#its bonking me over the head at this point like i GET IT
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The parallels between Tsubomi and Reigen drive me so fucking insane you have no idea like—that shit had to be at least SOMEWHAT intentional even if not in a specifically romantic way.
For one, Tsubomi and Reigen are two of the only few people that call Shigeo "Mob" consistently. (Yes Tome also calls him Mob eventually but she starts out calling him Kageyama-kun and likely picks up "Mob-kun" from Inukawa or Reigen later on). We don't know how Reigen started calling Shigeo "Mob", though we can assume that Tsubomi was likely part of the group of kids that originally misread Shigeo's name as Mobbu to begin with so she's less of a mystery on that front. Maybe Reigen saw it written on his backpack or his shirt tag and started calling him that too, or maybe Mob even just told him that that's what everyone else called him and was what he prefered to be called at the time. Either way, it's a little odd that Reigen's one of the only people who use that nickname when we don't really get a reason why beyond "it can also be read like this", especially since Reigen is a grown man with (presumably) full literacy of kanji and would know how to read it.
Then there's the other obvious parallel that's made in the show; how Tsubomi and Reigen treat Mob. How they see his powers. They're not special, they're just a part of him. Nothing to be scared of—even though they kind of,,,,are lmao. The fact that Tsubomi continues to sit in the park even though a literal hurricane is approaching because she thought Mob sounded upset on the phone happens at the same time Reigen goes sprinting full-tilt into said hurricane because Mob is in trouble always stands out to me. It's less obvious than Mob's own words: "She never treated me any differently because of my powers" "Master never treated me any differently..."—but it's still a pretty blatant parallel to me.
Not to mention that both Reigen and Tsubomi's personalities are actually very similar as well! They're both described as people that hide behind a mask, a facade, while still being brutally stubborn. If Tsubomi doesn't want to do something, she's not gonna do it. While Reigen is more laid back because he's used to getting his hands dirty for work (money), he's still very stubborn himself when he doesn't wanna do something. He'll find a way to wriggle out of it and talk circles around you if you let him. Dimple even says that Tsubomi is the type of person who can't be swayed by words or peer pressure. She and Reigen were actually, again, two of the only people brainwashed through airborne Vibes™ instead of through food like everyone else. The biggest difference between them on this is that while Reigen lies fairly blatantly, Tsubomi seems to only lie through omission. Tsubomi is more of an introvert too, compared to Reigen's extrovert (though you could argue that both of them are good with people, with the only difference being that Reigen enjoys being the center of attention while Tsubomi presumably does not).
Plus they're both pretty goofy too once you think about it lmao. They're both prideful and hate to be humiliated, but they also care a lot about their public image and how people perceive them. Every time the scene with Tsubomi and her friends outside cleaning up leaves comes up, her expressions and panic always remind me of Reigen. And then there's Mob, calm and unjudgemental, willing to help her with no questions asked. Mitigating her humiliation, just like he does for Reigen :)
Another thing that always strikes me is how Mezato says, "If you can accept her for who she really is..." followed by Reigen's echo during his confession: "This is who I really am". Mezato essentially tells Mob that Tsubomi isn't who she seems on the outside and that if he wants to be accepted by her, he needs to also be ready to accept her as well. Which, we don't get to see much of Tsubomi's life outside of Mob—wow just like Reigen—so we don't ever really know who she is beyond that outer mask, but we see her slowly opening up to Mob later, as a friend. But the fact that Reigen's own confession mirrors Mezato's words to Mob about him accepting Tsubomi always makes me vibrate in place a little like,,,Confession Arc my beloved 🙏
I don't know man, there's just so much there, it makes my head spin. I could go on and on about it but I better cut myself off because if I don't I'll start crawling on the walls going feral about it because what, what was the point of this if not to make it clear that the relationship between Mob and Reigen is supposed to parallel his relationship with Tsubomi like what do you MEAN—
#mobrei#reimob#tsumob#mob psycho 100#reigen arataka#takane tsubomi#parallels#iVE CONNECTED THE TWO DOTS#you didnt connect shit—#IVE CONNECTED THEM#kageyama shigeo#mob#obviously the solution is that im supposed to ship the polycule#right? thats what im gaining from this? tsubomi to mob to reigen to tsubomi to mob pipeline?#tsumobrei?#tsumobrei#i think about this all the time you have no idea#plus the way that mobs flowers in the title sequence match his eye color and color scheme but reigens flowers match. tsubomis color scheme.#mobs flowers are deep red and white and reigens flowers are fuckin BLUE and PINK like cmon now#its bonking me over the head at this point like i GET IT
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klfdklfdskdls
thinking of Photographer y/n as a parent and they get away from Orcaclipse and get to be reunited with their kid (who probably would have been watched by a friend in the meantime idk)
And imagine their kid wants to go fishing. j jkflkskjkfdsk It's their interest or smthn
They get to the mountains and fdsjkldfskjlfdslkj
imagine eclipse eventually reaching the mountains at some point, and just climbing up, through the river, whatever means necessary, to get to y/n.
Kid's like: Nopi! I got a big one! Its- It's really hard to reel in though-
Y/n, takes break from taking pictures elsewhere: You did? Good job, squirt! Here let me heeELP- LET IT GO NOW
Just yeet the fishing pole and line that eclipse latched onto (bonus: it just "bonk!"'s on eclipse's head) and they rush to gtfo kjlfdsjk
Eclipse: Birdie, you- wait. You have a KID?! And didn't TELL ME
Kid: wuh..??? talking fish??
Y/n, picking up the kid, hauling them over their shoulder, rushing to the car: nopenopenopenopenope
fdskljdsfjkljklfdslkjfds
I'm cackling at the image of Eclipse realizing Y/N has a kid like
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Glitter & Leather | Hiccup x Fairy!Reader
Pairings: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x fairy!fem!reader
Content/Warnings: None
Contains: Fluff & Foul Fairy Language
a/n: couldn't help but be inspired by a few mythical!reader fics. also, I have a current obsession with faitytale themes at the moment. might be a part 2 soon!
“My, aren’t you a teeny human?”
There was a squeak in a grove of mossy timber trees, laden with flower beds and fists-full of sprouted grass. Standing one mushroom cap high, you tip-toed across a linen wrapped around a cooing newborn, existing with eyes still closed. It was an unlucky fate that the child was weak, unwanted, and left to the cruel hand of nature. However, it was to your fortune that this child would be the exchange for your promised gift.
“My king will be so happy when I return with you,” you said, dancing giddily, ”and then, I’ll finally have my wings. Won’t that be a dream?”
Your pitter-pattering and mousy meeps stirred the babe, and its sniffling turned into wails that even cotton balls in your ears wouldn’t muffle.
“Stop crying!” You stomped and slapped your pointed ears shut. “You should be happy to live as a servant for all eternity, instead of dying.”
The child responded with more tears than one could imagine. It flung its blubby hands forward, grasping you tightly, flailing you about. It bonked you left and right, tither and hither, and every space in between. When it smushed you across its blubbering face, you gasped on the dollops of tears soaking your entire head.
You coughed and spat on the salty taste. “Let go of me you soggy lump!”
Your own cries were meaningless. The child held tighter, and you feared your bones would become miniscule mounds of white dust and glitter. With a defeated sigh, you cleared your throat, and hummed a sweet tune beloved and true in the Seelie court. A song of merriment, dancing, and feasting. Gradually, the baby's cries dwindled to waning breaths, until its own exhaustion tucked it back to sleep.
Wiggling and prying, you popped out from its weakened hold. Drained yourself, you fell to your hands and knees on the child. The shawl beneath was soft and inviting, and a nap sounded pleasant before your trip back to the kingdom. Amid your droning thoughts, the sobs and cries of a human echoed through the morning mist. It was not that of a baby, nor a child, but of a woman.
You turned your head to peek at the baby's cherub features. “Looks like they want to keep you after all.”
You hung your chin low, contemplating snatching the child away before the naked eye could see. The terrible sobs and desperate crunching of distant gravel grew like roots in your chest, entangling your heart in thorns.
“Oh, for the love bee’s and poppy seeds,” you huffed and pointed a finger at his wet nose. “I’m sparing you today, but when we meet again, I will be taking you with me.”
With an indignant ‘hmph’ you hopped down to the grass bed below, scurrying behind a rock with fungus growing all over. Your lashes blinked when the human woman sprang into view. Throwing herself to the ground, she crawled on aching hands and knees to fetch the tiny bundle. Cradling the babe close, she whispered choked apologies and words of affection in endless rivers.
There was a flutter in your heart, and the tiniest lift to your lips. Although you would not get your wings today, in this moment you thought, sparing the child was a present better to give, than to receive.
⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ⚜⎯⎯☾ ༻♔༺ ☽⎯⎯ ⚜₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖ ⋆
Twenty-years later…
Between the aged timber greens and soft patches of wildflowers, grew a new flourish of apple blossoms. The orchard became your hiding place and home, since you hadn’t returned to the fairy realm for all these years. You swore an oath not to return until you were able to complete your task; the shame if you came back empty handed would be too much to bare. Your king wasn’t fond of failure.
Nothing less than success was expected from his own daughter, after all.
Stepping out of your mushroom cottage made for one, you decided to search for a fallen apple for breakfast. Thinking you heard one drop south of your home, you ventured, pushing away blades of grass. You came upon one, red and shapely. There was never a dull moment in your world, and you arm wrestled an centipede and all its legs to claim it. As the crowned victor, you stuck out your tongue to its retreating form.
The ground thundered, shaking the pebbles and dirt at your feet. You pressed yourself against the fruit, wrapping your arms around it, hoping to hide. The creature loomed just above you, and you felt the apple move. Hoisted into the air, your trembling body went with it. You clamped your mouth shut, withholding any sound.
“Eh, is that a worm?”
You felt a thumb and finger pinch your clothes, plucking you off. You squealed, throwing your fists into the air.
“How dare you call me a worm!”
You stared squarely at the face of the human boy you recognized. Knowing this made your blood steam hotter than boiled water.
“O-Oh Gods, not a worm, definitely not a worm, more like a…” he spoke windily, and your scowl deepened as his green eyes squinted further. “Tiny person?”
“Fairy person,” you corrected indignantly.
“Right, this is kinda strange, I thought you'd have wings at least,” he mumbled to himself, rolling your body around in his hand like a bag of marbles. “Is this even real? I wonder if I’m dreaming.”
“I am real. Now let go of me,” you squirmed, steam blowing from your ears, “you overgrown human baby!”
“Are all fairies always this…” he paused, finding the right words to say through his tight lips. “Pleasant?”
“I was pleasant enough to let you go when you were nothing more than a drooling glob of pink pudding,” your voice chirped to the highest octave. “You no good, wasp loving, dirty hare footed, son of a cricket—Ugh!”
“Listen, my name’s Hiccup, and not any of those other words you just called me. I mean, do I even want to know what they all meant? They can’t be good where you come from.”
“You’ll get no apologies from me. You made the mistake of finding me and handling me like a brute,” you said, wrestling the thumb of his finger. “I made a promise back then, whenever we should meet again, you would be coming with me.”
“Trust me, I can tell you, we’ve never met before,” he said, furrowing his brows. “I would've remembered. Especially since you’re, well, not even human.”
“Do I have explain everything to you? I found you when you were left here once by your mo–” you stopped short of his earnest gaze. It was apparent he had no clue in the matter. You hummed with frustration. “Oh! Forget it. Your fate has been sealed, and I have you exactly where I want you, flat-footed oaf Hiccup.”
He raised an eyebrow at your struggling form, and a blush came over you. “D-Don’t look at me like that. I’ve fought fleas more intimidating than you. Horseradish! I’ve even fought nasty toads and escaped out of one's belly once.”
“You realize you’re no taller than my left pinky, right?” He grinned at your fluster. “Tell you what, you tell me your name, and I’ll let you go.”
“If you must know, it’s Y/N,” you mumbled, puffing out your cheeks and crossing your arms. “Not that it’ll matter for long, anyway.”
“Huh, why do you say that?”
“Because you’ll be fast asleep soon,” you spoke plainly.
He wrinkled his nose, drawing his curious features closer. “What do you mean by that? I don’t even feel–”
You popped your hands out, blowing a thick layer of sparkling dust. He sneezed against the twinkling cloud, and after a mystifying blink of his eyes, they rolled back to meet the dreamlands behind them. You were about to commemorate your victory, till his form swayed and staggered. The onslaught of wind pulled at your cheeks, lashes, hair and ears. You feared you would need a whole new face. You squealed at the top of your thimble lungs, plummeting to the earth along with him.
There was a rumble and shake when the boy hit the ground. Your lithe form bounced and flopped around like a blind caterpillar on the leathers of his chest. Still tumbling, you struggled to catch a buckle, holding on for a deer’s life. When the gravel and quakes settled, along with your thumping heart, you stood on your wobbly legs.
“I…I did it,” you gasped, seeking to catch your breath. “Ahem! I mean, of course, I did. I’ve been preparing for this moment all along.”
Padding around, you minded your balance with the rise and falls of his chest.
“I’ll admit, you grew from a tiny mush of jelly to be quite handsome, but too bad for you,” you said, wagging a haughty finger. “I’m not interested in taller men. Not only that, I’m far more invested in turning you in for my wings and finally claiming my recognition.”
With a hum, you tapped your lips with your fingertips, “Question is, now, is my magic strong enough to carry you. It would’ve been much easier if you were still a littler one. I’ll need to eat lots of honey if I’m able to pull this off—but bees can be so stingy.”
Begrudgingly, you admitted you didn't prepare this far; after twenty-years no less! You had all the spells in place to capture the boy, but then, it was foolish to think he would simply follow you as a willing hostage. During your pestering thoughts and plans, the earth shook as violently as it did before. You heard calls and shouts, ‘Hiccup! Where are you?’ rumbling through the leaves and woods. You pulled at your strands of glossy hair.
“Good grief!” you moaned and whined. You wondered how many friends and family this single human had, to fervently search for him, whenever you were so close to securing him.
Pacing absentmindedly, and with a kick of your barefoot against a buckle, you sucked on the pain of your toe. Gathering yourself, you hotly stomped to meet his face.
“This won’t be the last time we meet,” you muttered, poking and prodding his skin, “and I’ll take something precious from you just to make sure of that.”
Scrambling, you searched through whatever pockets, nooks and crevices you could find. A medallion caught your eye. Although faded by time, it possessed an essence of sentimental value. You grinned at the luck, but it evaporated when the earthquakes surmounted. Dragging it close, you shuffled your feet, scaling the hill of his shoulder pad, and down the long ramp of his arm. With a hop, you scurried to hide behind the apple he had dropped earlier.
“Hiccup!” You heard a feminine voice. “You’re sleeping out here, really?”
You felt the grass sway and shift as he groaned and twitched awake. Leaning, you peaked from your hiding spot.
“Astrid?” He asked groggily, rubbing the sleep powder from his face. “What…What’re you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that,” the blonde laughed, helping him rise and steady his feet. “Did you forget about our afternoon flight?”
