitution. When Kelly brought two other prostitutes home Barnett didn’t think that this was acceptable so they got into a pretty big argument at this point it had gotten quite violent a window was apparently broken in the fight. After the fight, Barnett ended up leaving the house. 10 days later Kelly was found dead in her apartment. Because he lived there he would know how to unlock the door from the outside and around the house. Kelly’s clothes were also folded like they had been taken off and placed in an ordinary manner and she was in a nightgown so she was killed in her sleep because it didn’t look like she had any form of struggling like she had been killed from someone she had let inside. Right after Kelly was killed the killings had stopped as it is known. This ties in because why would he kill anyone else when the women that he loved was now dead and he had no reason to still be killing.

James Maybrick: James Maybrick is the person that is most likely to have done it. Maybrick was an upper-class cotton merchant so he only really had weekends to go out and do other stuff plus all of the murders took place on weekends which could potentially point directly toward Maybrick. Plus he was living somewhere else so it wasn’t so obvious it was him at first because he lived in a different location than the murders were happening it was kind of shrugged off because you know who would want to go somewhere else to commit a crime such as murder. He also resided with an estate called the “Battlecrease House” that was located in Liverpool. Under one of the floorboards, there was a diary found that had vivid and intimate details about each one of the murders of each one of the victims. The diary was signed with this: “I give my name that all know of me, so history do tell, what love can do to a gentleman born. Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper.”. There was a gold pocket watch that was found by a college caretaker by the name of Elbert Johnson had found it in a jewellery shop in Liverpool. He took it to a Dr. who said that the scratches in the watch weren’t from modern times the scratches read the initials of all of the victims and two phrases “I am Jack” and “J. Maybrick.”

[ignisisthicc]

The Curse - Story of the Night Child (Part 1)

//before we get into this I have a few things to address:

1.) this is all taking place during the boys' childhoods although in coming chapters time will progress and there'll probably be a time skip somewhere I haven't really secured much of this plot yet

2.) secondly this is probably going to be updated very vERY slowly so um... I apologise but I really don't want to rush the plot and ruin it and so I'm going to take my time trying to make each part the best it can be

3.) i don't own any of these characters apart from the ocs mentioned ! (I feel like there may not be many other ocs though)

4.) I'm new to the fandom so I am aware that some things might be incorrect or some facts might be kind of vague, but there isn't a lot of detail on other characters like Ignis's past so I'm going to try my best to keep it accurate and not write about what I'm not sure of. Please be patient with me guys>•<

5.) this is my first post as you can probably see so feedback is greatly appreciated! that's all I have to say for now, so read on and let me know what you think !

***

Sunlight.

Such rich, golden radiance, casting it's glow on the people below and their beautiful city. It reflected off of the creamy stone walls and illuminated the fresh, vibrant grass, a spotlight in a forever blue sky.

A girl of perhaps twelve years stood by a window, which was purposely topped with a curved roof, as if to shield the girl from this warmth, this radiance that immediately put everyone in the Crown city in a good mood. Only a sliver of it slipped it's way into her dark chambers, the white streak luminous against the dull, granite-coloured floor. The girl, as if in a trance, held her hand out to this light, tentatively reaching her fingers out to touch it, to feel it's soft embrace.

And then it happened.

She remembered, and there she was again, reliving her past. Dancing through the city, a melodious laugh escaping her lips as she twirled in her fern green summer dress and stepped out into the sunlight.

Hot, searing pain.

Screeching, her skin feeling as if it had been set on fire, patches of mahogany red spreading like wildfire across once smooth, marble skin.

And she was back in the present, retracting her hand from the sliver of light she was about to mistakenly bask her fingers in.

She was cursed, and her curse was to never be able to set foot in the daylight ever again.

She was the night child.

***

Ignis Scientia looked up from the shoe he was tying to meet eyes with King Regis, who was approaching him and the young child he accompanied in strong, confident strides, his stance always emanating such power and regality.

Regis was a kind man - and had proven his soft heart to Ignis, looking out for him when he had no one else and when he had been orphaned from such a young age. His son, Noctis, meant a great deal to the boy, and he took especially good care of him, acting as an older brother figure and always sticking by him when he was on his own.

Noct had also lost his mother when he was very young, and Ignis, knowing the pain of no longer having a parent by one's side, immediately stepped in to look after Noctis and make sure he had company, someone who would read him bedtime stories, cook for him, and like now, tie his shoelaces, until he one day learnt how to do them himself. Although Regis had encouraged Ignis to watch over Noctis for him and try to remain close with the boy, Ignis naturally found himself doing so anyway, his caring and paternal side shining through and causing him to behave this way towards the younger child.

His majesty now stood before them, a tall man with a kind face and twinkling eyes, who greeted both young boys by their names before announcing some important news.

"I'd like you both to come with me today. There's someone for you to meet - a child around the same age as you, Ignis - who I'm sure you'll definitely get along with just fine."

At this new information, Ignis's eyes widened in curiosity, though he merely nodded, whereas his counterpart, Noct, reacted in a slightly more... informal manner on hearing the news.

