#dormouse escapes

[hunting-season]

a wish for the us that didn't

Azul & Deuce platonic/friendship fic

Gen, Light Angst, Post-Book 3

spoilers for Starry Deuce card story

“Ashengrotto-senpai!” Azul stops in his steps as he turns his head. He smiles mockingly; only one person would call him so cheerfully by that name.

“Deuce-san, what a surprise to see you.” Azul takes a look down at Deuce’s arms carrying a box full of softly glowing crystals. “If you’re here to collect my Wishing Star, you don’t need to worry. Idia-san has it.”

“Oh! Thank you, but that’s not why I called out to you.” Deuce shuffles the weight of the box to tuck it all under one arm. “Were you just coming out of a dorm leader meeting?” He gestures with his free hand at Azul’s Octavinelle uniform. 

“I was. If you’re looking for Riddle-san, I think he went the opposite way.”

“I’m not looking for Dorm Leader either,” Deuce says with a frown. “Why do you keep mentioning others?”

——————

Read the rest on Ao3!  || https://archiveofourown.org/works/40765596

#twst #twisted wonderland #dormouse escapes #deuce spade #azul ashengrotto #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst hcs #twisted wonderland hcs

[ddejavvu]

you’re probably sick of animagus reader fics but if you’re up for it i was wondering whether you were in the mood for some remus x fem reader?

maybe r is a dormouse or smth and just practically stays tucked inside rem’s sweaters or the inside pockets of his robes/blazer. r possibly falls out his sweater is a really crowded corridor (can’t change back) and rem panics cause he doesn’t fancy his girl being flattened <3

You make a mental note, while fleeing the shadows of impending doom that cascade onto the chilled stone floor around you, that you need to make sure Remus never buys another pair of pants with such shallow pockets. You typically cling to the inside of his sweater, but he's bundled up a little too warm for your taste today, and you'd tucked yourself into the linty confines of his corduroys instead.

It had all been going well, until someone had bumped rather aggressively into his thigh, the one that you were pressed worriedly against, and you'd darted to your left to escape the pain. Unfortunately, left was the direction of the pocket's opening, and the fall to the stone tile beneath you had been a monumental one for your small size.

Thankfully, you hadn't splattered against the tile, but you're running for your life now, and you seem to be swimming upstream no matter which direction you turn. There's always feet working against you, feet close to trampling your tail, feet threatening to squash your lungs, and you yearn for the solace of Remus's plush pocket once more.

Remus only gets a few steps away from the spot where you'd tumbled unceremoniously to the ground before he reaches his hand into his pocket, intent on scooping you out and discreetly moving you to his sweater. But there's nothing in his pockets save for a button that had fallen off of the inside of his book bag, and panic seizes his chest in its heavy, unforgiving claws.

"Uh-" He flounders, steps hesitantly stuttering over the floor as the ebb and flow of students around him becomes suffocating. Now, all of a sudden, he's not a part of the crowd, he's what they're fighting against, and he pats down his other pockets in case you'd just moved addresses.

You haven't.

Dropping to his knees is rather difficult amidst a stampede, and it's not only his weary joints that ache, but his hands as disgruntled students hoof over them. He ignores the way his pinky smarts, twinging pink with a pained flush beneath the toe of a third-year, and ducks his head to the ground to see if he can spot you scampering amongst the students.

There's movement all around him, but none if it is your size. Black and red and green and blue and yellow blur through his vision as students of all houses flood the halls, and each second that he doesn't find you alive and well worries at his heart with panic's mangled claws. He thinks he sees you to his left, but- oh, that's a cat, and that's worse, so he ducks even further to the ground, and redoubles his effots.

Thankfully, you've noticed the deviated path the students are now taking, annoyed grumbles about the idiot stooped in the hallway. That's your idiot, you think, and you scamper as fast as your tiny legs allow to meet Remus where he knees.

He sees you coming, his pretty eyes flood with a relief so palpable you can feel it in your own chest, and just before you can scurry into his outstretched hand, you feel something heavy land on your tail and trap you in your place. You feel a puff of breath against your back, and the snare of cat's claws against the meat of your tail, but before the beast can lean down and devour you, Remus lunges for your body, cupping his hand over your trembling form and swatting the animal away.

"Absolutely not, thank you." Remus snaps at the cat, and a second-year gives him a rather apprehensive stare as she hurries around him, "Darling, are you okay?"

You're not very articulate in mouse form, but you manage a thankful squeak, one that Remus smiles fondly at while straightening up.

The cat doesn't look very happy with him, but Remus isn't afraid of a few more scratches on his arm, and you nestle securely into his palm when he straightens, limbs limp with confident exhaustion, that he'd let the cat claw open each one of his scars ten times before he ever let it get a shot at you.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin one-shot #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin dialogue #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin headcanons #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin hc #remus lupin hcs #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you

[grllmx]

"Ragatha in Wonderland"

🌻 Them side by side for height difference 🌻

Heya!! Y'all wouldn't mind some info dump, would ya?

But before I share my thoughts and ideas for this au, note that I am making this all for fun and that I am only merging two concepts at once because they sound fun in my head!

-- So without further ado, let's start shall we?

Ragatha in Wonderland is a fun silly lil' au I thought about in my spare time (Though I am aware that I'm not the only person who had similar ideas) buuut! Here's my take on how this concept goes ~

💜🟣🎀- - - - - RAGATHA IN WONDERLAND - - - - -🎀🟣💜

🌻 Wonderland is similar yet different from the Circus. Many possibilities await in this newly found land, but wait... How odd, suddenly everyone and everything is of new variation! Did things really stay the same? Are things different? It's a confusing world that warped and transformed the original digital land into something new. New places to explore, new outfits! New concepts... New people? It seems everything changed. Perhaps even... True death is possible now.

Ragatha - Plays the role as Alice. Confused and bewildered at first but Ragatha progressively adapts to the world and the surroundings around her. Acts like herself for the first portions of the story but as she dwells longer in this 'wonderland' she loses herself, her identity, as if the place was sucking out all of 'her'. She'll meet a lot of familiar faces. She feels comforted, knowing that she isn't alone in this newly found world but little does she know - they are not what she seemed.

Jax - The white rabbit leading Ragatha to wonderland. Jax was the one who dragged her in this, so Ragatha's first instincts was to follow him, hoping he knows where the exit is. Though he often plays tricks, teasing and playing with Ragatha's head whenever given the chance. Maybe he doesn't sound like a reliable shoulder to lean on, but he is Ragatha's key in terms of escaping wonderland.

Gangle - Starring as the mouse and the dormouse. The first person (other than Jax) Ragatha meets in wonderland. Gangle is skittish and has an extreme fear of cats. She does not like hearing or mentioning them, her mouse-like features says so otherwise. Though, in later unfortunate events, Ragatha scares her by mentioning, you guess it, cats. And then flees elsewhere.

Zooble - Following the (possibly tobacco) smoke trails, enters in the wise caterpillar. Meeting for the first time was not fun, in Ragatha's case mostly. Zooble asks Ragatha a lot of questions, typically centering around herself which gradually starts her descend into madness. Zooble's questions hit hard for Ragatha, making her realize a lot of things and learn more about the world. Though one question stuck the most, "who are YOU?"

Caine - The Hatter/Mad hatter. Need I say more? Hehe, anyways... Caine, alongside Bubble, is notably the most mad or insane person living in wonderland. Always yapping about random things (Riddles, jokes, factual statement... you name it) that can either be truth or made up, which Ragatha can't tell the difference of since they are always so surreal and deranged, or in other words, utter nonsense! He is another character that made Ragatha's mental state and mindset deteriorate. (Ragatha wishes to never meet him again)

Pomni - It's Pomni! Though, something is off... Pomni's role is the Cheshire cat. She's willing to help Ragatha escape, even suggesting ideas that felt to be possible, but are things really that easy? No, of course not! She is a red herring, a person filled with mischief that fools and plays with her victims until she deems them boring. Ragatha meets Pomni in the woods right after she ran away from Caine, and just like Jax, Pomni plays with Ragatha's head. But eventually helps her out and leads her to the kingdom's garden.

Kinger - Sometimes, a king is fit to be queen. Kinger is the Queen of Hearts, a short tempered, bossy but childish queen. After first meeting, Ragatha didn't deem Kinger as a threat at first, even playing a simple game of croquet with him. But as she starves and remembers that hunger was present in this land, she secretly ate the queen's well-known 'tarts'. This resulted into the seething rage of Kinger, declaring a court trial in which Ragatha was later proven to be 'guilty'. Hence, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

🌻 So, spoiler alert -- Just like in original tales and stories inspired by Alice in Wonderland, this was all in Ragatha's head, a dream! I'm debating to either turn this into a comic or not, because I think it helps further explain my ideas, but who knows? Maybe with the right motivation and energy, I might do it.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice day/night 🌻

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #alice in wonderland #alice in wonderland au #tadc au #the amazing digital circus au #ragatha in wonderland #tadc ragatha #the amazing digital circus ragatha #ragatha #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus jax #jax #tadc pomni #the amazing digital circus pomni #pomni #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine #tadc zooble #the amazing digital circus zooble #zooble #tadc gangle #the amazing digital circus gangle #gangle #tadc kinger #the amazing digital circus kinger #kinger

[yandere-toons]

Aaaaaah I'm sorry but I developed some sort of obsession with the live action Alice in Wonderland (2010), especially with Cheshire cat, and I decided to make some heacannons or whatever you could call these-

•I see Cheshire as a yandere who would charm his darling before they knew what they would get themselves in to

•after they do realize the cats obsession with them, it is far late to do anything

• Cheshire cat would stalk their darling from afar, before deciding he wants to announce his presence, that is if he even wants to.

•Just like the way he has a weird liking to the Mad Hatters hat, he would like some sort of object from his darling, something to borrow/steal for whatever reasons he has.

•Maybe if you'd like that item back, he would trick his darling in to some sort of game to get it back. Maybe even ask you to solve a riddle for the wanted item.

•He would definitely take it back.

•This obsession will be hardly ever noticed by the people living there, especially Mad Hatters and March hare, as they are just too mad to see anything wrong about it.

•I can imagine a tea party, havoc everywhere, Dormouse throwing whatever at March as Mad Hatter laughs with them, a quite weird and maybe even uncomfortable 'tea party' to be in.

•Even if you live with the people there, the eyes of the Cheshire cat gawking at you from across the table makes it hard not to try finding excuses to leave the feast.

•Yet escaping the cat is hard as he evaporates and reappears at his will, making it impossible to know if he is following or not.

•Confronting the cat will only lead to denying of any kind of stalking, saying that he is simply tagging along with his darling, even if they are unknown to him creeping behind them.

•They better expect a lot of scares and strange disappearances from him as he can come and go unexpectedly.

•I also see Cheshire as a yandere who would want to isolate his darling, or at least make them somewhat dependent on him, especially by giving them either wrong or confusing directions and getting them lost in the deep, dark, woods.

•Its fine though, he was tagging along with you. And, Surprise! He's coincidentally there to help you get out of it.

•He can't make any promises to take the shortest path though.

•And can't seem to promise himself to leave when he bids you goodbye.

Cheshire Cat: If I were looking for an exit, I would go that way.

Reader: This way?

Cheshire Cat: Which way?

Reader: That way. The way you just pointed!

Cheshire Cat: Where did I point?

Reader: This way!

Cheshire Cat: What way?

Reader:

Excellent ideas by the way! No need to apologise for having good taste. Write about whoever comes to mind! Plus, I'm always happy to see this cat.

There's little a dreamer could do to ward off the Cheshire Cat, and no one else cares to listen when asked for help. Staying with others results in the Cheshire Cat either watching from a distance or materialising in the middle of the conversation.

He implies that you could be in danger at any time in the company of anyone, saying you never know what lurks in Wonderland. Thus, no one is necessarily a "safer" choice than he is.

#Yandere #Yandere x You #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Headcanons #Yandere Alice in Wonderland #Yandere Cheshire Cat #Alice in Wonderland x Reader #Cheshire Cat x Reader #Alice in Wonderland #Alice in Wonderland 2010 #Cheshire Cat #The Cheshire Cat #Imagines #Reader Insert #Fanfiction #Gender Neutral Reader #X Reader #Yandere Writing

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Underrated moments in The Sandman, Episode 1

THE INTRO. LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. ITS SO BEAUTIFUL!!!

(I know this isn’t underrated I just wanted to yell about it for a second lol)

Alex comforting Dr. Hathaway and taking his hand

Dr. Hathaway then throwing his arm in front of Alex to protect him during the ritual

Charles Dance’s acting I mean DUDE

Mr. Sykes putting his hands protectively on Alex’s shoulders while the Corinthian is visiting

Unity’s dad calling her “dormouse” idk I just think that’s really sweet

THE CORINTHIAN’S 1916 OUTFIT I MEAN GODDAMN

The Corinthian’s entire scene honestly like he just owned every goddamn second of it

“Will I see you again?” “You should hope not.” (said with the most smug smirk ever)

The way Dream is trapped in the glass ball, there’s a whole magical seal keeping him from escaping, and yet during THIS SCENE

we still feel incredibly tense

“He’s the Magus’s son, you fucking twat.”

Ethel having a low-key friendship with Alex

Ethel stealing Dream’s tools and Roderick Burgess’s money like an absolute icon

Roderick Burgess’s death (somebody please ask me to elaborate because I could spend whole paragraphs on how poetic it is)

The way Paul looked down at the breaks in the seal, looked up at Dream, and seemed to nod at him like that man KNEW what was gonna happen and let it happen anyway

The Easter egg of Kincaid Sugar being mentioned in that one guard’s newspaper

Lucienne helping Dream stand back up(!!!!!)

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus #tom sturridge #I’m rewatching the show again and I’m gonna make this a series #this is just an excuse for me to list all my favorite moments lol

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: PHEW okay so here's one of two 4k commissions I was working on. And it's for my very amazing friend @mischievous-marchie (tagging the NSFW blog because this is so NSFW lmao) Marchie, thank you so much for supporting my writing and trusting me with your main man Jervis, and all his variations. I hope I did your sweet idea justice and thanks so much again for supporting me by commissioning me. It means the world. And I hope everyone else gets to enjoy it too.

*Also reader is referred to as the March Hare cause Alice is overrated, The Hare was always my favorite and...yeah it's its for March lol

Content Warning: explicit sexual content, masturbation, sex toy, mutual masturbation, unprotected sexual intercourse (gn so no specific genitalia mentioned), caught in the act, and making out.

Word Count: 4.5 k

General Mad Hatter x Reader - Call Out My Name

Your fingers drummed along the hardback cover of a novel you were trying to read. Soon the tapping of your fingers migrated to your foot on the floor. 

You groaned in frustration. 

You grew restless with boredom. 

Even the white noise of some random show that played on TV began to become silencing…just an echo of how lonely and dim it was when he wasn’t around. 

You sighed, finally surrendering and putting the book down on the coffee table. 