“Of course not,” he said, waving his hands in front of him. “I was just…I think I saw a fairy.”
Astrid pursed her lips before chuckling and slapping his shoulder.
“That’s a good one. I’ll have to use it if I ever forget about something.”
“I swear, I didn’t forget,” he flushed, walking away with her. “I actually did see one. I even talked to it!”
“Uh-huh, sure you did.”
With banter and laughs, the two left your sight, disappearing beyond the berry bushes and apple blossoms. When the world quieted, you slumped down, pulling your knees against your chest. Resting your head in its comforts, you sighed, ready for your own afternoon nap.
To catch a human—no, to catch this human—was going to take a lot of work.
#httyd#hiccup x reader#hiccup haddock#hiccup haddock x reader#httyd x reader#hiccup httyd#how to train your dragon#httyd 2#httyd fanfiction#fanfiction#httyd rtte#x reader
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this is my one day to meme. time to take advantage of it <3
cursed content up ahead :33 i've actually had this idea in my head for months but wasn't sure when the appropriate time would be to work on it
- gender neutral. he'll call you babygirl no matter what gender you are
You thought it was Sans. You could've sworn it was when you first spoke with it. But that THING..it scares you.
It unraveled its form in phases, the final being something truly nightmarish.. something you will never unsee again.
Its taunting laughter echoes through the forest as you run, eyes widened in fear and your hand over where your soul would be. Why? Why you? WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE YOU?! This is the WORST encounter you've had to date!
His thundering footsteps echo as he moves, Sans' iconic laughter coming from its mouth.
"you can't hide from me forever, b a b y g i r l..running is pointless."
You vaguely see his silhouette in the distance, a tall MASSIVE form..
"Get the FUCK away from me and go back to 2017 WHERE YOU BELONG-"
"oh no.. they've had plenty of time with you..now it's MY turn." He pushes two trees apart with his bulky arms, beginning to walk towards you menacingly. "did you really think you could escape from me?.. i will always linger in the back of your mind."
"Stop this, just leave me be! I don't want you!" You shout, continuing to run. His bulky body's bones shine under the moonlight, his body morphing and twisting in ways it really shouldn't.
"just give it up. come to me-"
"SHUT THE FUCK-"
"you know, you're making this a lot harder than it needs to be."
You've tried everything. You've tried shooting it, that didn't work. You tried slashing at it, that didn't work either. You tried calling the police, they laughed and hung up on you. What are you supposed to do?
"it's okay to be a little cringe, babygirl..just embrace it. embrace me. you know you've missed me."
"It's okay to be a little cringe, but not THIS FAR BACK. I don't even know how you got here!" You hold up your phone, trying to call whoever you can.
"c'mon..aren't you lonely? wouldn't you like to be embraced by my big, strong arms?" He holds his arms out, the space now open for them since he's pushed quite a few trees out of the way.
"Hell no???" You groan when they hang up on you again. "Just go away! Go find someone else to bother!"
"oh no..i couldn't do that. you're the one for me, and i'm the one for you, whether you like it or not. just accept your fate."
You feel a strange sensation in your chest, looking down to see your..now blue soul. Oh god oh fuck oh g-
He begins to drag you towards him unsettlingly slowly, the glowing heart shaped eyelights of his all you can see. You claw desperately at the ground, digging your nails into the dirt and screaming.
"NONONONONO-"
A bone is hurled down from the sky, hitting the creature and distracting him enough for him to let go of you.
"who DARES to-"
"okay, i've seen my fair share of mischaracterizations, but this is ridiculous." Sans sits atop a floating bone, pointing at the creature.
"Sans!" You shout, relieved that he's here and running over once he lands, standing behind him. "That thing pretended to be you and it was really weird and-" Your face resembles a crying cat for a few seconds.
"it's alright, i'm here. and whatever.. that is has gotta go." He twirls a bone in his hand as the creature stands back up, cracking its knuckles and shifting forms.
It now stands before the two of you with a form that's almost identical to Sans, but with slightly incorrect features like his teeth slanting upwards, heart shaped eyelights, and..his head vaguely resembles a peanut from certain angles.
"..you believed this thing was me?"
"I DIDN'T SEE THE SIGNS AT FIRST." :C
"everybody knows i am the one they want."
"..denial is a river in egypt-"
The two begin fighting, a cartoony cloud of smoke surrounding them accompanied by bonks and squeaky toy sound effects. You hold your hands together, intertwined as you pray that Sans defeats this monster.
Eventually the smoke clears, leaving one skeleton standing above the other and dusting off his hands, walking back over to you.
"y'know, despite all those muscles he was weak as hell. you okay? he didn't do anything, did he?"
"No, just kinda dragged my soul a bit but that was right before you got here."
"okay, at least you weren't hurt. how about i treat you to some nice cream to make up for this?" He puts his arm around your shoulders. Unless you're taller than him, then he'll settle for your waist.
"yeah, that sounds nice, thanks sans." You smile, walking with him.
"anytime.." He finds himself cracking up. "babygirl-"
"Call me that again and I will fucking end you-"
He bursts out into laughter as you both exit the scene.
A figure sits up from the ground, putting his hand on his skull. Oh no..you're not getting away that easily.
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Hello!
could I request headcanons of Aren Kobayasu, Kusuo Saiki and Shun Kaido with a s/o that’s super clumsy and always hurt in some way? Like their body hurts or they have scratches almost every time they see them
If you don’t wanna do this, it’s completely fine! Just make sure to eat and stay hydrated! I hope you have a good day or night!! :3
Hii, ofc you can! Thank you for requesting!
Make sure you stay hydrated and eat all your meals too!! <3 I hope you enjoy this!
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Content: gn! reader, mentions of injuries
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
ღThey have a clumsy s/o
AREN KOBAYASU
when you were still fresh in your relationship, he thought your bruises and cuts were cause you were getting beat up by delinquents
you know that angry face he always makes? yeah that's the face he had when he saw your injuries
at first you thought he was mad at you so you confronted him
poor boy was confused
like huh? why would he be mad at you?
then you explained and he was like oh
he ends up ranting about how he's gonna beat whoever is hurting you and how they shouldn't mess with you otherwise they're messing with him
you can't help but laugh a bit, cause tbh it's so cute seeing him so protective over you :')
when you explain it's because you're clumsy he goes beet red with embarrassment
now that he knows he prolly gets mad at whatever you accidentally hurt yourself with
you knocked into the corner of a table and now you have a bruise? throws it or punches it till it smashes
now you're problem is solved
conclusion: he will have beef with anything that hurts you
KUSUO SAIKI
saw it coming
obviously
he will never admit but he always tries his best using his abilities to make sure you don't get hurt
secretly, not so secretly, uses his hand to cover the edges of tables so you don't get hurt
at this point he does it instinctively
he always carries a mini first aid kit in case you need it!!
you got a cut on your finger? don't worry, Saiki has band aids ready to go!
Low-key worries about you cause you could get seriously hurt one day
if you ever tease him for being a sweetheart he'll turn red like a tomato and deny it
probably bonks you in the head (softly) so you don't tease him again
just let him care for you in his own way! 😤
SHUN KAIDO
y'all know what's coming
he's blaming it on the Dark Reunion!
pls believe him
he's very clumsy himself
so y'all are the clumsy couple
if it's not you getting hurt, it's him
but you both like to take care of each other!
he is a firm believer that kisses on the injury cure it and you can't convince me otherwise
so expect lots of kisses!!!
even though he gets very shy most of the times
I have a scenario in my head where more often than not, you've tripped and landed on Kaidou
poor boy has passed out more than once because of this
whether its because he landed too hard or because you're on top of him will remain a mystery
all in all, he tries to take care of you as much but is probably just as much of a klutz as you are
10/10 for the effort though
#headcanons#masterlist#saiki icons#saiki k#saiki kusou no psi nan#kusuo saiki#the disastrous life of saiki k#saiki k headcanons#aren saiki k#kaido saiki k#kaido shun#saiki k imagines#anime masterlist#anime edit#anime
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Double Deflection
Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy
Characters: Maron, White Horse, Licht Klein, Chevalier Michel
Wordcount: ~6400
Prompts: Blue: Loyalty, Yellow: Friendship
Summary: A late-night chat between horses and humans. Each has the potential to offer something, but gestures and facial expressions and mind reading aren't enough to tell when someone is asking for help.
A/N: My entry for the Wish Upon an Aide CC hosted by @lorei-writes and @wordycheeseblob. This story may borderline crack with its execution, but I hope it's an enjoyable read regardless.
If you were to ask Maron what he most wanted in the entire world he might respond with an enthused neigh, throwing back his mane, and a clop clop from his front-right hoof. If Maron could speak, he could say it was to eat carrots fresh from harvest, or to race through the fields outside the palace with the other horses, or to snooze indoors on a rainy afternoon while his rider Licht sang him a lullaby. Or something along those lines. In truth, it is difficult to say. The intricacies of horse communication cannot be covered comprehensively through text alone—tail swishing and muzzle twitching can easily get lost in translation, you see—but an attempt will be made to relay the events of this particular evening from both the equine and human perspectives to most accurately depict the story from all participating views.
Now, as we were saying, Maron, much like yourself and I, often finds it difficult to express his desires when asked on the spot. Any manner of things could affect the answer, from the place to the weather to even the time of day. Indeed, a much simpler question to ask (man and horse) is what he dislikes the most. And in the palace stables on that muggy summer’s eve, Maron was confident he was experiencing the absolute most dislikable thing imaginable.
“By the way, the kitchens were out of carrots.”
Licht ducked his head in time before Maron whipped his tail.
“There’s no use taking it out on me,” Licht said, straightening up and resuming brushing Maron’s flank. “Believe me, you do me a favor eating them. But I swear this time they were gone before I could get to them.”
Maron snorted once and rubbed at his muzzle in what one would believe to be a contradictory manner.
“I doubt it. You should’ve seen the way Yves’s eyes lit up when he read about that new carrot cake recipe from Jade. He ordered double the monthly stock of carrots. And Leon approved it without even batting an eye.” At this, Licht covered his mouth and let out a small groan that on the surface appeared as though he was repressing a gag. Maron wiggled his nose in circular motions in response, which I am told is the horse-equivalent of scoffing and rolling one’s eyes.
“Don’t give me that. I said I’m fine,” said Licht, but both he and Maron knew he wasn’t.
It is at this point I must confess that while I myself am not proficient at human-horse translations, my ineptitude is not a universal ailment. If you were so far unaware, there exist in our world a gifted few interspecial interpreters across the ages. Perhaps you have seen a dog warmly protecting a flock of chicks while the hen takes a bath? Or maybe you witnessed a squirrel rushing to call a goose to save a kitten from drowning in a lake? Sometimes this communication is as implicitly universal as a mother cares for her young, while in more curious cases gesture and sound bind common souls together. On exceedingly rare occasions, such a bond can manifest from one source to multiple different species with zero previous contact, as is the case with the Eighth Prince of Rhodolite. But just as special can be the connection built upon years of collaboration and struggle and trust, and Licht and Maron checked all these boxes multiple times over. Why, when Licht wraps the reins twice around his hands, Maron understands to hurry home because Yves is baking something special. And when Maron bonks his jaw against Licht’s head, Licht knows he’s being chastised. And whenever Licht says “I’m fine,” Maron learned it always to be a lie.
“Really, I am,” insisted Licht. “Let’s go for a ride in the morning. You’ll see.”
Not in the mood for an argument (they always ended up with them going in circles), Maron turned to look out the window and the two resumed their brushing routine without communication. The dewy night air hung thick and silent around them, and several times more Licht had to cover his mouth and cough as he worked. Maron’s ears twitched at the sound, but he never commented further.
Just allergies, Licht told himself. Horse doesn’t know what he’s thinking.
And the night would have continued on unyieldingly so, as it always did when they disagreed in private, were it not for an unexpected development. The hairs on their limbs shot straight up as a cold, prickly sensation overtook the summer warmth, and Licht and Maron spun their heads towards each other in unison. Someone was entering the stables.
Stubbornness forgotten, Maron slowly lifted his head and peered over the high walls. His stall was located in the back corner of the stable, but even through the darkness he could make out the tall cloaked figure leading a horse by hand through the entryway.
Licht tapped his knuckles against Maron’s neck. What do you see?
Maron raised a hoof up and down twice. One human and one horse. Both look male.
Got it. Stay low. Licht quietly reached for the sword he lay on the ground beside Maron’s grooming tools. A prince wouldn’t be so foolish as to wander the palace unarmed, and Licht knew better than most how easy it was to sneak past the grounds undetected through the stables.
Be careful. Maron gently rubbed his muzzle against Licht’s back and ducked low behind the wall. What was meant to be encouragement consequently had the opposite effect on Licht. Maron, like all who lived at the palace, knew of his rider’s unparalleled mastery of the sword. It is said that his skills were only rivaled by two, but Prince Leon was presently knocked out on his couch after a full day tidying up the faction office, and to even consider Prince Chevalier to sneak around at night like some common hoodlum was simply unthinkable. So Maron’s warning made Licht grip his sword more forcefully as he took a defensive stance by the door.
What need would a talented fighter have to visit the stables at this hour? Licht pondered the question as the foot-and-hoofsteps steadily approached their stall. Was it a spy fleeing into the night to relay royal secrets back to his master? A horse appraiser here to kidnap (horsenap) a prized palace stallion to sell off for exuberant riches? An enemy of the royal family who knew the swordsman Sixth Prince was an equine enthusiast and would therefore hesitate to fight back with a defenseless horse on the battlefield?
The truth, as I am sure you have already deduced, was none of the above. Unfortunately, the only living thing in the vicinity that could steer Licht’s thoughts away from the bizarre was currently pondering whether he could fight with a flat brush between his teeth if things became too dicey. And with the intruders now only a couple of stalls away, Licht did not have the agency to think rationally and burst out from his stall ready to swing.
What followed was a short, anticlimactic confrontation that I am sure Licht would prefer never to see the light of day. Unfortunately for him, Maron found the whole affair rather amusing, so I shall provide an abridged account.
No sooner than Licht exited the stall did an overwhelming cough threaten to overtake him. Midway through winding his arm for an attack, he had few options to steady himself from the conflicting forces of his limbs propelling him forward and his lungs pushing him back, and in the heat of the moment he elected to toss his sword upward into the air and simultaneously tackle the mystery man. He had hoped the shock of it all would stun his opponent long enough for him to recover and strike again, but this plan came to an early stop when his midsection was caught by a pair of taut arms and he found himself flipped, lifted, and staring upward into the displeased face of Prince Chevalier.
