#my main one is just him in his normal black robe red accents thing

[luculily]

artblock is not fire…

hey guys… im in pain. basically school started and also friendgroup drama and also artblock. NOT fire. anyway heres my littke thing

based off one of my palpers roblox cosplays….

been forcing my friend to cosp vivilly but i got too lazy to draw viv so

heres a little lineless treat while i try getting my motivation back

no sketch so its kinda wonky but WHOO CARESSS HONESTLY

[sol1056]

my journey to you, halfway point

so I'm in the last scenes of ep14 of my journey to you, and either the costume designer got all the orders mixed up, or there's subtle foreshadowing in what I'm seeing. idk, so not even sure if these are spoilers.

once the two brides move into their respective new households (thus beginning the 'part of the family' of their story), YWS' colors become predominantly black and red (switching between one as main color and other as accent), with gold embroidery. SGQ's colors are mostly pale blue and white, with silver embroidery.

within the family, the dominant colors range from black, to midnight blue, to cobalt blue, and the distinction is mostly gold vs silver. GZY's colors run to the almost-black end, sometimes with cobalt accents, and usually with gold (though the gold is sometimes less accent and more a full third color). GSJ's colors are slightly lighter, denim-to-cobalt shades, with silver. His colors aren't just subtler, but also more balanced. GZY's colors run tend to be undiluted, while GSJ's are delicately intricate.

(all this with the caveat that some of the blues that GZY wears are so deep that with the show's lighting, it's hard to tell whether it's an intense blue or actually black. Same goes for GYZ, too.)

GYZ's colors lean darker, often midnight blue with silver; in a few outfits it's shades of dark blue, but still with silver. GZS is the only family member (so far) with red, though hers is closer to burgundy compared to YWS' crimson. the backdrop to that burgundy tends to be as dark as GZY's black or midnight blue.

the Xue group stick to pale blues and whites. the only other obvious outsider is MWJ, whose main color is deep green, a secondary color of hunter green, and mustard/gold accents.

-- and then everything shifts in the second half of ep14.

when GSJ talks with GYZ, GSJ's colors remain the same, but GYZ's under-robe/sickbed colors have shifted from that near-black midnight blue to a lighter shade almost matching GSJ's outer-robes. YWS' colors remain the same, but SGQ's colors have switched to white with subtle gold accents.

in the meeting with MWJ, only YWS and GSJ retain their color schemes. MWJ has switched to white with gold accents (curiously, just like SGQ), while GZS's burgundy has become secondary to midnight-blue robes.

and then there's GZY, suddenly in several layers of medium to pale blue, with white under-robes, and accented in silver embroidery. Plus his embroidery's got fuzzy/fluffy elements when most of what I recall him wearing previously has much cleaner/sharper edges.

and finally, a fully-dressed GYZ in his meeting with SGQ, in blues lighter than his usual scheme, and much closer to GSJ's color scheme.

(I'm not counting the second-trial outfits, which look almost ritualistic in white with what looks like gold and silver embroidery, and fluffy accents. maybe that was a combination chosen to show the trial takes both GZY and YWS out of their usual routines.)

current theory I'm going on is that the stronger the blue (as in, the clearer it is, vs so dark it could-be-black or so light it could-be-white), the stronger the character's ties to the family. which means both GZY and GSJ are deeply loyal, but their accents (gold vs silver) are where they differ. which, okay, fits their oppositional characterizations.

frex, GZS is regularly in her dark burgundy shade, but when it looks like the family needs to close ranks, suddenly her colors are dominated by midnight blue. the white-with-gold makes me suspicious that MWJ and SGQ have an agreement (much like MWJ had with YWS), and there's more to their 'accidental stabbing' than either is telling.

the question is whether their color schemes will go back to normal, and if so, when that happens, and what that might signify for what changed to put everything back. though one thing I do suspect was that GZY's colors shifted to reminiscent of the xue branch to signal he'd mastered the three sword forms -- and that YWS' adoption of the same fuzzy/fluffy embroidery accents on her white gown is meant to hint at the start of a shift in her loyalties.

[a-little-lostmoon]

Okay so, I’m currently working on a magical archives style type post for my ccau oc Yuulo but in looking at the designs i noticed something.

Their s h o e s.

Which admittedly, is a very weird thing to notice but all of them just stood out to me. Ignoring event outfits (only counting things they wear in the main storyline/displayed in the magical archive) each character has 4 different sets of shoes: Ceremonial Robe shoes, Dorm Uniform shoes, Gym Shoes, and Casual/School Uniform shoes. Now, let’s ignore the first two I mentioned in the list bc those are universal designs (excluding Ortho for obvious reasons) and that leaves us with 2 Unique shoe designs per character.

Which is probably obvious in retrospect, but then I started to rly just look at each of their picks individually and everything just feels so well thought out. Every pick feels like it fits the character and thats just so fucking cool that Yana thought out everything for every single one of them since initially in my head I was thinking they’d all just had the same design but nope!

Let me get into some examples now,

Only a handful of them have typical “anime school uniform type shoes” (for lack of a better term im sorry i don’t know shoe types that well—) and even in those cases they’re different in overall design and fit the characters. Those being: Deuce, Trey, Jack, (not gonna include Octavinelle, ill get to them soon), Silver, and Sebek which isn’t a lot! And then again, all unique in their own rights,

Deuce’s are black loafers with a rounded point giving them more of a younger look, Trey has dark brown loafers with a more pointed shape which opposite of Deuce’s makes him look a bit more mature, Jack has much wider dark mahogany loafers which fits with his physique better, Silver’s who defaults to brown loafers again though this time with more of a curved point to them and an indent cut out in the strap, and finally Sebek who has the pointed dress shoe-like black shoes but his are entirely smooth with no laces.

And since I mentioned the dress shoes so much i’ll go onto the ppl who wear those now too. Them being, Riddle, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Vil, Malleus, and Lilia (Vil and Lilia included too bc I dunno where to put them otherwise—)

All mentioned except Riddle, Vil, and Lilia wear the normal style dress shoes you’d see if you just googled it with a few different color variations here and there. Azul’s being brown with laces, Malleus and Jade having black shoes with laces, and Floyd’s being black without much like Sebeks (maybe I should’ve considered Sebek in this category too but eh hindsights)

And smth also interesting to note is that Malleus’ and Jade’s while the same in concept just… feel like they’re from different brands idk I cant explain it I think it’s bc of the way the seems or stitches look but who knows

Then the first three i mentioned, Riddle’s have a deep red portion on the middle part of his shoes, Vil’s are pointed heeled with a flared tongue and decorative strap thats blue and black to match his dorm colors (actually wait im looking at his more and i think they might even be boots..? The tongue throws me off and is a weird design on boots but the gold accent continues up so i think they are boots ahdjfksn), and then finally Lilia’s who like vil, has a higher golden colored heel that adds a bit of fancy to shoes that otherwise would be loafers and thank FUCK his aren’t boots in disguise too.

Something unrelated to shoes that’s also interesting is his pants??? fancy little old man got special pants lol

and i’m getting exhausted writing everything now idek how long i’ve been writing about SHOES but im gonna speed this up now—

Basically everyone else wears sneakers, exceptions being Cater who wears white casual slip on shoes, Leona who has his toes EXPOSED (he wears some sort of flip flop sandals looking hybrid), Kalim who’s wearing arabic curled toes which i believe are called multani khussa with a gold anklet, Epel who’s wearing a pair of very cute decorative boots with red plaid details on them (which i’m willing to bet Vil got for him—they look expensive and less practical than i think Epel would prefer), Rook who’s in tan combat/work boots, and Ortho bc well he doesn’t have feet.

Anyways I’ll talk abt the sneaker ppl and more thoughts on this if people really want me to bc I do have more but i’ve spent the last at least 30 minutes talking about SHOES of FICTIONAL CHARACTERS and I’d like to get back to drawing lmao and don’t rly think this is smth many people would be interested in so <33

Have a nice day u weird person who just read through all my twst shoe related rambles /lh go drink water and touch grass

P.S. (and forgive me any shoe specialists I may have offended, pls feel free to go and educate me for my incorrect descriptions of shoes)

[quillsanddaydreams]

i don't like you

james potter x reader

—author's note: This was a story from my main that I adored so I thought why not rewrite it? The plot is the same, my ability to tell a story however, has changed. James and you do not like each other. Not even a bit. I hope you enjoy ;) Please do leave a comment, it makes my day.

—warning(s): couple of harmless pranks, slytherin! gender neutral!reader (pronouns aren't used).

—word count: 3,431

Groaning, you got up and squinted to make out the details of your dorm. Shouts and rushing made your head thump. You slowly realized a god-awful smell was filling up your room, quicker than you could think. Squeezing your nose shut, you rushed out. Other Slytherins were alongside you, you could hear coughing all around. Your eyes pricked with tears, your throat felt raw. Seeing a very familiar messy dark-haired boy run away jeering; you sensed rage gripping your form like a vice.

Third time. It was the third time the same week that Potter and the elder Black brother had pranked you all. Except it wasn’t funny anymore. That was what pranks were supposed to be right? Something that made everyone laugh along? Looking towards Elodie who was clenching her eyes shut at the sensation, you made a plan in your mind. You knew it was crazy. But when did that ever stop you? James had never conversed with you. Nor you, him. Yet it was clear that he did not like Slytherins. Not one bit.

-♡♡♡-

James yawned, stretching his limbs for a new day. Scrunching his nose, he felt a flowery scent attack him. Maybe it was just Sirius with one of his experiments. Shrugging, he got up and into the shower. That day he had transfiguration, charms, and astronomy. Thankfully nothing with the snakes, they might still be sour about the prank they pulled yesterday. Getting out of the washroom, he hummed to himself as he passed Peter who was still fast asleep. Remus was asleep and Sirius was furiously scribbling on his homework. Always finishing at the last moment.

He didn’t realize the uniform he was putting on until he looked at himself in the mirror. And boy oh boy did he panic. Eyes widening almost comically, he rummaged through his wardrobe, everything a dark green color with silver accents. A note fell at his feet.

“Dearest Marauders,

Take this beautiful gift of green robes from me. I know not all of you deserved this, but then again, I didn't feel like any of you should be left behind. I know how much you love us, Slytherins. Why not showcase it?

With love,

(Y/n) (Y/l/n)”

“Sirius! Remus!” he called out. “Wormtail!”

Sirius didn’t even look up from his parchment, Remus let out a grunt in response. The only answer he got was a faint ‘what’ from the shared bathroom.

“Mates listen to this,” James said firmly, reading the letter out loud. That got their attention. “Our robes are all green. Vivid Slytherin green!”

Remus got up suddenly, with wide eyes rushing to check his almirah. He groaned loudly on finding them in the same predicament James foretold grass-like and smelling heavily of flowers. Sirius however, started crackling.

“What?” James bellowed, his nostrils flaring.

“Well, the sarcasm in that letter is…” He snorted, stopping himself seeing James’s frown. James shook his head as Remus glared at them both.

“This has a strong one-week dye,” he said, punctuating each word, infuriated. “There’s no way it can be removed before the expected time. Why should I suffer for all the things you two do?”

“And I am not suffering?” James quipped back as Remus just shook his head, huffing, and went back to his bed. James looked at Sirius who didn’t look worried at all.

“What? Aren’t you bothered at all?” James asked.

“I look great in everything,” he replied shrugging, making James want to punch him.

He dressed up quickly after, dashing out of the dorm towards the great hall. Ignoring the looks of the students from around and the snickers he looked for you amidst the Slytherin table. It was infuriating, how casually you ate your breakfast, almost oblivious. Stalking towards your place, he cleared his throat grabbing your attention. Your eyes sparkled amusedly, taking in his appearance.

“Why the hell did you do this?” he demanded.

“Now, that’s not a way to talk about the gift I gave you,” you said, batting your eyelashes as he scowled at you. You muttered a spell under your breath, waving your wand slightly before continuing. “I worked hard, you know?”

“You Slytherins are the best thing to walk on this planet!” he shouted before he could stop himself. His eyes grew large. Everyone’s attention now seemed to be on your table.

“Thank you, I know,” you smirked, challenging him. He narrowed his eyes on you.

“You put a speaking charm on me didn’t you?” he hissed as you put on an innocently sweet expression.

“Well, I thought you needed some help with words,” you prompted, getting better reactions than you hoped for. James growled, jumping up and down in annoyance. You tried not to laugh. Did. But the corners of your mouth turned up anyways. He looked like an idiot. The giggle you let out grabbed his attention, his cheeks turning a rosy red.

“I don’t like you,” he said in a rather squeaky voice.

“I don’t like you,” you retaliated. James hated himself for thinking the laugh you let out looking adorable. Anger, which was more of a frustration gawned on his skin. He knew exactly what he was going to do next. Giving you a sickly sweet smile, he enjoyed the slight shiver that went through your arm. Let the prank war begin.

-♡♡♡-

You rushed out of the bathroom, vexed. It had been a long exhausting day and this was the last thing you needed. Your skin was tinted green. Bright neon green. Elodie stared at you in stupor.

“What happened?” she asked and you couldn’t help the raucous whine that escaped your lips.

“I don’t know, okay? I was in the shower and after using soap, my skin turned freaking green,” you hissed as Elodie tried to calm you. You handed her a small piece of paper. “Oh and look what I found beside the shampoo bottle.”

Dear (Y/n),

A gift from me, to showcase your pride in your house. You could thank me later.

James.

P.S. This gift in no way means I’ve started liking you. I don’t.

“James. James did this; that bastard!” you said, nostrils flaring as Elodie rubbed your back.

“Well, it’s just hands and legs…”

“I'm gonna get back at him. Just watch me.”

Your jaw clenched. You knew just what you were gonna do. James started a fight with the wrong person. And you didn’t like him. At all.

-♡♡♡-

You were reading your book when you saw James pacing towards you, from the corner of your eye. Trying to keep a straight face, you fixed your gaze on the book in your hand. Yet you couldn’t help the twitch your mouth gave as he stood right in front of you, folding his arms.

“Wow,” he breathed through clenched teeth. You looked up.

“Real mature of you,” he said in a baby’s voice. It sounded like he pronounced everything through his nose. You made an effort not to start crackling right then.

“Well, one of us had to be, right?”

“Yeah. And giving me the baby voice makes you the adult.”

“I’d think so, yes.” You said brushing his hair. They were surprisingly soft. James glared at you.

“I don’t like you.” He squeaked as you raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we already established that. I don’t like you either boy,” You said, letting out a laugh.

-♡♡♡-

Adjusting your cap, you pulled your books closer to you. It was like everyone was staring at you. Specifically how stupid you looked. A whistle caught your attention. James, it had to be. When you turned towards the sound, you were sadly proved right.

“I like your cap,” he commented, clicking his tongue.

“Geez. Thank you. Just bought it,” you said, threateningly. Take one step James, I dare you; you thought. He didn’t get the message.

“I wonder how it would look on me,” he said, taking a step towards you. You hissed.

“Sorry, not gonna let you borrow it,” you tried to say in a normal tone, but it came out quite high pitched. James dared to grin.

“What if I just…” he said, coming closer as you took a step back, glowering at him in a warning. Not that he took it. He snatched the cap from your head as the long white hair fell. They reached your feet.

“James, give it back,” you warned and he put it on his head.

“Nope,” he said, his eyes full of mischief. You hesitated at his expression, he looked as candid as a child. Maybe you never noticed it, his hair fell round in pretty curls, framing his face. James winked, making you break out of your reverie.

“I think,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to keep this cap with me, I quite like it. If you want it back, you’re gonna have to take it from me.”

James took a step back as your eyes dilated. He turned around and started sprinting in that direction.

“James!” you shouted, chasing him.

People around you bolted aside, gasping at the scene. A ghostly white-haired student chasing after James as he chortled. It had been going for quite some time and everyone wondered who would win. Few in the favour of James, who had been pranking ever since he set foot in Hogwarts; a few for you since you were a Slytherin and Slytherins never lose. Others just shook their heads, wishing they would get it over with already the cat and mouse game was becoming rather tiring. No one however had the courage to raise their opinions out loud, lest they got involved in the prank war.

-♡♡♡-

“James," you said calmly, though the atmosphere made you anything but. Thick hot fumes rose from all around you making beads of sweat form on your forehead. "James, this doesn’t go in. We have to stir it first.”

“Why don’t you do it then? Little miss know-it-all” he snided. You looked at him fiercely. Slughorn had paired the two of you together for the next project and it couldn’t be more of a disaster. Only if he could just listen.

“I would if you let me,” you pointed out, finally taking over the shared pot. James watched you take a few breaths before starting to work on the potion. Muttering for ingredients from him now and then, you stirred the concoction. Soon, it started to show the exact signs given in their books.

James couldn't help but stare at you as you worked, humming to yourself all the while. You seemed cute like that, bending over the book, occasionally muttering to yourself. His face heated up when you caught his gaze. Luckily he could blame it on the heat.

“Could you cut some beetroots for me?” you asked, ignoring the way he flushed. James nodded, chopping them to the required amount. The two of you finished up fairly swiftly after that.

"So," you started after Slughorn left. He had commented on your work and applauded you both. Happiness was evident from the smiles on your faces. "Library at 4?"

James grinned, giving you a thumbs up. He packed up his stuff before turning to leave. You couldn't help but stare at his retreating figure, thinking, maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Shrugging, you shook away the thought and went your own way. There were things you had to get done that day.

-♡♡♡-

As time passed, the thought started becoming more predominant. He wasn't so bad, your mind reminded you time and time again. The more you started to know James, the more you believed in it. Constant teasing and bickering wasn’t something that became unheard of between the two of you. But it was more lighthearted now… almost as if you were friends crackling over a shared joke. James had somehow caught your eye again, in a completely different way.

It seemed you were noticing new things about him, like how he didn’t look at you with hatred. Come to think of it, was it even ever ‘hate’? Yet there was something soft about the way he gazed at you now, gentle even— you couldn’t put your finger on it. You had come to enjoy his goofy personality, the smile he gave when his eyes were light with mischief. Knowing where these musings led, you had tried your best to beat them down. What was it that you did not try? Remembering every single detail that made you despise him once, all those times your blood boiled at the prank he pulled but nothing— nothing ever worked and your heart still fluttered every time he complimented you.

Was it that bad an idea though? Liking James?

You shivered, pulling your sweater closer to you. Walking had failed to heat your body the way it always did and you reckoned that your deliberation also had something to do with that. It wasn’t about you liking him, your mind prompted, it was about whether he could feel the same way. And if you knew something, you knew that you couldn’t take the answer to be no. The skip in your step halted, and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips.

Path to the library couldn’t have been more daunting. That was until you saw James and Lily around the corner. Talking, laughing, and standing too close to be called friends. Evans, the one girl James was head over heels for, the one girl you never paid attention to much.

It was like the final shoe dropping. James and you didn’t like each other. People knew that you did as well. It was time you believed it too. Your stomach twisted up at the sight, your mood souring. You turned, walking away.

“Oi!” James called out to you, apologizing to the students he bumped into. You brisked forward, hoping to make it to your dorm. It didn’t work, James ran to catch up with you. Damn his long legs.

“Stop fucking running,” he huffed on reaching you. “Where are you going? We have a study session. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I was heading to the library but you and Evans seemed quite busy, so I thought against it,” you said, albeit aggressively. Jealousy was never a good color.

“We were just talking for a moment,” James explained. “I want us to complete the project first though.”

He looked at you, confused. It was hard controlling your anger right then. You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped your lips.

“Of course,” you said in a temper. “The faster we finish up the project, the faster you can get rid of me, right? Because you don’t like me.”

James’ smile dropped. Sadness gave way to rage. Of course, you still thought that even after all the time he spent with you.

“Yeah. I don’t like you,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “So let’s complete the project, shall we? To get rid of each other?”

You looked away. It was the last thing you wanted to hear. You yearned for him to tell you otherwise, to apologize for his words, and to reassure you that it wasn’t so. That you two were something. Friends, companions, anything but this. Yet the bigger part of you told you that he was right. And you were nothing to him.

“Yeah, sure.”

-♡♡♡-

The following study session was tense. You two never worked quietly. Jokes, laughs, and incessant chatter filled the air when you were together. James had regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He watched your expression fall and a wall build up around you. Your eyes hadn’t met his since. It ate him up. Somehow he didn’t know how to break the bubble he created.

He hated seeing you close off to him.

You heaved a sigh checking the last lines you’d written and then looked at the clock. It had been two hours.

“I think we should stop. There are just two pages left, we can do them tomorrow and you’ll be free,” you said, packing up your things. James opened and closed his mouth as you picked up your bag.

“Hey, wait!” he said as you turned towards him.

“I didn’t mean to, “ James started, but you cut him off.

“James, it’s alright,” you said, taking a deep breath blinking away the tears that emerged. “I understand. You don’t like me, I don’t like you and we’re stuck together for some time. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

James sucked in a breath. That wasn’t right. At all.

“But—“

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” a voice came and you shifted to see Elodie. You looked over at James, whose eyes pleaded you to stop. But you couldn’t.

