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throwaway-yandere · 4 months

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𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗/𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊 [Yandere Prince!Scaramouche/Reader]

A/n: After reading so many tyrant otome isekai manhwas, I thought I should give writing one a try... This story ended up being a bit more “real”(?) than OI. And I forgot the isekai part LOL. Love this fic a lot because the (L/n) family says the most banger lines. They spitting facts. Anyways, welcome to another throwaway-thursday, enjoy this one, @vennnnn-diagram because... lol.

Unreliable Synopsis: Exiled in Watatsumi island after publishing two anti-colonial novels outside their homeland, the famous reformist writer and physician (L/n) (Y/n) faces several familial deaths— and it all leads back to one man...

Content Warnings/Tags: Yandere themes, mentions of miscarriage (note: this is because this is very loosely based on a real life hero's biography), "lovers" to enemies, angst, character deaths, church corruption, politics, etc. Prioritize your mental health. The fic is meant to be a bit dark. You can listen to this song for the vibes 💖

"Are you going to Watatsumi Fair, Niwa?"

"Well, of course! The Lector works hard to make sure it's grander each year."

"Our Lector… I hope (L/n) is doing alright. It must be incredibly heartbreaking to lose a newborn son under three hours…"

"Indeed…"

It’s the 19th century and the streets chatter on about the upcoming festival. Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, and shiso— murmurs of food and spices exchanged at the Watatsumi Fair circulated. However, these four wonderful things wouldn't be there without a certain exile transforming the island into a thriving island: Lector (Y/n) (L/n).

Prince Kunikuzushi's most esteemed “rival”.

You were an exemplary philosopher and ophthalmologist who published two novels abroad that reflected Inazuma's social issues and military abuses. Of course, you were born in a noble clan. Only the wealthy can study outside Ritou and attain higher education beyond the basic arithmetic and religion Inazuman Colonizers gatekept your people with. You were slaves.

But these colonizers feared educated colonies would demand rights; hence, after publishing those eye-opening novels, you became Public Enemy #1. Charges against you were not absolved, but Inazumans could not execute you upon arrival. You were not a revolutionary, but a pacifist reformist. You made the government and clergy's behavior known worldwide, hence the military banished you to Watatsumi— another Inazuman colony and barren land.

Assured that you've done nothing wrong, you stayed in Watatsumi. With nothing but your firm beliefs, your days of exile were your most productive. Using your skills as a physician and some wits on land surveying, you've improved Watatsumi’s quality of life in under 6 months.

You're far from home with little spare change, yet you provided medicina gratis. With you, you’ve helped open the people’s eyes.

You lived under the scrutinizing eyes of the Queen, yet you erected streetlights in each dark street. With you, you’ve helped the people see in this dark age.

And most importantly, you have established Watatsumi's first school.

With you, the people understood the truth of their situation: they had been living under a tyrant’s rule for the past few decades.

And all you asked in return was for the people to help you in your ventures to improve the island's agriculture and spices.

How can the people of Watatsumi not love you for this martyrdom?

“(L/n) is organizing a secret rebellion association planning to overthrow the government”. That was the Queen’s grounds for exile, including false testimonial and documentary evidence. It was obvious that your books were in strong opposition to the current Inazuman Government.

Hence, Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko was incredibly fond of you.

"I still believe I am innocent of the crime of rebellion, illegal association, and sedition. All I did was publish two novels!" You hummed. "When the Shogun calls for my execution— and she will— do immediately ask for my body. They will likely throw it wherever they please. Worse, Kunikuzushi might use me as his doormat."

The Archbishop laughed. "I can see that. His Highness does fit that character."

You and Umiko sat far from the festivities. Sangonomiya Umiko was neither friend nor foe. She is the current leader of Watatsumi Island, but she is restricted by the commands of the Queen and her children. Umiko cannot even preach about her true faith, hiding her birthright as the Divine Priestess and instead donning the title foreign title of Archbishop. Even with friendly demeanors, there’s an unmistakable grim air on both your faces.

No passerby would mistake this meeting as a romantic date. You have a wonderful spouse waiting home, appearing as crest-fallen as you do now.

… But "Spouse" is a rather loose term. You and your partner were forbidden to have a wedding. Prince Kunikuzushi would not allow an exile to marry and no priest would disobey him. Hence, you and your lover decided to merely promise to the God you believe in that you'll remain loyal to one another. That faith and loyalty brought about a prematurely birthed child— who only had three hours to live until his breath was cruelly stripped away…

And historians would attribute your son’s death as a cause for your morbid obsession with your own future execution.

"Kunikuzushi is a personification of what's wrong with the Inazuman Empire," you said casually. "He will be the core of what causes the revolution, not I."

Umiko did not miss the way you addressed the Prince. You spoke without honorifics, an aspect in both Watatsumi and Inazuma's language that is evident in everyday conversations. Most revolutionists emphasize his high station with hatred. You emit those titles and call him by name.

As though it was a habit.

As though you were once friends and more.

"Lector (Y/n), do watch your tongue," she shook her head. "The walls have ears."

"And what if the walls have eyes and ears? They shall see and hear my innocence." You sipped your tea before you snapped your fingers with a grin. "Oh, and do me one last favor. When they'll let me face my executioners, armed with polished guns and a shoveled ground:"

"Only the guilty are shot in the back. Let me face the firing squad and spare my head so that I may die facing the heavens."

A glimpse of (h/c) hair ran past in the streets of Inazuma City, carrying a child in his arms. The child was injured but otherwise “fine”— as fine as children could be amidst the rains of ashy woods and turbulent fires. The city capital reeked of gunpowder and a nauseating metallic scent. The (h/c) haired man may not have any blood relations to the person whom they’re protecting, nor does he know her name, but he held onto the 8-year-old dearly.

Despite the chaos that surrounded him, your older brother cannot help but think of one hopeful thought:

With the recent loss of (Y/n)’s son, maybe they’d be willing to adopt this little girl as my new niece?

But all that ended abruptly when a loud voice resonated throughout the streets.

“DON’T LET A SINGLE ONE OF THEM ESCAPE. NO SURVIVORS!”

Prince Kunikuzushi stood proud in the middle of it all. With calm finesse, he ordered the generals to order their soldiers to kill without a hint of remorse. His eyes were dull. All he knew was that his mother wished for the death of revolutionaries hiding in the capital. Whether these rumors were falsehoods or not, the Queen did not care. Fear is the family’s greatest weapon, bloodshed is nothing to them.

Death is nothing for a mother's puppet like him.

The Prince truly didn't have any care for this war. He's only following orders under the reward that he'll be able to have you. It was the Queen's promise, and she had always been relentless in any pursuit of honor and glory.

In return for his familial services, Queen Ei might consider his proposal. The royal family dreaded the death of their former matriarch, Makoto, and the prince showed no attraction to any of his valid consorts. Should he show loyalty to the end, the Queen will allow him to marry anyone to his liking.

That's why he's putting up with this.

He looked at the horizon, seeing nothing but fire instead of the deep ocean.

Why did Watatsumi have to be so far away?

Why did you have to be a sea away?

As fate would have it, a young soldier spotted the two. A hunt between two red-tagged innocent civilians and a greenhorn murderer commenced. Limping slightly, your brother attempted to push down restaurant chairs and other outside furniture in hopes he’d lose track of them.

The soldier did not know that the person he was tracking was your older brother.

Had he known, he would’ve left him alone.

And as much as fortune favors the bold, it was not on your sibling’s side.

The soldier fired his first reckless shot and hit its target.

Your brother stumbled, holding his stomach. He gasped, coughing as he subconsciously let the child go. But he did not fear for his life, but hers. He knew that the child was asleep on a park bench when the horns rang for danger. She was homeless with nothing but bedclothes and a short makeshift blanket, and now she’ll be forced to witness a traumatizing scene.

Poor child… You must be frightened…

I hope…

Your brother remains adamant that the child must live, even as the barrel of the enemy's rifle is pointed at his chest. A look of stern determination, mixed with fear, can be seen in his eyes as he stands his ground despite the threat of death.

That (Y/n) will raise you right…

“S-Scaramouche’s crown's resplendent band shows no natural light. The ocean's glimmer elucidates more hope than your vile scarlet battalions could ever hope for!!!” Your older brother yelled, weakly hiding the child behind him.

The soldier cocked the barrel against his forehead.

“There is no emprise to plundering, to murder and genocide—” he continued, coughing blood at the corner of his lips. “You will all be remembered in history as those who had foolishly paraded without genius. Death has a more ambrosial scent than a life of servitude under your heels.”

SHOT!!!

…

“M-Mister?... M-Mister?! MISTER!!!”

The child screamed as your brother fell to the ground. With the remaining humanity the young soldier clung to, he turned a blind eye towards the little one crying silvery tears. Truth be told, the new soldier himself had forgotten what it was he was fighting for. What was the point in this death, this pain, if not to harm both sides? But a good soldier does not question his orders and he leaves the child without a word.

She did not know his name. She did not know his status as a (L/n). She did not know he was the older brother of the famous physician (Y/n) (L/n). She did not know he was a martyr way before his true death.

But she still held his corpse with abandon. His body heat was slowly growing cold. Though her stature was short and small, her tears were heavier than her heart could manage.

(L/n)s may meet horrid ends, but Fate grants you all one last wish.

You all have the privilege of dying whilst facing the heavens, and that is the final honor your brother can carry with him in his passing.

“My dear, a letter arrived,” your spouse spoke. “It came from your mother…”

It was deep into the night and you had just fixed yourself up for bed, but you’re not one to turn down letters. Perhaps your old friend from Opera Epiclese had sent you a reply? Igniting the nearby lamp, you lovingly kissed their hand before taking the letter.

“Thank you, love,” you cooed. “I’ll surely be writing a letter back, so why don’t you rest before me? I shall accompany you later.”

Leaving them with a blush, you shut the door behind you. Despite the struggles in your relationship, your love for your gorgeous spouse will never disappear over the unplanned loss of your first child.

Unlike Kunikuzushi’s…

You entered the living room and closed the door behind you. A wise decision, given the contents that were about to crush the little mental stability you had left.

