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hdjamie · 1 year

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𝐇𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾

𝐉𝐀𝐍 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇 ~ 𝐅𝐄𝐁 𝟏𝐒𝐓 // ~ 𝟷𝟸𝟹𝟶 Jamie performs for his evaluation … 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃: his teammates

Weeks and weeks of practise, and here it is, the day of the evaluation. It had flown by, the practise that took up each and every day revealing more and more to Jamie, over the month, that still had so much room to grow, and develop as a singer. He was nowhere near perfect, nowhere near the level he wanted to one day be, but as they performed their eval song over and over again, and he worked on his breath control, his expressions, his energy levels, he knew this was it for him. There was nothing else Jamie could imagine himself doing. He had to become an idol. He just had to.

Working alongside the other boys had brought them together even more so than they had been before, though Jamie knew, at the end of the day, they were all rivals when it came to debuting. Yet, somehow, Jamie could never look at a few of the boys that way. Taegyeom, he could see being his rival; another vocalist, someone who's just as good as Jamie, who's frankly more handsome than him, taller than him. Taegyeom really did make up for the things Jamie lacked, even if it wasn't in vocals. But with Mason... Jamie could never, and would never see Mason as a rival. He is, and always will be, Jamie's best friend. No one besides Robby knows Jamie the way Mason does, and if he knows he can rely on anyone, he can rely on Mason.

Then, there's Haneul, who frankly Jamie see's as a distraction sometimes. Not in a bad way, and certainly not because of anything he does, it's just Jamie's brain that's at fault there. He can't look at Haneul and not blush sometimes, can't see him smile and not bite back one of his own. So, to put it simply, training had, at times, been difficult for more reasons than the choreography was hard. But, they'd made it here, and as they stand, ready to perform, Jamie looks around at them all and breaks into a grin. Hwan had led then well, Jamie had tried to keep their spirits up the whole time, and finally it's time to show just how good they can be. Because they can be incredible—Jamie's certain of it.

Thank god Hwan starts off the song, his energy carrying them into it, and Jamie, with his back partially to those watching, shoots a smile at the other boys, before they all begin to dance. Then, it's a rush of movement and strong singing. Jamie had practised singing while jogging on the spot to try and keep his voice as stable as possible while moving, had lay on the floor and belted the lyrics to the sky, had done cartwheels while singing scales, and done a handstand while singing the hardest part, just to over-prepare. He never knew when an evaluation could be a way to pick people for the next debut group, and this could be it, so he had to prove he was ready.

Jamie has one line in the start of the song, before the first chorus, but that doesn't matter when he's trying to show that not only is he a good singer, he's a good dancer too. He's a performer, and this is what he was born to do, so he's going to make people take notice. As he's in the center for the first time during the chorus he beams and cheekily winks to the people watching, reminding himself that this should be fun. If he isn't having fun, how can he expect anyone watching to have fun? His energy, he learnt long ago, can be contagious, and so that's why he likes to think he's the mood-maker of the group, always ready to cheer the other boys on and make them forget their worries and feel the music.

Before Jamie knows it, the songs coming to an end, and he picks his energy up just a little bit more, hoping that it will spread throughout the group members, wanting to lift them up, fill them with excitement and hope that this will be the best performance out of all the trainee eval groups. Then, it's over, as quickly is it began, and Jamie's chest is heaving, head spinning, but mouth drawn wide in a bright smile, as though he'd just had the time of his life. No matter how scary it had seemed before it began, he realised he forgot about all that when the music started and his muscle memory kicked in and he could just enjoy it.

After a few seconds, brain still buzzing, Jamie bows with the rest of the group, wondering what feedback they'll receive, and if he did anywhere near as well as he felt like he did. He'd done all he could do, now he just had to see whether he was on the right track, or sorely misguided.

#[ jamie ; solo ]#[ solo ; hdeval ]#hd:eval #hd:events #[ jan. 23 ]#[ wc ; 824 ]

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isagisyoichi · 3 years

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how do u think the boy would be in a party😈😈

NEW RULES!

SYNOPSIS: blue lock at a party

CHARACTERS INCLUDED: isagi, bachira, nagi, reo, rin, chigiri, naruhaya, niko, nanase, gagamaru, kunigami

WARNINGS: mentions of underage drinking and weed (but no one actually takes anything), swearing, mentions of throwing up and food, again pretend they're all friends and go to the same school because it's more fun to think that way. ooc rin maybe? idk i like pretending he's not as miserable as the manga makes him out to be 🤗 he deserves to have fun i think

A/N: no cause this was soooo fun to write tysm anon, i got through this in a flash cause i loved this suggestion sm :') literally one of the most fun requests i've ever gotten eeee!!!!! also this made me miss my irls bye corona can suck my balls fr

ISAGI YOICHI:

i feel like this would be his first big party aw lol, so he’s kind of nervous LMAO.

gets handed a beer by someone, has his first sip of it ever, and immediately spits it out. mutters “how the hell can anyone drink this?” and “discreetly” pours the rest into a bush.

mainly stays with nagi, chigiri, kunigami, and bachira and they just talk throughout the night

(bachira only sits down and talks after his energy dies down. i'll elaborate on this below the cut).

keeps asking nagi “what song is this?” throughout the night LOL. makes a mental note of what songs to add to his playlists.

slightly nods his head to the music, aw cute. goes a little harder and lip syncs/raps along when he really likes the song, though (i stand by my word when i said he loves “neon guts”)

does accidentally bump into someone, but isagi starts a convo with them after he apologizes, and they hit it off right away 🥰

but, the person left early and isagi, ever the dummy, forgets to ask for their number.

and he's actually so disappointed in himself when he realizes, too 😭

BACHIRA MEGURU:

not drunk or anything at all, but boy, the way he’s acting makes it seem like he is.

the self proclaimed “life of the party.”

can be found “dancing,” though i use that word generously because to classify whatever he’s doing as “dancing,” is a stretch, to every song, even if he doesn’t know the words LOL

really likes when throwbacks come on!!!! he does dance to the lyrics and not the beat sometimes, though 😭

but, bachira looks like he’s having so much fun, it’s so cute, he’s definitely been waiting for this moment his whole life 🥰

if you were dancing with him, bachira would 100% take you by the hand and spin you around

also forces gets isagi to dance with him but isagi’s so awkward 😭

bachira also ends up jumping in the pool sometime later that night. yells “cannonball!” and everything, like, okay michael phelps 😭

he doesn’t have extra clothes so reo has to give him some and they're so fucking big on him LOLLL

texts the groupchat “i was sooo crazy last night😂” in the morning LMAOO, okay babe calm down

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE:

takes it upon himself to make sure none of his friends die LOL

only drinks water and diet coke 👍

his mom calls in the middle of the party to ask how he's doing and bachira and nagi are doing stupid shit like yelling “pass the weed” and fake moaning 😭

isagi and chigiri tell him to tell her they say hi LOL

really likes when the dj puts on 90s/2000's r&b/hiphop songs (i'll die by my hc that kunigami's an oldies fan)

mostly sways side to side to the music, but he did also dance a little, per request of bachira, and ended up talking to a cute person a for little, too 🤗

offers to help clean up in the morning

CHIGIRI HYOUMA:

at least two drunk girls have mistaken him for their friend, and another four have asked to touch his hair.

tried to use one of reo’s many bathrooms, found a couple making out, outwardly said “gross,” and then left to find another one 😭

nods his head and taps his foot to the music, not much of a dancer.

also a people-watcher, and he points out things he sees are happening to his friends.

“guys, i think misa and her boyfriend are breaking up, look.” leave that poor girl alone bro 😭

finds himself laughing a lot that night because damn! his friends are funny, whether they try to be or not.

not really a party person, but chigiri actually had a lot of fun 🥰

NARUHAYA ASAHI:

also on the dancefloor! doesn’t really dance, per say, but he jumps up and down and does the fist pump thing 😭 he has the spirit, let's give him that.

drank a lot of soda, so he’s filled with energy. also pees in at least three of reo's bathrooms.

talks to his friends, but also makes new ones! also i feel like he takes a lot of pictures LOL. he needs the finsta content 😭

plays truth or dare, or something like that. ends up having to do some stupid shit like smack raichi’s ass and run away, but naruhaya did make out with the girl next to him, so fair trade, he thinks.

also ends up in the pool, but he’s playing chicken with gagamaru and some other people. does not win a single round, but he had fun ��

leaves with like four plates of food and one of reo’s decorative towels for some reason???

GAGAMARU GIN:

goes through a bunch of reo's shit 😭 he's not taking anything, but he's just curious LOL

strikes up very, random conversations with a bunch of people out of nowhere, good for him!

weirdly good at darts, very good aim.

although one round, naruhaya accidentally distracted gagamaru and one of darts ended up in reo's wall 💔

“it's fine, he has the money to fix it,” naruhaya shrugs as he walks away from reo's now punctured, wall. so true bestie!

gagamaru somehow ends up giving some drunk stranger some “life-changing” advice. (whether it's good or not is debatable)

they thank gagamaru for changing their life and he never sees them again

NAGI SEISHIRO:

irritates the fuck out the dj because nagi keeps asking him to play one specific song over and over again.

it was good the first time, don't wear it out for the rest of us bae 😭

doesn't really dance, just nods his head, maybe raps along a little, too

when he talks to the girls that come up to him, nagi says stuff like “yeah, the host and i go way back, we’re best friends.”

“way back,” my ass, but whatever nagi 🤨

knocks out in one of reo’s guest rooms. someone finds him when they’re trying to look for the bathroom and they draw a mustache and a bunch of other stupid shit on him 😭

tries to leave before reo makes him help clean up in the morning. does not work 👍

dumbass also ended up losing his phone (reo bought him a new one so nagi doesn't really care)

RAICHI JINGO:

gasses himself up sooo much when he’s trying to hit on girls.

“yeah, i'm about to go D1 after high school, just wait on it,” yeah, okay raichi 🙄

also tries to show them his highlights, bye. babe, i mean this in the nicest possible way but, i do not care, can we just kiss 🙏

i feel like he’s one of those boys who likes to take his shirt off for no reason, so raichi most definitely ends up shirtless at some point of the night 😭

takes pictures with reo’s fancy cars in his garage to flex 💀 gets annoyed when reo says raichi can’t drive them. raichi doesn't even have his license 😑

plays pool and is actually not that bad. does almost accidentally blind isagi with his cue, though.

IMAMURA YUUDAI:

he's with some girls but, he’s a dummy and he didn’t know his other hoes would be there, so imamura had quite a few drinks spilled on him here and there.

still somehow leaves with like three new girls snaps, four numbers, and a bunch of lipstick stains. not even gonna lie, i respect his game.

actually a really good dancer, and he knows he looks good, too. knows the words to every drake song that comes on, argue with your mom.

lip-syncs the words to you when you dance together and it makes you more flustered than you would think 🙄

the type to pull you close and wraps his arms around your waist or around your neck

actually really fun to talk to. always in the loop with drama and stuff, so he's always got some interesting conversation topics. and he's funny 😭

MIKAGE REO:

obviously, the party’s at his house. what’s the point of having a rich teammate if you can’t exploit them for their possessions?

jokes, but reo did offer to throw it at his mansion house in the first place.

actually really likes throwing parties lmao, so he jumped at the opportunity.

posted on his snap, “party at my place su for address‼️” LOL

natural charm + raised with good manners = reo being an amazing host

but, reo does have a little group of girls following him around the entire night 👎

and it irritates the hell out of whoever reo’s trying to talk to because they’re all up on him, making it hard for reo to pay attention 😑

also doesn’t help that he entertains them and flirts back and dances with a couple of them, too

and looks good when he dances, too UGH!!!! he's the type to run his hands up and down your body while he dances with you 😣

i hate this man 👎 /j

ITOSHI RIN:

practicing. he didn’t come. sike! rin has a social life, too, come on now, y'all 🙄

talked a big game about how he wouldn’t show up then he still came anyways, like rin, what 😭??

super good at cup pong and he knows it. he keeps beating ryusei and if you look closely, rin has something reminiscent of a smirk on his face.

a foot-tapper, not a dancer, which sucks because he’s not even bad at dancing, either 👎

a couple of girls come up to rin to flirt, but rin doesn’t give them the time of day. no response or anything just a little side eye 😭

rin just talks to his friends and that’s it, really.

actually internally glad for the chance to kickback and relax for once, tbh.

but, he refuses to admit he had any semblance of fun. (he did, rin’s just a weenie 😒)

NIKO IKKI:

the team forced him to come 😭

niko’s already a homebody and he doesn’t like loud noises or large social scenes, so he wasn’t too jazzed about going somewhere where the both of those things combine.

also he's picky with music so LOL. does like that one remix to the pursuit of happiness, though

he’s a wall-stander, i hate to break it to y’all. just watched everything from a distance and didn't talk to anyone except for isagi and his friends.

bye, if you don’t get off the damn wall and dance (he'd dance with me i'm different 🥰🤗)

keeps opening and closing his phone so he looks busy but that mf is literally just going through the settings app 😭

called his mom to bring him home an hour and a half in 👎

NANASE NIJIROU:

i hate to admit it, but he’s the annoying first year that documents everything on snap bye

he’s just excited to be there but like, there is no reason for his story to be half an hour long.

i'm not watching all of that! sorry that happened to you or good for you 🤗

probably playing games like spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. is very proud of himself for kissing four people in one night #bigmoves 🥳

stays with his group of friends and they're sooo loud and rowdy LMAOO. #firstyearthings

you can literally hear them laughing over the music, but they're having fun, so it's fine (at least of those kids hits people when they laugh too)

also dances, too! has super good energy and a natural sense of rhythm surprisingly 🥰 also a good hypeman!!!!! honestly, he's just really fun to be around tbh

overall, has a lot of fun, as you can tell by his story 😇

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heliads · 3 years

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The Issue of the Dance

You’re best friends with Draco Malfoy, that much is a given. When you’re asked to the Yule Ball by a Durmstrang student, however, Draco seems oddly irritated.

masterlist

You may be trying to do your homework, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel your best friend’s gaze burning away at the back of your head. Draco Malfoy has been trying to get your attention for the better part of ten minutes now, but you’re not any more likely to give up and look over at him than you had before. This essay is due tomorrow, you have better things to do then respond to your friend.

Eventually, Draco resorts to more advanced measures, and seconds later, you feel a piece of crumpled paper hit your arm. You don’t spare it a second thought, merely turning over the page in the textbook in front of you. You can hear him sigh in irritation and smile to yourself. You can only mess with him for so long, so you pick it up, carefully uncrumpling the paper to see what is written inside.

It’s blank. Forgetting your forced silence, you turn around and give Draco a look. He’s sprawled in one of the mahogany and viridian silk armchairs sequestered around the fireplace, and he looks up triumphantly when he sees he’s finally made you glance away from your homework. You hold up the paper in one hand. “Really? You’re throwing parchment at me? I thought it could at least be something interesting, like a note.”

Draco grins. “I can give you a note, if that makes you feel better.” You roll your eyes. “It will not. I’m going back to my essay.” Draco leans forward, snapping your textbook shut with one hand. “No, we’re talking. I’m bored.” You reach for the textbook, which is being held out of your reach. “No, we’re not. I have things to be doing that don’t involve entertaining you. Go talk to Crabbe or Goyle.”

Draco sighs. “They wouldn’t know how to have a conversation unless I guided them through it by hand.” You do your best to hold back a laugh. “They’re your friends. You’re so mean.” Draco raises an eyebrow. “I’m not wrong. They’re idiots. That’s why you’re my closest friend, darling, because you actually have the ability to think.”

This time, you can’t stop your laugh. “Darling? That almost makes up for the fact that you think we’re friends solely because I don’t have the brain of a five year old.” Draco smirks shamelessly. “Do you have a problem with that?” You shrug. “I guess I do.” With that, you turn back to your essay at hand, grateful your turned back hides the smile on your face as you hear Draco groan in annoyance behind you.

“Fine, we’re not just friends because of that. Now can you stop ignoring me? It’s going to be a long night for both of us if you do.” You point your quill at him without turning around. “Fine. Will you please stop ignoring me?” Draco asks, and your smile grows. “Fine, I guess I will. Happy?” You turn around once more, and Draco matches your smile. “Very.”

There’s a sound of approaching footsteps behind you, and seconds later, your friend Blaise Zabini slumps down into an armchair next to the two of you. “Honestly, Malfoy, you’re making me sick. Can’t you two stop flirting and just go out with each other? You’re ruining my evening.” Draco gives Blaise a look riddled with disdain. “We are not dating, Blaise, we’re friends. Just that and nothing more.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you bother her more than anyone else?” You flash him a grin. “Because we’re best friends. I’ve earned the title.” Blaise rolls his eyes. “You’re both terrible.” You shrug. “Is that why you’re also our friend? You’re the one who came over here.” Blaise points at you in agreement. “Exactly. I’m not here to bicker about Malfoy’s questionable habits, I’m here to talk about the Yule Ball. If we want to have a good showing we’ll have to form closer alliances with the Durmstrang students.”

You roll your eyes. “Honestly, Blaise, it’s just a dance. You’re making it sound like a council of war.” Draco glances over at you. “He’s not wrong. Having international ties could never hurt. This would be the best place to do it.” You groan, slumping down onto the table in front of you and burying your face in your arms. “Both of you?” Blaise folds his arms in front of his chest. “What, you don’t like the Durmstrang guys? They might seem a little intimidating, but they’re students like the rest of us.”

You shake your head. “Not from the way you’re talking about them. They might as well be businessmen.” Blaise waves this away with his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Look, there’s a group just coming back from the library. You could talk to them, make some friends.” You sit up, a slight smile crossing your face. “I don’t need to. One of them has already asked me to the Yule Ball.” Blaise stares. “Which one?” You return his gaze, feeling an air of victory. “Henrik Rybar.”

Blaise leans back against the chair. “He’s one of the best in the class! How’d you manage that?” You give him an affronted look. “My natural charm, obviously. Do you still want to make conversation with them tomorrow?” Blaise rolls his eyes, but a grin flickers across his face when he glances over at Draco. “You alright there, Malfoy? You look a little distressed.”

Sure enough- Draco hasn’t said a word all this time, just stewing in something that looks almost like malice. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was jealous. “No, nothing’s the matter. Say, I think I left something in the dormitory. I’d best go get it.” He stands up hurriedly and leaves just as quickly. You and Blaise are left to sit alone, an expression of intrigue growing on Blaise’s face.

“Just friends, my arse.” You swat him with the edge of your parchment, but even this can’t seem to get you back into high spirits. You had assumed Draco would be impressed or at least not angry over the fact that Henrik was taking you to the dance- he’s of a prominent magical family, and Draco’s been trying to get the three of you into his good graces for a while. So why is it that he seems so unhappy now?

By the time the Yule Ball rolls around, you’re almost thinking that the dance is more trouble than it’s worth. Draco has been pretending that he wasn’t affected by this at all, that you’re still nothing more than friends, but you can see mute vexation simmering away behind his eyes. The Durmstrang students all sit at the Slytherin table with the rest of you, so it’s not like tensions are eased at all. When Henrik sits next to Draco, the platinum blond boy’s jaw seems to clench. When Henrik sits next to you, well, Draco seems about to punch the guy himself.