"Someone our age? Who? Why do we have to meet them? Is it important?" The young child rambled, a slight whine to his tone which made the king chuckle.

"Now now, Noct," he said, ruffling the inquisitive child's hair, which elicited an annoyed sound from the young one as he shook his head to fix his hair again.

"Just come and you'll see. It's very important that you do. This person is someone who would make an excellent friend to the both of you, and they too would benefit from making friends with you both, as they are quite lonesome themselves."

Ignis was quick to catch on with what he meant by this. Regis was referring to their upbringing, the incomplete families they had that the mystery person also seemed to share. He wondered if they had anyone else, a single parent like Noct's, or if they truly were alone like himself. At this thought, Ignis felt a slight pang of pain in his chest. He knew the feeling of solitude and loneliness all too well himself, and knew that if this person also grew up the way he did, they would have known these emotions very well too.

Instead of enquiring to hear more about this anonymous child, he turned to the young prince, standing up from where he was tying his shoes earlier.

"We should listen to your father, Noct. I'm sure this person we've to meet will be a great friend to us," he told him, hoping the boy would listen the first time and not refuse his suggestion. "Besides, weren't you curious to see who they were?"

"I... guess," the child responded, though he didn't seem too convinced. "But if we go now, when will we play our game? You said you were going to show me that trick you did last time..." Noctis pouted.

"I'll show you right after," Ignis promised. "Let's just go see this person for now." Regis nodded in thanks to Ignis' interference. Being close in age with the young child, he had an easier time convincing him to follow orders that were given, though the boy was quite rebellious and made it often a difficult task. Still, this didn't mean at all that he was impolite, rather the opposite; as a prince manners were one of the first things he was taught and was made to put them straight into practise. However, he did have a bit of an attitude at times, which was all but part of his personality, though many were not particularly fond of this sassy trait.

The large corridor was silent, save for the echoing footsteps of the three who made their way to meet the anonymous person. Streaks of sunlight peeked through the arched windows, burning into the floor and walls. The young prince acquired a slight skip in his step when he noticed the pattern it made on the floor, jumping over the highlighted areas of the ground and dodging them, playing this little game with himself to make the long walk a tad bit more bearable. Regis looked over at the boy and smiled fondly, though he spoke no words. The love the king had for his only child was immeasurable, and perhaps something that the Prince would never fully understand or recognise until he himself would one day bear his own children.

Finally, the three of them reached a door towards the front of the palace, a chamber that was often considered a sort of "waiting room", if one seeked an audience with the king. Regis placed his hand firmly on the handle, though he stopped to turn to Noctis before revealing the stranger inside.

"Noct," he murmured, though his eyes were serious. "Remember to behave."

Before the offended prince could complain to his father about the statement that had just been made, the door swung open, and inside, a young girl around the same age as the young advisor sat patiently, her legs swinging from the seat she was on, and a parasol held over her head which shielded her from any possible source of light. She turned, her eyes surveying the new company she had before standing and curtseying politely, her head bowing respectfully.

"Your majesty," she spoke, her voice as soft and quiet as a mouse. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Nova Esther Lamentia. I hope we can be good friends."

The girl looked up finally, cheeks gently flushed, to see the two boys watching her wide eyed, though she was sure it was merely from curiosity. She was a strange spectacle to behold: a porcelain doll, skin as pale as snow, bandages wrapped around her arms, and the loud mark that splashed across her right cheek, a mahogany firey red, though it seemed dull now under the shade of her parasol.

Regis smiled kindly at the young girl, gently nudging Noct forward so that he would introduce himself to her.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you too," he replied, nodding to her politely. "I'm Noctis."

"The pleasure is all mine," came a voice from behind Noct, and stepping forward, the older male bowed towards Nova, his lips pulled into a soft smile. "My name is Ignis Scientia."

Though his actions were swift and formal, the boy could not ignore the sudden thudding in his ears, caused by the hot rush of his blood, and he knew straight away that they had turned pink out of embarrassment again.

Though the girl before him was a peculiar sight, he found her almost mesmerising; with her eyes as black as night, skin creamy and pale, her small rosy lips like a doll's, ebony hair that fell about her waist, which stopped just above the tufts of the ivory dress she adorned, patterned with pale pink ribbons, it's design too matching the one on her parasol. He had never seen the likes of her before, and it made him all the more inquisitive, being ever so curious as to how she had gained such scars and wounds that she had to be wrapped in bandages, and that she carried around with her this parasol when the day was so pleasant and warm. And perhaps it was so for that, to shield her from the heat, as Ignis knew and saw many who dealt with the sunlight by using the shade of a parasol.

Despite his burning curiosity and all the questions he had that he so wished to ask, a certain prince beat him to it, his curiosity also at a peak.

"Why do you have an umbrella with you, by the way?" Noct blurted out, his head tilted in confusion. "I thought they were for rainy days. And what happened to your arms? Were you hurt?"

At this, the girl's eyes widened, and she stepped back, hiding her bandaged arms behind her back.