You left the library, walking towards your friend leaving behind the boy who stood transfixed at his spot. Why did he feel like he was losing everything? He grudgingly moved his feet towards the common room, your thoughts plaguing his mind. James heard a shout behind him, twisting to see Lily jog up to him.

“James, I was wondering,” she began biting her lip. “Maybe we could sneak out for some butterbeers today? It’s freezing and the snow looks heavenly.”

James found himself shaking his head. His mood was far too spoiled for anything.

“Not today, Lily,” he answered. “I’m tired.”

“Oh, I meant it as a date, you know?” Lily added hopefully. James considered her for a moment. It was everything he had wished for years. Yet he couldn’t feel the happiness that should have come with it. He wanted, no— he needed someone else, someone who made him far giddier. He needed you.

It was like a bolt striking him. He had never been so sure of anything else. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he spoke his next words in a rush.

“Lily, I’m sorry but I can’t,” he shouted, sprinting towards the dungeons. Running through the rather empty corridors he saw the snow which coated the grounds. His breath came out in puffs as he urged himself to move faster. He stopped when something caught his eye. You. Standing out in the snow, looking at the sky with a smile.

Moving towards you, he conjured up a snowball and threw it on your back. Your eyes widened in shock as you jumped, looking towards him.

“What now James?” you snapped.

He conjured up yet another ball and threw it at you. Your eyes grew larger and you glared at him.

“I wanted to say something,” he said as you conjured up a ball and threw it at him in response. He hissed at the icy sensation.

“Then say it.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” he said, throwing a snowball at you as your teeth clattered at the sensation. You threw a snowball in return, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Then stop acting as you do.”

He threw yet another ball at you.

“You make me act like that,” he stated. You threw a huge one in response.

“I make you act like an idiot?”

“Yes, you drive me crazy,” he said, throwing some snow at you as you grunted.

“Then why don’t you leave me alone?” you huffed as he threw yet another ball at you, making you cough and splutter.

“Because I can’t.”

“Why?” you asked, throwing a ball at him.

“Because I can’t leave the best thing that happened to me,” he said, making you stop. You stalked towards him and poked his chest with every word you spoke.

“I'm the best thing that happened to you? What is this? Some kind of sick prank? You don’t even like me,” you sobbed, frustrated and angry. That was how he made you feel. Everything all at once. James didn’t know how to answer you so he just took your hand away and cupped your cheek with his other one, leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes fell shut as feeling his lips against yours. You grabbed his shirt pulling him closer feeling his arms tighten around your hips, sucking his bottom lip. When you pulled away you both caught your breath.

“I promise those are the truest words I’ve ever said,” he whispered, his hair messier than usual. He cradled your face, pressing his lips against your forehead. You crossed your arms.

“I still don’t like you,” you said in faux anger. James let out a teary chuckle.

“I don’t like you either,” he replied, smiling.

—as for the taglist: I don’t make taglists, I have a blog @from-my-quill ​ which is updated whenever I post fanfiction. You could have the notifications on for it and it will work just like me tagging you.

⟨⟨REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED⟩⟩

[ask-those-dumbasses]

Lore Post About The Gods

There are many gods in this universe, we are only going to be talking about the relevant ones. Otherwise this is gonna turn into the Greek God family tree very fast and trust me we don’t want that. So, let’s talk about some gods!

The God of Time - Avus Tempus (Grandpa Time)

General information: 

The oldest god and the god that interacts with people the most, Avus Tempus is the most well known. He is the keeper of time, making sure it passes normally with no great disturbances. He watches as time passes, but does not interfere with mortal disagreements, even if he disapproves. He says that it is not his job to interfere.

Avus is older than time itself, and is the creator of the other gods. Avus was also the creator of the first Time Demons - which he calls his children with great glee. He has been given many nicknames over the years, with the most common being “Grandpa Time.” The limits to his powers are unknown, but is it commonly known that he can control the flow of time, and can open portals to different dimensions or various periods throughout time by roaring. People also know that he, with the help of his two direct children, Moíra and Apeiro, killed the Titan of War during his rampage.

(Bonus: Grandfather clocks were named after him)

Appearance: 

Avus appears as a long serpent like dragon with no arms or legs, green scales, golden horns and eyes, with long white hair down his spine and on his chin, making a beard of sorts. Legends say that his body extends forever, able to loop around the earth. Avus himself jokes that he has not ever seen his own tail. His fur is said to be as soft as clouds, and his scales are so tough that no spear could pierce it. However, despite being immortal, Avus himself is not completely immune to the effects of time. His eyes are pale and milky, showing that with age his sight has gotten very poor. Today he would be considered almost legally blind.

Where they live:

Avus lives in a huge palace on the top of the largest mountain on Earth. The mountain is called “Mortum Manga,” and is on the “Multi Ossa” mountain range. Inside his palace are intricate carvings on the walls that tell the history of the world, from Avus’ creaton on to current day. There is also a fountain which is called the “Fountain of Youth.” Contrary to popular belief, this fountain does not make you immortal or young, but instead heals all sicknesses. It was named the Fountain of Youth because it was used to cure a large plague that was mostly killing children. 

Along the side of the mountain is a small village called “The Village Of Lights.“ These people often interact with Avus directly. In fact, every 5 years they hold a festival where they light various sky lanterns and send them into the sky. Afterwards, Avus comes down to the village and talks to them. He specifically likes to meet with all of the children - who he likes to call his grandkids. 

Personality: 

He is an extremely friendly and passive god, often inviting people to come and have tea with him in his palace. Overall, Avus is very polite and is more than willing to shelter anyone if they ask. However that is difficult for most - since not only does he live atop the highest mountain, he also does look very intimidating. In reality he just wants to talk about how your day has been going. Avus is most certainly the kindest god that mortals can talk to. 

He tries his best to keep up with new terms, words, controversial topics, etc. Because of his old age it can be hard for him to keep up. He ends up coming across as that overly supportive and sweet grandparent that doesn't understand but is trying to. (Ex: “Are you a boy or a girl? I cannot tell. My vision isn’t what it used to be. Oh wait - are you one of those non-berries? Not binaries? So sorry I don’t remember.”). Because of his age he is also considered very knowledgeable and wise, and people will sometimes come to him or pray to him for advice and counsel. 

Avus is mostly considered to be extremely patient and calm, however there have been reports of him being fiercely protective of his “little village.” Those who have dared to harm those living or seeking refuge there have mysteriously ended up turned to stone. 

The God of Life, Death, and Fate - Apeiro

General Information:

Apeiro is the god of life and death, which means it’s their job to make sure life is balanced. Apeiro can keep populations down through plagues, famine, natural disasters, or other means. Aperio can also bless certain times with good crops, more births, or other means to make sure populations stay up if need be. It is important to remember that Aperio’s job is NOT to make life/death fair.  Apeiro also makes sure that spirits end up in their proper afterlife. Apeiro can also tug on the strings of fate, not manipulating them completely, but pushing them where they want it to go.

They stand against large acts of necromancy, however, they made a deal with Alita long ago. In this deal, Totems Of Undying were allowed to be created and sealed deep inside Jungle Temples. It is unknown exactly what Apeiro got in exchange for allowing this to happen but people have speculated that it has something to do with the existence of Wither Skeletons, which guard Nether Fortresses, and Withers, which can be made with a combination of three Wither Skulls and Soul Sand. 

Apeiro also assisted Avus and Moíra in taking down the Titan of War. 

Appearance:

They have a dark gray cloak/robe that wraps around them and flows dramatically to the floor. It drifts behind them, rippling and waving like there’s constantly a breeze. At the edges of the cloak there are dozens of tiny white stars. They don’t have a face, just a black shadow that flickers around the edges when you look directly at it (which is something you should never do). They do have hands that look like skeleton talons that float separately from their body since they do not have arms. They also have horns that used to merge as a sort of crown above their head. Now, from previous battles, those horns have been splintered and broken in two.

Where they live: 

Apeiro lives inside a castle, which has the foundation of the skeleton of an ancient colossal dragon. They live with their younger sister, Moíra. Apeiro specifically lives in the head - which has been remade into a massive throne room mixed with a fancy ballroom. The neck leading up to this room is a very long hallway that has many statues of many different people. These people are referred to as “Champions,” and they are previous winners of the Champion’s Cup. 

This skeleton castle is called the “Fossa Palace” and it can be found in the middle of the “Decaying Wastelands” desert. It is unknown what killed the colossal dragon, but rumors have spread that Aperio did it themselves and decided to make it their home. Regardless, when the wind blows in the cold of night, people say they can still hear soft roars and hums of the dead dragon. 

Other than living with Moíra, Apeiro lives completely alone and does not normally travel outside of their castle. They only do so in big emergencies such as universal threats or large acts of necromancy. 

Personality: 

Apeiro is very dramatic and adores big and grand theatrics. The Champions Cup itself was created out of boredom since messing with mortal lives from the sidelines can only entertain a god for so long. Speaking of which, Apeiro finds great entertainment in watching mortal lives, and loves to play with them. Whether this is good playing or bad playing, depends on their mood. Apeiro finds it amusing to poke and prod at people’s lives from time to time, and is considered a being of madness from a few of their victims. Apeiro laughs as a witness to human wars, and sees all mortal conflict as beneath them. They will sometimes even find glee in watching other gods squabble over petty things. 

The Goddess of Karma, Justice, and Fortune - Moíra

General Information:

Moíra is the goddess of karma, justice, and fortune. This means she mainly watches over humanity and tries to keep people’s lives fair, even, and balanced. She gets very angered when there are big atrocities happening in the world, or even just when excessively unfair things happen to good or bad people. She is often the judge and jury and innacts justice as she sees fit. Moíra is a very patient force as well, and ensures that eventually, in one way or another, that good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. karma is a patient force. 

She also blesses those she sees fit with various fortunes (whether this be money, something more spiritual, or something emotional will depend), or will take away from those who have committed horrendous crimes, 

Moíra also helped Avus and Apeiro kill the titan of war, and was the main one leading the charge against him. 

Appearance:

Moíra wears an extravagant white robe with golden patterns of leaves as an accent. She appears as a youthful human woman with dark skin and curly hair, but is very unnerving to look at. Her eyes are pure gold, dripping liquid gold down her cheeks. She has large curling goat horns which are decorated with various gems. Moíra also wears a laurel headpiece as a crown, with a bright red ruby in the center. She constantly floats just above the ground in order to keep herself clean. 

Where they live: 

Moíra lives inside a castle, which has the foundation of the skeleton of an ancient colossal dragon. She lives with her older sibling, Aperio. Moíra specifically lives near the top of the rib cage - which has been remade into a large fighting stadium. This stadium is where a tournament called the “Champion’s Cup” is held once a decade. There is an observatory hanging from the top of the dome ceiling, this is where Moíra resides. However she can also commonly be found with Aperio, or in the castle's library. Moíra does travel outside the castle for business purposes and works with people a lot.  

Personality: 

Moíra is much more careful about keeping balance then Apeiro is, and is much more responsible with her powers. Moíra also tends to scold her older sibling very often and is not very trusting of them. People think that the only reason Moíra lives with Apeiro is because she wants to keep a close eye on them.

By and large, Moíra is a very patient and slow god. She takes her time and thinks her actions through for a long time before acting. She thinks, a lot, and makes very calculated decisions like some sort of gamemaster. Moíra is willing to play the long game and waits for the pieces to fall into place so she can enact her plan properly. 

Moíra is also very vengeful, and remembers all of the little wrongdoings people have done. However she is very fair with her punishments, at least, she sees what she has done as fair. 

The Goddess of The End and the Keeper of The Void - The Enderdragon 

General Information 

History says that long ago there were Colossal Dragons; dragons that were born small and slowly grew throughout their lives until they were bigger than mountains. They have largely gone extinct because food became scarce and they were unable to eat enough to maintain their size. Some of their skeletons can still be seen to this day.

People know whispers of an old tale, about a dragon larger than mountains who rules The End as queen, and controls the Endermen as slaves to her will. That long ago she attempted to wipe out all life on this planet, but failed due to an intervention from Moíra, along with Avus who both banished her away from the Overworld. They say that one day, The Enderdragon will return, and have her revenge on everyone who dared forget her name. 

The majority of people don’t even believe she’s real, and some have never even heard of her. Most people believe The Enderdraon is a made-up myth tale that was made by man to explain the unknown creation of Endermen. Some people see The Enderdragon as a sort of boogeyman figure, a tale Dragon Riders will tell their children to get them to behave; Others believe she’s just some rumor made to prevent people from exploring The Stronghold. The only thing people know for certain, is that people who have dared to enter The End have either been never seen again, or come back with horrifying stories and with their children being cursed and becoming Endermen hybrids.

Appearance:

In stories she is illustrated as a large black dragon, bigger than mountains, with large grey horns and wings. The wings are usually torn, along with many scars from various battles decorating her body. The most prominent feature is her bright purple eyes. It is said that she breathes hot purple fire. 

Where they live:

In the End, one of the many different dimensions in this universe. It is mostly illustrated as many floating islands made of pale yellow sand. There are various crumbling purple buildings, along with purple plants that grow an odd fruit with teleportation abilities called “chorus fruit.” Endermen in the overworld are sometimes seen holding these. In the center of these islands are 10 tall obsidian pillars- each with an odd crystal that contains healing abilities, but only for The Enderdragon. 

Underneath the islands of the end is an endless void of darkness. It is unknown what could possibly be down there. Those who have tried to find out have never returned. 

Personality: 

In the legends, The Enderdragon is painted as an angry, vindictive, and spiteful dragon who wants nothing more than to watch humanity burn.

The Goddess of Magic - Alita 

General Information:

Alita is the keeper of all the different types of magic. There is Protection Magic, Elemental Magic, Combat Magic, Enchantments, and Necromancy. Alita is the higher power that can control all of these types of magic over others, and because of this is considered very dangerous. She can grant magic to people if they sacrifice something of great value. If she gives you magic then your spells will always appear as pure black.

Alita can also freely travel through the different dimensions - The Overworld, The Nether, and The End. She also creates permanent portals that are scattered all throughout the world. One of these portals is The Stronghold - which is a permanent portal to The End. It is unknown where others may be.

Alita is also the mother to all Kitsune, each born under a different type of magic. Kitsune are made to help Alita watch over the Overworld since she lives deep underground in The Nether. However, it is not uncommon for Kitsune to diverge from this purpose and instead do their own thing. Alita does not see a problem with this, since not only can she freely make new ones, but if she really needs to she can force her will onto the Kitsune that rebel against her wishes. 

Appearance:

Alita appears to be wearing an elegant masquerade mask that looks like a peacock. You can barely see one white eye and a small beak peeking out from the mask. Nobody, except for a few other gods, knows what she looks like under the mask. Anyone who has seen does not remember. Alita generally appears to be avian-like, being part Peacock. She has peacock tail feathers that fan up whenever she gets angry. However, the eyes seem a little too real, and people have reported getting headaches from looking at them for too long. Over her body is a beautiful silk purple dress with silver accents on the ends. She also wears many different rings and necklaces that have been given to her. 

Floating around her are five multichromatic flaming orbs that flash different colors. Each one stands for a different type of magic. Protection magic is represented by an icy blue, Elemental Magic flashes between red, dark blue, and light green depending on the element, Combat Magic is represented by royal purple, Enchantments is represented by orange, and Necromancy is represented by a dark green.

Where they live: 

Alita lives very deep underground in the nether, in the darkest caves surrounded by bubbling lava. Various bones decorate the entrance to her cave and she has a massive throne made of gold.  

Personality: 

Alita is described as the cruelest of the gods. While Aperio may mess with fate, that is their job and they ultimately keep some semblance of balance. Alita will play games with the mortals who dare to visit her simply for the fun of it. She is very playful and likes to toy with people, forcing them to make extremely difficult decisions and pay the price for their hubris. 

Alita can be won over with attention and praise however. She adores it when people grovel and give her positive attention just for a silly favor. While she may not often go out into the world, Alita is always open to visitors of any kind. After all, the visitors are often very entertaining. 

The Titan of War, also known as The Blood God - Sanguineous 

General Information:

Not much is known about the Blood God. He has mostly been lost to ancient legend. They say he was an old titan that became more powerful the more he killed. So, he became power hungry and so full of bloodlust that he attempted to wipe out all life on Earth. Because of this, he was killed by Moíra, Avus and Apeiro. His name is only known from old tapestries and ancient texts; Sanguineous.

Some say that he is not dead, but is simply resting for the right time to strike again. Some say his bones are what made the Multi Ossa mountain range. Some say that his presence can still be felt to this day. Some people do know that those who have been touched by his presence have pure red eyes. Other rumours tell of pockets of underground lakes that still hold the old Titan’s own blood. There are whispers that those pockets hold unimaginable power, if only someone could find and harness them. 

Appearance:

Old paintings and tapestries depict the Blood God as a creature made purely of bone - but only an upper body up. His chest is shown to be a human skeleton, with the hands mutated into large claws. His head, however, is depicted as a large ram skull, with humongus black horns and glowing red eyes. Sometimes, he is depicted holding a large netherite axe which he attempted to split the earth with.

Where they live: 

Since the Blood God is dead, he does not live anywhere. When he was alive he did not live in any particular place. He simply wandered the Overworld.

Personality: 

The only thing known is that he wanted nothing but for blood to be spilt from each end of the earth. 

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

[1000scrubs]

Round 2: Titus Mede II

Writer Titus Mede II ‘s entry for August 2021

ANTONIO ALBUS AURELIUS XVII sat in a chair bearing his name. He was waiting in a dark, seemingly infinite room, remembering neither why he was there nor how he got there. He concentrated hard, trying to think back to remember anything that could help him figure out what the Hell was going on. He could vaguely remember… robes? A stick? No, think harder… a beard? Nothing useful came to Antonio’s poor, empty head. Indeed, it was as empty as this void he was sitting in. But then—

“Bad morning to you,” said the dark-clad man, who had just entered the room from a doorway that had not existed a second earlier. The man was rather large, and after closing the door and turning around, Antonio got a proper look at him. He had a large mustache and an extremely fancy three-piece suit, though the fabric seemed impossibly dark. He had a large hat atop his head, and underneath the brim were his unsettling silver eyes. The look of him gave Antonio a feeling of visceral fear, though he could not tell why.

“Oi, you this pompous Aurelius sounding fella?” asked the man, who spoke in a thick Cockney accent.

“Yes, I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Where am I?” asked Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.

“Well, ‘Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII’ — mind if I call you Tony? Nah, of course you don’t — you have been lucky enough to arrive here, in Hell, where you shall spend the rest of eternity being tortured in my district of New Los Angeles! Oh, but I suppose you won’t understand that reference.”

“What in G— in G— what? What in Go—“

“Oh, you can’t say that name here. Don’t even try. It’s a bit petty, if you ask me, but it’s not up to me! Anyway, my name is Tommy. I’m here to answer any questions you have before you are sent into New Los Angeles.”

Though Tommy’s blasé nature made him feel somewhat less uncomfortable, Antonio was rather confused. He had no idea what this “New Los Angeles” is, or how he had ended up in Hell. “Well,” he started, “for starters, I can’t remember a thing about my life on Earth. What exactly did I end up doing to get down here?”

Tommy chuckled. “Oh, where do I start? First of all, practicing the Arcane Arts is an instant no-no to the Big Man Upstairs. Massacring an entire village probably didn’t help either. But what threw you over the edge was definitely the time you—“

“No, no, this has to be some sort of mistake. I didn’t do any of this stuff, I’m a good man! There has to be some sort of trial, or appeal, or something! This isn’t fair!”

“Fair? Tony, you’re in Hell, there is no more ‘fair’. Except Jimmy’s ‘Fun Fair of Fantastical Flying Feet’, were you are mercilessly pelted by— you know, I should stop getting so sidetracked, I’ve got 12,000 other people to orient after you before my shift is over. No, Tony, there’s no appeal, there’s no trial, and I think I’ve answered all of your questions. So peace out, and make sure you follow my TikTok when you get to the Social Media Torture Tower!”

Antonio started to object. “Wait, you haven’t answered my—“ but before he could finish, Tommy was gone, instantly returning through the doorway that had been there a second ago. He was now immensely confused, perhaps even more so than before. However, before Antonio had any time to think about what just happened, or why the demon was so well dressed, he was suddenly sucked through space to another location in the most painful way imaginable.

“Ianuae Magicae!” he shouted instinctively. The pain and the sensation of movement stopped; he had broken through whatever ethereal force had been moving him, and was in what appeared to be an infinitely large library. Antonio scoffed. “Another damned infinitely large room? And full of books? What, is this some kind of nerd kingdom? I’ve just gotta find a way out of here.”

“The exit’s over there,” someone said behind him. Antonio turned around quickly, and was greeted by the sight of a normal librarian, albeit looking extremely tired.

Antonio narrowed his eyes, not knowing what to expect. “Excuse me?”

“You want to leave the library, right? So instead of wandering around and making a racket, there’s the exit. Now get out and let me get back to re-reading the end of the Eragon trilogy, it’s the least terrible thing in this library.”