“My Dearest (Y/n), It is with a heavy heart and trembling hand that I take quill to convey news that no mother should ever have to write down. As I write these words, tears splotch the paper, and each stroke of the pen is a painful reminder of the sorrow that has befallen our clan. My dearest child, it grieves me beyond measure to inform you that your beloved older brother, (B/n), has departed from this world. The weight of this solemn news rests heavily upon my shoulders, and the burden is almost too much to bear. The tragedy unfolded in the heart of the capital, where (B/n), in an act of unparalleled heroics, sacrificed his own life to save that of a young girl during a merciless ambush. His valor shone through, but the cost is another pain you must bear after the death of your own child. Oh, my (Y/n), the pain is unbearable. I wish I could shield you from this heart-wrenching truth, but I believe in your resilience. The thought that you are in exile, far from my comforting embrace, only adds bitterness to my heart. The cruel hand of fate has robbed you of the chance to bid a final farewell to your dear brother, to stand beside his resting place and pay tribute to his funeral. The distance that separates Ritou and Watatsumi feels insurmountable, and I ache at the thought of your solitary grief. I hope your spouse shall accompany you in these troubled times. In these dark hours, know that you are not alone in grief. Though separated, we mourn the loss of a beloved son and brother, the heir of the (L/n) clan. May time and the tender embrace of cherished memories bring some measure of peace to your soul. With all the love a grieving heart can muster, Mother”

As the ink on your mother's heartbreaking letter crumpled with sorrow in your heavy trembling grip, a weighted silence filled the room. The words she penned— each a painful jab to your psyche— threatened to spill tears you've fought so desperately to hold back for weeks since you didn’t want your spouse to worry.

Before you can succumb to weeping on the floor with a contorted expression and writhing body, the door opens, disrupting your peace.

Prince Kunikuzushi, adorned with his mother’s feather and opulent regalia, strode into your humble abode with an irritating aura of entitlement. His presence, a stark contrast to the mourning atmosphere, successfully transformed your grief into weaponized spite.

"Still holding another Watatsumi Fair, are we?" he sneered, disdain dripping in every word. The callousness in his eyes and “indifference” to your mourning made the air all the more sharper.

“Why are you here, Your Highness?” You spat out. “Had your clow— soldiers failed to entertain you?”

“They are nearly as boring as your spouse in bed.” He snarled. “And I wager that their lives last longer than they do.”

You bit your tongue. Your spouse had made an effort to teach you not to reply to any insult he had towards them, and you had done decently enough to honor their wishes by merely scowling at the royal instead of equipping any nearby blunt weapon.

“Allow me to ask again,” you forced yourself to be cordial. “What are you doing here, Kunikuzushi?”

The prince clicked his tongue.

“Do I not have the authority to visit you?”

“You do,” you said. “But you do not have the right to barge in as you please, much like how Lord Hiroshi shouldn’t have decided to conquer my homeland Ritou and decide to claim it as Inazuman property for your mother’s ever-so-eternal happiness.”

“He was only claiming what is rightfully ours.”

Prince Kunikuzushi looked over at your bedroom door. You took large steps forward, blocking his way. You won’t allow him to disturb your lover’s good night’s rest.

He frowned.

"You should have been mine," he muttered softly.

You hated this about Kunikuzushi the most. He speaks with audacity that knows no bounds as he criticizes your spouse, but would sound the most pure when addressing his own emotions. “You should’ve said yes. You should’ve ruled these nations with me, and more. But you threw it all away and for what? Fragile patriotism? You are defending an island that will suffer the same fate as your beloved Ritou.”

In the eye of this tempest, your mother’s burning words fuels a fire that burns brighter than any royal decree.

"You speak of love and marriages," you seethed, voice cutting through the tension, "but you know nothing of the bonds that truly matter."

…

As the realization dawns upon him, his arrogance wavered.

He had not realized early on that news about your brother’s death had reached you already.

"An accident," he stammered, attempting to deflect blame. "If I knew, I would have spared him in that ambush. I’m not an All-Knowing God, so it’s genuinely just an accident."

With a chilling calmness, you locked eyes with him. "That wasn't an accident— our previous affairs were an accident. What you've done was murder."

Your words hung in the air, leaving no room for denial.

“I love you,” the prince spoke in near-whisper. “You know better than anyone that I would never do anything to hurt you this bad. You know that I am the voice that called for your exile instead of execution. I never would’ve asked for his death.”

His claim was also true.

You knew you were the only person who he had fallen for his whole life. You knew because when you were studying abroad, you had strange chance encounters with him. You knew because he was mildly stalking you and would’ve for a long time had you not offered a seat in the library. You knew because he had been a difficult person to court, always bottling his own emotions and lashing out in retorts you had dubbed “adorable” at a time. You knew because he had told you himself years ago that…

"You are insufferable. And yet, I find myself inexplicably drawn to your company. It's horridly vexing. Your presence lingers in my thoughts long after you've departed, like an annoying insect. I must confess, despite my best efforts, I find myself rather fond of you too— ridiculously enough."

... But what you didn’t know during your studies in Fontaine was that Kunikuzushi was the son of the Queen you despised and wrote articles against in editorial jobs to earn not only spare cash but the enlightenment of your people back home. What you didn’t know was that the prince had been sent by his mother to monitor your actions.

What you did not know came to haunt you on your way back home.

So you rid yourself of these memories and cornered him into a wall, a hand just behind his head. The sound of your hand slamming made the intimidating prince flinch, and he trembled at the dullness of your eyes.

“And yet whose orders was it? Whose order was it to ensure there would be no survivors in that location? WHOSE WAS IT, KUNIKUZUSHI?! ANSWER ME!!!”

Your spouse called your name from the other room. “(Y/n), is everything alright?”

With their voice, your anger faded slightly, yet your breathing remains loud and manic. “I’m alright! Do not leave the room, dear!”

“Scaramouche” took that as an opportunity to digress.

“I saved you from death before. Do not forget that.” His face hardened. “In case you've forgotten, I'm no saint. Many people will want to seek me out and settle the grudges they've built against me, and what better way to avoid that than to route those future seeds of rebellion?”

The prince took your hand off the wall.

“Mother had enough, she sees no reason to hold back against those who rebel and she had filed an order to reopen your case. And if my blood and hers are the same, I guarantee you that she will only provide you with the worst defense attorney possible. You will surely receive the death sentence.”

He placed your hand on his chest, gripping it so desperately tight to the point of it hurting.

“So choose me,” Kunikuzushi mumbled. “Choose me, and save yourself. Do not follow your brother’s path. Choose me. I’m your only option.”

And heavens above, does he take delight in that.

You met his gaze with a resolute determination.

"I appreciate your offer," you replied, your voice steady, "but I refuse. My brother's legacy, as tarnished as it may be, deserves justice, and so do I."

A flicker of frustration passed across Kunikuzushi's face.

"You're being naive," he retorted, the desperation in his voice taking a sharper edge. "An arraignment is on its way. The military court will not deliver justice. It will devour you. I’m offering you a fucking lifeline, a chance to escape the inevitable."

“I won't tarnish my brother's memory by succumbing to the same shadows that claimed him."

Kunikuzushi's eyes, once filled with a glimmer of hope, darkened with frustration. "You're condemning yourself—" he argued, "—for an idealistic notion of justice that doesn't exist. You're a fool."

"Perhaps I am a fool," you admitted, "But I am a fool who is sure of their innocence. I am not a revolutionary, I only spoke and wrote of the truth. I will not compromise my integrity for the sake of expedience."

As you spoke, the defeat in Kunikuzushi's eyes began to settle.

"You're determined," he snarled. "So stubbornly determined to die!"

"Perhaps," you acknowledged, "Choosing you would be an escape, but it would also be a betrayal of everything I stand for. And I…"

You smiled.

“I love my spouse,” you said. “And the child we made that was taken from me all so suddenly. Hence, I do not need your love, Prince Scaramouche.”

Kunikuzushi tensed up.

Your child was baptized by the Inazuman priests.

And Inazuman priests serve the royal family and their constituents.

History’s eyes will speculate that Prince Kunikuzushi was the reason your child had died, that he had ordered your son's immediate poison upon birth.

And Kunikuzushi knows it to be true.

But you will never know that.

You will never know the full extent of what this man had taken from you.

With those words, you turned away from Kunikuzushi, leaving him and his offer behind. You opened the door and gestured for him to leave. Neither of you knew at the time that this would be the last night you’d spend in the comfort of your own home.

Before you knew it, you were writing your final farewells.

(Y/n) (L/n) was subjected by the military court on ████████ ██, ████ and was sentenced to death at six in the morning.

The people saw no justice for their hero, and your body was buried in Inazuma City. If it were not for all you and your clan had given, there would be no freedom in Watatsumi Island and Ritou. Had your brother not saved the young girl, she would not become the matriarch of the Yuna Clan, who led the first Navy in the revolution.

And had you not died in Inazuma City, there would be no Resistance.

But that was centuries ago.

Divine Priestess Sangonomiya Kokomi sat on her desk, examining previous preliminary investigations. She racked her brain over the testimonies of the seven members of the military court, the judge advocate, the defense counsel, and the prosecuting attorney. The prince was right when he stated the trial would not be fair for you were forced to employ a Lt. Arataki as your defense. It was a prejudged trial. Despite the obvious assertion of innocence, you were still acquitted of your allegations of treachery.

It never fails to make the current Head Priestess feel sour over a 5 centuries-year-old case.

"In their last moments, (L/n) penned Watatsumi Fair and Canticle, two sonnets kept hidden in an alcohol burner." Kokomi murmured as she read. "Although the prince barred their spouse entry, several other family members and friends came to visit (L/n) with the Orobashi coral statue provided by the townsfolk. The sculpture was created for them during the aforementioned fair."

Are you going to Watatsumi Fair?

"In their Fontainian black suit, hat, shoes, and white vest, (L/n) walked calmly outside their prison cell to the execution site in Inazuma City. They've even checked (L/n)'s pulse and felt no irregularities. (L/n) were tied elbow-to-elbow despite their visible acceptance of fate."