"Noct," both the king and young advisor spoke at once, and the boy found himself shrinking away from their reprimanding voices.

"I was just asking!"

"Forgive my son," the king spoke apologetically, outstretching his hand to the girl. "He often forgets his manners."

Noctis bowed his head, pouting at the floor, though he did not defy his mistake. "I apologise for my rudeness."

Tentatively, the girl placed her small hand in the King's, allowing him to pull her to his side. She smiled shyly at Noct, shaking her head.

"It's alright," she replied. "I got these in an accident, the same way I did with my scar." She pointed to her face, although it was beyond obvious she was talking about the only visible marking on her face.

At this, Noct's lips formed a round 'o' shape, but before he could ask any further, his father interrupted with his loud, booming voice.

"Nova is without her parents just like you, young Ignis," Regis informed him, and on hearing his name the boy reattained his focus, paying attention to each and every word of the king. "I want you to both treat her kindly and with respect. She is a very gifted young girl, Noct, and has also been given a place and title in this palace that she will acquire once she is of age. For now, she lives with other family, but she will be here frequently. I shall hope you all get on."

"But of course," Ignis responded, his head bowing towards the king. Regis smiled, he knew he could trust Ignis with anything. However, he wasn't so sure if it was the same with his son, although he had some faith and knew that inside, Noct was a kind and good child.

"Then I shall leave you both to show her around. She has already seen this floor and the gardens as I have asked the maids to do so, but I trust that you may show her the rest."

Once again, the older boy nodded, and with that, Regis turned to exit the room, hesitating as he turned once again on remembering something.

"Ah, Nova," he addressed the girl, eyes serious as he held her gaze. "If there is ever a problem you are faced with, do come to me or inform the boys. We are at your aid."

At this, Nova nodded, smiling in thanks towards the king, to which he returned the action. Thus, he exited the room, leaving the three children in a slightly awkward silence.

"So," Noct spoke up, turning to the girl beside him. "What do you want to see first?"

[elenatria]

“By making Johnny Lawrence the inverted underdog, and a surprisingly likeable one, the writers of Cobra Kai have brought the franchise into a post Game of Thrones era. And by making Daniel LaRusso the bigger asshole — a Miyagi wannabe undermined by hypocrisy and self-righteousness — they’ve taken the original hero in an unexpected direction. Part of it is the social class reversal. Daniel grew up dirt poor but has done well for himself as a wealthy car dealer who can treat his family to country club outings. Johnny, for his part, has fallen out with his rich stepfather and lives hand to mouth in the shitty neighborhood of Reseda where Daniel used to live. This reversal alone pays dividends.

But aside from even that, Daniel is astonishingly judgmental. He condescends to Johnny, kicks him when he’s down, tries to ban Cobra Kai from participating in the local tournament, and launches a pathetic crusade to shut down the dojo. He does this by manipulating a business associate into doubling the rent in the strip mall where the new Cobra Kai has just opened, which shafts not only Johnny but all the other mall renters. This is a supremely asshole move, and Daniel’s wife calls him on it. But I was frankly put off by the entire LaRusso clan. Daniel’s wife sounds like she’s always talking down to people, his cousin is a useless twit, and his daughter a priss. The LaRusso home gives off a superficial Miyagi vibe, and at work Daniel has turned some of the best things Mr. Miyagi taught him into cheap gimmicks — karate chops in car commercials, and the bonsai trees he gives away free to car buyers. Daniel does revere his deceased mentor, but has little to show that he actually understands the “balance” that he lectures others (his daughter, Robby) to strive for.

It’s the Cobra Kai losers who sell the series.  Aisha is particularly well scripted, driven to take karate after being cruelly bullied by classmates over her weight. Johnny at first refuses her, on the politically incorrect wisdom that “no girls are allowed at Cobra Kai”, until Aisha proves her potential by slamming his best student on his ass and almost breaking his ribs (mostly on the strength of her fat-ass weight for which she has been relentlessly teased). She soon becomes one of the best Cobra Kai students, and certainly one of the series’ best characters.

Johnny is the true hero of Cobra Kai, in thrall to a harsh version of karate but unwilling to sink to the depths Kreese did. He has a vulnerable side, so he’s not just an asshole. His upbringing was less than kind, and his son Robby wants nothing to do with him. He’s politically incorrect (and, amusingly, a stone-age Luddite who doesn’t know what “a Facebook” is), showing hints of racism, sexism, and homophobia, while proving that in practice he’s really none of these things — as long as his students keep up. (He reminds me of Full Metal Jacket‘s Sergeant Hartmann: “I am hard, you will not like me. But I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops, or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless.”) Miguel takes his sensei’s flaws in stride, and Johnny comes to think of him as a son.