Antonio didn’t want to be in the vicinity of anyone who would even think of reading something like that recreationally, so he took her advice and left through the doorway she pointed out. He then found himself in an infinite-looking corridor, which looked like something right out of a 1980s office building. Antonio started walking aimlessly, but what seemed like hours later, he was still going down the same corridor with no end in sight. Fed up with his predicament, he opened the nearest door and went in. It turned out to be an elevator, so he clicked on the top level and waited.

When Antonio’s eyes finally opened, he could not quite understand what he was looking at. It seemed he had fallen asleep during the impossibly long elevator trip, but having arrived at the top, he was now seeing a gigantic, gothic-styled room that was entirely colored in black with red accents. The wall to his right was one giant, uninterrupted window, with a red hue shining from the outside. In front of the middle of the window was an ominous looking throne and a desk, with a villainous chandelier hanging above. Running out of adjectives to describe this room, Antonio noted the oppressive and boiling hot atmosphere inside the room before stepping inside. He sat down at the throne and started going through the desk, finding many files that seemed to detail the various operations of Hell. Antonio finally realized… he was sitting in the Devil’s chair.

“That’s kinda neat-o,” he thought to himself. As anyone would, he immediately went to look for his file. “Hmm, ‘Antony A. Augustine’, ‘Anthony A. Andreas’… ah, here we go, ‘Antonio A. Aurelius'! Oh, of course there are 17 of them… there it is: ‘Antonio A. Aurelius XVII’”

Antonio opened his file and was shocked to see the photograph inside. He saw a picture of a rather horrific looking man, with a gaunt and sickly looking face, terrible hair, and unsettling eyes. Shrugging this disturbing revelation aside, he looked back into the file and started reading it. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII, born in 13th century Tuscany? Exemplary record… lived a nearly flawless early life? If only he hadn’t chosen to become a necromancer!?”

This deeply shook Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. Though it turned out Tommy had been exaggerating, as Antonio had apparently lived a good life outside of necromancy. Nobody had liked him of course, being a heretic necromancer who looked like some kind of cheap horror movie character, but Antonio had still provided valuable services when people had needed them. “I shouldn’t be here,” he thought. “I should be up in Heaven. I can only imagine how many other mistakes like this have been made…”

Antonio looked around some more and found a computer in Satan’s desk. He wouldn’t have thought that they used computers in Hell, but it made more and more sense the more he thought about it. Naturally, Satan’s password was “password”, and Antonio decided he would take advantage of the situation to implement some cosmic justice. He would bring balance to the universe, being a righteous man given the power of God.

After typing in a few commands, Antonio hit the return key like it had owed him money. Satisfied, he got up and turned around to look out of the massive panoramic window. He could see a vast ocean of lava, with a coast that was blackened and rocky, looking inhabitable and yet lit up with the bright lights of many settlements, which were all doubtless places where the residents of Hell were tortured. As he watched, he saw hundreds of bright beams of light flash from the muddy red sky straight down to the ground. He smiled to himself, just as he heard a colossal crash behind him.

“What in the Hell,” bellowed the Devil, “has conspired here?” The Devil walked into the room, the ruined remains of the main door behind him. His voice sounded of pure power, with an impossibly booming level of bass that Antonio could feel in his bones. He was the size of 3 men, with a large forked tail and two large horns protruding out of his forehead, which was maroon, matching the rest of his body.  “I’m taking my first vacation in millennia, enjoying my time in San Diego, when I’m informed that some unauthorized low-life scum is in my personal office? And not just any unauthorized low-life scum, a resident?”

The Devil looked Antonio up and down, his glowing red eyes seeming to see straight into every cell in Antonio’s body. His sharp teeth became visible through his grin, then he started laughing. “Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII? You’ve just made your stay here in Hell… so much worse.”

With a motion of Satan’s hands, Antonio was restrained by some glowing red binds. Before Satan could continue, an extremely fit man dressed in white robes blasted straight through the panoramic window with contempt. He had short black hair with piercing, almost luminescent blue eyes. His clean-shaven jaw looked sharp enough to use as a weapon, and everything about him made Antonio feel inferior in every way. Even looking at the man for too long started to make his eyes hurt. Effortlessly hovering in the air, now with no discernible expression of emotion, he went over to Satan and looked him straight in the eyes. Satan, on the other hand, was seemingly unable to hold his gaze, and looked away.

“The Lord would like to express His dissatisfaction with you, Lucifer,” he said matter-of-factly in an extremely posh-sounding British accent, his voice sounding impossibly clear and extremely commanding. “There is a holy pact that has gone back to the founding of the universe. I know your kind doesn’t take kindly to any amount of reason or honor, but even I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”

Before the intimidating-looking man from Heaven could continue, Satan interjected. “I have done nothing of the sort, knave! This is the work of this dark magician, Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.”

The man from Heaven turned around and sighed heavily. “Please, you expect me to believe that? You lot really are pathetic.”

Satan growled with irritation. He turned to Antonio. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, hushed voice.

Antonio smiled to himself and puffed up his chest, entirely overconfident and forgetting his place. “I have done what you are either too evil or too unintelligent to do,” he said, looking at both Satan and the well-dressed man from Heaven, the latter of whom immediately raised his eyebrow. “I have sent the best half of all people in Hell to Heaven. These people did not deserve to be here. They made mistakes in life, yes, but were ultimately good people.

The immaculately dressed man from Heaven scoffed. He turned to Lucifer and said, “Do you take the Lord and all of us in Heaven for fools, expecting us to believe this utter shamble? Could you have not picked a more convincing low-life to take the fall for you?”

“I know nothing of the situation!” Satan shouted angrily. He started storming over to the computer. Antonio stood by, unflinching, in total confidence that he had done the right thing.

“I mean, seriously,” continued the really very fancy looking man from Heaven. “If you’re going to come up with some pathetic excuse, don’t pick one we will so obviously know isn’t true. There has been no such influx of your heathenry to Heaven. Spending so much time down here really does reduce God’s creations to absolute worthlessness.”

Antonio was confused upon hearing this. How did none of the people he freed show up in Heaven? And why is the man from Heaven so rude? All of a sudden, he heard a bellowing roar from Satan, who promptly punched him with cosmic force. Antonio flew across the room, before hitting a television mounted on the wall. The force of the impact completely destroyed the TV, and Antonio was now lying on the ground reeling in pain.

“Do you realize what you have done!?” Satan was furious. “You will burn in the deepest circle of Hell for all eternity—I will torture you myself!”

The impeccably dressed man from Heaven scoffed again. “Are you seriously pretending to not know what happened? A man of God such as myself will not be so easily fooled by your pathetic tricks, Lucifer.”

“Don’t call me that! And you—” he turned to Antonio, who was now entirely aware that he was little more than an ant compared to everyone else in the room, then continued. “All you have done is send the WORST half of all people in Hell back to EARTH!”

The man with a perfect sense of fashion from Heaven interjected before the Devil could continue. “Finally, you admit to your wrongdoings, you traitorous wretch! I trust you realize that this surely means war, I was sent here to find out why this has happened and I have found no compelling reason whatsoever!”

The Devil sat still for a moment. “I suppose there is nothing else to be done in this situation.” He picked up a mobile phone and started typing an angry Tweet announcing his intentions. After he finished, he moved over to his desk, where he drafted and signed a document that was naturally written using someone’s blood. Probably someone who hated pens, documents, or both. He then got up and handed it to the hovering man from Heaven.

“A declaration of war? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from such animals as you. I shall take this up to the Lord Himself, who shall surely destroy you once and for all. See you never,” he said, before flying straight out of the window and disappearing into the sky, sending a sonic boom echoing throughout Hell. Satan then turned to face Antonio, who was nowhere in sight.

Antonio, still in disbelief that he had manage to slip away undetected, was running as fast as he could to try and get as much distance between himself and the Devil as possible. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t looking where he was going, and ran straight into a guardrail with enough speed to flip straight over it, helplessly falling straight into some sort of magic portal that was stationed several miles below.

#

Antonio awoke again, though this time instead of being presented with the depressing sight of Satan’s office, he could feel a pleasant breeze on his face and grass beneath him. Sitting up, he looked around to see grassy rolling hills with a city in the distance. The view was short-lived, though, as soon a large aircraft dropped a gigantic bomb, destroying the entire city in one blast. Not ten seconds later, a missile shot up from the top of a faraway hill, striking the plane and destroying its wing. The plane faltered, then fell out of the sky, crashing down into a field with all of its explosives onboard, causing an even more massive explosion that wiped out a nearby town. Antonio heard gunfire behind him, and turned around to see two armies fighting each other. The two armies ran at each other and Antonio could only imagine the ridiculous amount of bloodshed going on.

Suddenly, amidst the fighting of the two armies, a giant red portal opened up out of the Earth. Soldiers started falling in, only to come flying back out impaled on the horns of giant red demons that had erupted out of the portal. The demons landed on the ground and promptly started tearing both armies to pieces. Before Antonio could even comprehend what was happening, another giant white portal appeared in the sky. Hundreds of people who looked similar to the man from Heaven he saw earlier flew out like Supermen, some riding on giant chanting chariots, all of them without any weapons at all. The demons, seeing this, roared with ferocity and left into the sky to fight them, with the humans, now fighting side by side on the ground, shooting at their backs. The angels and demons met some thousand feet off the ground, combining cosmic blows that destroyed everything on the ground for miles. It seemed as though each angel could easily destroy a hundred demons at a time, but more and more demons kept appearing. More and more fighting was happening, clearing away anything and everything else in the sky, and knocking Antonio hundreds of feet along the ground even though he was far, far away from the fight.

Stunned, Antonio sat up again, ears ringing and completely covered in dust and debris from the blasts in the distance. Through his blurred vision he looked around him. The countryside was destroyed, and the cosmic forces were nowhere to be seen, surely having moved the fight elsewhere. Antonio tried to stand, but his body was too sore from being thrown about. He blacked out.

#

Antonio awoke once more, and now was greeted with the sight of a hospital. The inside of a hospital, that is. In fact, now that he’s waking up properly, Antonio noticed that this hospital was completely overcrowded. The nurse came over and looked him up and down. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, but get up and get out. Go down the hall and to the left.”

He wasn’t particularly surprised by her rudeness, given the circumstances, so he got up and went down the hall she mentioned. Even in the hall, there were bandaged people strewn all about the ground. “This is truly apocalyptic,” Antonio thought to himself, trying not to think about how he had caused it all. Upon reaching the end of the hall, he decided that he was a maverick, and went right instead of left. After a short walk, he found himself in what appeared to be a recruitment center.

“Another recruit— oh, God, you’re an ugly one aren’t you?” noted a man with an extremely well-featured face was sitting at a desk. “Never mind that, all able-bodied discharges go through there,” he said, pointing to a door just past his desk. Antonio, deciding that being a maverick hadn’t been very beneficial for him, elected to do as the man said. In a blur, he was given armor and a strange weapon, and loaded into a large metal carriage that seemed to drive itself with a bunch of other men, many of whom were covered in bandages. Antonio judged he was somewhere in the American Midwest, though the world had devolved into complete chaos as millions of the worst people who ever lived had been brought back to life.

From talking with the other soldiers, Antonio had learned that several major nations had been taken over by some of these people, who had immediately started violent wars in as many parts of the world as they could manage. Most large cities had already been destroyed by bombs they called “nuclear”, and now that the demons and angels were fighting each other, even more of the world had been completely destroyed. One soldier even said that Mount Everest had been completely leveled. Antonio was completely wracked with guilt, knowing he had caused all of this.

Suddenly the transport stopped, and the commander shouted to Antonio and his fellow soldiers to get out. Antonio got out and ran, before looking back and seeing a demon flying straight into his transport. An angel flew up and emitted a pure white beam of light from his bare hand, which shot straight into the demon and obliterated him.

“Children of God,” he started, turning to the soldiers. “Fear not, for the Lord shall protect you. Retreat to safety, and let us handle this threat.” He then rose into the air, and flew impossibly fast into the distance, causing a massive sonic boom that startled all the soldiers.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Antonio asked his commander.

The commander sat and thought for some time. “Listen,” he began. “We are completely outgunned in this fight. I think the flying man is right, we have no hope of defeating the enemy with what we have. There’s an old nuclear bunker 20 klicks that way.” He pointed to his left side, then continued, “Carry your weapons with you, let’s march.”

About 10 miles in, the march was disrupted. Right in front of the group, a demon came crashing down after being thrown what looked like hundreds of miles. Still disoriented, he opened his eyes and tried to look around.

“Fire! Fire! Give it everything you’ve got!” bellowed the commander. Every soldier opened fire, pumping hundreds of rounds into the demon. After what felt like 5 minutes of straight shooting, they let up. The demon looked as though he had merely been shot with a super soaker, and just looked at them. Seeing the terror on their faces, he smiled, and stood up, but then stopped after hearing a loud boom behind him. He turned around and couldn’t see anything, but suddenly an angel flew down out of the sky and kicked his head clean off. The angel turned to face the soldiers, and despite all of the brutal fighting, there wasn’t a single speck of dirt anywhere on her. Her long, flowing golden hair didn’t even look the slightest bit disturbed.

“You should all get to safety,” she said in what sounded like a Greek accent. “We are pushing the enemy back, but it’s still not safe to be out here. We will let you know when the demons have all been taken care of, and remember that you are all under the Lord’s eternal protection.” She then flew far up into the sky, until Antonio couldn’t see her anymore.

“Let’s keep marching,” said the commander. “The sooner we get to that bunker, the better.” They resumed the march, and only saw fighting happening in the distance for the rest of the trip. Upon arriving at the bunker, they turned on the radios and waited for their all-clear signal. And they waited. And waited some more. Until Antonio couldn’t bear waiting, and faded into darkness.

#

Antonio opened his eyes, as he had done many times after being stuck in that bunker. They waited 2 years for the all-clear signal, emerging from the bunker to see practically nothing left on the surface. The angels remained on Earth for some time to regenerate the natural resources that had been destroyed, then most left. The few who stayed provided support for some time, but then they left as well. Antonio traveled around for several years afterwards, trying to find somewhere proper to stay, but the world had largely been thrown back into the pre-industrial era. Nevertheless he persisted, traveling across the North American continent to help whom he could. Instead of necromancy, he learned healing magic to try and aid the people he came across along the way.

One day, Antonio found an old map of the United States. He instantly recognized most of the regions he had visited, but one area stuck out to him as strange. “Wyoming?” He’d never heard of this place, nor had he ever been there. He decided that this is where he would visit next, and after a few months of being on the road, he finally arrived and was shocked to see that it seemed entirely untouched.

After traveling into the city outskirts, Antonio looked around. Many people walked about freely with not a care in the world, all of them looking pristine in luxurious looking clothing. They reminded Antonio of the angels he had seen, though that must’ve just been how people looked right before the apocalypse. There were so many cars on the road that they actually had to stop and line up in turns to wait for each other, and all were driven by regular people rather than military personnel. Antonio looked back at the sidewalk and saw a man walking towards him. He held a small black slab in his hand that shone on his face, and was wearing very high quality clothing. Antonio walked up to him and grabbed his shoulder .

“What happened here?” Antonio asked, stunned at what he had just seen.

“Hey, what the hell? Watch yourself buddy, or I’ll call the police! Now I don’t know if you want any money or anything, but why don’t you go beg somewhere else instead of bothering me, ok?” He turned around and started walking away. Antonio grabbed his shoulder again, this time not letting go.

“What happened here? This place looks like it wasn’t destroyed in the war, that’s impossible!”

“War? What are you talking about? Are you pretending to be a time traveler or something? Or are you one of those people who like to play dress-up? And God, you reek, get away from me!”

Antonio grabbed him with both hands. “The war, the angels and the demons, it was years ago! Back in 2021!”

“Look, dude, I’m calling the cops. There was no ‘war’ in 2021, all that happened was the electrical grid crash and all the movies got canceled.” He started fiddling with his device, but then got frustrated and gave up. “And the damn cell service went to shit. But I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed if there was a war.”

Antonio was in disbelief. “The rest of your country is destroyed! The entire world is destroyed! This state of ‘Wyoming’ is the only place left, and you don’t even know what happened?”
 The man from Wyoming shrugged. “To be honest… we don’t really pay attention to the rest of the world. And they don’t pay any attention to us. What you’re saying… it would sort of make sense why all those movies never came out… do you have any photos of it on your phone?”
 Antonio collapsed to the ground. “So what you’re telling me is,” he started, out of breath. “This place was left untouched… because everyone forgot about it?”

“Yeah, probably. I dunno, dude.  I think I should probably call someone to come get you.”  He started looking around, before pulling his glowing slab back out again.

“No, no… I don’t understand… just give me a moment.” Antonio lay down on the ground and covered his face. He could hear the murmurs of other pedestrians watching in confusion. Soon he sat back up and looked around, only to see a seemingly endless sea of faces in front of him. “Wait, no… please…” He turned to look at the man he had been speaking with, but he was no longer there.

The crowd parted, and two mustached men dressed in blue uniforms donning gleaming silver badges came through. Antonio couldn’t comprehend what was happening. They restrained him and put him in the back of a car. Antonio watched the surreal sight of the city pass him by; everything looked exactly as it must have been before the apocalypse. Antonio had not been in a car for many years, and the sensation of moving so fast was starting to make him sick.

Thankfully, the car stopped outside of a large, intimidating building. The uniformed men dragged him in and up to a woman standing by a desk.

“What is your name?” the woman asked him.

“I am Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII. I am from Tuscany of the 13th Century. I died and went to Hell, but accidentally caused the apocalypse when I tried to send half of the people in Hell to Heaven.”

“Oh, really? Here, walk with me, and you can tell me all about it.” Antonio started following the woman down the hallway.

“Yes. I’m a necromancer, you see. Or, I was. But that’s  why I was in Hell. I somehow managed to get into the Devil’s offices, and on his computer I tried to send the best half of people to Heaven. It was a sort of cosmic justice, you know?”

“Oh, for sure,” the woman responded. Antonio could sense that she wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation, but he continued nonetheless.

“Yeah, so it turns out I got it backwards, I suppose. I sent the worst half of people to Earth, instead of the best half to Heaven. So this angel came down and Satan ended up declaring war, I suppose.”

“Angels and demons, eh? I’m all ears,” the woman said, completely uninterested.

“I managed to escape, and then I somehow ended up back on Earth. This was way back in 2021, of course, before the apocalypse. Which happened immediately after I returned. There were already nuclear wars and whatnot, but the war of the angels and demons really devastated the world, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Of course, we all saw it, right?”

“Yeah, finally, someone who knows what happened! So I ended up in a bunker during the war, for several years while the angels finished off the demons. Then I traveled around the country, I learned proper healing magic so that I could help people. Then I heard of this place, ‘Wyoming’, and came over here to check it out. You guys seem to be the only part of the world that was left untouched. It seems as though everybody forgot you existed.”

“Yes, we are used to that; that was a fascinating story, but we’ve arrived at your room. You can stay here as long as you like, you’ll be perfectly safe and taken care of.”

Antonio was startled, but very excited at this news. “Oh, thank you so much!” He eagerly rushed into the room, which was largely empty. “Hey, wait, this room doesn’t even have a—” He was cut off by the door closing and locking. The room was padded, and there was nothing but a light in the roof and a bed in the corner. Antonio knocked on the doors for hours, trying to get someone to talk to him, but nobody answered. Eventually, some food slipped through a hatch in the wall, and some time after that he was restrained and escorted to a restroom. He tried to talk to the guards, but they didn’t respond, and he was locked back in the room.

Eventually, Antonio lost track of the days, the months, then the years. One day, he fell asleep on his bed as he had done thousands of times before, but when he woke, he sat in a familiar black void. An invisible door opened, and he saw a familiar face come through.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Antonio Albus Aurelius XVII.” He laughed fiendishly. “We’ve been waiting for you down here. Let’s see…” He pulled out Antonio’s file, then continued, “Necromancy. Nasty business, that. But let’s just skip this part and get to the real juicy bit.” He licked his finger, then flipped the page. “Insurrection against the natural order. Impersonating the Devil. Unauthorized actions compromising the realm of Hell. Actions causing the release of people from Hell. Returning to Earth without permission. Actions directly causing the death of millions on Earth. And perhaps the worst of all: directly causing the Intergalactic Wyoming Empire to become the dominant human civilization—for the foreseeable future, at least. Seriously?” He leaned in closely, then continued, “they would never have known if you never went there!”

He slammed the file shut with a satisfied grin on his face. “There’s a special place down here for you. I don’t think any human has ever been there, so congratulations on becoming the first! You should take it as a compliment, really,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. He began fiddling with his mustache. “And I suppose I can use it as bragging rights. ‘Tommy, the torturer who was once assigned to the infamous Tony Aurelius!’ I like the sound of that!” He laughed again. “Oi, mind if I take a quick video of the two of us for my socials? I could use this cred’. And you’ll probably look disfigured forevermore once the Boss starts his work on you, so I should get in early y’know?”

