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digitalmidnight · 10 months

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Protostar

A Bandana Waddle Dee centric fic that takes place between Superstar Saga and Return to Dreamland (Chap1, 6k~ words. Chap2, 4k~ words)

Chapter 1 + some wip for Chapter 2

The best perk of Bandana Dee's job was his bedroom. It was located on the second floor of the East wing, far from the barracks the soldiers slept in. His only neighbor was the Great King himself, who lived directly above him and, despite his tendency to stay up late into the night, he was quite quiet. Well, most nights anyway.

Bandana Waddle Dee opened his eyes slowly. 2:43 am, his clock read. Why'd he wake up? He didn’t feel thirsty, hungry, nor did he feel the urge to visit the bathroom. He wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, he felt he was in the most comfortable position he could be, bundled in thick, fuzzy blankets as the cool night’s breeze swept over the rest of the room from the cracked open window. Whatever reason he had to wake up didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the fountain of dream’s blessing wash over him yet again.

The sound of machinery reached the Waddle Dee’s ears. The King’s power drill, to be precise. Disgruntled and tired, Bandana Dee forced his eyes open to stare at the clock. 2:45 am. Despite his role as advisor, he preferred not to be against the king in any way. At the same time, his liege was using a power drill at near 3am. With much displeasure, Bandana peeled himself from his warm cocoon and made his way to the window. Pressing his cheek against the cold pane, the workshop on the third floor of the north wing where his King always did his engineering work was visible. The lights were on and the windows were closed, yet they did little to muffle the noises. He shut his window in hopes that maybe it would silence the cacophony of tools. It didn’t. With a sigh, Bandana Dee dragged himself from the window to make the long crawl to the Great King.

“My liege?” Softly called out Bandana. He had slipped into the room during a brief pause in the noises. Hunched over the workbench, King Dedede had his back to the door and protective headphones covering his ears. The power drill and all his other, louder tools currently weren’t in his hands as he appeared to be comparing whatever he was working on to his notes. It took a moment, but he did eventually turn to Bandana Dee, who was still in the doorway.

King Dedede took off his headphones and his safety glasses as quickly as he could without taking his headpiece off with it. “Strawberry shortcake?” Figures he wouldn’t question Bandana Dee being up at 3am, just if the slice of cake that Bandana Dee had grabbed for him was Strawberry shortcake. He had brought it knowing the King would enjoy a snack, hopefully enough to agree to leave whatever project he was working on for a more typical hour.

“Correct, Great King.” Seeing as there was no clear spot on the table, Bandana Dee opted to just hand the cake to King Dedede, who eagerly took it. “I thought you would enjoy a treat.”

The King didn’t even use a fork. He ate quicker than he usually did, if even possible, then wiped his hands on a spare rag before going back to reading his notes. The notes were an amalgamation of the King’s spontaneous ideas, observations, and complaints. All of which were written so erratically and messily that if Bandana had to read the notebook, he would need a decoder. On the table laid a metal shell that looked similar to the Great King’s hammer, as well as a small rocket and engine that may have once belonged to a vehicle of some sorts. Several blueprints for many other machines were scattered across the table, layered so only parts of them were visible. Nails and bolts were in piles wherever they could be. If there was a method to the madness, Bandana Dee didn’t see it.

Bandana Dee stood nearby, staring to see if he could figure out where his King was in his project, when he was pulled out of his thoughts by the king. “Hey, wait a sec. Since when are you up at midnight, Bandee?”

“It’s just past 3, sir.” Bandana Dee corrected.

“Quit joshin' with me, it ain’t that late!” Snapped King Dedede as he turned to his digital clock that rested on the wall just above the window. A fierce blush was making his way across his cheeks from the embarrassment and frustration at being wrong. As his King’s closest subordinate, he wouldn’t say a word about it.

“I heard your power drill from my room, Great King, and I thought you would want a small break from your work.”

His blush grew, however, the anger shifted away to sheepishness. He wouldn’t apologize, and Bandana Dee didn’t expect one, however he knew in his heart the King did feel semi guilty about the noise. Hopefully enough to cease using any loud tools so late in the evening again.

Hoping to shift the topic to one less embarrassing to his King, he asked curiously, “what are you working on, sir?”

“Well, you see this here?” King Dedede pointed to a blueprint on the table, one Bandana Dee couldn’t see from his vantage point. Thankfully, King Dedede shimmied to the right on his bench, making room for him to crawl onto the seat. The blueprint he was pointing to was of Kabula, his personal aircraft with advanced AI controls. It was of her redesign, which was faster and deadlier thanks to the efforts of the Great King, who had worked tirelessly on her until he declared the project finished last week.

King Dedede was tapping on a part of the blueprint showing a mere section of the aircraft. It was either a missile or a jet. “I thought adding a bit more oomph to my hammer will help me clobber that there Kirby. Makin’ my swings heavier and faster with this here engine will give that puffball a run for his money, if he even makes it to me! Ha!”

“Great King,” Bandana Dee exclaimed in curious confusion. It appeared as though his king were planning to add in a small engine along with a jet to a hammer. Yes, that would make his swings faster and heavier, however, “Wouldn’t that make your hammer too heavy?”

With a devious snicker, already imagining the future fight with Kirby, King Dedede picked up the engine from a nearby pile of parts and tossed it with the ease he would an apple. “Ha! This little extra weight ain’t anything! Heck, I think even you could carry it.” With that, he held out the engine in offering. Bandana Dee stared sleepily at it for a moment before reaching out to hold it. How heavy could it possibly be?

Heavy. So heavy. As soon as King Dedede’s support was gone, the engine, along with his hands, were dragged down to his feet. Thankfully, his liege had better reflexes than him, or perhaps he was just more awake, and grabbed the engine before either him or the engine took damage. That engine had to weigh more than 600 apples at the least, yet his King could hold it with ease.

“Uh, guess not. You okay?” Without looking, the Great King casually dropped the engine on the workbench, roughly where it had been originally.

“Y-yes.” To be sure, Bandana Dee shook his arms a little. He was fine. “Kirby sure has a tough fight ahead of him if you use that hammer, sir.”

“And I’ll have an easy one!” King Dedede turned back towards his worktable. “Tomorrow is the day me and Kirby’s rivalry ends once ‘n for all!”

“Of course, sire.” Tomorrow was the day. By morning, they would send for Kirby. If Bandana Dee’s calculations were correct, Kirby would arrive for the final battle between him and the King by sunset at the latest. The thought sent his heart racing, no matter how often his king reassured him that even if Kirby beat every other member of the army, Kirby didn’t stand a chance against the Great King. The excitement was extremely tiring, actually. A yawn escaped him.

King Dedede looked down at him. “You can go to bed now, Bandee.”

“Your Majesty should as well,” countered Bandana Dee. “We have a big day ahead of us.”

“I’ll go to bed when I’m done!” King Dedede declared, stubbornness flaring up.

“Then I will stay up with you, my King.” Bandana Dee said with his own brand of stubbornness. Though he expected that the Great King saw through this bluff when the Waddle Dee tried unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn. King Dedede said nothing about it, just moving back towards his work. The tossed aside engine was picked up with only one of his hands and laid carefully in the hammer’s shell. Arranging a tiny light so he would see, the Great King picked up a small tool and some wires and began to work on the inside of the shell.

Bandana Dee leaned over to rest his head on the King’s robe. To be able to be strong enough to hold back Kirby, who defeated Dark Matter, Nightmare, and many other terrifying bosses that Waddle Dee couldn’t name, was amazing.

If only he could be that strong as well.

Bandana Dee didn’t remember going to bed when he awoke tucked in a little too tight, but he did remember that burning desire to one day be as strong as his king. That wish of his persisted, even a week later, when he was pulling a small wagon with four neat boxes in it to the castle’s infirmary.

He approached the entrance. The doors were wide open, and the curtains drawn to let in sun. King Dedede was in the largest bed, which was closest to the wall-length window. He was reading a comic series he had been procrastinating on, boredom evident from his expression. Despite being able to drag himself back to the castle and into the infirmary, the doctor had ordered him to bedrest as his many wounds healed. He had been spending his time since either in his bedroom’s bed, the infirmary’s bed or, if he were feeling particularly adventurous, the couch in the lounge.

“My liege?” Unlike that night, the King immediately noticed Bandana Dee and practically slammed his comic book closed.

“Ah, Bandee,” he greeted. “Ready to get your butt handed to you at chess?”

“Not right now, sire.”

King Dedede looked disappointed at the answer. This said, his disappointment gave way to curiosity when he noticed the wagon. “Whatcha got there, delivery boxes?”

Bandana Dee gave a nod. “Kind of, sire. Please, choose one of them.”

King Dedede hemmed and hawed over the boxes, giving his decision on which box to choose more thought than he did some of the laws. Eventually, he settled for one, which Bandana Dee carefully picked up and handed to him. Contrasting Bandana Dee’s care, King Dedede ripped open the box in a single, eager motion.

Inside the box was a whole cake. “Oh, you got the triple chocolate layer cake, Great King. That’s the biggest of these cakes, I think.”

“These cakes?” King Dedede eyed the remaining unopened boxes. “You telling me there’s three other cakes in those there boxes?”

“Yes, however, your Majesty, they are for Kirby and Meta Knight.” Bandana Dee covered his ears.

Just as Bandana Dee knew it would, the King’s mood shifted quickly. His loud voice echoed in the empty infirmary and down the long corridors of the castle. “What do you mean it’s for Kirby and Meta Knight?! What did those two do to deserve a cake?!”

“Please, sire! They are peace cakes. It would be good to have Meta Knight and Kirby be our allies for the time being.”

“I don’t want to make friends with Kirby!” Bellowed King Dedede. At least he wasn’t protesting befriending Meta Knight, for the time being, even with the recent invasion attempt.

“My King,” Bandana Dee kept his voice gentle. “We can’t fight him at the moment. Anyone who could fight for us is out of commission. The doctor ordered you, our strongest fighter, to stay in bed. Even I am still a little sore.” At the mention of his soreness, King Dedede averted his gaze with a pout. “Wouldn’t it be nice to know Kirby and Meta Knight wouldn’t attack us? If only for a little while?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So long as that pipsqueak knows we ain’t friends.”

“Of course, my liege.” Bandana Dee looked happily to King Dedede. “May I challenge you to a game of chess over dinner tonight?”

Regardless of his earlier bad mood, the king’s mouth twitched to a smile. “You are going to regret challenging a chess master, such as myself!” Nothing could squash his competitive spirit, it seems.

“Looking forward to it, my King.”

Castle Dedede rested on top of a hill. Or maybe it was technically a mountain. The path to town was twisty due to the steep incline, resulting in a long walk for anyone visiting. King Dedede complained about the distance from town often and would take his car whenever he deigned to visit town. Unlike his King, Bandana Dee enjoyed the walk. It forced him to take in his surroundings and enjoy the nature around him, no matter how busy he was. Today’s weather was lazy and lethargic. Fine weather, especially as it almost seemed like even the sun and moon themselves were fighting recently. Everything in Dreamland was finally able to relax. It was great weather to attempt to soothe his anxieties about giving cakes to recent enemies.

In truth, Bandana Dee knew little about Kirby. He was good at fighting, willing to put himself in harm's way for his sense of justice and liked food just as much as his king. That was the extent of his knowledge. He hadn’t even known where he lived until he asked a few villagers.

The house wasn’t as Bandana Dee expected it to be. He was expecting something that looked more cozy, maybe more outdoor furniture for Kirby’s friends to hang out. Or maybe something painted bright and colorful, with an air of importance while still being childlike. He hadn’t been expecting a small, grey dome of a house. Was this really Kirby’s home? Everyone he asked claimed it was, yet he couldn’t really be sure. It hopefully was. With a sigh to calm himself, he gave a sharp knock on Kirby’s door.

The door creaked open, a bleary eyed Kirby peaking out from the crack. He looked and sounded as though he just woke up this late into the afternoon. “Eh, the delivery guy?”

Oh, thank the stars, this is the right house. “No, I’m Bandana Waddle Dee.” Bandana Dee gave a polite bow.

“Oh!” Kirby exclaimed, now wide awake. “You are Dedede’s friend.”

“N-No! I’m the Great King’s advisor!” Hastily corrected Bandana Dee.

“Eh? Isn’t that a type of hat?”

Bandana Dee decided to ignore that. “And I am here to bring a cake as an offering of friendship fro-”

“You have cake?!” Now excited, Kirby fully threw open his door. From what Bandana Dee could see, Kirby did just roll out of bed to answer his door. Kirby ran out and excitedly looked at the wagon. Before Bandana Dee could say anything, Kirby had already grabbed one box and was reaching for another.

“Ah, Kirby. Please, only take one box!”

“Why only one?”

“Because the other two will go to Meta Knight.”

“Why does Meta Knight get two?” Whined Kirby and, for a second, Bandana Dee was astonished by the similarities between Kirby and his King.

“Sir Meta Knight needs two so he can share with his crew.” Bandana Dee explained carefully, watching Kirby’s expression in hopes that he would accept such an explanation.

He did. “Okay!” Kirby cheered up immediately, tore open the box just like King Dedede, and swallowed whatever cake he got whole. “Yummy! You sure I can’t have seconds?”

“I’m sorry. I only made four cakes.”

“Four? But there’s,” Kirby paused and slowly tried to count the boxes.

Once again, Bandana Dee gently explained, “the first went to the Great King.”

He expected some sort of complaint from that, but one never came. Instead, Kirby’s eyes sparkled. “So me and Dedede both had a friendship cake?”

“Yes,” answered Bandana Dee, now wary.

“So me and Dedede are friends?” Kirby’s voice was so full of hope and excitement. It hurt too much to outright say no.

“I’m sorry, Kirby.” The sparkle left Kirby’s eyes and he, crestfallen, stared at the ground with a quivering lip.

The guilt gnawed at Bandana Dee. He hadn’t the heart to leave Kirby like this. “But! I’ll be your friend!”

“Really?!” exclaimed an energetic Kirby. Before Bandana Dee could even utter a response, Kirby was squeezing him in a tight hug. It wasn’t an uncomfortable embrace. Kirby seemed very mindful of his strength while still holding Bandana Dee as close as possible, as though he would fly away otherwise. Just as the hug almost reached an awkward length of time, Kirby withdrew himself from Bandana Dee. Not completely though, as he now was holding on to Bandana Dee’s hand. Bewildered, Bandana Dee gave a slow blink to Kirby and another to their now clasped together hands. Kirby blinked back in response, looking as innocent as can be.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

“Um, well,” Bandana Dee could barely believe what had just happened. Surely this was a trick? Why would Kirby, King Dedede’s rival, who had only met Bandana Dee once in a fight, want to be his friend? Kirby of the Stars, destroyer of Dark Matter and savior of Dreamland wants to be his friend? The creature who his King often called the pink demon wanted to be… Bandana Dee’s friend?

“Bandana Dee,” called out Kirby. He was still holding Bandana Dee’s hand, still smiling serenely, with not a bad thought in his head. “What do you want to do? If you ask me, tempura sounds really good right now! Oh, but so does something cold and sweet like an ice cream sandwich! Then again, I am still kinda sleepy.”

“I need to deliver these two cakes to Sir Meta Knight, and I will need to return to the castle by sundown.” Saying it aloud, Bandana Dee winced. Delivering cakes wouldn’t sound fun to someone like Kirby. The nervous jitters began to build up in Waddle Dee, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. “However, I will be free the rest of the day, I think. But, then again, it might take a while to find Sir Meta Knight, so I am not exactly sure.”

“Hmmm, right now he should be,” training his eyes to the sky, Kirby trailed off. Bandana Dee tried to follow his gaze, but failed. He couldn’t tell whether Kirby was looking at the sun, the clouds, some far-off, invisible star or even if he was looking at anything at all. Without warning, Kirby suddenly shouted, “at the arena, training!”

There was only one arena near here, yet Bandana Dee still felt compelled to ask, “the one where the Megaton Punch tournament was?” Kirby nodded with his whole body.

“It’s a relaxing day today,” remarked Kirby. “Meta trains to relax.”

“I see, but how are you sure he is at the arena?”

“Well, Meta likes big, open places to train, so he is somewhere with a lot of room. Today is such a sleepy day, so his crew will want to take a nap, so they will be somewhere difficult to take a nap, so not under Whispy Woods’ shade. Lastly, Meta likes it when people cheer for him, so he is somewhere where it is easy to cheer for people, like an arena!” Kirby held a big grin on his face as he waited for a reaction.

“Wow, Kirby.” Whispered Bandana Dee, which was close enough to the reaction that Kirby was looking for. Regardless of the process that brought him there, the arena was as good a place as any to start looking for Meta Knight. “Thank you for your help.”

“Eh? Why do you sound like you are saying goodbye?”

“Oh, I had thought you wouldn’t want to do something as boring as delivering cakes with me.”

With a certain desperation, Kirby shook his head. “No! Chores are boring, but they can be fun with friends! Besides, I haven’t seen Meta since you-know-what. It’ll be nice to say hi and help give the friendship cake so we can all be friends!”

There was just something about Kirby. Maybe it was the simple, straight-forward attitude of his or maybe the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. There was just something that made it seem like being friends with Kirby would be easy. Bandana Dee could feel no ill-intent nor ulterior motive from the Pink Demon holding his hand, just the simple joy that comes from being near a friend.

“Come on then, Bandana Dee!” Bandana Dee nearly forgot that him and Kirby were still holding hands, however he was swiftly reminded of that fact when he was pulled with remarkable speed and strength down the steep hill with his wagon clunking along behind.

“S-slow down Kirby!”

Bandana Dee wasn’t expecting Kirby to be exactly right. Hand in hand, Bandana Dee and Kirby approached the arena entrance, already having heard the sounds of swordplay before they arrived. Two of the Meta-Knights, Trident Knight and Mace Knight, were having a mock battle as the other Meta-Knights lounged tiredly near their weapons in the afternoon sun. Meta Knight loomed from the highest seats in the arena, watching his crew like a hawk. Those piercing eyes of his behind his mask caused Bandana Dee to freeze up. This was Meta Knight! The intergalactic legend whom just last week was planning a takeover of dreamland!

Meta Knight spread his wings, making himself seem all the more larger, and glided to the middle of the arena. Bandana Dee felt his fight-or-flight senses screaming at him to run, abandon the cakes, and seek somewhere beyond Meta Knight’s gaze. Lacking that fear that Bandana Dee held, Kirby finally released Bandana Dee’s hand and ran towards Meta Knight. He embraced the Knight just as tightly as He did Bandana Dee. Meta Knight remained stoic, motionless, and unfazed.

“…Greetings Kirby and…” Meta Knight paused, then looked towards Galaxia in its sheath as though it held whatever answers he was seeking. “…Bandana Dee.” He lightly tapped Kirby’s side twice, after which Kirby released the Knight and ran back towards Bandana Dee. This time, Bandana Dee reached for Kirby’s hand first, squeezing it tight.

“Good afternoon, Sir Meta Knight,” Bandana Dee managed to say. All other words failed him. He could feel the stares of the Meta-Knights on him as he did everything in his power to not tremble. He felt a reassuring squeeze from Kirby and squeezed back. All the while, Meta Knight stood still, watching.

Seeing as nobody else wanted to speak, Kirby shouted out, “we have friendship cakes!”

“Cake?” Excitedly asked one of the Meta-Knights. Axe Knight, Bandana Dee believed their name was. To his relief, all the attention was drawn to his little wagon and the two still-intact boxes inside.

“May we borrow the wagon?” Abruptly asked Meta Knight.

Bandana Dee squeaked out a “Y-Yes, sir!”

“Very well. Bring the cake back to base. Save some for Captain Vul and Sailor.”

Bandana Dee was confused for a moment, wondering if the command was for him, until the Meta-Knights released a chorus of “Yes, Sir!”

“May I?” asked the one who Bandana Dee was sure was Blade. He handed off the wagon to the knight. With invigorated spirits, The Meta-Knights then began to leave the area, happily talking amongst one another about cake. Without another word, Meta Knight turned around and began to stalk to a training dummy.

Kirby let out a small, cheery hum. “That went well. Meta Knight looks really happy!”

“Does he?” Bandana Dee had to ask. Meta Knight, carrying on as though he didn’t hear their conversation, unsheathed the legendary Galaxia. In a movement too swift for Bandana Dee to catch, Meta Knight had chopped the Mr. Sandman in half.

“Yeah, that’s his happy slashes!” The Mr. Sandman regenerated with a pop, only to be cut in twain once more. Meta Knight’s power was great, that much was evident. Though Bandana Dee knew this already, along with almost everyone else in the galaxy. He was a legendary warrior, perhaps the strongest one who ever lived if one didn’t count Kirby. The other thing he had been known for was his mystique. His actions, reasoning, expressions were all a mystery nobody who told his stories knew. Bandana Dee could see why. Nobody, save Kirby and perhaps his crew, seemed to be able to read Meta Knight.

A sudden thought hit Bandana Dee, an intrusive one that he couldn’t suppress. Meta Knight trained people into warriors. The crew under him were considered to be one of the most capable in the galaxy. And here Meta Knight was, in front of him. He is most likely stranded on Popstar for a time until the mighty Halberd is restored. Maybe then he might not mind training Bandana Dee? He internally berated himself for the thought. This was Meta Knight. Why would he train someone like Bandana Dee? A burst of unexpected courage shot through him, screaming at him, why not ask? Just ask, and he can decline and Bandana Dee can spend the remainder of his time away from the castle with Kirby.

“Sir Meta Knight!” blurted out Bandana Dee. All his courage disappeared the moment he heard his own voice. He had to ask, though. He knew he would regret it for years if he didn’t. “Sir, um- can you teach me how to fight?” Meta Knight turned to face Bandana Dee. “Not as a member of your crew or anything- just the basics are fine! And it’s fine if you don’t want to or anything-”

Meta Knight interrupted his rambling. “Have you fighting experience?”

“I-er-no.”

“What do you mean, Bandana Dee?” Innocently remarked Kirby. “You fought me.”

“Yes, but,” Bandana Dee trailed off as he stared at Meta Knight. He was staring right back. “Would you say I have fighting experience, Kirby?”

Kirby opened his mouth to speak. However shut it quickly as he quietly thought about it. “You did good for your first try?” He weakly offered.

Meta Knight paid Kirby’s answer no mind. “Why do you wish to learn to fight?” Bandana Dee closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see Meta Knight’s intense stare. Why did he wish to fight? How could he put that feeling of his into words?