"It was speculated that Prince Kunikuzushi was the last person whom they talked to, looking rather somberly with disdain. He spoke in a foreign language so only (L/n) and he knew of their conversation."

Seri, mitsuba, yomogi, shiso.

"But Archbishop Sangonomiya Umiko understood what he had said. Je t'aime, mon grand amour… ma première trahison. Roughly translated as I love you, my grand love… my first betrayal."

"Lector (Y/n) (L/n) was commanded to face the ground when the firing squad pulled the trigger, but they still tried to face their executioners. They fell to the shoveled ground, looking at the gray morning skies. They were buried at seven."

“From then on, the name Kunikuzushi changed its meaning to Country Destroyer— for he had successfully demolished the Inazuman Empire upon sitting on the throne through violent means. When asked about this, the King responded with:”

Remember me to one who lives there.

“I didn't desire the Empire that took away my (Y/n). I didn't crave any of it. As soon as I was coronated, my heart stopped beating. And so, I enticed the neighboring King Morax to crumble the very essence of the Inazuman Empire. What purpose do these soldiers have in life, when all they've done is obediently follow ruthless commands and snuff out the ones who hold my heart?

When it’s said and done, I will be empty— a blank slate, destined to wander the desolate corridors of a nation bygone.

Only to honor these filthy human emotions called “love” that never came to be.”

He once was a true love of mine.

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist <3): @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram , @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen

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ecoamerica · 24 days

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pupkou · 7 months

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✧ Blood and Darkness ✧

✦ Zagreus (Hades 2018) x Gender Neutral Reader. ✦ Warnings: slight mentions of gore (no details; in the game, Zagreus is killed over and over and is often covered in blood), head injury (reader is hurt, non-fatally, and is knocked out by hitting their head), mentions of Zagreus’ sexual escapades (no descriptions), reader is a servant of the house of Hades and is described as a shade, no smut (😞)... yet (😏). ✦ Word Count: 2.2K. ✦ Read on AO3. ✦ Part 1 / ?

You've heard rumors about Hades' son.

They say he's not in possession of a particularly impressive stature; he's of average height, with dark hair, and he's quite thin, really, for a God. That's what he is, after all, just a God of the Underworld. One of many. And one who looks like he's not indulging himself in ambrosia and nectar as much as he should be at that, it almost seems like he's ungrateful for all the blessings and curses that come along with being the Prince of the Underworld.

They describe him as far smaller and more pathetic than Achilles, their blush showing on their ghostly complexions as they describe how his hair is cropped close to his neck and black and unflowing, not at all like the golden locks that fall around Achilles' nape.

Oh, Achilles, why must you torture us with your divine beauty and arrogant sneer? We know our ghastly, hellish faces are unworthy of your gaze, but a small, simple kindness-- in the form of a smile from your handsome face-- would satisfy us for eternities to come. By Achilles, by Thetis, and by Zeus, please let him stroll by and be pleased by something enough to smile for us, even if his pleasure comes from our misery. Surely, one of us can think of something to poke fun at Hector... much like the spear of Achilles' poked at his neck... surely so, surely so...

They... say a lot of things, but they always call him Zagreus, which means 'great hunter'. But by the rumors you've heard, it... doesn't seem like Zagreus' name fits him very well. In Tartarus' maze, everything becomes prey to those that inhabit the different levels of death and despair that come before you feel the sun's warm embrace, or so you've heard. You've never actually felt the sun, but you have heard Achilles brag about it to Hades, reminding the king of his very eventful life on earth. The sun doesn't reach this far down, though, and is unable to illuminate the depths of Hades' realm or comfort those who call it home. Here, predators lurk around every moss-covered turn, under every magma-concealing rock, behind every skullified hero's dug-up grave, and even amongst the distinguished guests that frequent the house of Hades.

From the whispers you've strained to hear, it seems like Zagreus wants out of this place-- the Underworld, that is. The shades, your main source of information on Zagreus and the other residents of the house, love to gossip, and they say he's still not been successful in escaping the darkness that has consumed him since he was born. Some root for him, hoping that one day his laurels will know what it feels like to soak in the blazing sun like the blessed olive trees they were harvested from, while others laugh at his failure, joining Hypnos' chorus of dramatic mocking, when they see him rise from the blood once again.

He's always covered in it, head to toe, deep red and maroon coating his limbs and soaking from his limbs as if it were his own. Much of it is, considering the amount of times he's died, but that doesn't make it any less pitiful to see the Prince rise from the fluid of life (and death), unrelenting in his attempts to escape his home. He'd hardly call it that, of course, as you've heard him say as he climbs the marble steps leading from the pool of blood, wiping his glowing feet on the carpet that you think was one of Arachne's (hence its purpose being for Zagreus to wipe his bloody feet on.)

The thing about marble-- what the house of Hades is made out of-- is that it doesn't absorb sound in the slightest. It's a curse for embarrassed shades trying to quietly explain how they arrived in Tartarus early because their pet goat rammed them in the stomach, but a blessing for beings like you who get most of their daily excitement from the things that they hear refracted off of the cool stone walls.

Marble also doesn't quickly absorb any liquid poured onto its surface, despite being a porous stone, which means that you, one of the poor shades tasked with cleaning, have a lot of work to do. Guests in the house get rowdy at the kitchen bar sometimes, drinking too much ambrosia and leaving various liquids behind. Sometimes water from the river Styx drips from cracks in the ceiling, pooling and causing problems for anyone whose flesh comes in contact with the liquid. And on the worst days, the most stubborn of fluid comes in contact with the objects you're in charge of keeping tidy.

One of Cerberus' heads is a particularly messy eater, which means that sometimes droplets of blood from a cut of meat (or carcass) he's eating are flung onto precious objects. Another guest, who is said to be armed with a barbed whip, has been said to make her victims cry blood on occasion, staining the good dinner napkins and frustrating you profusely. But by far, the being who makes the worst, bloody messes, is Zagreus himself.

Despite him wiping his feet on the carpet and despite your polite suggestion to him-- a sheet for him to dry off with laid over the marble railing, Zagreus continuously trails blood all over the house. And it doesn't help that the Prince behaves like a dog, prodding at his ears when they're clogged with blood and scratching at his head to dislodge it from his scalp. He's even shook like a filthy mutt before, letting drops of blood fly from his dark hair and unknowingly creating hours of cleanup for you. You've always been forgiving, though, considering that for one, you don't have much of a choice, and two, that you've never actually spoken to Zagreus in all of your years working for the house. You've heard his name boomed in anger from Hades' decision chamber, whispered by a loose-lipped shade with an audience to entertain, and uttered during more private affairs when you shouldn't have been pressing an ear to the dark wood of his bedchamber.

But things happen. And you've never met him, so you don't feel too bad or worry too much about ever being in his presence. He's always gone anyway, wooing an undead maiden when he's not fighting to flee the house, you presume. So when you enter his bedroom dust off his belongings and collect his blood and gut soiled robes, you pay little attention to your surroundings.

You've been in his sleeping chambers many times since you've been trusted with entry, something the other cleaning shades consider a privilege. You scoff at the idea that cleaning up the Prince's dirty laundry, various collected knickknacks, and... bodily fluids is at all a privilege, but you do as you're told anyway because admittedly, it is interesting to be provided with such an intimate view of someone you've never met. There's so much to be told by someone's bedroom, or in Zagreus' case, the state of someone's sheets (his always are in various stages of disarray from his frequent activities held within the bedchamber), and you don't at all mind the exclusive perspective on the Prince.

You do, however, mind that he tracks blood everywhere. Usually, you're more aware of it, considering how much of your life you spend cleaning it up, but this time, you're not so lucky as to notice its presence. Abnormally, the carpet that cushions the foot of Zagreus' bed is kicked up in one spot so that when you move to straighten the books on his bookshelf, not only do you trip on the carpet, but you slip in a pool of blood, streaking it across the tile as you fall hard onto the floor. The force with which your head hits the hard, stone floor would surely have killed you had you not died ages ago, but in this extended lifetime, all it does is send the lower half of your body into the bookshelf's feet, knocking books, scrolls, and what are surely precious artifacts from Zagreus' journeys flying to the floor in a great crash that shakes and echoes through the room.

Although you're thoroughly disoriented and on the verge of passing out, you still hear a gravelly, skeletal voice in the distance say, "Maybe you'd better investigate that, boyo. Unless you don't got the guts! I sure don't! Ha ha ha!" before your eyes close and your mind descends to darkness.

✧✧✧

Rest, even when injury is involved, is rare for a servant of Hades like you, and it feels like only a moment has passed before your eyes are opening again, drowsy and weak as the lids flutter open. While you can't quite understand why yet, you notice that you're lying on a bed softer than a cloud and warmer than the sun (as you imagine it), and that soft voices are speaking in hushed tones nearby. One is older than the other, and commands the other to be more quiet as he worries, as though he's fretting about you.

Your sight comes back to you gradually, and you see that a red blanket with golden lining is draped over your legs and midsection comfortably, keeping you warm and still as the shocks of the pain from your head pulse through your body. Your neck hurts too, but it retains just enough of its strength that you're able to lift your hurting head and see the two forms hovering at the bedside, far enough to indicate that they were worried you might spring up like an undead warrior looking for revenge, but concerned enough that they needed to stay close.

The one on the left, who's farther from you, is a reanimated human's skeleton. A Bloodless, as they're called, was once a mortal warrior that did not receive a proper burial, and is now forced to roam the Underworld aimlessly, looking for a fight that might bring them eternal peace. It's a foolish game to play, of course, as all wise men know that no war will ever bring peace. This Bloodless doesn't seem mindless like the others though, and is able to make eye contact with his bright red irises, although he seems uncomfortable doing so. He looks at his partner when you meet his gaze.

His partner stands closer to you, his face full of concern as it points at you, studying you. He's not very tall, but he's muscular as if he uses his body more than the average God trapped in Tartarus for all of eternity, and the half of his torso that's revealed lacks scarring-- in the dimness of the room, it's almost like his skin is glowing faintly. His face is kind and handsome, unlike anyone you've ever seen before. On top of his short, dark hair rests a loop of multi-colored laurels whose crimson color fades into red, which fades into copper, which fades into gold.