However, it’s not like he’s alone in feeling unhappy. Barely a day had gone by after you revealed that you were going to the dance with Henrik that Draco found himself a date- none other than Pansy Parkinson. You suppose you’re not surprised- Pansy has been eyeing Draco for practically her entire life. She’s a Slytherin just like you, so she shares your cunning, your drive to get what you want. Is it really that much of a shock that she would manage to get her hooks in Draco somehow?

You don’t know why you keep thinking of Draco asking Pansy to the ball like it’s somehow Pansy’s fault. Pansy couldn’t have made him ask her any more than another Slytherin girl short of drugging him with a love potion, and he isn’t exactly besotted enough for that. You know that Draco must have asked Pansy for a good reason, a legitimate reason, yet you keep thinking of it like this is Pansy’s decision, not Draco’s. Like if you just phrase it the right way, Draco won’t have feelings for her, like he didn’t ask her to the ball because they were more than friends. Friends is, of course, all that Draco and you will ever be. You would do well to remember it.

Finally, it is the night of the Yule Ball. To be honest, you find yourself a little relieved that it will all be soon over. Draco’s been stiff and wordless with you as of late, like he’s trying to hide something. It only started after Henrik asked you to the dance and Draco asked Pansy, and you have a sinking feeling that this sudden avoidance has something to do with it. If only the dance were over, you could finally go back to what you had before.

Even with all of this, you can’t deny that this night feels magical. You’ve spent days talking about it with your friends, planning out outfits and hair and makeup until you practically felt exhausted. Now, staring at yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but feel a glow rush to your cheeks. You look, to put it simply-

“Amazing. You look gorgeous, Y/N.”

You smile up at Henrik. He looks nice too- like the other Durmstrang students, he’s donned a crimson dress coat with dark fur lining. You suppose it’s traditional for the Durmstrang students, but it does suit him. You yourself wear a gown of deepest indigo, with a skirt of swirling silk that swishes around your ankles until you feel like you could spin for hours and never stop. Even so, his compliment brings a smile to your face.

“You look wonderful yourself.” Henrik returns your smile. “You are too kind. Shall we go in?” He offers you an arm, leading you through the halls and into the stone atrium leading to the Great Hall. Pairs of students mill about, exchanging compliments on dress robes and hair styles whilst secretly checking out what everyone else has decided to wear or do. Yule Balls are out of the ordinary in a school that specializes in the peculiar, so of course everyone who’s anyone is talking about it.

After a few minutes of waiting, the doors open, and the pairs of students begin to file into the Great Hall, led by the Triwizard Champions and their partners. They, of course, are given the first dance, and then everyone else takes to the floor. You are pleasantly surprised to find that Henrik is an excellent dancer, but for every perfect turn and step, you realize you’re looking for someone else, someone with a shock of platinum hair who is not here dancing with you at all.

You don’t realize you’re searching for him until you see him. Draco is dancing with Pansy across the room, laughing formally at a joke she must have said. She’s dressed in emerald green- Slytherin colors, what a surprise. Draco has always felt shielded by his house pride, so of course she would know to dress in that color for him. They look practically perfect together.

“He is your friend, no? Malfoy?” You jerk back to reality, realizing you must have been staring. “What? Yes, we’re in the same house.” Henrik nods. “He was looking for you earlier, I think. Before you came down.” You smile despite yourself. “I’ve known him for a while.” Henrik starts to open his mouth, presumably to ask you another question about Draco, but you find you don’t want to speak about him right now, so you hurriedly ask him a question about Durmstrang. Henrik’s eyes light up, and he begins to speak in earnest about his school. At last, something to distract him.

When you look back, Draco and Pansy are gone, swallowed up by the crowd. If you were smart, you would turn your attention back to your date, back to the boy who actually asked you out in the first place. Yet you keep looking for the one who didn’t, for the one who’d looked at you with something like betrayal in his eyes when he found out you would be going to the dance with someone else.

After a couple more songs, Henrik excuses himself to speak to a friend, and strides off across the Great Hall. Now that you’re alone, the noise and action of the room seems to echo off of the walls, the sound of the band playing and conversation reaching an ear-piercing din. You make your way through the crowd to reach the doors, slipping into the grateful quiet of the hall outside. You’ve barely taken a few steps, though, when you sense that you’re not alone.

“Y/N?”

You turn to see Draco, silhouetted against the bright lights still seeping out of the Great Hall. His eyes linger on you. “You look nice.” Somehow, these few words manage to outrank a hundred compliments from Henrik. “So do you.” You’re not just adding pleasantries this time- his black suit jacket is a crisp contrast to the white lines of his dress robes. Henrik’s robes almost look garish in comparison.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing away from the ball? I thought you would be dancing.” Draco gives you a rueful smile. “I could say the same thing about you. Henrik’s a prestigious wizard, he would be a good partner.” Somehow, you get the feeling he’s not just talking about a dance. “He’s not exactly my type. I don’t know him well enough.” Draco smiles now, a real smile. He holds out his hand from where it had been pressed at his side, and you realize that he’s been holding a necklace in his hand. It has links of gold looped together to support a pendant in the middle, one shaped like a teardrop.

“I was going to give this to Pansy, but it doesn’t really match her dress. She went more along the lines of silver. Would you mind if I give it to you instead?” You shake your head quietly, unable to say anything lest you disturb the quiet peace that hangs over you. You turn around, and seconds later you feel the pendant settle against your throat, Draco’s hands inches away as he fastens the clasp behind you.

When you turn around, his eyes linger on the pendant for just a second longer. At last, he speaks, and he has the rushed energy as if he’s not entirely sure that he’s saying the words until he does. “I wanted it to be you, you know. I was going to ask you, and then he did. I didn’t know what to do.” You stare at him. “You-”

Draco cuts you off. “I know we always joked about just being friends, but I wouldn’t have minded if we were wrong this once.” You feel a laugh bubbling to your chest, incredulous and utterly happy. “You could have said that earlier, you dunce. All this time, we’ve been tossing the same lie back and forth. You could have asked me.” Draco grins, the same cocky, impossible, utterly lovesick grin you’ve seen before. “Guess I was waiting for the right moment.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly is the right moment?” You’re almost expecting it when he kisses you. It feels like closure, like you’ve been waiting for this for a while. It feels like home.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter onseshot #draco imagines #draco x reader #draco oneshot

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hobidreams · 4 years

Text

march 1858.

a visitor you never expected; a day you will never forget.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluff words: 1.3k contains: historical au, child!yoongi, softness historical context: korean tradition dictates that people age up at the start of the new year (Jan 1), not on their actual birthday. traditionally, they also add an extra year as they consider the baby 1 year old at birth, not 0 years old. a/n: this drabble is sponsored by a donation to Black Lives Matter.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble four. start from the beginning?

For the entire week leading up to March 9th, as it has been for the past eight years, the palace lights up with an anticipatory hum, a buzz of excitement. Queen Jeonghui is in especially high spirits as she oversees the thorough cleaning of the grand hall and the preparation of the customary celebratory dishes, made with lavish ingredients especially imported from foreign traders. For the eunuchs, the guards, and all the palace occupants, it’s a relief to see the queen so pleased after what had happened a few months prior. Even as she cradles her left arm, hidden by a swath of silk, the smile never leaves her lips as she thinks of the prince and his impending, official tenth birthday.

You don’t pay much attention to the festivities. Or to be more accurate, you don’t have time to. As much as you’d like to pretend, the decorations aren’t for you. Anyhow, your mother has been overwhelmed with work lately as one of the few uinyeo in the palace, and as the head of them all. You are but a fledging apprentice, still learning how to diagnose and properly treat the illnesses that so easily strike the ladies of the court. If only the male physicians could ease your mother’s burden. But social convention must be followed. Even tonight, on Prince Yoongi’s official birthday, she cannot join the feast even though she has been invited personally by the queen.

“Mom, Da-ri-nim’s cramping has gone down,” you report happily, steps a little lighter as you walk over to where mother is hunched over an assortment of herbs. She’s crushing ingredients together with a mortar and pestle.

“Oh? That’s wonderful.” Mother brushes away a few strands of hair from her face. “She should be stable for the rest of the night, but we should keep an eye on her.”

“To make sure she doesn’t bleed too much?”

She smiles. “That’s exactly right.”

“Is the new medicine done yet?”

“Almost there.”

You lean against the desk, watching how the small pot of water simmers above the fire. “I reeaally hope this one works.”

“Me too. The extra amount of mugwort should be effective. Do you remember its effects?”

“Hmm. Most useful for thinning blood, increasing circulation, and…” You look hopefully at her. “Relieving muscle pain?”

Much to your relief, she nods, pride swelling in her chest. “Smart girl.”

The music outside does a crescendo then, notes floating through the cracks of the doors with sounds of laughter. The drums pound out a practiced beat, seeming to shake the ground itself with revelry. You’ve seen the dancers practicing out in the courtyard a few days earlier, and you can only imagine how lovely they must look now, all dressed up in handcrafted skirts and gauzy scarves. You wish you could see it! You’ve always loved to dance. Used to try on mom’s only fancy pink hanbok even though it was much too big for you, then spin round and round and round in front of the mirror to watch the skirt float. She’d scolded you harshly after: how could you possibly dirty or ruin a present from the king himself?! The first gift she had ever earned for her essential help with delivering the precious crown prince. But there are always more dances and performances. This is more important, and that’s okay too.

“We’ll go next year.” Mother says as if she can read your mind (or maybe you’re just bad at hiding your disappointment). “I promise.”

Before you can respond, the door slides open.

“Su-uinyeo-nim!”

“What’s wrong?”

One of the newer eunuchs stands in the frame, his face pale. “A dancer has collapsed! We didn’t want to move and bring her here, so please come with me!” He bows quickly, fingers twisted in the long folds of his sleeves.

“Understood.” Mother reaches aside for the parcel she keeps for emergencies. “Let it boil. Take care of the patients. We’re still going to celebrate after I get back, okay?” she says to you, then disappears with the eunuch.

You do as you’re told, checking on the women who lie on the beds. You replace the damp cloths on their foreheads that have become lukewarm with sweat, and help those who can up, so they can have some water. Many of them are recovering well from the ruthless winter sickness that swept through a whole group of maids; their fevers are mostly subsiding and coughs calming. Still, anything could happen.

When another noise comes from outside, you turn your head. Standing, you put one hand on the door handle and pull.

“Mom, did you forget—”

Your mouth drops slightly as you meet a dark gaze, one at your eye level and marred with a thin scar.

“W-Wangseja-jeonha!” You immediately drop into a bow, ninety degrees, with your back as straight as you can make it. You hold it for five long seconds. He’s still staring at you when you come up again. “M-May I ask why you are paying a visit here…?”

“I made Eunuch Kim sneak me away.” Despite his age, he sounds composed and mature, befitting a future king. He gestures casually beside him to where an exceedingly tall man stands, holding something covered with cloth. “Tray.”

Eunuch Kim steps forward, his cheek slightly indented from his polite smile as he takes away the covering to reveal a bowl, with silver utensils lying aside it. Steam rises immediately, transparent as it curls into the air alongside a comforting smell.

“This is…”

“Janchi guksu.” Celebratory noodles, which must have been brought directly from the feast. Undoubtedly prepared with the highest quality ingredients, and delicious. “It’s your birthday too, isn’t it?”

That was probably one of the last things you thought he’d say. Your heart squeezes; it’s a sort of weird, nervous glee at being unexpectedly seen. “T-That is—Yes! Oh, yes, it, it is!”

While you always thought it was fascinating coincidence to share the same birth date, you’d also long resigned to be overlooked by most in favor of him. Mother always brings you a new hairpin from town, and makes you savory seaweed soup in your own private celebration, and that’s enough. But now, to have the crown prince himself here! You haven’t seen him since that November night, and never this up close.

While his face remains impassive, it seems to soften at your smile. “Good. Then take this.”

You accept the tray that Eunuch Kim offers with grateful hands. You stare into the bowl with your heart pounding. “Can I ask… how did you know, seja-jeonha?”

“Mama told me.”

Your grin grows wider. Next to your mother, the queen has always been your role model. Kind, beautiful, and endlessly caring. Even that night, she had been willing to sacrifice herself for her son. And it seems the prince has learned compassion from the very best.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You didn’t have to trouble yourself, coming all this way.”

“Seja-jeonha. We only have a minute left,” the eunuch reminds in a soft voice.

The prince nods his acknowledgment. You expect him to walk away immediately, but he stays. “A king must protect and take care of his people. And… it’s a thank you. For that night.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, almost nervous. “Eat well.” Only then does he stalk off with a swish of his opulent navy robes.

You stand there for a minute longer, watching him with admiration in your heart until your grumbling stomach makes you turn in.

Tonight, as the delicate noodles and light soup warm your body from the inside out, you make a promise to yourself. As you renew your fealty to the royal family, you add a new caveat, a second, private oath: unabridged loyalty to the crown prince, to the future king, to Min Yoongi himself.

#ficswithluv #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi x reader #historical au #min yoongi #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #a bit of a break haha :')#also tags aren't working again so #that's lovely :(

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rainbowvamp · 3 years

Text

Enchanted

Happy Mercelot week my loves! Enjoy a Cinderella love at first sight au. Featuring Merlin in a pretty outfit and infatuated Lancelot!

@mercelotweek fill for "beauty"

——

Merlin looks down at the bit of fabric in his hands. He’s never tried to alter an object this way. He’d cut a bit of Camelot red from one of the cloaks Arthur had sent to be re-hemmed and was just… looking at it. It was washed, but still obviously worn, fraying in places, no matter how he’d tried to mend it. He hadn’t been particularly keen on the red, but it was the only thing he’d had on hand. He certainly wasn’t going to risk any of his own clothes for something that might not work.

Merlin had altered himself before, sure, but he’d gotten stuck that way as often as he’d done it. A mask couldn’t exactly drink a potion and return to it’s original form. So, he had to be very careful and meticulous when he crafted this spell.

The white of his party clothes was incredible, striking, really, compared to all the other clothes he’d ever worn. Cast offs, surely, but they were beautiful. Morgana or even Gwen might know if they were even still in style, but it was meant to be a bit of a lark, this party. Both for him and the other guests in attendance. The others would be in costumes fashioned from older clothing, or clothing made costume by masks. It was supposed to be fun, light hearted, this party, but here Merlin is, overthinking something as simple as a mask.

He murmurs a spell of his own creation and the scrap of fabric, crumpled and pinned to generally resemble a mask, became something gorgeous before his eyes. The fabric was thinner, almost like lace in weight, but stayed stiff in his hand like it had been over starched. The pins had become fine, metallic dots over the eye holes, and the ribbon he’d use to secure it was almost silk like.

It was beautiful, but Merlin could feel the tenuous nature of the spell. It wouldn’t last forever. It might not even last the night. He could feel the threads of magic holding it delicately in this shape, but ready to break apart at any moment.

Well, he’d just have to make his trip to the party short so he wouldn’t risk being found out. These things usually went so far into the night it became morning, but he’d probably have until midnight before the spell wore off and risked exposing him.

If anyone found out a Servant was mingling with these Nobles, he’d be in the stocks for a week. Maybe worse.

Guinevere, who is his dearest friend and closest confidant, has agreed to help him with his hair for tonight, so he sneaks off to Morgana’s rooms, the lady already down at the party, to get her help, mask already in place, just in case anyone should see him.

The palace feels different when he walks around in clothes that belong to a nobleman. The servants he passes bow respectfully, and it makes him uneasy. How can people stand this? He felt so terrible, watching people avert their eyes and how their heads like he or anyone else had any right to their humility.

In Morgana’s rooms, Gwen adjusts his coat and combs his hair back in a way he didn’t think would suit him, but he ends up liking. He tries once more to convince her to come with him, to just steal one of Morgana’s old dresses and wear a veil, but she’s convinced she’ll be found out, and isn’t willing to risk it.

Merlin has no such qualms, and has vowed to take her involvement with this little scheme to the grave. Or the stocks.

“You look wonderful,” She says when she finally lays her brush down. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Haha, Guinevere. I just want to see how the other half lives for a night. You’re sure you won’t come?”

And now she rolls her eyes. “The lady Morgan and I are much closer than you and Arthur. She’d notice me, even with a mask. Maybe the next one.”

He smiles softly at her. “Definitely the next one. Besides, you’ll still be there. You’ll just have to endure less of the idle dithering of nobles.”

She giggles, “Merlin, you can’t talk about them like that.”

“I can talk about them however I like dressed like this,” He tugged his collar a bit to show off and that set her off again. She covered her mouth to keep their presence hidden and swatted at him.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Now go, before it’s over.”

“Love you,” he kissed her cheek and she returned the gesture.

“Please don’t get yourself killed.” Which was as good as an I love you too from Gwen.

“No promises. I did try to fight the prince my first day here.”

—-

Merlin takes a second glass of mead in less than half an hour from a passing try. He knows this will be a terrible idea, but he cannot, to save his own life, stand this lot while sober any longer.

Occasionally one of the nobles will smile and greet him, ask him who he is, but for the most part, people are interested in socializing with those they already know, and the few who approach him are obviously uninterested in him as much as they are interested in the connections he might be able to make them.

“I’m dying out here,” he murmurs to Gwen when she’s pauses briefly to grab another tray to pass around lady Morgana’s table.

“I’m so sorry. You poor dear.” She smirks and he smiles back at her.

“Your turn next.”

“Mhmm, after all the fun you’re having, I can’t wait.”

He laughed as she left and his spirits were lifted for the first time all night. He took a final sip of his mead and left it on a table, deciding to try his luck on the dance floor at the same moment that a set of deep brown eyes caught him from across the room.

“Caught” was not an exaggeration. The smoldering, desirous look in the eyes that looked like they might have been looking at him for a while held him like a man entranced. His breath caught in his throat as the man started to make his way toward him.

He was in chain mail, a knight in a cloak that was unmistakably Camelot red. It wasn’t unlike the cloak he’d cut his mask from.

At the reminder, Merlin focused briefly on his mask, whose transformed state was tenuous. It would last a while longer, maybe an hour, maybe longer.

The determined way the knight walked toward him, through the onlookers, partygoers and celebrators was almost overwhelming. No one tonight had looked so intently upon him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.

His feet seemed to decide how to handle it for him. Thick dark hair that begged to be tugged at and a mouth made for kissing, it drew him in like so few things ever had. Even with the black mask obscuring his face, Merlin can tell he must be beautiful. The cut of his jaw is too perfect for him not to be.

Merlin is stunned by the time they meet, standing obnoxiously still in the middle of the dance floor. The knight bows to him, and while servants bowing to him had made him uncomfortable, this feels formal, and somehow honorable. He holds out his hand when the knight starts to stand, thinking they might shake, but instead Lancelot takes the offered hand and kisses the back of it, eyes trained on Merlin the entire time.

He is grateful for the cover of the mask, with the way that he can feel the blush forming high on his cheek. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a knight.

“Hello, My Lord. I am Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot. He’s heard Arthur speak of him, in passing. An excellent fighter, perhaps as good as the Prince himself. As he stands, Sir Lancelot smiles at him, and Merlin about melts as his stomach flutters and he stands tall, just about eye level with him.

“Hello, Sir Lancelot.” The words are breathier than he means to be, and if Lancelot notices, he gives no indication.

With the slightest bow he asks, “May I have this dance?”

Merlin had been about to dance on his own anyway. Only, Merlin’s never danced any of these formal noble dances, only remembers celebrations in Ealdor, and in the lower town. He isn’t sure of the steps, but Lancelot still hasn’t dropped his hand, and his mouth seems to speak with the same ungiven authority his feet had moved him with.