After a moment, Bandana Dee settled on an answer. “I want to protect my home, just as the Great King and Kirby do.” A light breeze blew, prompting Bandana Dee to open his eyes. Meta Knight was no longer staring. Instead, he appeared deep in thought, transfixed at some point far beyond Bandana Dee. Kirby, again, gave Bandana Dee’s hand a squeeze. When Bandana Dee turned to face him, he shot a confident grin at him as well, like Kirby already knew Meta Knight’s answer would be positive. Bandana Dee gave the hand a squeeze back. He wished he shared that sentiment.

Meta Knight broke the silence. “What is your weapon of choice?”

“I suppose the spear? However, I haven’t had any experience with any weapon.”

“That is fine.” Meta Knight turned to the stands and crossed the short distance there. From where one of the Meta-Knights were sitting, he pulled out a wooden training spear. He threw it towards Bandana Dee, who jumped back along with Kirby. If Bandana Dee hadn’t jumped back, the spear would have landed just in front of him.

“Show me what you do know.” Meta Knight commanded. Bandana Dee wanted to respond with how he knew nothing of the spear, but Meta Knight probably already knew that. He released Kirby’s hand, then grabbed the spear. It was slightly taller than expected. It was more of a pike than a spear, given that it lacked a metal tip.

He shifted his grip towards the middle of the pole and ran towards the Mr. Sandman. He swung it. With a soft thud, it hit the top of Mr. Sandman’s head. No damage appeared to be done. He swung again and whacked Mr. Sandman’s side.

“Good Job, Bandana Dee!” Called Kirby. Bandana Dee whacked Mr. Sandman again. It appeared there was still no damage done.

“Enough.” Announced Meta Knight.

“He did really good, right, Meta Knight?” Kirby prompted, staring at Meta Knight expectantly.

“…You attacked as though you thought your spear was a hammer.”

“Oh,” whispered Bandana Dee. He was right, he was swinging like he had seen the Great King do before. That didn’t ease the sting of the blunt criticism.

“This said,” Meta Knight paused, then gave a short nod. “You have potential. I will train you while I am in Dreamland.”

Bandana Dee nearly dropped his weapon in surprise. “R-really?!” Meta Knight would train him?!

“Be warned, my training has been described as rigorous.”

“I can handle it! Thank you, Sir Meta Knight!”

“Very well. First lesson, how to hold your weapon. Kirby, you too.”

Kirby, who had been smiling at them, groaned, but complied. Meta Knight was firm and exact. Once he was sure Kirby and Bandana Dee knew how to wield a spear, he had them run laps while holding it safely. While Bandana Dee wasn’t sure how comfortable he was running with the real thing yet, he was grateful for the practice. Especially given the one or two times he tripped. Learning to safely fall with his weapon seemed like an important thing to learn.

Following their laps was a quick lesson on how to thrust a spear. Kirby took to the attack like a blipper to water. Unlike Kirby, Bandana Dee fumbled. The movement felt unnatural and janky. It wasn’t yet a fluid motion. Sometimes, despite feeling he did everything right, Bandana Dee still missed the Mr. Sandman with his attack. Meta Knight gave out small, verbal corrections, mostly over his stance. This was fine. Bandana Dee inhaled, exhaled, then tried again. And again. And again.

“You are getting better.” Meta Knight remarked after a short while.

Bandana Dee glanced towards him in surprise. “Sir, I missed.”

“You are improving. Focus on that.” He was right. Bandana Dee had no clue how to do this yesterday. He was improving, and tomorrow he’d improve more. He had to focus on that.

Kirby’s voice cut through Bandana Dee’s thoughts. “Hey, uh, Bandana Dee?” Kirby asked, sounding unsure. He was sitting next to the Mr. Sandman he had been training on.

“Yes, Kirby?”

“It’s sunset.”

It’s sunset? It’s sunset! Bandana Dee dropped his spear and turned towards the sky. It was a beautiful, fiery orange. Fiery like his King’s temper when Bandana Dee is late. “Oh my Nova! Thank you, Kirby. Thank you for training me, Sir Meta Knight. I need to run back to the castle. Please excuse me!”

Without warning, Meta Knight stretched out his wings, preparing for flight. “Flying would be faster.”

“Thank you, Sir Meta Knight, but you don’t have to- ah!” Meta Knight grabbed Bandana Waddle Dee and flew quickly away from the arena.

“Bye, Bandana Dee! Meta Knight!” Called out Kirby from the ground. He was already so far away. The wind was loud and chilly. They were closer to the tips of pine trees than the ground. It was thrilling. Castle Dedede looked beautiful from up here, glowing in the sunset. Meta Knight sure hadn’t been lying when he so boldly claimed flying would be faster. They arrived at the castle within only a few minutes.

“May you drop me off on that balcony over there? On the second floor?” Shouted out Bandana Dee. He hoped Meta Knight could hear him over all this wind. He seemed to, as Meta Knight, with great care, dropped Bandana Dee off on the balcony he requested. It was the one that connected to the infirmary. King Dedede was not in his bed, nor was he even in the room. Nurse Waddle Dee was, however, and startled upon their arrival.

“Bandana Dee! The Great King is looking for you!” Exclaimed Nurse Dee. Oh dear, just what he feared.

“Where is his Majesty?”

“I’ll go get him!” Before Bandana Dee could protest, Nurse Dee had already fled from the room. Instead, Bandana Dee turned his attention towards Meta Knight. He hadn’t left and was perched on the wall, looking down at Bandana Dee.

“Thank you again for the ride, Sir Meta Knight. You may leave, if you wish.”

Meta Knight turned his head slightly. “Will you be in trouble for your tardiness?”

“Not overly so.” Bandana Dee could imagine his King throwing a fit and making Bandana Dee make him a certain food, yet he doubted he would be in too much trouble.

“Regardless, I’ll take the fall for you being late.”

“Sir Meta Knight, you didn’t know I needed to be back at the castle by sunset, and it was me who lost track of time!” Protested Bandana Dee. Not even mentioning the still rocky relationship between King Dedede and Meta Knight! Bandana Dee wouldn’t forgive himself should a fight break out over Meta Knight taking the fall for Bandana Dee’s faults.

Meta Knight wasn’t given a chance for a rebuttal, if he was even planning on giving one. The double doors to the infirmary were slammed open. “Bandee!” Shouted out King Dedede. The King’s excited smile disappeared the moment he saw Meta Knight. His stance changed. He held himself cordially but looked prepared to fight if need be.

“Good evening, Great King. I was out on a walk and lost track of time. Sir Meta Knight flew me here when he saw my panic.” Bandana Dee gave a polite bow to Meta Knight as he prayed Meta Knight went along with his story. “Thank you for flying me here, Sir Meta Knight.”

“…farewell.” Without any more warning, Meta Knight flew off with a flap of his wings. King Dedede and Bandana Dee watched as his silhouette got smaller the further he went. From the direction he looked as though he were heading back to the arena.

From behind him, King Dedede let out a low, tired groan. His show of bravado was done and gone. He collapsed on to the hospital bed, near breathless from exertion.

“Great King!” Exclaimed Bandana Dee. “Are you alright?!”

Bandana Dee received a muffled “I’m fine,” in response. Guilt still gnawed at Bandana Dee. His King was probably exhausted after searching the castle for him, all because Bandana Dee couldn’t be on time. King Dedede moved his head so he could see Bandana Dee, then glared. Why? Bandana Dee froze. Maybe he really was mad this time! Maybe some big emergency came up that went poorly without Bandana Dee!

He hadn’t expected the next words out of his King’s mouth. “Where’d you get that scrape on your cheek?” Scrape? Bandana Dee put a hand to his cheek, only to retract it from the sting. It must’ve happened during the laps he ran. He hadn’t noticed.

“I tripped during my cake deliveries. It must have happened then,” lied Bandana Dee. His King clearly wouldn’t like the idea of Meta Knight training him, yet Bandana Dee needed to learn how to be strong. It would be fine, for now. He’ll tell King Dedede when he is ready.

With another groan, King Dedede pushed himself to a sitting position on the bed. Then, as suddenly as Meta Knight, grabbed Bandana Dee. Before he could utter a word, Bandana Dee found himself sitting on the foot of the hospital bed as King Dedede reached for a first-aid kit.

“I can take care of it, Sire.” Ignoring Bandana Dee, King Dedede brought out a disinfectant wipe and a bandage. He cleaned and bandaged the wound without a word. “Are you angry, your Majesty?”

“Nah,” King Dedede quickly dismissed. “Just a bit hungry.” On cue, his stomach growled. Strange, his King should have had dinner as soon as the sun hit the horizon.

“Oi! Start servin’ dinner in here! Prompto!” Bellowed King Dedede. Several Waddle Dees ran from the hallway into the infirmary and began to put both King Dedede’s and Bandana Dee’s servings of dinner on to a temporary table. It appeared as though the search for Bandana Dee had been prioritized over dinner. Both guilt and gratitude swelled in his heart.

“You good? Bandage okay?” Asked his King in a tone gentler than he addressed the others with.

“Thanks to you, my King.” Reassured Bandana Dee. He turned to look outside. The fiery sunset had gone away, replaced by the cool evening’s sky. “Is it too late for a game of chess, Great King?”

King Dedede gave a mischievous smile. “After dinner you are gonna regret that challenge!” Bandana Dee wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter 2, Persevering (wip)

Bandana Dee digs himself into a hole. Meta Knight is awkward. King Dedede struggles being nicer than his usual haughty self. Kirby is just happy to be around friends. A chapter that sets up the main conflict and gives more insight about the current dynamics between the four.

... means there's missing words or scenes that are incomplete. I'm open to concrit on chapter 2 on this post only. Mostly about y'alls opinion on pacing as I know I ramble sometimes

Bandana Dee liked schedules. He never was able to adhere to them due to the unpredictable nature of his King and his job, but he liked them in theory. They gave him much needed structure.

He awoke in the early morning every day, often rising before the sun, and ran through the report from night-shift Waddle Dees. The report would say everything was fine and orders for necessities like food were received as well as properly stored. In the kitchen, the chefs would be making the breakfast that Bandana Dee planned the day before. Bandana Dee would greet them as he grabbed a glass of juice to drink during his work.

In the interim between waking up and breakfast, Bandana Dee would do all of the planning and organizing for the day. He’d organize schedules of the soldiers, the janitors, the chefs and everyone besides his King. The King’s breakfast, lunch, dinner and all snacks were planned for, down to the ingredients needed and price. The Waddle Dees’ food, however, was handled by the chefs based on what the others requested, so Bandana Dee had to track trends and insure they didn’t run out of any popular foods or essential ingredients. When he deigned for a break from planning, he would go outside briefly to check the mail and sort the bills, from the junk, from the advertisements his King would care about. There never was any fun mail, like a nice letter or an invitation, yet Bandana Dee still kept his hopes up that there would be one, some day. Bills would be scheduled to be paid, junk mail would be recycled or given to one of the Waddle Dees who was working on a collage and the relevant mail would be kept close to show to his Liege.

If sticking to the schedule, breakfast would be ready soon and King Dedede would need to be awoken. This responsibility also fell to Bandana Dee. The process took long enough that breakfast would already be on the table when they entered the dining room. It was a quiet meal. King Dedede was never awake enough for conversation. On a normal day, the rest of the schedule would be played by the ear, dependent entirely on his Liege. There would be no more semblance of a schedule until late evening, when his Majesty decided he wanted to go to bed. Bandana Dee would quietly do inventory and check the finances to make sure everything was accounted for, then would finally get to rest.

Now, his schedule was a little more structured. He still did his morning chores, still sorted the mail and still ate with his King, but when Noon approached, Bandana Dee began to delegate what chores he could. He would bid his King farewell, sneak something from the kitchen and hurry down the path to the town as soon as possible. Typically, Kirby would be napping in the shade of a tree that grew between the castle and town. Today was no exception.

Bandana Dee approached without regard for volume and shook his friend lightly. “Kirby! Good afternoon!"

With a hum, Kirby began to awaken. “Hmm? Ah, Bandana Dee! Food?” He held his hands out, sleepily. Bandana Dee grabbed them and pulled him to a standing position before handing Kirby today’s snack.

“Of course! Today’s snack is…” Bandana Dee paused for dramatic effect. “An omelet muffin! They are really good, though I believe it may be lacking something like cheddar cheese.” The muffin had barely been passed to Kirby before it had been devoured.

“I thought it was yummy!”

“You think all food is yummy,” giggled Bandana Dee.

“It is!” Training with Meta Knight happened daily at 1pm. Bandana Dee liked to leave the castle early to spend time with Kirby. It was a little weird spending leisure time with anyone but his King, if Bandana Dee was being honest. He was a little out of practice for the whole friendship thing.

Not that Kirby minded one bit. “So, what do you want to do today?” He asked, agog. He had picked what they did yesterday, which was finishing half a coloring book, so it was Bandana Dee’s turn to choose.

“Let’s go to Chef Kawasaki’s.”

“Eh?” After training with Meta Knight, Kirby and Bandana Dee would visit Chef Kawasaki’s. It was a tradition started the second day of training, as Bandana Dee knew he needed a cover of sorts if he didn’t want his King to catch on. What better cover is there than handing proof of his labors in the form of tasty food to his Liege? Chef Kawasaki had agreed to pretend to mentor Bandana Dee and allow the Waddle Dee to cook in his kitchen on one condition. That condition being that, on the days Bandana Dee came over to cook, the only food Kirby could eat from his kitchen had to be made by Bandana Dee. Bandana Dee didn’t understand the condition at the time, it seemed too good to be true. He understood it now. He understood it very well now. He didn’t mind though. It was impossible to satiate an appetite like Kirby’s, however it was also very rewarding to have someone outside of the castle enjoy his cooking.

“Today, we’ll go to Chef Kawasaki’s early to prepare lunch. That way, after training, we’ll be able to have a big picnic.”

Kirby’s eyes grew large. “A picnic?!”

With a nod, Bandana Dee continued. “Yes. I think we should have it in that spot by the river. You remember? The small, flat area near the shade of that lone giant tree?”

“Yes, yes. I remember.” Kirby nodded his head eagerly. “But what about the food?”

Bandana Dee couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s antics. “Well, we will see what ingredients Chef Kawasaki has. I’m thinking maybe some cold sandwiches, yogurt with berries, some fruit juice, and a dessert of some kind. Maybe cookies. I can easily bring a box of cookies back to the castle with me. We can eat the rest of them.”

Kirby let out a squeal. “Sounds yummy! Let’s go! Come on, Bandana Dee, cookies!” With that Kirby, as he so often did, grabbed Bandana Dee’s hand and ran to Chef Kawasaki’s restaurant.

...

1pm rolled around. Kirby and Bandana Dee stood alone in the middle of the arena. Meta Knight was late. He had never been late before. Even Kirby, who was often unfazed when it came to the swordsman, looked confused. By this time, Meta Knight typically had the training dummies set and weapons laid out as he watched from somewhere high. When the time was right, he’d make a grand entrance by swooping into the arena. Now, where was he?

“Do you think this is a training exercise? One where he is hiding, and we must seek him out?”

Kirby shook his head. “No, I think he isn’t here at all.” Bandana Dee looked around the stadium anyway. Unless he was under the seats or in the announcer’s booth, there was nowhere to hide.

“What now then?” Nervously asked Bandana Dee.

Kirby looked up to the sky. Bandana Dee looked up as well. There, so small he wasn’t anything more than a speck, was Meta Knight. They watched as he soared, gradually becoming larger as he approached. Gracefully, he landed in front of them, seemingly tired. In a fluid motion, he changed his wings for a cape. It was a motion that Bandana Dee had seen dozens of times before, yet he never was sure how Meta Knight pulled off such a maneuver.

“My apologies,” grunted out Meta Knight. “Something came up.”

“It’s no trouble, Sir Meta Knight. Is everything alright?”

The only response given was a shrug. Meta Knight seemed eager to move on from the topic as he turned away from the duo. If he didn’t want to talk about it, so be it. From nowhere, to Bandana Dee’s shock, he pulled out a Mr. Sandman. He’d never seen the knight prepare nor clean up their mess from the arena. Bandana Dee watched as Meta Knight did the move once again. This time he brought out the training spear, which was easily twice the knight’s height. Where could he be hiding these objects before pulling them out?

Meta Knight got into position to pull something else out of nowhere before Bandana Dee called out, “Sir, how are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” asked Kirby, confused.

“Making those objects appear out of air?” Bandana Dee began to feel uncertainty creeping into his bones.

Meta Knight, as he typically did, didn’t respond. However, he turned to face the Waddle Dee. Slowly, so Bandana Dee could see what he was doing, he reached into his cape. His hand disappeared into the dark expanse as though it was submerged in water. From the darkness he drew Kirby’s blade. It was mesmerizing watching the sword slowly appear. Once it was fully out, he tossed it to Kirby. Kirby caught it with ease, casually tilting it back and forth to show off it’s luster.

Bandana Dee couldn’t but whisper a comment. “Amazing.” As though encouraged by the praise, Meta Knight reached back in, this time at a normal speed. Out came another Mr. Sandman. Even knowing what to look for, Bandana Dee could barely tell the items came from his cape.

Meta Knight clapped once to get his attention. He abruptly switched the topic. “Today’s focus will be on throwing your weapon precisely. Same as yesterday. Wait for my signal.” With that, he grabbed the two Mr. Sandmen and flew off to the other side of the arena.

The exercise wasn’t a complicated one. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult, all it meant was that the steps were simple. All Bandana Dee had to do was run until he reached the line drawn in the sand, lob his spear, and hope his aim was true. Meta Knight had recently begun to let him train with a real spear. The tip was heavier than the pike used before, but there was little difference beyond that. To his surprise, Bandana Dee never felt overwhelmingly nervous holding the weapon. It felt natural, as though his weapon was a part of him. A part of him that was clumsy and awkward, but a part of him nonetheless. It helped that the activities they did ensured the only person who could be hurt should Bandana Dee make a mistake was himself.

Meta Knight dragged a line in the sand. Each Mr. Sandman was a distance away from one another. Giving a small nod to Kirby before hand, Bandana Dee began to walk away so he could run straight to his Mr. Sandman. His target was half an arena away. He could do this.

“Go!” ordered Meta Knight from his perch on the highest seats. Kirby and Bandana Dee began to run. The part where Bandana Dee consistently messed up was the throw. He was capable of getting good momentum....

...

The spear fell, pathetically clattering in front of the dummy. A sigh escaped him. He needed to make a decision and commit. Maybe next time. He looked over to his side. Kirby had thrown the sword, but missed. His weapon was embedded in the sand. A silent second passed.

Confused, Bandana Dee and Kirby both looked up to Meta Knight. He was staring without seeing, not even looking down to the two of them in the arena. While Meta Knight was prone to long bouts of silence, he usually had some commentary when they made a mistake.

Kirby decided to call out to him. “Meta Knight!”

Meta Knight did not jump. He was too trained to jump. He did snap to attention, however, and looked down to the two of them as though he wasn’t staring into space. “What is it?”

Kirby blinked, confused. “You didn’t say anything about my aim. Is everything alright?”

“I simply thought you didn’t need my guidance with aiming,” Meta Knight replied coldly. “Or committing to your throw.” He tacked on for Bandana Dee.

Kirby didn’t like that answer. Narrowing his eyes, he stared unflinchingly at Meta Knight. Mirroring his expression, Meta Knight stared back. No words were spoken between either of them. The tension was suffocating and Bandana Dee knew that both of them were as relentlessly stubborn as his King. Neither of them would back off on their own terms.

Bandana Dee grabbed Kirby’s hand and whispered to him, “Meta Knight’s worried about something he doesn’t wish to tell us. Let’s leave him to his thoughts, c’mon.”

Hesitantly, Kirby obliged, walking over to pick up his weapon and then return to his starting point. Bandana Dee did as well. To his credit, Meta Knight began to voice his subtle corrections once more. Though, over the course of the practice, he began to be quieter and quieter until he was silent once more. When Kirby looked back to Bandana Dee, Bandana Dee shook his head.

...

The spear soared, gliding far over the Mr. Sandman’s head. With a loud thunk it embedded itself into the wooden wall of the arena, much to Bandana Dee’s horror. How could he have missed that bad? He ran over to the wall to check the damage. It didn’t seem intensive. It looked bad due to the spear sticking out of it, but the damage to the wall seemed to only be a thin crack. He would need to remember to bring stuff to fix the wall next practice. The true problem would be removing the spear without damaging the wall or weapon.

...

Meta Knight drew his blade and swooped to the lower seats, keeping his wings out and splayed to make himself seem all the more taller. “Fine, if you are so insistent upon my attention, draw your blade and face me in battle!” He, in a motion somehow quicker than the other times, produced a real blade from his cape and threw it to the ground. It stabbed straight threw, getting stuck as though the ground itself was as weak as the soft, broken wood Bandana Dee had pierced earlier.

Bandana Dee leaped back out of fear. Kirby leaped back out of stubbornness. “I don’t want to fight!” He yelled, voice half a plea and half a complaint. “I want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

All he could do to brace himself was cover his eyes. Bandana Dee was fully expecting Meta Knight to swoop in, disregarding Kirby’s plea and attacking the currently weaponless Kirby. He didn’t. Instead he lowered his blade and relaxed his wings in a disappointed manner. Bandana Dee, too, lowered his hands. While Meta Knight stared off into space, Bandana Dee made his way over to Kirby. Pouting still, Kirby reached blindly towards Bandana Dee’s hands. They, holding hands as usual, looked up to Meta Knight who had neither put his sword away nor started an assault.

...

A sudden movement abruptly pulled his gaze from his friend to Meta Knight. Galaxia was placed away, however he tensed his wings again. “Bandana Waddle Dee.”

He shot up to attention, “Yes Sir?”

“I need to ask King Dedede a question. Regardless of his answer, I am willing to continue training you.” With that he flew off, gliding over their heads and out of the arena. Kirby, and by extension, Waddle Dee, chased him to the arena entrance. He was long gone by then.

“He never tells me anything,” whined Kirby.

Worried, Bandana Dee turned to Kirby. “What do you think he needs to ask his Majesty about?”

“Who knows?” When he caught sight of Bandana Dee’s stressed face, he eased his tone. “I’m sure it’s nothing too bad.”

“Well, you do know Meta Knight the most, I suppose.” Privately, Bandana Dee still worried. What question could the knight have specifically for his King? One that he could ask neither Kirby nor Bandana Dee about? Or, perhaps, this was just Meta Knight’s nature. “Does he do this often?”

“What? The mysteriously avoiding questions thing?” Bandana Dee nodded, and Kirby nodded right back. “Yeah. Last time he did it, he flew up to the mirror world in the sky because he saw something evil! Then he fought his mirror clone until he lost and got captured in the mirror!

“What?” Asked Bandana Dee, now more worried about evil sky mirrors than the question. It seemed fantastical, especially as Bandana Dee had personally never seen any mirror in the sky, but then again this was Kirby. The mirror seemed more tame than some of the other stuff that Bandana Dee knew his friend faced.