If you have ever been caught by your elders for sneaking out of your room past your bedtime, you would understand only a fraction of the dread coursing through Licht’s nerves in that moment. Aside from the obvious fact that he ambushed (with the intent to at the very least incapacitate) the Second Prince of Rhodolite, Licht was physically in a state he would best describe as Yves’s Fashion Nightmare™. His eyes were redder and less alert than usual, his frown curved down farther than it had in years, and his typical restless bedhead stuck out at wild angles, not in the least bit aided by the fact that he was currently suspended upside down. But oh, the worst offense of it all was his wardrobe! When the coughing fits had extinguished any hope of getting sleep, Licht slipped into the muckiest boots in his closet, tossed on a tattered old coat from his teenage years, picked up his sword, and headed straight for the stables. He could only pray Chevalier was too distracted by his annoyance to notice the wrinkly, hay-infested, cough-stained mess of his nightclothes.
Chevalier’s stern gaze followed Licht’s to his outfit. Whoops… I forgot to mention Chevalier could read minds as well as narrations.
“Please put me down,” said Licht, his voice barely masking: and spare me some dignity. Behind them Maron let out a sound almost like a chuckle, and Licht shot him a warning look he was sure lost all credibility of appearing threatening.
“What purpose have you here at this hour?” asked Chevalier, still holding on. It took a great deal of fortitude for Licht to not give in to his embarrassment and wiggle his way out of Chevalier’s clutches like a worm, but in the end he swallowed his discomfort and strained his neck to look back up.
“I could ask you the same,” Licht replied, and instantly regretted it. The blood flow to his brain must already be making him hysterical. Is that how blood worked? How long was he upside down for, anyway?
Chevalier’s expression twisted into a deeper frown that easily topped any of Licht’s personal records. “Employ deflection at your own risk, mime,” he warned. But just as Licht was calculating the combined punishment for assaulting and backtalking Chevalier, a sudden gallop echoed across the hall, the pressure on his stomach lifted, and Licht fell head-first onto the mucky stable floor.
Once the pain and shame faded enough, Licht opened his eyes and sat up expecting to find Chevalier towering over him. When all he saw was Maron merrily rolling on the floor whinnying, apparently now fully recovered from the intruder fiasco, Licht wondered if it was all just a sick-induced hallucination. The figures cloaked in night, the galloping, this headache; surely it was all in his mind and he merely tripped and fell from exhaustion. Bothered and bitter, he buttoned his coat and rubbed his bruising head, wondering if anything like this had happened recently, when Chevalier appeared once more in the entryway patiently guiding White Horse back inside.
“You frightened him,” he said when they reached the back stall.
“Me?” said Licht, forgetting his headache and rising to face the pair. In all the years he’d known him, White Horse proved a stallion who did not know fear. Chevalier selected him to be his trusted steed from among all the foals—even passing up baby Maron and his adorable wobbly knees—because he was the first to fully stand on his own and the quickest to wean off from his mother. As the years passed, he only grew more magnificent and intimidating among his peers, heading fleets into battle like the gleaming helmet of the army. White Horse admitting he was afraid seemed the equivalent of Chevalier admitting defeat.
“Indeed. He was shocked to see you bursting out of the stall like a lunatic,” said Chevalier.
Licht felt his eye twitch, and not from the returning pain. “He’s a war horse. He’s seen far worse than that,” he said.
“True,” said Chevalier, “but you have never appeared before him looking so disheveled.”
A knot swelled in Licht’s throat. Was Maron right? Surely he hadn’t neglected his condition so carelessly that he let his appearance grow abominable enough to scare White Horse of all creatures. Yves, perhaps, but that was exactly why Licht had been avoiding his brother like the plague.
“You do have some manner of plague,” said Chevalier.
“It’s only allergies,” Licht countered, muffling a cough into his arm.
“Strange how the clown never developed the same.”
It was only then that Licht noticed Chevalier carried a bag across his shoulders when he pulled something out and tossed it. Licht caught it and looked it over; it was a newly washed towel, like the type soldiers used during training, but the stench it gave off was far more repugnant than even a shirtless, sweaty Prince Jin in the height of July. An earthy smell that lay buried deep in the back of his mind, but Chevalier was not intent on giving him the time to dig it out.
“Clean your face, it is offensive,” he said, then moved past Licht to look in the stall. Maron instantly sobered and stood. “And you, get out.”
“What for?” Licht asked. He held his breath and quickly wiped the sweat and grime from his face.
“This is White Horse’s preferred stall.”
“We were here first.”
“And I asked you first what you were doing here, and you have yet to answer me,” snapped Chevalier. “Our needs supersede yours unless you can prove otherwise.”
Licht and Maron each glared back at him, simmering in place. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have their reasons for choosing that particular stall; Maron enjoyed the bit of extra leg room the corner stall provided while Licht favored it for its distance from the entrance and ease to hide away in. But the other corner stall on the opposite side of the hall provided the same advantages, and Licht and Maron wondered why Chevalier and White Horse couldn’t simply occupy that one.
Normally, Licht would either frame his suggestion of the other corner this way or simply agree to move out to avoid confrontation, but he was ill-feeling courteous tonight after Chevalier banged his head like a boiled egg.
“What’s so special about this one that the others don’t have?” Licht asked. If by now you’re thinking Licht was playing his luck talking back yet again to Chevalier, you’d be right. But ever the megalomaniac (as Prince Clavis would insist), Chevalier acknowledged an informative rebuttal to his authority as a worthy challenge and allowed the conversation to continue for just a little longer.
Chevalier rolled his eyes at this insinuation. “The window,” he responded.
“They all have windows,” said Licht.
“This one provides the best view of town,” said Chevalier, then he huffed. “I grow tired of this chatter. Vacate yourselves before I do it myself.”
Licht was not satisfied, but he knew better than to argue with Chevalier once a discussion was deemed concluded. Though Maron would take some more convincing to leave. They were still midway through grooming and all the tools were laid out and ready after all, but to Licht’s surprise the horse walked out without any prompting, passed Chevalier, and lowered his head to sniff the towel in Licht’s hand.
“Don’t lick that, Maron. It’s dirty,” said Licht, pushing him away. But Maron pressed his nose to the towel and began chewing at its edge. “It’s not food. Stop!” Licht grabbed the other end and pulled and pulled, but Maron’s chomp was firm and refusing to yield.
“Haybrain,” Licht said, tugging harder. “You’d think you were munching on a bunch of—” And then the pain in his head nearly completely vanished as a wave of realization surged through him. Sometimes it takes a little longer for Maron’s messages to reach Licht.
Still maintaining his grip, Licht steadied his stance and asked, “Prince Chevalier, what else is in your bag?”
Chevalier, who had been leading White Horse into the newly emptied stall and therefore took little notice of the tug-of-war behind him, curled his hand around the straps on his shoulder at the sound of his name. “Has your condition also turned you excessively chatty?” he said. “Perhaps some rest will restore your quietude, mime.”
Licht and Maron exchanged a glance across the towel and nodded. “Employ deflection at your own risk. Now!” yelled Licht, and the two charged towards the stall.
If you have been at all paying attention to this unwieldy tale, you may recall the last time Licht attempted to ambush Chevalier earned him an unsavory bump on both his pride and his forehead, and you are probably wondering what on Earth would lead him to believe a second attempt would fare any better. You may also remember in that little skirmish Licht threw his sword up in the air and have probably been questioning this story for the past few pages about where it landed. Rest assured, these inconsistencies shall be answered in due course. But first we must discuss strategy.
In addition to being a gifted swordsman, Licht was also a budding tactician. And while his brothers agreed his open-fighting battleplans leaned excessively self-destructive, no one could deny Licht’s acumen for sneak attacks. Even Maron trusted Licht on this front, which is why he made sure to match Licht’s speed in their charge even though his trajectory would knock him into White Horse. As soon as Chevalier noticed their approach, he whipped around, grabbed the towel with both hands, and ripped the fabric in midair.
The force of the rip wobbled the two off guard, and while Maron quickly managed to steady himself to a reasonable halt before colliding with White Horse, Licht surged forward and knocked his side into a pillar separating two adjacent stalls. But before his fall, he made sure to wrap his remaining half of the towel around Chevalier’s wrist and drag the man down with him. The impact of the hit shook the entire building, causing a certain misplaced sword that was previously precariously balanced just above the princes to slip out of its place and fall. Chevalier, still stuck in the hand trap, roughly shoved his and Licht’s bodies out of the line of descent and replaced them with his bag. The bag cushioned the fall and prevented the sword from ricocheting into anyone, but not without sacrificing itself to the cause as the blade cleanly cut through the linen and deposited the contents within. Dozens of bright orange carrots, of different sizes and thicknesses by the bushel, spilled out from the tear and rolled across the stable floor.
This narrator now takes this chance to inform the audience (and Prince Chevalier) that Licht is also very skilled in deflection. And in humility.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do,” Licht offered once the two managed to pry as many carrots as they could away from the hungry horses’ mouths. They piled the saved carrots into the bag and lifted it together to keep them out of the horses’ reach and from spilling again.
“The information I have on your condition is far more significant than a simple carrot heist,” said Chevalier, unperturbed by the turn of events.
It was the truth. Licht nabbed carrots from the kitchens loads of times before, and the response from the cooks never extended beyond an angry rant to the domestic faction office about coordinating supply every few months or so. Jin always claimed it was probably a herd of hungry rabbits sneaking into the kitchens at night, and that was enough to placate the masses. Missing carrots didn’t spell the end of the world, after all. Surely they would treat this incident in the same way. On the other hand, Chevalier still lorded Licht’s illness over his head like a carrot on a stick (which in Licht’s circumstance meant the exact opposite of that saying). Any moment now he could decide to leave the stables and tell Sariel about Licht’s total lack of self-care. Or worse, he could tell Yves.
No, Licht had to gain some leverage over Chevalier right there and now. If only he could figure out why he was there in the first place.
The bag seemed to increase in weight with each passing moment, and the orange poking out from the rip goaded Licht like a heckler in the audience. He shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth to stave them off. Just their presence muddied his mind—why did there have to be so many carrots?
The best he could do for now was to keep up the deflecting. Even if that meant he had to keep up the talking.
“If White Horse eats this many, he’ll have an upset stomach in the morning,” he said.
“They were not all meant for him, obviously,” Chevalier explained. “When dealing with animals, extra precautions must be taken to guarantee a successful transaction should any anomalies arise.”
Licht pondered over those words. Couldn’t Chevalier ever say what he meant directly? (“No,” said Chevalier.)
“You’re saying you needed hush money—er, food in case other horses saw you two? Were you expecting to wake up the entire herd?” asked Licht.
“Precautions taken for the worst-case scenario naturally account for any hypothetical.”
“Except for my being here, apparently.”
“No, I had accounted for this as well. Though I had expected you to have fled from the vicinity of all these carrots by now.”
The tear gaped slightly as Licht’s hold tensed. Did Chevalier view him as a child who still couldn’t look foods he disliked straight on? Was Chevalier basing his reactions on tests he performed on Nokto, he wondered? He recalled a time years ago when Nokto returned from a diplomatic trip to Benitoite complaining about how their boasting of their recent super successful carrot harvest forced him to cut the trip short. It was the first time in ages Licht felt so strong an urge to console his twin when he heard the news, but what if Chevalier had a different reaction? Something seemed off about it all.
He decided to test his theory. “You’d need a boat-load of carrots to do that. And strand me on a deserted island first,” he said.
“I shall keep that in mind for the next order and charter a vessel from the Jangler,” said Chevalier.
“Nokto already asked us to halt carrot orders to the palace once. Leon told him to submit a lengthy request form with evidence and justifications and we still voted against it, three-to-one. Unfortunately.”
“My word supersedes the clown’s, as well as it does yours.”
“I wasn’t implying otherwise. Only that palace supply orders are under our faction’s scope, not yours,” said Licht. This time the rip tore larger from Chevalier’s end.
Licht really was only speaking fluff at first, but now he felt he was on the verge of uncovering something scandalous.
“In fact, food orders are specifically handled by one of us four princes to prevent showing favoritism to any one noble or grower. And we keep the records of all orders locked in our office,” he continued. “Strange how you were able to run your worst-case scenario calculations when supply was different this month. Was it just a happy coincidence?”
“Enough stalling,” said Chevalier. “Speak your mind directly.”
“Prince Chevalier.” Licht paused and inhaled. “Have you been illicitly influencing the domestic faction’s operations behind the scenes?”
The stables went eerily quiet. Even the horses, who stopped following the conversation ever since the carrots came into view, could tell an intense weight had dropped, and this time Chevalier was on the receiving end. Maron silently cheered for Licht, while White Horse ground his teeth impatiently.
Slowly, purposefully, Chevalier’s mouth widened to a grin. One that simultaneously filled Licht with a sense of victory and unease. “You speak it as though it was a laborious effort, when in truth it does not take much to influence you buffoons. A cursory inspection of your office is proof enough of your dullwittedness, which made it exceedingly simple to send the clown over on his futile carrot prohibition request to peer pressure your lot into establishing a cleaning routine. Even simpler was it to determine which days were Black’s, considering he wakes with an obvious imprint of his couch’s pillow embroidery plastered across his cheek. But simplest of all was slipping the latest edition of Jade’s Renowned Recipes onto the showoff’s desk the morning after one of Black’s cleaning days.”
The only thing preventing Licht from completely tearing up the bag was the understanding that it would drown him in those awful carrots, and that would only make him more upset. “There’s no way Nokto would agree to that,” he said to release some of the anger. “Your plan ended up with double the order of carrots in the end.”
“I never deigned to have co-conspirators,” said Chevalier.
It didn’t make sense, and yet with Chevalier it could. But it took such precise managing and calculating of everyone’s opinions and behaviors to have carried out so perfectly.
“But… but you still miscalculated,” Licht said in a small voice. “With me.”
“An unfortunate side effect of your seclusiveness. Lack of data points skews the probability of success. But this defect is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things,” said Chevalier, dropping his face to a frown once more. “Very well, we shall agree to never speak of this encounter beyond this night.”
A victory? Against Chevalier? On a mental battlefield? By all accounts, Licht should have been thrilled, even if this arrangement meant no one would ever know of his triumph. But a hollowness still dominated inside, different from the betrayal he felt from Chevalier’s reveal. He looked to Maron for support, and even his horsey smile wasn’t enough to satisfy his troubled thoughts.
“You still admitted political subterfuge, even if this is an admittedly minor instance of it. How can we guarantee you haven’t done it in the past, or won’t do it again?” asked Licht.
“You have my word that I have not nor shall I ever plot such an endeavor again without the knowledge and approval of the eight,” said Chevalier.
That should have sufficed, but Licht shook his head. “I’ll need some collateral to prove your sincerity.”
Chevalier narrowed his eyes. “What do you require?”
“Half your remaining carrots,” he said. “And tell me why you did it.” Maron perked up and licked his lips greedily while White Horse snorted and rushed beside Chevalier.
“White Horse says one-fourth and no more,” said Chevalier.
“Half,” Licht demanded. “Yves never would have put the double order if he wasn’t so intent on baking the carrot cake for me.”