“Certainly.”

Lancelot takes Merlin’s other hand to place it on his shoulder, and takes Merlin at the waist. It’s what everyone else seems to be doing, and he’s grateful that Lancelot says nothing when they’re pulled so close their chests are nearly flush.

Lancelot starts to move, but Merlin can’t keep time, keeps stumbling over his feet, and Lancelot’s. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.” Merlin laughs, afraid Lancelot will simply leave, but the man’s returning smile tells another story.

“That’s alright. Just stop thinking so hard about it. I’ll lead.” He pauses briefly to adjust his grip on Merlin’s waist and then Merlin feels the gentle push of the hand there, urging him to move back, forth, left, right, turn, in time with the music. Between Lancelot’s easy leading, and the way his eyes seem to never leave Merlin’s, it’s easy to feel like they are the only two people here, the only ones that matter.

Merlin finds the rhythm eventually, and the gentle coaxing on his hip becomes obsolete. He still misses the feel of Lancelot’s hand in his when they’re suddenly unclasped and grabbing Merlin by the waist, to spin him around with the flourish as the dance came to an end. He laughs, and the answering twinkle in Lancelot’s eyes speaks volumes for how he’s enjoyed himself.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin smiles, letting the knight take his hand and kiss it again.

“I’d say it was the best dance I’ve ever had. Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”

“I aim to please.” Another song started up, and Lancelot raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this one is a group dance. Unless you fancy a half dozen partners and more steps than you can count, we might sit this one out.”

Merlin laughed, “I certainly don’t want that. Get a drink with me?” Merlin doesn’t need another drink, but he is parched.

When Lancelot offers his elbow to Merlin, he almost rolls his eyes, but can’t help the grin it illicits. “Such a gentleman.” He smiles, and Lancelot returns it. They take a seat at a nearby table, long since unoccupied in favor of the dancing.

Lancelot serves him mead before a servant can, highly unusual for a knight, as Merlin is well aware. “Thank you,” he waits for Lancelot to serve his own glass and clinks them together before taking a healthy sip from his. The warmth of the joy of Lancelot and the mead mix together, leaving him feeling heady and relaxed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. Is that terrible?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin laughed in response.

“Few would. I’m hardly a common attendee of these sorts of things. I’m Emerys of Ealdor.”

“Such a beautiful name, for a beautiful man,” Lancelot gestured for a servant to bring the tray they were holding, and thanked him graciously as he served both Merlin and himself honey cakes. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Ealdor. Is it far from here?”

“Yes. I don’t see it much, anymore. It’s in Essetir, and it is not exactly safe to pass between the two lands. I haven’t been home in many years.”

Lancelot frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I too can not return home. I know how lonely that can be.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “Yes. But I do make friends wherever I go, and that helps.”

“I hope perhaps I may one day be counted among them?” Lancelot raies and eyebrow and Merlin’s besotted.

“Easily. So you do not come from Camelot?”

“No. I was a wonderer for a long time, learning sword craft to become a knight of Camelot, one of the noblest lands I know of.”

“One of?” Merlin asked, and he’s honestly curious. He’s used to the way the knights talk about Camelot, like it is perfect, the most wonderful place to live with the most impressive king.

“The King is very noble. He has a heart for the people not all Kings can boast.”

“But?” Merlin pushes, and Lancelot smiles uneasily.

“But not all of the people of Camelot belong in the King’s heart. It is not always my desire to carry out the laws against magic users, if they’ve done no wrong. But I am always loyal to my king.” He took a sip of his mead, pulling gently on the collar of his shirt.

Merlin didn’t know what it felt like to fall in love, but he thought perhaps this might be it. Like falling and being overwhelmed, and wanting nothing more to steal away with someone who appeared perfect in every way.

“I must say I agree.” He said, and Lancelot visibly relaxed. “But like you, I have no ill will toward the King. He does what he believes to be right, and that is all any man can be asked to do.” And perhaps one day he would see that he was not right. Merlin could only hope.

“Yes. Will you be in Camelot long, after the festival?” The question is so obviously probing that Merlin feels a bit of glee at it, even as his heart sinks, because he can’t have this man. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot, and Merlin is a servant.

“I’m afraid not. I leave tonight,” Merlin smiled wanly, and Lancelot’s face mirrors him.

“There’s no possibility of your plans being changed?”

“No. I’m expected somewhere tomorrow. We’ll have to ride through the night to get there.” This is the first true lie Merlin has told all night, and it aches to say. Lancelot cares for magic users, and he’s kind, and he didn’t ask Merlin what connections he had or how he might be helpful to him. He just wanted to have a dance and talk.

He looks away and meets Gwen’s eyes, somewhere over Lancelot’s shoulders. She looks so sad, and he knows he must look the same.

“When might you be back? In Camelot, I mean?”

“I can’t say. It’s only coincidence that brought me here tonight.” This at least, is true. Merlin never could’ve come to this party if not for Gwen coincidentally finding the discarded clothing in the closer of a long disgraced nobleman. The fact that they happened to fit Merlin was also happenstance, and if not for that, he’d never be here. With an hour of Gwen’s help, she’d been able to tailor them nearly to perfect, and he was loathe to admit he looked quite good.

“That is a shame. We must enjoy tonight then.”

“Yes, we must.”

The song changed and Merlin took as delicate a bite as he could manage of his honey cake before taking Lancelot’s hand. “Teach me to dance some more, you’re fantastic at it.”

This brought a smile to Lancelot’s face. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

They take to the dance floor. This dance, whatever it is, is far more complicated than the last one, and Lancelot also stumbles through it occasionally, which makes Merlin feel just a bit better.

“We’ve nearly got it!” Merlin laughed when the music ended, and Lancelot bowed to him again. Merlin is about to ask him for another one when a tall figure suddenly approaches them.

“Mind if I cut in?” Says another knight of Camelot, this one completely disregarding the dresscode and lacking a mask. His long hair came to his shoulder and Merlin would’ve found him incredibly attractive if it weren’t for the fact Lancelot was already the center of his night.

Merlin bows goodbye to Lancelot, thinking this knight has come for his equal, he certainly wouldn’t be the only knight to do so, but then he sees the hard edge of Lancelot’s eyes and is a bit confused.

“My Lord.” The new knight says, and takes Merlin’s hand, sweeping him away from Lancelot without waiting for so much as a “by your leave.”

“I’m Sir Gwaine. You’re a pretty thing,” the knight says, and Merlin doesn’t find this compliment as positive as Lancelot’s.

“I’m sorry if I have no desire to be called an object.” He said stiffly, and Gwaine laughed.

“You’ve got nerve. Lancelot must like that.” Merlin was swept up and turned, his hands barley having time to grip Gwaine’s shoulders and stabilize himself as he was lifted into the air. “I’m sorry to intrude. Sir Lancelot is one of my dearest friends, and a bit of teasing always does him good. Can you see him?” He leaned in to whisper these last words in his ear and Merlin’s eyes start searching the floor for Lancelot.

He’s not on the dance floor, but is watching them with a deep intensity from the spot where they’d sat and ate the song before. “You’ve upset him.”

“Well, you didn’t have to accept.” The man smiled, and Merlin scowled.

“I thought you were asking for Lancelot, not me. Besides, you didn’t give me time to either accept or deny. Just carried me off like some sort of brute.”

“My apologies.” But nothing about his tone seemed apologetic. “However, when Lancelot gets his hands back on you, I think you might just thank me for my little intervention.”

Merlin’s barely following along with whatever steps, but he’s starting to fume. “What is this? Some sort of joke? Do you find that appropriate?”

“I meant no harm,” He smiled, “I swear.” They turned and for a second his eyes focused over Merlin’s shoulder and he grimaced. “But I’m afraid I may have gone too far. I’m going to get it in training tomorrow.” He focused on Merlin again to grin. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” The song ended and Merlin just barely put up with a peck on his hand. Before he can pull away, Gwaine holds his hand tight, and Merlin freezes. “Lancelot hasn’t looked this happy for a very long time. I hope you don’t mean to dash his heart.”

Merlin is shocked at the insinuation. “I’ve only just met him. There are no hearts involved.”

“Mmm, you haven’t known Lancelot as long as I have. I assure you, there are.” He made Merlin take his arm and lead him back to the table where Lancelot was sitting. There was a blond knight standing beside him now, leaning in and murmuring something in his ear. “He falls so quick it’s a marvel he’s ever on his feet. But he’s loyal. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea if you mean to disappear.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, stiffening, and Gwaine shrugged.

“I’ve never seen you before. Neither has anyone else I’ve asked. You’re passing through. Who’s to say how you got an invitation, but you’re not likely to return if you’re making no move to introduce yourself to everyone here. I’ve been a wanderer, I know the signs of someone who only intends to stay one night. If you’ve no intention to stay, I wish you’d leave him be.”

“It’s complicated,” Merlin said voice still tense.

“Everything is. My word stands.” They arrive at the table and Lancelot stands, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him, glaring at Gwaine.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t get enough of our new friend. But he’s all yours now, Lancelot.”

Merlin takes a seat and is relieved for Gwaine to go. Lancelot looks him over like he’s afraid he might’ve been mauled. “Are you alright? I know Gwaine tends to be a bit… forward.”

Merlin laughed, a bit uncomfortable now after what Gwaine’d said. “I’m alright. He wasn’t too forward. Just a bit blunt.”

“Yes, he’s like that.” Merlin followed Lancelot’s gaze to Gwaine, and hoped that Lancelot did beat Gwaine on the training field tomorrow.

The honey cake he’d left is still there, and so he takes another bite. Things like this were so rarely afforded to him he had to force himself not to scarf it down. The cake was soft and crumbled easily in his mouth, giving way to a sweet, delicate flavor. The soft sigh of pleasure from the taste of it all drew Lancelot’s gaze briefly to his lips, and Merlin felt his face heat. “I don’t usually indulge.” He said, as way of explanation, and Lancelot smiled.

“I’m glad you’ve given yourself the pleasure tonight. Camelot’s kitchens are famous.”

“I can see why.” He says, taking another bite of the delicious cake.

“Perhaps they might entice you back.” Lancelot says with a hopeful look, and Merlin swallows.

“Perhaps.” He’s starting to think that maybe this is no good anymore. He’s playing with this man’s heart, pretending to be someone he is not. As much fun as this is, and much as he’s possibly developing a crushing love for Lancelot, this is wrong. They could never be, simply by the virtue of Merlin’s station.

A clock, somewhere far off, strikes and he jumpsin his seat. He checks the magic holding his mask and finds it worryingly close to breaking. He can’t let his face be seen here.

Luckily, he has a readymade excuse.

“Hell.” He murmurs, putting down the cake and being careful to use the napkin to clean his fingers. Had to keep up this act of nobility, no matter how much he’d rather lick the crumbs from his fingers. “I have to go.” He drops the napkin down and pushes his chair back, throwing Lancelot an apologetic look that is more genuine that Merlin meant it to be.

“What? It’s only midnight. Please.” He takes Merlin’s hand as he stands, stopping him from going any further.

“I have to go. My carriage will be waiting. I was suppose to be there ten minutes ago.” Merlin tugs on his hand, but Lancelot holds it, doesn’t let it go.

“Please, I can’t- It’s too soon.” His pleading hurts Merlin, but now that his anxiety has taken over, he knows it’s just a matter of time before the mask becomes a scrap of cloth and falls from his face.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He pulls his hand out of Lancelot’s and rushes as much as he dares to the door.

Sir Gwaine blocks his path just as he gets to the door. “Leaving so soon? Can’t I tempt you for another dance?” Merlin can’t read his face, is too worried to even think about trying.

When he looks behind him and sees Lancelot coming for them, he starts to truly panic. He can’t afford a delay.

He turns his face away from Gwaine and mutters a spell to drop a nearby server’s tray. This distracts Gwaine just long enough for Merlin to slip past him and out of the great hall.

He can hear Lancelot coming, calling after him, but he dare not look back. He mutters a second spell to slam the ballroom doors. This will serve both to slow Lancelot’s progress and hide which way Merlin goes goes.

And considering he’s going deeper into, rather than out of, the castle, it’s very important no one sees his retreat.

He slips through the halls, hearing Lancelot’s cries echo and then disappear as he goes toward the castle door, looking for him.

He’ll never find him.

Merlin swipes uselessly at his prickling eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lancelot, but after what Gwaine had said, he couldn’t stay in good conscience. He swallowed hard to try and keep himself collected, and finally ducked into Gaius’ rooms, gracefully empty.

As soon as the door was closed he felt his magic break and the mask become a scrap of fabric. Camelot-red fell into his lap, and he stared at it, thinking of what might have been, and let himself cry.

#minimercelotweek2021 #bbc merlin #merlance #mercelot #lancelin #lancelot/merlin #merlin/lancelot #merlin x lancelot #lancelot x merlin #day 1: beauty

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janisarkisian · 3 years

Text

The Beauty of Your Dance

It’s hard to believe this is my first contribution to wlw renegades week!! Anyway, today’s prompt was enemies to lovers dance au and im here to danceeee!! okay have some novissa.

Pairing: Novissa

Word Count: 1,889

When Nova had entered the 8th grade, she had gotten serious about dance. Before, she had been serious to an extent. She had danced all the time and had gotten her pointe shoes two years before. And the best thing was, everyone knew she was the best at her studio. She worked day and night at Anarchy Academy of Ballet, but part of her wanted freedom.

Ever since she had decided to become serious about dance, she had been sworn off to talk with people from any other studio. Technically, no one was stopping her from chatting with them, but it just wasn’t what was expected of her.

And of course, today was the day that Reject School of Dance held an invitational. Most studios were just there as a formality. The real competition was between Anarchy and Reject. Narcissa Cronin, their best dancer there, and was just as stuck-up and snobby as the people she worked with. Nova tried hard to understand what she was going through, she tried to remember they were working through the same problems. But the problem was, she needed to hate Narcissa Cronin, simply because of who she was.

As she tied her pointe shoes backstage, Nova regretted not sewing and breaking in a new pair yesterday. With all the dancing she did, Anarchy shipped her two new pairs a week, which still wasn’t enough.

“Ew,” A Reject dancer laughed as she walked past, “I can’t believe you even have the guts to go up against the Rejects. You should probably save yourself the embarrassment, honey.”

Nova’s lip curled up in disgust, but she wasn’t about to fight back. Before a dance competition, it was always best to have good mental health. Arguing wouldn’t help her.

Finally standing, she did a few releves’ on pointe before marking her dances. This year, she had a duet with Winston Pratt, a man she didn’t particularly like due to his clownish antics, and a trio with Honey Harper and Ingrid Thompson. Not to mention their smash group number for the end. She knew the Anarchists would win this year. They had to.

She watched in the wings as the first number started. As expected it was a really big group number from the Rejects. She had to admit they were really good. The energy their dancers had couldn’t be mistaken. And they all looked happy. Truthfully, it could have just been the lighting, but there was no mistaking the sparkles in their smiles. By the end of the dance, the audience clapped so loud she thought they would eliminate the rest of the dancers for the Rejects being so amazing.

The next dance was pretty unimportant. It was a solo done by a boy who danced at Renegade Ballet. She had never even heard of the studio, but she wondered how he was able to dance with his cane. He made it seem effortless, but she knew it must have been incredibly hard for him to dance with a disability like that.

Watching as the dances slipped by one after the next, she started to get anxious for her duet, which was coming up soon. Finally, the dance before her came on, so she checked herself over once, and headed further into the wings.

When she got on stage, everything melted away. The competition, the crowd, even Winston, who was spinning her around. There were no Rejects and no Anarchists. It was just her, and this beautiful dance. Nothing could change that. As the lighting went dark, she realized that was the first time she had ever nailed that dance perfectly. As much as she practiced, there were still moves that didn’t come perfectly natural to her that were even harder to do with Winston. But on that stage, she had been perfect.

The tensions during intermission were high. The most communication that happened were whispers between dancers in the same companies. Nova’s anxiety started to kick in, so she did what she always did to help. Plies, crunches, and pirouettes all helped her relax and get into show mode.

“Nova,” Ingrid spoke while spraying more hairspray on her bun, “We all know you’re going to be great, stop worrying about it.”

“I can’t,” she responded, knowing it was true, “There’s always an opportunity for someone to get better. If I stop now, I won’t be the best forever. I’ve got to keep persisting. Narcissa Cronin’s probably practicing right now too. I have to beat her.”

“Actually,” Honey interrupted, “She’s over there hanging out with her friends. Like you should be doing.”

Nova dropped down from her posse, sighing. “It’s not my fault she won’t be the best at her studio soon enough.”

“Nova,” Honey’s voice took a level on her heart. Her friends only wanted what was best for her. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was more to life than just dance. The only problem was that she had no idea what was missing.

***

Soon enough, the intermission was over and everyone was back in the wings, hoping their studio would win. It was no surprise that Narcissa Cronin was opening Act 2 with her solo that every Reject claimed to be amazing. Nova hoped it wasn’t true, yet knowing Narcissa’s reputation, it probably was.

As the music started, Nova felt all her worries wash away. Normally, this only happened to her when she danced, not when someone else danced. But watching Narcissa dance was like being in a dream. She flowed perfectly with the music, making the whole experience one you should have paid thousands for. Her fiery red hair lit up the stage, perfectly contrasting with the cyan lighting. Narcissa looked beautiful, and Nova couldn’t take her eyes off her.

She was caught in a trance, something she had never seen before. Then, she heard it. Narcissa had picked up the pace of her dance and fallen. At first, Nova felt no remorse. With her enemy fallen, the victory could be her’s. But not long after, she got ahold of herself. What if Narcissa was hurt? Any dancer knew that an injury could keep you out of the studio for longer than expected.

Narcissa didn’t appear hurt as she picked herself up, and continued her dance as nothing had happened. Nova admired her for that. If she was hurt, there were no signs of it, and if that had embarrassed her, there were no signs of it. But when she got back up, her dance didn’t have the same magical spirit it had before. It looked empty almost like she knew everyone in the crowd was disappointed.

Her dance ended, and the crowd clapped, though it was half-hearted. Narcissa’s dance had been amazing, yet the crowd and the judges would only remember her fall.

Still feeling remorse for Narcissa, Nova knew she needed to get ahold of herself. She, Ingrid, and Honey were on next, and they still needed to be flawless if she wanted to win.

The dance was short, yet meaningful. It was hard too, their jumps needed to soar, and all be in perfect time. Only the most elite dancers were able to perform it. Still, she felt like she shouldn't be prepping to go onstage. She should have been with Narcissa, comforting her.

She hoped that at least someone was there and that her whole studio hadn’t turned on her.

There was something that Nova noticed when she went onstage. She felt happier, but sad all at the same time. Though her dance earlier had been flawless, it had been empty. This dance felt full of feelings and all the things she had missed before. It felt whole.

Before she knew it, the dance was over. It had felt so blur-of-the-moment, just like what had happened to her when she had seen Narcissa onstage. Quickly, the exited stage left, while Ingrid and Honey disappeared stage right. Since they had unloaded their stuff near stage right, she would have to walk around the large stage, but she didn’t mind it. It would give her a quick moment to process the blur of feelings she had just experienced.

There were many reasons Nova liked the Reject’s theatre. The main reason was that the stage was so big. But another always-present reason was all the dark corridors. It was so easy to get lost if you wanted to, but easy to stay on track. Since she was done for a while, she wanted to get lost. Because sometimes, getting lost was so much easier than facing the things that were directly in front of you.