Why did Jervis have to be in Arkham?

You knew why, because if one of you was to get caught by Batman… Jervis ensured it was only going to be him every time. Jervis always made sure you had an escape, even if you didn’t know he had one for you.

“Arkham is no place for lovely people, my dear.” He explained once in a moment of lucidity. “I take it as a chance to reconvene my thoughts and even get to visit old friends.” He chuckled before he continued. “So don’t worry about me, dear…Although don’t forget about me either…please.” 

Your heart panged the same way it did the day he told you that. He didn’t have to worry about you ever forgetting him. 

You could never forget about the man you have loved and continue to love feverishly since day one. 

If he only knew, sometimes you wished he would just miraculously figure it out. Then maybe, just maybe, he would be compelled to reveal his feelings…if he had any for you that is.

It felt like he did anyhow, the way he’d protect you from Batman, how he always somehow made time to see you or include you in everything. 

You two have been companions for quite awhile. Jervis has always been charming, kind, and fun. He always made you smile, even on days when you didn’t feel like rolling out of bed. 

You tried your best to always be there for him. 

During his highs and lows, his madness and his lucidity, for everything. In turn, Jervis is always there for you when you need him in any capacity (except when he was locked up, which he always felt guilty for leaving you.)

You two were inseparable.

The Mad Hatter and The March Hare at the Mad Tea Party–only missing a sleepy Dormouse. 

Yes, a strong, loyal relationship was formed, but if only it could transition from platonic to romantic…

Of course, it didn’t help that he is exquisitely handsome in the most unconventional way that was endearing to you. 

Jervis’ wide bright eyes, cute elongated buck teeth, raggedy hair, and his obtuse nose that you desperately wanted to kiss. 

You sighed as you sunk yourself deeper into the couch, no doubt creating a uniquely shaped dent in the cushions from lounging there all day.

You really did miss him. All of this reminiscing probably doesn’t help either. You just couldn’t help it, just forming his image in your mind made you happier. 

Perhaps…this imagining could help in another area and maybe you can salvage the boring day and turn it into a fun night. 

For a moment, you were grateful that Jervis wasn’t around…

The cushions of the couch sunk against your weight as you laid back and made yourself comfortable. 

You took a deep breath as your head nestled into the plush arm rest. You slowly rolled up the long graphic tee you wore, exposing your lower body. 

It had been a minute since you ventured into the realms of self love in the most physical sense, but you were certain the awkwardness of the start would be well worth the pleasure in the aftermath. 

Your breath hitched as your fingers fell into a decent rhythm stimulating your sex. Every nerve ending on every pore of your skin was ignited. 

You decide to finally take it up a notch. 

You reluctantly removed your hand to reach for the toy on the side table behind your head. You snatched up the dark blue bullet vibrator and turned it on to a low setting. 

Your body jerked slightly at the vibrating sensations as you glided the toy over your chest and down your abdomen. The smooth material made you wish it was something else. 

Instead of the cool smooth mechanical texture…it was rough, soft, and warm. 

Instead of your hand controlling a toy, it was someone else’s hand, better yet, Jervis’ gloved fingers. 

Desperately, you wished it was Jervis that stimulated your body. 

It was his warm diligent hands roaming across your skin causing goosebumps to form. His hands that created delicious friction that you craved. 

As the vibrator made its way closer to your sex, the setting was turned up higher and your moans became louder and more drawn out. 

The vibrations added with the continued pace of your other hand on your genitals. You were a withering mess on the couch. 

Your eyes tightly closed, trying like crazy to suspend reality and envision it was Jervis doing this to you. 

Your moans soon turned into pants and cries. “J-Jervis…Jervis!” 

As you were chasing that sweet release, as if your imaginations manifested him…

Jervis Tetch was actually a free man and was making his way to your apartment. 

Jervis was absolutely beaming with excitement. Adrenaline was still pumping in his veins from his narrow escape from Arkham.

The moment he was out, he knew he had to come see you and let you know he was free! The only person that would actually be waiting for him on the other side…

He just couldn’t wait to surprise you. 

Jervis missed you terribly. No one else understood him, appreciated him…genuinely liked him like you do. To say you made his heart race would be an understatement. However, he was extremely cautious and uncertain. 

As much as he wanted to sweep you off your feet, hold you, kiss you…he didn’t want to risk the chance of losing you–as he has lost others. 

Jervis wasn’t sure he could handle losing you in any capacity. 

Hence why he always did his best to protect you when things got dodgy. Despite your stubbornness to stay by his side…something he juxtapositionally adored and lamented about you. 

His gloved knuckles barely racked along your door when he heard–

“J-Jervis! Jervis!” 

Jervis’ heart fell to his stomach. The adrenaline from his escape rose back up out of sheer panic for you. He quickly grabbed the doorknob and was stantly met with resistance from the locked handle. 

Seeing no other option, he began backing away and braced himself with his side as he ran shoulder first into your door–

You were so lost in your motions and the fantasy in your mind that you didn’t register the reality of your doorknob being rattled. 

You were none the wiser to another presence until he made himself known by busting down your door. 

The loud bang of the door hitting your wall woke you up from your pleasurable reverie. 

Quickly, you sat up, hastily lowering your shirt back down and threw a blanket over your lower half for good measure. 

You were petrified and frustrated.

“J-Jervis?” You let out in a small almost mousy voice, as you finally took in who the intruder was. 

Jervis was looking around wildly, expecting some type of altercation to be happening, but quickly came to the realization nothing was awry. 

In fact, you were alone, on your couch…nothing entirely out of place. 

“Um…well..this is quite a predicament.” He chuckled sheepishly, as he lifted his hat to scratch at the side of his head. 

You gulped down a mouthful of air as you tried to regulate your heartbeat. You began silently praying to whoever could hear that he wouldn’t put two and two together of what you were doing. 

“Jervis,” you began, still trying to calm your nerves that were currently in a tailspin at the moment. “I-W-What are you–how…why did you break in?” 

Your mind struggled to think of just one question, but that one seemed the most pressing. Usually, when Jervis came over he always knocked or he somehow let you know ahead of time that he was coming over. 

“I-I heard you screaming my name…” He stretched his arms out exasperatedly. “I-I thought something was happening to you! It sounded all the same” 

Whatever redness coalesced from your earlier activities quickly drained from your face. 

“Ah…well…something was happening but nothing–bad…” You slowly began covering yourself up more with the blanket. Secretly wishing it would make you disappear.

“Yes, that much is obvious…so tell me, my dear. What was all the ruckus?” 

“Um, well…I was..uh…”

“And what is that?” He interjected. Jervis pointed to a small rounded device on the ground that was still buzzing on the floor. 

Jervis walked over towards where the object laid. He almost grabbed it until you grabbed his wrist. 

“It’s nothing! I’ll get it! Oh sh-”

“Hare! Langua-oh…”

In your panicked leap for the toy, Jervis saw your state of dress or more like the lack thereof. 

You couldn’t help but take note of how cute he looked when his face began blushing at the cheeks. 

Even though yours was most likely as red as his is. 

You instantly turned the toy off once it was in your grip. 

As if seeing the vibrator in your hands was the final piece to the puzzle, Jervis was able to slowly put the puzzle of events together. 

You were alone, on your couch, in nothing but a shirt, your skin was tinted red…you screamed his name…but not in danger or pain…

Jervis may be whimsical and mad most of the time, but he wasn’t ignorant. 

You sighed as you saw him come to the conclusion of what happened. Somewhere deep down you were grateful you didn’t have to spell it out. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I apologize-”

You both looked up at each other after apologizing at the same time. 

“I-I didn’t mean to make you panic.” You continued, rubbing your arm. 

“I didn’t mean to…ahem…ruin your fun?” He nervously chuckled as he played with his hat brim. 

“It’s okay.” You reassured him softly. “I appreciate your concern.” 

Jervis nodded. Of course he was concerned, he was always concerned for your safety. 

“Yet…the question remains…why did you cry my name?” 

Jervis had an idea why. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t guilty of the same act, but he just needed you to confirm it. 

You looked away coyishly, biting your lip to keep from just dumping your emotions mixed with your explanations on him. 

Jervis gulped. He really wished you didn’t do that. Although it did complete this exquisite vision of you just now. 

Your hair a ruffled mess, your body gorgeously silhouetted by your shirt that only came to be just about your mid-thigh…all complimented with a cute lip bite. 

You sighed. “I…I was…uh…thinking of you…while I had fun.”

Jervis took a small but sharp intake of breath. You were actually going to say it.

“Really?” 

You nodded before looking away, not being able to look at him. Assuming he wanted a further explanation after a beat of silence, you continued. 

“I-I’ve cared…I mean. I’ve always…” You groaned in frustration. 

After taking another deep breath to reset your thoughts. You tried once more, “yes really…I’ve had feelings for you for a while and I…when you’re in Arkham…I, for a lack of better words…really miss you.”

Jervis hung onto every word like it was the last life line connecting him to the ship out in the middle of the ocean. 

It was happening…it was really truly happening. Someone he loved…actually loved him back!

Jervis slowly walked over closer to where he was right in front of you. He gently curled his index finger around your chin and directed your head down to look at him. 

His eyes stared softly into yours. “I missed you too, my dear.” 

The sincere look he gave you, lidded eyes and a soft smile made your heart swell. 

“I suppose it comes as no surprise that I, too, have had feelings for you arise.” His eyes shifted slightly, still unsure if he reciprocated correctly. 

Your eyes widened, heart thumped against your chest. 

All embarrassment was dissolved into surprise. 

You reached to touch his hand that still propped your chin and your smile widened when you felt his fingers laced together between your own. 

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…I’m very surprised but super happy all the same.” You giggled as your hand tightened around his. 

Jervis chuckled warmly as he turned his hand so the back of your hand faced him. He gently pressed his chapped lips against your hand before smiling up at you. 

"My dear, Hare, you know my way, I always mean what I say."

You were ecstatic, your body unable to keep still. To finally have everything laid out in the open. To know the one you've cherished for so long returns the sentiment.  

"You do! You always do! Oh, Jervis!" You quickly slid your hand out from his grip but only to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into an excited embrace. 

Jervis became nervous again. He wanted to return the hug desperately, but he wasn't sure how to keep himself composed when he actually got to feel what little you wore. 

Hesitantly, to not upset you, he wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. You were so soft and warm, he tried to refrain his fingers from tugging away at the flimsy obnoxious cotton that still covered you. 

You slowly brought your head back and looked back down at him. Your eyes coyly darting between his eyes and his lips. You were stuck in limbo once more, should you ask first or just go for it? 

Thankfully, despite Jervis' own dilemma, he was able to catch onto yours. As if silently asking if it's what you want, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. 

You gasped softly, not missing the crucial hint. You closed your eyes, slowly leaned forward, and your lips gently pressed against Jervis’. 

The kiss was so soft, sweet, and even innocent in that hesitant uncertain first kiss kind of way, but it felt so right and it capsulated all your emotions in one simple gesture. 

You’ve dreamt of this moment for so long. Always thought if it were to happen it would be this way or that way. However, now that it happened, every made-up scenario and sensation paled in comparison to the real thing. 

Jervis was the first to slowly pull back. You couldn’t help the tiny snickers you made at the sight of him softly panting for air and his pink dusted cheeks. 

Jervis perked an eyebrow at you curiously. 

You shook your head, not wanting him to think he did something wrong. “Sorry, you’re just…so cute.” Your hands came up from behind his back to frame his face. 

Jervis practically melted at your touch. Your touch heated his face up even more, but he didn’t mind one bit. To be touched so tenderly, and lovingly by the only person he cared about…nothing could possibly come close to the sensation. 

He craved more of your touch and kiss. He yearned for your affection as the Knave of Hearts (allegedly) yearned the tarts. 

Jervis couldn’t even think of a response to your compliment as he swiftly crashed his lips back into yours. 

You were shocked but not displeased as you quickly kissed him back with just as much fervor. 

Jervis’ breath hitched when he felt you slightly poke your tongue along the edge of his protruding tooth and his lips. He didn’t hesitate to grant you entrance to his mouth. 

Your kiss became more heated as your tongues explored each other’s mouths. Jervis began exploring more of your body, slowly building confidence to feed his desire to touch more of your skin and hopefully please you. 

His hands raked and grasped around your waist and hips. As well as up and down your back. 

So close to that same feeling you were trying to mimic earlier in your mind.

Your kiss was broken once more, albeit simultaneously as you both fell onto the couch when your knees bent against the cushion at the sudden impact. Jervis’ own hat fell off his head but safely landed on the coffee table in front of you. 

The cheesy silly predicament caused you to snicker. 

Jervis hummed warmly before he slowly rose himself off of you by his hands that were on both sides of your head. 

“Still enjoying yourself, I see.” He chuckled lowly. 

The deep drop in his voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. 

It was then you took in the truly compromising position you were in…your fantasy from earlier was slowly playing out right before your eyes. 

You’ll be damned if you let it slip away. 

“Yep, much more so now with you actually here.” You smiled sweetly. 

“Whatever you sought in your fantasy.” He began.

Jervis leaned up to kiss your forehead. “I’d be more than happy to make a reality.” 

A kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes in earnest. “If you’ll let me.”

Any confirmation you think you could say didn’t feel strong enough, so you just leaned in to kiss him once more. 

It was all the confirmation Jervis needed as he leaned into your kiss. It was all the motivation he needed as he brought his body back down to try and get closer to you. 

Your back arched slightly when you felt his hands slowly crawl up your body and under your shirt. 

Jervis slowly retracted his lips from yours. Only a small trail of saliva kept you two connected. 

He grabbed the hem of your shirt before looking up at you, silently asking if he could remove it. 

You nodded so quickly your head almost rolled off. 

The moment you were free from the flimsy cotton shirt, Jervis was quick to appreciate the exposure to your body as he began kneading the skin of your chest and abdomen. 

He tucked his head in between your neck and shoulder as he began leaving hot wet kisses along your jaw and neck.

“J-Jervis…” you sighed breathlessly. 

Jervis’ body tensed at your voice. He brought his head back up to face you. 

He gulped. “P-Please…do that again, just the same…want you to call out my name.” 

You nodded, your hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. “I will, just as long as you don’t stop.” 

To that Jervis grinned a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. He gave your forehead another peck. “My darling, March Hare, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing…I wouldn’t dare.” 

Jervis briefly sat up and rested on his haunches as he began shucking away his suit jacket.

Already missing his close proximity, you quickly sat up and wrapped your arms around his neck while he tried to unbutton his dress shirt, but quickly gave up in exchange for holding you.

He chuckled at your enthusiasm, still deliriously delighted to have someone love him like this. As you began returning the favor with your own kisses to his neck and chest, he continued to make quick work of his trousers. 

To have Jervis here with you almost as bare as you were, overwhelmed you in the best of ways. 

No longer did you have to ponder what he looked like under his clothes or how he would feel against you. 