Chevalier and White Horse stared intently at each other. You may have guessed correctly that these two make up another human-horse bonded pair, but unlike Licht and Maron, they mainly communicated through staring contests to determine the other’s thoughts and feelings. To the onlooker it is a curious sight, and Licht and Maron watched the pair mentally debate like statues for several awkward minutes until at last they broke apart.
“Agreed. But tonight you must vacate this stall and share your grooming tools,” said Chevalier.
“Fine, you can use them after we finish our routine,” said Licht, and the princes set out dividing the carrots equally among themselves and leading their respective horses into opposite stalls. Maron happily gobbled up his share before Licht could finish setting his tools up again in the new stall, and White Horse solemnly poked his head out of the window as Chevalier passed him carrots at regular intervals. A complacent tranquility settled in as the sounds of horse munching, hair brushing, and the late night summer breeze whooshed through the stables, calming its occupants and warming their hearts. While these two princes were inclined to introversion, the silent acknowledgement of horse care they shared bonded them on that night closer than they ever knew in the past.
Once the grooming session was completed, Maron shook his head satisfied as Licht patted his neck. Licht packed his tools neatly in their kit and crossed over to the other stall, ready to hear Chevalier’s story, when he saw his brother holding two long strips of ribbon, one bright yellow and the other bright blue, up to White Horse’s pearly mane.
“They’d both look nice on him,” Licht said as he entered the stall. He extracted a fine brush from the kit and began working out the knots in White Horse’s mane.
Chevalier watched intently, holding the ribbons closer so Licht could see. “But which will look nicer?” he asked.
Another ripple of warmth began to swell in Licht's cheeks, but a breeze hadn’t blown in a while. Did Chevalier actually value Licht’s opinion?
“Well, maybe the blue will look better in the daytime and the yellow at night,” Licht replied. Chevalier hmmed and took the ribbons back, tying them into different intricately shaped bows on his fingers. No doubt Yves would find them charming, and a small smile involuntarily crept onto Licht’s face as he pictured the three of them dressing up White Horse in tiny bows.
What a ridiculous idea! As if Chevalier would ever agree to that! But still, even though Licht always spent time in the stables alone, the thought of inviting others once in a while wasn’t too indigestible. Is this what it was like to share hobbies? Could this be how Licht could cure his—as Chevalier called it—seclusiveness? They could have been friends all along?
The moment seemed right. He decided to shoot his shot. “Yves has lots more ribbon. And lace, too. Maybe we could all make bows for Maron and White Horse someday?”
“Perhaps,” said Chevalier, all ten of his fingers now bound by bows. “Tell me, do you think White Horse is attractive?”
Or maybe they were never meant to be friends after all.
“Er—” Licht stumbled. “He’s a healthy and well-kept stallion. I could ask for nothing more from him.”
“Not to you. A female.”
“Uhm… You could probably ask Nokto to grab a maid’s opinion?”
Chevalier clenched his fists, crushing the tiny bows. “A female horse,” he hissed.
“Oh!” Licht accidentally pulled too hard on a knot. White Horse turned to him and snorted sharply, dousing his face in chewed-up carrot. Yes, that tranquil moment had definitely passed.
Licht quickly unbuttoned his coat and wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. The very next morning, that shirt would be burning in the back of his fireplace.
“Is White Horse trying to impress a mare?” he asked in an attempt to salvage the conversation.
“We only agreed I reveal my intention for the carrot theft,” said Chevalier.
“Political subterfuge,” Licht corrected.
“Shall I send you to dreamland instead?” said Chevalier.
“I’ll be sure to ask for the story in the morning then,” said Licht.
Chevalier leaned against the wall and began undoing the bows as he spoke. “Do not interrupt. It began on a trip west last fall. Clavis and I were inspecting numerous citadels along the border, and as luck would have it I received word that the newest volume of a series I was following was set to release the day before our scheduled return to the palace.”
Licht swapped his brush for a flat bristled one and started on White Horse’s neck as he listened. He recalled Chevalier’s trip very clearly. Clavis had made a point to leave behind a timed-trap in his absence. On the morning of the twins’ birthday, hundreds of colorful paper airplanes were released in the roundtable room, each bearing a handwritten message like: “Thinking of you from so far away!” and “Big brother will bring home a bigger gift, just you wait!” and “Say your prayers, Sariel!” Licht occasionally still felt the ghosts of those paper cuts stinging his skin.
Unfazed by Licht’s cringing expression, Chevalier continued. “Despite Clavis’s bemoaning protests, we managed to reach the final location of our tour and complete the inspection with time to spare, albeit at the sacrifice of several nights’ rest. Our fool of a brother was at his wit’s end, but aside from his sanity we arrived back in town with zero casualties. He agreed to retrieve the book before returning to the palace as an excuse to finally be out of my sight, so he broke off from our party as we rode up. And seeing as White Horse knows the way to the gates I saw no imminent danger requiring my remaining alert and allowed myself to rest my eyes.”
Licht tried to remember the exact day of their return and if anything remarkable occurred, but his mind kept coming up with blanks. (He wasn’t allowed to interrupt, but the narrator can. Chevalier said he fell asleep.)
Chevalier finished removing the yellow ribbon from his fingers and crumpled it in his fist. “While resting my eyes, I could still sense the passage of time, and after an appropriate amount of time until when I knew we should have reached the palace had passed I opened them again but found we were in an unfamiliar area I had never visited before. We were near the outskirts of town where the cattle graze. Seventeen houses in total, each unremarkable in size and structure, yet White Horse perched at the fence of the red brick house watching a jet black mare race across the yard. Never before had I seen him so fixated on one task, even when we are in battle. I called his name and pulled his reins but he completely ignored me. I was about alight from his back to admonish him when the woman of the household spotted us from her window, and she let out a piercing scream that would have woken the entire town had it been dark. It was enough to startle White Horse, at any rate. More than seeing you tonight.”
At this, Licht instantly remembered the day. Everyone at the palace heard the scream, and the subsequent chill emanating from Clavis’s smile when he suggested Licht join him to wait by the gates could only be bested by Chevalier’s cold stare. Never before nor since was Licht so grateful for it to be his turn to clean the domestic faction office than on that day. Maron remembered the day because it was the only time Chevalier returned wearing robes stained not in red, but brown. And Chevalier remembered the day because there did not yet exist enough scientific literature in Rhodolite on lobotomy.
Recounting is all well and good, but White Horse preferred matters tending to the future. And while he was used to his master and his soft-spoken brother’s tendencies towards silence, this silence stretching on in their conversation soon bored the stallion. When at last it became too much to bear, White Horse sucked in breath through his teeth, pressed his nose against Chevalier’s head, and released a mighty sneeze that nearly shook the princes off balance. From across the hall, Maron whinnied at White Horse in disapproval, and Licht quickly steadied himself then began patting the horse’s white neck. This served two purposes: calming White Horse’s fury, and giving Licht an excuse to turn away as Chevalier picked globules of horse mucus out of his hair.
It seemed acceptable for Licht to speak now. “So White Horse likes Verona?”
“Who?” Chevalier raked the last of the snot out with the blue ribbon and tossed it onto the remains of the ripped bag.
“The mare. That’s her name,” said Licht.
“Don’t be ridiculous, they have never once interacted for White Horse to develop any feelings of ‘liking’.”
“Fine. He fancies her.”
“Such a useless emotion. Enough of it to lose his head at the screams of her owner,” scoffed Chevalier.
“He’s alright though, isn’t he?” said Licht.
“Only because I had the sense to steady us in time,” said Chevalier. What he conveniently neglected to mention was how after steadying White Horse, the woman raced out of the house waving a broomstick in the air because she didn’t recognize the Second Prince and assumed he was there to horsenap Verona. Before Chevalier could diffuse the situation, White Horse jumped at her advance and fell backwards, landing both himself and his rider in a puddle of mud. Prince Clavis was the only person standing at the gates to witness their soiled return, and he keeps the memory fresh in his mind for days when he feels blue. But there was no reason for Licht to know about it, so Chevalier said, “I have upheld my end of the deal. Pass me a brush.”
“But you didn’t explain the carrots,” said Licht.
“Do not ask for a story if you are too bleary-eyed to follow along,” said Chevalier. He swiped the brush out of Licht’s hand and began grooming White Horse’s other side. White Horse neighed softly and went back to staring longingly out of the window.
Rays of false dawn shone from the horizon, layering the first brush stroke of saturation on town. Licht followed White Horse’s gaze out the window towards the pasty colors of the pasture in the distance, just as the signs of a red house came into view.
Perhaps it was the exhaustion truly catching up to him, but Licht didn’t notice Maron trotting up to him until he felt his warm muzzle pressed against the small of his back. Even without facing him, he knew what Maron wanted to say.
“Maron’s friends with Verona,” said Licht. “We visit the horses there every month for a stretch. We could introduce White Horse next time we go, if you want.”
Perhaps the exhaustion caught up to Chevalier as well, because the small part of him that planned to find Licht in the stables tonight tingled with vindication. “What do you require?” he asked.
“I don’t need anything,” said Licht.
“And I do not desire to remain in your debt. Name your price,” said Chevalier.
It is a curious state to find oneself able to demand anything from Prince Chevalier. I can think of several princes who would jump at the opportunity and ask from him all manner of favors. But Licht was a simple secluded sword master equine enthusiast who when asked what he wanted most in the world would probably reply with the most seemingly mundane thing. And yet, it would still make him smile.
“Help me get rid of this cough. That way I can help disrupt the carrot supply chain next time.”
I once wrote a fic in the past when I thought Maron was a mare. If anyone else mistakenly thought he was a lady horse because of that fic, I take full responsibility, that's my bad.
With this fic I tried out a new narrative style. It was out of my comfort zone, but a fun experiment. If anyone has any constructive feedback about it (positive or negative, I want to learn) feel free to leave a comment or an ask. Did it engage you more in the story, did it slow it down, did it make you laugh, did it bore you... whatever you feel like sharing :) Otherwise, thanks for reading.
#ikemen series#ikemen prince#ikepri#ikepri fanfic#wishuponanaidecc#licht klein#chevalier michel#ikepri licht#ikepri chevalier#ikepri maron#ikepri white horse#scorchie writes
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Ghost (Loki Love Story) Ch.3
‘’blood is a bond, what breaks the bond is completing the contract. When you placed your blood onto my attire- accident or not, you must have been thinking about something.. something that you wished assistance with or something completed.. I help you, and we might be able to separate.’’
Loki’s words ran through my head as I paced back and forth in my apartment, Loki relaxing on the couch not to far away after finishing a sandwich I had made not to long ago and I prayed he was thinking just as hard as I was.
Luckily the thing called Doordash would buy us some time for groceries and with my wing and shoulder being hurt, work has dismissed me so there was no real reason to leave the apartment. Aka keeps Loki out of site and gives us both more thinking time.
‘’you are about to dig an impressive trench If you pace a few more times darling’’ Loki said with sarcasm, his hands cradling his head from behind as he relaxed in a comfy position. Didn’t even bother looking in my direction.
‘’I hope your coming up with some ideas with your rare moment of silence over there’’ I snap, giving him a look that he didn’t even see anyways as I pause to go over to take a bite of my own sandwich. The events of the day didn’t exactly build my appetite, let alone his criticisms from his own food. Ungrateful asshole..
‘’I have come up with a few possibilities, yes’’ he said a little to calmly that made me practically grip the back of the couch as I went over, looking down at him with a forced calm reaction.
‘’I hope you just came up with them now since it’s been more than an hour’’ I said with a sarcastic sweet voice as he smirked up at me from his unmoving position.
‘’would you like them or not?’’
‘’yes.’’ I say through my teeth and backed off immediately so we practically didn’t bonk heads as he sat himself up.
‘’you need something complete, as it seems through the blood magic.’’ He starts, keeping his shoes on the couch as an arm rested on the back of the couch so he could look at me.
‘’if it’s even involving blood magic-‘’
‘’lets say it is; do you remember thinking about something in particular when you’re blood fell upon my attire?’’ he asked, genuinely curious that caught my own attitude off guard.
I stare at him for a moment, doing my best to remember amongst the battle, the pain of getting shot, the glass shards in the wing, the- my expression went blank at the last image and it seems to get his attention as he raised a brow.
‘’what is it?’’
‘’..nothing.. I wouldn’t know how it would tie in anyway-‘’ I shake my head as if it’s a silly thought and move away to return to my food. This didn’t seem to be brushed off easily and Loki was already on his feet and around the couch.
‘’you don’t know that, perhaps I could find a way on how it does-‘’
‘’I would have already done so already’’ I shake my head and take another bite as he narrows his eyes at my back.
‘’are you referring to yourself as more intelligent?’’
‘’I’m not the one who tried to take over an attire planet the way you did.’’ I say with a small shrug.
‘’that is not the point-‘’ Loki hissed, wanting to drop the subject as he crossed his arms. ‘’what is it?’’
I hesitate, of course my stubborn ass not wanting to tell him anything as my cheeks reddened a little. To be honest, I’m not sure why and I’m glad my back was to him as I set down my plate. ‘’..the last thing I saw was your outfit, of course my blood catching my eye afterward.’’
Loki nodded slowly as his eyes wandered, almost analyzing me without even my knowledge before I slowly turned to face him. ‘’alright.. its only natural to be thinking about the particular subject your eyes lay upon to spark brain function’’ his comment almost sounded like he was calling me stupid as he began walking around to look more at my household, as if doing it for the first time.
‘’then perhaps it’s a matter of helping me’’
I scoffed as I watched him, my arms crossed as I leaned on the wall. ‘’I am not helping you take over a planet’’
Loki waved me off as his mind wandered in thought. ‘’not that love, but perhaps sending me back. Destiny says I died.. as much as I am not so much thrilled to be killed, its perhaps what needs to be fixed on my end..’’
‘’as much as I wouldn’t mind killing you, what do you mean by your end?’’ sarcasm and curiosity in my voice as I watch him.
‘’blood bonds are for both parties. I need to be sent back, but what about you?’’ he thinks out loud, rhetorical than a question as he looked around more. ‘’..how long have you been living here? by yourself..’’
‘’um.. maybe a couple years maybe? I was at the tower for awhile when we were helping to defeat Thanos and then joined my people here..’’ I answer, unsure what he was getting at.
‘’you’ve never had a partner?’’
My cheeks heated up as I looked at him like he were crazy. ‘’a bit personal don’t you think?’’
‘’answer me.’’ He says almost to calmly as his eyes move up to mind, seriousness in his face that almost gave me no choice but to answer.
‘’y-yes..’’
‘’then darling, it’s only logically making sense. I need to be sent back, and upon your last memory that brought me back here with your blood.. and how you don’t necessarily need any fixing in other matters, the only logical explanation is..’’ he paused, almost not being able to say it himself as I gaze at him like a child with anticipation.
‘’you love me.’’
There was a moment of silence between us as we stare at each other, my expression asking if he were crazy and his showing how he was dead serious.