She was so lost in her thoughts and problems that she barely heard the sniffle that came from a short, dark corridor which Nova was 87% sure led out to the stage, yet most people used the main wings.

“Are you okay?” she asked the mysterious figure, who appeared to be pretty distressed.

“No,” the voice responded. She now knew it was a girl's voice, and it was pretty too. It was probably the most serene voice she had ever heard.

“Do you want some company?” She asked the shadow, hoping she would say yes.

“Are you a Reject?” The girl asked, and Nova was unsure how to respond.

“No,” She responded hoping she had made the right choice, “I’m an Anarchist.”

“Then be my guest.”

Nova stepped into the shadows, somewhat shocked to see the girl was none other than Narcissa Cronin, her former worst enemy.

“Are you Narcissa Cronin?” She needed to be sure.

“Yeah. Reject School of Dance’s biggest disappointment. I’m sure you love me for that. The Anarchists are practically guaranteed to win this year. All because of me.”

“You know what?” She asked Narcissa, “I don’t really even care about winning this year. I mean, I did, but something happened to me, and now I feel like it doesn’t even matter. Anarchists, Rejects, we’re all human so why the hell does it matter who wins this stupid dance invitational?” She felt adrenaline rush through her. Why was she admitting things like this to Narcissa Cronin, of all people?”

“I think that’s really cool because it’s a perspective I’ve never heard before. All the Rejects just want to win. It’s like their only priority. And truthfully, I’m like them. I’m like them so much that I’ve pretty much forgotten to enjoy dance.” She stopped, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. “I’m sorry,” Narcissa said after a moment, “Honestly, I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Nova. Nova Artino.”

She watched Narcissa’s eyes grow big. “You’re Nova Artino? But I heard you were like, the most competitive person on Earth!” She let out half of a laugh, but the statement hit Nova pretty hard.

“Well, I used to be.” It was true.

“Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. You were really nice to talk to.”

“Thanks. You were too. Do you feel better?”

“Well normally, when I’m feeling down, I just dance. But right now, I don’t think dancing is how I want to cheer myself up,” Narcissa confessed.

“That’s fair. Will you come backstage with me? I have a number coming up.”

“Yeah. I think I’d like that,” Narcissa grinned.

“Then come on. Let’s dance.”

#novissa #wlwrenegades #nova artino #queercreators #narcissa cronin #my fics #renegades #renegades trilogy #fanfiction #marissa meyer #fics #adrian everhart #oscar silva #ruby tucker #osby

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

The Haunt of Redemption (8)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 8: Same Link, Different Mettle | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Alyon greeted you with black cliffs topped with green patches of grass that rose to the skies, seafoam that’s whiter than bone striped the deep blue seas, and golden patches of sand mingled with the lush green jungles resting at the foot of the mountains.

The Mantis found a nice spot to land on—by the mesa that overlooks the seaside town not bigger than the one in Hoga.

“This place is mesmerizing, [y/n],” Merrin commented.

“It’s not every day we get to beautiful places in the galaxy without the Empire chasing us,” Cere added.

“Yeah, well, hopefully this time—they won’t,” you abruptly stood up from the seat. “I’m gonna take a look around,”

You darted towards the room and got dressed, donning Cal’s Bracca scrapper poncho for the first time. With the Holocron gone, it felt like a load has been lifted from your shoulders—literally and figuratively—as you wore the straps of your bag. BD-1 hopped onto your shoulder as you leave the room.

“I don’t have to tell you again, [y/n],”

“Yes, Cere, I know. Don’t die. Or was it be careful?”

“Both, actually.”

“Gotcha,” she smiled.

It’s a perpetual question in Cere’s mind how you’re able to smile in the midst of all this predicament. Perhaps, it was an indication of your strength. After all that torment you’ve endured in Cal’s absence, you weren’t just back to normal—you’ve changed but for the better.

Compared to your pit stop earlier, trekking through the terrain was a breeze. The sight of the ocean lifted your spirits, the blades of grass tickled your calves, and the sun mildly shone above your head. Along the way, you frolicked in the wild plains—spinning and sprinting around with a child-like innocence—the flaps of your poncho felt like wings as the untamed winds blew to your direction.

There was no sign of the Empire in that seaside town, diverse peoples inhabit the settlement. Yet, the population seemed sparse for a sizable settlement. Your arrival was met with curious stares and vendors’ hollers. There’s no team of armed men marching to your general direction for the welcome wagon—nevertheless, you remained vigilant.

“Stay close, BD,” you muttered.

You approached a fruit stall and browsed; an animal penned inside a stable right next to the stall bleated to get your attention. Ever the curious friend, BD-1 perched onto the fence post and scanned the animal that was chewing on a stalk of hay.

“I knew you’d take a scan of it!” you teased.

BD-1 chirped, you translated it to him saying the animal’s name.

“That, my dear, is a Dimal,”

The fruit stall owner pointed at the tall, woolly animal, its jowls flopped and its rounded upright ears twitched with every chew of the hay stalk. You treated it to a Meiloorun fruit. You brought it close to the Dimal’s mouth, sniffing it first before gobbling it up in its mouth.

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled.

Even with its mouth full, it replied with a muffled grunt and continued gnawing on the large fruit in its seemingly narrow mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts,” the same shop owner blurted, his native dialect was thick.

“I’m a traveler, I just got here,”

After shopping, you headed back to the ship, the old man was kind enough to slip in a few extra berries for the road. You expressed your thanks and went around the town some more—and there was a lively sound coming from up ahead.

Music.

“Do you hear that, BD?”

“Booo!”

“Come on, let’s go take a look,”

You followed the music, colorful notes emitted from the various instruments. A group of dancers performed in perfect synchronization in the middle of the square, their footwork followed the speed of the fifes, the bystanders that circled them clapped to the beat of the drum, and for the finale they cheered once the abrupt strum of all strings of the lute signals the climax of the song.

The dance concluded by a round of applause from the crowd, which you’ve included yourself, you try not to stand out so you immediately vanished from the scene—though it was such a nice sight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen a street performance or festival.

—–

Three days of refuge in Alyon.

For once, things are seeming fine. But you know perfectly well this wouldn’t last, you’re still gripped with the anticipation of the Inquisitor’s arrival now that you’ve engaged with them—Cal, in particular.

You decided to tell your encounter with Cal through the Force with Cere, and you made sure you speak to her about it in great confidence.

“Cere, something strange happened on the day we left Tatooine and headed to Alyon,”

“And what’s that?”

You don’t even know where to begin explaining it.

“Well, it’s… how do I put it? I sort of saw Cal, here in the ship,”

“You mean, in meditation?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t even meditating! I was doing something on the workbench and then I heard a voice call me, there was like a feeling that I can’t explain. At first, when I turned around there was nothing, so I thought I was just hearing things; but the second time around, I… I find Cal standing inside my bedroom!”

Cere’s head angled to the side, something about her expression alarmed you the same way you alarmed her with your story.

“Could it be…?” she muttered under your breath, though it was still within your earshot.

“Cere, what is it?”

Cere gradually stood up from the couch, “Hold on, I think I have something!”

She retreated to her own quarters where she rummaged through her rucksack. Shortly after, she reappears with a tome with a maroon leather cover, the metal accents along the corners and spines have tarnished, and the edges of the yellowed papers have chipped away due to age. She flipped through the pages looking for one specific section.

“Cordova learned about this phenomenon with the Force many years ago, while I was still his Padawan. Whatever he could find that pertains to it—he wrote it down, drew figures and diagrams, and added his own insights of his research!”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s a Force-Link. Look here,” she scooted closer beside you, pointing at the written paragraph on the page, her finger following the words as she read it out loud. “It’s said a phenomenon when the Force connects two Force-sensitive individuals, regardless of the distance in between, who have forged a dyad.”

In her excitement, Cere beat you to it—though, it felt like she sensed you’d ask about the last word in the paragraph—and flipped over the pages in search of the entry about Force dyads.

“Here,” she pointed at the first paragraph written underneath the header word, and read out loud word-for-word. “A connection that is forged with the Force between two Force-sensitive individuals.”

Cere skipped the longer metaphors and the personal diary entries that Cordova has written. More pages unraveled its mysteries and the woman impulsively read out loud—mostly for her own indulgence.

“Those who are out of the dyad could not see, feel, or hear the other side of the occurrence,”

This explains why the crew couldn’t hear Cal’s voice as you spoke to him during the first Force-Link encounter. Unfortunately, the explanation about manipulating it to either wielder’s whim—such as when will the connection start and when it’ll be severed—appear to be vague.

“Do Force dyads and Force-Links really seldom happen?”

“Yes, it’s quite rare. When I was a Padawan, I never met another Jedi who shared a dyad with another. But now, coming from you, I truly think Cordova was onto something back then. The bond you’ve shared with Cal factored the Force in allowing you to communicate.”

“I wonder if it’s another sign that he can be turned back to the light,” you thought out loud.

Apart from skimming Cordova’s manifests, strolling along the shoreline in barefoot, skimming rocks, seashells, and coral fragments that beached along the sand became a new pastime for you.

You enjoyed this new breed of solitude, but you’re still haunted by that mirage encounter of Cal back inside the Mantis. You find yourself secretly hoping that it would happen again.

On the other side of the galaxy, Cal has been poring page after page for any result about your Force-induced encounter. There were few resources found in his chambers in the command ship, there weren’t any valuable information found in the holotable’s databank either. The whole ordeal irritated him.

“How is it possible not a single manuscript was written about this!?” Cal roared, his mask did little in muffling out the sound, he punched the rim of the holotable in fury.

The last thing he thought of was retracing his steps, but the problem is: where does he even begin?

After all, it only happened abruptly and he had no control over it, because it felt like it came to him naturally. Cal theorized that it might be your own doing, but in reality, it wasn’t. He immediately dismissed that theory and went back to pinning down the Force as the primary culprit—frankly, it was the only logical culprit.

“Deep breaths,” he chanted to himself, doing exactly what he tells himself as he paced back and forth inside his room.

In the most uncanny of timings, that very same sensation returned to him—as if someone tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—he abruptly turned around, he was surprised to see you standing inside the chambers with him.

“You’re quite elusive,” he initiated.

Your reaction to his appearance was understandable, your shoulders flinched while gaping at him. This is also the first time you saw him wearing a mask which muffled his voice, yet still coherent. Although the first time was docile, you can’t always count on him to be the same in the next.

You didn’t reply. You secretly fiddled the small seashell you’ve hid inside your fist while you conversed.

“I still don’t understand how and why this is happening to us. Can they see me?” he added.

“I don’t know…”

There was a stale air looming between you and the Eleventh Brother; the crashing waves of the sea and the machine hum spoke on each other’s behalf. You pursed your lips and your fist clenched tighter, the thin edge of the seashell dug into the flesh of your palm.

“You seem confident. Confident that I’ll never find you after you fled Cameegon like a coward.”

“I’m no coward! I’m not the one who gave in so easily!” you snarled.

“I take it that you’re not coming in quietly,” when he got the silent treatment from you, he continued. “Alright, then you’ll have to watch another innocent town be reduced into rubble like Cameegon. You wouldn’t want, would you? That’ll be a lot of blood in your hands.”

The Inquisitor noticed you flinch and he took pride in provoking you. He takes one step forward and you ignite your saber, having him at swordpoint.

“Ooh, feisty aren’t we?”

“You’ll never find me,” you hissed softly, although it was still within Cal’s earshot. “You’ll never turn me into what you’ve become!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. We always find our way to each other, don’t we?”

He spoke the exact same words from his secret projection, a line that you knew too well and caught you off guard; a great thunderclap coming from the horizon startled you—the saber fumbled in your hand and the seashell fell from the other—and he disappeared from where he stood when you looked again.

The same went for the Eleventh Brother. The vibrant apricot seashell clattered on the polished black floor of his chambers. He took the delicate object into his hand and examined it. You unintentionally have given him a clue.

The boy Inquisitor rushed to the command ship’s bridge as fast as he can. His entrance alerted the attending officers; he approached the admiral and held up the shell to his face.

“I want this scanned. Trace its origin planet.”

The officer didn’t have the luxury to ask why and simply obeyed. The admiral took the shell from the young man’s hands and handed it over to one of the computer operators. In less than two minutes, the operator returned the shell along with a small datapad containing the findings.

“Sir, analysis traces it back to Alyon, a tropical planet in the Enca Sector, Ganiv System—it’s in the Outer Rim,” the admiral reported.

“Transmit the coordinates to my ship. Two TIE Fighters and an escort shuttle will come with me.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Eleventh Brother leaves the bridge on the way to the hangar.

“I have you now, [y/n].”

A storm was brewing that evening in Alyon. The thunderclouds have loomed closer to the shore in a dramatic speed. The winds have already picked up, the rain flew in like tiny knives pricking your skin, and the downpour caused the tide to rise earlier than usual. You hurried to getting on higher ground before the water has fully covered the shore.

You pushed through the raging winds, sheltering BD under the flap of your poncho. You blamed yourself for strolling farther from the ship, nightfall has reached you as a consequence, additionally, the town wasn’t any nearer either so it’s not an option.

“No…!” you gasped when the sky had gotten much darker, it doesn’t help with the storm joining in the problem.

The surroundings were all gray and visibility has dropped to zero. You barely see anything in this smokescreen of hail and fog. BD-1’s lights paled in the darkness. You stamped through the damp fields, the harsh winds swayed you farther with every step, but you fought it.

“Almost there, BD-1, hold on!”

Neither you nor BD-1 are safe, not until you’ve set foot into the Mantis. The growing sound of the TIE Fighters’ engine growls signaled their approach and a TIE Interceptor landed at a close distance from you. The hatch opened and out comes Cal, the Eleventh Brother. He stood upright in the midst of the storm, the bright red beam of his lightsaber lit up in the deep grayness.

You’re not going down without a fight.

Cal darted the air towards you, lightsaber at the ready, he found your block weak—it seems the storm has taken its toll on your body. However, he gave credit where it’s due—he admired your fighting spirit. You remained more on the defensive for the greater portion of the fight. The lightning afforded you short bursts of light to see your opponent better—rather, his next attack position.

“There! I see them!” Cere cried, peering through her binoculars and spotting two streaks of light dancing in the fog.

A TIE Fighter sends twin projectiles flying towards the Mantis, barely missing the dorsal fin of the ship but close enough to give it a rumble. Greez started the engine in a panic, Cere ordered him to stay low so they can still pick you up; although, that plan didn’t go so well.

The bitter cold of the wind disoriented you, the angry waves muted the hisses of lightsabers colliding with each other, your head was swirling, the veins on your temple throbbed, and your body had a battle of its own from within. Your lungs struggled as it sucked in cold air, fog wafted through your teeth as you dueled Cal.

The Eleventh Brother watched you charge towards him, ready for a dashed strike, and he prepared himself to time it just right.

Close enough!

You feel your entire body freezing up again, as if an icy gust blew throughout your entire being. The last thing you remember is a hearing a thunderclap mingle with the crash of the ocean, a flash of lightning glowed brightly in your puffy, heavy eyes and then suddenly darkness.

The Eleventh Brother caught you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and marched to the escort shuttle that he ordered to be included in his convoy.

“NO!!” Cere cried, a crack of lightning flashed as she witnessed him carry your unconscious body.

Your eyelids blinked the dancing lights away until your eyesight has adjusted to the brightness of the room. You gasped upon waking up, you weren’t sure how long you’ve been, but it felt like a long time. Your arms and legs had limited movement, later discovering that you’re strapped into an interrogation machine. Your heartbeat sped up tenfold, you surveyed across the room starting from the ceiling and then the middle part until you found a Stormtrooper standing beside silhouette across the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” the silhouette spoke, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do you have any other orders, Eleventh Brother?”

“No, I’ll handle this myself. Leave us and wait for my orders,”

“Yes, Eleventh Brother.”

The Stormtrooper departs, leaving you and the Inquisitor in full privacy.

The red glowing accents of his mask lit up in the shadows, he blended perfect well in the darkness. You don’t know what to say back first, frankly, you don’t know what’s happening and how it came to this.

“Is that what they call you now: Eleventh Brother?”

Your snarky question got no reply from him. He removed his mask and placed it on the nearby podium. With that accessory gone, he massaged his jaw and craned his neck until you heard some bones popping.

“Yeah well, you can still call me Cal,” His roguish grin played along his face.

“Where are Cere and the others?”

“No idea,”

“You lie!”

“I never lie—especially to you,” he calmly said.

The young Inquisitor stepped into the light, revealing himself to you once more. There were a few inches dividing you from him. The white light shone over his hair, revealing the faint redness of his hair past the darker tints. You find that there was no terminal like the one in Nur; it was only him and you strapped into the contraption. Surely, this confused you, at the same time it relieved you that you’re spared of the electrifying torment—for now. No wonder the Stormtrooper was suggesting a better chamber.

“Where am I?”

“In an escort shuttle, en route to Koboth,”

“What is it that you really want, Cal?”

He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes to the side, and then grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that already.”

For every word he said, he took one step closer, “I want the Holocron.”

You smirked, even chuckled, in retaliation. You teased him, inching your face closer just so he’ll hear better.

“I don’t have it.”

The small yet sadistic smile that painted his face melted away. Part of him doesn’t want to believe you, and the other does. With your natural talent for theatrics, it’s hard to decipher you—even for him.

Your smug face and arrogant sniggering was beginning to bother him. So much so that he was starting to think you’re not playing around.

“You’re wasting your time and energy, you know,”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he sighed. He starts to remove his glove.

Preemptively, you know what he’s about to do to you. Your heart pounded in the wildest pace; suddenly, his Force-ability that once fascinated you, now terrifies you. Cal ignored your desperate scrambling in the contraption, but it somewhat satisfied him.

“That’s my poncho,” he cooed and an evil smirked curled at the corner of his lip.

He reached for you, avoiding his touch is futile. His bare hand is now at a fingertip’s reach from the fabric, sinking away into the contraption wasn’t much help for you either. His grip clutched a portion in the middle—your shirt underneath it was caught in his hold as well—and sharp pangs of light jabbed his vision, a hollow rippling warm drummed in his ears.

“Good night, Cal…”

Your memories have ingrained into every thread, a vision plays out in his mind: he sees you snuggling up to the poncho in bed, keeping it close to your face as you slept, the nightly sobbing rung in his ears, and the warmth that the poncho gave you during cold, sleepless nights wrapped over his shoulders.

“This isn’t who you are!”

“All this time… and we never even got a look.”

That sudden shift of emotions startled him, but he kept his grip—physically and mentally. The Inquisitor wanted to extract as much as he can to exploit you. To him, it was a game; for you, it was a mental war. He witnessed your recent memories—he now knows that you opened the Holocron and took a glance of the contents, he heard the festival music from the town in Alyon, and then he saw the waves tugging away from the shoreline.

“You saw what’s inside the Holocron!” he exclaimed. He pushed further into you using his Psychometry. “What did you do with it?”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

The boy Inquisitor was surprised to find that you’re able to fight him off—at least, his grip on your mind. When his influence is now absent in your body, your head hung low as you gasp for breath and fight off the throbbing pain in your head. His mischievous grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Interesting…”

He nestled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting you upwards so you face him, your head bobbed slightly as you’re weakened by the infliction of his Psychometry. He inched closer to your face, the tips of your noses touched.