When Daniel and Johnny faced off in the ’80s, it was cookie-cutter good vs. evil. With Miguel and Robby in the final round, there’s no such duality this time. Each is an asshole; each is likeable. And I have to give the writers credit for having Miguel take the trophy, which I didn’t expect at all. Surely Daniel’s protege would win, as Daniel always did in the films? But no: Miguel kicks the shit out of him, and in a very Cobra Kai fashion — by taking full advantage of Robby’s shoulder injury, hitting him in his wounds repeatedly with “no mercy”. A sleazy move, and yet somehow Miguel (unlike the ’80s Johnny) doesn’t come across as despicable for it.

The epilogue scores for continuing to portray Daniel in a less than flattering light. As soon as Daniel said “over my dead body”, I saw the Prince of Sanctimony again; and with the foreshadowing of what will surely be a Miyagi dojo in season 2, it’s obvious that Daniel is gearing up with more self-righteous measures against Johnny. And as if Johnny doesn’t have enough to worry about from that corner, the biggest surprise of all comes in the final frame: the return of John Kreese, who has all along been presumed dead. He strolls into Johnny’s dojo, congratulates him on his victory, and tells him they have “much to do” now that Cobra Kai is back. That sounds like a hostile takeover, and Johnny looks appalled; he’s been fighting Kreese’s ghost for years. Trapped between Daniel and the Devil, he has ugly challenges ahead of him, and season 2 has a lot to deliver on.”

If you read the whole thing, I disagree with the article saying that Cobra Kai is just a campy family drama with godawful soundtrack (WHAT???) but I agree that Daniel is portrayed as a self-righteous judgemental condescending hypocrite and that Johnny is politically incorrect  showing hints of racism, sexism, and homophobia, but in reality he’s none of those things.

Of course I’m on Johnny’s side because who doesn’t love a cynical blue-eyed golden-haired underdog with a mouth and an attitude. But I also love how much of a manipulative and sanctimonious asshole Daniel has become, and I’m enjoying every minute of his “villainy” eating pop corn. He’s so enjoyable to watch. I don’t think he’s badly written or badly played at all, and I wouldn’t want him any other way. I wouldn’t want him to be “just nice to Johnny” because where’s the fun in that, and I can’t make myself hate him because he’s just deluded about the true nature of Cobra Kai. Too stubborn to see the truth. And if it wasn’t for this ongoing feud we just wouldn’t have “Cobra Kai”, would we? 

[princeofstride-misquotes]

It’s MY quarantine and I get to choose the old hyperfixation to revisit

[iamjessemartinz]

It's #LPPSaturday and #BlackLivesMatter ~ Let's celebrate the #Genius of #Prince 'til the world stops spinning ~ Inspiration: 8/3/83 • Love this? Join the club - literally! Help power the project (AND GET BEHIND THE SCENES ACCESS and COOL STUFF!) by joining #ClubLPP 👉 patreon.com/clublpp • From Alan Light's 'Let's Go Crazy: Prince and the Making of Purple Rain': "She plays through a chord progression once, and the rest of the five-piece band falls in behind her. They go through the cycle again, and then again. The fifth time around, you can hear a second guitar coming from somewhere offstage. On the ninth instrumental go-round, Prince strides out, wrapped tightly in a purple trench coat [that's actually incorrect, but it makes for good drama!] He plays a few fills, moves his head to the microphone as if he's about to start singing, then pulls back again. Finally, three and a half minutes into the song, he begins his vocal, reciting more than singing the first line - 'I never meant to cause you any sorrow...' The performance would yield what would soon become his signature recording and one of popular music's greatest landmarks. . When he reaches the chorus, repeating the phrase 'purple rain' six times, the crowd does not sing along. They have no idea how familiar those two words will soon become, or what impact they will turn out to have for the twenty-five-year-old man onstage in front of them. But it's almost surreal to listen to this performance now, because while this thirteen-minute version of 'Purple Rain' will later be edited , with some subtle overdubs and effects added, this very recording - the maiden voyage of the song - is clearly recognizable as the actual 'Purple Rain,' in the final form that will be burned into a generation's brain, from the vocal asides to the blistering, high-speed guitar solo to the final, shimmering piano coda. As the performance winds down, Prince says quietly to the audience, 'We love you very, very much.'" • #Prince4ever #LePetitPrince #LPPisART #TroyGuaArt #Surrealism #Photography #Sculpture #StagedPhotography #Miniatures #PopArt #ArtImitatingLifeImitatingArt • 💜 x ∞ • ➡️ ➡️ ➡️  https://troygua/le-petit-prince https://www.instagram.com/p/CEee6_6l6AX/?igshid=2pd0j0zi2u8m

[extravagantliar]

@drecdwolf joking mentioned that solas read varric’s shitty city elf romance series that we headcanoned to be the equivalent of Twilight so i wrote the first chapter, so here’s the first ( and lmao only ) chapter of Daybreak. 

Daybreak “ I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, or even noticed... until he did. ”

Written in part in parcel with the Kirkwall City Elf Coalition For Merrill, because. ---  Varric Tethras  ( 9:40 Dragon ) one --- the basket The rolling hills of Kirkwall turn from gold spun grassed to jagged escarpment arising from the jetties and moors like a scar. The sky even turns, from it’s vivid blues to a sickly grey in the approach, drawing my attention to the walls that dare to kiss it in the distance. 