Antonio, having not listened to Tommy for some time, did not respond, but only hung his head in shame. He didn’t know what was in store for him, but he did feel that he deserved it. He had officially become the worst person to have ever lived.

——-

Who: A necromancer with a heart of gold What: Causes the apocalypse When: The year 2021 Where: In Hell Why: To bring balance to the universe

[another-bloody-multimuse]

CRUELLA DE VIL - What is your muse’s fashion style? for everyone because I love clothes headcanons

Disney villain asks!

Penelope: A combination of fancy/expensive jewellery and casual clothing. Usually with some level of cleavage on display. Think gold, precious stones (fake diamonds, though), ridiculously tall high heels, painted nails. Usually in different shades of pink. Darker pinks accompanied with black, lighter pinks accompanied with complimentary colours or white. Clothes are often figure hugging, albeit not ridiculously skin tight.

The extravagance/expense is toned down a lot for main verse/Team Skull Pen, though is still in full force for her Team Magma and Flare incarnations. Flare Pen specifically is also often seen in oranges and blacks, as fitting of someone often seen hanging off Lysandre Delannoy's arm. A hint of alternative fashion in Skull Pen's look, or "goth lite" basically, thanks to Guzma's influence.

Examples: [x] [x] [x]

Alder: Comfort is king, so his clothes are easy to move in. And sometimes a little on the shabby side, as well. Doesn't really bother if things are a touch of the threadbare side, and likes the aesthetic a poncho gives him. Often chooses quite neutral colours, shades of whites, blacks, beige. Maybe with a bit of pale orange thrown in to compliment his hair colour, too.

Knit sweatshirts, maybe a long-ish cardigan over a t-shirt.

Examples: [x] [x] [x]

Guzma: Baggy, black and white, with maybe a bit of gold or purple thrown in for good measure. Tries to go for a typical "hard man"/"gangster" type look. Sometimes with big, chunky gold chains, drop crotch joggers, trainers, akin to his canon look. Sometimes a more punk aesthetic, in a Sex Pistols vibe. Albeit accidentally, since they were before his time.

Piercings, partially shaved hairstyles, tattoos, spikes all appeal, too. Doesn't have any real tattoos yet, but will probably get some in the future. Doesn't have any immediately visible piercings. I'll, uh, let you come to your own conclusions there.

Oh, and rude shirts. Can be rude because it's just the word "FUCK" in giant letters, can be rude because it's offensive and/or sexually crude. If it's a t-shirt you wouldn't want someone to wear around your kids, it'll suit Guzma perfectly.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x]

Océane: A toned down version of Pen. She'll occasionally rock some expensive jewellery, but her tastes are generally less ridiculously priced and more down to earth. Lavenders and lilacs are popular with her, as are form fitting t-shirts and jeans. Often seen with short nails and a natural makeup look.

Jewellery tastes are usually kept to something black and gold. Not opposed to wearing heels, though as no stranger to working hard gardening, the nail polish and heels are much less of a guarantee with her than, say, Pen or Oleana.

Formalwear depends on the type of event. She has been seen dressed up to the nines as expected of someone from a royal bloodline, in a red and black theme, but sometimes if appropriate will wear a white trouser suit, with some gold jewellery on the more understated side of things.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Sinclair: Sinclair basically has two modes when it comes to his dress sense. Suave, sophisticated, formal. Or a Pokeverse Joe Lycett.

Sinclair is quite typical of a Rich Person, with no qualms about spending obscene amounts of money on ridiculously expensive clothing. Out of his siblings (Océane and Lysandre @nats-rp-world), he's the least down to earth by far. Signet rings, ridiculous amounts of gold and precious gems (though was probably talked out of real diamond jewellery). Waistcoats, cufflinks, shiny shoes, ties, you get the idea. In cool greys and blues.

And then Pokeverse Joe Lycett Mode is. Well. Anything goes. Fluffy, hot pink, leopard or zebra print, leather, sunglasses

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Ghetsis: Oh. Oh God. Where do I even begin?

Pre-Plasma, he probably favoured expensive suits and jewellery similar to Sinclair when dressed as a human being and not a Muppet. With the addition of sunglasses regardless of the weather/location to hide his scarred eye. During and post-Plasma, however, when he stopped giving a fuck, he leant hard into his occult aesthetic and basically started dressing like the evil cult leader that he became.

While he has an interest in occult/supernatural/paranormal symbolism in general, his personal aesthetic has always been toward eyes, including Turkish nazars and the Egyptian Eye of Horus.

Plasma-era Ghetsis favoured long, elaborately made flowing robes, especially ones that allowed his scarred arm to be concealed completely, and/or ones with a very high collar to hide his lopsided mouth. And yet still had the audacity to pretend not to be completely evil. My man is not subtle.

Post-Plasma Dennis is just as up his own butthole with fancy, elaborate clothing. Just more with a royal theme, because hey, now everyone knows that he was the team's true king, why not lean into that particular aesthetic? Other than all the reasons of being a decent human being that we can immediately think of. Some kind of half cape or a way to hide his injured arm, gloves included, are still very much welcomed.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Lance: Capes, capes, capes, capes, capes, capes. My boy loves a good cape.

Often seen in his dragon master outfit, or a variation of it, which there are several. Normally in dark blues, a bit of orange, and a black and red cape. Though he does have an outfit that's more red than blue, as well, ala LGPE. Though in the summers, he's more likely to be seen wearing traditional garb instead, to try and keep cool.

He favours a red, white and gold version of the outfit, due to his own Gyarados being shiny. But he does also have a black and blue version.

For shits and giggles, he also got a version of his dragon master outfit in the colours of Dragonite, though it hasn't seen much use yet. Not after Cynthia found out about it and mercilessly took the piss.

Has probably leant into his black and red (ish) cape's aesthetic to dress up as a vampire on Hallowe'en. A more casual outfit tends to be simple, jeans, jacket, t-shirt and boots. Something that can be easily thrown on.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Giovanni: Suits all the way. Giovanni likes to look good, and he's damn well aware of when he does. Suits range from form to business casual, maybe sometimes with a turtleneck in lieu of a shirt. His outfits scream class and sophistication.

The mob boss look of a fedora and long coat has been retired, but he still appreciates the aesthetic.

And then sometimes he just dads out in Hawaiian shirts, shorts and sandals. No socks, though, he's not a complete heathen.

Silver must be so proud.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Marnie: Black teamed with pastel pink, leather, spikes. Basically punk aesthetic. Marnie joins Guzma in an appreciation for tattoos, shaved hairstyles and piercings, and like Ghetsis (no, I didn't expect this comparison, either), has an interest in occult symbolism. Though Marnie's interests more lie in witchcraft than general occultism.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Mustard: Sports jackets and jaunty hats. Like Alder, Mustard prefers clothes that are easy to move in. Which is understandable, given the fact that this is a ripped old man who is still in sufficient shape to perform fuckin' flips and shit.

He's often seen exercising in a karate gi. Barefoot if he's in the dojo, and in trainers if he's outside. Which granted, don't really go together, but it's Mustard. Eccentric old man gives zero fucks.

As well as the hat he's seen in game, he also takes a shine to pork pie and bowler hats. Usually in darker colours, but brightened up with a nice teal, or yellow. Sometimes he'll sport a t-shirt with something silly/funny on it. Though unlike Guzma, his can actually be appropriately worn in public.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Rose: Professional Farhad favours fancy suits, usually in a sleek grey, accented with red. A suit in general will do the job for him when he has to look formal, but that's definitely his preferred signature look. No matter what, however, his tie will be sporting a rose knot. The rose knot is non-negotiable. Partly for the obvious reason of relating to his name, but also because it just looks damn impressive.

He often keeps an earring in one ear and a lot of the time it's an impressive looking stud, but unlike the more pretentious (or wanky) muses like Ghetsis or Sinclair, Farhad doesn't care about getting the real deal, the most expensive thing. A simple stud or hoop is plenty sufficient.

Professional mode or not, he's also not even slightly afraid to rock some eyeliner. It makes him look amazing and he doesn't give a shit about how "socially acceptable" it is for a man, and doesn't try and make it sound more masculine by referring to it as "guyliner".

When partaking in religious holidays, he opts for a simple black yarmulke.

Casual Rose isn't quite as eye-bleedingly horrible as in the past. He might still try and disguise himself with a pair of sunglasses and a change of wardrobe, but no more eye-watering polka dot shorts. His non-professional wear leans more toward business casual nowadays, seeing how "incognito mode" never really worked. So on a day to day basis, he's seen in polo shirts and jeans, often in varying shades of purple or red.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Leon: Who wears short shorts? Leon wears short shorts! Leon is often seen in clothes that can be easily exercised in. Partly because he does a lot of it, and partly because he likes that they tend to draw attention to his figure. Little shirts, tight tops and one of the many, many hats from his collection.

He is also a fan of neon 80s patterns. Particularly the neon ones that look like the carpet in an arcade. He also genuinely enjoys a nice regal, fur lined cape. It's just a shame that he decided to plaster sponsorships all over the back of it...

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Peony: In contrast to the bright orange expedition outfit that he debuted in, Peony's fashion sense is quite toned down and dark. Greys and black mainly. During his teens, however, he was another one for punk fashion.

Like Rose, he also unashamedly wears makeup, and is occasionally seen with a yarmulke during holidays (Hashem verse only).

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x]

Oleana: Minus the odd choker that Oleana enjoys wearing, her fashion sense is more often than not kept looking professional, in shades of red and black. Rose themed jewellery is a lot of the time considered too "on the nose", but every now and then she'll indulge.

She keeps her nails professionally manicured, painted red, and short. And similarly to Pen, has a penchant for high heels.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Maxie: A lot of the times, Maxie keeps it simple in the Hoenn heat, in just shirts and shorts. Accompanied by socks and sandals, unfortunately. But still. He finds the whole disgust of socks/sandals to be overdone, and therefore won't let it stop him from wearing them if he wants to.

And then sometimes he'll find something really truly, spectacularly hideous and be unable to resist buying it just for shits and giggles.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Bede:

This probably goes without saying.

Any and all shades of pink are fair game for Bede, usually with blue jeans and white trainers, for everyday wear. He likes to accessorise with the gold watch from Rose, and a choker, either plain black, or in subtle bi pride colours depending on how confident he's feeling about his sexuality. He also has his ears pierced, and an industrial bar through one.

Also, being a teenage edgelord, it's not unexpected to see him in tops that have slogans like "I don't care", "I hate everyone", or something else equally delightful printed on the front.

A few things with a rose on them are in his wardrobe as well, because... well, Father.

And the toe shoes have long since been binned.

Examples: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] 

[cherr-e]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 | based in 18th century Korea - JOSEON.

❝ You were never meant to live for love, ranks and hierarchy mattered the most. Prince Lee Taeyong was at the top of the hierarchy, he was the youngest out of four brothers. He knew he was not made for the throne and lived his life away from the epicentre of Joseon, in peace with his poems and music. Yet the son of his father’s respected friend peaks his interest in what he would later on define as love. ❞

DISCLAIMER ⚠️ this is an alternate universe of the ship OLIYONG. this is a piece of fiction, and does not refer to any location or individual throughout this mini-series from start to finish. this is not a historical or documentary work and is purely made for entertainment.

[...] means a soundtrack that would sound nice in the scene, similar to a movie. 

masterlist | episode one:- we’ve become part of the past.

The petals of cherry blossoms swayed underneath the hands of the wind, it was the end of another spring which meant Prince Taeyong had to attend to his seasonal visits at the main palace. The place where he spent most of his childhood and teen years, trapped and lost. His brothers busy competing to become better than the other and that was why he had now resided to the countryside. Away from his royal duties, and only payed respect to his father. 

A few days and he’d be home again, busy humming along to his poems and music while he played to the young children of the small village he resided in. “How long will you stay here?” His right-wing man, Taeil, spoke up after throwing back a shot of rice wine from the local bar they frequented in Hanyang - the capital of Joseon. “I don’t really know, probably for two days. There’s nothing interesting about my family’s lives. Same old shit, brothers fighting over who’s the better royal. Don’t even get me started on their wives.” Taeyong rolled his eyes at the thought of those evil gossipers. They probably wondered why he wasn’t wed yet, making up rumours that he would bed men of the countryside. 

Well he did have an open opinion towards love, but at the same time believed love was for the weak. It was something his family would use against him, if he ever felt that emotion begin to wrap its fingers around his mind - he would push it to the ends of the earth and forget it in his tattered books. “You’re dozing off again.” Taeil munched on the anju served with the alcohol - “I’m already thinking of heading home.” Taeyong sighed, his eyes shining with sadness and regret. This was how it was with every seasonal visit, he was reminded of how boring his life was. A life many strived for, but he felt like his opinions did not align with society. Not anymore at least. 

An hour had passed, Taeil taking it slow with his alcohol yet his superior had downed two bottles of rice wine and soju, forgetting about the busy day ahead of him tomorrow. The royal prince looked sad whenever he was drunk, the walls he built around himself after all these years tumbled after a sip of alcohol. A lost young frail boy, with big shining eyes that yearned for a new life - his face was clean-shaven, sparse from any form of facial hair. He looked more like a young naive boy despite being in his twenties and having his fair share of problems.

[ ... lover’s first ]

“Let’s head back to the palace Taeil-ssi.” Taeyong slurred, cheeks pink and puffy. “I’ll pay for the alcohol. Wait for me at the entrance.” Moon Taeil smiled softly while his friend scurried off to where he would stand, but the sound of a loud performance had dragged his tired body towards the buzz of the street. Like a moth to a flame. He was enraptured by the sounds of Hanyang at night, lost in the midst of crowds, he was normal and he probably looked like a useless drunkard to others. It was the buzz of the night that drove Taeyong’s adrenaline, he swam in the crowd. Wind hitting his face as the cold night began to dance between the people. Soon, droplets of rain had fallen on his face - pitter patter they fell. Droplets became a light drizzle, some of the crowds ran to seek shelter and the business men sprinted to protect their stands from getting wet. 

Being lost in the crowds brought euphoria to his melancholic soul, losing concentration of reality lead to him slipping on the wet floor and bumping into a taller large build. Papers and brushes scattered across the ground, soaking in the water from the skies. Taeyong helped pick up the mess he created, apologising quickly as he repeated “sorry” a billion times. The artist grinned, finding the younger man’s drunk state slightly amusing. 

“You draw well.” He handed the artist the last painting. “Thank you.” The man had a deeper voice, slightly rough with an accent hidden at the end of the two words he spoke. “You sound like you’re not from Hanyang.” Taeyong pointed out, the rain still continuing its assault on the strangers “you could say that.” He smiled again, this time it made Taeyong’s heart pick up its pace. 

The stranger was a very handsome man, who looked to be in his mid twenties, the tan skin and accent meant he was probably from a place further east but the hanbok he wore looked to be made of the finest of materials imported from China and made by well-known tailors who served the rich. It was dark purple, the sleeves and trousers black - disagreeing with the season that had just recently arrived in Joseon. Taeyong pondered, the artist looked like someone who did not conform to society as the colours he wore did not represent summer at all. Despite the smile and the kind demeanour the stranger had shown off to the Prince, sad souls recognised one another because the sleepless nights lay beneath their eyes, and the colours of summer did not break their cries.

Kim Minjae grabbed his soaked painting from the delicate hands of the drunkard in front of him. The drawings were most likely ruined, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to view his work - he was the son of one of the highest ranking war generals in the country, he was trained to battle for the worse. Not to paint foolish moments he found appealing that weakened a part of his soul, he hated being talented in the arts.

“I’ll be off then.” Minjae chuckled, and Taeyong nodded his head - he wanted to ask for the artists’ name, but he kept quite and stepped aside. “It was nice meeting you Mr Drunkard.” He spoke one last time, and Taeyong watched as the man drowned in the ambiance of the night. The rain still continued, and Taeyong was soaking wet yet he felt very high. That buzz of adrenaline, it was still swimming in his bloodstream, his heart reached to his ears, was it excitement? Curiosity because to that tall man? The rain and alcohol? 

He was hoping the reason for his body to be so awake was of something stupid and not because of that broken artist. The last thing he needed were feelings for a sorrowful stranger. 

“I heard the servants watched you come in late last night.” Minjae halted at the sound of his father’s stern lifeless voice. He cleared his throat and said, “I went out for some air and got carried away a little bit,” he remembered the table manners he had learnt a few months back. Never eat when conversing with someone older than you. 

“Did you draw anything?” General Kim picked up rice with his chopsticks and chewed on it slowly. He never looked his son in the eye ever, Minjae did not know why, He preferred looking at nature instead of his stupid useless son. “No father. I haven’t drawn in a long time.” 

His father grunted in acknowledgement: “well done.” They sat in silence, the sound of utensils hitting against the expensive bowls and plates. Breakfast always consisted of a silent father, Minjae still did not why his father had shown up a few years back in the countryside he grew up in. The expensive clothing, the sleek black horse and the small army that were behind his father - it was a different world to Minjae then, he was used to ragged clothes, playing with the country kids and singing along to their lullabies, drawing whatever he found pretty and appreciating small things. That life was over now, and he had a new future - a better one. 

“His Majesty, the King would like to meet you today, he wants to see how well you fair off on the battlefield and has invited us to sparring with his sons. All four of them. Do well.” General Kim stood up from the table, the servants bowing as he passed by them. Kim Minjae stopped chewing, and threw his chopsticks on the table - not a single goodbye, like its always been. 

The journey to the palace was slightly embarrassing, he wore the finest of clothes his father had brought him - a light blue hanbok with white trousers and white sleeves. He looked soft, happy even from the exterior which only mattered to the king. The commoners marvelled at his looks, he was slightly shy at the compliments and the fawning girls. He was not used to this, he hated being underneath the spotlight - the centre of the crowd. 

Now his father and Minjae bowed down to the King in front of them, he wore his red and golden robes and smiled at the sight of Minjae. “He looks strong Manshik-ssi.” The King had a hoarse voice, like death was just around the corner, a long grey beard that reached mid-way to his neck was adorned on his face, wrinkled skin that had aged over the years. 

Minjae lifted his head up after the King had ordered him to and he gave a smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty.” The King chuckled, and turned to his sons. “These are my four sons, if I see you worthy today you may be defending Joseon with them one day.” He spoke proudly, and waited for the warrior to introduce himself.

Taeyong was gobsmacked, annoyed maybe, he wanted to curse the skies. Scream even but he was curious, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all your Royal Highnesses, my name is Kim Minjae and one day I wish to be your loyal consort and friend in the nearby future.” 

[ ... the artists’ lullaby ]

“Minjae. Kim Minjae was the artists’ name,” the professor turned to his students after writing up the name on the large chalkboard. “He was one of the greatest artists of the Joseon period, you could even say he was ahead of his time with the portraits and drawings of nature. Instead of following fellow artists, with inspiration from the Chinese, his work resembled European art.”

He clicked his projector remote and showed the countless pieces that Minjae hated, “historians say that he hated his art so much after becoming rich, and despised whoever viewed his art. Apart from one, the fourth prince and son of King Do-hun. Lee Taeyong. Some say they were close friends while others believed they were lovers, the poems Taeyong wrote after he had met Minjae were self-explanatory.” The class chuckled, and the professor smiled. 

Minjae and Taeyong’s love had become part of history. 

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Through The Ages

Request: What if Jacob and the Reader were childhood sweethearts or smth?

A/N: Well I am sorry this took so long. This was my oldest request so I’m just doing them in chronological order :) Others are coming, don’t you worry! I hope you enjoy it! I thought that the ending sort of dropped off at the end, but I dunno. Have fun, kids!

Age 5:

Your father gripped your hand tightly as you walked through the streets of Crawley, your feet doubling the speed of his. You felt his strange swishing clothes—you had no idea what kind of shop he went to to procure them—brush against your body.

“Where are we going?” You tugged on his arm and brought your arms up, silently asking to be held.

“I’m going to meet a friend of mine and talk about boring things,” he said with a smile, setting you on his hip as he weaved through the people on the street. You took his hat from his fluffy hair and tried it on for size. It slipped as far down as the bridge of your nose. “He also has children; they’re your age too.”

Peeking out from under the rim of his hat, you grinned cheekily. “Can we play hide and seek?”

He laughed heartily. “Why, that’s their favourite game!”

He walked up to the door of a house that was different but also blended in. After three sharp raps, another adult man opened the door. You shrunk into the crook of your father’s neck as they greeted each other. “Y/N, Love, this is my best friend Ethan.” You mumbled a very shy, “Hi” back.

“Hello, Y/N.” This Ethan fellow had a kind face, with a smile that you could quickly trust. “Evie! Jacob!”

Your father put you down and pressed his hand against your head as you stood behind his leg, clutching his trousers. A little girl, about your age, came into view not a second after, with bright blue eyes and freckles. She flashed an adorable smile, sticking out her hand. “Hello!” She greeted cheerfully.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and stepped forward. “Hi.”