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” He teased you, the bottom of his lip softly brushed across yours while keeping an open grin, his stubble scratched your chin. Your indifferent expression met his roguish smirk as he pulled back inches away from you. A sadistic snicker hummed from his throat and he gently releases his hold on your face before leaving you in your cell.

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neverendingparable · 3 years

Note

➳♥

SEND ‘➳♥’ AND I’LL GENERATE A NUMBER 1-34 FOR WHERE MY MUSE WILL KISS YOURS

On the cheek

The year is 2309A in the Greater Solar System of Circinus II, a few million light years away from the remains of the Milky Way Galaxy. The annual auction of the royal family Zophaëe has started a few hours ago, and still people are trickling in from all kinds of galaxies, moving past security at a space snail’s pace (which is theoretically slower than an earth snail. Earth snails stopped existing a few centuries ago).

The gigantic ballrooms were decked with enough decorations to give anyone, headless or not, a real migraine, but the hosts have prepared for enough music and refreshments to keep everyone in high spirits. Amongst the tables upon tables of brightly colored fruits, sandwiches, cakes and other oddities from different planets, were dispensers filled to the brim with colorful pills and edible phials.

Stellan de Grammont, undercover as Magnus Fawkes, eyed them with interest as he absently weighed a glass in his gloved hand, filled with one of the only beverages that wouldn’t alter his state of mind or body. Apparently it was something like juice, although the smell of it had made him wonder.

“Hey, Morgan,” He nudged the man standing next to him, surveying the crowd with a smug smile. “What do you think these things are? Candy? Drugs?”

‘Morgan’ — or Neil — glanced at them and smirked. “Drugs, clearly. And not the ones you get in the 24 hour galactic store, either. One drop of these on a sober stomach, you’ll be hooked for life~”

Stellan frowned. “I thought these were illegal.”

“Well, sure. But look around you, Sommers. Do you think anyone gives a flying fuck?”

Neil gestured around them. Where one looked there were jewel adorned faces, extravagant modifications like a delirious fashion show fever dream. Some guests wore the skins of endangered species around their necks, others had dresses spun of hair from their very servants. Some were carried around even, and others hid their entire beings behind wisps of smoke and contained glowing gasses, barely interacting with anyone as they stood in whatever spotlight they could find and pretended not to be trying.

It was the collection of the most arrogant, out of touch beings the entire galaxies had to offer and unsurprisingly, some of the worst criminals who had been saved from death row by their names or heritage.

Stellan barely tried to hide his distaste but fortunately, no one was paying them any attention.

Admist laughable fashions and odd clothing combinations, Morgan and Magnus Fawkes barely stood out themselves.

They were dressed decently, a cross between old fashioned suits and billowy victorian-era clothes, inspired from the late Earth. Neither of them would be caught dead wearing what half of the other patrons were, and with their outfits being just dramatic enough to melt into the crowd, they found that no one spared them more than a passing glance as they moved their way from the first buffet, further into the gigantic mansion of Zophaëe.

“So where is Belfour?” Stellan whispered as they pushed past a group of men arguing about the right way to pronounce their hosts' name.

“Not too far away,” Neil glanced at his watch, then ducked as a glass of spacepagne went flying over their heads. The men from before were throwing hands, alerting the attention of a couple security guards who were standing watch nearby.

They didn’t give the Fawkes a second glance.

“Perfect. Our opening.”

With the guards pre-occupied in soothing the outrage, the entrance to the highly exclusive ball room was merely a slip away. This is where their target stood, amongst thousands of glittering dresses, suits and masks.

The heavy doors shut behind them and a few patrons glanced over at the Fawkes. Stellan tried his best to look normal, putting on a bad attempt of a poker face he had seen Neil do a thousand times, but he was sure he just looked incredibly guilty.

Neil had a better idea. He strode in like he owned the very castle itself, not even gracing anyone with a look. The message was clearly radiating off him.

I don’t give a fuck about any of you.

No one called them out or asked to see their tickets. Despite the main event being open for all guests, the ballroom itself was something special. It second as an auction room, where only the richest, “worthiest” people will be allowed to throw a generation’s life savings of money for the most inane trinkets. Even within such a stuck up party, the ballroom made the rest of the guests look poor in comparison.

Stellan hurried after Neil, not wanting to get separated for even a moment. His eyes darted around nervously. He was out of his league here. This wasn’t the first time they had been undercover, and certainly not the first time they had been planning on stealing something right from under the noses of a hundred paranoid royals.

He wasn’t like Neil, he couldn’t simply fake it at the flip of a switch - but if he blew his cover now, they’d both go down and-

“Hey.” Neil’s voice brought him back to reality. It was quiet so the others don’t overhear. Stellan looked up at him.

The other’s expression was concerned for him, eyes scanning the slight panic on Stellan’s face. If he wanted to go, Neil would get him out of here. But furthermore, he trusted Stellan. Trusted him to have his back, to be his partner. If Neil didnt think he could handle it, he would’ve kept him behind.

The knowledge was reassuring enough. Stellan breathed out slowly and managed to return Neil’s worried gaze with a reassuring smile.

“I’m alright. Just…nervous,” he muttered as the two merged with the crowd of dancing guests.

"If worst comes to worst, I have three backup plans for any situation." Neil replied gently. "Just relax, we'll be done in no time."

Stellan nodded and, trying to regain some of the confidence he had felt earlier, offered Neil an optimistic smile. "I know. They can't catch us, we're professionals after all."

His husband smirked. "We are, aren't we?"

Just then the music picked up again and the conversations died down as the guests found their partners and fell into one of the popular ballroom waltzes.

Neil offered Stellan his hand and he took it, tensions already dissipating. It was feeling like an ordinary trip again. They loved balls and went regularly, which came in handy now because they were moving towards the second part of their plan. It required stealing from one of the most powerful men in this royal intergalactic party while hundreds of watchers were dancing right alongside of them.

Neil was leading them closer and closer to the target, who was spinning with a masked dancer in the middle, unaware of what went on around him.

Belfour was drunk. Close to dead drunk. Stellan could smell the alcohol off of him, furthermore he recognized the look of a hopeless alcoholic taking advantage of an all-you-can-drink bar.

Except Belfour was rich, careless and arrogant enough to disregard the personal spaces of the other guests. He spun and flailed like he was the only one in the room, jerking his dancing partner around a bit too aggressively.

The masked dancer seemed to be annoyed, but clearly they stuck around, hoping to appeal to Belfour’s generous side if they buttered him up enough. So they batted their eyelashes at the drunk fool, ignoring how Steneil came closer and closer, until-

Stellan ungracefully ran straight into the masked dancing partner of Belfour, knocking them into another couple nearby. The cry that followed alerted several guests around them, who stopped and stared.

“Sorry!” Stellan shouted over the music.

“GET OFF ME!” The dancer shrieked. Their mask had fallen off, and up close Stellan could see they weren’t as human as he had suspected at first. In their proximity, he could see small scales charmed as human.

He got up and pulled them to their feet, apologizing loudly and profusely, keeping everyone’s attention on him as he fussed over them. They batted away his hands, hissing back in an angry tongue.

Belfour stumbled over, slurring half hearted condolences to his partner.

And Neil: Neil was taking the opportunity of slipping his hand into Belfour’s coat, snatching the enchanted pocket watch out and into his own pockets. Or- that’s what he had planned to do.

That moment, Stellan and Neil figured something else out about Belfour. He was rich, alcoholic, classless, arrogant…and very paranoid.

Almost instantly, an ear splittering shriek of the alarm filled the air. Everyone froze. All eyes landed on Neil, caught red handed, and Stellan, pale as ghost.

“Hey-” Belfour slurred angrily. A knife appeared from somewhere, but Neil was much faster. In an instant, he had yanked the priceless object all the way out of the man’s coat and with a twitch of the wrist, a knife had cut a deep gash in the expensive fabric.

All hell broke loose after that. Belfour roared with anger (“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS COST? THIS IS WORTH MORE THAN YOUR LIFE!”) and even Stellan couldn’t help but stare, a strange satisfaction of seeing the piece ruined distracting him from the situation.

Neil grabbed his arm. Right, they were about to make their harrowing escape. Guards were closing in, some guests had drawn their own weapons and Belfour was ready to pound them into dust with his meaty fists alone.

They had two seconds max before someone was going to start stabbing them and five to get out of the building before they drowned in guards.

“Well Neil,” Stellan sighed dramatically as they were surrounded. “I guess this is it. There’s no way we could escape now. Better just give up now.”

Neil smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Sommers.”

He reached down and twisted one of his rings. Just as the first guard was about to clamp down on Stellan’s shoulder, the two were jerked up into the air. The familiar sound of beating wings made Stellan smile and he wrapped his arms around Neil, who was now sprouting two large bat wings and the smuggest expression he could muster.

The security guards readied their guns.

Their weapons had nothing on the level of intensive planning the two had done. Stellan tossed a little capsule onto the ground beneath them and it exploded upon impact, causing smoke to rise up.

Neil freed one of his arms and shot through the roof, the now useless protective sigils breaking under his gun’s laser beam and then they were out, the confused guests and shouting guards getting smaller and smaller beneath their feet.

“COME BACK!” Belfour screamed at them, rage in his voice. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

“You’re going to have to come and catch us!” Stellan shouted back at the man waving his gun at them in a drunken tantrum and grinned.

“Don’t you think you were cutting it a little too close for a moment, Neil?”

Neil scoffed. “I’m a Time Lord, Sommers. I have aall the time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stellan answered and kissed him on the cheek. “I always had faith in you and your batty wings.”

By the time security had assembled and found any remaining traces of their ship, Neil and Stellan were halfway across the Universe, the priceless artifact dropped off safely in their collection and the thieving pair already plotting their next dramatic heist.

#curiouscompanions #AFTER A FUCKING YEAR #i present you a drabble that really shouldve been done earlier #but welp #motivation was sparse in general #tho this coming year ill def be faster with writing stuff #anyway #i just love imagining them popping in somewhere and causing chaos and then disappearing smugly into thin air #steneil #post parable #?#maybe #the real stanley #trollnelius #drabble #asks #ask memes

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rcguna-archived · 3 years

Text

@onlyhorn sent: Betty holds his hand. She's not looking at him. She's flushed a bit-- clearly unused to this, but- she wants it just as much as he does. That much is obvious. " Don't say anything, I suppose. "

The days leading up to the festival had a way of taking a toll on the farmer. He took several of the preparations on himself despite many insisting he doesn’t. Even now, with the fall festival happening in Arlam, a place that wasn’t even his home, he had felt the need to contribute. Pies. Decorations. Setting up tables and tents. Fortunately this year for this festival he had Rem with him. Not only to contribute herself but to reign Raguna in were he to try too hard or push himself more than he should. This year’s tally? Three times.

Even before the new part of his ‘family’ had been added, spending the time working with her made everything go so much more... pleasantly? Smoothly? There were a number of adjectives to describe it, the same ones he’d use to describe living with Rem in general for that matter. Cooking together. Pie tasting together. Carving pumpkins together. Marveling at Rem’s ability to carry an entire tent by herself... marveling at Rem...

Oh, he’d been doing that now too during the festival, hadn’t he? To be so easily distracted by his fiancée, that was in part how Wylan had been able to wrest a certain spirit away from her contractor for an impromptu dance during the closing festivities lit by the grand bonfire. Both he and Rem were equal witnesses as Ram in seeing the swordsman pull her to the dance floor, dancing her about, spinning her like a child. Granted, she was not allowing herself to show that similar glee as a normal girl would being turned about by a man such as him. She was still quite herself, and quite the... oh what was the word. Wylan had said it once.

A few times, catching fragments of her complaints and (hopefully) empty threats, Raguna can’t help himself from laughing, smiling in a way that felt unfamiliar to him thus far, yet it gave him a sense of warmth that complimented the way it felt to be next to Rem. Like another piece of his soul had found its way back to his body, another piece to the puzzle of who he was. Who he wanted to be.

When the ‘dance’ was said and done, with Wylan striding over to take Ram into his hand to dance with her, Beatrice quickly found her way back to Raguna’s side. She mutters and casts a glance back towards the swordsman who was now fussing with Ram. Fixing hand positions or something of the sort. Ram had a ways to go to be a dancer like Wylan, but both of them could probably go circles around the farmer.

Beatrice says something else unsuitable of a girl with her appearance before she was back at his side. Her face was flushed. And Raguna found his hand taken in hers. So small. Having never physically interacted with Beatrice in any way, it was always so strange being closer to her now. Her personality and sharp tongue had always compensated for her short stature, being with her now when she was, well, softer, made it all the more obvious.

“Don’t say anything, I suppose.”

Don’t say anything about what? He wonders. How he could tell she had enjoyed herself with Wylan? How she had come back and so quickly taken his hand? How he presumed she was happy to have come to the festival? All were things that actually made him quite happy as well, after all. Was she worried he’d tease her? The irony of the situation was enough to get Raguna to chuckle a bit himself, earning him a scrutinizing stare from the spirit as she flashed him the look. And yet her hand remained in his, and his hold on her stayed as the dance continued.

The two of them stand there for another moment before he feels a weight leaning on him. The day had been long, and even before Beatrice speaks up Raguna wonders if she’s getting tired. Between the pies, contest, food, dancing, everything else, it was undeniably more of an exertion than she was probably used to.

“...I’m getting tired, I suppose.” She speaks the words with an attempt at an edge, but Raguna can’t help but detect some frustration in her tone. As if this realization was not what she wanted, and he further surmises, she wasn’t yet wanting to turn in.

“You know, Beatrice, if you don’t want to head back yet, I can carry you. It wouldn’t be a problem at all for me. We can watch more of the dance or see if there’s any other desserts we’d like to try. I don’t think they’ve taken the food away yet. There may be more of those cookies you liked.” Ah, not only is he speaking when asked to stay silent but he’s just going to call her out a bit, isn’t he? Yielding to a half hearted request to leave wasn’t in either of their best interests. Beatrice looks confused, flustered, and yet does nothing to tell him no. In fact, instead, she holds both her arms up in invitation all the while avoiding eye contact.

Raguna follows through with the opening to lift her up, setting her in the crook of an arm. Difficult? Not at all as he had mentioned. His appearance was deceptive, hiding a great amount of strength in his own right even if he still couldn’t match Rem. Added bonus? Now Beatrice could see the rest of the dancers as well as the brilliant bonfire at the center of it all.

Also visible were Ram and Wylan who had taken center stage (to the surprise of none of Roswaal’s group). Arm in arm. Hand in hand. They turn and spun and smiled and laughed together all the while beaming with a love that... well, Raguna is far from jealous. He just never would have expected someone like Wylan to look so naturally happy without a twisted grin or glint of a scheme in his eyes. In this moment, the swordsman was there with the woman he loved.

And also in this moment, with Beatrice in one arm and Rem taking his other, Raguna realizes that now he too was quite happy as well. Wasn’t he? This was the culmination of his efforts from weeks prior. Defeat of the basilisk. Making the contract with Beatrice. Saving Arlam. None of this would have happened had he given in. Gods is he glad he ignored Lumina’s instruction, that he took the safety of others over his own. There’s the sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek, hopefully unnoticed in the dark flickering firelight, as he holds both Beatrice and Rem closer to him. He would never run away.

“Lets go find that dessert table. I’m actually in the mood for another slice of pie, I think. How about you two?”

#onlyhorn #inbox :: answered ic #verse :: rerezero #though the past is painful our future will bloom like a garden :: rem x raguna #i will do everything i can; i will be that person for you :: beatrice & raguna #hey

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

Text

Alastor and Rosie’s Cannibal Song

Alastor and Rosie strolled arm in arm after Rosie finished going to an Overlord meeting.

“Hey Alastor,” said Rosie turning to him. “Have you ever considered joining my exclusive club of socialites?”

“No, I haven’t…but do entertain me.”

“It’s mainly me and my group of ladies. We meet up for tea and coffee at this nice café not too far from here. We discuss the latest news, perhaps exchange jewelry or deserts.”

“Sounds lovely, my dear.”

“Oh and here’s the best part. My group and I have…exquisite tastes when it comes to meals. And I’ve heard about you and your slaughters.”

Alastor couldn’t help but puff up his chest in pride. “I was also a very skilled hunter in my other life. I’ve made many meals including jambalaya with venison in it. It is my favorite.”

A grin of sharp teeth stretched across Rosie’s pale face, her black eyes shining. “Have you ever considered eating the flesh of your victims?”

Alastor’s stomach growled at the thought. “I had a feeling that something was missing after I killed all those men as a human. I’ve hunted and ate deer and game many times. Perhaps I was too unsure about doing the same to other humans.”

Rosie laughed. “No restrictions now, though. This is Hell. Feel free to eat whatever…and whomever you’d like.”

Rosie handed him a blue arm of a nearby dead demon. Alastor maneuvered it into his mouth and sliced it to bits with several noisy bites. The sharp fangs effortlessly tore through the muscle and bone. The tangy taste of blood and juicy meat filled his mouth before he swallowed.

“That was quite tasty,” he remarked, licking his lips. Alastor then realized something extraordinary: there were countless demons roaming around in Hell. It was as if Hell had decided to provide him with an all-you-can-eat buffet. Not only would he have more meat to eat, but being a cannibal would also help with his fearsome reputation. Cannibalism was considered one of the worst taboos to do on Earth.

Why not add another sin to his list?

Alastor bowed and kissed Rosie on her hand in thanks. “Even in death, I learn something new every day. I’d be honored to join you.”

Rosie introduced Alastor to her group of friends: a bunch of demon women dressed in fancy Victorian dresses of many colors and round ladies’ hats on their heads. Violet, Lavender, and Poppy were some of their names. For a brief moment, Alastor felt like he was back in his time period on Earth. He ate demon meat to his heart’s content. Hell-Born or sinner, raw or cooked, it didn’t matter. He used the flesh and the sinner’s hearts in his jambalaya recipes. As the sinners had previously been human like Alastor used to be, he was now a cannibal.

The thought of someday tasting actual humans in the living world made his mouth water more.

On Sunday mornings after Alastor had coffee, he would be greeted by his new admirers while he walked outside, humming a cheery tune.

“Hello ladies,” Alastor said with a tip of his red top hat.

“Hello Alastor!” they chimed, as they sat on the ground in front of a mutilated body of a demon. One woman picked up the demon’s separated arm and used it to wave at him. Alastor chuckled and strolled on.

During one moonlit night, Alastor and Rosie decided to sing a song to strengthen their bond. They were already good friends, if not that then at least compatible associates with similar tastes.

“Let’s say you’re bored and want to be full,” Rosie began as she walked next to him, umbrella in her hands and little skulls on her hat. She looked like a gaunt Mary Poppins entering a Day of the Dead musical.

“Sure, you can go about your day, dull. Or…”

She turned around, her lavender dress spinning slightly. “You can eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

Alastor’s red eyes lit up, his hidden deer tail wagging underneath his crimson dress coat. He already loved her singing voice and graceful form. She reminded him of Mimzy, though she was less about the spotlight and more about elegance.

And speaking of which…

“Alastor!” Mimzy beamed as she walked over to him. The chubby blonde woman was wearing a magenta flapper dress with sparkles on it. Her headband had a pink feather attached to it and her necklace of black pearls was visible above her round breasts.

“Good evening, Mimzy!” Alastor smiled. “What are you doing out here, dear?”

“My shift at the jazz club just ended, so I decided to join you guys.” A pink neon sign down the street read “Mimzy’s Place.”