He was there in reality. All there and all yours. 

Jervis’ cock was hard and occasionally hit his stomach. He breathed a sigh of relief once it was free from its confines. 

He gasped shortly when you lightly traced your fingers up his dick. You turned your head to look at him to make sure this was okay. 

Jervis nodded before leaning in to kiss you again. A kiss that said “I love you” and “I trust you.” 

You felt the sharp intake of air through Jervis’ nose as you slowly wrapped your hand around his cock and began slowly stroking it. His gloved hands dug into the folds of your body, as if trying to keep himself grounded. 

Soon you felt his hand travel further down your body. Not wanting to leave his precious March Hare out, he began trying to copy the same rhythm you were going at to your own sex. 

This caused you to pull back from his lips, as you began panting into the crook of his neck. 

Fantasizing be damned, this was so much better than anything you could imagine or what that toy could replicate.

Yet, you wanted–needed so much more. After years of pining for Jervis, to finally have him here with you in the most passionate way imaginable. How could you not want everything? Every little bit of him he has to offer?

“Jervis–mmh…Jervis..” You moaned. Trying to form a sentence but got caught off guard by his sped up pace. 

“N-Need you…please…now.” You managed to pant out. 

Jervis gulped, slowing down his movements which you did too. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You almost whined. “Please…Jervis..”

Another shudder overtook Jervis’ body. His heart beating relentlessly against his ribcage. Jervis knows madness, but has never known a madness as passionate and pleasurable as this. 

Jervis gently leaned his body against yours to slowly have you lay back down on your back with him hovering above you once again. 

He brought one of his hands to his mouth and bit down on the tip of the finger sleeve of the glove, before peeling it off his hand. 

As sad as you were to see the gloves go, seeing the way he bit down on the finger of the glove made you swoon. 

Once his hand was free from the glove, he reached down to your core and gathered what wetness was there before proceeding to slowly push his finger into your entrance. 

Despite the fun you had earlier, you were still fairly tight as you winced at his finger entering you fully. 

Jervis stared at you intently, looking for any signs of discomfort and hopefully he could see signs of pleasure. 

He slowly added another finger as he continued his steady pace inside you. 

You appreciated the effort he went to make sure you wouldn't be uncomfortable. However, you think you were about to scream if you didn't actually have him. 

You gently put your hand on his arm and squeezed. "I'm ready, Jervis…please…I need you." 

Jervis doesn't think he will ever get over hearing you say that and hearing you pleading for him. 

He slowly brought his fingers out and maneuvered himself to where he could line himself up to your hole. 

Jervis leaned over you again with hooded eyelids before kissing you. As he kissed you, he gently pushed himself inside of you. 

You both took a sharp breath between your lips at the intrusion. Jervis began peppering soft kisses all along your face, jaw, and neck. Anything to ease any sort of pain you were feeling. 

You softly muttered to him you were okay and that he could start moving. 

Jervis seemed unsure at the moment, but took it in stride as he slowly pulled himself out and equally as slowly pushed back in. Every time it got easier and more pleasing.

Your moans continued to egg him on, but not nearly as much as when you moaned his name. 

"Jervis…mhh..Jervis!" 

It made him thrust faster, kiss you harder, and squeeze your skin tighter. Soon you began crying out his name similarly to how you sounded earlier when he thought you were in danger. 

He hoped that this was far better than whatever fantasy you had playing in your mind. 

If he had asked you that, you would have reassured that he was far better than what you imagined. 

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck to keep his lips near yours. Your hands either clung to his hair or the thin dress shirt he still wore. 

Your throat began to burn from your moans and hot pants but you didn't care. It was well worth the deep burning sensation in your gut that continued to get hotter and tighter. 

"Jervis…Jerv-mmm-I-I'm close.." You managed to announce in between your sounds of continuous pleasure. 

Jervis nodded, all words in the English language being lost on him at that moment. He was close too, his ball tightening every time you squeezed around him or cried out his name. 

His focus was solely on you though as he began thrusting faster than before, pulling out just enough to keep the head of his dick in before thrusting back in. 

It knocked the air out of you, but you didn't care. It made your legs tingle and had you see stars. 

Soon the tingles in your legs soon overtook your whole body as your nerves became ignited from the delicious release from the burning tension finally boiling over inside you.

You cried out his name when you arched your hips up from your shaking legs. Your entrance tightened that much more around Jervis' cock causing him to finally come unwound inside you with an audible groan. 

Jervis reluctantly pulled out of you before collapsing on top of your body. His head nestled in your chest as he tried to catch his breath. 

You tried to do the same, completely at a loss for words at the moment. You brought your hand up to comb through his unruly hair, finally living out another fantasy of yours.  

You lowered your head and kissed the top of his head before whispering. "That was amazing, better than any fantasy." 

Jervis chuckled, but deep down he was ecstatic, he just didn't have the energy to entirely act on it. 

It meant so much to know he could please you, because loving you pleased him. 

He lifted his head up briefly to look at you with pure adoration in his eyes. "It was my pleasure, darling." He scooted a little forward so his lips could reach yours.

When you two broke apart your heart swelled up at the soft look he gave you. It almost felt silly to say it, the way he looked at you made it clear he felt it too, but your heart was so full you swore you were about to combust. 

"I love you, Jervis." You said softly as if speaking it too loudly could break the tender moment. 

Jervis' smile widened as his bright eyes softly glazed over and his eyelids got more heavy. "And I love you, my dear Hare." 

You two slowly slipped into a tender slumber. Likely going to wake up sore from the nightly activities and sleeping on the couch, but it wouldn't matter. 

All that mattered now was that you two had each other in a way you both desired for a long time. 

All those wondrous daydreams, desires, and fantasies were finally part of your wonderful reality. 

#ri writes #dc mad hatter x reader #jervis tetch x reader #general mad hatter x reader #general jervis tetch x reader #ri commissions

[merakiui]

A question, about this fic.. I read it a while ago, and it's been on my mind.. What if the darling escaped.. Riddle has to, of course go to classes and etc, what would he do? What if they even somehow was able to end things with him fully?

Sorry if you answered this sort of question before, I'm just super curious, I loved the fic a lot!

Thank you for reading and enjoying the fic!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

If you escaped, Riddle is turning the entire dorm upside-down in an effort to find you. Though he never explicitly states what it is that he lost (as doing so would get him in trouble and he cannot be known as a kidnapper!), he does have a sense of manic urgency that has the dorm members shutting their mouths and blindly following orders. They've seen Riddle at his worst, but surely it's never been as bad as this. His temper is so short and he's pacing back and forth in the Heartslabyul lounge while Trey attempts to placate him and Cater nervously attempts to cheer him up by keeping the other students (especially troublemakers like Ace and Deuce) away until he can settle down.

Trey asks what's so important that Riddle has lost to have him in such a frenzied state, and Riddle merely huffs and grumbles about how his favorite hedgehog is missing. But they've done a headcount and every hedgehog is accounted for, so it can't be a hedgehog. But Riddle insists it is. A tiny hedgehog, one that's even smaller than a dormouse. Trey will figure it out eventually, but he won't say anything. He feels bad for you, of course, but then if you're what keeps Riddle sane enough he must find you. He just wants a peaceful school life, after all.

The magic will eventually wear off, so you'll return to your original size soon. And when it does, it will make finding you that much easier. Riddle knows NRC like the back of his hand; you're only a visitor and there are places you can't access because you aren't a student, so hiding places are as plentiful as they are limited. If curious students are posting about your sudden appearance on campus on Magicam, Cater will be the one to find you and report back to Riddle. Although I like to imagine Trey's the first to find you, and you're begging him to let you go. He'll offer you an apologetic smile, shrug awkwardly, and say, "You know I can't do that." And it's back to Riddle you go...

However, if you managed to break things off I imagine Riddle doesn't ever get over it. He tries even harder in his studies to fill the empty space left by you, working his way towards graduation so that when he's finally in his own space, with his own job, with the stability necessary to support both you and him he can come to find you. And only then will he get the happily ever after he was intended to have the day his mother set the both of you up in that dreadful betrothal. This time he won't confine you to a dollhouse. This time he'll use the sturdiest collar and shackles. :) after all, learning from past mistakes is vital for improvement!

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst

[hunting-season]

oh my god the AzuDeu similarities/parallels are getting to me, hold on, hold on...

Obvious one first: they both want to let go of their pasts. Get better from them.

Deuce is so honest and expressive. Absolutely no lying bone in his body. On the opposite end, Azul is reclusive and hides behind a pleasant mask of shallow friendliness. Lies/twists truths a lot if it benefits him.

Also general moron x morosexual dynamic, I believe in it

Deuce being a bully...Azul being the bullied...their pasts being so, so similar yet so fcking different.

Their family situations!!! Both seem to love their moms, and both their bio dads are out of the picture? Azul knows where his bio dad is at least? Deuce doesn't, I think. Just...

Why are they so similar and yet different for??? what the hell??? ANIPLEX AND DISNEY AND YANA-SENSEI EXPLAIN ????

#dormouse escapes #I GUESS #azul ashengrotto #deuce spade #twst bl #i was just thinking abt deuce x octa-boy ships as a whole #THEN BAM #THIS #im gonna shit my pants !!!

[rae-raewrites]

May I request the Hatters finding out they had a teenage daughter that they never knew about and who inherited his mind control abilities? And that the daughter took a DNA test so that she could finally meet her dad? Please and thank you

Of course!

The hatters finding out they have a daughter

The haberdasher from the Bowery is absolutely in an a flutter when he gets a knock on his door

She certainly doesn’t look like Alice,actually she looks a lot like him……..

Carla only 17,certainly has her father’s friendliness

He’s however absolutely overjoyed at the new discovery!

Finally someone to host tea parties with!

He’s even more surprised when she picks up his hypnotic suggestion quickly

Finally someone to help him find alice

Of course she’s going to have to deal with his more psychotic episodes as well as Arkham Asylum always being on the table

He absolutely makes her clothes

I mean have you seen the hat shop?

Loves this kid so freaking much

He’s usually unable to take care of himself but she’s straighten up his behavior just a tad

He certainly never expected to have children but life’s full of surprises isn’t it?

Btas

A little nervous when he gets a visit in Arkham at the behest of Dr. Joan Leland,she seems really enthusiastic about this?

Absolutely shocked when he gets told he has a daughter,even more when find out Vera is only 16

Color him with the crayon of surprise but don’t get him wrong he is EXTREMELY happy

Immediately contacts the kid after he escapes

This man just keeps getting surprised when he sees how adept she is with his cards

He’s such an absolute dad,like expect him to be the kind of dad to boast about everything she does

“See dormouse! She’s a rather intelligent young lady don’t you think?”

Matching hats!

#batman #batman rouges #asks #headcanon #arkhamverse #batman arkham series #arkham mad hatter #mad hatter #jervis tetch

[questing-wulfstan]

@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...

Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.

The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.

Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.

They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.

Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.

“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”

Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.

“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”

“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”

Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.

“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”

Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.

“May I, then ?”

“You may.”

𝄽

They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.

“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”

Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.

“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”

“No ? Truly ?”

“No.”

Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.

“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.

They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.

“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”

Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.

“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”

“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”

“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”

Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.

Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.

A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.

Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.

The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.

#the sandman #netflix the sandman #dreamling #hobmurphy #écrimûre #< this is my writing tag I've decided #hey you know what everyone says about reblogging art here ? #do apply it to fanfiction as well :) #please PLEASE let me hear all your thoughts either in the tags or the comments !! #I lost so much sleep chiselling this I'm not even sure of how I feel about it anymore but it's #complete #and squirming to be released into the world #I do sincerely hope you enjoy it !! #I may or may not post this to AO3 later #... that would be my longer work published to date lol #I am writing other stuff !! #longer stuff that shall one day be fit to be posted as well !! #so stay tuned for more écrimûre !! #< it's fine if I'm the only one to get the pun in this tag #EDITING THIS BECAUSE I FREAKING FORGOT TO BOLD DREAM'S LINES NOOOOO #an idiot I am

[granulesofsand]

We’ve recently been researching ramcoa to figure out what happened in our expierience, and we think we had Alice in wonderland programming, but I can’t find a lot of information about it. Can you explain it a little more in depth?

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, weird childhood torture shit, mild swearing

I don’t think we have an Alice in Wonderland script, but I can describe some of our features that might’ve been ripped off from it. There are a few people who’ve written long descriptions, but it’s not the easiest read.

A programming script is a piece of media superimposed onto a dissociative system. Alters might have roles or names tied to the story, the map of the innerworld similar to given landmarks, programs related to plot lines.

Alice in Wonderland is fairly common because of its age and thematic elements (an “induction” into another world, a guide figure, fantastical nonsense). There are also several versions of the media in circulation, which makes it easy to pick one for the kid to memorize.

The particular programs you have depend on the kid and the perps, and some groups have a set method of using a piece. The major points are all included in some way, but the variation can be pretty extreme because it’s been used in this context for so long.

It hasn’t been my experience that an absolute understanding of the media is required, but it’ll be pretty center stage if it’s the main script used for your system. Don’t look into the media if you can help it.

This is a mix of what I know and what I guess based on the stuff my system has, so feel free to take and leave as much as you want.

Some big ones (not all require the script, nor will the script guarantee these items):

Characters (can be 1 or more of each)

White Rabbit - programmer (introject or npc), guide role, sometimes carries a pocket watch related to programs

Alice - host or amnesiac alter, confusion and alienation from other alters, has a visitor effect for the programmed alter

Dodo - gatekeeper, introduces Alice to nonrules of Wonderland, opposites programming, sometimes scramble in the form of trained learning disability symptoms

Caterpillar - gatekeeper of sorts, apathetic guide, blows smoke that triggers memory movement (gaining or losing)

Cheshire Cat - gatekeeper, trickster guide, sneaky cat, important but uncooperative, smile and stripes usually stick depending on the role

March Hare - persecuter kinda, crazy and no escape programs, party guest at teatime

Mad Hatter - higher up, crazy and no escape programs, time loss amnesia, disobeys time and normality

Dormouse - sleep program, drugged sedation, doesn’t mind chaos, spooks easy

Flowers - no good programming, berate Alice and target weak spots, might be alter or landscape

Queen - higher up, strict enforcement of nonsense rules, obedience without question, trails and parties and croquet in the palace, commander of card army

Events

Rabbit hole - induction, sometimes includes disorientation or vertigo, feature of the innerworld, no panic despite situation

Eat me - if literal it messes with interoception or scramble/shutdown, also might be the name of a program or cue, the tear river and hall of doors as well as prop fan, gloves, and food may be traps in the innerworld. Enforces backwards thinking and lack of concrete rules

Teatime - may include the screeching duchess and pig baby, the Cheshire Cat takes Alice to the Mad Hatter. It is always 6 o’clock, but the date changes, enforcing amnesia for time loss. Everyone at the tea party insists Alice is the mad one. Lots of cue phrases come from this scene, the tea may represent various functions

Party - the Queen of Hearts throws a party and demands Alice join her game or croquet, obedience, fear, sometimes party refers to torture, leads to trial and escape

All of that is the first book. Another big thing is Looking Glass programming, where mirror fragments of alters split as a deterrent against exploration of forbidden areas. Card hierarchy, garden maze, and reality reversal are all possible too.