“My name is—“

“Jacob Frye!” You giggled to yourself as you saw a boy, about the same height and age as the girl in front of you, walk towards the front door, covered in mud. “What on earth are you doing?” His father asked, not as much angry as disbelieved.

“Making mud pies!” He grinned cheekily, before eyes eyes landed on you. “I like your hat!” He exclaimed, before heading into a direction which you assumed was the washroom.

On the other hand, you completely forgot that you were wearing your father’s hat and you felt your cheeks flush. Jacob was a complete contrast to the girl in front of you, dressed tidily with not a speck of dirt to be seen. “I’m Evie,” she finally managed to say.

“Y/N.” You looked to your father for permission before you went with Evie for a tour (and a hunt) around her home (for her brother).

Age 15:

Another fist came flying for your face. You dodged in time, leaping around the small space in the alley. You swore these boys were watching you at school all day. They probably weren’t even paying attention.

You caught the arm of another boy, twisted him around and kicked out his knees. “Never talk about my mother again.” You squeezed his arm more for good measure as he let out a whimper. The other boys began scrambling to leave, and you gave them a few seconds before releasing your victim.

After a few hours, you found yourself on your roof, leaning against the chimney, legs sprawled in front of you lazily. You rubbed your bruised knuckles tenderly, replaying your father’s words in your head. “Your mother was the bravest martyr in the entire world. You know that. By God, you’ve inherited that. The bravery, the recklessness…

If you know your mother’s past, why listen to the lies of others?”

“But they said—“

“It doesn’t matter what they said.” He applied an ice cold rag to your cheek as he explained, making you wince. “Sorry. What matters is what you do in return, and this…” He lifted up one of your sore hands. “Is not always the way.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you shrugged, desperately trying not to give into your teenage instincts and roll your eyes.

Your father kissed your knuckles. “I know, my dear.”

The night was cold from where you were, but you were so engrossed in thought that you didn’t feel the change in temperature at all…

Nor the sound of footsteps leaping towards you. “Y/N? What are you doing up here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Jacob.” You shuffled over so Jacob could take a seat next to you.

“What happened?”

“Some boys were talking about my mum… they were just so…” you couldn’t believe the lump forming in your throat. “They couldn’t get away with it.”

“They managed to get a few good hits in.” Your ears pricked at the tone of his voice; puberty lowered his pitch by a fair amount, and he’s definitely grown capable of sounding completely menacing when his emotions leak through. You felt his fingers touch your chin before he tilted your face towards him, examining the damage.

“You should see the other guys.” He cracked a smile at your joke before he spoke.

“I’ve never seen this before.” He pressed his finger against a mark under your jaw. “Is it a scar?”

You hummed in amusement at the assumption. “I was born with it.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

Your eyes dropped to meet with Jacob’s when he brushed his thumb against your bruised cheek. At the same time, it sensed, you both realised how close the two of you were, but you made no sign of moving. “May I kiSS—“ he cleared his throat when his voice cracked, making you burst out laughing. “Sorry.” This only made you laugh harder, as he purposely dropped his voice even lower than normal. To put both of you out of your misery, you leaned in quickly, cutting him off.

As you broke apart, your eyes glanced up towards Jacob’s hair, a new flat cap upon it. “I like your hat,” you smiled cheekily.

“That’s very funny, Y/N/N.”

Age 20:

London was calling. Desperately.

You were sitting on the roof of a steam locomotive, swinging your legs over the side as you saw Whitechapel Station come into view. Your replica of your father’s robes (a stunning combination of deep purple and thin streaks of orange around the edges) comforted you as the train rolled nearer.

There was a letter sent to your house a few days prior, threatening you to stay away.

Of course, you never listened to letters.

So you hopped off the train at the station and weaved through various people and down the steps.

No sooner than taking a foot to the path did a green carriage shoot down the road, a few red ones trailing behind. Curiously, you scaled the nearest building and followed the carriages around the borough.

There was a hooded gentleman at the reigns of the green carriage, spurring the horses for all they had. “Follow that man!” And variants of the words were being hollered down past pedestrians.

You stood there, blinking. What a start, you thought, pulling your cowl past your ears and over your eyes. You began heading down the street, catching your bearings and gathering intel about the situation and who is actually guilty of corruption.

By the time it was noon, the morning’s events had dissipated into the past, and you soon forgot about it completely. Every now and then you would spot a few groups of green coats and red coats. The people clad in green would greet you politely, whereas the ones who donned red were consistently harassing the public.

It quickly became clear who was in the wrong.

You had very quickly walked from Whitechapel into Southwark. The roads were a bit bleaker as they grew farther away from the City, but there were still pleasant enough people. The men and women in green—Rooks, you heard people say—were more abundant in this area.

As the sun began to set, you decided to go find a hotel. Your late father knew a friend who owned a hotel by the name of The Great Liberty Manor. It would serve as a good place to rest for the night.

You headed in the general direction of the Main Street when arms grabbed you and pulled you around the corner. Immediately, your instincts kicked in, and you punched your captor in the crotch, pulling away and readying your stance. The man stood tall in a green waistcoat and black leather coat, sporting a blade on his arm and a hood on his head. He threw a punch which you countered with a dodge, grabbing his limb and twisting.

If he didn’t strike you in the sternum, you probably could have escaped. He pinned you face first into the wall of the alley, a hand pinning your arm to your back and a forearm pressing the other beside your head against the wall. He was one of the strongest men you had ever faced.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” he began, unsheathing his blade on his arm to aim at your temple. “You will answer me truthfully.” The voice was deep and menacing, yet the accent was not unfamiliar.

“Those aren’t Y/F/N Y/L/N’s robes, but they look almost exactly the same. What are you playing at?” His grip tightened as he mentioned your father’s name.

“You knew my father?!”

You were released without a second thought.

Spinning around, you stared down the shadow of the stranger. “Who are you?”

His hands came before his face and pushed the fabric over the yolk of his shoulders.

You saw a pale face with hazel eyes, a scar on an eyebrow and stubble scattered over a jaw. Hair curled behind his ears and at the nape of his neck and if you didn’t know any better…

“No… you can’t be.” You assumed he was dead; he left for a mission with Evie and George and never came back. All you heard was that a lab exploded and a train got derailed.

They never came back. What were you supposed to think?

You were frozen to the spot, wondering how after all this time, he was alive. You snapped back to the present when you felt hands slowly tug the fabric off of your head.

No words were said in this exchange. His arms cradled you and held you tightly as your eyes began to well up.

No. You weren’t going to cry. You should be angry.

But you couldn’t be. Not now.

“I thought you were dead!” You pulled away from his chest.

“I thought you were dead!” He lifted your chin, and you watched him check for the area your birthmark resided.

Just to be sure.

You sighed, a smirk playing at your lips. “Where’s Evie?”

His eyes grew dark, and his gaze dropped to the floor as a frown replaced his grin. “She… uh…”

Your hand covered your mouth as tears pricked your eyes again.

“Alright, Love, calm down! She’s only on the train.”

Smack!

“Ow!” Jacob rubbed his arm dramatically. “What was that for?!”

“You’re such an idiot!”

Before he could say anything, you pulled his head down for a kiss. “Not a word. Can we see Evie?”

Jacob huffed a laugh as he revealed a hat from his coat. “Very well.” He walked to the edge of the alleyway, straightening the creases in it when he realised that his shoes were the only set of footsteps heard. Placing the hat upon his head, he waited. “Aren’t you coming?” You took in the sight of his shadow against the setting sun; a pure, menacing shadow which stood tall with pride and cheek.

You smiled widely before moving to catch up. “You look good in that hat.”

“That’s... not what we say.”

[brimstone-and-helianthus]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh im excited this is my first exalted secret santa!! Ok first up:

Wind Erodes the Veneer of Dreams, a midnight caste abyssal and resistance supernal.

Her parents were lost eggs vying for prestige in the Blessed Isle, focusing their resources on their single exalted child. [REDACTED] became an Immaculate monk and was determined to make a place for herself. She was sent to Halta along with a group of Dragon-Blooded to investigate a rumored Anathema, and it basically amounted to a massacre. She got separated and wandered the Wyld for weeks, although from her perspective it was much longer. When Veneer finally found her way out, she was alone, mutated, and half mad.

Her newly acquired second set of arms tended to make people avoid her, so she remained on the fringe of society. She met some Shining Path cultists, which destroyed what little faith she had left. She found their obsession with not only death, but nothingness, comforting. The Wyld doesn’t scare her anymore; it’s just another manifestation of pain and terror. She gets murdered by bandits about a decade later, and as she contemplates the senselessness of her life and death, the Bishop offers her a choice. She takes it, of course.

Wind Erodes the Veneer of Dreams believes the only way to end suffering is to end life because they are irrevocably intertwined. She hates how she spent so much of her life tied to a faith based on lies. She wants the best for Creation, but she happens to think that the best thing to do is to send it into Oblivion. She tries to retain a mild, unaffected exterior, but in truth, she still cares a bit too much about the living. Veneer is a high priestess/assassin and knows Ebon Shadow Style. Her charms mainly focus on tracking, stealth, and lore.

Veneer is about six feet tall and built like a string bean. Her second set of arms starts at the bottom of her ribcage, and all four arms are just a touch too long to look natural. She has the hideous merit because she looks like a mummified corpse, all dehydrated skin and skeletal-ness. Veneer doesn’t have eyes, just a black void in her sockets that still see all too well. Her hair is long, straight, and dark, and is normally in a messy bun that is constantly falling apart. I imagine her hair breaks out of its bun and flows around at suitably dramatic moments. It’s hard to tell with her dehydrated corpse look going on, but being from the Blessed Isle, she looks East Asian. She normally dresses in layers of ascetic robes and a thick, fur trimmed cloak. She has two sets of robes, a white one for snowy stealth missions, and a dark grey and navy one for everything else. All her clothes are ragged, and there are multiple tears from fights. She has two sets of tiger claws: one is her nearly broken, original pair, held in her second pair of arms. The other is an artifact weapon, which look like fingerless gloves. When she flexes, the soulsteel blades come out. It’s a very catlike motion. Her anima banner is a cold, numbing void emanating from her head like a blasphemous halo. Everything sounds quieter than it should when it’s flaring.

Optional: She has an artifact called the Infernal Optogram (i put optograph in the ref but thats wrong sorry lol). It is a full mask made of white jade. It is rounded and featureless, except for five soulsteel sockets for eyes. The eyes of the dead or the living can be inserted into these sockets to activate evocations (im still working on these but it involves instilling fear, tracking, and investigation). It’s based on optography, the idea that the retina can be imprinted with the last thing it saw. She can be wearing or holding it, whatever floats your boat.

The Phantom Apiarist, a No-Moon caste lunar. Caste/favored are intelligence, wits, appearance, and dexterity.

I’m still trying to figure out a mortal name, but he was born in a group of villages in the southeast, where the riverland and forest begin to shift to mountains. His community worships a bee goddess, whose domain is fertility, community, and death. She grants plentiful harvests and safety, and in return the surrounding villages worship her. The Phantom Apiarist aspired to be a shaman under her guidance. Her tutelage culminated in the Heart Swarm, wherein he sacrificed his heart to show her devotion to her. She examined it and deemed it worthy. She placed a queen from her colony into his chest to start a new hive. This was his initiation into terrestrial sorcery. He’s really glad it worked, because if his goddess finds your heart lacking, she eats it and you die.

While he’s still recovering, his village is invaded. He still tries to fight even though he is a) half-dead, and b) does not know how to fight. He hasn’t even tried to use his control spell yet (I don’t have a clear picture of who would have invaded, I imagine I would flesh that out with an ST). Luna disguised themself as a marauder, and was very nearly taken out by a trap he set. She proceeded to thoroughly thrash him, and was like “you’ve got spunk, but you could use a helping hand. Try not to get yourself killed.” And exalted him on the spot.

He is grateful for Luna’s assistance, but expects that they want something in return, and is worried it would conflict with his own priorities. Which are keeping his home safe from an increasing number of raids and generally causing havoc to any Realm passersby. His control spell is blood lash, and his magic focuses on body transformations, insects, and necromancy. He has a fun thaumaturgy ritual where he tells bees secrets in exchange for their knowledge of the dead. His Tell is the beehive implanted in his chest. Where his sternum should be, you can see the nest and bees coming and going. They’re his familiars. He’s a trickster at heart, and his charms tend to revolve around loyalty, misdirection, and flirting. His anima banner is sweet-smelling honeycomb dripping blood and the feeling of a hot, oppressive summer’s day.

The closest real world ethnicity to match him would be North African, I’d say. His hair is very curly and goes past his shoulders. It’s normally pulled back with a few loose curls for flair. He’s faceless in my ref because I was really having trouble nailing it, but his nose gives him a very striking profile. His eyes are dark, and he usually has at least a small smile on his face. He’s on the shorter side, and nothing really stands out regarding his physique. His moonsilver tattoos are the major veins and arteries of his body. His main colors are navy blue and forest green, with bits of red-orange accenting. He wears a large sun hat with flowers continuously blooming and dying on it. The flowers themselves are mostly red-orange chrysanthemums with some smaller flowers and leaves. I’m not good at coming up with clothes, but he tends to wear things that are sheer and flowy. Feel free to do whatever with them. He’s trans, and since exalting has given him a body he’s way more comfortable with, he is very excited about all the loose, open shirts he gets to wear now. I imagine a lot of plunging necklines revealing his beehive. His main weapon is a giant war fan with a honeycomb pattern. It is easily the length of his arm.

[hedgewolf-hunters]

Silence is golden

Drake: Hey you guys want to see one of my adventures from last week? Than take a seat and open those ears up cause have i got a story for you.

In the city of Etrinitat on the corner of main and etheral st a two story old-fashioned wooden establishment sits. The sign a top the doors reads, Alpha & Omega, Bar and grill. Inside was a bustling collection of mobians big and small from avians to deep diggers to the deepest underwater divers. A female dark red wolf is behind a bar counter serving older customers liquor drinks and scaring off under age kids. She has two blue stripes under her sea blue eyes and her hair like fur is done in a single massive braid. Shes wearing a sleevless leather jacket with a tank top underneath, dark blue skin tight jeans and spiked boots on her feet.

"Mom im cutting out early today." A maroon colored male wolf with hedgehog quills barely extending from his head says to the female. He has a black stripe going down the only two quills he has and the same matching blue stripes under his glowing amber eyes. The male is in a sleevless parka, black zipper boots, and gloves with a slightly raised bump on the knuckles.

"Yeah and do what my son?" She asks. Turning to him after serving another customer. The boy places down a crystal double tapping it so a hologram of a bounty appears. Its of a raccon with a list of crimes.

"Drake this guy is an sociopath with a hard on for killing hunters and civilians. Not to mention he probably has a following with him." The woman says.

"Mom i know this. Its the reason i took the job in the first place. You know physical attacks either don't connect or do any real damage, not to mention I'm probably one of only two other people in this building who can actually get close to him." Drake says.

"Sky let the boy go. He needs to learn to take care of himself anyway, and he cant do that if you hold him back from jobs or doing them alone." A purple hedgehog says from the door leading to the kitchen. Her eyes are normal amber compared to the boys, her quills done in a ponytail are greying slightly at the tips as they stop just past halfway down the door. She has a single white stripe on top of her head down her middle quill and a black stripe down each of her outer quills. Shes dressed in sports top and short, and hightop shoes with a chef outfit over it all.

"Thank you Aunt Aura. See mom even Auntie thinks i should give at least one solo job a shot. Look if it doesnt turn out to well than i will not ask again to take a solo. But if it does than can you please just let me do my own every now and then?" Drake asks his over protective mother. Sky bites her lip wanting to say no but knowing they both have a point.

"Fine. But if you get into any trouble trigger the flare and your brother will be there to back you up." Sky says locking a braclet around her second sons wrist.

"Will do ma. Alright ill be back in a couple days. He's in the grassland plains. How he hasnt been caught already, besides his psychotic nature, ill be finding out soon enough." Drake says picking up the crystal and running out the door. He kicks into high gear once outside the bar and runs across the city in a minute flat to the west wall gate.

By nightfall Drake has finally escaped the great forest that surrounds his home and the city. He groans stretching.

"Damn i really wish i had dads super speed, but no, it went to Scarlet and Inferna only. Me and Bane gotta push just to keep up and i have to push harder since Bane can clear the forest in minutes thanks to his wings." Drake grumbles to himself as he stretches his sore legs. A orb flies out from his jacket.

"Oh stop complaining. Your compensation for these little differences is me and our shared abilities. After all none of them can use the Astral plane, like i told you to use, to travel nearly instantly." A feminine voice says from the orb.

"I got excited and forgot ok. No need to chew my head off Aster. Besides wheres the adventure in instant travel? If we had we wouldn't had to chase away those pups from the cargo transport and kept supplies running to the city." Drake says to the orb. The feminine voice huffs and returns to his jacket.

"Fine but when this job is done we go home my way. Last thing we need is for you to lose your prey fending off adolescent feral wolves again." Aster says before going silent again. Drake chuckles as he starts running again headed to the city of the plains Primous.

Day break arrives and Drake yawns from his room inside a old fashioned inn. He arrived around midnight in the city and could only find this building to rest in. He stretches getting a few pops in his back from sleeping on the lumpy mattress. He grunts as he gets up off the bed and walks to the sink in the room. He spashes ice cold water in his face and reaches into one of his inner jacket pockets. Seemingly deeper than it looks he pulls out some morning hygiene tools.

Half an hour later Drake heads down to the main floor and walks out waving bye to the shop keep. The town is now bustling with buisness, cars driving by pedestrians walking around and kids heading to schools nearby. Drake smiles as he jumps up onto the roof and takes in a birds eye view of the city. Whistling as the crowded busy streets clog up in the mornng traffic. A few sky scrapers litter the city and a few cathedrals, his targets usual dumping sites. Smirking Drake jumps from the building and lands on the sidewalk, he heads into the deeper parts of town blending in as much as he can.

Three hours later Drake is stopped at the last cathedral in the city.

"The place where it all started. A city inspector came to check on the building and found several dead bodies placed in various forms of worship. The cops caught video footage of the raccoon in question shortly after the bodies were found in other cathedrals. Mobians have been scared of this place ever since and the neighborhood has been evacuated do to that fear." Aster says while Drake stands by the doors.

"And some mobians have come to worship him as a new messiah with the messages he's left with the last seven victims. I wonder why is it than that they cant trace his signal during the 'Prayer' as its been labeled. Someones gotta have a clue to where this loon is." Drake mumbles as he stares at the gothic doorway of the church. He scratches his head as he turns around and bumps into a young female raccoon.

"My bad little lady didnt see you there." Drake says taking a knee to help her up. She shakes her head with a small smile as she takes his hand of help. Drake smells the blood and goes wide eyed for a second before passing out from a needle in his neck. Aster stays silent as Drake passes out.

"See momma I caught the bad man after daddy." The raccoon girl says pulling the needle out and waving at a bush. The female fox that ran the inn Drake slept at walks out.

"Good girl. Now lets get him inside before anyone sees." The fox says grabbing Drake by his feet.

An hour later Drake groans awake strapped to a table with a light glaring down at him. He thinks back to what happened before he fell out. The flash back coming back he sighs and grinds his teeth a little.

"Seems someone is noticing his mistake." Aster says. Drake glares at his jacket quickly and than lays back.

"Cant blame you for that one, i deserved it. Guess the bait was too good for him to pass up." Drake mutters under his breath to Aster. She snorts in reply and Drake feels something hovering over his hands.

"Not yet, let the bait settle a little more. But if you feel like im in trouble...feel free to get dirty." Drake says the sensation leaves his wrist as Aster sighs. Drake whistles a tune from his childhood as he waits for the next half an hour till his target appears. A four foot tall raccon with well built frame wearing a priests robe.

"Hello my little sheep. Glad to see your comfy in your protective bindings." The raccoon says.

"Well you left me on this slab with nothing to get comfy with so i made do." Drake replies.

"Heh you are quite the talkative type arent you little sheep." He says.

"No shit Sherlock, I've been stuck up here for half an hour with nothing to do but whistle an old lullaby." Drake says

"Hmm, do you know why you are here little-"

"Call me little sheep one more time and I'm gonna tear a hole through your windpipe." Drake interrupts the raccoon getting tired of that comendering tone that follows the words.

"Fine than hunter, i assume you are here for my head but it seems you're about to lose yours." The raccoon says dropping the fatherly tone to his true thug accent. He walks towards a table with a bloody cloth over it and powerlines leading out from underneath it.

"You assume I'll lose my head here, but let me ask you, do you know why i didn't tear your daughter in half before the needle touched my skin? Or why I didn't drag your wife out of the bushes when they hid behind me?" Drake asks making the raccoon stop in his tracks. Aster uses the moment to slice the straps lightly, enough that they can be broken with even the slightest move. The raccoon turns around glaring at Drake.

"Dude you think I didnt notice the table setting in the back of the inn? Or that i was being followed from cathedral to cathedral? Not to mention your ladies eyes when she heard me say i was a hunter." Drake says. The raccoon looks confused.