My lips parted to try to find the appropriate answer as my arms loosely came down to my sides. ‘’are you-‘’
‘’think about it Y/N, why else am I here? you don’t need fixing in your life, true but perhaps its because you lack companionship. A partner. You saw me- well, my attire before you blacked out and your blood brought me through your last thought being of me.’’ He explained, fully facing me now as he slowly took a step closer as he spoke.
‘’that’s pretty conceited of you-‘’
‘’I am the god of lies darling, look upon me now.’’ He says, his voice deadly serious as he took his place before me, my back up against the wall as our heights showed themselves off and their differences. ‘’do you love me?’’
My cheeks heated up, knowing he could tell lies but.. I didn’t love him- but.. what the fuck- I push his shoulders and walk past him to around the couch, my hand running through my hair as I push the thought away. ‘’you’re crazy.. we barely know each other even on Asgard.’’
‘’perhaps, but you very much caught my attention.’’ I could almost see the smirk on his lips as he turned to look at me- my back once again. ‘’so I’m sure you saw me as much as I saw you.’’
‘’of course I saw you, you are a royal and I worked in the palace.’’ I shake my head, keeping my back to him as his voice drew nearer.
‘’you know what I mean Y/N. but I know denial when I see it’’ he said in a calm voice manner. ‘’but the only explanation is right here in front of us. You need to accept your true feelings, even if I have to try to woo you. and in the end just to make sure things are definitely clear between you and I, and this bond,’’
I spin around to call him crazy, to tell him to shut up, that he’s wrong, but he’s already nose to nose with me in a second that closes my mouth instantly.
‘’we need to have sex.’’
#loki x reader smut#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki fanfic#loki smut#loki fluff#loki x reader#loki#loki god of mischief#lokifluff
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I don’t remember you explaining the hc that Pk fell in love cuz Wl tried to strangle him but please do at some point.
Wl, seeing this noodle of a mfer and getting to work: begone pest
Pk, discovering several things about himself in rapid succession: 👀😳💕
OKAY so basically my headcanon for how they met was that PK was a young adult wyrm scoping out territories to conquer, bc he was getting to that age where he had to either had land and followers of his own or become dinner, and upon his burrowing searches he happened to bonk into WL, who was another new pre-ascended god starting to just gain power in Kingdom's Edge, far from the Radiance's sight, but on the verge of discovery. Young WL panicked, of course, because wyrms are notorious for their ravenous hunger, aggression, and intense territoriality (things she heard whispered to her from the network of roots and mycellium she was connected to), so she did the most rational thing she thought of, which was to wrap a coil of root around the back of his head and YANK. She had him in a noose and was strangling him, but because wyrms aren't so easily killed and she was trying to act like she wasn't frightened of being devoured, she acted as cold and as high-and-mighty as she could, and demanded he state his buisness before she destroyed his physical form.
And PK fell for her INSTANTLY because not only was she proving her strength by nearly killing him (which is sexy as all hell to wyrms), she was the first instance of another god-to-be that he'd met who actually demanded to talk to him instead of just straight-up murdering him. So he touched minds with her, conveyed that he meant her no harm, and offered an alliance of sorts, where he would help her ascend, and in exchange, share territory with her. She accepted, albiet warily (because she was now in the human-esque dilemna of 'ah shit i grabbed a venomous snake by the throat and now i gotta find a way to let it go without it biting me), and that's when PK started to court her vigorously, and she became endeared by his gentleness and subsurviance. Because unknown to her at the time, the first stage of wyrm courtship involves an intense mandible-locking wrestling match (which holds the threat of death if one is too weak to impress or gets bored and decides to eat the other), but the SECOND stage of pairbonding after the violence is something closer to what we think of actual courtship, with gifts of meat or fruit, plenty of subserviance, etc etc, and she was so charmed by a supposedly-vicious entity crooning at her and giving her delectible chunks of carrion and infodumping about how he'd build their civilization that she was won over LONG before she realized what made him so into her in the first place
So tdlr, PK got nearly strangled to death after accidentally jumpscaring WL, another young god, and he was so enchanted with the duel combo of deadliness and her actually listening to him that he fell head-over-tail for her. Meanwhile, it took WL longer to come around, but him promising to give her a kingdom and generally being an absolute sap of a vicious world-ending being (and lots of carrion) had her falling for him in turn. A match made in heaven
(Something important to note is that they also had no genders pre-Hallownest, but accepted them later when their bugs assumed the big one (WL) was female and that the smaller one (PK) was male bc they had no clue what they meant. This has no bearing on their actual meetup I just think its really funny to headcanon)
#demonicintegrity#hollow knight#wyrmroot#pale king#white lady#pk is turned on both by violence (instinct) and the willingness to engage intellectually (his nerdiness)#give him a big pretty god to be who is his age and willing to listen and hes a goner
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Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 13
Pairing: Hangman x Female OC
Word Count: 3066
Warnings: None
Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.
Or so he thought.
Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks. Also, sorry it's taken so long - life has gotten in the way and I haven't had a chance to write as much :(
Chapter Songs: My Tears Ricochet Hits Different
****
Ghost
The storm raged through most of the night, and Ghost watched it for hours, unable to sleep. Despite her steady voice and relatively calm demeanor, Juliette's fainting freaked her out, and her anxiety took its time going down. It didn't help to have Hangman in the room next to her, so close yet so far, nor the knowledge that he still recognized her tells, although the chamomile had helped calm her nerves.
Finally, around three a.m., Ghost fell into a light sleep, but nightmares plagued her dreams. Her conscience found particular pleasure in making her relive the accident over and over again. Ghost woke up from them each time, paralyzed in grief and with pain shooting throughout her limbs. The PTSD had lessened significantly since the accident, but certain events and people triggered small recurrences, and Jake 'Hangman' Seresin was a major factor.
After a fitful night's sleep, Ghost forced herself up at eight and decided to head home. Switching out of the pajamas Juliette so kindly lent to her and back into her own clothes, Ghost shuffled into the hallway and down to the kitchen. Rooster moved surprisingly quietly, considering he'd received his callsign because of the God-awful hour he woke up at and his uncanny ability to make noise no matter how hard he tried not to.
"What are you going to make?" Ghost queried, peering over the counter.
Rooster jumped, the pan he held flying out of his hand. He flailed about trying to catch it, but it ended up clattering loudly to the floor. He stared in dismay at the pan. "Well, so much for not waking anyone."
"Sorry, I thought you heard me come in," Ghost said sheepishly, picking up the cookware and handing it to him.
Rooster snorted. "Please. No one hears you coming."
"Then you're not doing it right," Hangman's husky voice remarked. Despite the evident fact he'd literally rolled out of bed (or the couch) moments ago- judging by his annoyingly sexy bedhead and sleepy expression- he still managed to smirk cheekily at them. Ghost grabbed the pan from Rooster and bonked Hangman on the head. He rubbed it ruefully. "Joking, joking."
"No, you weren't," Rooster replied, taking the pan back from Ghost and setting it on the stove. "You two want breakfast?"
Ghost shook her head. "No, but thank you. I need to hurry home and shower before heading back out. Jackie's getting into town this morning for business, and I promised to meet her for a late breakfast before she has to go to her first meeting."
"Send Jackie my regards," Juliette said, waddling into the kitchen. "How is she?"
"Good. Looking forward to whatever deal she's trying to close this week. I'll drop in later to see how you're doing if you're free?"
"Of course. I'm not going anywhere today. I don't want Rooster prepping the nursery unsupervised-"
"I spilled paint one time," he protested, pointing firmly at her with the spatula. "And you're not helping me. Not with the pregnancy complications."
"We can debate this later. Ghost-" Juliette turned to her friend- "like I said, you're welcome to come by later."
"I appreciate it. I'll see you later then. Bye, y'all!" Waving at the group, Ghost hurried outside and hopped on her motorcycle. She sped toward her apartment, miraculously not coming across any cops. Otherwise, she certainly would've been pulled over for speeding. Taking a quick shower, drying her hair, and throwing on enough makeup to make herself presentable, Ghost darted back out the door and hopped onto her motorcycle, speeding like the Devil himself was after her and narrowly arriving at the coffee shop on time. Jackie strutted in hardly a minute later and hugged her little sister tightly, exclaiming quietly, "Oh, it's so good to see you!"
"You too! Good flight?"
"Yeah, yeah, long but good," Jackie said, pulling away and moving to the line to order coffee. "Were you waiting long for me?"
"Oh yeah, I got here ten minutes ago," Ghost lied, unable to help herself from an opportunity to mess with her big sister.
Jackie didn't fall for it. "Really? Because I swear I saw your motorcycle go blasting past me, like, a minute before I got here."
"Don't know what you're talking about. You must've imagined it."
"Uh-huh, yeah, that's what happened," Jackie replied, clearly not believing Ghost. The cheeky grin on her face probably gave it away. "So, what do you want? It's on me."
Knowing better than to argue, nor was she willing to pass up a free drink, Ghost answered. The sisters waited for their orders and, once received, maneuvered to a booth. Jackie faced the door, one of the few people Ghost trusted to do so. Their mother had taught them to always sit facing the door so they knew when and if danger approached.
"How have you been? What's been going on?" Ghost inquired, taking a sip of her tea.
Jackie shrugged. "Mainly work. Heath and I are going to Spain in a few months for our five-year anniversary. He's been dying to go back since college," she said. "What about you? How have you been now that Jake's back in the picture?"
"He's only back temporarily, and I try to avoid him as much as possible, which has turned out to be pretty difficult," Ghost replied in annoyance, going into detail about all the instances she had to be around him, including crashing at the Bradshaw's last night. "He's super close to Juliette, which I never knew. She hardly spoke about him last time we talked, so while I knew they were friendly, I didn't know they were best friends."
"You okay with it?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, that used to be you, and you still love him. Don't-" Jackie pointed a firm finger at her sister- "try to convince me otherwise."
"Even if you're wrong?"
"You mean right?"
"I said what I said, and for the record, I'm okay with it as long as he doesn't hurt her like he did me. I doubt Rooster would let him get away with it if he did, though. I don't know what to think of Jake anymore because he clearly cares for Juliette, but when she passed out yesterday, I offered to Jake to come with us to the hospital because I figured he'd want to be there for her, but no, he declined and offered to watch the dogs instead. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad someone watched Raptor and Lightning because they're Juliette's kids, canine or not, but still, I find it weird he didn't want to be with her when for all we knew, she was in critical condition."
"Why did she pass out?!"
"Something called preeclampsia. They're monitoring it to make sure it doesn't get worse, but she's okay for now. Scared the hell out of us when it happened."
"I'm glad she's okay. Send her my regards next time you see her. Do you think Jake has something against hospitals? First, he didn't see you when you were in it, now Jules."
"No. I mean, he saw Ghoul before she passed, so I don't know what the hell his problem is. He never told me."
Jackie raised an eyebrow. "Did you give him a chance to?"
"He had multiple opportunities to reach out, and he didn't until after the hearing when he knew I didn't blame him for the accident. So, no, I don't think he has a problem with hospitals."
"Have you talked to him at all since you've been here? And I'm talking civilly, not giving him sarcasm."
"A couple of times, and very briefly." Ghost dove into the story of Jake's dad's failing health, his brother being on the lam for the embezzlement, the concern of Kyle joining him, and Kyle's refusal to stop calling her. "I haven't blocked his number, so if he leaves an incriminating voicemail, I can get a restraining order if need be."
"Be careful with him," Jackie warned, eyes narrowing. "I don't like his obsession with you."
"Don't worry. California may have strict gun laws, but I always have some sort of weapon on me, and if I can't have my gun on me, then I have my knives. And yes, that's plural."
Jackie's expression contorted into confusion. "Why do you carry multiple knives?"
"Because if I'm ever attacked, and they disarm me with the first one, the last thing they're going to expect is for me to whip out a second one."
"You know what, good point. I might start doing that." Her gaze flickered over Ghost's shoulder. "Did you tell Hangman where you were going this morning?"
"I said I was getting coffee with you, but not where." Ghost narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Why?"
"You still apparently think alike because he just walked in."
Ghost whirled around, hoping it would be a lookalike of Hangman, but no, it was most definitely him. She faced her sister. "Why? Why is my life like this? This only happens in love stories, which is so not what this is."
"Or maybe it's God telling you it is, and you're refusing to see the signs. Maybe I'll help God out."
"Don you da-"
"Jake!" Jackie hollered out. Judging by the bright smile on her face, he must've heard her. She waved him over.
Ghost groaned and hissed, "I'm going to kill you."
"You can thank me at your wedding when you marry him. Here he comes. Look alive."
"If that's a pun on my callsign-"
"Hello, ladies," Hangman greeted with his signature smirk, his eyes flitting over to Ghost. She noticed a flicker of hesitance in them, along with an unspoken apology, as if he understood this was all Jackie's doing and none of hers.
Jackie stood up and hugged him. "It's so good to see you! If I didn't have to leave soon, I'd invite you to join us."
"I know better than to intrude on girl time," Hangman said, holding his hands up. "Juliette, Penny, and Phoenix taught me that."
"It's not a problem if we invite you to join us."
"I have a feeling it's more like you're inviting me. Don't think Ghost is keen to have her sister-time interrupted," Hangman said, shooting the younger Blackwood a small understanding smile.
"Well, too bad because it's been years since I've seen you. What are you doing tomorrow?"
"The Daggers and I have an air demonstration show, and then we're hanging out at the Hard Deck."
"Oh, shit, I completely forgot about that!" Ghost exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. "What time is it?"
"It starts at ten." An unidentified emotion flashed in his eyes. "You participating?"
"Only as a spectator."
"Ah. Jackie, you're welcome to watch the show. I can get you tickets. You can join us at the bar afterward, too, if you're not busy."
"Oh, count me in. I love hanging out with the pilots."
"That why you married one?"
Jackie chuckled. "He knows I married him for his plane."
"I can feel the love. Well, listen, I'll leave you be. Jackie, hope to see you tomorrow night. Ghost, I'll see you around." Hugging the elder Blackwood goodbye and rubbing Ghost's shoulder affectionately after a moment's hesitation, Hangman exited the coffee shop. Jackie sat down with a triumphant smile on her face, causing her sister to ask about it.
"Because I learned something in those few minutes," Jackie said.
"Which was?" Ghost prodded.
"That he is one-hundred percent, prime time, still in love with you." She took a big swig of her coffee. "Just like I've always believed."
"Can I see your drink for a second?" Ghost asked, reaching over and taking it from her sister before she could respond. She took a sniff and swiftly handed it back.
Jackie stared at her sister in annoyance. "What the hell was that for?"
"I was trying to smell if there was alcohol in your drink because that's the only plausible explanation for your outlandish and downright absurd opinion."
"Jake was never shy around girls. The only time I've ever seen him get flustered is around you."
"I'm calling bullshit, and if you didn't have to leave, I'd go through the list of why," Ghost said, standing up and throwing on her jacket. She watched Jackie finish her drink and toss it in the trash can. "I'm going to assume you're coming tomorrow?"
"Like you even have to ask that. Are we good for dinner tonight? I was going to invite Jake but thought you might actually strangle me for that."