Lots of options, as with everything, and it’s entirely possible you have this script and don’t see any of these in your system. Consuming source media tends to reinforce programming, so have a support system who really knows how to handle your shit if you need to look.

#did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #osddid #alice in wonderland #programming

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: Dreams and Revels

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 14.2K

CW: Explicit sexual content (masturbation, M) / blink and you'll miss it: mentions of dub/noncon behavior / Period Typical Attitudes

Being the Magister’s son, Eren finds, does nothing to acclimate him better to this kind of attention. The feast is well underway, though, and the storm of his discomfort has already passed. The worst of it, anyway; he really can do without the occasional gust.

“Here’s to the future lord consort!” a man-at-arms slurs, Anatoly by name, you whisper to Eren with the merest hint of laughter in your voice. He is a great tub of a man with a wine-keg belly and a big bushy auburn beard. It is a wonder the table can bear his weight.

He speaks too soon, as it is; Eren can hear the table creak alarmingly as the man raises his tankard to the dais above the salt, slopping beer all over his hand and the board beneath him. “You had best serve the ‘lil lady well, milord, woman’s like her deserves nuthin’ less’n the best fuck o’ her life!” he roars, blissfully unmindful of the snail shells and bits of bread his fellows are pelting at him as he stands with one foot on the buttered garlic snails. “May your sword stand tall ’n proud ‘n ne’er bend in battle!”

The storm rages anew. Never had Eren wanted to melt into the floor and disappear as much as he did then. Beside him on his right, you let out a tinkling laugh as Anatoly is helped down from the table, staggering and slumping, his face so red it is hard to tell where his beard ends and where his flesh begins. To add salt to Eren’s mortified wounds, the rest of the hall pound their cups on the tabletops, shouting, “Hear, hear!” The familiar first notes of ‘Lusty Boys to Lissome Girls’ begin to play as the musicians strike up a new tune to further compound his shame.

You can well laugh, Eren thinks a little sullenly. You are too trained never to give anything away, never to falter nor show your discomfort no matter the incitement. Knowing you, though, the titter is genuine. A new weapon has been handed you, of course you will be well-pleased; you are sure to use this against him once you resume your new game of flirtation. He both dreads and welcomes the prospect, contrary boy that he is.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he had a courtier’s face, if only to keep his dignity intact. He does not even know what kind of face he is making. A highly amusing one, apparently, to judge by your expression. And your sister’s.

“Best hone your sword well, future brother of mine,” Lydia sings after a bite of dormouse. “You wouldn’t want it to bend after the first stroke. Sister should have some joy of you, at least.”

“I don’t see how my sword is any of your business,” Eren snaps back hotly, flushing even more at the unabashed snort of laughter that escapes you as you reach for your goblet of wine and nearly spill the contents, your mirth making your body rock back into your seat. “How is your little bedmate? I hope you haven’t killed him off already.” He knows, even as he says it, how pathetic that rejoinder is. He has never thought himself a lackwit (he likes to think he is at least reasonably witty) but, gods, does he feel like one now.

Lydia smirks at him from her place on the other side of her sister, clearly in accord with his disparaging self-assessment. “Oh, he’s alive and well, brother dearest, have no fear. I keep him in a small glass bowl for now but I’ll commission a bigger tank for my rooms, to keep him in comfort. He goes by Renren now, I’ll have you know,” she grins at him, the little imp.

“Peace, Sister, you’ve had your fun, now leave my betrothed be. You’ve tormented him enough,” you chide, seemingly taking pity on him at last. Lydia gives him one last puckish smirk before returning to her meal.

Eren graces you with a smile. With his gratefulness comes chagrin, though. He cannot help feeling unmanned. Is he truly so slow-witted that you should have to resort to defending him from your own sister? Can he not even keep it together long enough to turn a phrase, parry Lydia’s words with his own sharper set?

He stamps the feeling down as best he can. He has always prided himself on staying away from the broader courtiers’ circles, away from the frivolity, the lies, the masks. Such webs as they spin with their words put him off, so above them he flies where they cannot touch him. Now he finds himself hopelessly entangled, by a mite no less, a slip of a girl not even half the match of the slimiest sycophants at court, turned round and round until his better faculties left him.

And in front of the woman who he would be equal to. He does not want nor need more reminding of how far removed he is from you, a young woman quickly shaping up to be a courtier as masterly as any of them. Much as he wants to be your equal, though, doing so will have him don a mask, and he will sooner not.

“Let’s go elsewhere,” you murmur to him, the very moment your father stands from his seat on Eren’s left.

“Where to?” Eren whispers back, watching the Lord Rhyzkov stride down to the trestle tables below the salt so he can speak and mingle with his men. Just as Father would do.

You nod to the tall arched entryway of the Great Hall’s terrace, off to the side of the spacious chamber. “The night air would do us good.”

For a moment, Eren takes the measure of you, takes in your smile, which seems to be the precursor to an even wider one, to be given to him once you are well away from prying eyes. A smile held back but not a courtier’s smile - this is all you and not the mask of Rhyzkova.

Perhaps it isn’t a matter of putting on a mask. Perhaps it is simply a matter of restraint.

His gaze slides down the smooth, naked expanse of your back as he trails your progress, admiring the gleam of the chain of diamonds and rose quartzes that traces the dip of your spine as you hail and kiss your lady mother’s cheek further down the table, on your way towards the balcony. He can be restrained. He will be your equal yet.

All at once, the gods see fit to test that restraint. The sway to your hips as you walk, that proud, confident stride that he has come to love so well is even deadlier in this dress - a charovma, he knows now, the southron halter dress that near made him groan aloud the first he saw you this night before the feast.

He had never felt so cunt-struck and so irritated in his life.

“Do you really want me to… break decorum that badly?” Eren had blurted as you sauntered down the empty corridor of the guest wing toward him, holding a crown of silvered laurel leaves studded with emeralds.

“Whatever do you mean?” you blinked up at him, innocent as the purest of maids. A maid you were, and pure, but innocent you were not.

Minx.  

It passed as a simple sleeveless vevda at the front, this dress of peach silk with its white lace paneling and belt of diamonds and rose quartzes. Would that it really was a vevda. Oh, how he wished it was a vevda. And it seemed such a safe dress, much safer than that sheer alabaster wisp of a chelya you wore earlier that day. Your breasts were not like to spill out of this one, at least (a fact he both rejoiced and regretted).

The back wreaked torment enough. He could not have asked for better fodder for his torrid fantasies. The charovma left your entire back bare, from shoulders to waist, now he knew what you looked like naked from behind. No longer would he be reduced to trying to conjure up images of your nakedness from what little had been given him. Well, not truly. But it was one thing, one sight more that was allowed him. Until the wedding night. Not even a day had passed in his stay at Arsechkala and already he had seen more of your beautiful body than he had in your year-long betrothal and friendship.

Still, he could not help feeling… baited.

He had narrowed his eyes at your impeccably artless face. “Don’t toy with me, my lady. Must you always dress like… this?” he gestured at your form gracelessly, made inarticulate by the strength of his turmoil.

The innocence left your face as the imp took over. “I always dress like this at home. I’m sorry if it offends you so, my lord, but you had best get used to it for you will be seeing more of the like.”

And more of me, your smirk seemed to say. It was then that he knew without a doubt: it was no happenstance, that you had your back turned to him when he exited his chambers. You had wanted him to see, and masked your ploy under the guise of examining the tapestry of the first Yelena Rhyzkova hanging on one of the walls down the hall.

Yelena Rhyzkova’s heir had lifted the wreath in her hands and pressed it down on Eren’s head before he could react to her preceding statement.

“Handsome,” you said, tweaking a couple of leaves by his right ear and eyeing the whole arrangement, pleased. “How do you like the fit?”

He glared at you a moment more before answering, “I like it well enough, it’s not uncomfortable.” He was no stranger to the sensation of metal leaves encircling his skull. Being the son of the eminent Magister entitled him to wear the hallowed wreath, reserved for southron guests of the highest acclaim to match their noble hosts. His noble hostess had foregone one for a simple chain of silver and rose quartz, artfully arranged over the elegant plaited knot of her hair.

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten where the podonza should be placed,” you went on, plucking at the white garment he had worn over his vevda of indigo damask with its elbow-length sleeves, belted at the waist by a chain of diamonds. The podonza was a garment of the well-to-do, a long sheet of cloth worn over the vevda (and the tube dress povevda, sometimes the chelya), wrapped about the body beneath the right arm by the right hip and fastened at the left shoulder by pins or brooches. Podonzaya were often fringed, with decorative scrollwork for the simpler palette, with gemstones for those of a more opulent bent. Eren was in no way opulent, yet the podonza he donned was dripping with diamonds to match his belt, like icicles hanging down the eaves of some snow-crusted roof.

“Told you that, did he?” Of course he would. Armin took entirely too much pleasure in telling you tales best left untold. Preferably when Eren was out of the picture. “In my defense, I’m a Midlander. How in all the levels of hell was I supposed to know which shoulder this contraption should be draped over?”

“Your minders would’ve put it on you, properly, had you not been a stubborn little mule of a colt. Not that things have changed much. Still a mule, not so much a colt.” You had him there. Not that he would ever admit it, stubborn mule that he was. “The only time we should expect to see you with the podonza fastened on your right shoulder is on a bier at your funeral.” The levity on your face had vanished then, to be replaced by a dawning sense of disquiet. And fear. “Gods forbid that time come soon.”

He had scrambled to revive your cheer but you drew yourself up, shrugging off the dread as you would a stifling thick fur pelt, and took his hand in yours. As though only his touch could drive away your troubles. You left the guest wing thus, slipping back into your comfortable banter.

Eren stares at the back of you, led along as he had been in the guest wing. It is never a pleasant thing to see fear mar such beauty yet he finds it pleasant still. It is an honest sentiment on an honest face. Yours. Not Rhyzkova’s. You are learning. You will be rid of Rhyzkova in your more intimate moments, he can see that happy prospect now. He will have all of you. Your fears, your grief, your anger, your joy and cheer and laughter. Your truths.

He will have all of you.

Around you, the feast is steadily descending further and further into uncontained revelry, as is the nature of these things. A rowdy group has commenced playing a knife game; more than one man will leave short a finger or two, Eren wagers. Yet another lot is trying to outdrink each other, to the tune of their fellows’ rallying calls. One man is already out cold and lying sprawled atop the table, beer foam trickling down his mouth to soak into his beard. The last two are well at it, though not for much longer, Eren can tell. Those whose purses rest with the beardless ashen-haired boy will find them heavier by bout’s end. His older, supposedly more seasoned opponent is lagging, lifting his tankard to his lips as if it is filled with stones and not beer; the eyes visible above the mug’s rim are comically crossed.

A man with a spade-shaped beard snatches at a passing serving girl as you and Eren draw level with his table. Eren looks away as the man pulls the girl onto his lap and slips a hand up beneath her skirts. The crash of her dropped flagon echoes in Eren’s ears as he looks elsewhere, anywhere but at the woman in front of him.

The increasingly familiar aggravation surfaces from his depths once more. He is no shy and blushing maiden boy- well, a maiden boy he may be but shy and blushing he is not. Not until you, anyway. Somehow, you manage to make him regress and dither and fumble like a halfwit loon. He should be long past feeling embarrassed by the sight of randy debauchery. He had been (vocally) randy with you, he should not be dilly-dallying between virginal and sensual.

Now that he thinks on it, though, since when had he ever been embarrassed by lust? Never. He had seen more, seen them at it in the hallways during feasts, seen stableboys tumbling their wenches amidst piles of hay, seen people fuck and be fucked by countless others in the brothels. Not once had he ever shied away.

This girl is something else entirely.

He finds himself glaring at your beautifully supple back. You really ought to have let your hair down. Or worn a robe. Or a shawl, even a podonza. It wouldn’t cover everything but it would still cover something. “But charovmaya aren’t supposed to be worn with a podonza,” he recalls you telling him earlier, blinking that sham of an innocent blink at him.

Oh, how he wanted to kiss it off you.

He is learning more of southron women’s fashions than he cares for, to be sure. They are as revealing on other women as they are on his betrothed. Lydia and Lady Theresia are both clad in chelyakin. His future mother by marriage is elegant in black; tiny rubies dangle down the fringe of the deep crimson podonza she is wearing, adding to the lady’s overall sophisticated ensemble. As low-cut as the strap dress is, Eren deems it more compelling on her eldest. Lydia makes it look a deal more modest. She has dispensed with a podonza altogether, though she hardly needs one to cover herself. Her pink chelya at least has a scooped neckline, quite far removed from her mother’s deep vee.

He cannot understand how all of that inherent sensuality in southron fashions eluded him. He has never truly been susceptible to women’s charms, though, southron or otherwise. And yet he is susceptible, so susceptible to you.

What is it about you that draws him so?

Is it that sweet and pretty smile that is the delight of his eyes? Is it that gentle kindness he oft receives from you in his lesser moments? Is it that spirit, that passion, that fire that smolders within, the true you beneath the mask of Rhyzkova? Is it all of those at once and more?

The jewels sparkle bright against your naked skin, a sight reminiscent of the myriad women he has seen clad in only such. Not one of whom could have held his attention for more than a night.

It is not the garment but you.

The orange glow of lamplight washes over him as you pass through the tall arch of the terrace’s entrance. The strains of ‘The Forest Lass’ fade into the backdrop as you progress deeper into the balcony. Suddenly, he is alone with a fae enchantress, walking as one enchanted. You lead him beneath the trees, brushing past the trailing vines, your hand in his so much smaller yet strong, firm, imperious.

He had always wondered why Prince Rodion risked all for that forest lass, Alena, who had more than a drop of fae in her, the singers say. But perhaps now he knows something of what the prince felt when his maid spirited him away that day into her bower and left him with an insatiable longing no mortal woman could sate.

What were vows and a kingdom worth compared to a woman’s love?

The answer to that verse was clear, once. He is coming to find that it is not so simple as all that.

Arsechkala still yet lives even at this hour. The Great Hall is situated away from the sea, and so the city and the surrounding countryside are your only concessions to a view. The city, indeed, has its charms, as you said. Lampposts still illuminate the slowly emptying plazas, faint music drifts through the streets from some far-off revels; even the smell of cooking permeates the air, something fried and savory that piques Eren’s interest, though he had done the feast great homage mere moments ago. Leagues and leagues away, the line of the Greatshield is a dark starless void against the vast starry immensity that is the sky.

You let him go and lean against the banister, staring up at him. The light from the nearby posts gives you an ethereal cast. Your eyes are deep pools he can drown in. And the better part of him does not want to surface.