Kirby shrugged. “It’s fine now. I was on a walk and saw them, so I went over to help! I may have been cut in 4, but that’s okay, because I saved Meta Knight and got rid of Dark Mind who corrupted the mirror world!”

“Huh?!”

Kirby shook his head, as if everything he had said was normal. “Don’t worry! There’s a picnic to be had!”

As he was pulled along, Bandana Dee couldn’t help but wonder if Kirby knew he had the same habit of abruptly switching subjects that Meta Knight had.

The picnic spot was Bandana Dee’s favorite place beyond the castle. It was both close enough to the town that they could be there quickly if anything bad happened, and secluded enough that one would have to seek them out if they wanted to bother them. Chef Kawasaki had been generous enough to not only pack their food, he also packed a soft blanket and a pitcher of juice. Kirby and Bandana Dee set up the picnic under the lone tree, mostly Bandana Dee as Kirby was drooling at the idea of food.

...

Bandana Dee heard King Dedede’s booming laugh echo the hallway before he opened the door to the throne room. It was the showy laugh he only did around people who didn’t live with him in the castle, which gave Bandana Dee pause. The King wasn’t laughing with Meta Knight, was he? Mentally, he tried to think of anyone else who the King could be talking to right now. Maybe one of the people he had gone on adventures with? Like Adeline or Ribbon? Or maybe it was one of the townsfolk with a complaint?

Bandana Dee took a peak into the room. King Dedede was talking to someone on the communication screen, which was turned away from Bandana Dee at the moment. Whoever was on the other end was silent as the King talked. King Dedede noticed him and waved him closer. Nervously, Bandana Dee complied, only to find Meta Knight on the other side, with Axe Knight to the side fiddling with controls and Captain Vul in the back having tea.

“Sir Meta Knight?” Asked Bandana Dee as he desperately looked between the Knight on the Screen and his King, hoping one of the two would explain.

“Hello,” greeted Meta Knight in his typical, short fashion.

King Dedede laughed as he patted Bandana Dee’s head. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing! We’ll be ready for you and your subordinates.”

Meta Knight nodded. “Very well. We will arrive before nightfall.” Without a goodbye, Meta Knight clicked off the communication. The screen cackled in static for a second before the Waddle Dee who brought the communication device over turned it off and began to carry it away.

Bandana Dee already had an idea from the talk about preparing rooms and arriving by nightfall, however he still turned to King Dedede for confirmation. “Your Majesty, why was Meta Knight calling?”

“Oh, y’know.” King Dedede stood up and stretched. “He and the rest of the Meta-Knights need a place to stay after the Halberd crash, so they are coming over here.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, you heard him. He’ll be here by nightfall.”

Bandana Dee stared at King Dedede. He wasn’t lying. Okay. Okay. There were 8 members of the Meta-Knights besides Meta Knight. They had 10 rooms that were close together on the third floor that could be readied within an hour at most, along with a spare kitchen and another room which could be converted to a sort of lounge area.

“Meta Knight would prefer that big room on the fourth floor.”

Bandana Dee looked up to his King, whom had spoken, in confusion. “But, Sire, we don’t have enough free rooms on the fourth floor for all of his crew.” Unless, of course, they put the Meta-Knights in a barracks, but that was unaccommodating.

“Yeah, I know.” King Dedede began to leave the room, so Bandana Dee followed behind. “Just give him the big room and put the rest of them on the third floor.”

“Would he like such a thing? Being a distance from his crew?”

“I think he needs a break from that lot sometimes.” King Dedede let out a chuckle. “We can just ask him when he gets here.” Bandana Dee nodded and made a mental note to ask Meta Knight. In the mean time, he would make preparations for the large room on the fourth floor, the set of rooms on the third floor and-

“What of dinner, Great King? How much do they eat? Have they any food restrictions? Will they be okay with the roast we are preparing for tonight, or do we need a new menu?”

“Hmm, quadruple the food and quintuple the desert!”

Bandana Dee pouted. “My King, I doubt they have that large an appetite.”

King Dedede rolled his eyes. “Then don’t ask me. Meta Knight didn’t tell me anything about any of that stuff.” They had arrived at the King’s bedroom. King Dedede entered with purpose, heading straight to his closet. Bandana Dee followed behind, uncertain. Should he tell the chefs to double the meal servings? Would that be enough? Or maybe triple it? Would that be too much? Should he add an abundance of appetizers, so as to minimize the chances of the Meta-Knights being unable to eat the food? Should he give orders to try to avoid common allergens and cross contamination, even if it would greatly slow food production?

King Dedede grabbed a telescope. It looked like it had been part of a pirate’s costume at some point, however as childish as it looked it was a powerful telescope with an impressive zoom. It had been what King Dedede had came in the room for, apparently, as he swiftly left with Bandana Dee right behind.

“For how long are they staying?”

With a noncommittal shrug, King Dedede kept marching on. “He said something about until his ship is hospitable.” That was a rather wide timeframe. Bandana Dee was unsure if they even brought the Halberd out from the ocean yet, how rare the parts for it were to find, and what the minimum livable hospitable level was too someone like Meta Knight.

Bandana Dee stopped when they neared the throne room. “My King?” King Dedede looked over his shoulder. “Is there anything else I should prepare? Any events or the like?”

King Dedede put a finger to his chin and hummed. “Y’know what? Prepare the lounge for board games. And Chess! I wanna see the look on that Meta Knights face when I destroy him.”

Bandana Dee bowed. “Of course, Sire.” Hurriedly, excited for Meta Knight’s arrival, King Dedede dashed off, telescope in hand.

A sigh escaped him. He let his tense body relax. There was no time for anxious thoughts, no time for doubts. There was only time for action.

Bandana Dee turned to the closest Waddle Dee, a guard Waddle Dee. “Waddle Dee, please send word for everyone except the King and those asleep to meet in the throne room in fifteen minutes.” The Waddle Dee saluted and ran to relay the message. It would spread by word of mouth throughout the castle. Swiftly, Bandana Dee entered the throne room to wait and plan out his exact orders.

Fifteen minutes later, a hoard of Waddle Dees stood in the throne room, awaiting Bandana Waddle Dees orders. He watched as one last Waddle Dee hurriedly entered, waited for them to get in their place, and then spoke.

“Sir Meta Knight, the honorable swordsman, and his loyal crew, the Meta-Knights, are planning on a stay in the castle. They shall arrive by nightfall, and stay for however long they need.”

Bandana Dee paused as the room erupted in excited chatter. It had been a while since they had guests of any type, and longer since they had anyone as notable as Meta Knight and his crew. After a moment, Bandana Dee cleared his throat, and the room was silent once again.

“For the cooks, please triple the servings of dinner tonight. You are dismissed so as to begin immediately.” A group of Waddle Dees ran from the room, heading to the kitchen. Was that the right decision? There was no time to backtrack.

“For the rest of us,” Bandana Dee clapped his hands, once. “We have work to do.”

The groups were quickly decided and given orders. 3 Waddle Dees per third floor bedroom. A larger group worked on the Kitchen and Lounge. A few Waddle Dees were sent to insure board games and chess boards would be available and ready to play at a moments notice. Some were sent to clean the hallways and stair well, some sent to shine the windows, some to launder the curtains, some to set up any amenities that needed to be. The only job Bandana Dee didn’t give out was preparing the fourth-floor bedroom. If he was confident in any thing, it was in his speed at cleaning a large area.

In a mere half hour, he had the fourth-floor bedroom dust free, with fresh linens on the bed. The wine-red curtains were drawn and windows open to let in the afternoon sun. The vanity, which doubled as a desk, was stocked full of papers, pens and envelopes in case Meta Knight needed to send a letter. The closet was kept clean and empty, ready for anything Meta Knight may bring; however, it also kept an extra weapon cleaning kit in the case any of his crew needed it. The bathroom was scrubbed, clean, and various soaps were placed throughout. It looked ready, hopefully.

Bandana Dee paused as he was pruning some of the plants that grew off the balcony. This was enough, right? But, what if? What if there was something he was forgetting? He looked back into the room. The carpet was plush and clean. The door handle was shined and rid of rust. The chandelier was free from cobwebs.

Snip! Bandana Dee scrambled as he accidentally beheaded one of the purple flowers. He was too distracted now. Gingerly, he plucked the flower off the ground and held it safely as he swept up the rest of the debris. He should just ask the Great King if there was anything else Meta Knight specified or asked for, like a place to store weapons or the like.

...

“Sire?”

“If this is another worry about Meta Knight, it better be the last one.”

“Why do you think Sir Meta Knight asked to stay here? It’s a surprising request, given the circumstances.”

“Probably has to do with his crew.”

Bandana Dee turned to King Dedede in surprise. He still looked bored, resting on his arm as he stared where the flower had disappeared. He continued with the thought, as though it was a simple conclusion to draw. “Well, he hasn’t been living in the village. Nobody there can keep a secret, they’d brag to anyone and everyone if Meta Knight was staying with them.”

Bandana Dee nodded. This was true, secrets in town rarely remained secrets. It was one of the reasons he tended to avoid the town when with Kirby.

King Dedede idly fixed his headpiece. “And there is no other settlement in walking range of the village. Yet, Meta Knight has somehow remained in the village area.” Yes, that was true, but Meta Knight could fly at incredible speeds. If he hadn’t known the rest of the crew, who were mostly flightless, were likely in a walking range of the village, he would question the King. Bandana Dee nodded.

“So that means they either fished out the Halberd and are living in that hunk of junk.” King Dedede paused in his talking to put the telescope to his eye again, looking over the path. “Or, they out there camping in the woods.”

��That makes sense to me, but that doesn’t explain why here, and why your Majesty believes it was his crew that asked.”

King Dedede made a move to answer and accidentally interrupted himself with a short laugh. “Well, I don’t know why here, but I will bet that it was Captain Vul who complained.”

“Sire!” Bandana Dee scolded.

“Gah! I can’t live like this!” Squawked King Dedede, imitating Captain Vul. “I need my beauty sleep!”

“That’s mean!” Bandana Dee scolded again, but it was hard to keep his voice stern. Giggles escaped despite covering his face.

King Dedede grinned triumphantly, “fine, fine. You got an idea?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon, Bandee! An idea about why Meta Knight wanted to stay here!”

“Um, well.” Bandana Dee stalled. Why indeed? “There aren’t many buildings large enough near here to accommodate so many people. Maybe Meta Knight didn’t want his crew separated?”

“Then why wouldn’t he just stay wherever he has been staying?”

Bandana Dee looked towards the forest in thought. A breeze blew through, shaking the trees, and Bandana could faintly hear them rustle like maracas. “Maybe, Meta Knight did it for his crew? They didn’t want to complain to him, but he noticed them being uncomfortable, and chose us because it was the best place?”

“Maybe,” answered King Dedede.

“Maybe, agreed Bandana Dee.

...

“So we can better prepare the food, do you know how much food you and the rest of the Meta-Knights eat per meal? Or any food preferences or accommodations?”

“Sorry, I wouldn’t know. That’s more Javelin’s thing. You should ask them. They’re the red one who flies about. Wish I could help more.”

“Oh, don’t worry, knowing who to ask is a big help!”

Sailor Dee scrunched his face in thought. “If it helps any, I can tell you that we like fresh fruits and a variety of teas.”

“Fresh fruits? Peaches, apples, pears and the like?”

Sailor Dee nodded. “Fresh fruit never lasts long enough on our journeys. And for the tea, we find lots of weird teas on other planets. It makes teatime more fun when we don’t know if the tea will be as spicier than superspicy curry.”

That did not sound fun. That sounded like torture! But Sailor seemed fine with it and Kirby was excited by the prospect. Bandana Dee decided he would chock this up to a cultural difference and see if anyone carried an odd sounding or tasting tea that could be ordered.

...

Even though he should have expected the doors to open, Bandana Dee still felt surprise run through him when they moved. In poured a blinding light, followed by Meta Knight. His presence felt larger than his stature. Between his smooth glide and piercing gaze, Bandana Dee nearly forgot about the Meta Knight who patiently taught Bandana Dee and Kirby in the arena. Captain Vul walked proudly behind Meta Knight at his right side. Sword and Blade came next, with stiff posture and a hand resting on their respective hilts. Behind them, barely visible because of those in front, the rest of the Meta-knights followed. Bandana Dee shivered. He resisted the urge to hid behind the throne, if only because he knew he would have to crawl from behind it eventually.

Kirby was apparently not as in awe in them as Bandana Dee was. “Hi, Meta Knight!” Lurching forward, Bandana Dee only had a moment to realize he was being pulled by Kirby before they ran across the throne room. Kirby launched himself towards Meta Knight, pressing his cheek against his mask, while refusing to release Bandana Dee. This was the closest he had been to the knight’s face. His mask had scratches all across it which was highlighted whenever Bandana Dees breath fogged the mask. Kirby was still hugging Meta Knight, who did not make any movement.”

Well, he was already here. Nothing could change that. “Hello, sir Meta Knight,” whispered Bandana Dee.

From here, Bandana Dee could hear a slight hum from Meta Knight before he responded. “Hello, Kirby, Bandana Waddle Dee.” His gloved hand emerged from behind his cape as he tapped Kirby twice. Kirby withdrew, though remained close while still holding Bandana Dee’s hand. During the hug Sailor Dee had wandered over, taking his place in the formation by Captain Vul’s side. It was no longer a rigid formation, as the Meta-knights had gathered around to stare at Kirby and Bandana Dee. How embarrassing.

Kirby’s hand slipped from his own as he was raised up. Miffed, King Dedede had marched over and was now holding Kirby in the air. Kirby didn’t look to be in pain, but still wiggled his limbs in an attempt to be released. “Oi! Didn’t I say to wait near the throne!?”

“I did!” Protested Kirby. “And then Meta Knight came in so I hugged him!”

“And greetings to you, King Dedede.” Meta Knight eyed Kirby in King Dedede’s grasp. It seemed as through he too was making sure Kirby was uninjured.

“Welcome to Castle Dedede, Meta Knight.”

Kirby was dropped, bounced with a giggle, then landed on his feet. “Now that Meta Knight is here we can start the sleepover! We’ll List of what Bandee said.” Bandana Dee grabbed Kirby’s hand and tugged, like that would calm him down.

“Eh? Marshmallows?” King Dedede loudly guffawed. “You are thinking too small! Hotdogs!”

“You’re thinking too small! Steaks!”

To Bandana Dee’s horror, King Dedede and Kirby began to argue about hypothetical food to roast over a hypothetical fire and quickly began to ignore what would realistically be good over a fire for whatever food they were craving at the moment. The Meta-knights still stared.

“Our apologies.” Bandana Dee gave a small bow to their guests before tugging on King Dedede’s robe. He loomed above him. “If you would follow us, we would love to escort you to the rooms we have prepared.”

...

It was times like these that Bandana Dee wished he was cantankerous. He would snap and throw a large fit until he got his way, which was to go back into his thick, fuzzy blankets. But no. Bandana Dee was polite through and through and, despite the intrusive thoughts, he only gave an exhausted look to King Dedede.

...

He saw Meta Knight’s stance change minutely, training sword lowered slightly, before his vision blurred. Oh why now?

“I’m sorry.” Bandana Dee sniffled and wiped the tears out of his eyes. “I cry too easily. I’m only a little frustrated.”

Meta Knight remained still, his training sword now pointing to the ground. He raised one hand, hesitated like he said not to do, then reached out and offered an unsure head pat.

“There, there?” He sounded so uncertain. That uncomfortable uncertainty was so out of place on Meta Knight that nervous laughter bubbled within Bandana Dee.

With a breath to calm himself, Bandana Dee gently wiped away his tears again and blinked. “My apologies, I believe I need a moment.”

Meta Knight wrapped himself with his cloak. “By all means.”

#kirby #kirby series #king dedede #meta knight #long post #fanfiction #bandana dee #bandanna waddle dee #protostar kirby fic #kirby fanfic #food mention #concrit welcome #dededad

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traveler-of-realms · 9 months

Text

Ansgar was feeling ill.

His entire lower abdomen felt like it was on fire. He did his best to stand guard, thankful for the visor that concealed his entire face. He just hoped he’d stop trembling soon.

The king and his daughter Bruna were deep in conversation with a visiting diplomat from some far off land he didn’t care to remember the name of. It was a perfectly calm one, but Ansgar could hear the edge to his better half’s voice, see the slump in her shoulders. They had both been on their feet for eight hours at this point. He prayed it would end soon, before Bruna collapsed or he fainted.

It did about a half hour later. By that point he fancied he could hear his armor rattling from the force of his shivering. The diplomat was dismissed, and as soon as the door closed, the king frowned in his direction. “Are you well, Sir Ansgar?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” he replied. The king only shook his head. Ansgar tensed.

“Come now, you’re practically on the ground. You must be coming down with something.” King Caldwell’s expression softened in concern.

Ansgar’s shoulders slumped before he could stop them. “I am just tired, my lord. It has been a long day.”

His liege shook his head again and sighed. “I am not going to be angry with you for being ill. Why don’t you rest for the remainder of the day, at the very least? I will not allow you to overwork yourself again.”

Ansgar bowed his head. “Very well, I will retire. Thank you, my lord.”

Bruna trailed after him. “I should ensure that he does what he says.”

The king smiled. “I know how he gets. He reminds me of my youth. Your abilities could be useful, here.”

Golden light threaded through Bruna’s fingers. “I will put them to use, then.” She curtseyed before leaving.

Ansgar was already mostly out of his armor by the time she arrived at his personal chambers. A thin sheen of sweat coated him. Bruna’s eyes swept over him as though looking for something to heal. Already, the golden light was forming at her fingertips.

“That will not be needed,” Ansgar said as he shucked off the last bits of armor. He collapsed onto his bed. “I was expecting this.” He pressed a fist to his mouth to stave off the nausea.

“I—oh. It’s…happening again, is it?” Bruna asked hesitantly. “Has it been a month already since the last one?”

“Unfortunately,” he groaned. “I need a rag.” Bruna blushed and silently handed him one. “It is not contagious,” he teased weakly.

“Do you need some pain relief?” Bruna asked, her magic once again appearing. “I could—“

“No, no,” Ansgar waved her off. “It will only be for the first day anyways.”

Bruna fixed him with a stern stare before moving a chair to his bedside and sitting down. She placed her hands on his stomach gently, before letting her healing magic envelop her forearms and flow into his torso. The light of the sunset filtered through the window and wrapped her in an angel’s blessing. For a moment, Ansgar looked up in utter awe.

“What did I do to deserve you,” he whispered.

Bruna heard his words and smiled. “You only had to descend from heaven. It is I who do not deserve you, as flawed and imperfect as I am.”

Ansgar smiled and pried her hands off of his abdomen. “I am no better. Let us be flawed together.” He basked in the warm comfort of residual healing magic.

“There. That should take care of the pain for today. And for tomorrow—“

“I will be fine by then. I promise.” Bruna huffed. “I do!” he insisted.

“Swear it on your honor,” she said playfully.

His face turned serious, and he sat up slightly. “On my honor, and on my knighthood, I promise I will not lie to you.” She gently smacked him. “Ow!”

“You take everything too seriously. Rest now. I will call you back to my side, after you have recuperated.” She gave him a playfully stern look.

Ansgar gave a faux sigh. “Very well. I may not be well for a few days, but I will manage.” He fake pouted. Which earned him another smack.

“Lie down!” Bruna ordered. He put his hands up in surrender and reclined back. “Now stay there until I order otherwise. Get some rest, Ansgar.”

He did. But not as much as he would have with Bruna lying against his side. “Another time,” he murmured to himself as his eyes slid shut.

#one off story

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libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

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#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #219 texts

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honklore · 3 years

Note

ahhhh can u do something with Karl where reader is insecure and overthinking and Karl comforts them :D

once and future love | karl jacobs

(gn!reader, once and future means something with an enduring, eternal quality. karl is lame but he calls you darling so that kind of makes up for it. karl’s idea of a good time is cuddling and a movie and he’s my wrong.)

listen to: year 3000 (cover) by the jonas brothers, peace by taylor swift

okay :(

i don’t want to think of any readers ever being sad okay!!!

u r loved n safe n perfect n deserve the world

but it’s just one of those days

where your brain feels two sizes too big and you can’t fight it the way you usually can

it gets worse when karl collabs with popular creators

social media is constantly pairing him with someone whether platonically or romantically, it still always seems to be a better fit than the two of you

don’t get it wrong, karl never even hints at being unhappy with you or your relationship, but what if that’s because he’s too he’s nice and sweet and he’d never intentionally hurt you

so what if he’s faking it

and what if he is secretly telling all his friends on discord that he can’t wait to break up with you

and what if he never tells anyone about your relationship bc he’s embarrassed to be seen with you

he’s streaming now, and you had to turn it off because as much as you love hearing karl laugh with his friends, each laugh feels like a step further away from you and closer to the realization that you’re not special at all

you’re not a famous streamer or super skilled at storytelling, you can’t draw for the life of you and sometimes you forget the words to songs

you don’t have an insta-worthy body or an interesting face,,, and you can’t imagine karl ever bragging about you

cue karl currently, on his stream, telling chat about you for the umpteenth time: “listen chat ik i said i’d introduce you but i’m a selfish man, okay? i want to keep my partner all to myself! haha! sucks to suck chat.”

“imagine not having a partner chat looks rlly lame right now!!”

“actually guys my partner is so pretty once they consent to a face reveal it’s going to be so crazy... like you’re all going to fall in love with them”

does that thing where he makes his voice high and raises his eyebrows “but guess what chat???? they’re all mine!!! heheheh!!!!”

says goodbye to stream and sees you curled up in his t.v. room, flipping through disney+

“oh my gosh meet the robinsons,” he says as soon as you click on the title. “can we pls cuddle?”

does not realize that ur feeling kinda down

he grabs a fluffy blanket and wraps it around your shoulders before he literally pulls you into his lap, as close as he can get you

will not shut up throughout the movie

“we are soooo spike and dmitri”

“i would train a frog choir to serenade you”

“i have to call wilbur i forgot he was in this movie”

*says tiny’s lines with him* “i have a big head... a little arms... i’m just not sure... how well this plan was thought thru... master...”

“GOOB!!!!!! when we get a pet together let’s name it goob.”

and all his little comments are so sweet and natural,,, you are so confused that he’s watching a movie and thinking of you the entire time,,,,,,,,,,

“karl?”

“yes, darling?”

“do you sometimes wish i was better?”

“what?” and karl gets kind of pouty. like he’s one of those cancers that cries at the sight of emotion in another. literally sniffles before you can finish ur thought bless him.