Kirkwall City.

Babae, my father, claimed that Starkhaven and it’s city was no longer safe, but he had also begrudged that Kirkwall City was no better. However, he had proclaimed at least their Alienage gates locked at night --- or so he had been told. Alas, my sister and I bent to the will of my father, packing what little we had and fleeing to the tepid coast and it’s ever-present cloud cover; hoping for some sort of refuge after six days of travel on horseback. 

I still did not understand why we could not have stayed in Tantervale with my father’s sister and her daughters, perhaps it was because of some unknown forces in Tantervale --- grappling at the very inner political machinations, but was Kirkwall truly any better? As we entered the city, I heard the whispers that strangled the city, whispers recount that Kirkwall City was once a city of promise and opportunity, but now it had been ravaged by a feckless war. 

Better than Starkhaven, for it was still being held captive by rogue Templars, wanting to oust all who disagreed, including the reigning Prince. 

I had been critical of Kirkwall as we entered the main gates, for the rubble reached out onto the King’s Highway and littered it, leading my family and me to believe that the city was in a state of depravity, which was not completely incorrect --- there were plenty of crumbling buildings. Yet, as we entered the Lowtown and the market community, it was apparent that at leat this part of the community was thriving, for the smell baking bread was wafting through the air, people were still going about their lives, making due with what they had. 

Babae had talked about the indomitable spirit of Kirkwall City, and perhaps, he was correct --- if these people were carrying on, I could make due as well, perchance even thrive in this former city of promise. 

I was quick to steer us through dilapidated Lowtown, steering clear of the larger human men, who seemed to eye my sister and eye with such ferocity while the women seemed to turn their heads away from me after offering us looks of quiet sympathy. It was the same everywhere, why was I ever hopeful that it would be different here?  I didn’t let the questioning looks, and scornful gazes bother me; though I cannot speak for my sister, Maeve, she was far more meekish and traditional, I could imagine now that she was upset by the scornful gaze from the fishermen and working women of the Lowtown Docks. 

However, we made quick work steering ourselves through the gates into the Alienage and finding the apartment we had been promised. Sister had worried about living in Kirkwall City, hearing that the Alienage had fallen into disrepair and even hearing that the Vhenadahl had been pulled from the flagstones and mutilated by mages and Templars alike. Yet, I had been surprised, the community was thriving and looked to be in a better state than the city we had proudly marched through hours before, the Vhenadahl was painted for a festival, and the pungent smell of cumin and caraway hung in the air --- someone somewhere was mixing marsala. 

Our apartment was on the top floor, I’m not sure how we were able to afford such a place, but I was thankful that it was ours, for the view was breathtaking. There was no balcony, but I was able to throw the windows open and grab onto the rafters, using my body weight to propel myself up onto the flat roof of the cooperative. Coming into Kirkwall, I had been eager to judge the grey and uninviting skies, for as the day met the night and I looked out towards the Waking Sea --- the sky changed from a dusty grey blue to something painted with colours, violets and orchids played with yellows and pinks marred the sky in some beautiful scars as the star flicked to life in the heavens, reminding me of the hanging lanterns back home. 

“Sienna?” Attention shifted as a voice called from below, so with haste, I dropped, throwing myself from my perch and wiggling back through the window and into the bare thread apartment. Tomorrow I would weave, I would start a rug for the stone floors --- and a blanket for my sister, something to help her fend off the cold air. “Sienna!” She called again, and I made quick work padding into the kitchen area, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone. 

“I’m here Maeve, just stepped out for a moment.” My sister --- was beautiful, even now I fail to find words to describe how she looked. She was sunkissed, much like me, however, her dark curly hair was easily pliable, plaited at all times as if she wished weave flowers through it. Now, in my older age, I can only call my sister angelic for her looks, though memories are unreliable I assure you this one is not. However, I’m getting away from the tale at hand --- she was settled by the drawn sink, she’d apparently pulled buckets of water in while I was situated on the roof. 

Being on the top floor of the co-op, proved advantageous, for much like our home in Starkhaven City, this apartment had its own fireplace. I began to wonder if the apartments below had stoves such as ours, the building was one large square divided into smaller squares -- allowing room for a kitchen area and then a place to rest, wash up, study or work. I would imagine they were all the same. 

Again --- getting away from what was important. My sister wasted no time placing a large woven basket in my arms, I was very familiar with it --- for it was one of my own creations, and one of the few things we had brought with us. She had obviously wasted no time emptying it of the linens I had shoved in it, which amused me and was also rather heartbreaking. Kirkwall City was now home. 

“Go and fill this with produce please, I’m making stew, and I want it to keep for a couple of days.” Maeve is hasty with her words as if to cover up the intent behind them. There is a keen sting behind them, for we both need work to live --- Father has promised to send coin to us, and follow in the coming months, however with the war I doubted that Starkhaven City would let another smithy leave the city walls, knowing they will need all of their finest casters. 