It sits on his head like a crown, much like the dark-haired child in the portrait of Cerberus that hangs in the great hall wore, you think. Identical to it, even. You've never actually stopped to read the plaque that hangs beneath the masterpiece, so you're not sure who the child or his companions are or what their names could be-- you just know that he is of the utmost importance to Hades considering he is the center of a few artistic representations, which Hades isn't often fond of. But before you can begin your quest to discover the identity of the child in the portrait, he speaks.

"Hello, dear friend," he says softly. "Can you hear me?"

You swallow, hoping your voice still works, and say, "Yes."

"Woah! This one's got no respect for royalty! They just employ any- body these days! Ha!" the Bloodless jokes, elbowing his partner in the ribs humorously. Unfortunately for him, his partner doesn't laugh, he just keeps his attention steady on you, his heterochromatic eyes caring as they watch you. In any other case, he would push the Bloodless over and reduce him (temporarily) to a scattered pile of bones, but there are things more important to worry about than someone’s mistimed joke.

At the skeleton’s words, your stomach drops as all the blood rushes to your head all at once, and your heart starts beating so hard you can hear it in your ears, a pounding rhythm usually reserved for life-or-death situations. Suddenly, the room becomes familiar again-- the picture frames you've dusted and the knickknacks you've arranged and the blankets you've straightened thousands of times become clear to you.

You're in Zagreus' bedroom.

Prince Zagreus' bedroom.

And you're lying in his bed.

And the man, who was once a baby with a crown of laurels forced (by magic) to sit still for a portrait, is right in front of you.

The one person in the house of Hades who you've never come in contact with is standing at your bedside because you slipped in his blood.

You are so extremely damned. Somehow, even more than the first time you got damned to Tartarus for all eternity.

Blood and darkness.

✧✧✧

tagging people I think might like this <3

@vampireloverz @allright @transchainsawman @moonsong1027 <3

#zagreus x reader #zagreus x gn reader #zagreus x gender neutral reader #hades game x reader #hades x reader #zagreus hades game x reader

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nikethestatue · 6 months

Text

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 1 Here

Part 2

Tighten Up

Azriel completely underestimated the length of time it would take him to get from the gym to Russell Square.

He rode the Tube, his act of a ‘regular guy’ perfected over the years. Once in a while he caught confused glances of recognition, but because he knew how to act so disinterested, those who actually recognised him eventually averted their eyes, convinced that they were wrong and that he was not the Azriel Night.

After receiving a good deal of bollocking from Cassian last night, Azriel had signed the contract, and it was now sitting in his backpack. Cassian had made a fuss over Azriel’s ‘marriage proposal’ to the prissy Miss Duchess, calling him, among other things: unprofessional, dumb, a tosser, a wanker, and a caveman. Yeah, Azriel recognised that the ‘proposal’ was a stupid move on his part, but what was done was done. At least he spiced things up a bit for her. That was probably the one and only proposal she’d receive in her life anyway, considering her attitude.

In the end, he assured Cassian that he was going to be on his best behaviour and that he won’t tease her or argue with her. Cassian was doubtful, wanting to come along with Azriel to the meeting, but thankfully, he had other meetings scheduled and therefore, Azriel made the trip alone.

Because two could play that game, he hit up good ol’ Google last night, searching for info on Miss Priss.

Elain Marie Paige Archeron, daughter of Sir Charles Archeron and his late wife Cressida. Middle child, with sisters Nesta and Feyre. He didn’t think she was much over 22, but apparently, she was 27. Graduated from the University of Bristol. Marigold seemed to have been her great-grandmother’s name, hence the name of the agency. There wasn’t much about Elain out there. A few photos of her with some pale redhead with an aristocratic face, whom Azriel immediately disliked. The bloke had the kind of expression like he was smelling a pile of shite at all times, or as if Pinky…no, Piglet, took a dump on his shoe. Azriel knew the type–proud, haughty, old-money, inherited everything, probably played polo with Prince William, and cards with Old Etonians. Azriel wasn’t sure if Elain was dating this wanker, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. Well, with her granddaddy the Duke and all…

He sighed and X-ed out of the search. It was too depressing. He didn’t even like Elain, and yet it annoyed him that that pale-faced prick could just expect a girl like her to be his. He didn’t even have to try. It was all set in stone for them from before they were born.

It was only 11:15 am and he was exiting the station. He was seriously early.

Well, maybe she was in the office already and he could just get it over with earlier than planned. That would be nice. Once they were done with today, he hoped that he wouldn’t need to see her ever again. Or at least not for a while.

Damn it was cold. It wasn’t pouring like it did yesterday, but it was damp and bone-chilling and grossly dreary.

Why couldn’t he have signed with Barcelona or Real Madrid or even Juventus or something? Spending a decade or two in the sun, by the sea, drinking Aperol Spritzers or Sangria. What’s bad about that life?

He sighed. A nice dream, but deep down he knew that he was forever a London boy. Born and raised, and he’d die here one day, in this damp and chill. He loved the fucking place. An East-sider through and through. Loved the grandeur and the poverty, the history and every freakin’ building in this city. He loved how it changed and grew and expanded, the old mixing with the new, all the extremes of its everyday life. The bustle, the hustle, the quiet, the refined. He loved the stately homes and the fugly estates which were little but cinder blocks. Loved the parks and the mighty river, the roar of football crowds and the anonymity of a pub. He loved it. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

And now, this weird girl Elain was here, and she was going to find him a wife, and she was going to bind him even further to this city.

As he passed by the side of the Firtzroy, he saw a blue plaque that stated:

Emmeline Pankhurst, a political activist and leader of the suffrage movement and her daughters Sylvia, Christbel and Adela lived here

And now, he felt a strange connection to this blue plaque, to this quaint neighbourhood, because Elain lived here, and she was organically tied to this place. She was able to trace her presence here for multiple generations. She was tied to London just like he was.

He went straight to Elain’s office and rang the bell. There was no response. He even peeked into the window, and saw that it was dark in there. Well that sucked because he had almost two hours to kill now. Great…

Shivering within his jacket, he stuck his hands as deeply in his pockets as he could and walked down the residential street. Yesterday, he noticed a few cafes and restaurants and shops around the British Museum and he decided to head that way. He wasn’t hungry yet, but he had time, so he’d have lunch.

Six minutes later, that plan went to shite, because he passed by a bakery and everything looked delicious. He had a pretty bad case of sweet tooth everyday, though he tried to keep himself in check during training and the playing season. But the golden meat pies in the display case whispered his name. He couldn’t resist. And it wasn’t like he was eating sugar. 10 minutes later, he was exiting the bakery with three pies in the bag. One, he devoured like an animal, before he even spotted a cafe to get a cup of tea. He didn’t like to share food, or wait to eat–his childhood programmed him to be stingy about it, and he couldn’t kick the habit even now, even with all his millions in the bank.

He walked further, trying to stave off the cold, when he suddenly saw a familiar creature–a three legged pug. Pinky…no, Piglet–was trotting proudly, wearing a puffer vest and a stylish polka dot scarf. Some girl was walking him, and people stopped to admire him, some even snapping photos on their phone. That made Azriel smile. The dog walker was a slender tallish girl who wore Adidas skater shoes, slightly flared faded jeans, a plain jacket and a beanie, while being wrapped in a thick, long scarf.

Somehow, Pinky recognised or sensed Azriel’s presence and took off towards him, his three short legs pumping comically. The girl barely held onto the lead, and ran behind the dog.

“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, once Pinky…no, Piglet...began sniffing Azriel’s shoes and then craned its thick neck up, demanding loves and rubs with his sad buggy eyes.

To Azriel’s utter shock, the girl in the faded pair of jeans and a thick scarf was no other than Elain Archeron.

“What the fuck?” Azriel gasped.

She ignored the language and stared at him in confusion,

“What are you…why are you here?”

Why was he here?

The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was impatient to see her and came early.

Somewhat aggressively, he turned it on her ‘weren’t we meeting at 11? It’s half past now!”

“No, one. We were meeting at one,” she argued.

“I don’t think so,” he waved his hand.

“Well, you would be wrong,” she contradicted him.

Pinky finally lost his patience and tugged on Azriel’s pant with his teeth.

“Piglet!” Elain tried to pull him back, but Azriel squatted and finally scratched the back of the dog’s neck.

“I guess I got my times mixed up,” Azriel finally conceded.

“Where is Cassian?” Elain asked curiously, looking for his brother.

At that, Azriel bristled and snapped, “I thought I was the client? Why do you need Cassian here?”

Elain shrugged and answered placidly, “I am just surprised that he isn’t standing behind you with a cattle prod, trying to push you into the office.”

At that, Azriel couldn’t help himself, and chuckled.

“Nah…” he shrugged, and smiled, and then shivered from the damn cold. “I am all yours to have your way with me. Brought the contract and all.”

She blushed a bit at his words, as she looked up at him and whispered, “You are weird.”

“Yeah well…”

Suddenly, she pulled off her massive scarf and then slowly draped it over his neck, wrapping it carefully around him and tying it off.

It was warm from her body, smelled faintly of jasmine and maybe vanilla and was soft as butter on his skin.

“What’s this for?” he finally asked stupidly, after a long, awkward, confused pause. She was confounding him.

“I dunno,” she answered, seemingly just as surprised by her own action as he was. “You seem cold.”

“Thank you?” he said at last.

The pug was going wild at his feet, bucking and pulling on the lead, and Azriel finally said, “come on, Pinky. Let’s go.”

“It’s Piglet,” Elain corrected him.

“It’s a terrible name for a dog.”

“You’d think so,” Elain shrugged her shoulder.

“I just wouldn’t name a dog Piglet. Pinky is better.”

“Well, I am not renaming my dog.”

“Well, I am naming the children,” Azriel decided, taking the lead from her without asking.

Elain gave him a side glance, and thrust her hands in her pockets. What children?

“And what are you naming them?” she queried. As everything with him, it was a strange conversation.

“Darius,” he said immediately. “Definitely Darius.”

“Hmmm, I like Darius,” she agreed.

“Yeah?”

“I do. What else?”