“idk i just see you with all your friends and it’s like i’m the lamest person you know,” you try to explain.

karl is rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb, and he pulls you even closer to him if that’s possible, so that you can hear his heartbeat through his shirt “i am literally so in love with you that you’re all i talk about to my friends. seriously, ask any of them.”

“but—”

“butts are for chairs, silly!!” karl nuzzles his nose against yours, getting you to giggle. “besides,” he lowers his voice and looks into your eyes, super serious. “sapnap is by far the lamest person i know. i don’t think you could ever beat him, babe.”

you giggle again, and karl kisses your nose, and then your cheeks, and then your forehead. “can i post us? i get it if you’re not comfortable, but chat keeps asking about you and i really want to.”

“chat knows about me?”

“duh!” karl snorts. “i’m kind of offended you don’t watch my streams enough to know that.”

makes u watch the jonas brothers year 3000 music video three times to make up for the fact that you didn’t watch his stream :// he’s so rude ://

that night u get a notif that u were tagged in an instagram pic, and it’s some candid karl must’ve taken awhile ago when you weren’t looking. but you’re standing with him in line for ice cream, and you’re looking at the sun, squinting at the rays

and the caption is something rlly goofy like “is the sun bothering you, my liege?” with a gun emoji

okay i’m done

wilbur robinson is a comfort character i forgot i had before i wrote this

thank you both for requesting <3

@mayhapskarlwillmarryme tagging so u see this :)!

#karl jacobs au #karl jacobs headcanons #karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic

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the-nightmare-before-bucky · 3 years

Text

everything i love about hunchback of notre dame

*the g-slur will be replaced with roma, romani, or something else and will have brackets ([ ]) surrounding it to indicate a word change*

Olim - i love the build up at the end into bells of notre dame

bells of notre dame - ”and some say the soul of the city’s the toll of the bells, the bells of notre dame” the fact that it’s esmeralda singing it. we’re already off to a great start. jehan’s voice is so nice it’s beautiful the foreboding saints after jehan dies and right into the “ahhhhs’ “and the saints regarded frollo from their stone facade and he felt their gaze as if it were the eyes of God” - the difference between the stone saints for frollo and quasi is so interesting. One sees them as terrifying, boring into his soul because of his darkness within, while the other sees them as his friends and aid on his journey. the way frollo says quasimodo “now here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of notre dame” “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” - song by Quasi. It just makes me tingle, I love it. the way this song sets up so many motifs is just so good

Out There - the beginning is manipulation 101 (it is I alone, your only friend, how can i protect you, etc) michael arden is an icon i swear. he is phenomenal. his e m o t i o n “but part of theeeeeem and Ooooooout there” “out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives” “heedless of the gift it is to be them. if I were in their skin I’d treasure every instant” “i swear i’ll be content with my share. won’t resent won’t despair old and bent I won’t care. I’ll have spent oooone daaay out theeeeeeeeeere” Amazing, showstopping, what a way to open a show and introduce a character, I cry almost every single time

Topsy Turvy pt. 1 - “somehow i can wander through this helter skelter without fear now. no one sees i’m here now out here in the woooorld!” ugh i love him “on the sixth of januervy” too catchy

Rest and Recreation - I used to hate this song but now i’ve matured and learned that it is amazing I just love the tune, idk, it’s so fun and catchy until you get to the bridge and that’s what i love “rest and recreaaaaaa- four years at the front...” that’s on ptsd “the air filled with a stench of bodies in a trench. whoever pays the most i call my liege.” just the bitterness when he says that line. Amazing. “and whatever i do i’ll make sure this is true i will never go back again.” i literally adore this part so much. it gives him so much motivation. and then we go right back into him being flirty because he’s covering up his ptsd with fun “But for a few night fun is my mission” oh me oh my that’s very attractive he sounds so awkward talking to frollo im going to cry “there is no time for rest and recreation,” poor guy

Rhythm of the Tambourine - “flash of an ankle flip of a skirt...come see me dance, hey what can it hurt?” I just love how she sings this part its so well done the dance break music is amazing. it’s just so nice and a great vibe. “this girl who is she” the layers!!!! all three of them doing it in rounds!!! I love it!!! “she dances like the devil//she dances like an angel//an angel” AHHHHH beautiful, great way to show the differences in characters “but with such fire// such fire” I am in love with this line oh my gosh. like frollo is thinking about hellfire and pheobus is just like heart eyes i am also in love with esmeralda thank you

Topsy Turvy pt. 2 - “aren’t you going to join in on the competition?” she’s so cute and pretty and i love her “we asked for the ugliest face in paris and we found him, aye?” love “eeev...ry..bod...y” “Hail to the king....oh what a king...girls give a kiss...we’ve never had a king like this!” just so much fun to sing

Into Notre Dame - “how could you do this to me?” more manipulation “like a begger recieving an alm.” i love a good simile “the light of notre dame” I love the way she sings this, it’s just so good

God Help the Outcasts - “were you once an outcast too?” i love this because the answer is yes. Jesus was treated as other because of His teachings. He was most definitely an outcast, literally cast out of so many different towns. And He does listen to her prayer and it just makes me so emotional. i literally...there is nothing wrong with this song. everything about it is beautiful. “God help the outcasts or nobody will” chills every single time “I ask for love I can possess. I ask for God and hos angels to bless me” right into “I ask for nothing, I can get by” I LOVE IT SO MUCH it’s so beautiful. the chorus of this show deserves a raise “but I know so many less lucky than I” really helps to show Esmeralda’s character a lot I think.

Top of the World - such a beautiful song like I could write the entirety of this song here because I love it so much I love the saints part so much the part when the saints are singing and esmeralda are singing is just beautiful especially the part “here at the top of the world(E)//look at you sitting at the top of the world(S)” “the two of us sitting/the two of us sitting/the two of you sitting” right into “On top of the world!” one of my favorite parts of the entire show oh my goodness. The way Quasi, Esmeralda, and the Saints all blend together so well is just askjhfklafkj

Tavern Song - I can’t not dance to this song oh my it’s so so so fun. just like the melody especially during “in the dark of the night, in the dead of the winter...come keep me warm until morning” I LOVE It gives me very much Jack and Rose vibes from that part in Titanic “with the taste of the wine, hold me close while we’re dancing, but I hear you sighing, winter is dying, you’ll keep me warm until morning” HER VOICE IS SO GOOD the cross between the tavern folk singing and frollo singing in the Hellfire tune is just so good. just so good. i’m going to cry this show is beautiful. the fading “come keep me warm until morning”s is UGH so good

Heaven’s Light - When I tell you how much I adore this song.... his voice is just so soothing. the little flute thing in the background is just so sweet the way he sounds so happy the first time he says “Heaven’s light” i love him so much “but” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i cannot “I swear it must be heaven’s liiiiiiiiiiiiiiight” one of my favorite notes in the entire show i swear it’s so beautiful also the bells of notre dame going right into Hellfire....ICONIC

Hellfire - One of my favorite villain songs ever. Especially in this version, you can really hear his inner turmoil over Esmeralda. and i just love it. from the get go, frollo is trying to put him above everyone (”you know i am a righteous man”, “so much purer than...”) and yet he is still struggling with lust like everyone else...he’s still a sinner “i feel her, i see her, the sun caught in her raven hair, is blazing in me out of all control” SO GOOD “Like fire, hellfire” go look back at what he says in rhythm of the tambourine because it’s the same thing and i just “is turning me to sin” blaming esmeralda for his own sinful thoughts. it is not her that is turning him to sin. he is sinning of his own accord. but also the desperate way he says sin is always so interesting “it’s not my fault, i’m not to blame, it is the [roma] girl, the witch who set this flame! It’s not my fault, if in God’s plan, he made the devil so much stronger than a man!” I really really love this series of lines so much. I can’t really explain it, but especially that last part. it just breathes a supposed “holy man” who can’t accept that his sins are his own and caused by himself so he’ll blame every single other thing other than himself. i’ve known too many people like this. “protect me maria, don’t let this siren cast her spell, don’t let the fire sear my flesh and bone” just so good. I love the voices in the background. “destroy esmeralda and let her face the fire of hell, or else let her be mine and mine alone” he would rather condemn an innocent woman than confront his own sin. again, so many people are like this today. it’s just so thrilling to see that mindset condemned in media. also, patrick page is amazing “hellfire, dark fire” the tone switch from him being scared of the hellfire the first time he said it to now he’s using it as power (how many of us have had hell weaponized against us? raise of hands?) is just so frightening and amazing all at the same time “God have mercy on her, God have mercy on me” I cannot tell you how much I love this line. it is phenomenal, especially the way Page sings it. I think that it is one of the central lines to his character (along with the “wicked shall not go unpunished” which i’ll probably talk about later) just the emotion he has in his voice when he says this line....chef’s kiss. especially with the next line (”but she will be mine or she will burn”), it seems like he knows what he’s doing is wrong (hence why he needs mercy), but he’s going to do it anyway

Esmeralda - easily one of my favorite songs in this entire show. what an amazing end of act song oh my the trumpets!! at the beginning!!! I love it!! “being under suspicion of sorcery, witchcraft, and the arts of hell” that is not actually why he’s arresting her which doubly means he knows that what he’s doing is wrong the tune of this song is SO GOOD I LOVE IT “these are the flames of Esmeralda...” this dude is obsessed with fire feels very much like the mob song from beauty and the beast “with the might of Notre Dame” using God in such a vulgar manner is blasphemous and frollo knows it. he’s using God’s might and strength to hunt down an innocent woman because he can’t control his own desires. I’m losing my mind “but the madam, that whore, denied it and swore by the saints, the saints of notre dame” i have no idea why but I adore this line and i love the way that it was song. I used to think that the madam was actually just esmeralda in disguise which made the next part of the song seem all the funnier the little lute strumming after frollo says “very well, we’ll set fire to it” because pheobus is having a change or heart “and he held the torch that crackled like the [woman’s] voice....and he knew this was the moment he must make a choice” this is why i like the play phoebus and not really the movie phoebus very much. i just love it the chorus singing God help the outcasts in the background...amazing...chills “you’d throw away a promising career” Frollo’s desperate attempt to get him to comply “God help the outcasts, or nobody will!” I LOVE THIS PART WITH MY WHOLE SOUL IT IS SO GOOD sometimes i’ll listen to this song on repeat just to hear him say this “you’re relieved of your patrol” “consider it my highest honor.” Iconic. just...so good. gives me very much “thank you for your consideration” vibes the way frollo says kyrie eleison here is just so good frollo’s little speech is very cool with the chorus in the background I love Quasi’s little frantic verse there. you can hear his desperation in “fire, fire, smoke and flame” and then “is that all that I can do?” he wants to help his friend but he can’t and I know how horrible that feels phoebus part!!!!! I love it!!!! his voice is so nice!!! “with my career and body left for dead” nice, good, amazing. “out there...” AHHHHHHH YES MOTIFS “somewhere she is lost//somewhere she is lost//Esmeralda!” love this bit so much “the flames grow tall and sharp as fluer de lis” what a good metaphor, so good, so nice, I love the chorus they’re all amazing “all paris burns for esmeralda” now we’ve got burning again. are we talking about how paris is literally on fire because frollo is insane or is it the mob mentaility that is “burning” inside of them? good question. “and still it all comes down to her and me” says three people. I love the melodies here. chills. so many of them. I love. “the devil dwells in esmeralda//oh esmeralda//oh esmerlada//oh esmeralda” AHHHH again AHHHHHHH i love this bit (yes I know I say that a lot but its the truth) “wake up the city and sound the alarm!” good yes they’re all singing different bits and it’s growing and your heart is pounding until.... “these are the flames of esmeralda” and then it all falls apart again oh my gosh it’s beautiful until “the bells of notre dam!” and the “ah, ah, ah”s that I adore so much I love this song so much

Entr’acte I can’t imagine how fun this would be to sing. it’s just a vibe Flight Into Egypt - I used to skip this song but I have since learned the error of my ways because i love it “then Quasimodo you can too” love that, just like he says it “and she gave it to you because she knows you’re smart” the fact that these are just part of his imagination so it’s really him telling himself he’s smart and i’m going to cry I love him so much “and this jewel must show where we’re supposed to meet” love his voice so much “it’s a map. it’s a map!” he’s so excited. he deserves the entire world. “I’ll save esmeralda, her angel will be me,” brb crying “for her I will be strong” still crying I love the entire end bit how their voices meld and the music swells all up until Quasi sings the last bit. it’s just so amazing

The Court of Miracles - I’ve always loved this song. it’s so fun, but also sad. “brother you’re there” YES “but the dead don’t talk so you won’t be reveal what you found!” dead man tell no tales vibes “Not terribly different from bees in a hive” I love how erik says this line. claupin would be so fun to play oh my. “where it’s a miracle...if you get out alive” “any last words....i thought not *laughter*” obsessed with this “but we must protect at all cost our secret, it’s our lives or yours!” and that’s the sad reality. that’s what makes this song sad to me. “So you’re going to hang!” a lighter note as an end. very nice.

In a Place of Miracles - a few notes in and i’m already crying this song is so beautiful and i adore it. it makes me sad in a million ways but it also makes me so happy. the play did such a great job of making me love pheobus and esmeralda but also feel so, so bad for Quasi “but somehow you have made me someone new” yup i’m definitely crying “now i’m asking if you’ll let me come with you” you can’t see me but the tears are real “though our lives are tattered and torn, all i’m feeling now is reborn. i must be...” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Pheobus and esmeralda’s voices just meld together so well im gonna cry it’s so nice and as soon as the first chorus is over, the tears of happiness turn into tears of anguish because Quasi pulls up with his heaven’s light reprise and it tears my heart to shreds my heart breaks for him esmeralda and quasi singing at the same time gives me very much eponine and marius vibes from a heart full of love (we love victor hugo so much /sar) like the parallels in what the both of them are saying is just phenomenal “no more need for a heart of stone//better to have a heart of stone!” AHHHH STOP I LOVE IT AND IT HATE IT AT THE SAME TIME “that holds no hope in heaven’s light” stop i’m so sad and then the chorus come in and it’s just so beautiful “will we reach a friendlier shore, will we find a haven once more, where we’ll be in a place of miracles...” it’s so gorgeous “where’s my place of miracles//in a place of miracles” that sound? yeah that’s me sobbing in the corner and it builds again and i love it so much it’s just so beautiful

Justice in Paris - this is the least played song on spotify (by like hundreds of thousands) and I think that’s so funny but i think the chorus does such a great job here, as usual, because they just have that menacing sound to them

Someday - another of my favorite songs. this one is hauntingly beautiful and I have so many opinions. get ready. esmeralda is just so sad and you can hear it in every single word she says. god my heart is already breaking. “that i’d live to see a day of justice dawn” i haven’t actually seen the stage version so i’m not sure if they have the part where she cries out “justice!” when quasi is getting attacked, but this part just hurts me to the soul because of that specifically. she cried out for justice and now she gets none. “and though I will die long before that morning comes, i’ll die while believing still it will come when I am gone” this line just hits so, so hard. i can’t even talk about it. just imagining her singing this and pheobus listening to her with tears in his eyes...nope i cannot...i will cease to exist and then he joins in and i can just imagine her feeling no longer alone because she’s hoping that it comes “someday” and he’s echoing it, assuring her that it will. I can just picture her trying to stay strong as she says “Godspeed this bright millennium on its way” but she can’t and so her words fall out as she’s saying “let it come” and she can’t finish but pheobus finishes it for her. “someday” and I can just see her breaking down. she’s going to die and she never gets to see it, but he assures her that it’s coming. and he starts it up again. he starts singing again, and I think that it gives her the strength she then needs to finish. “someday, these dreams will all be real. Til then we’ll wish upon the moon!” of all the lines in the entire play, this is my absolute favorite. the way the sing it, the power they hold, their voices blending together so smoothly and perfectly. i cannot handle how amazing it is. “one day...some day...soon” and just like that, i am sobbing. beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful.

While the City Slumbered - i love this little song. it’s so pretty and fast and it just gives us exactly what we need to know. love.

Made of Stone - Now to the last of my favorite songs. (Finale doesn’t count because although I love it, it hate it). You wanna know which song has the top score of making me cry the most? That’s right. This one right here. Let’s get into it. the talking at the beginning is a yes from me. “I only make things worse!” felt that also, the sound of him sobbing ruins me. “how do you know what I believe, what do you know of me? what do you know of all the things I feel? you’re only made of stone” finally him acknowledging that they’re not actually real and all apart of his imagination. “who is it that you see, instead of seeing what I am for real?” imposter syndrome? I understand that. “this twisted flesh and bone” the EMOTION “you’re a liar” bro i cannot physically handle this. i can’t. I will cry. I am cry “would that I were made of stone like you,” back to that place of miracles song. i just he’s just so desperate. the only thing he could ever trust has fallen. He has nothing left. he can’t even trust himself (because that’s really all the stone saints by) “shut my brain down, if I were senseless, I’d prefer it” i totally understand the feeling of this. so often when thing go wrong in my life, i would like to shut down completely and stop existing and I think that’s what makes this song hit so damn hard “another gargoyle on this turret, spitting rain down to the stones below!” there is so much passion in his voice I love it so much. michael arden deserves the entire world for this performance “i’ve waste my faith believing in saints of plaster,” OUCH “the only one worth believing in was my master,” OUCH AGAIN “he’s the one who never lied. he told me it was cruel outside. he told me that i had to hide. his words were cold as stone, but they were true.” i can’t describe how emotional these lines make me. because he’s right but also it is such a painful, hard truth. ugh, i “not like you” “take all the dreams you’ve stone, take all your lies and leave me alone” “alright Quasimodo, we’ll leave you alone,” that one hurt because as someone who pushes people away when they’re self destructing, the most painful part is seeing them actually leave you. even though you asked them too. “you’re right Quasimodo, we’re only made of stone, we just thought that you were made of something stronger.” now that’s a mic drop That would cut so, so deep. “never again to wonder what’s out there” m o t i f s “let it remain unknown. and my one human eye forever more be dry until the day i die, as if I were made of stone” such a beautiful, heartbreaking, real song that I think so many people can relate to. I know I can. I have cried to this song so many times. I love it. also, he holds that note for so long i’m impressed.

Finale - this song is long so get ready for it. the crimes that Esmeralda is guilty for are not the ones that she was originally hunted for. he switched up his story. “the sentence is death!” immediate kyrie eleison (which i think is for frollo and not esmeralda) she spits in his face like a freaking queen “esmeralda!” Quasi’s cry is just so heart shattering and emotional I am so sad “he could remain stone no longer” I love that “sanctuary! sanctuary!” with the victorious sounds in the background are just so amazing “hear me, people of Paris, how much oppression will you allow?” with the chorus singing Someday in latin in the background?? I am not crying again “someday, your patience will finally break. why not make someday come right now?” that part is just chef’s kiss. I love it so much. also, that’s the last we hear of pheobus. I’ve always wondered if he died so someone whose been in/seen the play, could you tell me? quasi’s prayer to the saints is just so good. i just love it so much. so beautiful. and it being similar in tune to Heart of Stone and having the part “raining fire on the stone below!” is just so good and then the moment between quasi and esmeralda is just... “you are home.” “home.” and then we go to the top of the world reprise. haha. haha. ha. “in my eyes you are beautiful too,” comparing him to the beautiful morning “i don’t think...forever...” “you’re such a good friend quasimodo” “yes your friend” and then she freaking dies and i’m so sad and then the music changes so quickly and it makes my heart drop every time “because of you” cut deep “at last we’re free of esmeralda. now that she’s gone, a poison dies with her.” to the tune of esmeralda. bitch i would have thrown frollo off that roof too “here in our sanctuary...sanctuary” “sanctuary? no sanctuary without her” “even...loved her.” “love? what do you know of love?” I adore this part because Quasimodo finally realizes that Frollo’s treatment of him wasn’t love. It never was. “no. you are the weak one. you the wicked one. And the wicked shall not go unpunished!” I cannot explain the fire that this lights in my bones. it’s amazing. just so good. and then all the voices, like the saints, come in “the wicked shall not go unpunished. the heart of the wicked is of little worth. the wicked shall not go unpunished” and they’re no longer on frollo’s side (they never were) the rising voices as quasi picks up frollo and is going to kill him *chef’s kiss* “You don’t want to hurt me” “yes you do” so, so, so, so, so good. i can’t even explain. it’s just good. in to the abyss below! damnation! “the world is cruel, the world is ugly” yes “but there are times and there are people when the world is not” i’m not 100% positive, but i’m pretty sure that’s jehan again and that’s just so beautiful. “and at it’s cruelest it’s still the only world we’ve got” the bitter truth “out there” yup yup yup crying you can’t stop me The bit with the chorus singnig someday in latin and english...i literally cant handle it. it is so freaking beautiful. and the violin? the woman singing is an icon. the voices blend together so beautifully. I am overcome with emotion. i- Quasi singing the last “someday” and then the blending into the beginning song and ugh “but here is a riddle to guess if you can, what makes a monster and what makes a man?” with the entire ensemble? yeah, that one feels good. and being left off with the “ah”s

yeah, brb, i’m going to go listen to it again.

#hunchback of notre dame #disney #alan menken #hunchback of notre dame musical #disney musical #musicals #theatre kid #everything i love about #quasimodo #esmeralda #phoebus #frollo #judge clause frollo

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windblooms · 3 years

Text

topaz devices | ch. 01

if zhongli isn’t a the brightest individual blessed by the archons, then he’s socially inept, and spends his days stuck behind a desk as the heir of wangsheng incorporated. frustrated by seeing his best friend burn through his days like paper over a bonfire, childe decides that if there’s one thing worse than a permeant desk job, it’s being converted into a corporate machine in one’s mid-twenties. and he’s not going to let that happen to zhongli.

gender-neutral reader x sugar daddy!zhongli. modern au, slow burn. chapter 1/?. 2213 words.

as usual, zhongli awakens a minute before his morning alarm goes off.

and as he lays on the daybed, adjusting to the faint lighting of the moon that floats through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the first thing he does is reach for his phone. but when he pats down the area beside him, then above his head, and feels nothing, he begrudgingly props himself up on his elbows, and blinks the final bits of sleep out of his eyes.

this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at the office. admittedly, it’s probably over his hundredth, since he’s found it more practical to crash near his workspace than drag himself three floors up to his room. but, oh, where did he leave his phone? zhongli glances around, eyes no longer bleary; it’s not on the coffee table next to him, nor on the floor between it and the daybed, and for a split second he believes he left his phone at the tea station across the hall.

and then it chimes with his alarm on the marble floor just before his work desk.