I shift the basket under one arm, popping the lid off of it for a moment. Perhaps, I can weave and sell my goods in Lowtown --- yet I know that chance in slim, it’s far more enticing than finding scullery work to support my sister. “Do you just want the usual --- or would you want the grocer to give me advice?”

“I’m not picky, the neighbour gifted us some leftover chicken and stock as a welcoming present, just find something not too expensive that will go with chicken.” Pulling a face at the idea of leftover chicken, earned me a swat from the palm of my sister’s hand. However, I was sceptical of most things still. Yet, could I be blamed? I felt as if I was still floundering, out of my element and gasping for air. Before I could honestly feel my Maeve’s wrath, I moved --- fleeing from that apartment with the basket in my clutches and using one of my free hands to tug shoes onto my feet. 

It didn’t take me long to find the open air market, all I did was follow the pungent smell of marsala cooking in the distance and the throngs of people that seemed to have the same idea as Maeve, however --- it seemed that these people were not here for the grocer, no they seemed to be huddled around a communal fire, with some small dark haired girl at the helm of the crowds. She was obviously Dalish, I didn’t want to make assumptions. However, City Elves don’t wear the mark of the Gods. 

Between the crowd and the roar of the fire, I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, or even noticed... until he did. He was handsome --- fair skinned with bright and kind eyes, a mop of dark hair with ears poking out from the curls, a crooked smile that the greats write about with such romanticism. I immediately hated him, for his cocky smile, and his scruffy looks, but he pulled me out of the way of an oncoming cart. His hand lingered on my shoulder too long for my liking, and I brushed him off as he laughed, a disgusted noise coming from my throat before I could find my manners and thank my saviour. 

The man simply wiped his hands on his tunic, taking my poor behaviour in stride. In hindsight, I should not have been as standoffish, however --- could I be blamed?

“Are you alright?” His question comes off more as a joke, it’s punctuated with a laugh rather than any notable concern.

“I'm fine.” My words were forceful and motions calculative --- turning away from him and towards the grocer’s cart, filling my woven basket with produce. I’d taken to turning my gaze to the potatoes --- figuring they must be the same here as they were in Starkhaven. 

“Let me help you, you’re new around here.” 

My eyes met his, they must have been damning, alight with insolence and forcefulness, for he laughed at me again. “I think I know how to pick out a potato.” 

“I don’t doubt that, but Morwick is gonna overcharge you. You’re new --- and every day a sucker is born in Kirkwall.” The man stated, thumbing behind him. I followed the gesture, and my eyes came to an older elf and a human counting banknotes. The human was a portly fellow, with a large moustache and not much hair on the top of his head, the older elf looked a matronly age, yet time being rather kind.

“Morwick’s the shem?” I lowered my voice, not wanting the shopkeeper to hear the slur. 

The man nodded, “Nennia is his wife, they’ve lived here for as long as I can remember, Morwick’s one of us, good people and makes sure we get what we need, but he’s a little harsh to the new arrivals --- so let me help.” I was used to living in squalor; however, I really could not afford to be overcharged, especially with no income. 

“You don’t even know me.” I offered up, the basket still in my hands, but extended in good will to the other man.

“Name’s Yerlin, most people just call me Lin, I’m a tailor -- I actually work for a friend of Morwick’s in Lowtown outside the gate, and you?”

“Sienna.” I didn’t offer him my line of work, for the moment --- unemployment was all I could state. 

“And now we know each other,” Yerlin insisted, prying the basket from my hands, relenting I let him have it, though my coin purse remained tightly tied to my belt. I would pay Yerlin rather than giving him my purse and then being left flat, for this was a new city, and I was more than sceptical. Yerlin made quick work of getting Morwick’s attention and striking up a conversation with him, they seemed to know each other well enough and the older woman, Nennia seemed taken with him. Yerlin waved me over, and introduced me to them both, his hand finding the small of my back and pushing me forward to greet them when I made my way over, not allowing be to be to be tentative or shy. 

Nennia sized me up for just a moment before jumping into caring for me as if I was one of her own, it was foreign, but not unwelcome, for I had not been mothered in nearly ten years --- and it was very welcoming. Morwick, as I would later come to learn --- he liked being called Wick, however, ignored me for he was more interested in the conversation with Yerlin and the coin that seemed to pass freely between their hands. I eyed them carefully for a moment, however, Nennia demanded my attention commenting on the basket in Yerlin’s arms, asking where I had gotten it. 

“I must have one, dearheart ---- for you see, many of our craftsmen have left due to the war, Lin is one of the few who stayed, and you see...my baskets and catchers are old and have fallen into disrepair, I’m sure I could convince Wick to let me buy a new one, especially from someone who is a friend of Lin’s.” 

I would not understand her inflexion on the word friend until much later, for it had fallen on deaf ears for a moment, Lin had finished his dealings with Morwick and was wishing him well. He approached us, crooked smile still ever present. Nennia then greeted him again with a sloppy kiss to his cheek before wishing us well. My gaze moved to Nennia and Morwick --- and their interactions, it struck me as highly unusual for their relationship was almost illegal in Starkhaven City.  