“Please do, Miss Hannigan,” Rosie said to her fellow friend. Alastor had introduced Mimzy to Rosie after the two sinners had reunited. “Be sure not to walk home by yourself, Mimzy. You might be dead, but there’s no need to die a second time.”

“Isn’t that right!” Alastor added with a chuckle.

“Now where was I…” Rosie pondered. “Oh right!”

She began to sing again.

“You can eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

“Wait, flesh?” Mimzy asked, curious. “As in human flesh?”

“Why yes! I just tasted it for the first time,” Alastor said. “Apparently, it’s a delicacy down in Hell for obvious reasons. “I mean…”

He began to sing, “If you live your days in wonder, but can’t focus due to hunger…”

He leaned his face in close to hers; Mimzy blushed and didn’t even flinch.

“Just eat a little flesh fantastic with me.”

Alastor straightened back up as Rosie joined in. “For if you decide to kill a person, their body will someday rot away. But if you make haste and not let it go to waste…”

Rosie spun around a black nearby pole before lightly landing on the sidewalk.

“Then you’ll be satiated for the day!”

Alastor climbed up and leaned against the pole. “You don’t need to be Lector Hannibal, to consider the life of a cannibal.”

“Want to be robust?” Rosie asked.

“You know I must,” Alastor added.

Then they both sang to Mimzy, “Come eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

The two tall demons strolled along as Alastor snapped his fingers. His shadowy demon imps rose from the ground, playing trumpets, drums and saxophones. Nearby demons where either swaying to the jazz beat or darting away in fear. Mimzy ran on her short stubby legs to catch up.

“Hey, wait up! Can I sing, too?”

Rosie led out a shrill bird-like call from her mouth as her eyes briefly glowed silvery white.

“My fellow epicureans, answer my call. May your gluttonous desires led the way!”

At once, several ladies dresses came out of the alleyways to join her. There were also a few male demons in elegant suits who followed them.

“Welcome to the club, Radio Demon,” Rosie grinned.

Rosie and Alastor then sang the duet at the same time:

“The life of a cannibal

The feeling is so wonderful

Hunt and kill, munch, munch, munch,

A few screams later, you’ve got your lunch!”

Behind them, the women danced in a line, their dresses spinning as they moved. The men in suits and top hats spun, flipped and did tricks from the poles of nearby street lamps. The red flames in the glass on top of the lamps flickered to the outside music.

“Have some style and show some class

It is us among the mass

When you’re feeling beat and want to eat

A demon can never have too much meat!”

“Eat a little flesh fantastic with us

Give in to another kind of lust

A sweet treat you are, come near or far

Our food as you bite the dust!”

Rosie smiled as she and Alastor did a Charleston dance in the front. Rosie winked at Mimzy who stood in awe of their dancing. She tried to hide her jealousy. Every time Alastor danced with someone else, the sin of envy took hold of her in a tight grip. Rosie continued:

“You can refrain and boldly exclaim

‘Eating your brethren’s not right!’”

Alastor added:

“But we know well, to maim in Hell

The blood will be shed tonight!”

Rosie blew into a bloodstained shell trumpet. The men and women dancers surrounded the trio in a moving circle, chanting “Eat! Eat! Eat!” as the jazz music sped up. Their dancing shoes tapped against the asphalt, adding to the instrumental sounds. The women took off their hats and waved them several times in the air before putting them back on their heads. The men repeated their actions shortly after.

Alastor held out his hand for Mimzy to take, which she eagerly did with a smile. The three of them danced around in a circle, laughing as Alastor’s glowing red spirits swirled around above them.

“The life of a cannibal,” Mimzy began…

“The feeling is so wonderful,” Rosie added…

“Hunt and kill, munch, munch, munch…” Alastor sang.

Then all three of them called out, “A few screams later, you’ve got your lunch!”

“Eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

(oh- oh- oh- oh- oh)

“Eat a little flesh fantastic with us!”

(oh- oh- oh- oh- oh)

The men did more rolls on the floor and posed on the lamppost poles. Nearby, an elaborate black fountain was spraying blood into the larger basin. A lone demon kid tossed a soul coin into it.

After the men spun around on the poles, they hopped back down to dance with the ladies in the background.

The song soon ended with Rosie, Alastor and Mimzy doing happy poses on the street, Alastor in the middle between his best lady friends. As the trio bowed, audience clapping emitted from his microphone staff. Everyone cheered as they summoned long flaming spears into their hands. They twirled them around in their hands and tossed them into the air before catching them. Soon, all of them were surrounding Rosie, who posed on a pole with her closed umbrella pointing outward in her hand.

“Go forth and feast!” Rosie called.

The eyes of the men and women glowed red in hunger. Like a pack of wolves, the other demons scurried in every direction, prancing on other demons. Several of the men threw their spears at nearby demons, setting them on fire as they screeched. Nearby denizens screamed as the fancy ladies jumped onto them and sank their sharp teeth into their necks and shoulders. Blood and organic fluid soon littered the street and sidewalks. Mimzy giggled and wrote on a nearby brick wall in fresh blood. She drew a red heart with “A + M” inside it. She even added an arrow through the heart.

“Very nice,” Alastor mentioned. “A and M. That reminds me, I gotta get ready for my 6 AM announcement tomorrow. I’ll be broadcasting how to make spicy jambalaya. All natural ingredients, of course.”

Mimzy picked up a pulsing heart from inside the gaping chest of a fallen demon.

”You might need this for an ingredient.”

She gave it to Alastor, who took it in both hands.

“You’re giving me your heart, what a thoughtful gift!”

Alastor and Rosie chuckled and Mimzy smiled, too. Though deep down, she hoped he was only kidding about actually eating her heart.

Alastor took several bites of the muscle, red thick liquid coating his face. The flavor was divine.

Mimzy tried a bite out of chunk of flesh from another demon. It tasted like older pork, human flesh that had gotten a bit dry and flavorless. Alastor soon recognized the taste of demon flesh as well after eating some more.

“I’m just gonna pretend it was pork,” Mimzy said, uncertainty in her face.

“Come on, we all know you enjoyed it,” Alastor teased, playfully pinching her cheeks.

“There is one thing that is better than flesh,” Mimzy declared.

“And what’s that, dear?” Rosie asked, wiping her bloody mouth with a lacy handkerchief.

“Spending time with my lovely friends!”

Mimzy gave Alastor a hug and Alastor flinched a bit. He took a deep breath and briefly hugged her as well. Rosie knew not to touch Alastor, so she opted to stand supportively by his side.

Alastor then pulled the two smiling women close to him, happy and in his element. It was something that he agreed with as well, somewhere within his blackened heart. Despite doing things for himself and manipulating people for his amusement, there was something…freeing about being with fun-loving friends he could put some degree of trust in. The sounds of music pulsed like vibrant lights in a sea of darkness. Music had been his oasis, his escape on Earth. Even in Hell, it still tugged at his heartstrings and reminded him of innocent times long ago. It was almost like a beacon of hope…hope of even greater things ahead.

For the first time in a while, Alastor’s smile was genuine and relaxed.

“Now that’s what I call entertainment!”

#hazbin hotel #alastor #rosie #mimzy

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therucrap · 3 years

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Welcome back to my RuPaul’s Drag Race season 13 Rucrap - episode 3! Please share and like if you enjoy!

Before we dissect the good, drag, and the struggling in this final chapter of a herstorical three-part premiere I have to commend the show on a refreshed rollout that, while longer than ever, allows the C.U.N.T.enders more time to introduce their talents on the only TV show that requires contestants to be designers, models, actors, dancers, singers, comedians, sometimes cheerleaders, and queer trauma storytellers. Now that I’ve said one nice thing about our favorite gay past time, let’s rip it to shreds, mawma!

We pick up right where we left off with the winning queens piling into the DIY Werk Room lounge after a largely successful challenge with no bottoms, their self esteem higher than the Covid rates in Puerto Vallarta after Shangela’s vacation. These lucky queens have been praised for two consecutive weeks and their egos are inflated to full Macy’s Day Parade levels. The smug champs head back to their rooms to admire themselves and it’s time for a new day with our scrappy Have Not’s! Denali, Joey Jay, Tamisha Iman, Rosé, Utica, & Kahmora Hall return from exile on Porkchop Island ready for revenge and in spite of their initial losses are chomping at the tit to prove their worth. Facing mortality has renewed their fighting spirit and these scrappy misfit toys are determined to band together and not only level up with their winning counterparts but outshine them.

Coach Ru arrives to let the Bad News Bears know that they’ll be competing in a nearly identical version of last week’s mini-challenge runway featuring “Lady and the Vamp” looks and like that they’re off! The group hurriedly prepares for battle and when most of them are eyebrow deep in makeup the attention goes to Kahmora who is still gingerly applying primer. We learn that makeup takes her up to six hours on a normal day which is unfortunate considering their slim one hour time limit to get completely frocked. The bedragged crew begins lining up for the runway but a still bare-faced Kahmora is left alone in the Werk Room now spinning out and what seemed like a bit of playful editing at first is now a full code red as production comes to a halt to locate our fashion sloth.

Things finally get started in the runway blackbox where Rosé, Denali, and Tamisha make the biggest splash - Rosé is Fashion Week ready with two cheeky high-fashion concepts, Denali with a playful textured dress and a sheer gown with exposed cage, and Tamisha surprises the judges with youthful pink harem pants and an Elvira look made completely of hair. Utica continues to bring her signature brand of wackyness in two looks featuring Chuck E. Cheese pit balls, Joey skips wigs completely and wears a black bodysuit and chains that screams S&M by Rihanna on a Monday at Micky’s, and Kahmora’s looks are simple which is concerning because she would have had to juggle fire on a unicycle to make the make up for the production meltdown she just caused.

As our unlikely heroes de-drag we see how this rag tag group has trauma-bonded and Tamisha really is the heart of the group. At around 20 years their senior she’s competed in over 200 pageants, won half of them, and has biological children older than her fellow competitors. Before our bonding campers can relax and begin a rousing rendition of Kumbaya, Ru arrives just in time to return us to a familiar panic and introduces the main challenge. They’ll be writing a verse, performing , and hopefully improving the cringey, mid-tempo spoken-word rap Phenomenon from RuPaul’s Drag Race Live! They head to the runway for rehearsal where pro-dancers Denali, Rosé, and Joey try to out-choreograph each other, an already disadvantaged Kahmora struggles to catch on, and house mom Tamisha thankfully steps up to get the team on the same page.

It’s finally challenge day and while painting Kahmora divulges that her boyfriend of eight years doesn’t support her drag career and Tamisha tells us about her legendary drag dynasty, specifically her late daughter Tandi Iman Dupree who is best known for a viral Youtube video cum drag touchstone where she drops into a death-defying split from the rafters over a pageant stage dressed as Wonder Woman to I Need a Hero. If you haven’t seen it go treat yourself to one of the most impressive displays of drag audacity in recorded history.

This week’s guest judge is the charming Nicole Byer known best for letting contestants down softly on Nailed It. The queens perform their drastically improved version of Phenomenon with particularly well-branded and ear-wormy verses by everyone but an uncomfortable and robotic Kahmora. The category is “We’re Here, We’re Sheer, Get Used to it” and big praise goes to the super-watchable and well-dressed Denali and Rosé. Joey, Utica, and Tamisha are celebrated but given small critiques on repeating silhouettes, look cohesiveness, and low energy respectively. Thankfully for Kahmora there are no eliminations this week because she predictably fares the worst and is told by the panel in no uncertain terms to get a personality. The top two are Denali and Rosé who face off to the iconically unsubtle gay anthem “If You Seek Amy” by Britney Spears. Denali can finally show her full dance potential in a ice skate-free performance and she snatches the $5,000!

Join me next week where our rival dance crews finally reunite and the eliminations begin! Like and share if you enjoy!

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cadcnce-archived · 4 years

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It’s been a good time. Not that you’d ever doubted it would be; as poor of a salesman as Emké may be, you knew if they spoke highly of something, it was no small compliment— and beyond whatever groaning the adherent may have made over the fuss and pageantry, they’d had warm words for the closing celebrations. Good food, good music. She’d promised plainly, and sure enough, the plaza is full with the intoxicating scents of fresh local delicacies, woks sizzling hot over open flames, their crackles and pops marrying with the melody off guitars, marimba, brass instruments and voices; all brought together in joyful noise. Groups gather around the fringes, chatting gleefully, pausing for quick prayers at little hand-made shrines, accompanied by the typical offerings and occasional incense burner, children wave sparklers about, but the main crop of the square is left open, of course, for dancing.

A mix of pre-designed performances and cultural dances that anyone and everyone can join in on, you catch the end of a solo performer’s stint just as the song she’d choreographed draws to a close— a pretty thing with long dark hair neatly pinned into a fancy set of buns, the large rings on her arms clinking as she bows, the scarves which hang off them swaying as she skims the crowd with her eyes and spares a little wink; possibly at you, but just as likely at any other on-looker at your sides and back. A good showing, she deserved the applause she’d received, but did not bask in it long. She clears out as the next thread of rhythm begins, and many voices quiet, distracted glances turning to follow the figure which moves through to the center.

You’ve always thought the adherent didn’t look quite at home without her armor; her vambraces and greaves as much a part of her as the sandy, windswept hair and mismatched eyes; but at least she looks more comfortable now than she had mid-parade, swaddled in heavy ceremonial robes and half-forcing a smile. By comparison, their mild expression now is a hundred fold more genuine, even if they roll their eyes when your gazes meet, (you’re sure they might’ve shrugged a bit, too: yeah, yeah, I know). But they’re all soft smile and grace as one arm outstretches to invite their partner from the sidelines, an unfamiliar Beralan stepping up to the vestal’s side (looking a touch too excited; you’ll remember to tease them about that later), before they both face each other, and bow.

Then, the dance begins.

The music jumps to life with all the merriness which had stirred moments ago, and the pair finds the rhythm with ease, carefully timed twists, high knees, and kicks, with claps on the beat between turns. It is joyous; and it’s the kind of thing which you could scarcely wear any less than a bright smile in the midst of— hence the unusual brightness in Emké’s features as she maneuvers ‘round her partner, before they both fan out their arms and step back, inviting the immediate onslaught of dancers looking to join; everyone linking hands into a broad circle which side-steps and kicks around the open plaza. It’s a gambol from the very heart of their region; a routine everyone would be taught from whence they were children, to be repeated at festivals, balls, and all manner of celebrations to come. Not so different, you think, than those native to your own homeland, but with a Qasmean flair that could not be overlooked.

You could not know all the steps, all the intricate details; especially as the circle separates again into partners, and everyone moves with such confidence. This was not your home, these were not your people. You could watch with excitement and mirth, applauding your companion and basking in the revelry of the moment, but it would all be unfamiliar to you. It should be.

But you find your body does know.

It is all new to you, but it isn’t. You find yourself following the motions with the unmistakable taste of nostalgia at the back of your tongue, you know where their feet will fall before they land, you anticipate the next change of partner moments before it arrives, and seemingly cannot stop yourself from falling into the mix— full of the giddiness of joyful memories when you should have none to claim.

You move as if it were the most natural cycle for your limbs to travel. With all the practiced ease of the native Beralans who’d danced this dance since they were able to balance on two feet, with such divine clarity, as if the overwhelming cacophony on the senses— the aromas, the sounds, the heat of bodies and the breeze— they may as well not have been there at all, spinning through the circuit of partners and back into the circle, you dance and laugh, overwhelmed with delight you’re growing sure is not your own.

Confirmed, of course, when the next change of partners comes, and you find your partner quirking their brow at you, clearly surprised at how effortlessly you fell in with their festivities, but not missing a single beat as they raise their hand to yours and move through the motions— momentary bewilderment quickly melting back into the glee they’d worn before. That look was the whole point; and you can feel a smile burning deep in your chest leagues brighter than the one on your own features.

Forgive me, you think she’s said, though the voice at the edge of your mind is anything but repentant. But I could never just stand by and miss a chance to dance with her.

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You knew from the start it was going to be a good time, no, better than that. From the moment the adherent invited you, you knew you’d find yourself all the trouble and enjoyment you desired. Celebrations and festivities are something you latch onto. They’re usually alien and unfamiliar to someone of your ilk, sure, but there’s an ability to forget who you are and what you were during times like this. To shed the burden of your history and embrace that exact present. That precise moment. The people around you find ways to do the same and to celebrate abundance and existence. The taste and smell of it is absolutely intoxicating. The merriment is magnetic. This isn’t your home, but it feels like a place you could call one.

You’ve enjoyed several days worth of happiness and laughter during a single day of festivity. New foods and new people, bonding moments that yes, may be fleeting but you will remember fondly in the future and ponder some what ifs as a treat on warmer nights. You’ve challenged yourself to games you had no inkling of how to play, embraced the many failures just as hard as your first victory against the children teaching you to play while the other adults watch on. Your chest is full of life. Your heart is just a little less cracked among these families.

They welcome you almost as enthusiastically as they welcome your partner. But perhaps it is unfair to compare? The one you know and the one they do aren’t so different after all.

Time isn’t real. It’s something you often think about during your life. Used as a detraction from your choices as a child just as much as a way to embrace your possibilities in the future. Everything is what you make of it. Alas, as much as you want to spend another compressed week of time in these moments the day does drag on. The sun is as real as the moon and the stars. The crackling of fires to illuminate the closing festivities wishing it could bring the amount of warmth that the performers could to everyone’s hearts.

You do watch from the sidelines as you make your way to the center of the festival, this being one of the events you just knew you had to witness for yourself. Dancing is something you picked up as part of etiquette when you trained as a paladin. But as a trait it’s something you evolved into its own unique thing, sampling and taking from your life experiences and everything you cross paths with adding another thought and step. Today could be a dance all on its own.

It would be nice if that young lady’s wink had been directed at you, wouldn’t it? Your foreign appearance and rugged looks are something you believe should be well fancied. Already you welcomed many a flirtation only to fleet away like the devious spirit you are during these festivities. There was far too much to see. Far too much to experience. Just as you can’t fight with just one person in a bar brawl, who would you be to settle with just a single maiden?

Everything about the way Emkè makes her entrance is enough to make you smile three times over. The grace with which she moves, the garb that she wears, the way she takes in the presence she commands. It’s so unnatural from the person that you’ve come to know so well over these years. And yet natural. You’ll embrace these surprises just as you’ll embrace whatever future being around her brings. But you will absolutely not let her live down the sheer excitement her first partner gives on the invitation.

And a familiar smile in the depths of your being seems to have a similar thought. You’ve felt this before, little peeks and glances of a fluttering as you wandered and traveled the offerings of the festival through the day. But now the butterfly has landed, and just as you watch the dance unfold so too does the spirit.

You’d wanted to join in the moment it started, your eyes watch and your ears listen to the sights and sounds as you pull up the rhythm. Your arms and legs, however, act before you know you’re anywhere near ready. An exuberant partner taken by your hand. You move automatically and feel automatically. Any sense of fear over what is transpiring is more than easily masked by the shared exhilaration of the dance. The warmth of this spirit is a familiar one, and one that you know you can trust just as deep as your partner’s.

The sense of anticipation finally breaks as your hands eagerly take the adherent as your next dance partner, and you wish you could stop smiling long enough to show Emkè that you’re just about as surprised about all this as she is. You’re caught in a wave, however, and this tide was carrying you through to whatever end came. It’d make a funny campfire story, if you opted to tell her. But something about the moments you share with her feel like something to be kept to yourself.