“ah,” he sighs to himself, voice still somewhat choked from the morning. as the tone plays, he runs both of his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs before letting them fall to the sides of his face, and takes a glance around his office: he vaguely remembers staying up until four in the morning to finish scanning over a forwarded contract, and the three empty cups of caffeinated tea that surround his desktop computer can attest to his commitment; there are reference binders on his desk that zhongli hadn’t put away after using, likely too engrossed in the project to tidy up as he worked, and the most damning evidence of his corporate devotion is easily the fact that, well –

“conference in one hour,” his phone alarm is interrupted by the sound of its virtual assistant voice. “conference with,” it continues in robotic fashion, “mrs. ningguang at seven-thirty-a.m.”

– he had scheduled an impromptu meeting after he finished reading said document. as in, he intended to follow through with a meeting arrangement on less than four hours of sleep. as in, arranged a meeting when it was three in the morning.

as in, he also expected others to attend the conference on a four hour’s notice.

such is the way of wangsheng incorporated, an institution where everyone involved is asked to sell their soul to the matriarch, all for the prosperity of her company. the matriarch in this case being, of course, zhongli’s mother.

“conference with,” his virtual assistant repeats, and zhongli hauls himself up from the daybed and onto his feet, padding over to his phone before swiping over the screen to silence all of his notifications. “mrs. ninggua – ” beep.

he inhales, stretches his arms, and then gazes out to the liyuen skyline.

the horizon is still dark, with only hints of warmth leaking onto the expansive blanket of night. below, however, the streets are illuminated by commuting vehicles and establishments opening for the day. from his place on the higher floors of the company building, zhongli can only imagine the hum of life – he’s much too far up to actually hear anything.

it’s at this moment he realizes that the last time he’s actually stepped foot out of the building was over a week ago – and a grimace becomes his first expression of the day. archons, he didn’t think he was that busy, but begins mentally count the days regardless. yeah, 9 days. zhongli’s frown deepens; knowing himself, it’s probably also been 9 days since he’s left his floor on the building.

as much as he would like to leave, though, the company is more important to him. until there’s a convenient time for him to take a break, he’ll keep working. it’s what he’s always done – it’s what he’s good at.

so he inhales once more, as the skyline is washed with violet. exhales.

the clock reads six thirty-three.

. . .

it’s around four in the morning when childe decides that zhongli is officially insane.

who the fuck arranges a meeting in the dead middle of the night? granted, he’s only zhongli’s secretary, so it’s not like he has to take part in it – the gripe here is that he’s the one who manages zhongli’s entire schedule. so when zhongli goes out on his own, arranging things without telling him first, that’s when the issues start.

childe receives the conference notice just as the other executives do (while on a comfortable date with his bed); reading zhongli’s attached note with gunk wedged in his eyes and a screen flashing blue light directly into his irises makes him think –

there’s no way zhongli’s in the right state of mind. and after three whole years of working with him, others would think that childe’s used to his mercurial behavior by now. but he would give himself more credit, insisting that he’s not that deep into the corporate mentality to put business before rationale – but maybe it’s the luxury that comes along with being a secretary and not anyone more important.

now, where was he? oh, yeah. plotting exactly which words to tell his boss when it’s an acceptable time in the morning.

that means grumbling obscenities until he falls back asleep, brain power exhausted. that means waking up at an appropriate time (read: six), rolling out of bed, then heading to the tea bar, and concluding that, well, this is just how zhongli operates.

as in, he can’t be angry at his best friend for long.

ceramic cup in hand and bedhead as thick as a haystack, childe recalls two things that were previously clouded by his indignance: one, that the business life is all zhongli’s ever known, even when he was a kid (that much was made obvious when he couldn’t even list out how many hobbies he had the first time they met). two, the fact that, when asked, zhongli didn’t know which would be worse between losing stock investments or entire contact with the outside world.

sheltered is probably the closest word childe can think of, but zhongli isn’t stupid either. maybe socially inept is the better way to describe him – not like it cripples his personality entirely though. he’s got some redeeming qualities – childe tells himself to think positively of zhongli for the entirety of his stroll down the hall towards his office – but stops short once he opens the door and realizes that, well,

“three,” childe mouths incredulously, nearly dropping the ceramic in his hand. “three cups of tea from last night alone?”

“good morning to you too.”

childe doesn’t have much time to gawk. he would drag his face down with his fingers if his hands weren’t occupied, but knowing zhongli, he wouldn’t even make note of his dramatics. absorbed into his work first thing in the morning – and childe, looking down at himself, isn’t even dressed properly. just a dress shirt and pants, while zhongli has already decked himself out in a full-piece suit.

that’s what happens when zhongli decides that his office is where he’s going to live.

“you know,” childe starts, sighing for good measure. the ginger makes his way over to zhongli’s desk, replacing the three cups with one of fresh tea. glaze lily tea, to zhongli’s preference. “staying up late isn’t good for your health. especially when you’re high on caffeine six days a week.”

well, duh. the words come out dumber than he intended, but it gets the point across. it’s not childe’s job to sound intelligent, only that he knows how to manage someone else’s schedule.

it takes a few seconds for zhongli to respond, as his fingers are busy typing away at the keyboard. drafting another email, most likely. in that time, childe hooks his fingers through the handles of the three cups zhongli had downed the previous night, preparing to carry them out. “i do what i need to get things done,” the workaholic counters. his eyes don’t leave the monitor for a second, and childe has half the mind to think that he’s a robot. “we’ve talked about this before.”

zhongli’s not wrong, but childe’s face sours nonetheless. “i can’t have the heir of the company sabotaged by his own toxic work ethic, and insist that you take a nap whenever possible, my liege.”

his dramatics doesn’t earn him any points. he worries briefly that zhongli’s already gone into his own world, only able to be hauled back to the surface once the sun is far gone, and his eyebrows furrow. but now bent on getting a constructive response from zhongli, he refuses to budge from his spot across the desk.

almost as if he’s uncomfortable, zhongli looks up. childe knows he’s not actually peeved, and that the brunette is just thinking of what to say. three years of working for him taught him as much. “if i have time to, then i will.” the young heir averts his eyes towards the screen before meeting childe’s again. “thanks for your concern.”

if childe were any other person, he would believe zhongli. zhongli speaks without a falter in his voice – as if it weren’t already as smooth as velvet – and his eyes are resolute when locked onto his. but he’s not someone else, and the closest individual to a friend that zhongli has. it would be a disservice, both as a friend and coworker, to leave zhongli to his devices. so childe doesn’t relent. it’s his turn to be stubborn and set in his ways.

he places the cups back onto the desk, and the other man looks up curiously, just in time to see childe’s eyes narrow. “i mean it, zhongs.”

and, with just as much performative sincerity as before, zhongli says the same thing he always does, with a straight face and empty eyes. “i do, too.”

“no, you don’t.” childe’s scowl is as deep as his concern. he wasn’t joking earlier when he said that zhongli would be murdered by his own obsession with work – “responsibility,” as the younger of the two would insist, but he’s blind to his own persistence, and time has made that blatantly obvious. “i know you have a meeting soon, so i won’t stay long. i don’t care if we’ve talked about this before,” he rushes his words, determined to get them in before zhongli quips, “it doesn’t make it any less important.”

a pause. zhongli’s typing has halted and is instead replaced by silence. hell, he even folds his fingers together on top of the keyboard, as if telling childe that he finally has his full attention. but the void in his eyes hasn’t changed: amber, clouded with vermillion, and burning in coals.

childe assesses him sternly, extending the stillness of the moment, before proceeding. “i’m going to block out your schedule tonight after eight, and we’re going to have a talk.”

zhongli tries not to look fazed. to his credit, he really, really tries, but his posture bristles just enough to cue the secretary in on his client’s displeasure. “no, i’m not going to watch over you for the rest of the night to make sure you sleep,” he reassures just as swiftly, half-teasing and half-serious, “but we are going to make some plans.”

both of childe’s hands are flat on the desk as the two of them regard each other. although zhongli is the taller of the two, his position in the office chair gives childe the height advantage in the current situation. “after you get enough rest this week, i’m going to get you out of this building,” childe vows to zhongli. neither of them blink. “you’re going to walk on the streets and breathe fresh air. you’re going to spend time with people your age and eat at a restaurant. you’re going to have fun.”

it is at that moment, when zhongli’s face falters as if he’s being spoken to in python when his input is java, that childe realizes that he has no strategy, and that he’s just saying the things that he wants for zhongli: he refuses to believe that zhongli will continue to regard this room, conditioned with with frigid air and tailored to each tile on the floor, is his only future, and instead wants his 25 year-old boss to have some semblance of life in his days instead of bleeding through each, only to tear through the next.

childe had the choice to dream towards the life he currently lives. on the other hand, zhongli never did. inheriting a multi-million dollar company, especially being the son of the ceo, outwardly sounds like the opportunity only the archons could bestow. childe would have thought the same too.

until he realized that predestination sucks, and that zhongli is too good to wither his youth away behind a desk.

childe has exactly thirteen hours to come up with a plan. from the thoughts floating in his head, it can turn out in one of two ways:

one: zhongli is integrated back into society and lives a happier, more animated life than what he currently has.

two: childe loses his job.

#genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli scenarios #zhongli headcanons #modern au #sugar daddy au #slow burn #eventual smut #how to tag :')

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matronoftheblackrose · 3 years

Text

The King of Death

The souls swarmed around Thresh. The eternal Harrowing, the fall of Viego, all of this immense power. Truly, he could now truly and fully understand the meaningless nature of mortals and their struggles. After all, who could oppose him? His lantern shone with a brilliant, green light. Even the gravedigger could do naught but shamble away-

“Warden,” Yorick rumbled.

Thresh’s eyes snapped down and glared at Yorick. He dare stand here? In front of him?

“What are your thoughts, Gravedigger? Dare you think you can oppose me?”

Yorick shrugged. “What is your goal, Warden?”

“I know of your goals, Gravedigger. You cannot oppose me.”

“My goals?” Yorick stroked his beard, not making eye contact with Thresh. “Do you know them, Warden?”

Thresh cackled. He threw his lantern down on the ground in front of him, held his arms out to his sides and cast in the eerie glow of the Ruination itself, he demanded, “All you and the rest of Runeterra can only writhe, like a worm on a hook, before me. What need do I have to know of your goals?”

With a sudden, violent swing, Yorick struck Thresh’s perfect jawline with his shovel. Thresh had withstood the entire barrage of every single bloody Sentinel of Light with ease, he made no effort to resist a shovel.

Bone cracked.

Thresh’s head twisted from the impact. His eyes burned with rage as he slowly looked down at Yorick, who returned the intensity with a glare of his own.

“You get that one. Now to see what is still flesh, and what is bone, as I flay you.”

Yorick shook his head. “No. You do not,” turned around, and hobbled away from Thresh.

Thresh tried to pull his arm back to prepare his scythe, only to find his body unable to move. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was staring at his body from a wholly unique perspective. Thresh could not comprehend the literal, out of body experience, he was undergoing.

“There is a reason why Viego shed so much of the souls, and why it was so hard to ‘catch’ him. An ancient secret, even older than the Blessed Isles themselves,” Yorick said, the Maiden of the Mist encircling him, laughing and sobbing. “I may not be able to kill you yet, but when I can, I will. For now, I can cut down your misinformed ego.”

Thresh was about to howl his curses at Yorick when an iron gauntlet grasped his spirit’s throat. As Thresh was yanked back, Yorick gave Thresh one more disinterested look, but his words were colder than the deepest grave.

“Give Sahn-Uzal my regards.”

---

Thresh felt his soul fly through time and space, with all of his hundreds of thousands of souls scream in unison as they trailed behind him. Eventually, Thresh was thrown down onto an ephemeral ground that felt as solid as any stone.

‘My liege, I bring to you an oddity,’ a voice whispered.

Thresh snapped his hands down, his scythe and lantern blasting into view, and he swung at the one who dared manhandle him. Strangely enough, the offender was similar to Hecarim and the Iron Legion- a foe built almost entirely from a humanoid suit of plate mail with a pale blue light that bloomed from within, but as Thresh’s scythe sank into a soul, the Warden knew this was just more food for his lantern. With a hard pull, Thresh ripped out the soul from the armor and guided it to his lantern, and absorbed it.

Dead silence as Thresh finally took in his surroundings: It was a new realm for him, sure, but it was... actually wonderful. All mimicries of life, all built entirely from the energy of mortal souls, from the paved ground of a castle and the tapestries depicting battles on the walls, that seemed to be simultaneously as close to Thresh as they were far from him, to the hundreds of armed, heavily armored soldiers surrounding him. That Yorick was a strange fellow, but the Warden could see he was in fact, being rewarded by the gravedigger. Thresh would make sure that Yorick’s torture would be delightful agony for such a beautiful gift.

‘He has power here?’ a soldier whispered.

‘No. He dares have power here,’ another whispered.

Thresh looked about, rattled his chain a little bit, and asked, “Which one of you brought me here?”

‘You know not?’

The soldiers laughed in unison at Thresh, making his sickly blood boil.

‘Foolish Banquet of Delights, only an emissary, or our liege, can do so,' another soldier answered.

“Liege?” Thresh spat the title out with a cackle. “There is a king here? How curious. What is a king to a god? Bring him here, I will claim this realm for my own.”

The soldiers went dead quiet. They pulled their spears, bows and their entire armoury of weaponry free and pointed at Thresh.

Thresh struck first. Swinging his scythe, he cut swathe after swathe of soldiers down with ease. Each spirit detonating as he pulled himself into them, absorbing hundreds of souls. Even here, Thresh could feel his strength grow, the power of the lantern absorbing souls with every strike he made.

“Kneel before your God, you wretched mongrels. I will give you the leash that you all deserve.”

A single toll of a big black bell roared in the distance. The soldiers pulled back, sheathed their weapons, and knelt to the ground. Thresh could not help but grin- he already conquered an entire realm in such a short time.

A voice sang, “When the bell begins to ring, it means the time has cometh for one to go to the temple of the king.”

A wild haired man walked towards Thresh, pointing at him, mania in his eyes as he continued, “There! In the middle of the circle of our legions he stands! There he stands- searching! Seeking!”

Thresh swung his chain once, twice, then heaven the scythe at the man.

And with just one touch of the man’s trembling hand, Thresh’s scythe stopped midair, and fell to the ground.

“The answer will be found,” the man continued as he brought his hands up to the sky of silently screaming souls. “Heavens, help us. Spare us the daylight of life this man brings.”

And like the rush of a thousand, metal wings grinding and screeching, a mace the size of a colonnade slammed into the ground. Along with the mace, with a flick of iron wings that sent a cascade of shrapnel flying every which way, a giant of a man appeared from the soul-filled air.

“Nightfall has arrived,” the man concluded, bowing to the ground in supplication.

A head or two taller than the gigantic mace, swathed from head to toe in the heaviest armor, with the framework of a ribcage composing of his chest plate, an iron revenant stood before Thresh.The iron man stared at Thresh, who may have been dwarfed in stature, but the Warden certainly puffed his chest out like a boy trying to impress his date, in response to the giant’s arrival.

Thresh pointed at the man before him, “Are you the so called king of this realm?”

The iron revenant did not respond.

Thresh tightened his grip on his scythe. “Are you or are you just another pitiful soul for my collection?”

The iron revenant looked to its side, at the prostrated man, and said in a deep voice, that sounded eerily similar to the toll of a bell, “Dio, I request a song: Hymn of Valor.”

Dio stood up, bowed again, scuttled to the back and in seconds, a song that quickened the heart and pumped one’s adrenaline flooded the realm.

Thresh pointed at the iron revenant and said, “Come out and play, liege.”

“I will ask this once: Who marked you to be brought here?” the revenant asked in response.

“It does n-?’ was all Thresh could manage before a spectral claw the size of the revenant grasped him, pulled him forward with loud, shrieking steel on steel, and threw him to the ground.

Before Thresh could respond, he felt the full weight of the mace slam into him. He felt his body creak, his soul crack, and it would have been a fatal blow if it were not for all-

“One million, three hundred fifty seven thousand, six hundred and sixty seven souls empower you.”

Thresh’s eyes went wide. He threw his scythe out, hooking the revenant’s armor, and tore his chain with all of his might. There was the clink of metal breaking, which elicited a gasp of shock from onlookers. Thresh was about to say something when he felt his body leave the ground, and he saw he was about to be golf swung in the face by the mace.

Thresh threw his lantern and pulled himself towards it, his face narrowly missing the swing- but his legs felt the full impact and shattered instantly.

“One million, three hundred fifty seven thousand, six hundred and sixty six now empower you,” the iron revenant continued.

“How dare you do this to me- I am your god! You will kneel before me and I will add your soul to my collection!” Thresh spat out as his legs reformed and he stood back up.

The iron revenant went quiet. It hoisted its mace up to its shoulder, and pointed at Thresh. “You may be a collection of souls, but not a single one of them is perfected, Thresh of Helia.”

Thresh felt something in his head- it must be the newly formed flesh. An ancient, long forgotten sensation that the Ruination discarded alongside the lizard brain mortals had.

“Though misery loves company, you have what is mine. I will take them back.”

The iron revenant swung his mace down again, almost clumsily so. Thresh was able to sidestep the strike, only to find the giant mace change trajectory mid-air, and aimed directly at his lantern.

With a loud crack, the lantern burst with a flood of souls that all flew to the iron revenant and prostrated themselves to it.

“Hobbyist of Helia, of the Blessed Isles- what is a false god to the true King of Death?” The iron revenant raised his mace above his head, and with a bellowing bell toll, demanded, "Who am I, my children of the grave? Who is your liege, sing my praises, conquered souls.”

And the voices chanted,’Mordekaiser! Mordekaiser!’

Thresh felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his head. What in all of the hells was this? Wait, he remembered something- Yorick said something about Sahn someone? Duke Vladimir of Camavor related an old legend about a warlord-

Then Thresh was struck yet again. This time Thresh braced himself as best as he could, but his lantern could not sustain the force.

“One million, two hundred fifty five thousand, five hundred and thirty two left,” Mordekaiser stated as more souls fled from Thresh’s collection and swirled about him in a cacophony of metal shards. “I will accept your servitude whenever you decide, godling.”

Thresh decided he did not care who this thing was- no one steals from his collection. Whipping his chain about, Thresh let out a torrent of vicious strikes- each blow detonating a soul that could tear entire buildings down. Yet after the tenth blow, Mordekaiser grasped the chain, and snapped the scythe, which joined his encircling aura of metal and death.

“Your sickness sustains me. Your pain delights me. Your lifeline is severed, death is creeping, and there is none to save you.”

“For there is none as great as he, the Kaiser of Morde!” the soldiers all cried out in unison.

Thresh staggered back. He could get out, his lantern beamed with the energy of souls when he was struck in the chest- collapsing it a thousand times over as more souls fled from his collection, repairing his broken and battered body.

“One million, seventy nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy nine left. You shall serve me too, spirit.”

Thresh hissed, “What are you? How can you have this much power? Not even Viego-”

“I am the metal that Noxia was built on. I am the monster that is whispered in the ears of children. I am the reason that man fears the dark of the forests and the light of fire. The songs of sirens are sung to my appeasement, and I bless alll with great suffering. I am Mordekaiser, and the same magic that chains you to this realm frees me to walk between.”

Thresh looked about, realizing the full error of his ways. This really was the realm of death, and this man- no, this creature, was not only able to exist here, but it cultivated the power of death itself. The Shadow Isles may be undeath, but that was why Mordekaiser was able to harm him at all. He needed to escape, he needed a moment-

Thresh narrowly avoided the next mace strike as he backed away from the advancing Mordekaiser, his mind racing. So long as Mordekaiser was focused on him, Thresh could not really concoct anything remotely clever. Wait.

“Yorick the Gravekeeper has asked me to send his regards to Sahn-Uzal,” Thresh threw out, hoping it would land.

And it did. Mordekaiser paused in his stride. “Yorick, you say. So that is how you were marked. I see.”

That was enough breathing space. Thresh detonated his lantern once more, cursing at how many souls were about to be lost, as the spirits ripped open a portal to the living world. With enough energy utilized, so long as the souls themselves were fully consumed, Thresh could walk between these realms at the mere cost of a couple hundred thousand or so souls in theory.

Mordekaiser’s gauntlet snapped out, almost grasping Thresh, but his fingers caught nothing but air as Thresh disappeared from view. Whatever this Mordekaiser was, he needed more information. He needed to interrogate Vladimir, he needed to collect more souls, he needed more power. How dare someone lay claim to his realm, when Thresh was the Warden- nay, the God of Souls.

“Mordekaiser, my liege...” Dio started, but said nothing else. He would not dare question the King of Death.

“The Gravekeeper, one of the only men to earn respect, has marked him as a target of interest. When I return, the hobbyist shall collect more souls.”

“And the more souls one dare has, the more power you have against them, Kaiser of Morde, a 6v4 you could say,” Dio said with a nod and a smile.

Mordekaiser glared at Dio, silencing the man. What a strange statement to make when everyone here knew about it. But that was the problem, only people here knew about his might. Mordekaiser was now in deep thought- perhaps it was time to return to Runeterra and take back what was rightfully his.

#Thresh #Yorick #Mordekaiser #League of Legends #They did Yorick dirty #So I did this and I wrote about Morde #cause fuck stupid sexy Thresh

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scalpel-mom-mori · 3 years

Note

Please grace my eyes with this absolutely blessed child of yours please I beg of you my liege I need it to function

-chiluc convert anon

Truly, I was kidding, anon- I only needed someone to ask- but this is glorious. Here is your reward.

Windwheel asters would have to do. Tartaglia wasn’t shameless enough to send Diluc lampgrass after his last visit to the Angel’s Share. He was shameless enough, though, to hope Diluc wouldn’t just throw him out when he visited to apologize.

Tartaglia smiled brightly at the maid that let him in. “Won’t you be a dear and get these some water? It’s so gloomy in here. I caught wind of a rumor that Master Diluc’s in a mood.”

From the corner of his eye, Tartaglia caught a flash of the selfsame Master Diluc disappearing into his office.

Quickly, without bothering to ask the maid her name, Tartaglia followed him.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Diluc growled when Tartaglia let himself into the office.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. Diluc didn’t respond, so Tartaglia kept talking like he always did. The words wouldn’t stop coming. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, and I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but please, I need to talk to you.”

Diluc looked up from his paperwork, still glaring, but nodded in a silent gesture to continue.

“I messed this one up,” Tartaglia said, “I did. Ever since that night in the garden. You were mad, I know, but I had to do it at least once.” Diluc’s control over his expression wasn’t as fine as Kaeya’s, Tartaglia noted, as a tiny frown appeared. “And then the next time I thought… I thought I’d do it again, just one more time, after the hilichurls the second time, you know. My brain… I wasn’t thinking right, but it felt right. I just got so mad that you didn’t say anything, and Kaeya was right there and he just has so much fun laughing there over a glass. I messed this one up, Diluc, I really did.”