Words finally found me. However, my gaze lingered on Morwick’s shop for a moment more, “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Yerlin stated it so casually, I almost did not catch it --- and perhaps I should have left it at such, keeping my eyes fixated on the couple, now lost to throngs of people moving in on their open air grocer. However, disbelief must have marred my features, and my dark eyes met his, they crinkled as he laughed. “I told you, Morwick is a friend --- however, I will ask something of you.”

A brow rose with mild skeptism, “And?” 

"Take a walk with me?"

[aflirtingaccident]

Fortune Favors The Bold

Naoto Shirogane, now twenty, is called in to the SIU to help apprehend the Phantom Thieves. Working alongside prosecutor Sae Niijima, Naoto suspects that there's more to the Phantom Thieves than some online popularity and a flashy logo. As the mystery unravels, Naoto's presence threatens the stability of Tokyo's shadowy puppeteers - and certain conspirators are desperate to keep her away from the truth. Contains spoilers for Persona 4, and for Persona 5 past July and up through the true ending.

(Read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10931373/chapters/24317115 )

“They’re sending her?”

The voice on the other end of the line kept talking.  With each word, the SIU director’s brows furrowed further down, and any smile he had vanished more and more.  Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing down his glasses.  This was turning into a headache.  “We already have Akechi-san here.  With all due respect, sir, what do you think she could possibly do to help?”

The voice went on.  Hiroshi wanted nothing more than to hang up and pretend he’d never had this conversation.  His fingers moved from his nose to the top of his desk, drumming the hardwood.  “I understand, sir, but I really don’t think this is necessary.  We have several promising new leads, an-” More words.  More rising annoyance.  “Very well, sir.  I’ll make the arrangements myself.  She’ll have our full cooperation.”  He mashed the disconnect button and carelessly dropped his phone onto his desk, taking a moment to think about this hitch.

This was a problem.

He slowly rose from his office chair and stepped out from behind his desk, moving to his window.  Gazing out onto the bustling streets of Tokyo far below him, he mulled over his options. Saying no clearly wasn’t available.  Neither was pulling some strings to get her sent away - people higher up than him had made it very, very clear that the continued activities of the Phantom Thieves were reflecting poorly on the government.  Though his collaborators could do many things, even this was beyond their power - this was the institution they were trying to topple, after all.

There was also the obvious solution, but doing that to a world famous detective would undoubtedly only bring suspicion upon them.  Those kind of hits were planned and calculated, and using them to simply get rid of an inconvenience was overkill - and it added more evidence to a subtly growing pile, one that would eventually be impossible to hide.

Burying her in red tape and procedure was possible, but ultimately wouldn’t lead to much.  She was famous for a reason, and her connections and reputation often let her fast track most things she needed, when she was able.  She knew the system inside and out, so anything he could do could be easily overcome. Still, it was the only option he had available. Hiroshi walked back to his desk and picked up his phone, dialing in a number..  Like or it not, his true employer deserved to know what was going on.  He glanced around to make sure no one else was in his office, then he hit the connect button.  It rang twice before someone picked up.

“It’s me,” he said when the line connected.  He heaved out a small sigh, then continued speaking.  “We...may have a problem.”

---

Naoto Shirogane was a long, long way from Inaba.

She was sitting at the desk in the corporate studio apartment that was her home for the next several months.  Dossiers of the Phantom Thieves’ ‘victims’ were spread out in front of her, and her laptop was open to her left.  She was typing the occasional note as she read through them.

Every victim directly targeted by the Phantom Thieves has experienced a sudden and out-of-character ‘change of heart’.  This ‘change of heart’ appears to be an unusual form of brainwashing or mind control, compelling the victims to confess their crimes and experience a massive influx of guilt.

Her mind raced through explanations, each of them as unlikely as the last.  Kirijo tech?  Some kind of hypnotism?  Very well done blackmail?  The police were long on questions and very short on answers, or even suspects.  To call the situation ‘desperate’ would not be incorrect.

She let out a slow breath and blinked, sending a pain through her eyes as they watered over - she’d been so deep in concentration that she’d forgotten to blink for the past few minutes.  Rubbing her eyes with her hands, she saw that sign for what it was.

Ugh...I need to take a break.  I can’t overwork myself before I’ve even officially started this case.  Rise would’ve dragged me away from this hours ago.

A smile graced her lips as she pictured Rise literally dragging her chair away from her desk, then spinning her around and frowning in that adorable way she does.  With a grunt of exertion, and extra motivation from the mental image of her disappointed girlfriend, Naoto rose from her chair and stretched her body out.  The grunt made her realize just how dry her throat was, so she walked over to the small kitchen area and poured herself a glass of tap water, sipping as she thought.

Then there’s the mental shutdown cases, which differ in two ways: first, they don’t get calling cards, and second, they actually harm the victim.  Are these shutdowns perpetrated by the Phantom Thieves as well?  Do they sort their victims into two categories and merit out punishments?  Why would they attack seemingly innocent people with shutdowns and genuine criminals with calling cards?