"Than why did you allow yourself to be captured?" He asks walking over to Drake puzzled now.

"Honestly i didnt know you would send your own flesh and blood to capture me, that threw me for a loop for a second. But its just how I hunt by myself. I dont go looking for prey i let them come to me." Drake finishes with a grin freeing his hand and grabbing the raccoon by his robe and tossing him over the table with the power tools. Drake quickly curls into a spin dash to free himself and stands up on the floor. Two gunshots in his direction make him turn towards the firing squad of the wife and child. Rubbing the bridge of his nose Drake summons Aster in physical form. A scythe blade with a gap where its connected to the curved staff, a smaller blade growing out the opposite side. Gold trimm visibly and bulbously formimg a drip down pattern down the staff till it reaches the bottom where the gold turns into a spear point.

Drake spins the scythe around in his hand as he walks towards the two females. Bullets bounce off the scythe like rubber as Drake gets closer to them. Once the ammunition is out Drake stops spinning the scythe and grabs a point on the foxes collar bone that sends her to sleep. He back steps the small Raccoon and slams the wood down across her back before striking her several times with his fingers in specific locations to immobolize her and put her to sleep as well.

"Now that the peanut gallery is take care of, where were we?" Drake asks gibing Aster one final spin before resting her against his shoulder. The male Raccoon has stumbled back on the floor.

"You are some sort of Demon, you must be!" He exclaims. Drake snorts as he grips Aster with both hands.

"Hear that Aster, he thinks we're demons." Drake says. A shimmer from the balde makes the Raccoon back up more.

"Ah if only he could hear me, id havea few choice words for him to show him how demon like we are." Aster says to Drake. Drake grins watching as the man scrambles for a knife. He stops a few feet away from the raccoon whos now on his feet with a serrated blood covered machete. Drake leans one foot forward and one foot back, lowering Aster to hover above the floor he holds her with both hands at the ready to swing. The raccoon charges at Drake like a scared child wildy swinging the machete. Drake waits till hes within two feet of them and swings Aster in an upward arc going right through him, than coming back down in the opposite direction. He side steps as the raccoon passes him still swinging scared. Drake finishes by slicing aster through his neck. All three attacks leave no mark on the raccoon whos confused as he felt the blade go through him all three times.

"Im gonna give you two options now psycho. Come quietly and live out your days in a jail cell nice and comfy. Or." Drake says snapping his fingers. The cuts slowly form where the blade touched, not deep like they should be but enough that they are drawing faint amounts of blood.

"I let your cuts form fully to the point of no return." Drake says making a slicing motion with his thumb across his throat. The raccoon gasps in pain feeling the sensation of the two across his body getting deeper agonizingly slowly.

"Please, just stop the pain! Take me in but stop this torture." He begs. Drake raises a brow and steps over to the writhing raccoon.

"You think this is pain? You think i should show you mercy that you never showed to twenty others? No this isnt pain and suffering, this isnt torture yet little sheep." Drake says makimg the raccoon look up at him for a moment. In that moment drake showed him something few others see unless he wants them too.

"Remember you know nothing of suffering, pain, or torture. I'll take you in but you nore your family will remember the other. Of that i will make sure of." Drake says lifting Aster and slamming the spear point down onto his targets head.

Drake: No i didnt kill the guy. Aster can sever bonds and memories with her spear point. I simply took all threes memories of being together from the point of the killings. The wife thought he had left her and the child and thats the way it will stay while the shit rots his life away in prison now. And quick note from the mun that no more stories this week. He'll have more ready next week but this week he will be focusingnon his other project. If you want to Rp with us we can do that or answer questions. But no stories for the next six days.

[wiiild-card]

Andalusian Paradise

Subtitle: A Persian Prince. Genre: Historical Romance / Alternate Universe Fandom: Magi Pairing: (Main) SinJa (Sinbad x Ja’far) Might have other ships in the mix in other stories. Rating: Ranges from R15 to R18. Type of fanfic: Anthology. This is read as it would be windows into different view points in time, never the same but always the same storyline. Read it, as you will, as if it was apart of the 1,001 Nights (which actually emerged in this period of time it is set in.) Word count: 3,517 words Character count: 19,485

MAJOR WARNING: This IS set in a past time period, mentions of slavery will be in this! Sinbad himself is shown not a fan of slavery in the show, and keeping with this,he finds it distasteful in the fanfic (and as a result, all of the servants he has are paid for their work) but slavery was standard for most of the world at one point. It is a historical fact and I am not anything but true to my sources. There are also hints of possible sexual assault and mentions of kidnapping. You HAVE been warned.

Also I will be using historically accurate names for some places, so if you are confused you can research them on Google!

Base Summary: Set during the time of the Córdoba caliphate, when Muslims ruled most of Spain and Portugal. Sinbad is the caliph of Córdoba, and spends his days tending to the needs of his people in a rich paradise that allows for trade to flourish, and encouraging intellectual thoughts and educational deeds; but his nights are spent in a haze of passion and never ending love with someone no one expects or thinks.

And its none other than his grand vizier, Ja’far.

Chapter Summary: Early Spring always brought the yearly procession of gifts and tributes from those Sinbad ruled over, those who respected him, and those who feared him; normally, this was boring. But today, a prince from a far away land and a dear friend’s child would change all that.

Córdoba was a riot of color in the early spring.

The screeching of birds reached Sinbad in his rooms, which opened up to a garden where flowers of every kind in the known world grew, but was mainly inhabited by orange trees, their blossoms newly opened. The sound of song birds was something that always awoke him early in the mornings, and the scent of orange blossoms was the first thing he would smell.....

.... if he didn’t have an armful of Ja’far in his bed. Head firmly under Sinbad’s chin, his fluffy white-blond hair gave off the scent of Persian roses, delicious in his sleepy delirium. Sinbad held him tighter, squeezing his eyes shut against the sun seeping through the silk draperies and just enjoying the coolness of the air on his skin and the warmth of the man in his arms.

He was never disturbed this early in the morning, since it was known his vizier woke him when needed - but it wasn’t known that their rooms connected to each other, and that they always spent nights together. 

Sinbad savored the reverie of the early morning, knowing soon Ja’far would stir and get him started on his day. The sun normally woke him - the rays touching his cheek, warmth waking him from the land of Morpheus, known as the Greek god of dreams and sleep.

“Mmmph.” and he woke, his eyes opening and stunning Sinbad with their beauty. Ja’far had the coloring of people far north of his warm, subtropical home, and it always surprised Sinbad with how pretty he was. But he was also extremely smart.

“Morning, my love.” Sinbad tipped Ja’far’s head up, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He sighed softly, kissing back with warmth and sleepy affection, arms unintentionally slipping up around his lover’s neck and pulling him close, much to Sinbad’s delight. A sleepy Ja’far was an extremely affectionate Ja’far, something that Sinbad absolutely adored - no reservations, tossing all the caution he could out the window. 

“G’morning.” he yawned when he pulled away from the kiss. “’s sunrise, isn’t it?” Ja’far was struggling to blink the sleep from his eyes, to wake up more fully. The sunlight was shining more brightly through the curtains, casting jewel colors across the white and black marble of the room; and upon the thick carpets that covered parts of the floors. The room was large, bronze, gold and silver lamps hanging high and low on the ceilings, some with scented oil and others without. But now they were burning low flames or completely unlit, since they had forgotten it when they had fallen into slumber the night before.

“You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.” he laughed when Ja’far had squirmed out of his grasp and smacked him with a silk pillow, the silken covers falling off his lean body and revealing it to the morning air. 

“If you were awake before me, you should have woken me up.” he glared at Sinbad. Ah, there was the Ja’far he knew and adored. 

“Mmmmm only a few moments before you, darling. I was enjoying you sleeping far too much.” there was a twinkle in his amber eyes, and Ja’far melted, realizing he couldn’t be angry at this wonderful man.

“You’re lucky there’s not much to do today. Gifts from neighboring lands and beyond is the only thing on the schedule.” Ja’far had swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his body free of the rest of his nights rest. Sinbad was leaning on his arm, tracing the lines of his lover’s body before he got up totally, picking up his caftan from the floor and the loose pants that went with them. Made of emerald green silk, they were woven with shots of gold through them, and they fit Ja’far’s form perfectly.

“Get up and get in the baths, my caliph.” he turned around a spot of humor in his eyes, but is face dead serious. “Don’t want to keep them waiting,hm?”

Sinbad laughed. “Yes my most dutiful vizier. But at a cost.” Moving swiftly from his laying position, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close. The breath left Ja’far for a brief time as he was held against Sinbad, and kissed so thoroughly that he felt like the air was suspended in his body.

Pulling away, Sinbad noticed that there was a soft, dreamy look in the smaller man’s eyes, and he grinned.

“Now, I’ll let you go.” There was a purr to Sin’s voice, and obvious pleasure in his aura over the warmth that suffused Ja’far’s body at that moment.

Huffing, Ja’far scuttled away, to quickly find the clothing Sinbad would wear that day. Ja’far had taken on the duties of a servant as well, so nothing would disturb their early morning schedule; a body servant would gossip about it. No one knew that Sinbad didn’t have one, and Ja’far was glad to keep it that way. The baths Sinbad used were connected to his suite of rooms within al-Rusafa, and most didn’t see him until after he was dressed. 

Ja’far had stepped into the steamy interior of his and Sinbad’s private bath, the tiles warm to his bare feet and the steam hitting him even before he actually came in. Tiled in blue and white, there were frescoes in the Roman style of various landscapes and flowers, mainly in gold or brilliant turquoise.

Here there was glass - either stained or clear, looking over the garden that was the center of the caliph’s part of the palace, the deep pool in the middle of it reflecting sunlight into the bathing room. 

“Please tell me you’re not lazing about.” Ja’far had hurried to an enclave in the wall, hands going to various soaps and oils to cleanse himself quickly with warm, running water and to rid some of his muscles of ache. A warm laugh was the response Ja’far got.

“I’m clean, I’m clean, find me in the bathing pool when you’re done. I’ll relax a little before I start my hectic day.” Ja’far had peered over and found that Sinbad had wrapped his long hair up and out of the water, so it wouldn’t go all over the place.

With one more warm water rinse, Ja’far had stepped out, and he walked over to the warm water pool Sinbad was currently relaxing in. 

“Come now, Sin, you need to get o-” he was cut off by Sinbad pulling him in, an ungraceful splash echoing around the room.

Ja’far sputtered his anger, coming up out of the water with a look of an outraged kitten. “Sinbad!” he growled, and the older man grinned.

“I thought you’d need a soak, especially after last night.” he grinned at Ja’far’s blush - and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the chamber.

“Get out, you ass.” Ja’far muttered, trying and failing to not give him any satisfaction in his embarrassed state. He was the only person that ever spoke to Sinbad in that manner - well, in private at least. 

It was some time before Sinbad was able to make his appearance in the morning, Ja’far huffing and making sure there wasn’t a thread or spot of silk out of place; rich Byzantine purple colored robes with accents of brilliant gold, hints of dark red and some green complimented the costume he favored. 

Preceding him outside (and leaving from the door in his chambers instead of Sinbad’s), Ja’far had waved everyone away so Sinbad could actually leave his chambers. He stifled a grin at how prim and proper he became outside of their chambers - but what did he expect?

Sinbad caught sight of a large crowd gathering outside the palace through the windows, and he internally wondered what would happen today. Not only was he to receive dignitaries from various nations, there were court cases high enough for him to hear as well, and other state matters. He was concerned for the welfare of his people after all, and the best way to help them was to be personally involved in all government goings on. He wasn’t a lazy ruler as a law, since many countries had been ruined by those who cared not for their people. 

“My lord?” Ja’far asked quietly, and Sinbad was briefly woken from his daydreams. 

“Ah, I am sorry. I just noticed.... there are many common people among the crowd today. Normally only a few and beggars are the norm....”

“There’s something important today. A court case against a man named Jamil.... according to what I’ve read, he was the reason for a string of women going missing only to turn up in markets far to the east of here. He was caught kidnapping a sixteen year old maiden from her father’s garden after posing as a guard for him. As many as twenty five women went missing over a three month period.”

Sinbad frowned. “Why wasn’t I told of this?”

“It was only brought to light recently, your grace.” Ja’far murmured. “Unfortunately there isn’t a way to track the women involved.... and they were taken from all sorts of homes, not just the wealthy, and girls as young as thirteen were taken too.” 

“If he had any other people involved, find a way to get the information out of them. We can’t find all of them, but maybe we can buy back any that were’t sold yet.” His voice was hard. “He won’t escape with his life, since he destroyed so many others.” Sinbad was angry something like this happened in the country he ruled over.

It wasn’t long before dignitary after dignitary was presented, and Sinbad lost count of the things shown before him.... and it was a dazed blur, with automatic responses from his lips. Ja’far could tell his energetic lord was getting bored with just sitting there after things were presented to him. Sitting cross legged on a dais strewn with cushions and rugs, he imposed a magnificent presence in the room, which was larger than most see in their life time; and it was dim since there were few windows, one circular one above where Sinbad sat, but the rest of the room was lit by lamps either hanging or standing everywhere. 

It wasn’t until he caught a gleam of honey blond hair he was interested. The next person had a familiar look about him, almost as if he had seen him somewhere before.

And Sinbad realized it.

“Prince Alibaba of Baghdad, son of their most gracious ruler, Caliph Harun al-Rashid.” Known as simply Rashid to Sinbad (since he had met him under an alias when traveling in the Byzantine Empire), he had always talked volumes about his youngest son, but he never expected to meet the boy in person. His features were striking - Sinbad had only ever met Rashid, never any of the ladies from his harem, obviously, as it was a violation of conduct. 

The young man had kneeled down on the floor before Sinbad’s dais, head down in a polite gesture of greeting. Behind him were various gifts from Baghdad, less of a tribute and more of a gift from one friend to another. He smiled, realizing he preferred these things the most over the rest.

“I bring you my father’s regards, my lord. He would have come himself but his health hasn’t been the best as of late.” he looked up with shimmering eyes, nervousness showing through.

“Son of one of my dear friends, I welcome you to Córdoba.” he smiled with a genuine warm welcome, his hand waving for him to come closer than the others had. He was definitely Rashid’s child, though much prettier. He looked no older than seventeen, and his voice had the crack of a youth just becoming a man. He seemed stiff, almost nervous, a flush on his sun-darkened cheeks.

“You’re the last of them, eh?” Sinbad said as he motioned for Alibaba to sit next to the platform where he himself sat, a cushion softening the marble steps.

“I’m sorry, my lord, we had some - er. Issues and needed to fix them.” he looked embarrassed. “We got here late since some of the horses got spooked and ran off.”

“No worries, no worries, tell me of your father, is he very ill?” there was concern in his voice, but not showing anywhere else. The slightest sign of distress on his face wouldn’t be very majestic.

“Last I remember, it was a faint illness and should be gone by now, but he wasn’t feeling well enough to depart with us.” Alibaba responded politely. He was very stiff, feeling like he was out of place next to his father’s friend, whom he had only heard of through Rashid’s stories of Sinbad’s adventures in Baghdad and Persia. Sinbad had been the son of a younger son, and it was an accident of fate that placed him as the caliph of Al-Andalus, and as such he had traveled far and wide throughout the Persian empire and and traveled as far as Cathay; as such, he was tinged with a sort of apprehension.

Sinbad smiled. “I’m relieved that it is nothing serious, your highness. Rashid is rather important to me and the caliphate at large, since he’s helped bring so much peace between the warring fractions of his land, and helping trade flourish. I assume he sent you to learn from me, since learning different forms of ruling from different people is best, I have found.” Rashid had often wrote of how he planned on making Alibaba the ruler of his land verses the corrupt, spoiled sons his first wife gave him. He tried sending his first two sons to learn, but... their stays were gratefully short.

“Your grace?” Ja’far murmured. “Court hearings are happening now. We only have three cases to judge and ah....”

“That one is first.” he finished Ja’far’s sentence. His smile grew hard, sharper than a blade of Damascus steel. “You’ll get to witness something interesting today.”

“Bring the accused in for judgement.” 

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Sunset had descended upon Córdoba that night, bringing a blanket of stars over the city - but no one slept, as evidenced by the sounds of merriment throughout the buildings.

The palace itself was awash with brightly colored lanterns, colors scattering in a rainbow across walls and floors, music winding through the corridors of the public parts.

Alibaba was out of place among it all. Though raised in the palace back home, until his mother died not long ago, he had lived rather simply - almost in a military fashion as to not spoil him like his older brothers were by their own mother. Raised to be loyal only to his father, and none of the court fractions, he was rather lonely for his age with no friends back home.

Maybe that’s why he wanted to leave - to see if he could find things in the world before he had to go back. Andalusia was a sight to behold, and even though his home had gardens that were beyond lovely, he had to admit that there was some flora he didn’t recognize here in the gardens of al-Rusafa.

“You’re deep in thought.” Sinbad’s voice startled Alibaba out of his thoughts, and he twirled around with a rose color staining his tanned skin.

“N-not really. I’m just.... Overwhelmed is all.” Alibaba cast his eyes somewhere else.

“You haven’t been far from home before, have you? Homesick, perchance?” Sinbad had sat across from where Alibaba was, to have a friendly conversation with the boy. As a friend of his father’s (and despite how near in age they were - Sinbad only being twenty eight to Alibaba’s seventeen) Sinbad almost took it upon himself to be a father or uncle figure to him. Sinbad was normally conscious of his age, but not in this instance.

It seemed like Alibaba needed someone.

“Not homesick.... Maybe if my mother was home. The only thing I miss is my father. I don’t have any friends my age and - I’m terribly sorry I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.....”

“Nonsense. I extend my friendship to you as well, not just your father who is one of my dearest friends.” He had a charming, disarming smile on his face, one that bespoke nothing but the utmost respect for Alibaba. It was surprising, since not many interacted with him on a personal level aside from Rashid. 

He was a little startled by it too. “Thank you.” his voice was soft, almost too soft for anyone to hear. He was glad for the gradual darkening of the garden that forced them inside, though away from others so they could keep a form of privacy while they spoke. Alibaba was surprised by how easy Sinbad was with people, considering he was a ruler after all, but it calmed Alibaba’s fears and notions of him causing problems. He explained all the things that had gone on in his life; his mother’s forced exile for them both - and his lack of charisma where people were involved.

“The letter your father wrote me asked to keep you here for a year. I’ll take it your education hasn’t been too diverse in some topics due to your mother, however I am startled you can speak Romance* and understand how we all speak.”

“I learned from the letters you and my father exchanged after my mother died and I started living near him.” he surprised Sinbad with that sentence. “I could pick together what I could and started writing it myself.... and well, my father picked my lessons up from there. I was worried my speech is too formal... And it was the only lessons I got besides court etiquette and sword fighting.”

“A little, but you’re doing wonderfully. You’re in a wonderful place for learning. You speak Arabic so soon we’ll start you in on poetry and prose, history and science.”

Ja’far had come up behind them while they spoke, and he smiled. He hadn’t seen Sinbad this excited in a while (about a project, to say the least) so he was more than happy to help in the coming days. And he would admit, he had a soft spot for the young boy who was opening up to Sinbad.

“My lord?” his tone was soft. Sinbad had been so caught up in speaking with the prince that he had failed to notice the quarter moon rising in the sky, and the eventual toning down of music, sounds of merriment and people.

“It’s rather late, and I think lord Alibaba is rather tired....”

“Ah, forgive me my friend, sometimes I forget not everyone has my energy. Some nights I might not sleep but a few hours.” he smiled. “Your rooms should be ready by now, and if you ever need anything....”

“I’ll be alright.” his tone was less formal now, and warm. “I think I just need a good nights sleep.” 

“I’ll escort him to his rooms, unless you want me to...” Ja’far asked.

“No, no, I would be a poor ruler if I couldn’t make it back to my own rooms, Ja’far. Goodnight, and I’ll see you shortly after midmorning tomorrow.” he smiled, seeing Ja’far’s back disappear into the dim corridor with Alibaba, and he heard their own soft laughter.

It had been a while since a visitor had caused this much stir - he could see Rashid’s hand in pushing them together. Sinbad was a person that could easily educate Alibaba in the known world - his hands extended throughout the Iberian Peninsula, and North Africa gave their allegiance to them. Even Christian kings sent rich and varied gifts to the capital city of Andalusia. His friend was still far too busy between the west and the east, and Sinbad was more than glad to help.

Wandering the palace, he found his own way back to his rooms, guards stationed outside them - both from his personal guard, who came from the far Nordic regions of Europe, strong and sure in their loyalty to him.

“Goodnight, my lord, pleasant dreams.” they both nodded and opened up the rooms for him, and he smiled.

“Goodnight.” Sinbad had stepped into his rooms, bright up with lights and candles all around. 

Somehow, he knew Ja’far had come in before him - he could be quick when he wanted to.

“Sin.” came the soft, warm tone, and he laughed when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Hands quickly undid the layers of robes that covered Sinbad’s form, fingers eager for warmth and skin to skin contact - since Sinbad noticed that Ja’far was already unclothed.