Then come begging to me, Kaeya had said. A challenge, Tartaglia realized belatedly. Because Kaeya was just the sort of person who’d notice that Tartaglia could never turn down a challenge.

Diluc’s eyes flicked down to his paperwork, so Tartaglia did the only thing he knew to do when he wanted Diluc’s attention anymore. He grabbed Diluc’s right hand in both of his and kissed his fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s unfair to both of you that I’d do that.” Tartaglia closed his eyes and kissed Diluc’s knuckles again. “I shouldn’t have dragged Kaeya into our problems, just to hurt you. I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

Diluc pulled his hand away, and Tartaglia let his own fall to his side.

“You damn idiot,” Diluc said. Tartaglia’s eyes flew open with a gasp as Diluc grabbed the front of his shirt. “If you’re going to kiss me, do it right.”

#chiluc convert anon #chiluc #childe #diluc #i do'nt remember if i posted their first kiss #hm

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digitalmidnight · 2 years

Text

The best perk of Bandana Dee's job was his bedroom. It was located on the second floor of the east wing, far from the barracks the soldiers slept in. His only neighbor was the Great King himself, who lived directly above him and despite his tendency to stay up late into the night he was quite quiet. Well, most nights anyway.

Bandana Waddle Dee opened his eyes slowly. 2:43 am, his clock read. Why'd he wake up? He didn’t feel thirsty, hungry, nor did he feel the urge to visit the bathroom. He wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact he felt he was in the most comfortable position he could be, bundled in thick, fuzzy blankets as the cool night’s breeze swept over the rest of the room from the cracked open window. Whatever reason he had to wake up didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the fountain of dream’s blessing wash over him yet again.

“My liege?” Softly called out Bandana. He had slipped in the room during a brief pause in the noises. Hunched over the workbench, King Dedede had his back to the door and protective headphones covering his ears. The power drill and all his other, louder tools currently weren’t in his hands as he appeared to be comparing whatever he was working on to his notes. It took a moment, but he did eventually turn to Bandana Dee, who was still in the doorway.

“Correct, Great King.” Seeing as there was no clear spot on the table, Bandana Dee opted to just hand the cake to King Dedede, who eagerly took it. “I thought you would enjoy a treat.”

“It’s just past 3, sir.” Bandana Dee corrected.

“Quit joshin with me, it ain’t that late!” Snapped King Dedede as he turned to his digital clock that rested on the wall just above the window. A fierce blush was making his way across his cheeks from the embarrassment and frustration at being wrong. As his King’s closest subordinate, he wouldn’t say a word about it.

“I heard your power drill from my room, Great King, and I thought you would want a small break from your work.”

His blush grew, however the anger shifted away to sheepishness. He wouldn’t apologize, and Bandana Dee didn’t expect one, however he knew in his heart the King did feel semi guilty about the noise. Hopefully enough to cease using any loud tools so late in the evening again.

Hoping to shift the topic to one less embarrassing to his King, he asked curiously, “what are you working on, sir?”

“Well you see this here?” King Dedede pointed to a blueprint on the table, one Bandana Dee couldn’t see from his vantage point. Thankfully, King Dedede shimmied to the right in his bench, making room for him to crawl onto the seat. The blueprint he was pointing to was of Kabula, his personal aircraft with advanced AI controls. It was of her redesign, which was faster and deadlier thanks to the efforts of the Great King, who had worked tirelessly on her until he declared the project finished last week.

King Dedede was tapping on a part of the blueprint showing a mere section of the aircraft. It was either a missile or a jet. “I thought adding a bit more omph to my hammer will help me clobber that there Kirby. Makin’ my swings heavier and faster with this here engine will give that puffball a run for his money, if he even makes it to me! Ha!”

With a devious snicker, already imagining the future fight with Kirby, King Dedede picked up the engine from a nearby pile of parts and tossed it with the ease he would an apple. “Ha! This little extra weight ain’t anything! Heck, I think even you could carry it.” With that he held out the engine in offering. Bandana Dee stared sleepily at it for a moment before reaching out to hold it. How heavy could it possibly be?

Heavy. So heavy. As soon as King Dedede’s support was gone, the engine along with his hands were dragged down to his feet. Thankfully, his liege had better reflexes than him, or perhaps he was just more awake, and grabbed the engine before either him or the engine took damage. That engine had to weigh more than 600 apples at the least, yet his King could hold it with ease.

“Uh, guess not. You okay?” Without looking, the Great King casually dropped the engine on the workbench roughly where it had been originally.

“Y-yes.” To be sure, Bandana Dee shook his arms a little. He was fine. “Kirby sure has a tough fight ahead of him if you use that hammer, sir.”

“And I’ll have an easy one!” King Dedede turned back towards his worktable. “Tomorrow is the day me and Kirby’s rivalry ends once ‘n for all!”

“Of course, sire.” Tomorrow was the day. By morning, they would send for Kirby. If Bandana Dee’s calculations were correct, Kirby would arrive for the final battle between him and the King by sunset at the latest. The thought sent his heart racing, no matter how often his king reasured him that even if Kirby beat every other member of the army, Kirby didn’t stand a chance against the Great King. The excitement was extremely tiring, actually. A yawn escaped him.

King Dedede looked down to him. “You can go to bed now, Bandee.”

“Your Majesty should as well,” countered Bandana Dee. “We have a big day ahead of us.”

“I’ll go to bed when I’m done!” King Dedede declared, stubborness flaring up.

“Then I will stay up with you, my King.” Bandana Dee said with his own brand of stubborness. Though he expected that the Great King saw through this bluff when the Waddle Dee tried unsuccesfully to stifle another yawn. King Dedede said nothing about it, just moving back towards his work. The tossed aside engine was picked up with only one of his hands and laid carefully in the hammer’s shell. Arranging a tiny light so he would see, the Great King picked up a small tool and some wires and began to work on the inside of the shell.

Bandana Dee leaned over to rest his head on the King’s robe. To be able to be strong enough to hold back Kirby, who defeated Dark Matter, Nightmare and many other terrifying bosses that Waddle Dee couldn’t name, was amazing.

If only he could be that strong as well.

Bandana Dee didn’t remember going to bed when he awoke tucked in a little too tight, but he did remember that burning desire to one day be as strong as his king. That wish of his persisted, even a week later when he was pulling a small wagon with four neat boxes in it to the castle’s infirmary.

☆☆☆☆☆

Despite the intro, the story will mostly focus on Meta Knight and Bandana Dee. I think I'll hold off fully posting it on AO3 until it's complete, but here's the intro.

Fanfiction will feature:

Bandana Dee, who puts himself first for the first time in his life and it spirals out of control

Kirby, who latches on to Bandana Dee the second he gives him food

Meta Knight, who thinks the best way to apologize for an attempted take over is to teach the king's closest subordinate how to fight behind his back

And King Dedede, who is trying his best (yet failing) to pretend like he isn't becoming friends with the other three

#kirby #writing midnight fanfiction #fanfiction #bandana dee #kirby series #king dedede #rip the other fanfic for a while but i need to save face in the family lmao #long post #i think tumblr cuts it off now so i dont need to put a read more??? tell me if otherwise #first draft so there are def mistakes that will be edited out #protostar kirby fic

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noblehcart · 2 years

Text

@walkingshcdow : Str.ahd & Stefalek

"Well, my liege. I have a proposal." Stefan mused fighting the slight smirk teasing at his dusky lips as he listened to Alek echoing in the back of his thoughts to the idea. He was somehow blessed and cursed with a second soul, but it was a blessing in that he and Alek agreed in most everything. Quite often one would forget the other was there with how in sync they often were. Same goals, same train of thought and thankfully same appreciative desires.

A desire they both had for the night, but withheld on in regards to their mutual partner. Stefan's heart skipped for a moment at the idea. The excitement. The newness. Alek only seemed all the more confident as Stefan pulled the shirt over his head, tossed it into the nearest chair as broad shoulders and muscled cut of his abdomen were exposed.

"You can have one or both, but its your ever wise choice." Fingers combed through slightly damp hair after having come into the room after a bath that left him aching to sweat again. He wasn't turned yet and part of him was curious about this as human as he was. Alek could only assume it'd be better. Being human was to be alive in all the exquisite pricelessness that was their short existence. Both men agreed they wanted to try once before they were turned. With him. Alek agreed that Stefan should be the one to propose the idea as they were the least acquainted. It would appear to be humbling or so he hoped to present himself and if not well Stefan would simply find some other way to amuse himself in the back of Alek's subconscious as the other indulged.

Pants hung loosely about his hip as the belt was pulled through loops between calloused strong hands and tossed along with the shirt. "Alek and I can take turns or share, but the choice is yours." He hummed reiterating once more with slow careful words as he approached where Strahd sat then lowered himself onto his knees, hands braced on either armrest between Strahd's legs, head tilted up to look at the man he'd call his lover from here and forevermore. "You won't hurt my feelings if you want Alek." Blue eyes twinkled darkly as his leaned up closer while gaze drifted down. "But I can assure you that you won't regret me."

#walkingshcdow #/ stefan ivanov / threads #I HAVEN'T MADE A STEFALEK TAG #and im not sure that i will but here we go

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zelenacat · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1- When We Were Young- An Obitine Story

She was dressed from head to toe in ivory. Her voluminous gown glimmered in the sunlight, emanating a pearly sheen on the marble floors of the palace. The aureate doves and shields on her hem reflected their golden threads onto the shiny golden flats that caressed her heels. Clinched at the waist was a slim glimmering belt that rested nicely on her hips, bejeweled with citrine and opal stones interlocking with pearls. She was slightly uncomfortable with the tightness of her corsetted bust and how it accented the shoulders her maids had rubbed with oil.

“Your Grace?”

Satine straightened at her title, pushing her shoulder blades back and raising her chin. She stared at her face in the mirror, crystal blue eyes ablaze with righteous fire, slim cheekbones painted a pale pink, and with her hair in a low bun, Satine was about to face her destiny.

“Your Grace?”

Those words shook her from her revelry.

Satine swallowed, addressing the lady that had just appeared in the doorway, “Yes, Fesma?”

“Your train, Your Grace.”

Satine gasped, Mandalorians were not ones for frivolity, but this cape, the royal coronation train, was the most glorious thing she’d ever seen. Fesma stepped forward, Khaami, her other lady appeared in the doorway just as the purple velvet was draped over her shoulders and tied along her collar bone.

“Your Grace, the carriage has arrived.”

Satine placed her hands on her stomach and inhaled, steadying herself, this was it, the day.

“Let us go then.”

Satine rode in a covered aircraft that slowly crawled through the city of Sundari, headed to the glorious Jaru Cathedral. She’d been nervous all morning, but now it was real. The people, so many of them, cheered as they tried to get a glimpse of her behind the veiled windows. In the car behind her rode four of her coronation maidens, only Fesma and Khaami were with her now.

“You will excel, Your Grace,” Fesma spoke up.

Satine turned to her.

“Are you sure?” slipped out her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Quite,” Fesma answered firmly, “you are the Duchess.”

“It is true, Your Grace,” Khaami agreed, “it is your birthright.”

Satine tried to smile, “I thank you, ladies, for your kindness.”

Fesma and Khaami had been natural choices for her ladies, they were the daughters of powerful counts, and she had known them since girlhood.

As they arrived at the Cathedral, the trumpets blared. Satine’s sister, Bo-Katan, dressed in light blue with a violet sash, opened the car door.

“Here we go, Bine,” Bo-Katan held out her hand, “it’s time.”

Satine took her sister’s hand and climbed out of the carriage, the crowds roared. Satine looked up at the camera, and it was then she truly smiled, her people, they loved her.

“Ready, Your Grace,” Khaami whispered from behind.

Satine turned around to check, her ladies were holding the sides of her cape, it wasn’t allowed to touch the ground. Behind them, her coronation maidens were waiting. Steeling herself, Satine walked forward, with Bo-Katan on her right as her coronation maidens fell in line, she looked every bit as regal as she felt.

At the Cathedral entrance, Bo-Katan was given a sword, she held it upright and stepped in front of Satine, the trumpets blared again. Slowly, the nobles in the stands stood and Bo-Katan stepped forward. Satine knew that her sister had practiced for this moment, as she was not one for royal engagements, and for that Satine was grateful.

As they made their way to the end of the aisle, Bo-Katan stepped off to the side and Satine turned to sit on the grand throne center stage. Her ladies spread her cape around her off to one side, elegantly accentuating her posture.

“The Archbishops of Sundari.”

Slowly, two ancient men made their way from Satine’s sides, one on the right the other on the left. One carried a knife, the other carried a bowl, they stopped in front of Satine and bowed deeply. When they rose, Satine watched as one Archbishop held out his hand to her, Satine tried not to shake as she took the knife.

“Do you solemnly swear,” droned the other Archbishop, “that you are as pure and as holy as warrior King Korkyrach the First?”

“I solemnly swear.” Satine spoke.

“Do you solemnly swear” began the other one, “that you will lead Mandalore to greatness as the Queen Mara the First once did?”

“I solemnly swear.” Satine said sternly.

The Archbishop held out the bowl, and Satine made a shallow cut on her wrist. Gingerly, she poured some drops of blood into the ancient artifact.

“The Gods have accepted your blood,” the Archbishops stated together, “the Gods have proclaimed you worthy.”

Trumpets blared and the Archbishops moved to stand at her sides. Down the aisle came the High Justice, carrying a scarlet pillow with the most decadent crown upon it. Satine was conscious of her eyes widening, but she didn’t realize the rapid rising of her chest.

“Calm, little one,” whispered the old High Justice when she was in earshot, “this is your birthright.”

Satine straightened. One of the High Justice’s attendants took the pillow from him and the High Justice raised the crown above Satine’s head.

“As Jaru the Divine blessed the first Dukes of Mandalore, she now blesses you, Satine Kryze, as you are officially crowned, Duchess of Mandalore!”

Satine felt the weight of the heavy crown on her head and she closed her eyes.

“Long live the Duchess!”

Satine opened her eyes.

“Long Live the Duchess!”

Straightening, Satine focused on her breathing.

“Long live the Duchess!”

The High Justice and his attendant stepped to the sides of the throne as Bo-Katan walked forward. Just in front of the throne, Satine’s sister got down on one knee and took Satine’s hand in hers.

“I, Bo-Katan Kryze of Clan Kryze, declare myself to be your liege of life and limb, your sister in battle, and your servant in peace. May Mandalore prosper under your reign.”

One by one, the clan leaders came up and pledged allegiance to Satine, their new duchess, declaring that her reign would be a glorious one. When it came time for her to leave, Satine’s ladies and coronation maidens encircled the throne and Satine stood. The crowd surged forward as she appeared on the steps of the Jaru Cathedral, Satine smiled and waved as she got into the carriage. After a few minutes of her ladies arranging her cape, the coachman closed the door.

She made a speech on the balcony of the Summer Palace, facing all of Sundari as she repeated the practiced words she’d been preparing for weeks. The people cheered when she finished, the nobles clapped politely.

“Long live the Duchess!”

Satine didn’t expel the breath she was holding until after their backward march, when the panes of the palace balcony closed.

“Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Satine choked on a giggle.

“Your Grace?”

Satine sighed and turned to face her ladies and coronation maidens, “Thank you all.”

“Come, Your Grace,” Fesma held out her hand, “let us help you to your quarters.”

In her quarters, Satine took off the ceremonial crown and set it down on her toilette, then went her gloves, her diamond choker and pearls, and finally, her cape.

“Fesma, Khaami?”

“Yes, Your Grace?” the ladies looked up.

“Please return the ceremonial regalia and my jewels to the royal treasury.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Satine placed the crown in Fesma’s hands and draped the cape over Khaami’s arms.

“Hm,” the Duchess stood back to admire her handiwork, then cracked a smile, “I think you should wear the jewels to transport them, don’t you think?”

Khaami’s mouth dropped open and she coughed on a gasp. Fesma’s eyes went wide, but she recovered.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Yes, Fesma.”

Khaami squealed. Satine placed the necklaces on her ladies.

“Be back quickly, I have to change.”

After her ladies left, Satine sat down in her toilette chair, staring at herself in the mirror. She’d done it, a proud expression crossed her face, she was the Duchess of Mandalore. Yet, something felt...wrong.

Satine inhaled sharply, she wouldn’t think of him. Satine wouldn’t think about how she felt when he’d taken harpoons for her, or how he made her laugh with her belly, or how she’d given him her body without a second thought. Where was he now? Did he remember her? Had he moved on?

“Your Grace?”

Satine looked up, she hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Yes, Fesma?”

Fesma frowned when she saw the Duchess, “We must get you dressed for the banquet.”

“Yes,” Satine wiped her eyes, “I am the guest of honor after all.”

Standing, the Duchess did not miss the look of concern that passed between her ladies.

“Your Grace, are you-”

“I’m alright, Fesma,” Satine interrupted, “but we must get ready.”

The coronation had been held at around 11 o’clock in the morning, but Satine had barely eaten breakfast; she'd been so nervous. So while Fesma prepared a bath, Khaami went to fetch food.

“Fesma,” Satine’s face darkened suddenly, “what was it like the year I was gone?”

The lady froze, swallowed, shook her head, and continued on with her task.

“Not even us nobles fared well, our houses were raided, food became scarce-”

“I’m sorry.” Satine confided.

“What about you, Your Grace,” Fesma asked, “what was your year away from home like?”

So many memories came back to Satine, dancing with Obi-Wan under a dark sky with stars as their only light, learning how to climb trees just so she could watch her Jedi protectors meditate, and learning how to swim with Obi-Wan’s hands guiding her.

“Your Grace?” there was a curious edge in Fesma’s tone this time.

Satine sighed, “It was an adventure.”

After Satine had washed herself, she ate while Fesma dried her hair.

“You’re late.” Fesma had observed when Khaami returned.

Khaami blushed, “I ran into Yorge.”

Satine grinned, “Is that why there’s extra cakes?”

Khaami returned her smile, “That and because it’s a special day, Your Grace.”

Satine offered some cakes to Khaami and Fesma before they continued getting ready. She never liked painting her face, so Satine waved it off, but Fesma did insist her hair be done the way her foremother’s had worn it, in braids for battle.

“They frame your face, Your Grace.” Khaami observed Fesma’s handiwork.

“Call me Satine,” the Duchess said suddenly, “like you used to.”

Khaami looked down.

“My father said that it's different now,” she said, “because you’re the Duchess.”

“Well as the Duchess,” Satine straightened, “I decree that you shall call me Satine.”

Fesma grinned, “I guess that’s that, then.”

By the time it was four o’clock, Satine was fully dressed. Her gown was a deep royal purple with golden embroidery on the hems. She had a golden belt with amethysts that hummed softly against the dark stone on her bust that connected to her layered pearl necklace. Satine ran her fingers along the navy sash across her body, clipped with all sorts of medals and regal symbols.

Khaami came up behind her, “And to finish it off.”

The Duchess smiled, Fesma took the tiara from Khaami’s hands and placed it on Satine’s head.

“You look lovely, Satine.” Khaami clapped.

“Thank you,” the Duchess turned to her ladies, “now go get dressed yourselves, the reception starts in an hour.”

Squealing, Satine’s friends ran from the room. The Duchess smiled sadly, it had been a month since Obi-Wan left, and it had been a month since she last giggled like a girl. Now, she was no longer a girl, but the Duchess of Mandalore.

Satine sighed, Obi-Wan was like a crushing weight on her chest everytime she thought of him, and her corset currently wasn’t helping. Why did he half to command such a power over her, the charming padawan with his roguish smile and twinkling eyes. He’d said he’d loved her, and she’d confessed the same.

Inhaling and trying to hold back her tears, Satine made her way out of her personal quarters and into the sitting room that adjoined it. There she would find something to do, but bookshelves and a piano didn’t hold any interest for Satine at the moment. Over her year on the run, she’d learned to appreciate the little things, unfortunately, the Duchess couldn’t seem to pull herself out of her sadness.

Finally, after running her fingers along book spines and fiddling with piano keys for an ungodly amount of time, Fesma and Khaami returned to Satine’s chambers.

“Satine,” Fesma whispered quietly as they took their places in the hall, “remember to smile.”

When her name was announced, trumpets blew and the grand double doors swung open, Satine smiled as politely as she could and descended the stairs, arms clasped in front of her. The crowds parted, ladies curtsied and men bowed as Satine walked by, making her way to the throne in the back of the room.

“Your Grace.”

Satine admired her subjects, they all seemed so radiant.

“Your Grace.”

And she was Duchess of them all, a great responsibility.

“Your Grace.”

Satine must earn their respect. Turning, she sat on the throne as Fesma and Khaami took their places beside her. The mingling began. Satine watched for the first five minutes, making connections in her mind as to who connected with who. Then she stood and took a turn about the room, she graciously greeted the clan heads and dignitaries from foreign courts who had come to witness her coronation. By the time it was announced that dinner was served, Satine felt like her brain was melting. So many back-stabing compliments and veiled unpleasantries, the Duchess wasn’t amused.

Satine picked up her spoon and took the first bite, the court followed.

“What a splendid performance, Your Grace.” the man on her left, Tarrei Vizsla commented.

“Thank you, Count Vizsla, that is most kind.”

“Have you considered what your first act as Duchess will be?”

Satine smiled, “Likely it shall be opening the new parliament.”

The Count’s lips twitched, and Satine wondered for a minute which side of the war he’d been on. The New Mandalorians, a peaceful sect, had just taken over the government and were picking their cabinet members, Satine had alluded to being a pacifist in her speech earlier in the day, but she hadn’t outright said it. Count Vizsla was probably seeing where she stood.

The Count nodded politely and returned to his food, Satine wondered if she had just made a huge mistake.

When Satine finished her meal, she allowed the man on her right, an ambassador from Onderon, to lead her into the ballroom. For the first hour, she danced with all the high-ranking dignitaries who asked to take a spin with her. Afterwards, she sat with Fesma and Khaami, claiming she needed a refreshment.

“This is quite the spectacle.” Khaami whispered, leaning into Satine.

“I agree,” the Duchess frowned, watching her people dance, “the last time we threw a ball my father was the Duke.”

“He would be proud of you, Satine,” Fesma placed her hand on Satine’s, “I’m sure of it.”

The Duchess grimaced, “I don’t know if he’d agree with my political views.”

Fesma shrugged, “Children have to rebel somehow.”

The Duchess danced a couple more times in the next two hours before bidding good evening to the guests that approached her before leaving. Finally, when Satine was free to leave the party herself, she practically ran back to her room.

“Thank goodness that’s over.” Khaami sighed.

The Duchess huffed in agreement, taking off her tiara and jewelry.

“I’ll take those downstairs if you like, Satine.” Fesma offered.

“Yes,” Satine smiled wearily, ”thank you.”