She stopped herself from going too far down this line of thinking - it would do little good now to get so obsessed with it.  Hopefully, her first trip to the police station tomorrow would help - there, she could get more evidence, obtain more complete statements, and link up with the SIU’s own investigators.

She made a mental note to get to the station early tomorrow, partially to make a good impression and partially to avoid any media presence - she was fairly certain her arrival had gone unnoticed, but if the news found out that both Detective Princes were working on the same case...

She shook the thought from her mind.  The media was more Akechi’s thing, anyway - she had no stomach for interviews and fame.  Glancing outside her windows, she saw only the lights of the city - the sun had long since set, and Tokyo’s nightlife had come out to play.  She glanced over at her work, considering going back to it. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled, so she instead settled on calling it a night and grabbing some dinner.

---

The cool night air tickled Naoto’s cheeks, and she took in the sights and sounds of Shibuya for a little while, walking up and down the shops near the station and central square.  Spotting Toranosuke Yoshida giving a speech in the station intrigued her - she knew his political career had ended in shambles years ago, but he had quite the focused crowd here in front of him.  She stopped and listened for a few minutes, his speech invigorating her more than she thought it would.

Her idle wanderings eventually brought her to a late-night beef bowl shop, which seemed as good a place as any to eat at - she didn’t make it a habit to eat out all the time, but she’d been too tired to go grocery shopping when she’d arrived.  This would tide her over for now.

She walked in and took a seat at the counter, glancing at the young man taking everyone’s orders.  He looked high school age, with short, fluffy black hair and large, round glasses.  His work outfit, she noticed, was not too far from the outfit she’d worn for the whole Midnight Stage incident - blue hat, blue shirt, dark pants...all he was missing were suspenders and a yellow tie. I hope I never have to save the world through dancing again.  At least it was easy to dance in.  And Rise said I looked good with a tie.

“What’ll it be?” She snapped out of her thoughts and glanced up - the boy was standing in front of her, ready to go. “Oh.  Uh…”  She glanced at the menu in front of her, scanning it quickly.  “I’ll have a medium beef bowl, please.” The boy nodded and scurried off, going to enter her order into the computer, but something seemed to catch him mid-stride.  He turned back to Naoto and did a small double take. Naoto know that reaction all too well.  She’d been recognized, so she gently shook her head, then looked back down at the menu.  To his credit, the boy didn’t press, so her mind wandered back to the cases.

There must be a normal explanation, but nothing I know of can make people confess in this manner, overloaded with guilt.  Given the apparent lack of one, is it worth considering the possibility of something paranormal, or am I jumping to conclusions?

Her previous experience with events lacking mundane explanations is what was guiding her right to this idea of something normal.  The Midnight Channel, Midnight Stage, and A-1 Grand Prix fighting tournament had opened her eyes to an impossible world.  The Phantom Thieves sounded like they were performing impossible feats.  No one could figure out how they were changing the hearts of their targets, just like no one could figure out where the Midnight Channel’s subjects had gone.

The similarities admittedly could just be coincidental, but Naoto knew instinctively that something wasn’t normal with this case.  The mental shutdown incidents only compounded the situation - separately, the Phantom Thieves and the mental shutdowns would’ve flown under her supernatural radar, but so close together? Something’s not right.  These confessions are too...poetic.

Justice, as she knew, was rarely so poetic in the real world. The boy brought her dinner over, carefully setting it down in front of her.  “Thanks,” she said with a gentle smile as she looked up.  The boy merely smiled in return and gave her a short bow, then stepped away to resume his job.

Naoto picked up her chopsticks and was about to dig in when a decoration atop the food caught her eye - a small magnifying glass had been drawn in a light sauce atop the egg yolk.

The addition brought a wide smile to Naoto’s lips, and she glanced up to try and find the kid’s eye.  Noticing the movement, he looked up from washing dishes, and there was a moment between them as they saw into each other. Good kid.  Perceptive, too, with the way he figured out what I’d laugh at so easily…

An image of Yu came unbidden to her mind as she started to eat.

---

As she took her time getting back, her phone buzzed - a text message from Rise.

> hey u!

Smiling wide, Naoto’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

> HEY U

> im so sry nao-kun, i cant call 2nite as usual.  mr mgr is being a butt! >_<

> IT’S OK.  PLZ CALL TOMORROW IF FREE.

> ofc! i luv u, naoto-kun!

> LOVE YOU TOO

> \ (^◡^) /

Face flushed, Naoto put her phone back in her pocket and headed back to her apartment at a brisk pace.  For one, she didn’t want people to see her blushing, and for two, she had a big day tomorrow.  The Phantom Thieves were about to meet their match.

[prince-of-stride-alt]

Heyo!! I actually just started a POS blog, and I post every few days. It's an incorrect quote blog, and I have some memes and reblog other stuff I find in the depths of tumblr. princeofstride-misquotes

For my lovely followers, if I still have any that is, here is another Prince of Stride blog for you to follow. (•‿•)