The warmth that fills you as you gaze at Emkè during the flurry of steps is just as unnatural yet embraced as these other sensations. There’s an appreciation for who you’re looking at that goes deeper than anything you’d felt for her before. The spirit within you sees the same powerful woman, a castle of fortitude and strength and compassion. Yet nobody notices the details like she does. You both see a wall, but she loves the moss. She loves the cracks and the life that blooms within each crevice of the stonework. She loves the grass and the soil that comforts its foundation. She loves the wind that cools and gently blows the flowers in the gardens. She loves. She loves. She loves. And for that moment, while you share your body with the spirit, you love too. Unconditionally.

As the next change of partners comes and you release the adherent’s hand you flash a smile much more characteristic of yourself, a toothy grin and a playful flourish of your hand equally uncharacteristic of the dance.

“It was all my pleasure.” You say. To Emkè, to Breala, to this city, and to yourself.

#:: drabble #inbox :: submission #verse :: fantasy #sabuleum #inbox :: answered ic #ROARS TO THE HEAVENS ABOUT WY AND EMKE #ROARS!!!!#submission

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kosmosian-quills · 4 years

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OC Backstory Holiday Special

A little something I wrote for @yourocsbackstory‘s holiday special! I think I’m on time with this one, and it’s not my best work but I love my girls and that’s all that matters.

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Anjelika

The normally brisk and chilly ballroom is full of life, warmth and colour.

The cool stone walls are decorated with our sigil, the royal colours are proudly hanging between the huge windows that – in daylight – would stream sunlight in to every corner and crevice. But now, all that is visible through the vast windows is the cloudy night sky, the snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens down to the earth, settling on everything they can touch, building up from one another.

The four fireplaces are all lit, illuminating the space with its warming glow, a few spots visible in the twinkling chandeliers. For such a grand affair, we of course have more lights. Suited to the aesthetic of a party – slightly dimmed lights, yet enough to see everything in the room without straining one’s vision.

I was seated at the head table to my father’s left, with my mother on his other side, watching the festivities unfurl before us. Music echoing through the room and down the corridors, our distinguished guests mingling around in groups, or seated at their tables around the outside of the room. There were a few guests dancing in the large open space in the centre of the room, laughing and smiling as they swirled and twirled around in large, sweeping circles. All in time with one another, all perfectly in unison. They look to be enjoying themselves, which is always a nice thing to see.

I look over to my left, slightly over my shoulder. My friends were seated together at their own table, not too far from me of course, but they had no reason to be seated with us at the head table. As soon as I have finished here with father, I shall join them.

Our “Festyn Zimowy” is not just about family, it is about friends and comradery. My friends do not have the benefit of celebrating with their families tonight, so the least I can do is extend them the courtesy of celebrating with them too.

I wasn’t paying attention to father as he spoke with someone who had just approached, my eyes were scanning the crowd and taking notice of the older gentlemen near the refreshments table before I realised that the person he was talking to was trying to involve me in the conversation as well.

It was the General, and he was looking at me with slightly raised eyebrows as though he had asked a question. He was, despite the festivities, dressed in his formal uniform, still adorned in medals and badges that served as evidence of his dedication and service. Father and mother are looking at me too, a slight hint of disapproval in mother’s eyes as she looks at me. I imagine it’s because of my daydreaming.

“Oh, my apologies, General,” I sit up straight in my seat and turn my body to face him.

“Not at all, your highness. I was merely asking your father if I may dance with you?” He explained with a smile, nodding towards my father.

I was certainly surprised at the invitation. I look across at my father, whose expression told me nothing – remaining decidedly neutral. Is this some sort of test? It seems… wrong. It seems unnatural. Like a trick question, am I supposed to just agree to his request? Or am I supposed to stand my ground and refuse of my own accord?

Father would not be waiting for me to even speak if he did not approve in any capacity. After all, the General is one of my father’s trusted confidantes. I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Besides, it does seem a little rude of me when I am not doing anything else at this moment.

“Of course, General,” I slowly rise to my feet, stepping around the side of the table to join him, making sure that I do have the smile I’m known for on my face.

He takes my hand carefully, his tall stature a little unnerving, but nonetheless a comfort with that charming smile of his, as he turns back to face my father over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your daughter, your majesties,” there’s a chuckle in his voice, and I look back at my parents as he does.

Father is amused, returning him a laugh. Mother is smiling too.

I find myself in the centre of the crowd of dancers, with one of his hands on my shoulder blade, and the other in my own hand. He spun me around in time with the music, the soft pulsating beats of the drums that accompany the strumming strings of the violins. It all wove together seamlessly, and the General knew what he was doing more than I did.

I found it strange to try and look in his eyes, the way he would use that oh so charming smile of his to cut deep into my thoughts.

“So, your highness,” his voice is low and just audible above the music, whispering into my ear as he leans in close, “are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Of course, General,” I reply, tilting my head upwards slightly so that I can speak into his ear.

The gentle circles we’re spinning here are nice, almost therapeutically rhythmic, with the occasional swirl under his arm, breaking the monotony a little bit. It gave me the chance to cast my gaze towards my parents, still seated at the head table, and watching us here. Father was leaned towards mother, speaking aside to her, and I knew he was because I could see mother responding. It was rather embarrassing, I must admit, that I am dancing with a man with my father watching. It just seems strange, father probably would not have approved were it anyone else.

But then again, no one else has ever asked.

I didn’t seem completely aware of the time passing in this strange space, until the music rose to a crescendo and faded out.

We weren’t the only dancers here, but our cue to stop was here, and we joined in with the light applause that came as our gratitude to the performers.

My partner bows down before me, “I wish you all the best for the coming year, your highness. Wszelkiej pomyślności, Krolewna.” He doesn’t break his eye contact with me, his silver eyes sparkling in the firelight.

“And to you, General,” I courtesy in return, as he escorts me back towards my table, except I do not move to re-join my parents. I acknowledge them, and proceed beyond them, to my friends over there.

My chaperone has not been unnoticed however.

“Andzia, how scandalous!” Irena whispered with a grin, getting to her feet with the others as I huddled close to Kasia. “There’ll be rumours for weeks!”

“Oh please, it will be the most interesting rumours in a while!” I whisper back, giggling with them quietly, trying not to raise my voice too much.

But it’s only when I look back across the happy faces around me, that I realise there’s one of us missing.

“Where’s Matylda?” I ask, looking around.

There’s a moment where everyone else seemed to realise that she was not with us either. There’s Kasia and Irena on either side of me, with Anja and Zosia opposite us.

“She… said she was just going to get a drink, I think –“ Irena started, looking towards the refreshment table, but I cut her off when my eyes scanned the crowd and recognised the sunshine blonde curls on the outside of the room.

“I see her.” My smile vanished when I realised who was stood next to her.

She was stood up against the wall by a fireplace, looking up at the man engaging with her, an uncomfortable smile on her lips, clutching at both her dress, and the drink she was holding in her hand. I could see, even from here, the fact that her knuckles were white from holding them so hard. She hadn’t noticed me, but I could tell she was desperate to just walk away from him.

I made sure to put my polite smile on my face as I prepared myself to deal with my predatory cousin.

“Matylda!” I called out, not even looking at my dear elder cousin, but he did back away from her by a single step. Matylda herself had faced me, her eyes wide, yet relieved that I have arrived when I did. “There you are, we were looking for you –“ she didn’t need further prompting to step around my cousin and towards me, with the others right behind me. I linked her arm in mine and took off with everyone. “- we were just going to go for a walk. Come on.”

With every one of us pointedly ignoring my cousin.

Because none of us will even give him the satisfaction of our attention. All we want is our friend away from him

If no one else will stop him, we will.

I didn’t even care where we were going. In fact, we looked like we were leaving the hall entirely, like we were leaving the party without acknowledgement. That would be most rude of me, and no doubt cause me to get in trouble. I made a slight diversion beyond the door that would take me back to the residential wing, and instead towards the glass door further along. The door that leads out into the gardens.

It’s more private and secluded that way.

The pair of guards in front of them stood aside for me and opened the door, and the six of us stepped out into the sheltered patio area just outside the door.

It was cold outside, but not too cold. It was actually quite nice out here in the fresh air, the crisp breeze was gentle and refreshing. There wasn’t any snow on our platform, thank goodness, but seeing the fluffy white blanket the covered everything around us was fascinating, how it clung to everything and was so preciously untouched, undisturbed.

We won’t be disturbing that tonight, no matter how much I would like to.

“Are you alright Laleczka?” I heard Irena ask as we all formed a small circle in the middle of the patio.

“I am, thank you. Thank you for coming for me,” she nodded at Irena, but then faced all of us in turn. She was still holding that glass, yet her grip was no longer an unbearable tightness, but a gentle grasp.

“Anytime, Laleczka,” I smile in return, “we all know he can be an insufferable person. I didn’t want to see you alone with him.”

She nodded again.

“Let’s not let him dampen our spirits,” Kasia speaks next, huddling close to all of us. “It’s a beautiful night. Wszystkiego najlepszego, everyone.”

“Dużo zdrowia,” Zosia is the one to offer her wishes next, holding her hands with Kasia – who was in between us – and Anja on her other side.

“Dużo miłości,” Anja is the one to continue the cycle.

“Dużo szczęścia,” Irena presses her glasses up her nose as she says it.

“Wszelkiej pomyślności,” Matylda runs one of her hands up her arm repeatedly.

I look at the smiling faces of my friends, all watching me. I can feel the chill hit me now, we shouldn’t stay out here for too much longer.

But I don’t want this moment to ever end.

“Oddanych przyjaciół.”

Lots of health, love, happiness – all kinds of prosperity – and dedicated friends.

It’s been another wonderful year together with them. I just hope we can continue our little streak.

#my writing #my OC's #WIP: Angel #POV: Anjelika #yourocbackstory #Holiday Special #it's not my best work #but I'm v happy with it #it's not very worldbuildy because I'm tired I'm sorry :sob:

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nyc-hqs · 4 years

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CLICK FOR VISUAL INSPIRATION

ENTRY WAY

Show your invite to security at the door and get ready to leave New York behind.

Enter through the curtained doorway and step into a world of wonder. You’re transported into what feels like a giant circus tent, with fabric draped across the ceiling turning the harsh shapes of the warehouse into soft curves. The entry allows you to step right into the fun in Carni-lane or by pass it on to the center of the room.

CARNI-LANE

Find your fun here in Carni-lane with ring toss games. Toss the hoop at twenty bottles, if it lands on the golden bottle in the middle you’ll receive the clue (on a card, important do not lose this card) on how to find the secret lounge. Any others get a piece of candy. Better luck next time! (clue found in the secret lounge section below)

Speaking of candy, take a moment to watch the candy man himself work some magic as he spins sugar into bunches of clouds for you to munch on. Sugar rush anyone?

It’s a new year and perhaps you have a lot of questions on what is to come. Sit down in Madame Belladonna’s tent, offer her your hand or let her read your cards. Perhaps you are doomed for a troubling year, or maybe you’re about to run in someone tall dark and mysterious.

STAGE AND DANCE FLOOR

The center of the warehouse has been transformed to look like a circle ring where the lion tamers would do their thing and trapeze artists would take the audiences breath away.

Fill the space, let the music take your worries away. On stage dancers and performers will entertain through the night. Fire breathers, burlesque dangers, acrobats, all the wonders of you can imagine.

MAIN LOUNGE AND BAR

The main lounge is filled with booths and lounges for everyone to gather around. Though there are some seats spotted around the venue this is the spot to mingle with the crowd, take a moment to cool off from dancing, or do a round of shots with your nearest and dearest. Or make some new friends, if you’re feeling adventurous! Who knows what could happen in this world of wonders?

Food will be coming from behind the bar with servers dressed in carnival clothing, or perhaps even on stilts, carrying trays to pass out freshly made pizzas for all to consume. Don’t forget to pick up some of Shiloh’s cookies, shaped like circus animals and tents, or stick around for a slice of cake.

The bar is open for all. If you thought you’d have to pay you clearly don’t know your host. Wet your lips with one of the sweet signature cocktails Alexa has personally picked out herself. We’ve got rainbow shots for those of you who want to get drunk quick and in style with notes of cherry, blackberry and green apple, we’ve got midori martinis with a splash of lime and a cherry, a classic with a twist just like our girl Alexa. And what’s a carnival without a little cotton candy? Just ask for the Fairy Floss and you’ll have a sweet treat with vodka, champagne, and cranberry juice. Not your style? Don’t worry, there’s spirits lining the walls with plenty of bartenders to pour them out. Not into booze? Try a mocktail or a simple soda, no one will go thirsty tonight.

PHOTO BOOTH AND POPCORN

The best thing about parties these days is a good photo booth, especially if you’re a little tipsy and those photos get a little bit silly.

Step inside the main photo booth set up to look like the back of a circus tent with a bunch of props to use. A giant elephant statue, big balloons, wigs and hats, clown noses are just a few things laying around. Great for group photos.

Or go without props and take something cute and intimate in a smaller booth with a simple white backdrop. Better yet, do both and take home the photos as mementos for the night!

But remember, any photo you take gets saved for Alexa to see later, so though they seem intimate they aren’t as private as you think.

Whilst you wait for the line to the booth grab a cup of popcorn, just make sure you don’t have any in your teeth when you go to smile! Double bonus it acts as a prop too.

MIRRORS

There are two types of mirrors in this zone.

The first step through a door into a room filled with mirrors on every side. Close the door behind you and you’ll find yourself reflected back an infinite amount of times. A great place to take photos with friends, and you should certainly revisit it once there’s a few drinks in you.

The second type of mirrors are your classic silly mirrors. Along a wall you’ll find a bunch of them - each one doing something strange to your reflection. Stretch, shrink, widen, thin, swirl; see yourself n ways you never have before.

THE SECRET LOUNGE

Only those who get the clue at the ring toss will be able to enter this room with a plus one. The clue they received reads:

“Find the thing that makes you small and push right past it”

Push through the mirror which makes you look short and a secret room will open up in front of you. You’ll have to hand over your card as you enter - if you leave you will not be allowed back in.

As you close the ‘door’ behind you you’ll find the mirror was two-way which certainly brings a few giggles when someone’s pulling a face or odd pose at their reflection.

In the lounge you’ll find the lights dimmer with a set of booths for individuals to find themselves a little privacy. A smaller bar is found in the corner but in here you’ll find no food, so if you get hungry you’ll have to go back out into the crowd.

(We ask that this isn’t roleplayed by everyone in every thread they do, it’s suppose to be more exclusive/harder to get into. If everyone is entering 5 different threads it makes it come off easy to get into. You can always use the main lounge for the threads you could do in the secret one, it’s just not as private. Alexa can bring anyone in here at any time, she’s the only one who can enter without a card).

OUTSIDE

Smoke zone is the only area you can smoke, sorry but we don’t want the curtains catching fire now do we! The bartenders are already pushing it with a few flaming shots.

Ferris wheel. Yep, you heard right, there’s a god damn ferris wheel outside. It’s freezing right? Don’t worry, Alexa has you covered. This ferris wheels carriages are all shaped like hot air balloons, meaning there’s a roof over your head to cover anything that may fall from the sky, and glass around to stop the wind from freezing you up high. Each carriage fits 2 people, unless you someone like Nick who honestly shouldn’t even try fitting in there. Tall enough to see over the buildings around you and out to the New York skyline, but to be fare you’re surrounded by mainly one story warehouses.

You can not exit the venue this way. It is a closed off space. You can only exit through the main entrance.

FOOD

As mentioned there will be pizza at the venue. Shiloh is catering the treats at the party including cookies and cake. There’s a cotton candy stand and a popcorn one.

The bars are where you find your drinks, alcoholic or not.

TOILETS

Toilets are all together, no separation between ladies and gents. The room has several stalls for individuals but it’s the sinks where the room shines. The mirrors are lit up with neon strips and the sinks are automatic just wave your hand under it. Oh, and they’ll be cleaned throughout the night. You puke? Let someone know, jesus, what are you, an animal?

#nychqevent #nychqevent002

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kaiju-z · 5 years

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Today’s summary is of a One-Shot DM’d by the lovely @langstymclangstface. Go visit their page and give them some love, for they are a talented writer and we had a hellaciously fun time playing this one shot together!

Seon Adventures Episode 20.5: “Crumbling Wax”, a Seon Adventures Halloween One-Shot

(Aka Nelatha’s Coochie Quest. The sequel title no one asked for :eyesemoji:)

It has been. A short while since our heroes have been in the city of Crystalgate, Capitol of the country of Aetorumia.

A costume festival is being held, bright and shining lights illuminating the night time sky above the wandering citizens as they pass by booths and tables of contents, finding entertainment for themselves and their loved ones.

Each and every one has made it their goal to wear a costume as ostentatious as the next, a sort of challenge between each other to see who can be the most in the spirit of the event.

High spirits are in the air, in spite of a problem that has arisen for everyone. Or most of everyone. A sickness has hit a substantial part of the populace and thus, people are using this evening as a gateaway from the bad vibes of their relatives being down for the count.

Some call it the end of the world, but they’re honestly being overdramatic dramatic.

Amongst the walkers of this town, there are four of the five members of the party “The Cultbusters”. Sadly, Belli is at home (I headcanon that Mournimar left Morgan with her, as we didn’t get a description of Morgan’s costume. So the good direwolf is there to be her comfort animal, along with familiar, Orion.) and she is siiiiiick. And thus, she is locked off at home, as are all that have been hit by this flu.

The rest of the party are lucky.

And the rest of the party are dressed up to their heart’s content!

Amelia wears the proud costume of a sea corsair. A daring, romanticized fersion of a pirate, with Archie as her fat little shoulder griffin, a pair of wings strapped to the chunky, hunky kitty’s back, a little beak on his face. He’s living his best life and loves his catmom.

Walking beside her, Nelatha Shadowspire’s joined the group yet again. Accompanying her lady friend Genasi, she is wearing a sexed up version of a Cleric’s uniform. Particularly, that of a Honos cleric. (She is basically a fantasy sexy nurse) And she is confident as hell in that outfit. She makes it work and she knows it.

Flanking them is Mournimar, who, while initially planning some other attire, has opted for the costume of a favored character of his from a classical play. He wears the rags of the infamous drug dealer, tomb raider, bard and poet, the Graverobber. And he is blue screening real bad on account of not being used to such festivities. With Belli on the sick bed, he is but inchest away from touching shoulders with his fellow tiefling.

He, of double disguises. Who, along with the elf baby have dressed up as the characters of Fangface and Fangpuss respectively. They are goofy outfits, but Luctan is having a ball with it, enjoying the cartoonishness of it all and the hilarity that he, someone already in disguise, is wearing a third skin now. And the baby is baby. He don’t care none.

Last, but far, far from least, Malak walks with his new traveling companions, wearing a skeleton costume. A onesie, his face painted up to appear skullish.

Together the five, plus the baby and cat, walk amongst the people as streamers fly overhead. People dance and play and drink to their heart’s content. In a various level of dress.

What catches their attention is that amongst the chaos there’s a man selling candles. A sign upon his booth states the title “The Candle Man”, as their noses are attracted by multitude of scents from these particular ones.

The closer they walk, the musical tunes of The Living Tombstone’s “Spooky Scary Skeletons” hail in repetition, much to the frustration and disguist of Nel, who’s bardic pride feels poked at with the ridicilousness of that tune.