“I like Dahlia, Isabelle and Rose for girls.”

Elain considered for a moment and then nodded,

“These are all good names.”

He was surprised and asked, “Really?”

“Yes, I actually like them all. Something I should mention to the prospective matches then?”

At that, Azriel frowned and nestled his chin deeper into the scarf. Then, abruptly as ever, he asked, “What happened to Pinky’s leg?”

“It’s Piglet. And I don’t really know,” Elain admitted. “I think he was run over by a cyclist. The leg was crushed and had to be amputated. And the family that had him didn’t want to keep him. Didn’t want to deal with a three legged dog, or with the care that he required. They were going to put him down, but a friend of mine who volunteered at the shelter rang me up and told me that if I wanted him, I could have him. So I went that night and picked him up. And here we are. He has more energy than I do,”

Azriel chuckled and nodded, “I can see that”.

They walked in silence for a while, the dog bouncing between them, his round head swinging from one to the other, looking at their reactions.

“Do you want a meat pie?”

That came out of nowhere, as usual. Azriel lifted a paper bag, his offer hanging in the air.

“Yeah. Okay,” Elain agreed.

Defensively, he added, “you know, I am not pressuring you. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to have it.”

He sounded almost angry, like he couldn’t believe that she’d eat with him. Or accept food from him.

“Why can’t I just want a meat pie?” Elain asked.

“Posh lasses like you don’t eat stuff like this,”

“You have the strangest notions, you know,” she shook her head. “As if you have any idea who I am or what I like. Give me the damn pie, I’ll buy us some tea and you’ll help me with a project,” she demanded impatiently.

“What fucking project?” he mumbled.

Elain didn’t bother answering, as she stepped inside a cafe, leaving him and Pinky outside. Azriel stood there, meeting people’s curious gazes, though Pinky, being so extra with his scarf and puffer coat, seemed a lot more interesting to most passersby. While waiting, he pondered what the hell kind of a project Elain had for him. He didn’t expect to meet her like that, on the street, but now he was sort of glad that he did. If nothing else, Elain was mesmerizingly beautiful so it wasn’t exactly a hardship to walk with her. And when she wasn’t decked out in pearls and silk, she seemed kind of normal. A little funny. Irreverent. And she liked all the baby names that he had planned–which was a mad thing, because he sure didn’t plan on sharing that with her. With anyone! What normal man talks baby names with some girl he’d just met. But he also didn’t want her to share those names with any matches that she was going to set him up with. No. No. These were his names. And Elain was the only person in the world that he told them to, so now it was their names. He felt weirdly protective over the names, over this thing that now untied him and her. Gah. She was messing with his head. It was frustrating.

“Don’t tell the baby names to anyone!” he snapped at her the moment she came out of the cafe holding two cups.

She gave him a look, judgy and disdainful, he was sure of it, but then simply said, ‘okay. I won’t.’

“I am not joking,” he warned, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I got it. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Alright then,” he sighed. He tugged on the lead and Pinky finally moved his butt off the pavement. “Thanks for the tea,” Azriel said.

“You really need to work on your manners,” Elain told him bluntly.

He had to agree. He did.

“Probably. Sorry I was short with you.”

They headed towards her house and when they stood in front of it, Azriel noticed another blue plaque. It stated: Elain Archeron, a pioneer in women’s education and one of the leaders of the suffragette movement lived in this house.

“How would the feminist granny Archeron feel about you working as a matchmaker?” Azriel wondered out loud, while Elain unlocked the door to the coach house.

Pinky rushed inside, like he owned the place–which, Azriel, supposed he did. Elain removed her jacket and then waited for Azriel to do the same. She took it from him and hung it in the closet, and it didn’t escape him how her eyes skimmed over him.

He wore jeans and a simple grey henley today, but now that he thought about it, he figured that it probably accentuated his physique pretty well. He was very tall, wide-shouldered, with a lean, muscular torso, obviously extraordinarily fit, his legs long and clad in lean sinewy muscle which he developed after years of running.

It’s not like he cared that she checked him out, but he wasn’t hating it either. Without thinking, he rolled up his sleeves, and the widening of Elain’s eyes and her pink tongue licking her lips was not something he could miss. There was no mistaking it this time. She was definitely checking him out.

He folded his arms on his chest–did he flex a bit? Maybe–and then asked,

“What’s this project that you need done?”

She stared at him, at his forearms, the tattoos that covered them, the scars that marred his hands.

“Uhh…what?”

She was cute like this. Frazzled like. Not all proper and snobby, but all twitchy and red. He wanted to laugh.

“The project?” he repeated, staring at her.

“Oh, yeah,” she seemed to have remembered what she wanted from him, but when she turned around, she walked straight into the wall. Bounced back off of it and yelped ‘ow!’

“You okay there, matchmaker?” he teased, though he caught himself worried that she’d hurt her nose, because she was rubbing it aggressively.

“I am okay,” she said at last. “Come with me.”

He followed her silently, down a long corridor. Her office and the reception area were on the other side of the corridor, and he was kind of surprised when they ended up in a cosy little kitchen–guess that explained where she got the tea and the biscuits yesterday–and a tidy lounge. Though the only one lounging presently was Pinky, who was sprawled on his back, short little legs in the air, stretched upon a comfy looking pouffe. There was also a sofa and an armchair, and a wall mounted TV in the lounge. Elain clicked the remote and on came videos of dogs running around. The pug growled with approval, fully immersed in the programme, while Elain went to take off all his clothes.

“He is a little fucking lord, isn’t he?” Azriel commented, watching her fuss over the dog.

“Mr. Night,” she told him primly, “you must cut down on the cursing! It’s rather unseemly,”

He scowled and reminded her,

“I am a fucking footballer, baby. How do you think we talk? Also, maybe you should cut down on Mr. Night, yeah? I think we are past that.”

She straightened and glared at him, her soft little face full of stormy fury.

“Mr. Night. I am not your ‘baby’. Never forget that. You are my client. As such, you will be known as Mr. Night and you will give me the respect of calling me Ms. Archeron. Are we clear?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to maintain his composure. But at last, he snapped, ‘crystal’.

“Wonderful,” “But Cassian is Cassian, right?” he couldn’t help but challenge her.

She huffed to herself, head shaking, her curls bouncing up and down her shoulders.

“Cassian is not my client.”

“And if I weren’t, you’d call me Azriel then?”

“No, I wouldn’t. I simply don’t see under what circumstances we’d be acquainted…and what we’d have in common to ever cross paths…”

That actually fucking hurt.

Her words. The implication that he wasn’t good enough to be spending time in her company outside of this business arrangement. He wasn’t up to par to be in her circles, to even have as a friend.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” he muttered icily. “Because I am just some trashy footballer. As you said yesterday, I was sold by one team to another. That’s what footballers are–a commodity to be bought and sold, until they reach their expiration date. Wouldn’t think someone like you had any use for me. Where would we meet other than here, right?”

Her mouth popped open, while he sighed heavily.

He was feeling…dejected. Burdened. Like she tossed him aside, much like most people in his life did, and he didn't matter. But she was right, of course, he was her client. Nothing else.

And he wasn’t going to give her his meat pie anymore. Forget it.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” he decided. “I think that this is a mistake.”

Elain chewed on her lips, her big brown eyes watching him intently, like she was trying to read what’s on his mind and get inside his head.

“What I think is that you need to get out of your head,” she stated harshly.

He snorted, yet again amazed by the balls on his girl. She was certifiable.

“You have horrible self-esteem, which doesn’t bode well for anyone, especially for you and a future wife. You keep thinking that you are somehow defective. That you shouldn’t be here because…what? You don’t deserve happiness? Don’t deserve a good woman? Yeah, I gathered you had a shitty childhood, well, now you are a superstar. Put your big boy knickers on and act like it! You aren’t some little boy lost–you are Azriel Night, Arsenal’s Captain.

“And don’t you dare dump your issues on me!” she finished. “Don’t construct some scenarios in your head like I am so posh, and you are so not, and as if there is some fantastic chasm of misunderstanding and cultural differences between us.

And finally, if you don’t have any sense of self-worth, then maybe you should be taken advantage of by some slag who’ll take you for everything you’ve got. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you,” he tossed angrily.

“No. Fuck you!” she tossed right back.

“I am leaving!”

He turned around, while Pinky forgot about his entertainment and relaxation time, and now growled threateningly, because he raised his voice at his mum.

Azriel stomped down the corridor, fuming.

What a bitch. If she were a bloke, he’d beat the crap out of her. Her big mouth, her fucking attitude, her acting like she knew anything about him. Yeah, well. Maybe she was correct about most of what she said, but it wasn’t her business. He wasn’t her business. She couldn't even bring herself to call him by his damn name. Maybe he wanted to hear it on her lips, but she wouldn’t even give him that simple satisfaction.

“You are not leaving,” he suddenly heard her behind him. Little claws clucked on the hardwood floor, and before he could stop, Pinky was throwing himself between him and the door, not allowing him to leave.

“You are not leaving,” she repeated sternly.

“What are you going to do? Stop me?” he chuckled bitterly, getting his jacket from the closet.

“No, but you’ll turn around, and you’ll help me with my project. And I will find you a wife, even if it kills me. Even if I know that it’s going to be painful and torturous. Even if I know that you’ll be fighting me every step of the way.”

“Why the hell do you want to do this?” he demanded, turning to face her.

“Because I don’t give up, Mr. Night. Think of me as a fanged beast–once I sink my claws into you, I don’t let go. And maybe,” she paused, almost panting, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing wildly, “maybe I believe in love!”

“What?” he stared at her, processing her stupid words, and failing to understand them.

“Yeah, maybe I want to see your happy end. Maybe I want to find you someone who is going to love you for who you are–despite your nasty cantankerous attitude, your potty mouth, you…your…” she was gasping with a mixture of anger and some unholy excitement.

“My what?”

“I don’t know. You! Just you!” she cried out. “You are impossible and unpleasant, and you can’t communicate.”

“Of yeah, you are such a prize,”

“Be quiet! I’ve known you for two days and I am already exhausted. But I will bring this to its natural conclusion, and you will be walking down the aisle in six months! That I promise. And you will be in love.”