As Khaami began to help the Duchess shed her many layers, Satine felt a queasiness in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it quickly. Just as her dress fell to the floor, she ran to the fresher.

“Satine?”

Expelling saliva infused chunks of her coronation meal, the Duchess began to choke.

“Oh, Satine!”

The Duchess heard Khaami run over to her and begin to smack her in the back.

“Khaami, what-”

“Satine’s ill.” Khaami explained to Fesma.

The Duchess regurgitated a chunk of meat into the fresher.

“Well hold her hair up, then!” Fesma ordered.

When Satine’s stomach had calmed down and she was able to speak again, she asked for a cup of water and to be left alone. Fesma and Khaami had shared a look.

“Alright,” Satine sighed, “I need you ladies to do something for me.”

“What?” Khaami wondered.

Satine turned to her earnestly, “Something that you can’t tell anyone you did.”

“It’s not illegal, I hope.” Fesma took a step back.

“No, no, it’s just,” Satine paused, “a lot happened while I was away.”

“Like what?” Khaami asked, still confused.

“I,” Satine’s hands began to shake, “I don’t think I have a cold.”

Fesma crossed her arms, “We should get you down to the medical wing to check.”

“No!” Satine roared, outstretching her hand.

“Satine?” Khaami questioned.

“I need you to get me a medical droid to examine me, in here,” Satine clarified, “and if my suspicions are correct, then we’ll have to wipe its memory.”

Fesma gave her Duchess a querying look.

“I still don’t understand.” Khaami confessed.

“Duchess,” Fesma began, “are you, I mean, do you think you might-”

“Yes.” Satine answered firmly.

“Khaami,” Fesma turned, “fetch a medical droid from the med wing, but take the servant passageways and let no one see you.”

The lady did as she was asked, and the medical droid confirmed Satine’s worst fear.

“You,” Khaami gasped, “you’re-”

“Expecting.” Satine finished.

“How-”

“The Jedi who protected me,” Satine looked down, “the padawan and I grew close.”

“Satine,” Fesma’s face paled, “Mandalorians aren’t fond of the Jedi.”

“And my enemies could use this against me.” agreed Satine.

“What will you do?” Khaami worried, coming back to herself.

Satine bit her lip, “Do you think I should tell him?”

“Are you going to keep it is the real question.” Fesma frowned.

Khaami covered her mouth.

Satine was silent for a long time, “I want a piece of what I can never have, this baby is my way around the rules.”

“But, Satine, how will, who will-”

“In secret,” the Duchess answered, “and I will.”

#satine x obiwan #duchess satine #satine kryze #obi wan kenobi #korkie kenobi #korkie kryze #fanfiction #fanfic

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colifower · 3 years

Text

The Throne

Hey guys, This is my submission to @worstloki ‘s Secret Santa for @darkalinas Hope you’ll like it

Warnings: mentions of death/fake death, mild language.

Also on my AO3

The halls were emptier than he remembered. Not a day had passed and no mourning signs were at sight. The aftermath of the battle was odd. Few injured, most of them dead or missing in the depths of another realm. However, the floors were immaculate if only missing a few chunks of marble.

What Loki was about to do was foolish and knew it. But he also wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try, he needed answers. He flickered his hand and his illusion opened the door. Loki had only taking a glimpse of one the guard sent to retrieve his body, so he had to improvise. His thoughts went to the one that had told him of his not-mother’s death. He was part of the royal guard; he would have easily died in battle with the dark elves, although he had never went back to check on him.

The illusion entered graciously the throne room and bowed politely while Loki silently walked behind the man kneeling besides the throne.

“Forgive me, my liege. I’ve returned form the Dark World with news.”

“Thor?” asked Odin, without any sign of sentiment in his tone.

“There was no sign of Thor, or the weapon, but…”

“What?” said the king, turning his head around.

“We found a body”

“Loki…” he lowered his sight. Loki said nothing but couldn’t help to smirk slightly.

“Loki!” said Odin suddenly, turning around as if he had expected him to be there. “You little shit! I…”

Smack! Loki didn’t know what to do, so he pulled a frying pan out of his dimensional pocket and smacked Odin square in the face. The Allfather fell ungracefully to the floor.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” murmured Loki. He stared at the… corpse? Unconscious body? At this point the distinction wasn’t important. Specially after hearing what sounded like his brother’s footsteps coming towards him.

He didn’t have enough time to think of a better plan, so he grabbed Odin’s feet and tossed him behind the throne while he panicked. “That’ll have to do” he said as he threw the pan behind him. His brother slammed the door open covering the noise the pan made hitting the floor (he was lucky, but not lucky enough to have laid another hit on his not-father’s face).

Thor kneeled and waited.

“You once said there would never be a wiser king than me” stated Loki and then paused for dramatic effect. “You were wrong. The alignment has brought all the realms together. Every one of them saw you offer your life to save them. What can Asgard offer its new King in return?

“My life” Loki raised his eyebrows. Was he recognising that he was to be executed for committing treason and various war crimes? For real? “Father, I cannot be King of Asgard. I will protect Asgard and all the realms with my last and every breath, but I cannot do so from that chair. Loki, for all his grave imbalance, understood rule as I know I never will. The brutality, the sacrifice… It changes you. I'd rather be a good man than a great King.”

“Is this my son I hear? Or the woman he loves?”

“When you speak, do I never hear Mother's voice?“ Touché. Loki sighted and waited for him to continue. “This is not for Jane, Father. She does not know what I came here to say. Now forbid me to see her or say she can rule at my side, it changes nothing.”

Loki sighted and thought of something his not-father would have said. “One son who wanted the Throne too much, another who will not take it. Is this my legacy?”

“Loki died with honour. I shall try to live the same. Is that not legacy enough?” Loki nodded. Thor picked up his hammer and offered it to the man on the throne. Loki knew that he had to let go of it if he didn’t want anybody to know about the frying pan issue still going on behind him.

“It belongs to you. If you are worthy of it.”

“I shall try to be.”

“I cannot give you my blessing, nor can I wish you good fortune.” He knew it wasn’t true, but truth had never Odin’s forte. Was it his, then?

“I know.”

Loki felt slightly bad for his brother. He could tell that his girlfriend was about to break up with him and the he was going to decide to go on a depressing sabbatical to get away from grief. He felt he needed to say something. After all, Odin had never stated any affection for Thor either. “If I were proud of the man my son had become, even that I could not say, I would speak only from my heart. Go, my son.”

“Thank you, father” said Thor, bowing slightly and walking out of the room while leaving the door open.

“No, thank you” said Loki mockingly. Now he had to get up and close the door again. Loki scratched his neck. He knew Thor was far from ready to be king, but he was surprised this little adventure had made him somewhat conscious about it. He took a deep breath and stretched.

“Shit, this chair is uncomfortable. I’ll have commission someone to give it back support if I plan to sit here every day…”

Loki went to retrieve his pan and saw the old man laying unceremoniously on the floor. He knew he had to move the body quickly, but he couldn’t resist painting a farting butt on his left cheek. He would certainly need help of the guards to move the man out of Asgard and also think of a way to give himself a proper burial. For the moment he settled on casting an illusion of himself over the king.

“Hmmnnn… Loki…” Smack! He needed to get himself a more permanent way to keep him unconscious but at least he was reassured that the guy was not dead. He really needed Odin to be sent away and never to return. Loki, still disguised as Odin, picked up the body as best as he could and dragged him down the stairs and towards the back door.

“It is better if you ask your wards for help, your highness” said one guard, closing the door that Thor had left open.

“Erm, yes. Thank you. You can help me with this. I thought I was able to carry my son’s body, but I seemed to have forgotten that I am an old man now.” Loki started picking at his hands and tried to appear as regal as one can be. He had been weakened by his near-death experience back in the Dark world and was struggling to keep the illusions in place. His butt-fart was now visible and did his best to try to cover it with his cape.

“No, no, my lord. You should be resting.” Insisted. “After losing your beloved wife and son you’ll need it. These men over here will…”

Loki dropped the body yet again and looked at the guard he had made up. The one that looked exactly like the man that just entered the throne room. His eyes widened and the grip on his pan got tighter.

“Erm… I won’t say a thing, my prince. Not a word.” Said the guard. “If you do this little thing for me.”

“Prince? I am Odin Allfather, your lord and king!” said Loki trying to emulate Odin’s condescending tone.

“No, you’re not, my prince” he continued. “And you’ll need some allies if you plan to sneak out The Allfather’s body out of Asgard.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Loki took a deep breath and dropped the illusions all at once. He kept holding the pan. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Raisin”

“Raisin?”

“Yeah, my parents thought they were language geniuses.”

“Well, Raisin. The Royal Family does not deal with terrorists.”

“Hmmm… yes you do” stated the man. He was getting kind of cocky and Loki didn’t like that at all. “That’s what royal families do, deal with each other. But we’re getting off topic. I know that if this plan backfires I’ll be the one to blame, so don’t worry about me telling.”

“So, you have a plan?” Loki will never admit it, but he was kind of relieved that he didn’t have to do it alone.

“Yeah, we can do what we did to my partner’s mom” said Raisin, nonchalantly. “She didn’t approve of his son and I living together so we sent her to Shady Acres some years ago.

“Is that… a nursing home?”

“Yeah, on Earth. The staff is kind and nice. They have good food and chess tournaments. They also don’t let them go to their daily walk if they say any slur, which is a plus.”

“Sounds promising. Any ideas about my funeral? Do you know how to get a corpse?”

“Yeah…” murmured Raisin. Suddenly his boots were kind of interesting.

“Erm… Sorry for your loss” said Loki. He didn’t know what to say in these kinds of situations.

“I… I really want to give him a proper burial but I don’t have any money on my name.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. I have lived with Thor for centuries, I guess some of his interior design skills had stuck” said the God of Mischief. He realised that Raisin had started to cry and felt very helpless. “Here use this.”

Raisin chuckled when he handled him the king’s cape to wipe his tears and clear his nose. “Is that…a very ugly muffing?”

“What, no. It’s very obviously a fart!” said Loki. “My artistic skills had been insulted. I will have to kill you now.”

Raisin rolled his eyes. “Now, shut up and pick him by the hands, he looks heavy.”

#worstloki Secret Santa #Secret Santa #Loki #colifower posts #writing

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vulturhythm · 3 years

Text

i’m what’s left when children go to war - one

Pain and panic alike clog Jaskier's throat, welling until he can scarcely breathe for the fear overwhelming his every sense. He has never felt this dread, this terror before - he stumbles, foot catching on a loose brick in the pavement, and nearly collapses, crying out when he catches himself just in time to keep running, running, running...

The streets of Athens are black as pitch, torches and great vases of fire doing little to illuminate the spaces through which he flees - black as pitch and silent, too, their quiet broken only by his screams and sobs and pleas for help. They all go unanswered... have been unanswered from the start, for who would spare a second's thought of mercy for a simple slave? He's nothing more than filth to the people safe in their houses, safe away from the monster chasing short at his heels. Of course he'd ran toward the wealthier part of the city, of course he'd ran straight into the realm of the very people who despise his kind above all else -

He trips again, and this time he doesn't quite manage to catch himself in time. Jaskier collapses to the cobbled pavement with another cry, the impact on his knees and palms sending spikes of discomfort up through his frame, and before he can drag himself upright once more, the monster is atop him, grabbing him by the shoulder, the waist, the hips, pushing and pulling and turning, and Jaskier yells out another plea for help as those vicious hands flip him to his back again, as those violating hands grab for his arms, and Jaskier curses aloud and kicks out blindly, and he takes only fleeting relief in the grunt of pain he gets when his foot connects - only fleeting, for it is dashed away in a heartbeat -

for the monster is pinning him by the throat to the road, is leering down at him with a face twisted with cruel victory, and Jaskier grabs for the monster's wrist and tries to pry his hand away, but it is too strong, has always been too strong, and as Jaskier screams out again, the monster reaches into the folds of its chiton, draws a dagger that glints bright in the distant firelight, and -

Pain worse than that of before explodes from the epicenter of Jaskier's torso, and his scream echoes high and cracked and afraid as his hands fly to grab for the base of the dagger plunged deep into his flesh. The monster above him merely smiles, holding him firm for another eternity until the world is fading into gray, his lungs heaving for air that he can't quite draw, his grip going weak... and then, just as Jaskier is certain he will die here, pinned beneath his rapist, the monster lets go, ripping the dagger free with a savage twist that tears another scream from Jaskier's aching throat.

As the cry dies off, the monster turns to leave.

He has the strength to do little more than lay there limp at first, sucking in air even though the very act of breathing sends unthinkable pain through his bleeding torso. Staring up at the star-flecked sky, he feels his blood flowing hot and wet and free through his fingers, pressed as tightly as he can manage to the uneven hole. He wants nothing more than to die... and yet - and yet he knows that he cannot.

Jaskier is certain he has never before been so broken, so afraid, as when he forces his body back into motion, turning onto his knees and steadying himself with a single hand on the cobblestone. He coughs, hardly even taken aback by his own blood when it splatters from his lips onto the pavement beneath him. Though his head is spinning, he pushes himself up, first to both knees, then one, then upright; here he staggers, the world swaying around him, or is he swaying in the world? It's difficult to tell - difficult to tell much of anything when colors are going pale and lines are going blurry... but he cannot die. He lurches into motion, both hands clasped together against the wound in an attempt to stop the flow.

Even now, he knows his efforts are in vain.

He grits his teeth until they ache as he stumbles forward along the path, every stride uneven, every stride unbelievably agonizing. It feels as though his innards have been torn and ground to bits, as though they're leaking out between his shaking fingers along with his life force, and it feels as though his hips and thighs will splinter apart with the weight of each step, as though they'll simply crumble to dust under the abuse... but he cannot die. Jaskier calls out again, high and broken, begging for somebody, anybody to take mercy, and he feels a hint of vengeance twist its way into his heart when only the quiet of the Athens aristocracy answers him. He should not - cannot - be surprised. Of course they would turn a blind eye to anything that does not involve themselves.

For all that he was frantic and running blind before, Jaskier knows where he runs toward now - has known it since the moment he pushed himself to shaking feet. If he can only make it there, if he can only last long enough to claim sanctuary and beg for help, maybe he stands a fighting chance. Maybe his life can be spared... maybe it is not quite too late.

Jaskier feels as though he's already dead by the time he turns the corner onto another wide avenue, by the time he lifts his head and looks forward to the massive structure at its end. Torches are lit on the outer walls, and warm light falls onto the steps from the interior. For the first time, a glimmer of hope lights itself in Jaskier's chest; he stumbles once again in his efforts to move faster, nearly doubling over with another coughing fit that sprays his blood onto the pavement. Someone will be displeased with that, he thinks, brief and wild, able to imagine the disgruntled face of a wealthy man when he must walk around a splash of servant's blood come dawn. I'll have to clean it up...

He pushes these thoughts aside when he comes up to the steps, drawing in what little air his burning lungs can hold to cry out once more - a plea for sanctuary, for help, for someone to hear him -

and as he takes the first step, he sees a shadow cast on the walls inside move, take interest, and he dares to hope, and he begs aloud again -

and as he takes the second step, he hears a startled voice, and the embers of maybe flash brighter -

and as he takes the third step -

as he takes the third step, he doubles forward again, another fit of coughing spraying his blood onto the marble, and as he tries to recover, as he tries to lift his head and press on forward, he overbalances, and he slips, and he falls.

Pain shoots through his skull, and brightness flares across his vision in the instant before his world goes black.

A vulture perched upon the temple's roof watches, head cocked in its usual sardonic way, as the slave's skull cracks and bleeds on the edge of the next step - as Jaskier goes still, scarcely breathing, upon the threshold of the temple of Ares.

- - -

The realm of Ares is much the same as that of all the rest, albeit grimmer for its context. A sprawling Athenian estate dominates its bulk, but where the homes of Aphrodite or even Apollo are bright in palette, Ares' is dimmer, every color seeming duller, and where theirs are built of marble, Ares' is built of whitewashed stone. Where gold adorns the corners and detailing of the other gods' dwellings, simple silver plates Ares'. The gardens and wandering stream throughout the courtyard are less vibrant than those that can be found elsewhere, almost as if the somber nature of Ares' dominion has reached the plants themselves, stunting their growth with shared sorrow and mourning. Even the land upon which the aristocratic home rests is duller than the rest, trees less impressive, grass less green.

No matter. It is, for better or for worse, a house - Ares hesitates to call it a home.

He hesitates, in fact, to even call himself Ares, for the deity that first held the name has been among Elysium for many centuries now. Not that the mortals know any better, of course... he didn't, either, not when he was alive. How many decades has it been? Four, five, since he was blessed to take over the godly throne? Enough that he no longer remembers the name of the woman from whom he took the mantle. Blessed. He scoffs at the thought. No... no one who knew the truth would ever call godhood a blessing.

He is so accustomed to the sound of the veil being rent apart that he gives it little thought when the dull hiss and rush of air signifies the arrival of the keres. It is an almost daily occurrence, for the androktasiai do not rest, their cruel wiles unending; but, he thinks, as he sets his book aside and makes to stand from his chair, he does not recall sensing a current war...

"My liege," comes a familiar voice, and he turns, forcing only the barest smile for the spirit he considers a friend before he's fully facing the keres. "We bring an unusual soul before you today."

It is on the tip of his tongue to say something nonchalant and bitter - I have seen every possible manner of death thus far, Renfri, I doubt you can surprise me - but as his eyes drop to the body cradled in the ker's arms, he stalls, freezing in place.

He has seen much, yes - has seen heads crushed under horse's hooves, has seen throats torn and gaping, has seen torsos riddled with arrows and pierced through with spears and swords - and he has grown... not accustomed to, but acquainted with the hideous cruelty of war. Many soldiers are young, many cut down before they're truly given the chance to live; he is no stranger to the sight of ruined armor and frightened eyes overflowing with tears. He is, after all, the god of war. Soldiers' deaths are everyday to him.

This... this boy held close to Renfri's chest... he wears no armor. He scarcely wears even his tunic, the swath of fabric torn in such a way that looks as if a wild thing set its claws to the cloth; what remains is soaked through with blood. His head is resting limp on Renfri's shoulder, dark hair tousled and matted with blood that runs steadily from a fissure in his skin and skull.

He is not a soldier.

"What is this?" the god of war asks sharply, stepping forward. At Renfri's back and flanks, the other keres edge backward, respectful of the anger they no doubt sense building in his chest. "This isn't a soldier, you've brought me a boy, for how old he looks - I haven't laid a claim on anyone, why are you wasting his dying seconds here?"

Renfri cuts him off before he can launch into another tirade, sounding impossibly patient, a little condescending; just as always, he subsides. "He fell upon your temple stairs."

With that, he goes still, golden eyes going wide as they rest on the youth's face, pallid with the grave. Dread overpowers anger, and in an instant, he feels nothing more than fear. He had hoped - had prayed, as idiotic as that was - that he would never be faced with this instance. Who would seek out Ares for sanctuary? Who would trust the god of war with their lives? "No," he says aloud. "No. I won't - I won't claim him."

"You have no choice," Renfri reminds him. "If it's revealed that he sought sanctuary before the judges, he will be sent back to you regardless."

He grits his jaw, sparing the briefest of glares for the russet-haired woman as his fingers knot into fists at his sides. It is easy, now, to turn away dying soldiers, to promise them rest in Elysium - even when he can sense the evil rolling off their skin, even when he knows it to be a lie. Standing here, a gods-damned youth presented before him, soul ripe for the taking, he struggles to find within himself the strength to resist. He knows he will never pass on the mantle of war, knows he will never subject another soul to the horrors to which he's adjusted... knows there will be no point in accepting the young thing.

No point, and yet... and yet he can at least offer a place of comfort, the solace of company, for the boy's eternal rest.

"Give him to me," he grits out at last, his tone as neutral as he can make it. "Let me hold him."

Renfri complies immediately, as she always does, stepping forward to meet him with outstretched arms. He takes the boy from her protective cradle with practiced care, sinking to his knees that he might hold the boy closer still. He is not surprised when the young thing stirs, a whimper of protest rising in his throat; he is, however, surprised when that bleeding head tips sideways to rest against his chest. He is afraid.

"Can you hear me, young one?" the god of war whispers, grimacing at the feel of blood-drenched fabric on his hands. He readjusts his grip to be as delicate as possible, knowing that the boy's pain will soon cease forever - he can sense no aura of hatred, although... although there is something else, something unique, new. "You are safe now."

As weak as the little thing is, trembling and limp in his embrace, it startles him when heavy eyelashes begin to flutter open, and startles him even further when the shade of blue revealed beneath seems brighter, purer, than even the clearest of skies, for all that they are hazy with death's fog. "Can you speak? I would like your name, if you feel it fit to tell."

He expects no response, but one comes regardless, after a pause that hangs heavy in the air with confusion and pain. "Jaskier," murmurs the boy, and his voice is so subdued, so broken... so afraid, and yet so different to the fear of all the soldiers the god rejects day by day, so different to the terror of death... so beautiful. "My... my name is Jaskier."

The boy's voice cracks there, and the god steadies him as best he can, freeing a hand to brush those matted locks of deep brown aside. Something in his chest goes tight when the boy - Jaskier - tips his head into the touch and lets his eyes drift shut again, so clearly dazed, desperate for kindness. Jaw firm, he lifts his head, meeting Renfri's gaze. "Who killed him?" The question is simple, direct. This was a murder... and part of his steel heart rages at the thought of anyone or anything slaughtering a creature this beautiful, this fragile.

Here, Renfri's own face shutters, and she reaches up to remove the hound's head helmet she wears, balancing it in her arms. There is something new in her eyes, something tense and vicious... a memory. "One of my women saw him fleeing after he was stabbed," she says, her eyes dropping to Jaskier. "She said that the man turned and ran before she could properly see, but he had been chasing the boy for quite some time, she guesses."

"He was nearly inside your temple, my liege," another ker speaks up from Renfri's side; the god's gaze flicks sideways to her. "He was coughing his blood onto the stairs when he slipped and fell... lost his balance, no doubt. His skull... I do believe he is to die immediately."

The war god's face is impassive, though his spirit aches. So close to sanctuary... so close to salvation... and yet, cursed now... your pain will cease, but your suffering will not...

Another weak sound from the boy in his arms draws him back to the present, and he brushes his fingers through those locks again, holding bright blue eyes as they open again. "What happened to you?" he asks him, running his fingertips along the edges of the split in Jaskier's skin. The boy flinches, then stills, no doubt too overwhelmed to feel any specific source of agony. "What do you remember?"

Jaskier is quiet, those eyes fading with every labored breath he draws. Conflict is plain in his gaze, in the way he looks away, up to the ceiling overhead. Another broken noise catches halfway up his throat when he shifts in the god's embrace, pressing his hand more firmly to the wound in his torso. "He chased me," he murmurs at last, "once he was done... threatened to kill me if - if I told a soul... I ran, I didn't - I thought I could make it somewhere safe i - in time..."