Along the way to the Candle Man’s booth, Malak’s eye stops at a nice old fashioned game of bobbing for apples. His curiosity overtaking him, the human man gives it a go and dunks his head in the water, trying to be as dexterous as he can with his chompers.

He tries his best. Swinging his head left, right, center. Up and down, trying his damnedest to nab one of the apples. But alas, he fails at the task. From the outside perspective, someone has to walk on over to him and pull him out and back, as the Death Cleric looked like he was drowning.

Trying to give it a go himself, Mournimar enters the “battlefield” of fruit and preps to dive headfirst (as you do). Malak is the ever helpful man he is and places a hand on Mournimar’s shoulder for encouragement, casting Guidance on him.

Through a combination of the ranger’s skill in handling items and the Cleric’s holy magic, the tiefling nabs an apple. But not just your regular Granny Smith’s apple! This one is of a golden color.

“Congratulations, you won the grand prise!”

He is the victor of the game and earns himself a bag of candies from the vendor, a kind lady speaking in her best Applecore accent.

“Excellent!” exclaims Mournimar and offers the bag around. But be it because of a distate in sweets or a lack of hunger, he is left to feast on the candies himself. All the more for himself!

As they continue on, they pass by a number of establishments. From new age bars, to meat houses. Bakeries and the like, all theming their foods after the holiday that has been bestowed upon the masses, with skulls and pumpkins and bats and all sorts of crawlies.

Luctan asks around about the sickness. Most people suggest it’s a cold time of year, so it’s normal. There are a couple of people out of town, panicking a bit regarding a pandemic. Performers say they’ve lost a hood half of their act, because of this. Lost their voices and shit.

Mourni’s type of Orc walking around, basically looks him up and down, shakes his head and says they tried, but shit didn’t work

A fire genasi performs a juggling act with flaming knives nearby. Luctan, being the boy, who loves his pointy things that he is, goes for a closer watch of the show. The Genasi man waves at Luctan, between throws and tosses and twirls and spins of the burning blades.

Impressed with the performance, Luctan gives a gold piece and a bunch more Fire Genasi come out, juggling. Despite that they are very excited to perform for him and stuff, they haven’t said a single thing. To Luctan, it appears that they are just very dedicated to their craft. And he appreciates that.

(He loves a man, who can handle a blade. Somewhere Ficus has himbs a sneeze, probably.)

Nel is not amused. Why? Aside from the juggling, her resting witch face is earned from seeing Amelia approach a pet store, where they have cats dressed in little costumes.

And you can pet said cats.

Set up as advertisements and stuff. You can buy treats themed for each cat.

She picks up the quiet mewing of kittens from the back of the room, where people pay to have kittens crawl and paw over them.

While Malak enjoys a variety of Pumpkin Spice Lattés (And there are so MANY Pumpkin Spice Lattés) Amelia goes to the cats. There’s a nice lady holding two fat cats. And she gets to pet some cats. Lennard and Harry. They were married and had a ceremony last week and the kittens are in the back.

Amelia is tearing up. This is the best day of her life.

Good work is being done for these cats. She is warned about a certain cat boi who jumps on people and demands cuddles. Amelia seems to be prepared for this. Heavy is the ribcage that must contain so much love for felines.

Out of nowhere areally fat Scottish fold jumps and descends on her, which causes Nel to scream a loud screm.

In response, The cat looks at Nel and bleps.

This is the happiest day in Amelia’s life.

Cats are available for adoption.

With the cat on her head and the two in her arms, as well as Archie on her shoulders, she is virtually in cat heavan. If this is a dream, don’t let her wake up.

All the while, Malak gets free gingerbread with every latté. (Nel feels like the world’ll collapse around her over all the coffee.)

Eventually, with cats in tow, the party find themselves at the Candle Man’s store.

One very bored teenager fiddling with a candle. He looks like he can’t be bothered. As they get closer to inspect them, each one looks like a person. They seem to be made expertly, made in order of famous people, but they don’t recognize any of them.

Except for one.

Luctan vaguely recognizes one of the figures as the dancer!Zitra! But something seems off about it, like it was done in a hurry. Almost like someone wasn’t used to this, as opposed to the expert.

The young one explains that the candlemaker’s sick, so the kid had to rush ‘em. Luctan buys one of the Lady Zitra and an unknown dude. Then hands the young salesperson a pamphlet and encouraging words. He believes that they can do better!

Curious, Malak wants a candle made of him. But gets the strange explanation that a personal hairstrand is required for the wick. And backs off immediatelly.

Luctan and Mournimar have no idea what this is about. To Nel there seems to be more than he’s letting on. Sinister vibe coming off of him.

She’s noticed he hasn’t’blinked once since they met him, but a few minutes prior.

He’s very cagey about what his general job is, as opposed to the summer job.

It’s mostly, you know, ehm, bar keeping and cleaning.

At the Busty Wench. The one in town.

Nel doesn’t remember a franchise opening here.

On these revelations, the shadyness of the character, if Malak hadn’t changed his mind before, he most certainly had now.

Malak casts Zone of Truth.

The moment he casts the spell, something odd happens. No. Something horrid happens. The ground begins to melt.

All around them? Everyone starts melting as blobs of flesh and clothes and then they realize they’re surrounded by wax, which starts to pull and move towards the stand, which is slowly changing form until they start in front of a vague humanoid figure twice of Mournimar’s height.

Yeah...

The sign is very litteral.

Much to Amelia’s horror, all cats, but Archie, begin to melt. Gordon and Harry and the one on her head crumble and fuse and melt off and down to the ground below. Even the cats were fake.

The wax man has a big as smile. Whatever he is. the party had never heard of it before.

As he says that, he rises into the air and drops down and suddenly everything is melting into wax, white and overpowering scent of burning candle and the floor is disappearing beneath everyone’s feet.

BOGUS!”, to say the least.

Thinking fast, Nel uses Polymorph and changes into a giant eagle and grabs Amelia and Archie to move them to safety. Once in the air, she looks out into the horizon and in a perfect circle? She sees that the city is surrounded by a desert. And slowly-an-and- and melting?!

Malak is noticing that the fire jugglers, who but moments prior were catching and throwing burning blades, were now sleeping and drowning in wax.

He tries to save them, but isn’t strong enough to do a thng about all this.

From what the lot of the ‘busters can gather, apparently the sick people are the real ones. And they are sinking.

Wasting no further time, the rest of the party start climbing.

Arriving at the top, they see that the area they started from? There’s this vast and expanding black hole, going outwards. Up top, Luctan has a vague feeling that something isnt’real here, but there’s so much magic surrounding him, he cant’pinpoint what the illusion is.

All the while Mournimar strategizes with the polymorphed Nelatha.

Malak takes a notice that the hair sticking out of the wax candles is still there and he realizes that the figurines at the stall are left completely in tact.

Luck realizes that some of the people he tried pulling out had wax figurines.

The ones he was shown were selected so he wouldn’t recognize them. It is by mere chance that they had met the Lady herself. And thus, he acts upon a gut feeling. He removes the hairstring and the figurine cracks, before beginning a climb down to the candle booth. To repeat that on a grander level. And Mournimar follows, in spite of Luctan’s protests.

Nel is tasked with carrying the others away.

(And here we have a bit of a 2-3 minute break, because Cat’s mic was off for a good while. Because her kitten, the Little Man/Little Bastard as she calls him had turned it off. It was the funniest thing ever.)

As they part ways, Amelia casts Levitate on Luctan. Yell heah!

As Luck flies, he remembers he left Belli asleep in the Shadowspire Manor, which from his perspective, begins to melt. Cursing under his breath, he takes the figurines with a box and removes the hairs on the way to Belli’s as Mournimar sprints after him.

As they move, Mourni notices Luctan’s in tiefling form. And has a tail?!

The levitation drops eventually and Luctan falls on the ground. As he turns around, he sees he’s been chased by a fellow tiefling, but it’s not someone he recognizes.

Nel turns in her normal form forcibly as they travel and they are surrounded by strangers. Making her 3 point landing, Amelia notices a bird turning into a humanoid form and sadly doesn’t recognize Nel.

Everyone’s... surrounded by strangers.

A figure about Amelia’s height rises from the wax and says “Hello there, don’t be frightened. You’ve been saved.”

Luck see this form as well, but it’s smaller and childlike and feels an eerie sense of calm.

Mournimar, unfortunately, fails on a wisdom save and “ knows everything’ll be alright”.

As he realizes this, his features starts melting off, until Mourni is gone, replaced with a lump of wax.

Seeing all this madness happening around him, Malak casts Protection of Good and Evil and protects himself.

Luck feels Danger as he sees that someone start melting, which causes him to have... the freaks out. It’s this reason why he probably only too late notices he has his tail back?!

Feeling threatened by this wax fhild, Luctan casts Sacred Flame, which burns a hole through the child’s chest. Not falling for whatever niceties the child propheces, the red tiefling burst into a dash towards Belli’s location.

Mournimar is ordered to attack Luctan. And he does so, chasing after him, unsheathing the swords from his hips and attacking. All the while this big lump of wax follows along as the floor seems to start to swallow him.

Luctan gets attacked and the seering pain feels like fire. Looking at the wound inflicted by the possessed Mournimar, he realizes he’s made of wax. Out of anxiety and rage and frustration and pain, he goes on to react with a Hellish Punishment at his attacker and melts Mournimar?!

(BEGONE, TIEF!)

Malak makes an attack, casting Litch Slap on the monstrous child. He hadn’t prepared any combat spells, but at the very least he had this.

Chunks fly and hit Amelia and Nel and reveal wax underneath.

Nel bounces. Not recognizing anyone, she has no reason to be here.

The thing goes after Malak.

Amelia bounces as well.

She takes two steps, before a hand reaches out from the ground and grabs her, squeezing and burning.

With a strength, unmatched and one powerful crushing motion, Amelia’s head pops off. And she poofs out of existence.

Malak attacks with his axe and that has no effect. As Nel runs, tendrils are grabbing at her feet. “Nope-nope-nope-nope-nope.”

One successful tendril grabs and pulls her down.

Nel feels herself being pulled down into the wax and it pours down into the ground. She suffocates and no longer is within this realm of existence.

The tendrils go after Luctan, shifting into vicious spikes, but melt behind him, due to him perpetually casting Prestidigitation, applying sparks in the viscinity aorund him.

.He carries on like this, until the sensation of emptyness under him catches his attention.

And he starts falling.

And falling.

And. While still dressed in the Fangface costume, he tries to concentrate on hsi wings. Figuring he could create them at this point, he does so. Wax versions of his wings shape from his shoulderblades. And for a short moment, he manages to fly up.

Until the wings break apart.

And he starts falling yet again.

As spikes portrude from around him and impale him, taking him out as well.

And then there’s Malak.

“ I’m the last survivor, you guys.”

The kid begins to clap with a wicked smile and congratulates him.

Then we all open our eyes. Peppery Pete stands over us as we wake up.

Basically. What it comes down to, as we catch our bearings and get up, is that Pete explains Belli hired Pete to drug us with some strange drug.

It was whack.

The party are not amused. Nel is confused.

They just stand there. Being menacing.

Malak takes a knee and rests a hand on Pete’s shoulder.

“Look, mistakes happen.”

“ But if you ever do this to us or anyone again, I will personally sever your soul from your body.”

Pete is. To say the least. Terrified from the death glare.

And Amelia basically realizes that Pete is bullshitting them and Belli had nothing to do with this. It was meant to be a team building exercise.

“Yeah, but why am I here, though?!” - Nel’s still confused.

FIN!

Previous episode / Next episode

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mika-meowz · 5 years

Text

*SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE*

5 PAGE ESSAY SUMARRY THINGG ON OUTCASTS HERE WE FUCKIN GO

So, let’s start with our main, beginner characters. We have Miggy, a dream man with a Kermit voice who is owner and manager of the Big Time Big Top, who can also have a short temper. (More on that later.) Next, there’s Isaac Bluu, an amazing triangle boyo who, in my opinion, seems pretty chill and adorable. He works at the Big Time Big Top as a fire dancer. I love him and I think his species is Isrep? Up next, we have 8-Ball, a mutated human who is haunted by the spirit of his sister whom he had to pull the plug on since she was dying of a disease called ‘Red Plague’ and 8-Ball didn’t have money. 8-Ball’s real name is Kenny! 8-Ball was a nickname given to him by his sister, Queen. He also works at the Big Time Big Top as a magician. And now, Giuseppe. Holy hell, do I ever love him. Giuseppe is an adorable, big, 4-year-old slime boy. He’s very energetic and if someone hurts him, I will s c r e e. He also works at the Big Time Big Top as a contortionist and has an adorable slime puppy names Giorgio, if I remember correctly. And lastly (for the time being,) we have Bojanny Bunny. I’m personally not a big fan of him but here’s info nonetheless. Bojanny is actually a dead rabbit possessed by some kind of demon.. rabbit.. thing?? He is a trapeze artist.

Now, moving onto the story. We start off with Miggy waking everyone up and talking about a festival, (which, to my knowledge, is like when they preform.) and we also learn that Isaac and 8-Ball have a rivalry going on. Miggy assigns everyone their tasks to prepare for the festival before leaving. 8-Ball is simply told to practice his act, so he decides to go find something entertaining to do so he can distract himself from his grief over Queen. He decides to go to the Fun-House, which doesn’t go too smoothly. He ain’t very entertained and can’t really go down the slide since his skin is apparently like ‘pencil grip.’ Isaac walks over and asks what’s going on since 8-Ball not being able to slide made a loud screech. 8-Ball gives a vague explanation as to what’s going on, resulting in Isaac saying, “You’re STILL depressed??”

yeah and that’s as far as I got from there so tkmeskip or something and we find everyone aside from Isaac and Miggy outside. Isaac opens the window of his trailer and basically yells at them to stfu. Turns out, everyone is excited over a new member possibly joining the Big Top. And here we find our new buddy, No-Soul. Except he doesn’t have that name just yet. We don’t know his name right now, if he has one. One thing we do know, is that he has a thick Russian accent. He is soon given his name by Isaac. He’s then asked what kind of acts he can do, and he says he can possess people. He demonstrates on our unwilling friend 8-Ball, to which everyone freaks out over. Especially seeing as he basically snapped 8-Ball’s back. Luckily, our mutated pal survived, but did throw up his usual pink-purple goop a lot. Later on, Miggy finds out, and this is where his temper goes flying. He drags 8-Ball to a private conversation, and proceeds to lose it. Turns out, No-Soul is from a place called Zlo, and Miggy happens to have a big grudge against anyone from Zlo. Miggy tells 8-Ball to get No-Soul to leave. 8-Ball breaks the news to No-Soul and Isaac says he’ll guide No-Soul off the property. Since everyone was able to hear Miggy’s snap, Isaac proceeds to rant about how unfair it is that No-Soul has to leave because of Miggy’s grudge. Then, the two decide that No-Soul can sneakily stay in the empty trailer, so they set that up and hang out together. They bond and we learn that Isaac is the big gay for No-Soul. And it looks like No-Soul is the big gay too.

Later on, 8-Ball finds out and teases the hell out of Isaac about it, and also ends up hanging out with him and No-Soul. No-Soul says that the two should make up and try to be friends, so the two sit down and talk about why they don’t like eachother, then come to a truce. No-Soul is very happy about this and they all continue to hang out.

No-Soul also helps 8-Ball with his grief and together they managed to let Queen’s spirit rest.

Now, moving on, we have another new face showing up, Ringo the clown! He had fallen into a coma, but woke up and returned to the circus. Turns out, he was good friends with Giuseppe, Bojanny, and Miggy! There’s a sweet little reunion but unfortunately, Bojanny kicks Isaac out of their shared trailer because Bojanny wants to be roommates with Ringo instead, and he isn’t nice about it. 8-Ball helps Isaac move in with No-Soul and later on, he has a talk with Ringo. 8-Ball mentions how Miggy snapped at him for letting No-Soul join the circus. Ringo goes on to explain that Miggy actually had a brother and the two sort of.. merged when they were born.

This brother’s name is Muggy, and he is a nightmare, I believe. Quite literally. He’s pretty creepy and he’s constantly on the surface of Miggy’s skin, which is the reason Miggy keeps his eyes closed and wears gloves. Ringo then has a conversation with Muggy, telling him that he shouldn’t go losing his temper on the other performers like he did with 8-Ball. For the next while, Ringo hangs out with Miggy all the way up to the festival.

Once the festival arrives, everyone is set to perform and Giuseppe’s favorite actor/cartoon, Looney Leo, shows up hosting for the radio. Giuseppe fanboys and befriends Leo before leaving out of being too nervous to talk to the ‘thousands of fans’ that we’re listening on the radio. He then calms down by talking to Giorgio and goes on to perform. During 8-Ball’s performance, 8-Ball slips into this heavy grief state or Queen starts messing with him or something since this is before Queen is put to rest. 8-Ball passes out for 3 days.

A little later, Bojanny and Ringo decide to do a special performance together. Bojanny rides a unicycle across a tight rope while Ringo sits on his shoulders, juggling knives. Unfortunately, the act goes horribly wrong, and Bojanny slips off the tightrope, causing both him and Ringo to fall. He tries to hold on while Isaac and 8-Ball try to get the mattress underneath the two to cushion the landing but sadly, they just barely don’t move in time, and Bojanny and Ringo plummet to their death. Miggy is taken to court, where he pleads guilty, and gives the Big Time Big Top to 8-Ball.

Now, I’m not entirely sure where this bit fits in but I think it’s somewhere around here???

Anyways, No-Soul had watched Isaac’s performance at the festival and learned that Isaac sometimes wore girly clothes. This goes against a strict rule or something from where No-Soul lived, so he decides to leave. He gets Isaac to meet him, and tells him that he doesn’t feel the same way Isaac does about him. Isaac is obviously heartbroken, and No-Soul leaves, leaving behind a black and red flower. On the brighter side, Isaac ends up with 8-Ball and I love them so much!!

Not too much later, though, Isaac learns that Giuseppe wants to run away. He’s sad because everyone’s been leaving and dying. He’s also sad because 8-Ball kept referring to him as ‘Queen’ and (I can only assume-) not acknowledging him for who he is. Isaac does his best to comfort Giuseppe. 8-Ball soon walks over and finds out that Giuseppe wants to leave and why he’s sad, then does his best to apologize and comfort Giuseppe. Giuseppe sort of falls apart (not really, don’t worry,) and says that he doesn’t like the feelings he’s having and wishes he was dead like Bojanny, Ringo and Queen. Isaac and 8-Ball continue to comfort and take care of Giuseppe until he feels better and they all have this big, adorable group hug that warms my heart.

Then, they all start making plans to work on the Big Time Big Top and put up ‘Help Wanted’ posters to get new employees. The comic ends with a strange man and a dog looking at one of the posters.

A lot of people have been theorizing that this dog is Bojanny- or Bo- since earlier in the comic, when the demon bunny thing takes a short break from possessing Bojanny, he mentions to Ringo that he was thinking about possessing a German shepherd in the area. I honestly don’t know if this has been confirmed but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was true.

And you wanna know something else that’s great about this series??

First of all, it’s made by an incredibly talented artist

but also, you can make your own OC’s and spin-off continuation of the comic!!

I hope you enjoyed this nearly 5 page essay thing!!

(Its 4.6 pages so I guess if you round up, it’s 5)

ALSO NO, I AM NOT READING THIS OVER BECAUSE IM LAZY

@hesitant-ghost @trashfox492

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