“God you make no sense,” he moaned.

“Maybe. But you will be in love. And you will be loved. And that is my vow.”

He rubbed his face, shaking his head, while she stood in front of him, so much smaller than he, but packing so much rage and heat and passion…

He momentarily had a crazy thought of how much he’d want to feel that passion and heat. In bed, between the sheets. The two of them tangled together, sweaty, biting and scratching and…

Also, she looked really pretty when she was angry.

Aaaannnddd…he needed to stop this train of thought stat.

“Also, you are giving my dog whiplash!!” she growled at him.

He glanced at Pinky, who was positioned against the door like a giant loaf of bread. Apparently in an attempt to not let him leave the house.

“What?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t know if he should hate you or love you!” she even stomped her foot. “You are confusing him with your behaviour. And if you will continue doing that, he is going to bite you,”

“Yeah, I am not all that scared of a three-legged pug,” Azriel rolled his eyes.

She still fumed, muttering,

“You would be singing a different song if he bites you in the dick!”

“Whoa, he,”

“Yes!” she yelled. “That’s what he does. Once, this bloke got real handsy with me in the park, and Piglet jumped up and latched onto the bloke’s junk. And wouldn’t let go.”

Azriel suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

“Yes, yeah, keep laughing, until he bites you!”

“He bit some bloke’s junk?!” Azriel laughed like a maniac, snorting and huffing.

She crossed her arms on her chest.

“He did. And he wouldn’t let go. He just hung there, between the guy’s legs, holding his cock hostage in his teeth. Don’t think he wouldn’t do it to you if you keep being an arsehole and pissing me off!”

“Pinky, don’t you be biting my junk!” Azriel warned, shaking his finger at the dog. “We are mates!”

“And his name is not Pinky!!! And you aren’t mates.”

“We so are.”

Mutely, Azriel hung the jacket back in the closet and then asked,

“What do you need done, you matchmaker-from-hell?!”

She pursed her lips, and then turned on her heels and ordered, “Follow me!”

Oh how he wished he could spank this attitude out of her until her arse was nice and red. Instead, he asked, “who is the bloke who got handsy with you?”

She didn’t turn, but only shrugged.

“I don’t know. I was walking Piglet, and the bloke just wouldn’t leave me alone. It was a little scary.”

Azriel frowned at that.

He didn’t like it.

Didn’t like it one bit.

That some cunt was getting handsy with this impossible contrary girl didn’t sit right with him.

“Do you have CCTV in the house?” he asked sternly.

“Yes, and here too. But that was in the park,”

“I know. But I want to know that your house is secure. Do you have an alarm?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer the goddamn question!”

“Yeah, I have an alarm.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Not like what?” she finally glanced at him over her shoulder, as they made their way into the cellar.

“That you are here alone, with a three-legged pug as your only guard. And you have all kinds of shady characters coming and going from this place. How well do you even vet them?”

She gave him a very clear ‘pot/kettle’ look, but he ignored it. Of course she would.

“I vet them well enough. I have a taser too! And pepper spray.”

“Yeah, bring some pepper spray to a gun fight,” he grunted.

“This is not America,” she reminded him. “I don’t think anyone is bringing a gun here.”

Azriel stopped in the middle of the cellar and gasped, “what is all this crap?”

“It’s pumpkins.”

No shit. She had four large cardboard boxes filled with various sized pumpkins. All kinds of decorations and lanterns and other Halloweeen-themed stuff in a bunch more boxes.

“I need help with this,” she said softly, batting her eyelashes at him and biting her lower lip.

“Yeah, sweetheart, this shite don’t work on me,” he waved his hand dismissively at her. “I’ll help you with this, but not because you think your ridiculous, artless flirting is making any difference here.”

Her mouth dropped in a shocked O.

He smirked.

That’s right. Two can play this game.

#elriel #azriel and elain #elriel fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elriel #azriel #elain #A Match Baked In Heaven #Modern AU #elriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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burningclocks · 2 months

Text

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED

Say what you will but women in classical plays had the best rage-filled monologues

1. Beatrice’s Kill Claudio Monologue, Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

Kill Claudio! You kill me to deny it. Farewell. I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. In faith, I will go. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with my enemy. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, – O, God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Talk with a man out a window! A proper saying! Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant surely! O that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

2. Iphigenia’s Monologue to Agamemnon, Iphigenia at Aulis by Euripides

If I could speak as well as Orpheus, Father, if I could use words to inspire the rocks around us to rise up and follow me, if I had that same gift of persuasion I would use it. But I have only one talent, my tears. I offer them to you. It is all I can do. I bend before you like a branch bending towards the earth, pressing my body against your knees. This is the body that your wife gave birth to. Don’t send me to an early death. It is sweet to see the sun’s light. Do not force me down into the darkness of the Underworld. I was the first child to call you father, the first you called your child. I was the first to sit upon your knee while you fondly kissed me. You used to say to me, “Will I see you one day, happy in your husband’s house, bringing honor to your family?” And I would say to you, as I pulled upon your beard, the same beard I now caress, “And what about you, Father? Will I welcome you into my house, when you are an old man, and take care of you in thanks for all the years that you took care of me?” I remember every word we said, but you have forgotten them, and now you are planning to end my life. By Pelops, by your father Atreus, by my mother, who suffered the pain of my birth and suffers more pain now, I beg you to spare me. What do I have to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen? Why should I die because of them? Look at me, look me in the eyes and give me a kiss, give me that at least to remember when I die, if you are determined to remain deaf to my pleas.

3. Medea’s Dead Children Monologue, Medea by Euripides

Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay my children with all speed, and then, away from hence; not wait yet longer till they stand beneath another and an angrier hand to die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, die they must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis I shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none beside. Oh, up and get thine armour on, my heart! Why longer tarry we to win our crown of dire inevitable sin? Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine, thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line there life turns agony. Let there be naught of softness now: and keep thee from that thought, 'born of thy flesh,' 'thine own belovèd.' Now, for one brief day, forget thy children: thou shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet sweet were they. . . . I am sore unfortunate.

#classical plays #theatre #feminine rage #much ado about nothing #shakespeare #catherine tate #euripides #iphigenia #Iphigenia at aulis #medea #monologues #classics #my art

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amiharana · 11 months

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17‼

(ask game from here)

damn shawty calm down why you yelling at me! (jk but the text is huge on my screen and it's funny kJDKFJD)

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

i'll talk a little bit about the fic i had planned for revalink week d1 >:] it's a prince revali x prince link au because i love royalty aus yahooo

i'm still deciding whether or not revali is going to be human/hylian and whether or not the rito people should still retain avian features or have their livelihoods and economy dependent on aviary travel and innovation, e.g. the rito people deal in the creation and distribution of paragliders, parachutes, air balloons, primitive airplanes, etc. not that i'll go in depth but i was thinking about it !

because of that, there will be a couple bird puns and shit LOL

revali's late mother the queen is named ceruli and i took her name from the species of bird, cerulean warbler

revali is the only child of the hebra royal family, because his father (kaneli) never remarried after ceruli died and thus revali has no siblings. he'd actually be a great big brother if he had any though :)

revali learned archery from his late mother, who was one of the greatest archers who ever lived. :) it's his fondest memories of before she passed, and he trains as frequently as he can, in hopes that he can one day be on par with her skill and honor her memory

link & zelda are fraternal twins and their mother also died when they were young so link n revali are on the same wavelength

zelda is older than link because she was born first, but she's the more natural born leader between her and link, who likes to take naps in the castle gardens or bake in the kitchens with the staff or something, which is why she's the heir to the throne of hyrule lol

thinking about having zelda meet mipha in the background, who has ceded her right to the throne to sidon, hence why he's also at the ball, attempting to court link because the ball is for zelda and link to find suitors

kaneli has one-sided beef with rhoam for marrying his children off for political gain because the rito people in the hebra kingdom have a strong belief in marrying for true love over status, etc.

he would have gone to the ball out of courtesy as royalty and maintain camaraderie or whatever, but knowing rhoam's ulterior motives and having a strong moral code as a rito, kaneli is now attending with spite and a plan masked under his warm and grandfatherly facade

so finally, here's an excerpt from when i was just braindumping about how i want the fic to go because i don't think it's going to make it into the fic and i liked that last sentence teehee:

"kaneli decides to kill two birds with one stone; bring revali to the hyrule birthday ball to meet prince link and have them fall in love. (1) to satisfy both revali’s wishes for strong political ties to the advantageous kingdom of hyrule and to marry for love and (2) save link from a loveless political marriage. kaneli hopes it might even kill a third bird: softening revali’s bristly personality with link’s sweetness."

#revalink #loz #botw #loz botw #legend of zelda #amihan's revalinkverse #ask #ask game #noraiir-arts #zelpha #hehe >:]#this has been in my drafts for so long i'm so sorry KJDHFHJKDf #i can't wait to write this but i'm so totk brainrot right now #i LOVE royalty aus so bad

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saph-writes · 10 months

Text

The [Blue] Pale Spirit, Singing - Chapter 1

ao3 link:

Summary:

"In a world of monsters and magic, it is one’s soulmark that decides their humanity."

Ness is the righthand man to Prince Kaiser, the beloved ruler of the kingdom who is set to inherit the throne on his 18th birthday after the reveal of his soulmate during the soul ceremony. Until then, Ness is sworn to stay loyal by his side. At least he pretends to.

While Prince Kaiser’s a powerless figurehead, his advising council rules from the shadows with the power of the kingdom right in the palm of their hand. And this “Inner Circle” has no intention of handing their power over. As they work to stop the soul ceremony, Ness becomes their spy, reporting every move of the Prince to make sure he does not get in their way. After all, what would he do with himself if he were to let them down?

However when Prince Kaiser starts acting strangely, Ness finds himself getting closer to the Prince. Everything he thought he knew begins to shatter into pieces, both about his reality and about himself.

And yet.. in its place comes something familiar, as he goes from bearing the singe of burning guilt to becoming all too comfortable with the thorns of a blue rose.

Or the soulmate fantasy royalty kainess au no one asked for

Words: 10590

“Have you heard the tale?”