“If anyone knew how eager you really were....” Sinbad had turned around and wrapped his arms firmly around his lover, delighted by the fact that his lips were soft and willing for his own.

Outside the night was warm, and had a form of heady enchantment around it - encouraging sensual delights and other forms of love.

Darkness enfolded it all in a peaceful embrace, the stars twinkling above.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Authors Note: “Romance” is the term for the form of Latin used by the people of Muslim Spain - there is no actual term for it, but most scholars have used this as the blanket term, since Romance means “in the Roman way” and is the base for the term “Romantic language” - aka, a Latin based language. 

Also, Jamil will get his own chapter! I promise.

[mikkeneko]

Chance Encounters, or That Time Damien Amell Made It With The (Maybe) Herald Of Andraste

[This fic was written for @losebetter for the OCKiss event. It features losebetter’s inquisitor lucianus trevelyan and Damien Amell. Reposting it now, with losebetter’s permission, because I realized I used the name of the wrong twin. Whoops.

In terms of the main One Elegant Solution  timeline this may not be considered canon -- I haven’t yet decided who the actual Inquisitor will be in this worldstate -- but it does feature Damien in personality.]

The closer they come to this Conclave – both in terms of distance and in terms of time – the busier the roads become. The mountain passes leading up to Haven are completely clogged with traffic ranging from the obtrusive to the subtle: Chantry officials and their escorts, nobles and *their* escorts, hired security, ambitious merchants hoping to make a profit off the chaos, uninvolved gawkers, rogue Templars trying to be discreet and doing a bad job of it, rogue mages trying to be discreet and doing a slightly better job of it, opportunistic con men, and spies.

Lucianus Trevelyan is not entirely sure, yet, which of these categories he fits into. Perhaps many. But he knows that the cracks around the normal order of things is where men rise; chaos breeds opportunities for change. Maybe he’ll do what his family wants for a change and lobby for the interests of the Trevelyan clan. Maybe he’ll sneak around the edges, soak up secrets and sell them for a price. Maybe he’ll hire himself out to one of the more desperate nobles. Maybe he’ll knife some deserving scoundrel in the back and be justly rewarded for it. Maybe he’ll meet the Divine herself and seduce her, become her right-hand boytoy in the new world order. Maybe this. Maybe that. Maybe anything. All he knows for sure is that it will be grand.

There’s no room in the inn for travelers like him, hasn’t been for days and miles; the innkeepers claim their rooms are stuffed and are probably telling the truth, although Lucianus also suspects they’re trying to avoid another round of mage-templar fighting breaking out under their roofs. One of the more enterprising fellows, however, has raised a whole parade of tent pavilions in the fields surrounding his modest tavern, set up benches and trenches, and charged double for a space there what would normally be paid for a room in the inn.

Lucianus likes it anyway; the space under the tent is wide-open, full of crowds and noise and rowdy excitement, and at least he’ll have a hot meal and a dry place to sleep tonight. There’s a tavern brawl that never really seems to end, just migrate from one place to another, and at least two minstrels in the crowd waging a constant patriotic duel between ‘The Girl in Red Crossing’ and ’The Ballad of Nuggins.‘

He looks up from his crowd-watching when part of the crowd comes up in his field of vision and stands there, clearing their throat conspicuously. "This seat taken?" the man asks.

Lucianus looks up to see a tall, fit man in weatherstained traveling clothes approaching his bench, bowl of overpriced stew in one hand. He has middling-tan skin and dark brown hair that curls around his face, jaw and collar. One of his eyes is hidden behind a rakish eyepatch stretching from brow to ear; the other is sharp and almond-shaped, the black irises glinting with keen interest.

The unmarked, delicious-looking skin travels down into the open collar of his shirt out of sight, the striking lines of his collarbone and neck. Lucianus follows that line back up to his face, and smirks in welcome. “It’s not taken yet, but it could be, if you wanted it enough,” he says, and moves his legs with deliberate precision to make room on the bench.

The man looks surprised for a moment, then laughs and seats himself on the bench besides Lucianus. “We *are* still talking about the seat, right?” he asks.

“We are talking about *a* seat,” Lucianus replies with a grin. “Nobody specified which ‘seat’.”

“We can open negotiations on that when I don’t have a bowl of hot soup in my hands,” the man demurs, and holds out one hand for Lucianus to clasp. He does so, and Lucianus makes note of the surprising softness of his hands, the pattern of calluses more accustomed to holding a stave of wood than a sword or a knife, the soft-spoken accent in his voice. The slightly stiff way he wears the clothes, as though he isn’t quite accustomed to wearing anything that isn’t robes. “I’m Damien. Damien Amell.”

“Amell.” Lucianus’ eyes narrow, as he reviews his mostly-ignored drilling in the noble families of the Free Marches. “Of the Kirkwall Amells?”

“Sadly, yes.” Damien grimaces. “Though I haven’t been back to Kirkwall in a while. I’ve… spent much of my youth abroad.”

“Mmm.” Lucianus rests his chin on his hands, watching Damien start to slurp up the soup. “And by 'abroad’ you mean 'in a Circle tower,’ yes?” Damien chokes and sputters, nearly spitting soup on Lucianus’ shoes as he begins garbled denials. Lucianus laughs and waves him down. “No fear, no fear, I’m quite fond of mages. I’ve even been quite fond of mages, from time to time. Do I look like a flaming Templar to you?” he chuckles.

Damien coughs again, even as he begins to regain his composure. He covers his mouth, then clears his throat as he moves his hand to his chest. “Well, you might look like a flaming something,” he says. “ –the hair, I mean. I mean the hair.” Lucianus grins.

“Considering what this Conclave is all about, it’s not like it should be a surprise to anyone around here that anyone else is a mage,” he says. Then he leans in, his voice lowering as his eyes narrow. “So are you with the Rebellion?”

Damien slowly relaxes on his bench, showing that startling grin again. One hand sweeps up to pat reflexively at the patch covering his eye, then pushes the hair back from it across his temple. “Yes. Yes I am. Obviously. I am with the Rebellion,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’ve never seen someone from the rebellion before,” Lucianus comments, impressed. “I’ve always wondered what they looked like.”

“Well, this is what we look like,” Damien bragged, before glancing down at himself and amending,  "Well, some of us, anyway. Others look different.“

Lucianus leans further forward, nearly toppling into Damien’s lap as he breathes, “I’ve always wondered what they *taste* like, too.”

Salt and soup, turns out to be the answer, as their lips meet across the rough bench – and there, behind it, a hint of flavor like the sky just before a storm, which Lucianus chases with his tongue. The other man kisses back with enthusiasm, and moans encouragingly when Lucianus’ hands sneak up his not-quite fitting tunic from below. It’s too crowded for privacy, but also too crowded for anyone to care about what two strangers do in a shadowed corner of the tent, shielded only by the bulk of the wooden bench. Another brawl is starting by the beer kegs, another song is being struck up before the fire, and in the corner, the two travelers make a music of their own.

[monotonemanday]

Star Crossed Entertainers - Mystic Messenger FanFic Part 2 OC x Jumin

Part 2 takes place at the same time as Part 1 but it is in the OC’s perspective :) I was planning for this part to be shorter but it’s actually longer! My bad.. Thanks again for reading!

“I’ll be back late! A car is picking me up. Don’t be late to rehearsal, listen to Lee, it’s his first time running practice without me, and call a car to bring you home. YOU ARE NOT RIDING THE BUS THAT LATE AT NIGHT!”

She was met with silence.

“Did you hear me?!”

“Yeeessss! I’m ignoring you! I’ll do whatever I want. Don’t forget to bring back a husband tonight, Cinderella!”

Smart ass. She closed the door tight behind her and sighed. She was sure the neighbors didn’t enjoy their shouting but that’s just how her and the roommate operated. She adjusted the strap on her gym bag and began down the hall to the stairs. She was moving at a quick pace down the stairs, turning the corners sharply, the tapping of her sneakers on the cold steps ringing loudly. She was multitasking. Running down the stairs to the car, half a bagel hanging out of her mouth and her hands working on putting her hair in a very mess bun. She made it to the lobby and pushed open the door with her backside. Look ma no hands.

The brisk air slapped her cheeks. It felt quite nice after running down 4 flights of stairs. A driver silently opens the back driver side door for her and she removes the half eaten bagel from her mouth. “Well thank you, sir!” The man nods and closes the door once her legs are tucked in. 

She places her bag on the seat and looks at her knees. Great. The drivers seat was pretty far back. Her knees were pressed into the back of the leather. Oh well, she was used to it. She had always been tall. Too tall in her opinion.

She opens up the main pocket of her bag. It was just a plain gym bag. Adidas brand. Navy with neon pink lettering and accents, but it was her favorite and most reliable bag. She rummages through fabric and loose make up and finally finds her cell phone. 

No messages, just a couple missed calls from the boss. Oh well, she would be on location in a few minutes.

She could tell the driver was staring at her in the rearview mirror. 

“Unimpressed with my appearance?” She chuckled to herself and smiled at the man.

“Oh! No! It’s just that you don’t seem to be dressed in appropriate attire for your destination.”

She looked down at herself. He wasn’t wrong. She was in tight black joggers with a thick mint stripe down the sides and a loose mint hoodie with black lining. Her hair was a mess and her sneakers were pretty beat up. “Well, that’s what the bag is for.” The girl smirked.

“Attending a party? You don’t have a ball gown shoved in there do you?” The driver laughed at his notion harder than he should have.

“Oh no, I’m working an event.”

“What kind of work?”

“Oh, I’ll be ushering guests.” Lie.

The car came to a stop and the woman looked outside. She could see the flashing of what seemed like hundreds of cameras. Vultures.

“Actually,” she called out to the driver. “Can you pull around the back of the building? That’s where the changing rooms will be I think.”

“Sure thing.”

The driver drops her off at the back of the building. She reaches into her wallet and pulls out whatever cash she had. She throws the wallet back into her gym bag and reaches towards the front seat to hand the cash to the driver.

“Oh, your ride has already been paid for miss.”

“Oh I know!” she chimed in. “This is just for you.” She slaps the cash into the drivers hand and without waiting for a response she grabs her bag and slams the door behind her, rushing into the building. She was late.

Making her way through what seemed like endless hallways she finally saw them. The familiar bodyguards hired by the boss standing in front of what she assumed to be the room they were using as their dressing room.

“Name, please.”

Ugh, this was the worst. So pointless. Always had to give the guards her name even though they knew her. Hell, she even was at Stan’s sons birthday party last month. But the men were just doing their job. Protocol. 

“Gonna need your name, sweetheart.”

Shit. Which one? She had so many. What would her boss have put her down as? Oh that’s right. They were hired by the C&R Chairman. Who did he know her as?

“Rose.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Good luck tonight.”

She patted both men on the shoulders. “Thanks boys, say hi to the fam’s for me!” She beamed a sincere toothy smile and entered the room.

Chaos. Feathers and aerosol spray everywhere. Girls struggling to get tights on, whining because their hair won’t curl just right and arguing over sharing make up. She’s trying to make her way to her private room in the back of the larger room when the girls catch wind that she’s arrived.

“Rose! Thank god! I need your help with my leotard!” “Rose! Angel doesn’t feel well, she’s locked herself in the bathroom, what should we do?!” “Rose! Can you go over the steps for this part of the number with me?”

Rose. It was so hard getting used to for the first couple of minutes. None of the girls used their real names at events or while performing at the club but hers was the only one that changed depending on what clients were around.

“Girls, you know the rule. Give me a chance to put my face on. I’ll be out in a minute.” The rest of the girls let out a communal “aaawww” and she finished making her way to her area.

She closed the door and locked it. She threw her bag onto the sofa and made her way to the vanity. She sat in the high chair and pulled her cellphone out of her hoodie pocket.

“Hey Lee, sorry again that I can’t be at practice. Just run through act one and don’t take any crap from them. Especially our leading man and the little pixie. I won’t be able to respond but let me know if there are any major problems. Thanks and good luck!” Sent.

She set the phone on the counter and walked to the sofa and opening the gym bag. She hangs her clothes on the rack on the right side of the room. Why do they need so many outfits? She’s only going to use one, maybe two. She was impressed by how many outfits she could shove into that old bag though. She takes out her make up bag and sets up shop at the vanity. She let’s her hair down out of its sloppy bun. Her hair was a golden brown and had a natural curl to it that throughout the day slipped into beachy waves.  It wasn’t her natural color. She was a strawberry blonde but it had been dyed so many times it just started taking on new colors. She put her hair up in a tight high ponytail and stared at herself in the mirror. She stripped down to nothing and put on her red satin robe.

Now was normally the time when she would begin to transform into an entirely different person. Heavy make up with all the bells and whistles. She studied her face, tracing her jawline and running her fingers down her neck. Not tonight. She didn’t want to be here in the first place. She got one day a week off from this job normally and when she did she had other obligations to take care of. She never had a day to relax and it was weighing on her. But. The show must go on. She gave herself one last hard look in the mirror and thought screw it. She pushes her foundation and contour to the side and goes straight for her eyeshadow pallet. Gold tonight, and she’ d smoke it out a little. She takes a little black shadow to fill in her eyebrows. She didn’t have to do much. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched and had their own natural shape that complimented any wig or hairdo she had to rock. She slapped on her winged eyeliner like she had been doing it since birth and reached for her false lashes. No. Not tonight. Just mascara. She didn’t want to feel so heavy and besides, she wasn’t planning on getting close to anyone tonight anyway.

Outside she hears the girls still calling for Rose. She couldn’t believe how dependent they were sometimes but she also didn’t mind being a mentor of sorts. She takes her high pony and wraps it on the top of her head and slips on a wig cap. She walks over to the bag and takes out one of her favorites. A Straight banged black bob that reached just below her jaw line. It made her feel like a spy. She used her index finger to pull it down and lay it on her forehead just right. Then she took out her fish net tights and easily slipped them on her long smooth legs. Good thing she shaved this morning. Next were the black lace high waisted underwear. She wore them over her tights so that the tights wouldn’ t slip down throughout the night. A matching strapless bra after that. Standing at the vanity, she rarely sat while getting ready, she leaned into the mirror and grabbed her apple red lipstick. She was putting it on with a steady hand when there was a knock at the door.

“Rose, darling. It’s me, and I brought Chairman Han!” That voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Madam. Oh the mixed feelings she felt toward the madam.

“One second!” She slipped on her robe and tied it tight, rushing to the door. Turning the lock and flinging the door open she put on a bright smile. “Mr. Chairman!” It was practically a song. She grabbed his hands and stepping backwards she led him inside. Her madam closing the door behind them. Chairman Han. Chairman of C&R. He kissed her on both cheeks, then let go of her hands.

“Rose! My sparkling diamond! I don’t mean to interrupt and I don’t want to keep you long. I just wanted to stop by and tell you I’m excited to watch you perform this evening and as much as I’d like to have you for myself,” She was cringing. His words were like venom. This man was a very well respected business man and father but she had seen other sides of him as well. The powerful business man continued. “Tonight is about my son and I’m very hopeful that you two will get along.” He winked at her and a bead of sweat dripped down her spine. The chairman turned to make his leave and nodded towards the madam. “I’ll see you lovely ladies around the dance hall.”

The door was shut behind him and the fake smile that was plastered on the madams face was wiped clean. Business.

“Listen. Tonight is extremely important. Mr. Han paid a huge sum to the boss for us to entertain at this party and that man is expecting you to spend some quality time with his son. Now we cant use a ringer like we normally do -”

“I’m not sleeping with him. That’s always been the deal. I don’t care if he’s the most handsome and powerful bachelor ar -”

The madam raised her hand. “There’s that awful habit of yours. Speaking out of turn. Especially when I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

“That’s a little rude, but sorry. My bad.”

Madam was not having the attitude. She raised her voice at the sarcastic brat. “Stop being so informal with me!! Now again I say, listen. And don’t interrupt! I have drawn up a contract. I don’t know a lot about the chairman’s son but I know that he could have any woman he wished for. So I don’t know if he will demand a night with you or not. If he does then I guess you’ll just have to use that sharp tongue and quick wit of yours to convince him otherwise. This contract is a confidentiality agreement. Get him to sign it and I won’t have to report to the boss that you aren’t servicing clients. If you don’t get him to sign well, I can’t keep covering for you with the boss. There’s been trouble and our employer is not happy at all.”

“I get it.” The girl hadn’t been minding her expressions and her tone had turned hostile. She let slip a rolling of her eyes and she felt a hand slap her upper arm. Fingers digging into her bicep. She was pushed against the door.

“DON’T YOU ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME! IF YOU DON’T FIX YOUR ATTITUDE I WON’T HESITATE. WHAT WILL IT BE? BACK ON THE STREET OR DEMOTED BACK TO LOWLY CALL GIRL WHERE NOT ONLY WILL YOU SPEND THE NIGHT WITH YOUR CLIENTS, THEY WILL NO LONGER BE ELITE BUSINESS MEN.”

Anger started to rise in the girl and she pushed her madam out of the way. The madam let out a large sigh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. With the trouble our employer is facing, there might be danger. I’m worried. You know that I care for you like a daughter. I appreciate everything you’ve done for my business and how much you’ve done for those girls out there. It’s just...you won’t be able to charm your way around the boss forever.”

Madam set the confidentiality agreement on the counter of the vanity and looked at the make up that was laid on the counter. “You’re not wearing enough make up.”

“I don’t care. I need to finish getting dressed. So if you’re done with me...”

Walking toward the door madam stopped short, her hand on the doorknob. 

“Your strapless gold dress is under one of the cushions in the VIP booth. You are doing sparkling diamonds tonight so make sure you’re the focus. Please help the other girls finish getting ready. Some of them are beginning to panic.” Without looking back madam made her leave.

Carefully slipping into the rest of her outfit and her sensible character shoes, “Rose” finished getting ready and left her dressing room to help the other girls. Once she put out most of the fires she decided to sneak a peak at the dance hall where they’d be performing and where she would have to parade around for these stuffy old business men and a corporate heir.

The hall was filled with loud chatter. Elite business men and aristocrats all throughout the room, young and old. It didn’t really matter to her. Honestly, they all looked the same, sounded the same, acted the same. It made things kind of easy now that she thought about it. She looked around and saw the extravagant tapestries that laced the walls, hung from the ceilings and made up private booths. She thought they were gaudy but hey, she was just the hired talent, not the interior designer.

She was posted in the hallway hiding behind a doorway in the back area of the hall. Her eyes quickly darting around the room. She didn’t really need to pay attention to the stage. She could do this number in any setting because she had done it so many times before. She performed at plenty of parties like this but she hated attending them as a guest. This kind of setting wasn’t for her. It was too lavish and uptight. But gosh that fountain was beautiful. It was loud and reminded her of a rushing waterfall. It was distracting her from the fact that she was minutes away from having to avoid grimy hands trying to grope her while she was trying to sing and dance. That pre-pervert time dread began to set in when she heard someone shouting.

“MISTAH TRUST FUND KID!”

Her eyes darted to the obnoxious outburst and she was intrigued by the three very out of place men near the VIP booth. The one shouting had bright red hair and some very oddly colored glasses. He definitely wasn’t a business man or someone of high power, but he was definitely good looking. On his left was THE CUTEST thing she had ever seen. A very bright eyed blonde haired boy with pins in his long bangs. What a baby she thought. Too young to be with this crowd. Definitely a college student, and definitely shouldn’t be here. Save his innocence! On the right of those two was a very slender and very composed mint haired gentlemen. He definitely fit in more than the other two. He definitely came from wealth and he was very refined in the way he carried himself. She followed the three men’s eye line across the dance hall and her breath caught in her throat. 

That had to be him. The corporate heir. The raven haired prince of business. The chairman’s son. Her new favorite name, Mistah Trust fund Kid. Jumin. Han.

Target acquired. 

She watched his tall figure glide throughout the space. Commanding the room. He greeted his father and then made his way to the three oddballs. She watched in awe. He was so effortlessly...hot as fuck...refined and dignified. Her hope was that he was actually goofy looking and kind of gross. Maybe just even a little less impressive. A man like him would definitely be hard to talk out of something he wanted, so she just hoped that once they were alone, he really wouldn’t want her.

 The woman watched on as the four men took their seats in the VIP booth. She was sure they would sit down and begin talking about boring aristocratic topics. She was all about talking business but with men of power and wealth, any conversation was usually extremely lackluster. 

Much to her surprise the four men were colorful and lively. They were smiling and laughing and you could tell that they were dear friends. She watched the man that she was hired to seduce. His smile was calming and even though his eyes were almost black she had never seen eyes so bright. And yet the closer she paid attention to him she could tell that that brightness was fading fast. She knew that fading all too well. It matched his body language. it was the same body language she took on as soon as she got out of the car 30 minutes earlier. He didn’t want to be here. As happy as he was to be with his friends, this party being held in his honor was far from something he wanted. She could see it. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what his father had planned. 