“Feeling better now?” you murmur after a time. “You looked like you needed to be away. I don’t know which was redder, your face or Tolya’s beard.” You reach up to take his face in hand and tilt his head up a little, the better to catch the light. “Not so red now.”

Eren threads his fingers through yours and holds you there a moment, savoring the warmth of your palm, before drawing both your hands down. Neither seem eager to be the one to let go and so you remain handfast. “Is that what I should expect as consort? Seems like a raw deal on my end,” he notes sardonically.

You chuckle. “They’ll grow on you. Don’t your men treat you the same at home? They’ll be yours, too, in time.”

Yet more reminders of his subsequent role. It is a strange thought, and surreal, but he is coming to reconcile himself with the fact every passing day. His resolve to be a good consort and knight of your household returns, stronger than ever. He had sworn such before you and your gods, a thousand years ago. It was his first vow to you. So much has changed since then. The boy anxiously waiting in front of the godstone need not have worried about the lady in the red dress. You are no Elva Riehl, no wife that a man can revile, he knows that now. You are a damn sight much better, so much better.

"Being home seems to agree with you."

You smile and release his hand, leaving him bereft. You turn to stare out at your city, hands splayed upon the gray stone banister. “Does it? Well, I’m always glad to be home. It’s just so freeing. It’s like waking up from some long, strange dream… one that seems more nightmare than dream, sometimes… in the end, you’re just glad to be awake and away from it all.”

Eyes of gray glass glare at him from the darkness. He blinks and looks down at the tiled floor beneath his sandaled feet, shaken. But only your eyes return his gaze when next he looks back up again. Concerned, and not condemning. “Are you all right?” you say, cupping his face into your hand once more. “Do you want to rest? We’ve had a long day.”

Eren leans into your touch, taking comfort. He is awake and away from it all; he will not let his ghosts chase him even unto his waking hours. “I’m fine.”

The loud peal of feminine laughter spares him the need to change the subject. Some man-at-arms is tugging a serving wench into the balcony, clearly looking for a quick tumble.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” you sigh, dropping your hand from Eren’s face. “I thought the terrace was unusually empty for this time and this sort of occasion.”

You do not lead him back into the light of the Great Hall, as he thought you would. You are staring at the unheeding pair through the arched colonnade that parts the balcony in half, a detached sort of curiosity in your expression as you watch the man push his giggling girl up the nearest wall and smash his mouth to hers. Darkness swallows them in its grasp. Not enough to be free of scrutiny, though, to those most interested in their commerce.

Somehow, your composure steadies Eren in what is supposed to be a moment rife with awkward tension.

“Do you like to watch?”

It takes him a moment to understand what you are getting at. The air grows hotter in an instant.

“In the brothels, when you go with your lads. Do you like to watch them at their play?” The girl’s legs are now wrapped around her lover’s waist, whose hand crawls beneath her skirts in a trice. The shadows cloak their congress but naught else. The night comes alive with the sound of her moans. “Does it give you pleasure watching them tease, kiss… fuck whatever slut they bought for the night?”

It is obscene, indecent, improper, and yet it isn’t. It is not in Eren to squirm beneath his betrothed’s gaze. Not now. Curious. “I don’t seek it out but I won’t look away when it’s before me.” He stares down at you, quite unblinking. Steady. “Sometimes, it gives me pleasure. When I make what I see mine. When I take the place of the lads, in my fancies at night, in the dark where no one can see.”

Your lips curl up slightly. “There’s freedom in the dark, don’t you think? Beneath its cloak, you can be free with anything. Free with your favors. And your pleasures.” The look in your eyes is… riveting. It is one he has never seen there before. He does not know what it is. He wants to draw it out and examine it further, see what is it about it that makes his heart race.

The woman’s moans take on a new timbre and are soon interspersed with the man’s grunts. Neither of you looks round at the source of the sounds of loving. Eren lets it wash over him and fade away into the distance. The lady in front of him is a more spellbinding thing by far.

“Would you… like to visit the sanctum? You have yet to see it again.” The dark pools of your eyes drink in the light of the nearby lamps.

“Will we be alone, my lady? In the dark?”

“There will be lamps. Except in the corners where there are none. Then, yes, we will be alone. In the dark.”

The call is tempting, so very tempting. It will be so easy to cross that threshold into more intimate terrain. Within the night, he can find himself becoming your lover as much as he is your betrothed. You are willing, he will not need to coax you too much… you can love before the godstone and have the old gods grace your union, and afterward, he can crown you with flowers and tell you… tell you…

A frisson races down his spine, shocking him. The dream is a bolt of lightning that leaves him just as stunned as if he has been struck in truth. He curls and uncurls his fingers, and forces himself to hold your entrancing gaze.

His is a dream too wonderful and too frightening to consider. For this night, at least.

“Perhaps we could go in a less dangerous hour. With you in a less dangerous dress.” And with me in a less dangerous disposition.

Your eyes search his face for several heartbeats. He wonders what it is that you are looking for, what you are seeing. Whatever it is makes your rousing gaze lose its heat, and all that is left is soft tenderness. You offer him a hand, smiling. “In a less dangerous hour, then. Let’s go and leave them to their play.”

Eren stares at you a while, taking in your gentle face, so different from the sultry front you’d worn mere moments ago. The lights shine dully on the jewels that adorn you, on your hair, your ears, your arms, your dress. A lady of surpassing grace and beauty. Beauty most of all. He smiles and takes your hand.

An altogether different sort of scream leaves the serving wench’s mouth the moment you pass her and her lover’s little love nest. The man fumbles as she instinctively tries to hide herself, but you hush down their panicked floundering and tell them to carry on, smooth as silk. Eren has to choke back a laugh.

The brightness of the Great Hall is almost blinding after all that time spent beneath the dimness of night. The feasting and the revelry had gotten a deal more lively during that brief time you spent away. Lord Alexander had returned to his seat at the high table, deep in discussion with Sir Grisha Dunayevsky, his castellan, who had taken Eren’s seat at the right hand of his lord.

Eren feels a thrill course through him, that old thrill of seeing a celebrated hero in the flesh in the same room as him. Before serving as the Rhyzkov castellan, Sir Grisha had led the royal fleet to victory in the Storming of the Causeway during the War Without almost thirty years ago, beating back the combined might of the Cydamaic navy and the corsairs they had hired to bolster their strength at sea.

Sir Grisha turns his head to take a sip of his wine, giving Eren a glimpse of the ropey scar that mars his mouth, a relic from some hard-fought battle. The blow had slashed him open, from the middle of his upper lip to the lower right corner of his mouth. It was not a deep cut, by the look of it, yet Eren knows he had lost a good amount of teeth for his trouble. The old knight had long since replaced the enamel for gold; even at this distance, Eren can see the nubs in the man’s mouth flash as the metal catches the light.

He hopes you can be prevailed upon to… ease his way into a conversation with the living legend. He had wanted to converse with the man the very moment he learned who he was all those years ago. It is not often he claims what rights he has as your betrothed to ask for favors. Perhaps you can oblige him in this; he will sweeten his suit with strawberry cream pie if he has to.

Eren finds his wish coming closer to fulfillment as you proceed to the dais, determined to play Rhyzkova and keep yourself briefed on the matters of your future fiefdom. He cannot help but admire your sense of duty even at this time of celebration.

“If it’s not too much to ask… if you could put in a good word for me to Sir Grisha, I would forever be beholden to you.”

“You mean you aren’t already beholden? If our betrothal isn’t enough to bind you to me… why, then, should I grant you this boon, Sir?” You are smirking though, as you near the heads’ table. You give the next table a wide berth, this one the rowdiest by far. Two curly-haired lads, with the look of brothers about them, are dancing on the tabletop arm-in-arm and armed with tankards sloshing beer everywhere. Someone had stolen some musician’s fiddle and is playing a bawdy jig. The Virgin Queen has shed her silken slip to show her silken skin, the men sing uproariously as you and Eren pass them by, careful not to get caught up in the carousing.

“I would be more beholden to you than I already am,” Eren amends easily, then adds, “I can make it worth your while.” He hesitates for a fraction of a heartbeat and slips his hand across the soft, smooth silk of the skin of your naked back. Gooseflesh forms beneath his fingers almost at once, and he feels you shudder just that merest bit. He smiles.

You press closer to him as if you cannot help yourself. “I could… put in a word, formally introduce you as my betrothed. You can carry on from there.” The breathiness in your voice sounds sweet as a nightingale’s trill. Triumph has never tasted this good. And he didn’t even need to ply you with pie.

---

He wakes up hard as a rock and randy as a whore.

Eren blinks up at the canopy of his bed, dazed and bleary and skin prickling with heat. He had kicked the blankets partially off himself sometime in the night, leaving all of him exposed but for his right leg. The haze of sleep reduces him to staring blankly at his cock. Stiff, erect, and weeping copiously with his arousal.

He stares at it a moment longer before turning his attention to his balcony. Not that he can see past the pillars’ drapes, which he had drawn closed before retiring. Faint gray light shines through the fabric, slowly illuminating the room. The hour of the cow has just dawned, by his reckoning. Too early. He will not be getting up until it is at least halfway through the hour. He should not be up at all, but for that dream.

Eren runs his hands down his face and sighs, looking once more down his naked body at his insistent cock, which is quickly (and loudly) making its grievances known.

He had as well take care of it.

His own touch makes him flinch, when he reaches to take himself in hand - already, he is so sensitive, so quick to respond, it will not take him long to reach his pleasure.

It was a new dream, this one. This time you were in the sanctum, which you had shown him the day before. The significant changes to the place suit his fancies well. It is not so dark, not so wooded as before; he could see every hint and spasm and flicker of the pleasure he gave you as he loved you before your gods, who looked on in silent, benevolent benediction.

In the dream, you had slipped into the gardens during the feast, with no one any wiser. In the dream, he had succumbed to the lure, with no compunctions. It is the only place where he is free to slip into temptation. They cannot take him to task for dreams, as dreams hold no consequences. And in them, his sentiments, those newfound feelings are not as frightening and can be overlooked for something baser, more carnal, more sensual. Just for a time, just for a while.

He had you on his podonza, that white, bejeweled sheet, which he had spread out beneath you on the grass. The both of you were, more oft than not, naked in his dreams. Only he was fully stripped bare this time. That ravishing, sinful peach dress was bunched about your waist. You were nude otherwise. Your body in moonlight was a thing of immaculate perfection. In this light, you were as ethereal as a fae maid. And beautiful, as a wild animal was beautiful: unbound, untethered, uninhibited. You in your truest form.

A grunt escapes his mouth as his hand slips down his cock, slowly pulling on the hard flesh and lightly thumbing beneath the flushed swollen head. A bead of arousal drips down to further wet his shaft; he is leaking so much he doesn’t even need his own spittle to ease himself along.

For the hundredth time, he wishes the hand now pleasuring him belongs to you. You can pleasure him better than he ever can himself, he is sure of it.

You would ride him some nights, in his fancies, rolling your hips against his hard and fast and eager while he held on to your waist, sometimes guiding, sometimes holding on, merely holding on, needing something to cling to to steady him lest he lost himself entirely to his desire.

Tonight, he rode you. As he does most every time. As much as he loves the thought of you claiming him for your own, nothing brings him greater pleasure than the prospect of just bearing down on you, taking you as he will, hard and fast and eager, and having you at his beck and mercy.

Eren moans, soft and breathless, as his unoccupied hand comes up to tease his nipples, pinching and pulling one and then the other until they stand hard and stiff on his chest. His back arches a little, and his eyes, already half-lidded, close entirely. He likes to shut his eyes, likes to keep his world of sin dark. For in the dark, his hands are yours.

You run soft tantalizing fingers over his nipples for a moment more, circling, rubbing over the fleshy nubs, before lightly scratching down the ridges of his abdomen. His breath hitches and his stomach tightens at the touch, getting tighter still as your hand slips down to the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock, sliding down further until you are cupping his balls in your palm and gently rolling them in your hand.

A louder, strangled moan breaks the silence in the chamber; your questing fingers have stolen behind his testicles and pressed firmly on that spot, that stretch of skin there that gives him such pleasure. His hips rut up into his fist, and he feels himself get wetter as his cock leaks further arousal over his steadily tightening grip.

Some nights, you would leave a trail of kisses up his body, running lips and tongue and teeth across his skin until you could capture his mouth with yours and let him taste the sweetness of your tongue. The tongue he would have tasted had duty, that poxy bitch, not called him away.

A hint of displeasure bleeds through his ecstasy. His hands can do much and more in the way of sensual satisfaction but they can only do so much. The rough pads of fingertips and the scratch of fingernails are poor stand-ins for the soft wet heat of a pair of luscious lips. But they are all he has, so he has to make do.

In his mind’s eye, he can see you hovering over him, smiling that gloriously sultry smile that he has only ever seen of late. Amid the comforts of home and away from the stifling court, the passionate young woman seems to bloom. Your hair drapes over you as you bend ever closer to his face, lending your congress further intimacy.

This brief scene is not as satisfying as it could have been, however. He cannot smell your hair, your scent, your body. The token you had given him the day of the Warrior’s Tourney would have helped compound his illusions. He keeps the piece of cloth in a clean box, away from anything that might adulterate your scent. It is, unfortunately, locked away in his chest of belongings. He had not needed to use it ‘til this morning, would that he had it now to enhance his dream…

Your perfume of apples and winter roses is still deeply entrenched in the cloth, along with your scent, a scent far sweeter and more intoxicating than any fruit or flower. He would have drowned in it as you lowered your face to his and kissed him. For a moment, he is tempted to get up and fetch your favor, make all of this a thousand times better, but his hand is locked into place, he cannot get up even if he wants to. And does he want to?

So, again and as always, he has to make do.

It is not your favor that drives him closer to bliss. Suddenly, he can smell your drying sheet, and the memory of the sensation hits him hard as a charging bull. His mouth is moving against yours, yet the taste of air is the only thing he knows. But he can smell your hair, your scent, your body, the essence of you you had left behind on your linen, stronger and more intense than it is on your favor.

He is bearing down on you all at once, back in the sanctum, back in the dream of the night. It is easier to imagine how you’d look now, with all the glimpses he’d had the past couple of days. Your breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts while he ruts into you madly, hands tight around your lush hips as he presses you down against the ground for better leverage. You are gasping for breath, fingers twisted in the white of his podonza, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

His hand picks up pace around his cock, his thumb rubbing over his dribbling slit, once, twice; his fist is slathered with his arousal, making him slip easily through his steadily tightening grip. The wet slaps of flesh on flesh are all the sound in the room, interspersed with his pants and pleasured groans.

White-hot embers begin to flare up in the base of his stomach, but he is not there yet, still he wants more, wants to further play with this pretty spectre he has conjured and bring you to your own peak…

He bends down and takes a nipple between his lips, suckling hard, flicking his tongue over and around the nub so he can further draw out your moans. You oblige him so eagerly, your back curving into a beautiful arc. The most sinful moan sanctifies these sacred grounds; never has he heard a sound so divine. Your hands come up to run through his hair as he moves to worship the other breast, pressing him close, closer, as close as you can to your yearning flesh.