"You're not wrong." Ghost walked outside with Jackie, stopping at her sister's rental car. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Jackie noticed and asked what was wrong in genuine concern. In a moment of weakness, Ghost confessed, "You were right about me still loving Jake. I do. I always have and probably always will, and honestly? It hurts to be around him because all I want to do is go back to being the friends we were, and I can tell he wants that too, but then I think of how he treated me and behaved after the accident, and it just brings back the pain, and I don't want to go through that again. I lost two friends that day."
Jackie hugged her sister sympathetically. "I understand it's hard, especially because you've never been an open person, but-" Jackie pulled away- "I mean this as gently as possible, you can't wholly blame him for the situation you two are in. You could've confronted him sooner, but you didn't. Maybe now is the time to figure it out."
"Why are you suddenly being logical?" Ghost asked with a defeated pout.
"I have my moments. I want you to be happy, and I noticed you've never been as happy without Jake in your life. I'll see you later?"
"Yeah, see you at home." Ghost watched her sister pull out of the parking lot before straddling her motorcycle and driving back to her apartment. Once there, she headed to the living room, where all her guitars hung on display. Ghost beelined for the oldest one on there; it had sat on its wall perch for years, only touched when she had to pack it to move, but something about it called to her at the moment. Grabbing it, she headed to her armchair and set up her phone, purposefully moving the camera down so her face wasn't visible and using a filter to blur the background. Ghost played a few chords, deciding what to play first, but one song kept coming back to her. It deviated from her typical taste of upbeat country, being more indie than anything else, but it came closest to how she felt. Ghost started strumming the chords to "My Tears Ricochet" and pouring all her bottled emotions into it. Singing had become her escape, her way of releasing her feelings because she'd never been good at expressing them. She'd always viewed emotions as a way to be exploited and only allowed a handful of people to see her as anything other than calm and happy. Her parents, sister, Juliette, and Rooster were those people. Hangman used to be one of those, and then the accident happened, and they handled it differently. Ghost spiraled into a depression over losing Ghoul, blaming herself for the accident, and Hangman was nowhere to be seen to help her through the grief like she thought he would. Maybe Ghost should've given him a chance to explain all those years ago? But why did she have to be the one to initiate it?
Knots formed in her throat during multiple parts of the song, but she pushed through, believing she could get through it without her voice breaking even a little. That was true until she sang: And I can go anywhere I want. Anywhere I want, just not home.
That's what hurt the most when her friendship ended with Hangman; he'd been her go-to person, the friend she called up first whenever something good or bad happened, the friend that she could always count on during the good and the bad; losing him left a gaping, ragged hole in her heart when it all ended, a hole she'd never been able to fill. It'd been years, and Hangman was still the first person Ghost thought of calling whenever something happened- good or bad- and it took over two years for her to realize why: he'd been her home. She never had trouble leaving anywhere or anyone, only him. Even now, although Ghost hated being around Jake, she didn't want him to go, maybe because she foolishly thought they could work all this out, make it water under the bridge. She'd have to face him for that, though, and Ghost wasn't ready for that. Truthfully, she feared his answer to her question, no matter how many people told her that he loved her. If he had or did love her, why did he leave her alone like he did?
When Ghost finished the song, she stopped the recording and went on Instagram, but her thumb hovered over the post button. What if Hangman saw it? What if he realized she had sung the song about him?
"How would he know?" Ghost mumbled to herself, shaking her head. "It's not like he can see my face or any distinguishing features, and this isn't the only blue guitar in existence. Besides, he doesn't know this account exists. It'll be fine..."
Convincing herself otherwise, Ghost hit the 'post' button and tossed her phone haphazardly onto the couch, as many girls did when they texted or posted something they considered risky. She stood to hang her guitar back on the wall only to be stopped by the incessant buzzing of her phone, alerting her to an incoming call.
Shit, shit, shit... Scrunching her face up into one of pure reluctance, Ghost carefully flipped her phone over and sighed in relief when she saw the name on the screen. Picking up, Ghost answered, "Morning, Cyclone, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I have a mission for you. How soon can you meet me at my office?"
"Give me fifteen minutes. I'll see you shortly, sir." Ghost hung up and grabbed her keys, wondering what this so-called mission could be.
****
Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989
Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13
If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)
#top gun#top gun fic#maverick#rooster#hangman#phoenix#bradley bradshaw#iceman#bob#jake seresin#coyote#payback#fanboy#omaha#yale#halo#fritz#harvard#tg2#tgm#top gun maverick#fanfic#jake seresin X oc#pregnancy#grief#foxtrot#alpha#taylor swift
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Suptober 16 Oct.: Red
"And on the side closest to that house, vermillion, perhaps?" Cas suggested.
"Ooh," Sam said, "good one."
Dean bonked his forehead against the middle of the steering wheel and the Impala's horn honked faintly. "Stop naming colors or I'm gonna blow my brains out."
deancas, new (secret?) relationship au
"That one's red," Cas said. May as well state the obvious, even if color as a concept was never simple to him; he'd experienced it in multiple dimensions, and the limits of words to describe it here on earth were sometimes frustrating.
"It's crimson," Sam said, grinning at him from the front seat.
"What's the difference?" Jack asked, before unwrapping another piece of candy corn taffy and popping it in his mouth.
"Crimson has more purple in it," Sam said.
"He means blue," Cas corrected.
"Okay, yeah." Sam pointed to the top of the huge maple tree they were observing. "Up at the top, though, the color's more madder."
"Like it's angry?" Jack squinted out the window.
Cas shook his head. "Has more brown undertones."
"Red is definitely associated with anger, though," Sam said.
"And communism," Dean muttered. His steering wheel drumming grew more pronounced as his patience waned. Two lane country roads with active construction jobs were, Cas knew, one of the banes of Dean’s life.
"Madder comes from the dye people produce from rubia plants," Cas said.
"Rubia like ruby," Jack put together. "Ruby like the demon?"
Cas could feel Dean's blood pressure increase immediately, but it was Sam who said, "More like the jewel." He leaned his head against the car window. "Speaking of gemstones, though, there's garnet – the leaves near the bottom might qualify."
"And on the side closest to that house, vermillion, perhaps?" Cas suggested.
"Ooh," Sam said, "good one."
Dean bonked his forehead against the middle of the steering wheel and the Impala's horn honked faintly. "Stop naming colors or I'm gonna blow my brains out."
"Blood!" Jack said with gusto. "That's gotta be its own specific shade of red, right?"
"On a paint swatch somewhere? Probably." Sam smiled at Jack before noticing Dean's dead-eyed grimace. "Now that oak over there is chartreuse."
Dean made a gun barrel out of his index and middle fingers and used them to shoot Sam in the face.
"It reads as more amber to me," Cas said.
Sam was charitable enough to say, "Yeah, as the light shifts, I can see that."
"I think it's spicy mustard, like we had with the bratwurst at the Oktoberfest last week," Jack said. "Are we eating soon?"
Dean slumped over, gurgling.
-
At the farm stand, Jack and Sam went ahead to secure a picnic table beneath a shelter that somewhat broke the sharp wind whipping through the surrounding hills.
Cas stood as near to Dean as he dared in the food line. "I didn't think it would take so long to get here," he said, an apology in his tone.
Dean closed the gap. He gave Cas an apologetic look of his own. "I didn't know you were going to invite them, is all." He jerked his head at the shelter.
A realization clicked into place for Cas. "When you asked if I wanted to go for a drive…" He looked up and noticed Dean was paying close attention, his eyes green as jade or laurels, forests or ferns. Cas felt warmer all over. "You really meant with just me."
"I should've said that more…clearly." Dean dropped his gaze. "But this is all right."
Cas glanced back at the table. To his surprise, Sam and Jack were talking to an older woman who'd sat down at the table and a six- or seven-year-old girl who may have been her granddaughter? The girl drew something on a paper tablet and then gave her fat orange pencil to Jack, who drew something else on the page. The girl giggled and grabbed her pencil back to draw more.
"Looks like they're making some friends," Dean commented. He bit his lip for a second. "Maybe we could let them fend for themselves for a while longer."
"What did you have in mind?" Cas already liked this plan.
Dean slipped his hand into Cas's. "Wanna go for a leisurely walk and take in the fall foliage? I'll let you explain every single color, if you want."
What Cas wanted, badly, was to kiss Dean. But he'd settle for a stroll.
-
"Where've you guys been?" Sam asked later. He and Jack were eating cider donuts with steaming cups of coffee in a swing on the farm stand's long porch.
"Oh, just looking at some more trees," Cas said, and pulled up his collar over the delicate violet bruise on his throat.
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Hei there demons. It is I, ya boi
A while ago I considered making a trivia-like video about the assets I've made for Killer In Purple 2, and maybe show off unused content as well as asset details you probably don't see in-game. Instead I'm posting here!
Part 1: THE VERY FIRST MODEL
I was approached by the dev of Killer in Purple 2, GoldieEntertainment (GFC) after showing off some voxel art I've made in a mobile app called Fancade, and invited to join in on helping expand on Killer In Purple 2. I was like heck yeah let's get this bread!
I downloaded a mobile voxel app called Mega Voxels that actually lets users export their creations, which is exactly what I needed! All set!
My first task was making a new model for the kid NPC that was being used in the game at the time, which was made by Goldie... on Blender according to him, if I recall correctly?
(video thumbnail)
It was also the only kid model in the game at the time.
Looking at it and the rest of the game at the time, I tried to stick to the "blocky aesthetic" it had going on. I started with the head/face.
(don't mind the ads, you can't escape them nowadays.)
When I showed it to GFC he pointed out its "soulless stare" 😂😂😂 And I was not fully satisfied with the result either. So I went on from there.
I decided to retain the blockiness but also making use of more color shades in order to smooth the edges and give it more personality. After some back and forth of experimenting and tweaking, this was the final result:
The little kiddy face we've all become familiar with! If you pay attention you'll see the eyes are still pretty much a square, with a tiny bit of different color shades surrounding it to give the illusion it's rounded, plus different pupil placement to curb the "soulless stare."
The hair is basic, based off GFC's original model while also drawing slightly inspiration from the sprites of Crying Child from FNAF 4.
"But Jelly," you ask, "what about the rest of the model, like the body? That's just a head." Well, I say: DON'T LOSE YOUR HEAD! We're about to get there! (im funny i swear)
The body was surprisingly very straightforward; I tried to keep in mind where the original model was segmented and tried to stick to the same segmentation with the new body. I tried to keep the original clothing when coloring as well.
And here we have one (1) full boye, asserting his dominance!
(The solid green spots were to help GFC see where the different pieces connect, which he could easily color over once they served their purpose.)
Keep this fine young lad in mind, y'all, since he'll go on to also become the base for just about every other child character in the game. I made such choice to make things easier and faster for GFC; that way he could apply pretty much the same rigging and animations to them with minimal modifications, to save time.
Giving the characters different expressions was something that came only later once GFC figured out a way to do it, but it was something I had already been thinking about. He asked me to give the kids a small select of facial expressions; aside from the pre-existing neutral smile, I was also tasked with giving them a scared face for when they see William with the knife out or witness a kill, and a dead face for when... well, when William gives them the ultimate BONK on the head, I guess.
Scared is pretty straightforward, but what would be a dead expression? There are many ways one could go about it. So rather than making one, I made several dead faces with different designs, and left it up to GFC to pick up the "winner."
First is the default neutral smile, second is scared, and all remaining ones are different dead expressions.
I went for combinations of blank faces, empty/hollowed out eyes, tear marks matching the well-known children spirits in FNAF, as well as the cartoony X'd out eyes, which wound up being GFC's pick.
And with that we wrap up for now. These were my first steps in helping Killer In Purple 2 slowly become what it is now and my first contributions to the game (with the exception of the different expressions which we went for after a substantial amount of work.)
It all started with this little guy and his former soulless stare!
Stay tuned for whenever I decide to make new posts talking about other assets! ❤
#fnaf#fnaf fangame#killer in purple 2#kip2#jellycream art#jellycream speaks#voxel#voxel art#3d#3d art
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final thinggg just me sobbing and also absolutely eating the delicious whump this episode like he's literally that meme "out here living my best life" "Macaque is dying" "this ain't about him" rest assured, it will happen again. if I drank a sip of water for every whump/flopped on the ground dead this monkey was, I would be soooo hydrated. with how scared he is this episode you'd think this moron would have a smidge more self preservation or tried harder last time, like how hard is it to kidnap a meditating Wukong or y'know, NOT goad MK into trying harder to fight you? but he's kind of been banging pots and pans all season saying he don't wanna do this at ALL get him outta there bro just wants to live. its honestly funny because if you're thinking "but he DID legit try to hand MK over before being weirdly ambiguous and also wanting LBD to get beat" YEAH THATS HIS PROBLEM. he only sees two outcomes and keeps double dating them, weird way to phrase it I know, while also being driven by self-interest. constant conflict of interest until he finally brings himself to this point of being on the Very Edge and straight up loses it more from stress and anxiety. what happens if the bone consumes him? tick tock, he's on a timer.
he wants the Samadhi fire to use himself? why not share it w the gang? bro where do you THINK the fire is going to go, one time use? "humanity is going to need to find something else?" uh huh, I know they don't trust you but maybe if you ask nicely to let them burn away your chains for you. he thinks he can just use the fire and ditch "be free of this nightmare" as he said buuuuuuuut it ain't that easy. there's still two other parties in this game and you are stuck in the PLOT. there are no free choices to break away from the narrative silly lol. that's like someone wanting to break the fourth wall from how little he wants to follow either path which makes something from S4 even funnier. but you see the moment of realization in the 3rd special. he's been having a lot of those lately too thanks to the power of friendship Monkie Gang uses. breaking down those impressions whoo, they're not like you or Wukong. also its SO evil how we see LBD's power also go towards his blind eye and we see the skull motif again, the eyes flickering sound effect sounding like a faulty lightbulb?? the face he makes like he's about to be sick and throw up? honestly Wukong makes me want to throttle him next ep in a / exasperated non-hater way bc everybody keeps misreading Macracker...
"And Macaboo. He's really going to have to try and stop Team Monkie if he wants to live." oh Icy :) as if Macatalyst has ever been good at doing what the LBD says, and not just bc he's Champion of taking Ls. you should really bonk him on the head and send him to Sandy's for therapy, tea and cats.
You should go back and rewatch every episode with Mackaroo and drink some water for every whump/flop. Hydrate yourself.
Poor Macamoo. He really needs a lot of help.
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*climbs onto the driftwood with you* that hugging doodle is so cute???? My heart
Venom's hug looks so comfy??? He's so cute??? The hearts??? I really like the two-colour lines (did not realize the venom design was your own but holy that made it even more impressive???)
Miguel is such a loveable grumpy cat, and its so refreshing to see him be the smaller one in a ship.