She decided she had done enough recon. She turned and made her way back down the hall. She couldn’t help but feel a bit sad. This was unusual. For the first time, she didn’t want to seduce this man, and he also didn’t want to be seduced. A common goal. At least that would probably make it easier to get him to sign the confidentiality agreement. She pulls the document from her leotard and reads it over. She immediately got frustrated. What is this crap? This wasn’t a confidentiality agreement. It seemed like a trap. There were so many hidden clauses and fine print. She picked up the pace and rushed into her dressing room, slamming the door.

She always kept a notebook and pens in her gym bag. Rummaging through she found her notebook and a plain blue pen. Ripping out a page she begin to scribble out a new contract. She heard the rest of the girls making their way out to the hall and she slipped the new contract into her bra.

Jazzy drumming and an explosion of brass. Show time. She taped the mic to her cheek and wrapped the chord behind her ear. One last look in the mirror. Her deep blue eyes, and her pale skin. Not enough make up. But she still didn’t care.

Standing behind the VIP booth she pulled back the curtain. Nervous? Never. This was like breathing. Making her way through the cushions in the back she reaches the head of the table. The blonde and the redhead don’t take notice. The corporate heir was actively avoiding anything that wasn’t his wine glass. She was met with a pair of beautiful mint eyes. He cleared his throat and the other three looked up.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She gave them her best smile. “Do you mind if I take over your spot for a moment?” Holding out her hand she was met with awkward silence. She could hear what spot the girls were in the number and she knew time was not on her side. She extended her hand out further, but she was met with blank stares until she looked over at Jumin. he was staring at her. Gazing even. If looks could kill. What was he staring at? Was her lipstick smudged? Mascara running? Oh No. Her freckles. She turned her face away from him. She looked too much like herself. She wasn’t supposed to get so close. However a tiny blush creeped onto her cheeks. Maybe she didn’t mind getting so close.

She felt a hand squeeze her outstretched fingers and she snapped back to reality. She hoisted herself onto the table and her performance began. Everything else left her mind. She was focused on nothing but singing and dancing. That is until she was out on the floor surrounded by pigs. She had to admit she was quite impressed with herself. It was a talent, flirting with all these men and yet avoiding their eager hands at the same time. She spotted the chairman and played into his hand. Blowing kisses and sending winks his way. 

After enough schmoozing the crowd it was time for a dance break with the other girls. “Rose” made her way to the VIP table. Again she extended her hand towards the mint haired man once more and this time the back of her hand was met with a kiss. They had loosened up and she was ready to, also.

Sandwiching herself between the blonde and the redhead she made some quick small talk and learned their names, Or at least the names they gave her. V, Luciel, and Yoosung. They were fun. Polite, funny, clever. She was enjoying this down time. She was stealing glances at the raven haired prince. She figured he had already formed an opinion of her and it wasn’t a good one. He wasn’t engaging in conversation and she didn’t want to push him. That was until she felt an all too familiar pair of eyes on her. 

The Chairman. His eyes darted from her to his son rapidly. Anger and disappointment. She got tense and knew she wasn’t doing her job the way it was supposed to be done. She could tell Jumin was starting to panic and she also knew that madam was probably watching. Standing up she suggested the three other boys go out and join the ladies on the dance hall floor.

Still feeling the eyes of Chairman Han burning through her she stands infront of Jumin Han and runs her hand up his thigh. Putting her index finger to his lips and then pointing at her cheek, she informed him that her mic was live.

“Talk to me Jumin Han and tell me all about it.”

She turned and addressed the crowd while untying the front curtains to the private booth.

“Sorry, Boys! It’s time for my break and its ladies choice, but absolutely feel free to indulge in my many lovely friends!”

She closed the curtains tight and turned towards the table.

Looking at the face of the corporate heir she rolled her eyes. She had seen that look before. A lecture was coming. And she wasn’t in the mood.

“Hello, Mr. Elite Business Man. Don’t worry. I’m not here to jump your bones.” She laughed at the shock on his face. “I just figured you couldn’t bare that mans demonic peepers piercing through your soul any longer.” She could tell he was perplexed.

“I’m talking about your father. He sure does want to see you in all your glory that is manhood in the presence of a lady now doesn’t he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone that hungry to get somebody else lucky in the bedroom.”

“I suppose he’s worried about the rumors that arise about my sexual orientation. Or perhaps he’s worried I’ll end up alone. Won’t be able to provide an heir to the family or the company. But you’re right, I wasn’t thrilled by his glare” Jumin was pouring more wine into his glass.

“Hmmm. Well, I’ll tell you what. How about we sit here for a while, I’ll tousle your hair a bit, loosen your tie, and we can both move on from this night. Back to our normal day to day.”

She had made her way to the back of the booth and had found the dress madam had left. Slipping it on gracefully she sits across from Jumin. They shared a bit of banter and she avoided any lecture by simply telling him whatever opinion he had formed about her and the other girls was probably incorrect. She then got straight to business and told him that she did not sleep with clients. What she didn’t expect to do was tell him all about how she avoided sleeping with clients and how she had worked hard to formulate a business plan and how much it had helped out madam and the other girls. 

She lost herself. She was talking too much but it was just so easy. He was actually listening to her and he was helping. They were having an actual discussion and he wasn’t making a pass at her and she wasn’t climbing into his lap. She didn’t feel like she was working, but she came back down to earth and remembered that she wasn’t on her own time. She was on the clock and she needed him to sign something.

After a few laughs, pen in hand, Jumin signed the contract. He chuckled and questioned her about the contents of the contract. She admitted that it wasn’t the original contract intended for him tonight and that she felt this contract suited him better.

“Well it’s time for me to address those barbarians. And I’m sure your friends are anxious to get back to you.”

Just like she promised, she walked toward the corporate heir, tousled his hair, loosened his tie, and took his hand. She stood the man up and pulled open the curtain to the booth. They emerged hand and hand to address the crowd.

“Gentlemen! It is time for us to lay this party to rest. Beauty sleep is extremely important to us, ya know.” She winked at the crowd. “We’re off but our door is always open. Come and visit us anytime and if you happened to make a love connection with one of the ladies tonight all I ask is you hold the doors open for her, treat her like a princess and make sure she get’s home safe. We are the Star Crossed Entertainers and tonight we sparkle just for you! Thank you!”

She let’s go of Jumin’s hand and begins to walk down the steps of the stage in front of the VIP booth when someone grabs her wrist. She turned and was met with charcoal eyes.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Ana.” Lie. Not even close.

“How old are you?”

“23.” Lie. 25.

“Aren’t you forgetting the fine print of your own contract?” Jumin dropped her wrist and put his hand out toward her. His hand balled into a fist with his pinky extended. He was staring at her, and she knew that she shouldn’t let him. That she should look away. But she wasn’t. In fact. She was staring back.

“I almost did. Thank you.” She wrapped her pinky around his and smirked. “Hey Mr. Elite Business Man, thanks for not trying to put it in me.” A kiss on the cheek and then She stuck her tongue out just barely and winked once she saw that she had flustered the extremely handsome man in front of her. With great speed she rushed down the steps not looking back at him.

Making her way through the crowd she brushed shoulders with V. They locked eyes and she paused. He spoke softly. 

“Jumin...did he -”

“If you have concerns you should discuss them with your friend.” She starts to walk away and stops just behind his back. Looking over her shoulder she says “You two seem close. You should tell Mr. Han that if he doesn’t like this sort of thing he should discuss it with his father. He could save a lot of people both time and money. I for one had quite a bit of laundry I hoped to get done tonight.”

Back to her mad dash to the dressing room. Once inside she ripped off her wig and tossed it in the bag. She couldn’t get out of her outfit fast enough. Shoving everything into her gym bag, she throws on her hoodie and her joggers. She gathers up her make up and shoves it on top of the clothes. She undoes her hair shakes it out, flips it upside down and throws it back into the messy bun. She unlocks her phone. Messages from Lee, and the roommate. Not surprising. She’ll respond in the car. She wrestles with the zipper of her bag and finally gets it closed. She quietly slips out of the room avoiding having to talk to anyone and makes her way outside. Not paying attention to her surroundings she spots the car waiting for her and nothing else. She crosses the street and grabs the door handle.

“I’m not happy.”

Shit. She turned around slowly. Ugh. The madam and her goons.

“This is the last time you pull a stunt like that. Next time you do what I tell you, exactly. To the T. You don’t make contracts. I do.”

Her heart was full of mischief. She thought back to the contract Jumin signed. “I Mistah Trust Fund Kid am sworn to absolute secrecy” and the fine print, “This contract isn’t valid until both parties engage in a pinky swear.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face!”

She turned away from madam and back to the door. “I’m going home. You have a looooovely evening madam.”

“You messed up.”

“Excuse you?”

“Ana?”

“Yeah, so what? You’re constantly giving me fake names, I figured I’d give myself one.”

They were facing each other. Barely an inch apart.

“Watch that mouth of yours.”

“I’m leaving.”

“He asked about you. He wanted “Ana’s” contact info.”

“And? Isn’t that what you want? Repeat customers?”

“Cut the shit! I told you that trouble is coming and after what you pulled tonight...You’re on your own when it comes to the boss.”

She was tired and she wanted to get back to her apartment. She opened the door and climbed into the backseat. Madam’s hand blocked the door.

“I’ve had enough. I won’t protect you anymore. I hope you’re as charming and as smart as you think you are...Samantha.”

And with the sound of her real name passing through madams lips, Samantha slams the door and signals for the driver to step on it. She closes her eyes and lays her head back. She can’t believe she compromised everything she’s been building up, for Jumin Han.

[monumentalnightmare]

Hogwarts AU

Most of the time Waverly would hate another person walking in her direction, but when she takes notice a little more, she realises it’s not such a bad thing to meet someone new.

Having to attend Hogwarts without her older sister for the first time was daunting, to say the least. Wynonna graduated along with her friends Xavier Dolls and John Henry which, of course, left Waverly alone. She did have people in her year that she associates with and talks to occasionally but it wasn’t as though she would willingly hang out with them. The past five years she had been in her sister’s company which, clearly, she enjoyed but didn’t think about as thoroughly as she should have. Being a Ravenclaw meant Waverly was already seen as a ‘geek’ so to say due to the amount of time her nose is buried in a book. It was never easy to make friends and now she either had to forcibly make them or spend time alone. At this moment in time, the second one sounded much more appealing.

The past week hadn’t been so bad. She had been named one of the Prefect’s for Ravenclaw this year alongside Maxwell Matthews who, just like Waverly, was a quiet boy who pretty much kept to himself most of the time. Incredibly bright. She had a few of the same classes with him along with their Prefecting duties. Anything had to be better than having to be around Champ Hardy all the time – her ex-boyfriend. After their break up the previous year, he had become insufferable to be around. Even this year it was as though he went around kissing his ‘supposed’ girlfriend just as she turns a corner. It never failed to cause Waverly’s eyes to roll in his pathetic attempt at getting a rise out of her which she doesn’t understand considering she broke the relationship off. It was for good reason too. Champ Hardy is a pathetic excuse, for not only a wizard but a man too. He is what Waverly calls a ‘boy-man’. The boy-man cheated on her numerous times because she wouldn’t ‘put-out’ as people call it – she had done her best to avoid it after the first few times. It wasn’t just that either since he only really showed her any kind of affection when he wanted something which, most of the time, meant sex. It makes Waverly shudder even to this day.

Sitting under a large oak tree beside the lake, Waverly enjoyed the quietness – just being able to hear the wind blow and ruffle the leaves on the trees. She particularly enjoyed watching the water ripple from the breeze. Back home in Purgatory, Waverly always struggled to get any peace and quiet, due to the constant drama. From her oldest sister, Willa, to her father’s alcoholic aggression, it doesn’t exactly give her a lot of room for space – one of the main reasons she loves Hogwarts so much. There are so many places to explore, she can read as much as she wants without judgement, being able to use magic is an obvious one and then there are the places around the castle where she can go and not be disturbed. Yes, Waverly would prefer her older sister, Wynonna, to be here too, but with their age difference, she was bound to end up attending the school alone eventually. There is a positive to being at Hogwarts by herself – she has the chance to grow as a person. Waverly heard the crunching of leaves coming from somewhere behind her. Not many people spent time near the lake because of the fact it is known as ‘The Black Lake’. She knows there are creatures such as merpeople present in the lake so a lot of people stay away which is why hearing someone walking towards it is surprising – even for her. It isn’t as though she has any friends. Even growing up in her hometown she struggled to make friends. She was only really known as ‘the Earp girl’ or ‘Wynonna’s sister’ and it didn’t help that the Earp family aren’t known for anything good. Ward Earp, her father, is known as the Auror who turned against the Ministry when it came to dealing with Lord Voldemort himself. Since that happened, the Earp name has been seen as an embarrassment. The trouble with it is Waverly, plus Wynonna for that matter, have been given grief from other people because of their last name. Willa, their eldest sister, may have to but it’s not as though Waverly talks with her. She does her best not to with the bullying she got from her as they were growing up. Yeah – they didn’t exactly have a great relationship and still don’t to this day. The figure of the person gets closer walking to the edge of the lake putting their bag down. Finally, feeling confident enough to raise her head, Waverly looks at the figure. The first thing she notices is they have an athletic, feminine figure – a sexy one at that. The girl looks relatively tall, however, she would from the place she’s currently sitting. She has short ginger hair which, if she could see her face, would probably frame her face very well. She isn’t wearing her full Hogwarts robes which helps her see the yellow stitching around the bottom of her grey jumper showing the fact she is a Hufflepuff student. A fine one at that. A lot of people seem to underestimate Hufflepuff house since it’s as though they don’t stand out as much as the other houses, which is strange considering a number of students from that house joined the Battle of Hogwarts back in 1998. Definitely a positive attribute. When she notices the Hufflepuff student begin to turn around, Waverly buries her nose back in the book she’s currently holding as though it would hide her somehow. The last thing she wants is to be accused of staring since it has happened in the past – it didn’t have a positive outcome, to say the least. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t realise this spot was taken.” Waverly raised her head cautiously when she realised the redhead was indeed talking to her instead of herself. Okay, it might be a little odd to be careful around someone who doesn’t pose a threat of any kind, however, she doesn’t know who this girl is aside from the fact she’s a Hufflepuff student and has red hair. Waverly could also add the attractiveness into the scenario but she’s still confused about all of that. She’s never thought another girl as attractive before – it’s all new. “It – It’s fine, don’t worry. There’s enough room for the both of us,” Waverly said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear out of nerves. She isn’t used to talking to other people aside from her sister unless it’s needed. “Feel free to stay – don’t allow my presence to bother you.” The Hufflepuff chuckled folding her arms. “You’re no bother – I’m actually just getting used to this place and I kind of ended up here by accident.” “You’re new to the school?” This hardly ever happens since transfers only occurred in special circumstances. Well, she is only speculating that the girl is a transfer, otherwise, she is definitely a late starter. “I’m assuming you transferred to Hogwarts from another wizarding school? I shouldn’t, but they don’t tend to take late starters.” “Your assumption is correct, of course. I’m an Ilvermorny transfer student which explains my American accent. You’re the only person I’ve had a real conversation with in the two days I’ve been here.” Waverly understands that completely – most of the people at Hogwarts think she’s weird and now, without Wynonna, she’s going to be up front and centre all year. Not exactly on the list of things she wants in her life. “People can be mean that’s for sure. I wouldn’t take it personally, though.” The redhead walks closer in her direction before taking a seat beside her. “You say that as though you have experience.” “It’s not a big deal or anything because I’m totally used to it. People will realise you’re nice and talk to you, I’m sure of it.” Waverly said, patting the girl’s leg before retracting her hand. “I’m an Earp so, as you can probably imagine, it’s tough.” “So, you’re the daughter of-” “The very same, yes.” “I assume he’s still-” “An asshole who only cares about himself? That is definitely an understatement.” Waverly sighed shaking her head. Just thinking about her father made her ashamed – and it wasn’t even for what he did years ago. “I don’t see why I should be punished by other people for what he did. Frankly, I don’t even like the man.” “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” The Ravenclaw lets out a laugh shaking her head in the process. “Gosh, I’m sorry. Here I am being pitiful when you’re the one lost in the woods so to speak.” Beside her, the Hufflepuff smiles in her direction propping her feet up – her arms were wrapped around her legs slightly with one hand grasping the other wrist. “I enjoy talking with you so being lost actually slipped my mind.” That had to be the strangest and sweetest statement the Earp had ever heard. Frankly, Waverly secretly loved that the redhead got lost too – not that she planned on telling her that or anything. It was nice that one person in the school, who wasn’t a teacher, didn’t care about her last name and only focused on her as a person. It had to be hard being the new girl at a new school – especially considering the school is in a completely different country. That American accent though – damn, did it work for her or what? “Where were you even going to get lost near the lake?” Waverly asked. “Would you believe me if I told you I was looking for the Quidditch Pitch?” Waverly nodded her head giving the girl a small smile. “Maybe – you must have taken a left instead of continuing on to the Quidditch Stadium. Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake to make.” Hearing the girl laugh beside her caused Waverly to feel her heart beat a little faster than normal. Gosh, what is happening right now? “I’m happy to hear it. So, we’ve been sat talking for the past few minutes and I’ve not actually introduced myself.” The girl holds out her hand with a charming smile. “I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.” Haught. Of course that would be her surname - very fitting. Waverly reaches out grasping Nicole’s before feeling sparks shoot up her arm – and it had nothing to do with magic either. She had never felt anything like it before. As they both shook hands it got a little too much for Waverly causing her to retract her hand. Nicole apparently had the same thing happen to her since she took her hand back at the exact same time. They both blushed simultaneously. “I’m Waverly. My last name is Earp as you heard me mention before so, as I can imagine, you’ve heard of me.” “I’ve heard of your father, but not you personally.” Nicole seemed to keep her gaze on her which, weirdly enough, Waverly didn’t mind in the slightest. “It’s a shame I haven’t heard of you before today though.” Waverly gave the redhead a questioning look. “Oh? Why is that?” “I mean, you’re beautiful. Plus, being in Ravenclaw, I can only assume you must be smart. I’m only assuming though so I apologise if I’m wrong.” Blushing at the compliment, Waverly chuckled a little. “You are indeed correct. Well, I don’t mean the beautiful part as I don’t think that about myself – I know I’m pretty and everything, but I don’t use it to my advantage or anything and I’m totally rambling right now, aren’t I?” Nicole nodded her head letting out a laugh. “Yes, but would you believe me if I said it was cute?” “Maybe.” “Then that is indeed the reason.” The blush forming on Waverly’s face couldn’t be stopped and even though the redhead was sat right beside her, she tried to act as though she wasn’t going red at Nicole’s words. Not the easiest thing to do when the cause is sitting right next to you. Waverly jumped up trying not to trip over anything and embarrass herself – that would definitely not go well if anyone heard about it. “So – you were trying to find the Quidditch Pitch earlier,” She picked up her bag from the ground pointing in the direction Nicole came from earlier. “You literally just need to go back from where you came in, assuming you remember that route, before going straight. You’ll see it as you’ll see the stands in your line of vision as well as the goal posts. You can’t miss it.” Nicole stood up walking to the spot she was standing earlier to collect her bag turning back to the Ravenclaw as she put her bag on her shoulders. Waverly tried not to look awkward and nervous but, of course, that didn’t happen. She always looks awkward and nervous and being around someone attractive didn’t exactly help. God damn – why does she act weird around people she likes? Wait. No. She doesn’t like Nicole. They literally only just met – she just finds the tall redheaded girl attractive. There is no shame in that. That definitely doesn’t mean she likes the girl. That is an entirely different category on the scale. This is what she gets for Nicole calling her beautiful so, basically, it’s all her doing. She was totally fine before that. Kind of. “Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, Waverly Earp. We should hang out more.” “Yes. Hang out. Definitely. It’s not as though I can leave the school or anything and hide,” Waverly pointed in Nicole’s direction laughing which, internally hating herself for her reaction. The weird side of her is definitely coming out. “Bumping into each other is pretty probable.” Nicole laughed too making Waverly feel a lot better about what is going on. Even though she is acting weird it’s as though the Hufflepuff isn’t bothered in the slightest which, of course, is fantastic. That never happens to her since, usually, people just give her a weird look and walk away. “Good, as I really hope I do see you around. It makes being the new girl a lot better if I’m hanging around with another person.” “I think you chose the wrong person for that job.” “As a matter of fact, I think I chose the perfect person actually.” Nicole started walking towards the wooded area away from the lake. “I’ll see you soon, Waverly.” “See you around, Nicole.” Waverly watched Nicole walk back where she came from but not before the girl sent a wink in her direction causing a flutter of butterflies to burst in her stomach. She couldn’t help the blushing smile which followed whilst being thankful for being alone as it happened. What were the chances of a person transferring – someone who doesn’t know her – who gets lost and ends up talking with her? That never happens. Ever. She doesn’t exactly believe in a lot of things; however, she will be thankful to whoever sent Nicole Haught into her life.  There is one question she does need answering and it isn’t exactly one she can read to find out. How does one act around someone beautiful without making a fool out of themselves?