His hands slide down, from your waist to your thighs. Your skin slips beneath his fingertips, the softest, finest silk he has ever felt, until he is hooking his arms beneath your knees and rearing up between your legs, lifting you a little so you can take him better as he starts pounding harder, faster, hips slamming into yours with wild, frenzied strokes.

Loud cries and whines take the place of your moans, blending in perfect accord with his groans and grunts and the wet slaps of flesh on flesh. Wind sweeps through the sanctum, proof of the gods’ favor, but he cannot feel the gentle cooling touch on his skin. It is so hot, he is burning, burning, and he is glad to burn, fire has never felt this good…

His hips are twitching, wanting more than his hand, wanting more than the tightness it can give him, wanting more than his own wetness. He wants to thrust into the real you and not this spectre, feel how tight you truly are and how wet, have the truth of that pleasure that is so acclaimed of his friends and that he can never get from any other because they will never be good enough, never enough.

Eren tightens and loosens his grip around his cock as he pumps himself faster, an attempt to mimic the sensations of a woman’s cunt at her peak, that most maddening, pleasurable sensation that they spoke of, of your tight, wet, and warm walls massaging his shaft as it strove to bring him to complete and utter euphoria.

His cock throbs; close, he is so close, his hips are moving erratically, so out of his control as he thrusts into his jerking fist, panting and moaning and chanting out your name, the most lustful hymn, the most sinful of prayers.

You are a crumbling mess beneath him, clawing at his chest, crying out and sobbing from the strength of your pleasure, your body near folded in half while he continues his rut, grinding, slamming his cock into your sweet, wet cunt. Your ankles are now draped over his shoulders, toes curling as your peak comes barreling closer, ever closer. You chant your own hymn and call out for him desperately, “Eren, Eren, Eren,” begging, pleading for your climax, let me come, please, please, please…

Hot, sticky spend coats his hand and splatters all over his chest and stomach as he reaches his pleasure with a loud cry, almost screaming his ecstasy into the silent chambers. His back arches, fire lancing up his spine and white heat engulfing him, and for a thousand years, he stays there, drowning in the fount of rapture that is his lady.

Seed still leaks from his swollen tip as he comes to bit by bit. His hips continue to thrust until pleasure becomes too much like pain and his movements slow to a stop. Eren releases his softening cock, letting out a satisfied huff of air. His torso is slick with sweat and spattered with spend but the familiar haze of sated pleasure is stealing over him, leaving him heavy-limbed upon his bed, too sleepy to clean himself off.

His seed will look better dripping down your cunt, he thinks, running a finger absently through a milk-white puddle pooled in the creases of his muscled abdomen. It will be proof of his presence, that he had been in you, had taken you in all the ways you could be taken. He will be secure in the knowledge that you are his in every sense. And he will not need to clean himself up. Stones weigh down his eyelids.

The man glares at him from the dark, eyes wide and gray and glassy. And filled with terrible anger. Eren jolts awake, heart hammering. He stares up at the bed’s dark canopy, suddenly averse to turning his head and looking round the room, dreading the sight of glass eyes staring back at him from the dark.

Contempt for his fear rises in him several heartbeats later. He is the Knight of Highridge, blood of Godfrey the Loyal and the Falcon Knights, a Falcon Knight himself, ghosts have no hold over the likes of him.

He turns his head almost defiantly, daring them to haunt him in his waking hours. They do not dare. Not today. It is lighter now than it had been before, and the muted illumination reveals nothing and no one. No vengeful man, no mournful boy, no accusing gray eyes. He is alone. As he should be.

Sleep has well and truly deserted him. He had as well get up. Perhaps you will be awake by now. The Alyfeis is today, he remembers with a happy jolt. The prospect of enjoying the day’s revels makes him shoot up from bed. He grimaces at the dirty, sticky feeling of dried seed on his skin and resolves at once to wash.

With his revulsion comes some amusement, though. Once, he would have been mortified facing you after what he’d just done. He had fucked himself to you so many times, shame is beyond him at this point. Now you know, beyond all doubt. And seem to love the idea. That is the best thing by far.

Eren stands from the bed and glances down at the emerald sheets. He will not need to launder them himself this time, he notes, pleased. That is the only thing that gives him some measure of embarrassment for his deeds. There is something so discomforting about servants being privy to his desires; it does not bother him overmuch nowadays, yet having control over who he welcomes into that part of his life gives him ease.

He pads naked toward the pillars and pulls back the drapes. Gray is leaching out of the world, leaving only color. Duns and browns and whites and reds. Blues and greens. That most of all. He breathes in the salt morning air, feeling the brief horror of the dawn vanish like the mists of morn. The day is promising to be a good one. Perhaps it can lead into the night. With any luck, he will dream of you again.

To dream of you every night will be sweet. Desire is always better than the dead, after all.

Dearest Miks,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am doing all right, thank you for asking. It is so strange to see the palace this empty and the court nonexistent, the place is so much larger without people in it.

It’s boring without all of you in here. I thought being a Guardsman would be a lot more exciting than this but all we do is stand by doors and stare down corridors. It is an honorable post, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t expect the slow times to be so… slow. At least Bertolt is with me, having a friendly face around makes it better. I’ve never truly appreciated the chap until now, I’m glad to have him as a sworn brother.

Speaking of brothers, I can’t believe I can call Sir Levi and Sir Erwin that. I still feel like a squire around them half the time… maybe because I’m the youngest of the bunch. Can’t say I like the feeling. I’ll work hard to show everyone I earned this, I’ll be a proper Guardsman in time, they’ll see!

I miss you and Karanes. Even Martin, even though he is a little snot. I’ll make a fine knight of him, between the two of us House Springer will rise to the skies!

Training is deadly dull without you here. Is it the same for you there without your trusty and ever-loyal Connie? Best keep your skills sharp, you’ll need it when next we cross swords. This’ll be the year I will finally throw you down, mark my words.

I hope you get this before the Alyfeis. I hope the Alyfeis here is as fun as it is back there. Thank the gods we’re allowed some fun. Just have to endure a couple of hours of guard duty and I’ll be free to frolic. I would say don’t frolic too hard without me but I know who I’m talking to, I’ll have no fear of that. I don’t think you can say the same for me, though, you know how Sasha is. Bless her.

Please write me. The occasional friendly word would do wonders. Really looking forward to the winter reconvene and seeing everyone’s mugs again.

All the best,

Connie

The letter had come as quite a surprise. A pleasant one, at that. Connie Springer, lowbrow, practically unlettered Connie Springer, is writing her. Mikasa places the missive on her desk, smiling to herself. It must be drearier in Midford during the reprieve than first she’d thought. The plaintive note to his last paragraph tugs at her heart. Is it truly that bad? She reaches for a fresh sheet of parchment and her quill.

A soft tap sounds on the wall beside the entrance to her bedchamber. “Come,” she calls out, lowering her hand.

Louise Ledovskoya brushes back the dark blue velvet curtains that serve as the room’s doors and steps in. She bows her blonde head. “My lady. I am come to dress you for the rite.”

“Of course.” Is it that time already? Mikasa turns her head about to glance down the mullioned window behind her. It would seem so. Cityfolk swarm the streets of the capital below, headed in the same general direction, toward the temple of the Gardener. From the vantage of her tower bedroom, the lively masses are no more than ants trooping back into their hill, come home after a day’s work done in the fields. There is no work to be had for the day, though, and the human swarm is off to worship and make merry; home is far from anyone’s mind.

Not from Connie’s, however. The scrap of parchment lying on her desk seems a dejected thing, and Mikasa feels the weight of it on her back as she leaves her bedroom for the bath. She feels a twinge of guilt. She must needs answer at the best opportunity. Tonight, after the festivities. First, she must give the gods their due.

Her new handmaid is a chipper thing, and chatty, quite unlike the lass before. The Neven girl had been passable as handmaids went, and served her well and ably for three years. She would have served for longer were it not for her light fingers. A chambermaid had caught her filching Mikasa’s jewels earlier in the year, and so she was dismissed, sent home in utter disgrace. Mikasa has never been a flashy girl, and could care little and less for the lost jewels, but thievery is thievery and should be punished in due course. It is the principle of the thing.

“Finished, my lady.” The new girl - Louise - steps back as she finishes the intricate task of clipping Mikasa’s veil to the back of her head. She glances at her reflection. A proper little lady gowned in copper and salmon stares back at her. The future Lady Ackerman, Lady of Karanes. The Shieldmaiden is nowhere in sight.

She stands from the vanity and straightens the sheer silk of the split sleeves that trail down her gown from the elbows. “Let’s go.” She does not deign to grace the painted stranger in the mirror another glance.

This year’s Alyfeis is already proving to be quite extraordinary. Lord Ludwig Ledovskoy is standing beside her lord father on the pulpit of the temple balcony, quite unmindful of the pointed stares and whispers coming from the floor below as the commons gossip amidst the ongoing rite. The more politically savvy ones have heard of the Lord of Ajdoje’s visit and know what that entails.

The scent of burning produce drifts up to the Ackermans on the gallery, where they always observe the rite, the better to have some privacy. Still the commons whisper even as the Bailiff’s voice echoes throughout the building to consecrate the year’s sacrifice and plead with the gods for another year of great bounty. Lord Lukas merely stares at the proceedings, seeming far away. Lord Ludwig is as stern and tight-lipped as he usually is.

Only Mother seems to disapprove of the buzzing impropriety. It is a comically ironic thing that a foreigner would find more offense in the blatant irreverence breaking out within these holy grounds. Especially considering she shouldn’t give a fig about a faith not her own. But so it is with the Lady Otsune, Azumabito as was, Ackerman now. And she has been for twenty-odd years; a developed attachment for the mores of her new home is only to be expected.

Mikasa wonders how they celebrate the harvest in Hizuru. Perhaps it is a festival of great beauty, like the Feast of Flowers. Her parents took a brief tour of Hizuru a year after she entered court, and they had brought her along. They had gone in the spring, in time for the feast. It was the most magical feast she had ever attended. She never knew that flowers could be so… beautiful.  

They never seem to be, at home. They make a riot of color, true enough, reds and whites and yellows, purples and blues, endless, endless pink. Yet it was only in her mother’s motherland that she had ever truly appreciated them. Lovayan cherry trees are not half so enchanting as the ones in Hizuru. They had sat beneath them on blankets, eating local delicacies and drinking local vintages. All the while the petals fell, those pale pink snowflakes that were never cold to the touch. Around them, the Hizurites would whisper, only whisper, all reluctant to break the spell of the moment with noise and volume.

The whispers here sound a deal less reverent. Those and stares follow them to the Bulwark. Mikasa trots astride her piebald palfrey Mitsu, keeping pace with her mother’s litter as their small party navigates Middelfoort’s busy cobbled streets. All and sundry stare them out of countenance. The festival commences as it should, with plays and entertainments, music and dancing and laughter and flowers, with the trade and display of the best of the harvest.

But alongside the beets and carrots and peaches and pears comes a different sort of crop. The best of the gossip is on sale as well, prompted by the highborn passing. Everywhere they turn, only one thing seems to be in everyone’s minds. Mikasa wonders if they would have attracted half the attention they are getting now without their honored guest tipping the scales, as it is.

There he sits atop one of the biggest destriers she has yet seen, a massive dark bay beast with powerful flanks, conversing with her father with no more care for the eyes around him as he would a fly buzzing about his ear. His standard flies before him carried by a bearer, a teal banner with the red fess of his House. The Ackerman pennant is not to be outdone beside his. There it flies in the hands of another bearer, the three longswords of Ackerman crossed upon its blue field, the proud and ancient sigil of a proud and ancient House.

‘Swords, swords, swords,’ Mikasa seems to hear everywhere, at every turn and corner, until it begins to sound like a call to arms, a demand for Lord Ackerman to call the banners and ride to northern aid. Middelfoorters are hardly the most war-like of people; the whispers sound more conspiratorial than anything, curious, even excited at the thought of what these northmen could want, if Lord Ackerman will raise swords.

This is why Ledovskoy is here, she knows. To tell Father of the Ajdine clamor and their discontent with how the Zhelevic were treated. These northmen seem an intimate bunch. Wrong one and you wrong all. In many ways, there is something admirable in that. Many will call it prickly, though. And it is one of the many reasons the rest of the realm takes issue with the North.

The crowd that tailed them from the temple has grown larger and is growing larger still as they near the Bulwark. These will settle on the bridge and one of the courtyards of the castle to prepare for the harvest feast and further sell their produce. Many and more will wait for the autumn audience, to be held later in the afternoon. Here they will offer Lord Lukas the pick of their crops and perhaps bring forth a petition to be settled. The evening is reserved for the harvest feast, one in the castle for the highborn and their household, the other for the commons down in the courtyard.

Father is having little joy of this year’s festival. He had spent the entirety of the audience only half in attendance, absently dispensing his judgements as he pondered other, more pressing matters.

Now, Mikasa sits quietly listening in as Lord Ludwig apprises Father of the building malcontent of his commons, reassuring his liege that he is doing all he can to stem their mutinous flow.

Some assistance will not be unwelcome, says the Ledovskoy lord, him with his hard, lined face with the square, clean-shaved jaw and his long blond hair, which he has tied back behind his head with a red ribbon. The eyes that lock onto her father’s are a muted hazel, green with a faint brown ring about his pupils. Lord Ludwig is handsome, for an older man. And bears a strong resemblance to his daughter, Mikasa’s new handmaid.

This homegrown northern matter seems to be a good deal more pressing than first she’d thought. Both men had vanished during the entertainments, leaving the rest of the household spare and idle. Which worried Mother, Mikasa senses, as she comes over much later to bid her good night and seek her blessing. This further feeds Mikasa’s own foreboding as she makes her way to Father’s solar for his blessing.

He is standing in front of the tall window, hands clasped behind his back as he looks down upon his still rejoicing city. Lord Ludwig is nowhere in sight. Father does not turn around when she announces herself and enters. For a long moment, there is silence, broken only by the soft snaps of the fire in the stone hearth to her left. Above, the glass and iron chandelier shines its balmy orange light over the chamber, lending a certain warm homeliness to the space.

Several more heartbeats pass until at last, he sighs and strides over to his desk, which is standing beside the mullioned panes in front of a shelf of books and knickknacks. The blue and gray carpet underfoot muffles his steps.

A sheepskin map is rolled open on the surface of the table, its corners weighed down by books. A map of Karanes, Mikasa sees, as she strides nearer. There are no markers, no marks upon the painted hide. She wonders what it is that Father is looking for, what he is noting.

“Well, it was only a matter of time. I can’t say I’m surprised, you know what they’re like.” He leans down on the desk, hands spread out on the map. The first two fingers of his right hand lay pointing at the Lord of Ajdoje’s stronghold, up in northern Karanes.