Confusion must flicker in the god's eyes, for Jaskier's face pinks with shame even through the pallor of death. The boy says nothing more, and the god lifts his eyes once more. "He was assaulted otherwise, my liege," Renfri explains before he can open his mouth to ask, and the edge in her tone - sorrow, empathy, memory - sends yet another arrow through his heart. "... Taken, and not for the first time, either."

Her meaning dawns at the same time Jaskier all but recoils from the words, drawing closer into the god's chest with a wounded noise. At once, the unfamiliar aura he felt makes sense - it is the brush of evil against purity, the effects of cruelty upon the innocence of youth. Something vicious snarls to life deep within his chest, something feral and full of hate for the mortals whose lives he is meant to end. Never before has he more sincerely wished to send war across the lands, that he might get some gods-damned rest. Not for the first time... what have they done to you, little thing?

"You're alright now," he murmurs aloud, his hand coming to cup Jaskier's face; when the boy noses into the hollow of his wrist, steady trembling abating some, his heart aches properly. It's a strange feeling. "You're alright, beautiful one, you're safe here... you will be safe here."

He senses, more than sees, the keres stir, interest piqued. He spares them not a glance.

"Where?" Jaskier is asking, his voice weaker than before. It is easy to tell he will not last much longer. "Where... am I...?"

The god softens then, and he brushes a thumb across the boy's cheekbone, across that smooth, perfect skin. Those brilliant blue eyes flutter, resting at half-mast as Jaskier relaxes into the repetitive motion. "You're in the realm of a god," he murmurs. "You are dying, young one. You've got but a heartbeat left, I believe..."

Fear flickers through those eyes, and he is quick to speak on, keeping his touch just as delicate as before, unfamiliar though it is. "You've nothing to fear. The judges will find you pure, and they will send you back here to live with me - back here for me to protect you."

"You - who are you?" Jaskier asks, and though the fear has faded back into confusion, he sounds... tranquil. It is easy enough to imagine that even the thought of death is better than that of returning to his prior life.

It is that tranquility that convinces the god to shift his touch lower, to press the pad of his thumb into the hollow of the boy's sternum, exposed through the tears in his tunic. Jaskier winces, but protests not, relaxing again nearly immediately; he is too weak to fight. The god of war watches as a simple black design twines itself onto bare skin, bold at first, then fading to nothing: a hound's skull, Ares' claim. "You know me as Ares," he says aloud, "but my name is Geralt."

"Geralt," he murmurs, soft and low. The name sounds enchanting upon his lips, strained though his voice may be. "I'll come back to you...?"

Geralt nods, returning his grip to Jaskier's jaw; he cannot help but smile, faint and barely-there, when the little thing tilts his head back into the touch immediately. So starved for kindness... so starved for help. "You will come back to me," he replies quietly. "You've nothing to fear."

Standing above them, the keres are growing restless; Geralt can sense their anticipation rising. He glances up to Renfri, poised and waiting; when he looks back down, those blue eyes have nearly faded entirely. "You can let go," he tells the boy, as gently as he knows how. "I will be here waiting."

Jaskier says nothing more, too weak to muster words, but something almost like... like peace glints in his eyes. Just as Geralt grows used to the sight, those eyes gloss over entirely, that slender frame going still. The god heaves a sigh, and looks up to Renfri. She is reaching out already, hand open for the wisps of golden smoke that are rising from the boy's parted lips. Geralt watches in silence as the wisps twine themselves about her forearm, the image of dandelions printing brightly upon her skin before disappearing from view.

"You've chosen well," Renfri murmurs, backing off a stride as Geralt lowers Jaskier's corpse and stands. In mere minutes, it will fade, too. "It does you no good, dwelling here alone."

"I don't need your words of pity," he tells her quietly, already turning away. "Go, now. I trust we'll meet again soon."

He does not have to look to know that Renfri rolls her eyes, nor to know that the keres' bodies shift, women morphing into carrion hounds and vultures alike. The veil is torn once more, and the keres slip through; only a moment later, the room goes still.

Geralt is alone.

#when children go to war #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #greek god au #greek mythology au #my fics

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airitouttwst · 4 years

Text

May Minsan Lang na Nagdugtong

( English Translation: There are only a few that connect )

A scene that I wrote for a friend! With all the smiles and laughs she’d gotten from me, I’d want to return the favor and brighten up her day! ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ This is for you, @smitten-lass.

[Scene beneath the cut, nothing nsfw wwwww]

Thump, thump, thump, thump—

At the echo of an unbearably familiar heartbeat slipping into his sensitive ears, Lilia merely closes his eyes in response to the sudden tightening of his chest.

Thu-Thump, Thu-Thump, Thu-Thump, unsteadily goes his own heart. Unconsciously, he lifts his hand and places it over his chest where he could feel its excited beating.

He doesn’t make any effort to look over his shoulder.

After all, no other would have a heart’s song as beautiful as yours.

No other would ever compare to how the continuous pulsing of your life would always invoke a sense of tranquility to settle deeply into his bones, to seep right into his veins, to soothe him in a way that was no less but still so different from the feeling that Silver or Sebek of even Malleus would leave on him.

He’s not sure if he’s been blessed or cursed to be one of the few capable of hearing such a sweet song from your chest.

“Lilia?” Your even sweeter voice resounds out. “What are you doing up here”

He hears your question loud and clear, as he always does with what comes out of your mouth, but he merely sends you a smile as he pats the area beside him.

“Will you sit with me?” He asks you, the groove in the roof’s tiles the only thing he can feel through the fabric of his gloves. Sneakily, his mind whispers a thought to him.

What would your hair feel in his hand?

He shakes the thought from his head when he feels you settle down beside him, your presence a warm comfort to him in the midst of this cold.

“It’s kind of dangerous to sit here, you know,” you tell him, trying to sound nonchalant, but Lilia has known you well enough to understand the concern in your voice. “Wouldn’t it be better to sit inside? I could prepare something warm for us to drink,” is your kind offer.

As much as Lilia wants to enjoy something prepared by you, he knows that it would only furtherly muddle the conflict within him, the thoughts raging inside of his mind, the feelings he has kept within his lungs.

“But it’d be so difficult to watch the sunrise from inside,” is what he tells you, a crooked smile adorning his lips. He’s sure that something must show in his eyes, because a frown graces your features.

“…Lilia,” you say his name again and oh, oh, what a delight it would be if his name would be the first to fall from your lips every morning, would be the last name you’d say every night.

He realizes that he’d probably zoned out for too long, his mind at a place that has yet to be of reach to him (will it ever be?).

When he finally focuses back on reality, he sees you reach out to him, cautiously, because you probably remember the last time you’d attempted this.

However, in stark contrast to how he’d flinched away from you the first time, Lilia leans in ever so slightly until the tips of your fingers brushes against his forehead.

It takes you a moment to build the confidence to properly place your hand over his forehead, the warm skin of your palm a soothing balm to his cold skin.

“…Are you really alright?” You ask him, a furrow between your brows that he’d so love to gently rub out.

He…doesn’t quite know how to answer that question.

Yes, would be a lie, but so would a, No.

To answer with either would be a lie that would burn on his tongue, leaving it to fester until all he can taste for weeks on end is ash—after all, Lilia had never even once told a lie to you, never could no matter how much he may twist his words.

And, by the way his gut curdles with something dreary and unignorable, something he won’t be starting any time soon.

“My days have been enjoyable as of late,” he tells you instead, a wistful smiling curling his lips into something softer and kinder than usual. It’s not a lie, technically, since he has been enjoying himself for the past months.

After all, how could he be anything but that?

Never in his wildest dreams had he ever believed in this, much less expected this; yet, here you were, an enchanting being with a song so sweet, becoming a part of his life.

“Silver and Sebek are still always fighting, of course,” he continues, his voice sounding faint even to his own ears, or maybe that’s just the cotton filling his head? “But they wouldn’t be to stretch their wings out if they let themselves slack off from their training. The two are great points of motivation for the other…”

He pauses, though, when his attention hyperfixates itself to your touch. His heart sinks when you pull your hand away, your skin leaving his, but his heart stops, though, when, instead of taking back your hand, you instead places it atop his head.

“Is this okay?” You ask him, something hesitant and nervous crossing your features. You’re trying not to meet his gaze, but it’s like there’s something there in his eyes that calls out to you the very same way your heart calls out to him.

Thu-Thump, Thu-Thump, Thu-Thump—

Ah.

Something clicks into place in his mind at that very moment, realization pulling the heavy weight off of his shoulders.

Lilia has always been aware of his attraction to you—from the way his heartbeat would quicken whenever you were in close proximity, the warmth that would always linger on his hand through his glove from when he’d pat your head or hold your shoulder, and to the way he’d surreptitiously listen in to any topic about you, an insatiable thirst to get to know you better.

Yet, it was this kind of attraction that….gave him this problem in the first place.

He’d be lying if he’d said he wasn’t afraid of what the future holds, of what might happen to him, to his family, to his liege, and, most of all, to you.

Time had always passed by much too quickly for him, and it wouldn’t be long before these days would turn into nothing but memories for him to look back on.

And…when even more time would pass, he might even forget about all of this.

Lilia didn’t want that. He didn’t want to forget about someone like you, something that is you, everything about you. Just the very thought of it is enough to send a faint tremble to his fingers.

Yet…what reason did he have to doubt himself?

What reason did he have to stop himself from accepting his feelings—from loving you?

All the things he’d forgotten about had been inconsequential, had been about things and people who were long gone and hadn’t left a single mark on him.

So how could he, who’s been moved and affected by even the littlest things you’d do, ever forget about you?

He raises his gaze to meets yours, holds it for as long as he can as the sun finally climbs over the horizon to grace your features with a canvas of red and orange light.

He digs his fingers into the roof, feeling some of the tails depress beneath his strength.

To hope for a life with you…

To wish for a future where you were by his side…

To finally act out on his feelings for you…

It would be alright for him to be selfish, yes?

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #ツイステッドワンダーランド #ELILIA FOREVER #shitting the simp out #and also the love #Lilia go get your rose!#you can do it #ganbaaaaaaa!!!!

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ditch-witches · 4 years

Text

Insufferable (ii) - George MacKay x reader

(PART 1) (PART 3) (PART 4)

requested: yes/no (im still using the same request bye)

God bless @/okay.l0z

"Hi! I've been reading your fics and I love them so much bc there's hardly any around. I was wondering if you take insta requests and if so can you do one with George and the reader are like enemies to loves and they have really cute moments but then end up fighting all the time and then it escalates and they end up having sEx and then get together or something bc I will THRIVE IF YOU DO!" ... "Is it bad if I want it long ass?"

pairing: George MacKay x reader

warnings: oral (fm. receiving [I k n o w]), bAd wOrDs

word count: 2,751

a/n: Hey, me again.

that's all. hope you guys are having a good day!

Your nerves were aflutter as you headed from the backstage to find Mark, who apparently was positioned outside one of the back doors ready to meet the cast and support you. You grinned to yourself finally feeling a sense of hope for your scatters of a relationship with the man as you popped open the door and he smirked at you slightly. He wrapped an arm around you and you began leading him through the maze of backstage, the bustle of a soon to be curtain call keeping everyone on high alert. He swiveled around behind you looking rather overwhelmed as his eyes fought to rip from some of the extras playing prostitutes. You rolled your eyes and brushed it off before bumping into someone.

As soon as George noticed it was you, a smile played at his lips, ready to quirk something in your direction before noticing the man behind you. "Oh, good. You're here!" You stated, stepping from between the two. You didn't tuck yourself beneath Mark's arm as he placed a hand on your waist to suggest you do. You also didn't opt to take his hand, somehow wanting to keep a distance from him in front of George. George seemed to notice this as he sent you a sly look that you hoped Mark wouldn't notice. "George, this is Mark. He's my..." you trailed off, unsure of what to say Mark was but George perked his eyebrows up and shook Mark's hand without hesitation to relieve you from doing so. "Mark, George is playing Charlie." You tried not to beam at the fact that your work was finally coming to life.

Mark narrowed his eyes slightly. "And Charlie is..." He bit his lip and you froze in your place, not looking at Mark as he did this.

"Charlie's the Roman Emperor that eats baby heads and carries an ax," George broke in with an expression of severity. You closed your eyes slightly, biting back a laugh. Mark nodded, his reaction being genuine while George's nods and mannerisms were sarcastic. He was jousting.

"Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I think he might be my favorite character, right babe?" Mark stated, slapping your ass mildly and you jumped, making George snicker. You flashed him a glare. "It was nice to meet you, man."

Mark pushed passed him and George could no longer fight his giggle. "Babe," he mocked and you lightly threw your fist into his stomach as he attempted not to laugh loudly at you.

"Go get your ax," you hissed, following Mark out and into the crowd. You attempted to push the thought of Mark not actually listening to you when you talked about your script into the back of your mind. You also tried not to think about the fact that you had looked forward to seeing George tonight more than you had Mark.

The production had somehow gone off without a problem and left you rather stunned. After the previous day's dress rehearsal, you figured there would be missed lines or faulty costumes, but no. And you hated to admit it, but George was Charlie. After the curtain fell, people were on their feet with applause. The director pulled you into a side hug, congratulating the both of you on such an achievement. Night one: done.

Mark followed you out into the commons area and straight to the concession stand for a rose. The director stood up beside the cast, answering questions and shaking hands. You didn't really mind that you weren't beside him. Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets with a flat look on his face. He hadn't really said anything but you were planning on asking if he liked anything about the play on your way home. George had slung his suspenders off his shoulders and unfastened a few buttons of his white collared shirt, looking like a businessman from the thirties who had just gotten home. He took a picture with a younger girl and as he was signing a program, caught eyes with you and sent you a small grin. Once they had cleared, you stepped up to him. "My liege," he quirked, bowing his head slightly in your direction.

You tried to hold your composure, opting for a soft smile in his direction. "I'm very proud of you. Thank you for doing so well." Your sentence came out with a tone you could recognize, especially when it came to George. His eyes lit up to accompany a smile. You handed him the rose, your hands brushing gently as you did so. "Congratulations."

He smiled wider and leaned towards you to barely press a kiss to your cheek and whisper, "You look gorgeous by the way, babe." You pushed him away from you and rolled your eyes at his small giggle. That was when Mark decided to join you at your side.

"Hey, you little shit. There weren't any Romans." Mark crossed his arms with a look of disappointment on his face.

George furrowed his brows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mark nipped and you pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger. You knew you wouldn't get a break after this discussion.

"I guess that was the plot twist then, wasn't it?" George asked, looking at you and speaking with the rose.

You shook your head, at his goofy expression and Mark got closer to George, causing him to bend away from him slightly. "If I'm being honest, I didn't know what the hell was going on anyway. Like who wrote that?" You wanted to sulk into a corner and never leave the shadows at Mark's words. You were disappointed but not at all surprised. George's eyes flashed to yours for a split second and then to Mark again. His face was drained of his humor and it was like he could feel your heartbreak, yet he couldn't have known it was actually you that wrote it. Well, you weren't really slick about hiding your passion for it but he couldn't have known.

"Maybe it's because you fell asleep halfway through," George jested with an easy smile. Mark let out a hearty laugh, smacking George's upper arm. You wrung your hands at the two's interaction. "You are trivial," George quipped to Mark, only loud enough for you to hear, the smile still on his face. You side-eyed him and then nudged Mark, gesturing for the door.

"As I was saying, nice job. We should probably meet up at some point to work on your lines in Act III. There's a section that's a little jumbled-"

He cut you off. "What about tomorrow?" You were taken aback slightly but nodded in agreement. George flashed his eyes towards Mark and then back to you as if to ask you why you were leaving with a guy like him. In complete honesty, as you slid into the car next to Mark, you were asking yourself the same thing. What was happening to you?

The next day rolled around rather quickly and before you knew it, George was sitting across from you on your couch, slouching lazily with his script open on his stomach and his arm draped over his eyes. You sat cross-legged at his feet, your laptop beginning to get on your nerves slightly as you made small notes in the margins of a copy of the script and sketched them down on a notebook. George peeked out from beneath his arm to look at you as you attempted to piece together your thoughts. You took your gaze off of your notes to look at him as well. You hated how good he looked, drinking in the sight of him sprawled out in front of you. His presence was almost intoxicating to you. The way his hair was lazily strewn about and his features soft in the lamplight. He was wearing the same hoodie he had given you in the car and it was painful not to reach out and touch it.

You threw in the metaphorical towel momentarily, breaking your gaze and setting your laptop on the coffee table. "I'm getting a beer. Do you want one?" He sent you a nod and as you got up, he reached for his phone in his back pocket.

"Hey, your birthday's coming up right?" He called from the living room as you opened the two bottles. You furrowed your brows slightly and you moved back into the room, handing him his drink.

"Yeah, tomorrow." You raised your eyebrows quickly. "How did you know that?" He put his phone down on your coffee table as well.

He sent you a small shrug. "In secondary school, you gave me a cupcake on your birthday one time. It was like a leftover or something. Right place, right time."

You pulled your knees up and turned to face him. He sat up. "How do you remember this stuff?" You quizzed.

"You're the one holding the grudge against me for something I did before I even hit puberty so..." You rolled your eyes at this. "Anyway, what do you want? If money wasn't a big deal." He flipped his script shut and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at you with a smirk.

You snorted slightly. "A man-made orgasm," you mumbled without thinking, more to yourself than him. He perked up almost instantly.

"You've never had an orgasm?" His expression was rather derisive and taunting.

You blushed slightly at the realization he heard you. "Yes, I've had an orgasm, George," you hissed, breaking your eye contact. "Just not when I'm with someone else..." You took a sip of your drink, wondering why in God's name you were telling him this.

He chuckled. "That's why you're such a bitch all the time? You're sexually frustrated??" He laughed a bit more.

"Okay, rude and uncalled for, MacKay."

George crossed his arms slightly, sinking into the couch and smirking at you. "Why haven't you? Mark's dick too small?"

You bit back a snicker. "No, his favorite movie is Clockwork Orange," you replied sarcastically, sending a cringing expression in the opposite direction he was sitting.

George tilted his head back in a laugh. "So he fucks himself, really. Not you?"

You giggled slightly, shaking your head. "Can we just drop this?"

"No, wait." He swallowed, biting his cheek to keep his grin at bay. "If that's what you want for your birthday... I could help you out?"

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, get over yourself."

"I bet I can get you off." The lift in his voice matched his almost suggestive expression. Your mouth went dry at the thought of George granting your birthday wish made goosebumps run up your back in anticipation. You squeezed your legs together slightly.

"Whatever." You took another sip of your drink. He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in your direction. "What? Why?"

"It sucks that no one's made you cum! Do you realize what you're missing out on?"

"Sure then, if you're offering," you nipped rather sarcastically.

His expression flipped to almost excitement. "Wait, seriously?" He turned towards you more. You looked up at the ceiling slightly, rolling over the situation in your mind. God, you wanted to agree more than anything. "You deserve it." You turned towards him, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'll be gentle."

You groaned. "That's disgusting." You set your beer bottle down and scooted towards him, he grinned, watching you carefully. "Alright. Go for it," you stated, sitting in front of him. "Do your worst," you quipped. He looked taken aback for a split second before laying one of his hands against your neck and pulling you towards him. The tension that had been building between the two of you dissipated within seconds as his mouth hovered near yours, lightly brushing against your bottom lip without fully pressing his lips to yours. His smell surrounded you once again, returning the feeling you had in the car to your mind. It felt familiar and almost right to be this close to him. You grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him into you and signing a peace treaty between the two of you with a deep kiss. His breath was hot against your cheek as he sighed into your lips. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring the territory cautiously as his hand moved to tangle in your hair.

He broke your connection to him, leaving you wanting more of him as he gradually moved to press his lips against your jaw and then to your neck, his tongue swirling after each connection he made. Your hand rested on his forearm. "Relax," he hushed rather softly, his breath rolling over the wet spots he had just left against your skin. You let your eyes drift closed, tilting your head away from him to give him more access to continue his tactics. He pulled you into his lap, gripping onto your hip with his other hand. He moved to your collarbones and you let out a breathy moan, feeling heat spread across your body. It had been only a few minutes and you were already more excited than you had ever been with a man. You pulled his chin back up to press your lips together again, you tugging his bottom lip between your teeth and dragging it out. He groaned, breaking away from you to flip you on your back. "I said, relax," he stated, kissing you a few more times before placing a kiss to the lowest part of your neckline and leaning away from you to pull your pants down your legs. The taste of him was still prevalent on your lips as his blue eyes flashed up to you at the sight of your lacy underwear. "You planned this didn't you?" He jeered and you rolled your eyes. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Do you suck your friends' dicks too?" He slid the garment off as you said this, settling between your legs and winking up at you.

"Only the ones I like," he quipped. He brushed one of his rough hands up against your thigh, bringing the flesh towards his lips as he mapped a trail to where you need him most. You sat back on your elbows to watch him. The mere sight of George between your legs was enough to make your stomach ache in pleasure. His tongue flattened to run against your core and your head tilted back at the feeling. "Fuck, you're already wet," he growled. You felt every vibration from his voice run through you.

"Shut up," you groaned. He took this opportunity to attach his mouth to your clit, his eyes meeting yours for only a second as his tongue began to move against you at a quicker pace.

You moaned, your thighs wanting to close around him. "You're going to smother me, love," he chuckled. The sound of his voice was a symphony to your ears as his hot breath blew into you. His tongue rolled against you a few more times before he slipped a finger into you, making your back arch. His other hand dug into your thigh, as he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh while pumping his finger in an out of you, curling every few strokes.

"Faster, George," you groaned. He looked up at you again, unable to hide his cocky grin before running his tongue over your bundle of nerves once again, adding another finger. Each of his movements brought a new sensation to your body. You felt his actions in every goosebump littering your body and every curl of your toes. You moaned, tugging the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth and running your fingers into his auburn hair. Every time his eyes jumped to look at you through his thick lashes as his tongue swirled against you, you were brought closer and closer to your edge.

Dammit. He was going to do it.

He leaned away from you, his fingers slowing slightly. "Cum, sweetheart." You didn't think you were ready, but as he gave you his permission a sense of relief flushed through you. He smiled as you moved your hips, savoring the episode of your climax against his fingers. As you caught your breath, he ran a hand over his chin. "Happy birthday," he jested, slipping his fingers into his mouth, sending you a sultry wink.

"Fuck off," you exhaled covering your face with your hands, making him chuckle.

#george mackay x reader #george mackay imagines #george mackay smut #george mackay #smut #smut imagine #will schofield x reader #actor

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