Admittedly I mainly watch the movies and only a few comics, but Venom has a ranking system??? Eddie is the only one to get full stars???? Thats. Thats true love right there. Also whats this about Eddie being in charge of a whole venom-society?? Did not know about that (also hard to imagine) but feel free to talk about it. Imagine Miguel and Eddie bonding over being the de facto leader (leading the spiders must be a lot harder than leading the symbiote hivemind)
My Venom design is mostly inspired by the '94 Spiderman the animated series Venom, Ivan Fiorelli, Rian Gonzales, Gurihiru and overall orcas in general.
If I were to describe my design rules for Venom he'd have a big bulky body with stylized proportions, an orca styled face with a bigger lower jaw to fit more then 1 row of teeth, and his color is a solid black with bright colorful pencil textured highlights.
I have this headcanon Miguel might have discomfort in his current height, according to the wiki he's 5'10 but in ATSV he's 6'9 so I wonder if he ever misses being his old height. Like there's not that many ppl that exists that can fully envelop him a hug and make him feel comforted. Plus I can imagine how often he needs to remember to duck under a doorway or else he'll bonk his forehead, or when he's at a hotel and the showerhead is like at his chin level.
Oh that makes me happy to hear, my first intro to Venom was the infamous '07 Spiderman 3 movie, so I'm glad to hear new fans get this fun intro to this character via the 2018 Venom movie. While I've been a lowkey fan of Venom I didn't do a full deep dive into his comics until 2021 with the comic Venom Verse as the first one. I've read a ton but I haven't read any of the early issues since those comics are v outdated by now and some of the info might have been retconned/rewritten. I'd recommend finding a reading list if you'd like to read more self contained stories or a full saga line of connected stories. Feel free to pick/choose what comics you consider as canon or not, cause not all comics are great and sometimes one doesn't like a specific writer for a run 🤷♀️
The ranking system is a compatibility rank it's seen in Venom: The End (A warning there is body horror/ imagery of Eddie withering away which made me uncomfy so I'm letting you know) I didn't much care for the plot of that comic but I do enjoy this ranking system as it shows Venom's preference when it comes to hosts. He sees most hosts as pretty good but Eddie is the perfect host according to him u wu 💕
As for Eddie being the head of the symbiote hivemind it's seen in the aftermath of the MASSIVE King in Black saga. After defeating the old head/creator of symbiotes Knull ,Eddie takes his role as the head. It's moreso a hivemind where he can control of any symbiote with consent and can communicate across all of them no matter where they are. However this does strain his physical body and he ages quickly and he dies via explosion. Venom is currently with his son Dylan atm while Eddie is in some sort of space/time limbo. I did fall off a bit on my reading towards the newer comics so here's where my knowledge on this run ends. I'd find pics but I'm feeling lazy rn
Miguel def has a tough job as he has to manage all these different versions of Spiderman and maintain the multiverse on top of making sure none glitch out of existence if those bands get messed up. He can't just up and leave he feels personally responsible due to his past actions. Eddie at this point is like in charge of running the universe but he's stuck in that position he can't quit or else the cosmos ends and he'll be replaced by another King in Black. They explain no matter what Eddie will always end up here someway or another.
Miguel is bound by his sense of duty, his responsibility to ensure the another universe will not end in the same way like his daughter's did. Eddie is bound by The Eventuality, he will always end up as the next King in Black even though he knows he can not handle it. To me it sounds like a lonely and stressful existence to be such a position of power yet they don't have the power to just go home and live a peaceful life with their loved ones like everyone else.
#venom#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#asks#I am so sorry for how long this post is I had to condense some of it cause I started rambling#There's so much going on rn in Venom's comics#meanwhile I'm on my knees begging for more Miguel comics#I do need to skim his comics again as I speedran them at ungodly hours of the day
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Don’t Run
Prompts: hello hello hello i have a merlin fic idea (which you are Not obligated to write /gen) merlins been hiding his magic from arthur for ages (but arthur already knows about it, doesnt really care, and has just been waiting for merlin to tell him on his own terms). merlins magic gets revealed and merlin is Terrified. he basically begs aurthur to not burn him and instead banish him or something. arthur (who was not expecting this) decides hey maybe its a good idea to let all these emptions calm down before I talk about this with him because clearly merlin isnt okay right now. and so he leaves merlin to let him have a break. but merlin freaks (or gets kidnapped or something idk /lh) and decides 'fuck it time to run before he decides to kill me.' arthur now has to go find this magic dumbass (he's probably very worried about him) However, when he finds merlin, merlin assumes arthur is there to kill him and figures 'well if arthur wants me dead i suppose i'll have to die' or something. arthur is naturally horrified and rushes to clear things up. again, if you dont want to write this/dont feel comfortable writing it, dont /gen (i know its detailed brain went brrrr at like midnight and thought this up lmao) have a great day!!! drink water or get bonked /lh - anon
me, as the angsty person i am, am a sucker for the 'Person A gets kidnapped or captured for a bit and when they're rescued think they're dreaming/hallucinating' trope. no pressure for you to write this ofc, feel free to ignore this /gen - anon
prompt: can you please do a Merlin gets betrayed by someone he cares about h/c fic? also can merlin be aroace and trans? - anon
Read on Ao3
Warnings: panic attacks, betrayal, anti-magic sentiments
Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide
Word Count: 3725
It was supposed to be a normal hunt. It was supposed to be a normal hunt.
It was supposed to be this: they get out of the castle so Arthur can be less of a prat, the knights have that weird banter that they always do where it’s ‘we can make fun of him but if anyone else tries, you will be eviscerated,’ and Merlin gets to enjoy being in the woods because it’s nice outside and he doesn’t actually have to do that much. They only tend to hunt small things like rabbits and birds anyway.
It was not supposed to be most of the knights having to stay behind for various reasons, including Gwaine who somehow got swept into helping Leon with a council thing.
It was not supposed to be just him, Arthur, and three random knights.
It was not supposed to end like this.
Merlin grunts, hitting the ground hard as a sword slams into his back. He gasps, struggling to find purchase on the loose dirt as the sound of shouts reach his ringing ears. He turns over, trying to get up, only to have the point of a sword leveled at his face.
“G-Gareth?”
Gareth, the knight who had actually been decent to him—which meant he’d helped put away his equipment, helped Merlin tidy up, and actually been nice to him—snarls down at him, sword still aimed right at his throat.
“What—what’s going on?”
“Don’t play dumb, you wretched thing,” the man growls, the point of the sword perilously close to slitting his throat, “I’ve had my eye on you since I came to Camelot.”
“Your eye on me—what? What’re you talking about?”
“As if you don’t know!”
Merlin’s breathing grows ragged as the sword forces his head back down on the ground. Gareth leans over him, spittle flying from his lips.
“You’re poison,” hisses the same mouth that called him kind, called him compassionate, called him hopeful, “you’re a plague that deserves to be wiped out. Scum and traitors, all of you, inhuman bastards that drag the rest of us down to your level.”
It’s the shock of the words that does it, bringing tears to Merlin’s eyes as the conviction in the man’s face drives the sword down further. “G-Gareth, I—“
“Don’t.”
He winces as the sword digs in.
“Keep my name out of your hell mouth,” the man spits, “don’t try and curse me.”
“What,” says the most glorious and furious voice Merlin has ever heard, “is the meaning of this?”
Arthur.
Arthur storms up to them, his own sword drawn, eyes like flame as he sees Gareth with his sword at Merlin’s throat.
“Drop it,” he warns in a voice of steel, “and I might just let you keep your life.”
“He’s a sorcerer, sire.”
Merlin’s blood runs cold.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no, this can’t be happening.
Not like this. Arthur wasn’t supposed to find out like this. No, he was—he was going to tell him, promise, he was but—but after, after everything was fine and fixed and then—then he could—
Not like this. Please, not like this.
“A sorcerer? Merlin? You must be joking.”
“It’s no joke, sire.” Gareth snarls again. “I saw him with my own eyes. His eyes glowed, he threw a spear halfway across the arena without his hands. He has magic, I tell you.”
Merlin looks helplessly at Arthur but all he sees is a stony face. The blade turns him back after a second, back into the face of contempt and hatred and all the things that hurt far worse than any sword.
“We must kill him,” Gareth says solemnly, “to root out the poison before it destroys us all.”
And before Merlin can say anything, before Arthur can say anything, he lifts the sword and makes to swing.
“Merlin!”
A blast and Gareth is flying back across the clearing, smacking against the tree and falling to the ground with a clang.
It rings in the still air.
Merlin’s eyes widen.
He doesn’t hear the cries of sorcerer, magic, evil over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He doesn’t see the light glint off of blades as they’re pulled from scabbards. He doesn’t feel the threat of others getting closer over the dread of what he’s just done.
He’s killed himself.
He used magic to hurt one of the knights of Camelot.
He revealed himself in front of Arthur.
What have I done?
“Sire, what do we do?” He hears the voice from a mile away. “I’ve never killed a sorcerer before.”
Never killed a sorcerer before.
He’s asking Arthur how to kill a sorcerer.
Arthur knows how to kill a sorcerer.
Arthur has killed a sorcerer before.
Arthur is going to kill me.
Merlin shies away from them, curling up into a ball before realizing that could be seen as defiance and whimpering, throwing himself to his knees with his hands raised.
“I’ll go,” he croaks, “I’ll—I’ll leave, you’ll never see me again, just—just let me go. Banish me instead.”
Please, just let me run.
He can’t look at Arthur’s eyes, filled with rage and contempt like Gareth as he strikes him down. He can’t look at him like that, he can’t do it. He won’t survive that alone. It wouldn’t be the sword that kills him.
“Please—please, I’ll go. I’ll go and you’ll never see me again,” he begs, “just—just let me go.”
“Pathetic,” another one of them says, “is that the best he can do? I’ve seen a dog beg better than that.”
Arthur still hasn’t said anything.
“We need to kill him, sire,” Gareth says—oh, he must’ve gotten up— “who knows what he could do?”
Merlin finally looks up, if only to see how close they all are, and his eyes lock with Arthur’s.
He can’t see any of the man he knows.
“Return to camp,” says the stranger who wears Arthur’s face, “pack the supplies. We must make ready for a hasty retreat back to Camelot.”
“But sire—“
“Now.”
Two of the knights glance at each other and slowly begin to back away. Gareth remains for a moment longer.
“Be wary, sire,” he says, “he’s tricky. Did his best to seduce me, he’s a wily one.”
“I can handle him. Go.”
Gareth shoots one last truly disdainful look at him before he retreats into the undergrowth, the sheen of his sword the last to vanish.
Then it’s just the two of them.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, “Arthur, please—“
“Shut up.”
The words are different. They’re not playful, not irritated, not—not Arthur. They’re cold. Impersonal. An order. They strike Merlin like rocks from a sling, making him flinch into a sharp rock that jabs right through the thin material of his trousers. His throat closes until only pained and pitiful whines can escape.
They remain where they are for a long moment before Arthur begins to retreat as well, sword still held aloft, backing away until he’s far enough that Merlin can hardly see him. Only then does he turn.
Merlin watches the single spot of red walk away from him until it vanishes into the forest.
His magic tingles in the tips of his fingers and a soundless yell burns his throat as he shoves his hands against his chest, trying to make it go away, this is all your fault, you ruined everything, you always ruin everything!
He has to run. He has to run because sorcerers die in Camelot, they’re put to the sword or burned at the stake and he can’t look at Arthur while he kills him. He can’t. He just can’t. He’d sooner die of that than whatever execution they can dream up.
With stumbling and clumsy steps that are dragged down by his traitorous magic that for some reason doesn’t want him to flee from the site of his execution, he scrambles to his feet and runs.
If Arthur—if Arthur finds him after this, he can say he tried to run. He can run again, he’ll keep running. He’ll spend his life running if it means Arthur won’t kill him and he won’t have to see it.
He runs harder and faster than he’s ever run before because Arthur is a warrior who’s been trained to kill since birth and he’s stronger and faster and can run for longer and if he catches Merlin—
He loses track of where he is. He just runs.
But his magic, his damned magic, that has always loved Arthur more than it loves him, won’t let him.
Like a tether from his navel that twists through the forest, he knows exactly where Arthur is. And exactly when he starts to give chase.
A wretched sob tears itself from his throat and he pushes on, his magic dragging him back each step as Arthur gets closer, closer, closer, and he’s no longer just hearing his own breath and phantom footsteps as he crashes through the woods. He can hear the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves, and that voice.
That damned voice.
“Merlin!”
He can’t stop. If he stops he dies. If he stops Arthur kills him. If he stops he—he—
His magic all but throws him over a root and he yelps, turning into a frightened scream as he’s pitched down a hill and into a boulder with a crack.
“Merlin!”
Leaves rustle as Arthur skids down the hill after him and he’s so close, he’s right there and Merlin has to run, he has to run now, but his legs are shaking and his arms won’t work and his magic keeps tugging him back toward Arthur and he just collapses into a useless, cowering mess at Arthur’s feet.
“Merlin!”
“No—no fire,” he gasps out, “please, you—you can do it here, I won’t fight, I won’t—you can use your sword, please, no fire, I don’t want to burn—please, no fire—“
A strong hand grips his shoulder and pulls him in to—
No sword pierces his chest. No dagger finds a home in his gut. There are no hissed words, no glares, no low solemn speeches about magic as a plague.
He can’t even see Arthur anymore. Just the hill. There are two tracks in it. One where he fell and one where Arthur skidded after him. Red fabric flutters in front of him too. Arthur’s cape.
Why can he see Arthur’s cape?
Only when a head turns and breath starts to puff over his neck does he realize what’s happened.
“A-Arthur?”
“Don’t you ever,” Arthur says in a rush, chest still heaving against Merlin’s where he’s pulled him flush against him, legs tangled in a heap, “scare me like that again.”
He’s…he’s in Arthur’s lap. Arthur’s holding him. Arthur’s hugging him.
Arthur has his face buried in Merlin’s neck and he’s telling him not to scare him like that again.
“Arthur?”
“You,” he says, and he sounds like Arthur again—a very angry Arthur, but at least it’s Arthur— “are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”
He pulls back and his eyes are still on fire but he’s looking at Merlin like a starving man.
“Why did you run? You could’ve been hurt! You were hurt, you slammed into the rock like it broke your back.” He runs a hand over Merlin’s spine as if reassuring himself Merlin’s not hurt. “You idiot, I almost lost you.”
Merlin just blinks. Almost…lost him? Doesn’t Arthur want to kill him?
“Well?”
Oh. Arthur’s waiting for an answer. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”
Arthur’s face goes white, slack in horror, then contorts anew in red rage. “No, Merlin, I’m not going to bloody kill you.”
“B-but you—“
“I didn’t want the others to try, you absolute petticoat,” he says, still glaring, “because you’re a little lamb who rolls over whenever anyone is trying to fight you except me—which is rude, by the way—and you wouldn’t so much as lift a finger to defend yourself if they tried!”
…that’s why he sent them away?
Arthur rolls his eyes when he voices that thought. “Yes, Merlin. They’re under the impression that they’re to start back to Camelot without me to gather reinforcements.”