“Northmen are northmen.” She walks to the lounge situated in front of a wall of books to the right of the desk and sits down.

“More’s the pity. Oh, to be a pure Midlander as we were of old… What even are we Karanesi now? Midlander or northmen? We’re not quite one, not quite the other. And both so different from one another. It’s a wonder any man could herd this lot for all this time.”

“Our family has always been able,” Mikasa says, quite awkwardly, not knowing how to address her father’s laments. It is something she is little versed in, to her chagrin. She is little versed in dealing with people generally, a fact which gives her no small amount of anxiety. Especially considering the station to which the gods saw fit to call her.

“If only our family weren’t so… able.” Karanes is the only one of the States spanning two fronts, the Midlands and the North. The Ackermans of old, however, had settled further south than where their descendants now rule, in present-day Neustadt ruled by the Vukasins. Some Reiss king rewrote the Lovayan map and placed his Ackerman lord in the middle of the State as a buffer, a serjeant best suited to handle the insurgent northmen whenever they rose up (which they did often and well even to this day).

The Ackermans have ever been a martial family, producing warrior king after warrior king throughout the millennia until the Titans came and beat them down to vassalship, as they did all the other kings and queens in fair Lovaya. Who better to be a bulwark against the wild than one with warrior’s blood himself?

It is a suit of armor her father is never comfortable wearing. He is an oddity, as far as Ackermans go, more scholarly than warlike, happier with a book in hand than with a sword. This had caused no end of strife between him and his lord father, Klaus Ackerman, who slapped the Vukasins and their dogs down to heel during the War Within decades ago. Lord Klaus’s death had freed Father of his father’s scorn. And he has never been happier.

As happy as duty can make him, to be sure. But Mikasa knows he would rather have the pain of duty than the pain of a father’s derision. Lord Lukas sighs, world-weary. “We hear the same clamors as the rest of the North. It’s not just Ledovskoy. Neven and Brzenska are reporting malcontent as well, at this point, it’s only a matter of time before I hear from Zackly and Zacharius.”

Another sigh, and suddenly, he has aged a decade, as though that last breath of air was his very vitality itself. Father sits down heavily upon his chair, with little grace. He stares hollow-eyed at the map before murmuring, “Ledovskoy is more an Ackerman than I. Hard, stern, dependable, martial. It’s no wonder he speaks for our North. He’s what people want me to be. People think he is me. That’s why I avoid standing next to the man at gatherings, if I can help it, they all think him the Ackerman.” An easy enough mistake to make, in hindsight. Both men are fair as the sun, and the current Lord Ackerman is famously gold as opposed to the ravens their House tends to be.

Lukas Ackerman turns to his daughter at length and smiles, tired yet affectionate. “You’re what people expect of this House, a true warrior and fierce. Perhaps they’ll have more joy of you than they ever had of me someday.”

“But I never wanted any of that.”

That gives her father pause. And brings remorse and pity, that most wretched of sentiments, out into the light. She almost regrets saying anything then.

“You cannot know how sorry I am that this was thrust upon you,” Father says softly. “But it pleased the gods to bring your brother back into their graces and so we have no choice. If I could spare you the chains of commanding, I would. The best I can do for you, ultimately, is to ease the way and prepare you for your calling.”

And what a calling it is. She will forever hate the wild salt sea for forcing it on her and robbing her of a brother and a simpler life.

“Ah, you did not come here to hear a lord’s burdens. Come, let me bless you and bid you good night. May your dreams be more pleasant than mine tonight.” She stands from the lounge, receives her blessing, and goes with her own good night, imparting a gentle kiss on the stubbly cheek and hoping that will give him ease.

She has so much to tell Connie. As he does her, she can see it now. She imagines a thick scroll of parchment tied to the leg of a floundering dove as it flaps frantically outside her window, desperate to enter and snatch rest. The thought makes her snort. The boy would be lonely indeed if he ever writes anything longer than a foot.

It suddenly occurs to her much later, as she settles into bed warm and snug and content, that she had barely thought of Eren today. And it feels… good.

A great rousing cheer answers your father’s foreword, and with that, the festivities proceed apace.

You gaze down at the hundreds gathered below Goldhaven’s presence balcony, smiling your courtly smile and feeling inordinately pleased that you were not asked to give the speech this year. You are equal to the task and will do so if prompted, yet the desire to remain free of the duty of addressing the public is strong in you. You can address all the courts in the world if you have to. When your time comes. And the gods only know how many speeches there are in your inevitable future. What’s one less speech to that endless repertoire?

Lord Alexander turns to you with a smile. “Off to the Great Sanctum-”

“I’d like to show Eren around for a while before we head there. If it please you,” you say hurriedly, hoping against hope for leave.

Bemusement dances across Father’s face before he smiles once more, ever accommodating. “It pleases me to grant you leave. Before sundown, the hour of the dove. You have until then for your frolics.”

You beam and stand on your toes to kiss his bearded cheek. You turn to Eren behind you, still shining. “Get dressed.”

“I’m already dressed,” he points out, perplexed.

“Not in plain clothes, you aren’t. You can’t explore the city in cloth-of-gold. You’ll blind everyone,” you tut, grabbing his arm and marching him off to get changed at once. Pretty as he is in your House colors, he can hardly run about the streets with a podonza threatening to slip down his shoulder half the time. Which is a-wasting.

His orange tunic with its brown trim and belt is markedly less blinding. And brings out the green in his eyes so beautifully. You yourself have changed out of your teal and gold sleeveless vevda for another simpler one, a white knee-length garment paired with a pale blue floor-length underskirt trimmed with meanders in white thread along the hemline. A thin pale blue cord ties the whole thing into place about your waist. Nice and simple. Its only concession to frills is the pair of gold chains looping above your left arm, which is left bare; your right arm is encased in a long sleeve that is fastened from your upper arm with gold buttons.

You lead him through the castle gates and into the bustling streets, both now suitably dressed, joining the throng of servants and soldiers on leave as they pour through the walls to partake of the revels. “No guards?” Eren asks, glancing around for an armored tail, only to find none.

“I have a pact with Father. I avoid the docks and the seedier areas of the city, the guard stays well away from me. Not too far that he’ll be unable to come to my aid if need be. He’ll be keeping a close, and unobtrusive, eye on us. From afar.” You draw your white lesos over your head to keep off the worst of the midday sun.

“What brought this pact on?” Bareheaded Eren quirks an eyebrow at you as you enter one of the city squares. Dmitriy Rhyzkov sits proud and fierce astride his rearing stallion in the middle of the plaza, his noble likeness forever captured in stone atop a tall granite pedestal. The crowd grows thick as you lead Eren on.

His query makes you grin. “Father had a long talk with me after I slipped my guard one too many times. I just couldn’t stand having a solemn bore breathing down my neck as I explored my city.”

“What if you did get into trouble? They can be hindrances but they’re useful to keep around.”

Says one who also ran away from his hindrances the first chance he got. “We don’t have tails in Belris.” At last, you spot your destination. You pull him along, weaving nimbly between festive folk headed in the other direction, one of whom drapes a crown of flowers over Eren’s head before prancing away. You laugh at his startled expression.

“We don’t have tails because the Golden District is safe as can be. Belrish dregs live by the walls,” Eren says, once his surprise had passed into the void. He reaches up to pluck at the crown, seeming gratified.

Around you the crowds make merry, piping their pipes and fiddling their fiddles, dancing and scattering flowers and petals everywhere. Red and pink and gold gently rain down upon you as you breast the human tide. From the buildings around you, more petals fall from homebound roisterers. You turn your head a little to look back at your betrothed, smiling slightly. “You’ll keep me safe. Won’t you?”

“Always.”

His sudden solemnity makes your smile slowly fade, and you have to look away at length. The heat pricking your cheeks is not from the sun’s harsh rays, you do not think.

The Blue Pearl’s hands are as welcoming as ever, its fare as excellent. Custom is meager owing to the festivities; most everyone is lunching in the Great Sanctum, including your family. But Eren is due his tour of your city and you can think of no better day to start than today. The Pearl is one of your favorite haunts and the staff know you well as a patron. Eren is subjected to a light (yet serious) dressing down by the barkeep, who warns him off of ‘doin’ the ‘lil lady dirty.’ Whose face heats up again at the young knight’s grave denouncement of such conduct.

You leave the tavern well-fed and hankering for something sweet and fresh. You direct your path to the packed produce arcade, feeling more than a tad anxious. Here you will see the fruits, as it is, of your labor. Those weeks spent in constant correspondence with your heads of house, all the organizing, allocating, supervising, negotiating, advising… here it will all culminate at last.

The proof in the autumn pudding.

You are far from disappointed. Every stall and stand and cart display the bounty of Vascalin. Apples, figs, pomegranates, dates and plums and lemons - fruits shine bright as jewels next to bundles and bundles of vegetables: leeks, fennel, radishes, cabbages and artichokes and olives. An excellent haul. The gods have blessed you this year.

And you are not to be held accountable for the failure of the crop. That is the best thing of all. All at once, you can breathe easier again.

“Good haul this year. Well done,” Eren commends, grinning down at you, making you glow at the praise. You glow even more when he proceeds to buy you an apple from one of the stalls. It is only fair you have a taste of the gods’ blessings and relish in their favor, he claims, as he buys you both your sweet. You have one more thing to thank them for tonight. Never had you had an apple so sweet as the one you ate that day.

Things sour for you as you move on, however. The foot traffic, already thick, has grown even thicker near the market square, and so you are forced to take the bypass you had wanted to avoid like the plague. You dash through one of the high-end avenues where some of the most expensive and upscale brothels are located, the area busy but not so packed as the square nearby. You practically fly through the street as though the very hounds of hell are at your heels.

Eren staggers behind you, bewildered, feet tangling over each other as he is dragged along like a leashed pup. Nothing diminishes his comely countenance, apparently, however ungainly a sight he makes at the moment. Half-dressed and undressed whores lean out the windows, calling out for patrons. More than a handful call out to your betrothed, to your extreme annoyance. Flower petals rain down on you from the sluts and their basketfuls of blossoms. You impatiently brush a yellow petal off your lesos and march on doggedly.

“H-hey, can you let up a bit, please?” Eren pants, loping beside you to keep up. His crown of flowers has vanished, torn from his head during your headlong rush. “What’s the rush? It’s barely past the hour of the lynx, we still have another hour…”

You give a vague grunt and keep your silence, just as a whore draped in jeweled chains and nothing else calls down to Eren coquettishly from her trellised balcony. Your stomach lurches unpleasantly, then lurches again with something more buoyant as you pass the fountain that marks the end of the avenue.

“Jealousy truly becomes you, have I told you that lately?”

You refuse to grace him with your attention, misliking the tone of his voice. The look on his face is only fit to be smacked off, you are sure, if you ever deign to look at him now. You jolt, surprised, as his arm wraps around your waist and holds fast, forcing you to look at him. Behind the teasing grin is something more insistent. Honest. “Eyes only on you,” he says simply.

The day is sweet, oh-so-sweet indeed.

In time, you find yourselves exploring the arcades, acquiring yourselves chains of flowers from the stallkeeps in the process. Eren amuses himself by picking at the many garments on display in the fashion arcade, flourishing dresses at you at random. Most of which have sharp vee-shaped necklines.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” you ask, entertained, as Eren brandishes a sleeveless emerald green vevda at you. One with a deeply slashed neckline, of course. “I regret to say I don’t own nearly enough breast-baring dresses for your tastes. That’ll look pretty with a silver belt.”

“It will, won’t it?” Eren beams, then carefully places it back on its display as you walk off. “Pity about your dresses. Charms as lovely as yours aren’t meant to be hidden away.”

You laugh. “Pity the court has such blue noses for all their love of randy chatter. More charm can be a useful thing up there. But court fashions have their own allure. It gives you only enough to tease at the truth and all that. Gives you something to long for, think about.”

“That it does.” His eyes sweep down your body, slow and sensual. You shiver, as though he had caressed you all over with his hands instead of simply looking. “I have much to long for, true enough.”

It is a feat of remarkable ability, you think, that you can stand here still and brave his flames. You are getting better at that as time progresses. Then again, you are a being of heat, after all; who better to brave his flames than you?

The smell of salt wafts pleasantly toward you in the fashion arcade, sited as it is near the docks. The snatches of conversation that leap out at you from the many stallkeeps are glaringly less pleasant. Even this far south, news of the North still haunts you. That it has managed to trickle down here of all places concerns you. Was the clamor getting that bad? You do not want to think about what awaits you all when court reconvenes the next season.

It is an utter relief when you pass through to the next, less gossipy arcade.

The sight of all the handmade crafts - furnishings, figurines, toys - reminds Eren of his niece and the present he owes her as an uncle visiting a place of note. “There’s a qaxan parlor by the docks, did you know? The only one in Arsechkala,” you inform him as he examines a carved wooden dragon overlaid with silver leaf from one of the many stalls. “I could take you there sometime, see how you go up against someone else besides me. Thus will we know your true capability.”

Consistency has entered Eren’s court at last, to your utmost pleasure. His first true win back in Friedfurt wasn’t entirely a fluke, it turned out. Your games after that have been more balanced. At last, Eren is making up his lost ground, steadily winning game after game after game. Your pride knows no bounds.

“I’ll know my true capability when I can go up against Armin at last,” Eren says, as you move on to the last of the line of stalls, leisurely browsing.

“I think that’s too high of a goalpost… A step at a time, yes?” You will not soon forget your games with that golden commander. Any and all wins you can scrape against him are much treasured.

“He hasn’t written back yet, has he? I wonder how his Alyfeis is going. His dull and dreary Alyfeis.”

“It’s only dull because it’s what you’re used to. You’ve experienced it all your life and so the magic of it’s disappeared.” You tramp down the steps of the arcade, emerging into another relatively less packed street. Little stalls are still scattered about the area, those of vendors unable to secure a lease to hawk their wares in the arcade proper.

You stop by a table bearing little wooden figures of the twelve sacred beasts of the Creed. Which in itself is a surprise. The Creed has never been strong here. The small temple of the Gardener in the city had held its quiet celebration earlier, for its handful of Arsechkalan believers. Eren turns to you, fingers wrapped around a figure of a lynx. “Do you find your Alyfeis dull?”

That brings you up short. “Point conceded.” You have never found the harvest feast dull and will never.

The rumble of sound about you seems to grow louder. It is then that you notice how thick the throng is getting. Before you quite know it, a host of people is passing through, as though a sluice gate has been opened to let the tide in. Eren moves to take you aside and away from the carousing crowd.

“Oh!”

Someone knocks into you and then you are stumbling, crashing into something hard and warm, who lets out a yelp of his own as he staggers back into the table behind him, scattering wooden figures everywhere. His arms fly up to wrap around you on instinct, and it is all you know. His strength, his heat, his scent mixed with that of flora. Wide green eyes stare down at you. Beneath your palms and the crushed blossoms, his heart races.