“What tale?”

“The story of the boy from the stars.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Long ago, in this kingdom, there was a baby born without a soul mark. The royal nurses searched and examined and inspected for hours, but nothing resembling a mark was ever found on the boy’s body. Only after some tests were performed could they confirm that the baby was human. It was the first human without a soul mark in thousands of years.”

“Well, was he sentient? Or was he emotionless?”

“Hard to say. The boy cried oudly, and only stopped when in the hands of his mother. Witnesses said that if they weren’t told the situation, they would’ve thought he was just a normal human boy. But of course there were defects. He had no magic, he was weak, he was frail, he was on the verge of dying.”

“And the mother?”

“Oh.. The mother hated the boy. When she found out about her son’s lack of a soul mark, she told the royal staff to kill it. She yelled over and over.‘That is not my son. That is a monster.’”

“Ah, I can’t blame her I guess…”

“After a while, they eventually obliged. They went outside, into the forests encircling the village, into a secret place where there were no towns or people in sight, and they left it in the forest to die alone. Right in the freezing cold of winter, when monsters are at their most active. And yet….”

“What?”

“Nothing, it's just that this is where it gets creepy. When the royal staff came by again the next day, the boy had disappeared without a trace. They searched for hours and hours, all while the mother screamed at them to kill it, but nothing at all. It was like it was never there to begin with.”

“Woah, that is scary… could it be that it got eaten by monsters?”

“Maybe. No one knows. It still remains a mystery to this day. Did the boy die that day? Was it found? Did it end up living? Or was it something more? Most say that perhaps it was a gift from the stars, given to provide good fortune to the kindest of people, hence the name. Others say it is a curse, meant to haunt the forest to this very day, bringing any stranglers it finds to their final doom.”

“Ah, you know I don’t like scary stories, …. but for the boy’s sake, I hope it passed away peacefully that day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that… imagine how horrible that would be. To live without a soul mark. I don’t think even I could bear it…”

“I agree. Can you imagine? A life without a soulmate. Personally… I think I would go insane from the loneliness.”

Don’t you think?

The sun has always had some sort of magical ability to it. Especially when it sits high on the sky, flaring and shining its absolute brightest, so far out of hand’s reach.

Light sweeping through, its rays allow anything or anyone it touches to glimmer like a jewel. To glimmer and glisten bindingly. A sort of radiance that draws people towards it, like a moth to a flame.

But for one person, it exceeds far beyond what any of them could have imagined.

Whispered to be the sun’s favorite, they hold a captivating aura that puts them above everything. Placed above everything. Left to be towering above the ground.

They are worshipped, and pleaded to. Loved. Perfect.

They should be standing in the sky only next to the clouds and hidden stars. Right where the other gods would be.

And yet, this mystical being is not doing any of those things. They do not stand in solidarity with those burnt out points of light, they do not watch over from their place in the sky, they are not even out of hand’s reach. Even with the power to be greater than life itself, they decide to stay on the ground. Walking amongst them. Almost like they are pretending to be a simple mortal human themselves. Nothing more.

The sight is astounding. Everyone can agree on that. Because no matter how such an individual may try to hide it, the fact is simple.

Nothing in this world will glimmer more than the vivid blue roses on Prince Kaiser’s neck.

With the help of the glimmering light, the blue roses appear like sapphires. And not just any sapphires. Encased sapphires, placed behind a glass barrier, riddled with fingerprints from all of those who stand to marvel at the untouchable beauty. Their faces press against the glass, to get just a touch, or a piece of their radiance.

But just like every other time, it remains useless. The barrier is impenetrable. As a result, the townspeople are left to stand by, and whisper to soothe their own infatuation. They do not even try to hide their conversations.

“See! Look, there he comes!”

“Oh, he is, he is!”

“Oh, how is it possible that he has grown even more beautiful than before!?”

“If I were the sun, I would simply hide beneath the clouds. To stand in the same presence of someone so radiant! What does the sun hold to him?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all, perfection can not be outshone!”

“Oh, he’s looking, he’s looking!”

The crowds of townsfolk move away to the edges of the paved walkways, opening up to allow the royal bodyguards to march along the center.

Four towering muscular men, with broad shoulders and stern faces, form a square formation. In each of their hands is a metal device. They grasp tightly on the handle and at the end, a circular round tip sticks out with an oversized marble engraved on either side. Their steps are heavy and wide, breaking apart the crowd forcibly, no matter how tightly packed it is.

A glass barrier, created by their figures.

For in the center of the 4, the marvelled earth-bound spectacle, walked none other than Prince Kaiser.

To say Prince Kaiser was admired by everyone would be an understatement. The change in atmosphere when he walked into a room is more than enough evidence, or in this instance, when he walked into a town.

He is stunning, with an angular porcelain face and blond hair with vibrant blue tips. His eyes are the same piercing blue where the red eyeshadow frames it, and it gives the appearance that they are meant to complement his most important feature: the collection of the blue roses soul mark on his neck, the mark of his royal blood.

Gossip circulates endlessly on the hidden personality of the Prince. He is cunning, intelligent, highly perceptive; he is the heir, after all. Some take in his aloof and indifferent attitude and say he is, in actuality, flirty, cocky, and bold.

It is said that if you are lucky enough, you might be able to catch his eye and see this for yourself. Catch the child-like part of the soon-to-be king who is all over impressing his own personal favorites, his new toys to play with.

And if you are even luckier, and born on the same year and day as he is, you might even be realized as his soulmate. Then, the secrets beneath the encasing will all be revealed to you, and you alone. Such a high honor it is to be his soulmate, so much so that becoming Queen or King would be a side achievement.

Yet with such a tale, one should not get too excited. To be his soulmate is a 1 in a million chance, yet to be captivated by him happens all too often. Just staying too close in it of itself can cause this brutal mistake to happen, and it takes only an instant to be utterly entranced, and unsalvageable.

All whispers, all tales and stories of imagination running wild.

Ness knows them more than anyone.

In the center of the formation of the bodyguards, to the back right side of Prince Kaiser, yet completely in his shadow, Ness watches the townspeople crowded all around.

His place in the barrier allows for him to have a full view of whatever is outside of it, but especially to keep an close eye on Prince Kaiser. Kaiser’s movements are precise and practiced, and each turn of his head is robotic in nature, as expected of a Prince. Ness should always be focused solely on him when they are on these trips, and yet the unavoidable gossip creeps in Ness’s mind. As they always did.

Prince Kaiser’s eyes scan all over, searching by the looks of it, but occasionally he would find the stare of a particular enthusiastic fan, and humor them with a small smile. Squeals would arise, and Ness would have sworn he heard the plant on the ground of a fainted girl.

Out of the huddled bodies, a young girl breaks out. Her eyes are fixed on Kaiser, and she holds something small in her hands, close to her chest. She runs up to the group. Before the girl holds out her hand for the guards to scan, Ness catches a glimpse of her soul mark.

Back of the hand, a swirly heart key, colored fuschia pink.

She is permitted in and nearly skips away guards. A few feet away from Prince Kaiser, with a bodyguard on either side, she holds out her open palms. Ness can not see Kaiser’s face, but he is sure he is giving yet another small smile.

“P-Prince Kaiser, in celebration of your upcoming soul ceremony, I have made you a gift! Please, accept this!” She threw her head down into a bow. Her body, her arms, are shaking, trembling.

In her outstretched hands, a simple pink rose overflow her palms. Not a natural rose, a fake one, made up of fabrics sewn together and folded to form its petals. A decorative gift it seems, and by the looks of it, a harmless one at that. Ness stays in his position, his head perfectly forward and his arms folded behind his back, as Kaiser speaks.

“My apologies, but I can not accept such a beautifully crafted gift. Keep it. Your talents should be cherished by yourself.”

“Oh, no need to be modest! It would be an honor to have a small insignificant craft of my own to be in your possession, the highest of honors! I implore you, you must not worry at all!”

Her head is up now, and boldness sparkles in her eyes. It occurs to Ness that this girl is quite beautiful in her own right, even if the shine she gives off is in dim comparison to the Prince’s starry radiance. A shame that her desperation sours it. Ness looks sadly at the girl. Prince Kaiser’s presence on his right weighs the atmosphere, like a scale all too uneven.

“Very well. You may hand it to my courtier.”

The sparkle in the girl’s eyes flickers and falls upon Ness, seemingly having just noticed him. But whatever had burned out in her expression is quickly retrieved once again, and she hands the fragile rose out to him.

In his palms, Ness notices the softness of the petals’ fabrics. Like a cloud has been taken from the sky and planted before him. He can feel the state of the atmosphere and the sun’s rays and soft breeze, all captured for display, for a taste of the world.

With a bow, the girl scurries off, and Ness is snapped out of his delusion.

A few other townspeople also came up to Prince Kaiser, old and young, women and men alike. Some had gifts, like the girl, and complimented his soul mark that has been rapidly growing into its own shape. Just a few short months away, they would say, excitement prevalent in their voice. Others made simple conversation, and used the opportunity to provide and gain more gossip. A few words from the Prince was always enough to make them satisfied, and they would walk off content, like their intention was just getting close enough to catch enough of his starlight. Nonetheless, Kaiser’s reactions were all typical and nothing out of the ordinary, so Ness had no reason to pay these interactions any mind.

He only made sure he could see each soul mark of the approaching people when they were scanned by the guards. He still has a royal duty to uphold after all.

They end up walking for another short few minutes before Prince Kaiser holds out his hand to stop. His other arm stays folded behind his back and his head turns slightly in either direction, peering across the plaza.

Being the middle of the week, the marketplace is not busy. Even right now, when the Prince himself has made a visit down, the crowds of people are significantly smaller than they would be on the weekends. Ness looks around the plaza.

The largest, liveliest place in Teno, perhaps in all of Colluhira, has dozens of rows containing market stalls and shops galore. The walkways between the rows are wider than the typical Teno roads and the entire marketplace takes up a sizable amount of the small town. It is well known that anything from anything can be found here, and ran by the citizens themselves, there are little limits on what one can sell.