Reinforcements—the knights—no—
“Calm down, you idiot, they’re not actually going to—oh, for the love of—Merlin.”
Merlin listens to that. He freezes in Arthur’s arms as Arthur’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head. He stares at him pointedly, gaze flicking from one eye to the other.
“I lied,” he says slowly as if he’s talking to a child, “so they would leave.”
“You…you did?”
“Yes. Because then I could talk to you about having magic—hey,” he says firmly as Merlin tries to pull away again, “none of that. Stay with me.”
Another order. He can do those.
“Right. I wanted to talk with you about having magic so that now we can work together to keep things like this from happening and—where are you going?”
“What do you mean now,” Merlin asks, eyes widening as he tries anew to struggle away from Arthur, “what does that mean?”
“Merlin, I’ve known you’ve had magic for a while now, and—“
“You what?”
“Come on, you’re not exactly good at hiding it all the—hey!”
Merlin had flailed, succeeding in loosening Arthur’s grip and sending them both falling over. He scrambles up, trying to claw his way free but Arthur is faster and he’s on him in an instant.
“This isn’t working,” he hears Arthur growl to himself before arms like steel bands close around him, hauling his back against Arthur’s chest as legs lace through his and pin him well and truly.
“N-no—“
“Shh,” comes Arthur’s voice, suddenly soft and gentle and Merlin hates the way he instantly relaxes, “easy, now. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
A truly pathetic whine leaves his mouth and Arthur hums.
“I’m not going to kill you,” the gentle voice says again, “I’m not going to burn you and I’m not going to use my sword. You will not die.”
But he’s a sorcerer. Sorcerers die in Camelot.
“I sent away the others to protect you. They’re not going to hurt you either. The knights—our knights—won’t let you be hurt and neither will I.” Arthur’s lips brush the shell of his ear. “You’re safe, Merlin. I’m going to protect you.”
“But,” Merlin gasps, “but I’m a sorcerer.”
“Yes,” Arthur says patiently, “you are. I’ve known that for a while. You are Merlin, you are a sorcerer, and I’m going to protect you.”
“Sorcerers die in Camelot. You—you should kill me.”
“I am not going to kill you. You are mine,” and there’s a hint of steel in his words now too, “and no one is going to touch you.”
His magic thrums in his veins and slowly, slowly his breathing slows.
“If I let you go, will you run again?”
“N-no.”
“Alright.”
Arthur lets him go and Merlin doesn’t run. He lets Arthur turn him around and cup his neck again, the other hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t look mad anymore.
“Is that why you ran,” he asks, still speaking softly, “did you think I was going to kill you?”
When Merlin nods, looking away in shame, he just hums again.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“I know that now.”
“Mhm. So when we go back—“
“Back?” Merlin’s head jerks up. “You’re not banishing me either?”
“What part of ‘I’m going to protect you’ did you not understand?”
“B-but I thought—“
“No, you didn’t,” he says in that soft voice that makes the insult almost an endearment, “you didn’t think because you didn’t realize that I could never kill you or send you away. I’d sooner leave with you.”
His magic hums as if to verify the truth in his words. “You…you would?”
Arthur frowns, but it’s not an angry frown. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“How important you are.”
The forest seems to fall silent.
Merlin’s eyes widen so much he’s afraid they’re going to fall out of his head. And Arthur’s just looking at him with his face all sincere and his voice is still soft and his hands are gentle where they hold Merlin like he’s something precious and—and—
“What?”
“All those jokes,” Arthur says, “about you and being replaceable and being the worst and a coward…I never really meant them. Never. Well, you are an awful servant, but none of the others. I don’t want you to leave.”
Slowly, like he’s coaxing a skittish animal to him, he pulls him closer.
“I want you.”
Something in Merlin’s chest breaks and he’s sobbing into Arthur’s shoulder in the next moment, hands scrabbling uselessly at his cape, his armor, his hair, every bit of him that he can reach. Arthur weathers the storm like a castle in a gale, holding him tight enough that he won’t blow away.
“I want you,” he whispers, sweet rain in the clouded sky, “I want you to stay, Merlin.”
————
He’s on his back. He’s got a sword at his throat. Arthur stares down at him like his glare is enough to burn him alive and he’s snarling out Merlin’s name.
“Magic is a plague. You’re poison. You’ve betrayed me. How could you do this?”
Merlin can’t speak. His mouth trapped shut. Arthur lifts the sword.
“You’re nothing but an inhuman beast,” come the words that hurt far more than any mortal weapon, “you, who cannot love, who are of twisted mind and body, you who do not understand what it is to be a human.”
All of the secrets he’d hoped to hide…exposed for the world to see.
“May all of Camelot curse your name,” he growls, “Merlin. Merlin, Merlin—“
“Merlin!”
Merlin gasps, jolting upright, trying to get away from the sword, just run—
“Merlin, calm down,” Arthur says, wrapping his arms around him and coaxing him to his chest, “it’s only a dream, Merlin, it’s only a dream.”
No, no, this must be the dream. Why would he be in Arthur’s chambers, at night, in bed, in bed with Arthur—this can’t be—
“Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart,” Arthur murmurs, lying back down with Merlin in his arms, “I’ve got you. It’s only me. You’re safe.”
“A-Arthur?”
“Yes, sweetheart. It’s me.” There’s a mouth on his neck. “Just me.”
He’s still panting, the run still pushing through his legs. Arthur hums, settling him into the blankets and propping himself up over him.
“Where are you right now?”
“Forest,” Merlin chokes out, “sword. You were going to—to kill me.” He swallows. “Said all of Camelot would curse my name.”
“You’re with me,” Arthur says gently, “we’re in the castle. I’m not going to kill you. Can you see?”
He looks around. There’s the desk. There’s the window. Arthur’s white nightshirt is shining in the moonlight.
“…yeah.” He swallows. “I’m—I’m not abusing you, am I?”
Arthur almost reels back in shock. “What? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I—‘cause I can’t—I can’t love the way that—“
“Stop right there,” Arthur orders, leaning down and cupping his face in his hands, “don’t you give a damn about that, you hear me? I care for you, I’m fond of you, you care for me, you’re fond of me, yes?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
Merlin swallows again. “And I’m not…wrong?”
“‘Wrong?’”
“…you don’t mind—“ he blushes— “my—my body?”
“Your bod—goodness, Merlin, this must’ve been quite the nightmare.” Arthur shakes his head. “No, Merlin, your body’s yours. You do what you like with it.”
It says something about how rattled he is that he doesn’t reach for any of the jokes he could make right now.
“Hey,” Arthur calls, leaning down and carding his fingers through his hair, “be gentle with yourself, alright? That was a horrible thing that happened, let it heal in its own time.”
“But it’s hard.”
“I know.” Arthur leans over to kiss his cheek. “Trust me, I know.”
Merlin rolls over, wrapping his arms around Arthur as he chuckles in surprise, pulling him into a proper cuddle.
“You just have to stay, then, until it feels better.”
“Oh, Merlin,” he hears faintly as sleep begins to tug at him once more, “you don’t need to make reasons for me to stay. I’m staying with you, sweetheart, for the rest of our lives.”
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what pokemon have you got up for adoption rn? been thinking about adding another member to the team and i'd much prefer to adopt!
Of course! I see that you have a sanctuary for pokemon, so I'm gonna cut away the pokemon that would need extra help, and eggs/newborns, also I'm gonna lean towards more level-headed pokemon that wouldn't be too overwhelming;
Scrooge the mabosstiff; Gentle by nature, he is a calm and unbothered pokemon. He was born with only one ear and used to be someone's pet until the guy married and his wife was scared of him. He is amazing with baby pokemon and an overall calming presence. I must warn you that he is deaf but since he was born like this, he is quite used to it.
Holynuts the Chansey; She used to work at a pokemon center but they closed it down so that's how she ended up in our shelter. I'd imagine that she would be a great help in the sanctuary. She is VERY willing to be useful to the point she might just snatch something from your hand to do it herself. She knows first aid and is capable of taking care of almost every type of pokemon in every type of situation. If you do want her, you are gonna need to be quick to notify me because we might just ship her off to another pokemon center by the end of the week.
Model the Leavanny; This leavanny is slightly larger than average, so her old trainer, who was a fashion designer, sometimes used her as a mannequin. She has beautiful markings all over her body but she got returned to the shelter 2 separate times because the trainers find her habit of standing eerily still creepy. And he does that A LOT.
A Togedemaru; He just...kinda showed up in the shelter. Like, really. He doesn't have an id so he was never caught before. He might be a zorua or a ditto we aren't sure but we can't check since he sometimes just disappears and return in a few hours. He is probably a zorua or a ditto.
A few mentions of calm and level-headed pokemon that I think would fit you well; Punk the scraggy, a wigglytuff, a Magikarp that loves tamato berries too much, a drakloak, Mimey the mime jr. , flame boi the charcadet, Diva the Cinccino, Chime the chimecho that keeps bonking me (Pls take her)
I also have an hatterene that seems calm but you know how they can get around intense emotions so its up to you if you wanna risk getting punched in the face.
(btw, anyone else can ask to adopt them too. Just don't be in like an evil team and you will be allowed)
#pokemon in real life#pokemon rp#pkmn irl#pokemon#real pokemon#pokemon irl#pokémon irl#irl pkmn#irl pokemon#pokeblogging rp#pokeblogger#pokeblog rp#pokeblog#pokeblogging#pokemon adoption
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Scout, Engie & Medic with S/O that draws? 🥺 and they find papers where they have sketches of merc’s head with some studies on their nose, eyes, hair etc. (bonus for Medic & Engie -> glasses; Scout -> his hat with mic)
Thx!
Woohoo! First request! hope it ain't bad ≧ ﹏ ≦
Bold = The Mercs
Italic = Merc's S/O
Scout, Engie & Medic with S/O that draws and finding papers where they have sketches of merc's head, with studies of their nose, eyes, hair, ear, head shape, and mouth.
[Part 1/2]
Scout :
You and Scoot were playing Minecraft together in his room, Scooter boy got thirsty, "Hey, babe!" "Yeah?" "Can you get a Bonk for me?" "Sure!" as you put down your controller and got up from the beanbag to get a Bonk from the mini-fridge he has, "It's empty!" "Holy crap! Hold on! gotta kill this dumbass creeper before it blows up our house!" "I'm going to get some more in the kitchen, is that okay?" "Alright, thanks babe!", he paused the game to got up to check the mini fridge thinking that you're planning to prank him again (You both are pranksters to the team), he found a stack of paper with a sticky note written 'Studies' on it, he got curious. He picks up one piece of paper and saw drawings of his eye and more drawn eyes have scribbled on them meaning it's the failed ones, he doesn't know whose eye is yet. He picked up another piece of paper that is under the piece of paper just he picked up, he saw drawings of his ear and more drawn ears scribbled on them, "Who the frickin' hell did these masterpieces?!" not knowing whose eye and ear are yet. He picked up another piece of paper at random and saw many drawings of his nose, a little amount has scribbled on them, still doesn't know whose body parts are yet. He picked up another piece of paper at random again, he saw drawings of his hair, no scribbles, "Whoa, is this me?". He picked up another piece of paper under the piece of paper he just picked up, it had drawings of his mouth, and he knew is his because it has a little gap between its front teeth like he has, "This is me!", and he saw the last piece of paper facing down, he flipped it over as he picked it up, it was a drawing of his face that's pretty detailed, "Damn! I look frickin' awesome!". He just realized you took quite a long time to get Bonks, he quickly stacked the papers back in the incorrect order and quickly went back to his beanbag to make you think that nothing ever happened, "I'm back, I got the Bonk.... What were you doing?” “Oh, just waiting for you while playin’.” “Don’t ever pull up another prank on me.” “Alright, alright.”, you sat down on your beanbag “Hey toots.” “Hm?” as you turned your head to him, [Pecks on S/O’s cheek*], “Haha, gotcha!”, you went tomato mode, “I just told you to not pull up a prank on me. Hmph.” [Pecks on Scout’s cheek*], he paused, “Something wrong?” then you giggled cheekily, his cheeks turned red, “C-C’mon, let’s just go to the nether.” ”Make sure to not sleep in it.” “What will happen if I sleep in it then?” “You’ll see.... wait a sec, you seem kinda iffy. What were you really doing when I was away?”, he paused the game, “You see that stack of paper? Is it yours?” “Yes, yes it mine. Wassup with it?”, he scratched the back of his neck and trying not to make eye contact, “I-I went trough it while you were away, sorry for not asking permission, babe.” “It’s okay.” “It was a very impressive drawin’ ya did there, guess who’s goin’ to deserve somethin.” “Who?” [Kisses S/O’s forehead*] “You silly!”, your brain is trying to restart while your face just became a cherry, “S-So, you think it’s c-cool?” “Yep.” :) :D.
Engineer :
You and Engie were in Engie's Workshop together, you were helping him around making a new invention, "Hey, Sugar-cube, can you grab me the box of bolts on that shelf," as he points at the shelf, "bring it here please." "No probs.", you picked up the box that had a been labeled 'Bolts' on it and put it on a table right next to Engie, "Thank you, Sunshine." as he gave you a soft smile, Pyro came in and went to tap Engie on the shoulder, "Hello, Pyro Bud!" "(Pyro) Mmph mph mph mph-mmph-mph mphhmph." "You wanna play hide and seek outside", Pyro then nodded, "Bud, I'm busy right now, we could play next time." "(Pyro) Mmmmpphhhh." (Translate : Aaaaaawwhhhh.) "How about you play with me?" "(Pyro) MMPHH!" (Translate : YEESS!), he took your hand and rushed out of Engie's Workshop, (Awh, look at those two Sugar-cubes.), he was going to grab a couple of bolts for his new invention, he noticed a folded peace of paper next to the box, (What is the Sam Hill is this?), it has a note written on it, it said 'S/O Only, DON'T OPEN!!!', he got curious, (S/O wouldn't mind, I guess....) as he unfolded the piece of paper, what he saw surprised him, what he saw was his face drawn without his hardhat and goggles the left half of the paper the other half has his hardhat and goggles, (Awh, how nice of Sugar-cube.), he saw a little note on the right bottom corner of the paper, it said 'Stud-Man ♡' with a little heart, he froze in place with his heart beating quickly and face becoming a red cherry, "Darn.", he folded just like before and put it back in it's place, he continued making his new invention while thinking about it for a couple of hours. "Hey, Stud-boy, I'm back.", he was lying down on a L-couch in his workshop with his hardhat over his eyes, "Engie?", you went next to him and took off his hardhat over his eyes, he was fast asleep, (He must be tired.) as you sat next to him, you kissed his forehead, "Take some good rest, Stud-Man.".
Woo! sorry for the wait, gotta take my cat a bath and got about 7 bruises, there is going to be a part two for Dr. Meem.
I hope you enjoyed! o( ￣▽￣)ｄ
sorry for the wait (´。＿。｀)
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