Thump, thump, thump.

Fire and water fill your world, from the flame of his shirt and the sea of his eyes, and for a long while, he is your everything.

A thousand years pass until you can think to look away. A cluster of carvings had landed by your feet. An eagle, a wolf, two serpents twined. The Sun, the Moon, the Lovers.

“M-milady!”

The elderly stallkeep had gotten to his feet, toothless mouth agape, pale blue eyes bulging with shock before he remembers himself and bows. Your lesos has fallen about your shoulders, displaced from your head by the commotion earlier. The stallkeep straightens up from his bow, his long, wrinkled fingers tangling together nervously. “M-milady, such a surprise- ‘s an honor to see you ‘round this parts, and by me shop, too! The honor-”

“It’s my pleasure, goodman. Please pardon us for jostling your stall- here, let me-” You move to step away from Eren’s warmth and pick up the fallen figures. His grip tightens around you, and you think he would not let go, but let go of you he does. You can feel reluctance leech into you. His own or yours, you cannot say.

“Ah, no, milady, can’t possibly let you trouble yourself-”

“It’s fine, we knocked over your wares, it’s the least we can do,” you reassure the man, smiling and putting his worries to ease. Beside you, Eren has set to, helping you scoop up the figurines and carefully placing them back on the table.

The elder bows once more, stammering out his thanks as you place the last carving on the counter, and offers you a gift of his wares, which you swiftly wave away. In the end, he makes you a present of the twined serpents - which you still insist on paying for, a handful of coppers, for his trouble.

Money well spent, you think, admiring the skill and the craftsmanship that you can tell went into the making of this piece. The serpents weave about each other, an endless loop, unbreakable. Eren weaves his fingers through yours, and away you go.

“The hour of the dove,” you state, catching sight of the tall clocktower ahead, with its triple arches spanning the river Goldtide. And so you set your steps toward the Great Sanctum, following the tide at last instead of going against its current.

He has never been, Eren had told you, so you take great pleasure in showing him the greatest pride of the city, one of two marvels of the Old Way. The largest godstone in the realm stands at the heart of its little island in a lagoon not too far off from the coast. You pass through the wardens’ commune, home to the holy isle’s caretakers, through the arched gate and onto the narrow stone bridge that connects the isle to the mainland.

The sea breeze blows strong here. You take a deep breath of the clean salt air, cheerful and content and alive. Overhead, seabirds fly, gulls and sandpipers and terns. Your cheer is mirrored in Eren’s face to mate with his awe. He glances down at you, grinning, and his eyes are the sea surrounding him, blue and green and sparkling. He takes the sea with him, wherever he goes.

“It’s massive,” Eren exclaims once you step foot on the islet at last, craning his neck back to gawk at the godstone and its hundred feet of glory.

“Magnificent,” you beam with pride and no small amount of reverence. The stone god carved into its face is majestic, stern yet kindly, a true king of the gods. Four hundred years' worth of salt air and rains have eaten away at the august face, however, to your and the Old Blood’s dismay. No mage now can keep nature from doing what she will to this sacred effigy. Powerful as they are, not even the gods are a match for that wild sovereign where their earthly forms are concerned. It is now for the caretakers to do all they can for the gods. And that must be enough.

“The most beautiful sanctum,” Eren remarks, glancing about at the rows of trees ringing the island as you break away from the still-long line of worshipers passing through another gate to the foot of the godstone, where mounds upon mounds of produce are heaped. Perhaps they will have offered enough for yet another year of bounty, to judge from the sheer quantity you had glimpsed through the hallowed entrance. You lead Eren on, to the spot in the isle where your family usually gathers. It is custom for you to picnic behind the gigantic godstone in that patch of grass beneath the trees, beside the viewing platform, which is open to the sea.

“You think the Great Sanctum more beautiful than the godsway?” Through the trees, you see a garlanded little boy running, trailed by his father, young and tall and dark, with his hair in its loose knot behind his head, a chain of flowers about his neck. You look after them, heart pounding, but they have melted into the mass, one of many families taking their joy of the festival. You wonder if they are vision or muddled truth.

“Even more beautiful.”

There is nothing muddled about your betrothed’s truth, and you cling to that. He is a vision, yet true and living and tangible. His is the only truth you’ll have.

He seems to hesitate a moment before asking in a quiet voice, almost bashful, “Do they allow weddings in front of this godstone?”

You smile, at the question and at him, this sweetest of boys. “Yes, they do.”

He looks away, out at the great salt sea. The tips of his ears have gone that sweet shade of pink, pink as the blooms of pink princess about his neck. “The sanctum in Midford- I mean, I’m not saying it’s not a good sanctum to wed in but- only if it please you and your family, of course- and the hassle of travel and all that-”

“I think we should say our vows in here.”

His head whips back around, so fast you are astonished he did not crick his neck at all. His eyes are wide for several heartbeats before he smiles, the softest, most tender smile you have yet seen from him. It is then that you are resolved. You must see that smile again, every day of your life. From this day to the end of your days.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

Happy belated birthday, Eren! Have some smut in honor of his happy day! (Not the real thing, though, sadly, we'll get there, we'll get there.)

(Now I'm obliged to do a masturbatory scene for YN so, uh, there's that).

The first NSFW scene. And not the last. At last one goal done.

Nerdy info dump 2. Just to help clarify the many, many styles of southron clothing, I'll list them out the best I can:

Chelya - strap dress

Charovma - halter/backless dress

Povevda - tube dress

Vevda - catchall term for southron clothing for both men and women. Everything not mentioned above is a vevda for simplicity's sake (except for the tunic/pants combo). All of this is inspired by Greco-Roman culture (tweaked massively for my own worldbuilding), if you can't tell, and gods, they had A LOT of clothing terms to sift through. I hope I managed to get my descriptions right...

Also, added a slight change to the way I described the Great Sanctum in chap. 3 cause I hadn't really fully envisioned what it looked like til now. Just a couple of sentences for continuity's sake.

Oooh, yeah, happy belated birthday to Jean, too, I guess. (Lol, nah, I love you, too, Horseboy. Not as much as Eren but still. You're great!)

Thank you so much for following! Til next update <3

Tagging: @alekstraszas @lukepattersin @tojis-discord-kitten

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #snk smut #aot smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

[dercolaris]

Edward, Jervis and Jonathan trying to escape from the police after a robbery. Jervis is driving the car.

Edward: Come on Tetch, turn around the next corner!

Jervis: That's the wrong wa...

Edward: *Interrupts Jervis* Don't question it! I rearranged our plans, it will work out perfectly!

Jervis: ...Are you sure, Dormouse? Last time we almost ended up in the Gotham River when we followed your new plan.

Edward: You're talking nonsense, Tetch. My actions and plans are always well thought out and flawless, even in stressful situations.

Jonathan: Yes, like the one time you poked me accidentcialy in the eye, panicked and then decided to poke me in the other eye too, Nygma.

Edward: *Rolls his eyes* Shut up, Crane. It seemed to be the most logical thing to do back then.

#batman #dc #jonathan crane #edward nygma #jervis tetch #riddler #mad hatter #scarecrow #dorksquad #incorrect quote

[artzychic27]

Mirrorverse Crossover- Nathaniel

TRIPLE FEATURE! @msweebyness @imsparky2002

It was... Eerily calm when the young prince walked into the room. The first thing he expected from his mad counterpart was... Well... Madness. But, he sat poised and perfect as one would expect of a King, and not a sign of madness along his prim features like back in the other room. Maybe it was just an act. The outfit, although, was the only chaotic thing about him. While not to his tastes, Prince Nathaniel supposed that was just the style in his kingdom, so, he didn't judge. Although, he would ask where he got that rose brooch.

"It's quite refreshing to know I'm still of noble blood even as a... Hero." the King of Hearts said that last word as if it were poison on his tongue.

"Oh..." Prince Nathaniel's eyes darted around awkwardly. That was a... Strange sentence to start things off with. "I suppose. So, what's Wonderland like?"

The King of Heart's demeanor quickly changed with that question. His smile became wide as his eyes gleamed. "Oh! Where to begin?!" He leans forward, chin resting in his hand while his elbows were propped up on the table. "One of the greatest kingdoms in existence, mind you! When it's not being plagued by that meddlesome Cheshire Cat or that horrid boy it is simply refreshing!"

The prince nervously tugged on his collar. Maybe it was just the lighting, but he was sure he saw this guy's pupils become smaller.

The other redhead continues, "And where would a perfect kingdom be without law and order?"

Oh... That's unexpected. In a place like Wonderland, Prince Nathaniel expected no sense of order. So, curiosity peaked, he asks, "What sort of rules, exactly?" And cue the floodgates opening.

"All roses except red are outlawed, unless in the case of a wedding, then they may be white; there must always be a tea party on the fifth day of every month; never eat a tart without MY permission; the only tea you may drink at 4:00pm is jasmine tea; flamingo caretakers are to don pink attire; when a hedgehog sneezes, you must say bless you; croquet is only allowed to be played after 12:30pm; if you eat a stake on the night of a full moon, you must play the violin for a cat until it falls asleep; when it is MY birthday, gifts are mandatory and must be bigger than the palm of MY hand; anyone who comes in second in a croquet tournament must serve ME tea the next day; on an unbirthday, spread jam on a woken-up dormouse's nose; never. Ever. Paint banned roses RED!"

That last rule seemed to spark something inside of him, causing the King to mutter what the Prince believed to be profanities, but it sounded more like... He was reciting some sort of poem?

"Who dares to taint with vulgar paint, the royal flower bed? For painting my roses red, someone will lose their head. It serves them right, they planted white, and roses should be RED!"

Prince Nathaniel slowly began to back away when the poem began to sound more like a deranged one-way conversation. The King of Hearts would change the pitch of his voice with some sentences and go back to his usual pitch the next.

"Your majesty, it was his fault. Not me, your grace. 'Twas the Ace! You? No! Two! The Deuce, you say? Not me! The trey! ENOUGH!"

A squeak of fear escaped past the Prince's lips as he slowly turned toward the bubble and mouthed, "Get me out of here."

🌹♥️

"Okay, that boy is off his nut!" Aladdix exclaimed. "Someone get Nath out of there!" Her tiger-hybrid counterpart only scoffed.

"Please, this is him on a nice day. Now, if you wanna see full-on Mad King of Wonderland, let him see you painting roses red or telling Marc he's not the fairest." The Poison King preened a bit at the reminder of his boyfriend's devotion while the other Marc inadvertently created a small blizzard cloud to match his worry the longer his boyfriend was still in the room with that- and he doesn't use this word loosely- deranged lunatic.

Cosette Bellwether snickered behind their hand and pointed to the bubble. "Hey, I think it's about to get better. How much you wanna bet Princey asks about his parents?"

While Minister O'Connor murmured something along the lines of how gambling is sinful, Doctor Cabello holds up a small mint-green pouch. "This lovely pouch of pixie dust."

Simon Pan sputtered for a moment and felt his pockets, unable to find his emergency stash. "HEY!" Lacey Bell's wings fluttered with anger. Do these people not realize how much goes into making pixie dust?!

🌹♥️

"S-so!" Prince Nathaniel managed to say while wiping the sweat off of his brow. The Mad King was still in his own world and now he's brought a dagger out from his jacket pocket and is frantically waving it around! "How did you become King so early?!"

And much to his and the other heroes' relief, the King's ramblings ceased. He slowly placed the dagger back into his pocket and sat back down as he readjusted his crown which was skewed at an off angle. When Prince Nathaniel thought that was the end of it, he pulled an adorable little black and white hedgehog out of his crown and began to pet it.

"It's a darling story, you'll love it." For the first time since he walked into the room, Prince Nathaniel was finally able to relax. Hell, he felt like he could sleep, but he'll try to keep his eyes open. "My parents, such lovely rulers, they... They informed me I could not wed my boyfriend when we were of age. They even forbade me from dating or even seeing him! They went on about his reputation, but I cared for none of it. He is simply the sweetest person I know."

Is he talking about the same guy who tried to give Snow Myléne a poisoned apple earlier?... Whatever, he's calm now.

"I was just so furious every time they tried to set me up with some other suitor! I didn't want them! I just wanted MY Poison King!" Hearing the hedgehog let out a high-pitched shrill when he petted it just a little too rough, he brought the poor thing up to his face for a string of apologies.

... Okay, the story's getting a little uncomfortable now.

"One night, I guess you could say I... I snapped a bit." He laughed it off as if it were a joke, but his counterpart's expression remained haunted. "I heard my parents conversing, speaking of an arranged marriage to get me on THEIR track. To straighten me out. So, later, when they were asleep, I snuck into their room-" He cut himself off with a giggle escaping from his lips.

'Yep! He's a lunatic!'

The Mad King continued, his smile never leaving his face, "Then I grabbed the family sword off of the fire mantle, and I chopped their heads off ONE BY ONE!" With that, he throws his head off with a full-on maniacal laugh that put the other villains' signature evil laughs to shame in Prince Nathaniel's opinion. With a stabbing motion, he screamed, "MOMMY! DADDY!" and laughed some more.

Having enough, Prince Nathaniel shot up from his seat and hurried to the door, only to find that it was locked. "FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

🌹♥️

"Aaw," the Poison King cooed while Simon Pan and Lacey Bell chased Cosette Bellwether and Doctor Cabello around the room. "He's going to sleep so well tonight."

"Okay! Who locked the damn door?!" Fairy GodBro thundered, looking directly at the villains. "Huh?! This isn't funny!"

Queen Rose Candy and Juleficent snicker to themselves. The dark fae's hand glowed with magic as she was keeping the door locked so the Prince would be forced to be in a room alone with the Mad King.

Noticing this, MarcElsa seethes, causing ice stalagmites to spurt from the ground before he stormed out of the room and created an exact key to the door out of ice. The very second he unlocked it, his boyfriend came barrelling out, looking horribly pale as the deranged version of him continued to cackle.

"Rose Petal, are you alright?" He gently cups his face.

"T-t-take m-me ba-b-back t-to my do- my dorm," he stammered out and made his grip on the other Prince tighter. "He ki- he killed them-"

"It's okay," the noirette whispers and pulls his boyfriend into his arms, adjusting him so his face was in the crook of his neck. "He won't bother you anymore." As he suspected, the redhead fell right asleep once he came into contact with his frosty skin. He always did fall asleep quicker in the cold.

As the Ice Prince made his way down the hall, the King of Hearts walked out of the room where he was met with the Poison King, whom he immediately embraced. "Can you believe the nerve of him? Walking out in the middle of a conversation!" He huffs out while his boyfriend kisses every inch of his face with his poison-stained lips.

"My Wild Card, not everyone was brought up as well as you were," he says smoothly and brings his hand up to his lips.

#class of villainy #class of heroes #queen of hearts #sleeping beauty #alice in wonderland #mlb au #disney villains #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc x nathaniel #mirrorverse