Surely if Prince Kaiser has come all the way here himself, he is looking for something precious and rare. In fact, it seems he already knows where to find it.

Ness narrows his eyes and sticks close behind his shoulder.

Kaiser turns back to the guards.

“I will not be long,” he says, very clearly stepping out of the barrier they made. The guards look at each other and to the Prince with hesitance, but they comply nonetheless. Their heads bow, and their feet stay firmly in place, returning back to statues once again. Ness follows Kaiser out.

They have stopped in front of a small jewel shop that is run by an older man already growing in his gray hair. The stall has several jewels and gems, both alone and paired with necklaces, bracelets and earrings, out for display and naked in the warm air.

But the real collection lies inside the glass box just behind it. White plastic stairs line the inside, and jewels and gems sit along it pristinely, flaunting their vibrant colors under the beating sun. It ranges from all the colors of the rainbow, and in all the sizes one can think of, so much so Ness has a hard time scanning through them all.

The older man sits in a plastic chair behind the table. He looks about ready to doze off.

Prince Kaiser and Ness step up to the stall. He perks up, and nearly jumps out of his seat. The old cigarette lying in his mouth drops to the ground.

“M-My Prince, you’re here! Lord, you nearly gave me another collapsed lung, I was not expecting-”

“Yes, yes I am here,” Kaiser cuts him off. Ness is now standing fully beside him, and can see his face more clearly from the corner of his vision. Kaiser’s eyes are narrowed, and his lips are pressed in a thin line, like he was running out of patience. Or sending a warning with his expression alone.

The man laughs nervously.

“O-Of course! Apologies haha. Now.. what may I help you with?” Despite the man’s attempt to seem natural, it was painfully obvious the act he was putting up, through his stammer alone. That, and his nervous fidgeting, his fingers picking with the silky table cloth. Kaiser stays silent for a moment, and tense.

“I would like a jewel. A sapphire. I believe you have one of those, correct?”

The man nods, “Yes! Of course! They’re in the back, hold on, let me get them for you.” He disappears behind the blanket back wall of the stall.

Ness peers more boldly beside him, to catch a better look on Kaiser’s face. Yet it appears to now be completely indifferent. The tension and impatience from before has dissipated in a way that if Ness did not know better, he would have thought that previous look of sterness was all in his head. An illusion. Kaiser stares ahead, concentrated and focused.

“Here we are!”

Ness takes a breath, and turns back.

In the man’s hand holds a small, drawstring burlap bag. The other has a small metal device, and a tan paper scroll. He chuckles again nervously.

��Forgive me, Prince, this is just protocol, but I need to check your soul mark.”

Kaiser nods. “Of course.” He pulls back the vest around the right side of his neck to show the entirety of the blue roses, and the man scans the metal device over it. It makes a high-pitched ding sound. The engraved marble blinks the blue hue.

“And your courtier, of course.”

Ness goes stiff instinctively. He holds out his hand and lets the man scan over it with the metal device, trying to appear as neutral as possible. Yet, Ness finds himself holding his breath once again.

Until the device makes another ding and blinks.

The man puts the device away, and Ness’s held breath along with it.

“And…perfect! Now here you go! And the scroll too, of course.”

Instead of handing the items to Ness, Prince Kaiser grabs them with his own hands with a sort of haste, and holds onto them tightly. Ness blinks.

“And for you!” the man exclaims too loudly. “A discount is the least I could do! 50% off the original price you see right there! Pretty nice, huh?”

Kaiser does not seem bothered enough to answer, and tosses the coins into his hands.

The man smiles brightly. He looks like he could kiss the coins right then and there, but composes himself just enough to place it off to the side, into a box partly hidden by the encasing.

“I am so honored, thank you! Come again whenever you like, the discount will always be here! Oh! A-And if you need another gem for the soul ceremony, I am always happy to help! Ah wait, farewell!” He waves them away with one hand in the air shaking around enthusiastically. Ness catches a glance before he has to turn back, to where Kaiser had already begun to drift away.

The two walk back to the guards. They gather back into their positions, and start to walk back through the centered walkway. Ness stares at the back of Kaiser’s head, and the rose creeping close to his chin.

The man asked for no details on the jewel, Ness thought.

Somehow, he knew exactly what Prince Kaiser wanted.

Despite the fact that Kaiser has never visited that shop before.

And that interaction was far too brief to be a first time purchase.

Combined with the man’s stammers, his fidgeting, Kaiser’s expression…

Ness keeps his arms folded tightly behind his back, noting everything. Memorizing it the best he can, until he can close his eyes and picture it all before him. The scene plays in the darkness of his eyelids.

He opens them back up and looks down at Kaiser’s arms that hang in front of him.

Each hand holds the drawstring bag and paper scroll. The bag is held half-heartedly; the scroll is gripped tightly.

Ness rubs his fingers, his knuckles, tendons, and the unfelt mark.

He sighs.

Yet again, another observation to report.

The guards immediately part ways as they arrive in front of the gate. Large stone walls line the entirety of the castle’s exterior, reinforced and built in with multiple layers and towers overseeing the ground from 50 feet up. The pointed tips tap and ripple the ocean sky. For a castle placed relevantly near the towns, its silence hangs strangely in the air, where the methodic patterns of boots stamping the ground hum as a background noise.

The chatter and gossip of the townspeople that made those blocks of shops and houses seem so lively becomes all but an echo standing here at the gate. Bouncing around the barren grass with no source to speak of.

Two large guards stand by the checkered metal gate. Their heads and bodies are hidden by the heavy plates of metal plastered to their limbs, and their statures are nearly double that of the guards that led them to town. Their eyes and expressions are not even visible.

“Soul mark, sir.”

The metal devices they hold are similar to what both the town guards and the shopkeeper had, only these are much larger in size, and they had to turn it over and scan two times to make the ding and blink. Once finished, Ness takes his sleeve and pulls it back up over his hand.

One of the two guards places their hand on the gate, and it smoothly begins to draw open. Around the edges of the metal bars, a light red hue, barely visible, outlines the edges until the gate is completely open. The guards bow simultaneously and Kaiser passes by without a word. Ness follows closely behind.

Behind the wall, in front of the castle, garden keepers, with hats and aprons to protect themselves from noon’s sun, are scattered all about the courtyard to tend the flowers.

Roses specifically, from Prince Kaiser’s request, though the batch is small as a result of the Inner Circle’s demands.

At the very edges of the corners of the castle, there are peeks of young men walking in rigid lines, far too young to be guards, apprentices instead. Their seniors, high-level guards, walk along the very top of the walls overseeing them, some bare-handed, others with swords and crossbows. Their status is well-known by the pop of red on their uniform. Another request from the Inner Circle.

Then Ness looks forward, and up.

Despite such a structure having become familiar amongst all these years, the actual castle’s size is still overwhelming, overshadowing everything present on the ground. Or anything from the towns.

Yet again the dull gray of stone, hundreds of rectangle pillars mark every corner and pattern across the walls, and tiny arcs are drawn in each exposed space. Diamond shaped tops, towers that round out its roof into a pop of muted blue, yet another tower continues to be placed at its very center roof. But the most extravagant detail, and by far the most beautiful, are the stained glass windows scattered about.

Warm colors shine through with a muted coolness shrouded around them, like a sun peeking behind shadowed rain clouds. They are paintings of descriptors of ancient history that tell the story of the land.

The castle had been around for so long that it is said that it even predates soul marks. The orange and yellow and red stained glass windows have been built recently by comparison, dating only a few generations.

The last one had been built when the King and Queen were alive.

Ness looks back at Prince Kaiser.

Kaiser’s head is kept up. His feet, making wide steps across the ground. His arms, wrapped behind him.

Even the way he strides seems regal, and flawless, carven into perfection. He does not spare a glance at the intricacies towering above him.

The castle’s entrance opens before them. The red carpet leads from the outside walkway into the larger than life hall of the castle, a dancing ball room that serves as more of a welcoming area than anything nowadays. The stained-glass windows encircle the open place and other than a single person standing in the center, its welcome is empty.

She was a woman, with a soft, melted smile and dark, curved eyes. They hide behind the spirals of hair that whips across her face, and come in to tie behind her ear, two circles planted squarely on either side of her head. The rest is tied back in a low updo, braided intrinsically and meticulously.

Her body, cloaked with a silver dress, gloves, stockings, belt, hidden in every way, bows forward slightly. Her hair strands become perpendicular to the ground.

“You are late, Prince Kaiser,” she says. Despite the fact that the burlag bag and scroll Kaiser is holding are clearly visible, she pays no mind to it all. Kaiser must have noticed this as well.

He turns slightly away.

“Yes, I am aware.”

“It has been twice.”

“Yes. Yes, it has. What is your point, Lady Ilse?”

There is a sharp tension in Kaiser’s voice, one that holds an air of command and yet annoyance. Though, the latter takes skill to notice, and Ness had every reason to believe she possessed it. Lady Ilse’s head is kept bowed forward.

“Forgive me if I am wrong, but I believe the rule is now that you are not to go into town, my Prince. Surely, you have not forgotten?” Her smile melts on her face, but drips with amusement. Melting in her dark dark eyes, dull and engulfing. Kaiser continues on as if he has not noticed.

“No. The guards were with me. Surely they are enough for you? Or should I bring six next time? You seem so indecisive these days, dear Ilse.”

Her amusement comes to an abrupt stop.

Ness shoots his eyes to the floor.

Silence hangs in the air for a weighty, compressed moment in time. Even with his gaze on the ground, he can feel their stares at each other through the thick air. So thick, Ness feels the need to hold in his breath.

Continuing for seconds.

Still seconds and minutes.

Where the sound of the stained-glass light could be heard,

Bouncing off their faces.

“That is not the issue.”

“Then explain please. Perhaps there is something I am not understanding.” Kaiser said, with a clear question in his voice.

She narrows her eyes, as if she herself is questioning that very tone, but then gives a soft smile. “Of course not. You already understand everything perfectly.” Rather than elaborating, the woman steps forward, and faces Prince Kaiser directly just a few feet away. Her smile and eyes tell completely different stories. First, the narrow dark eyes, fixed on Kaiser.

And Ness.

“From now on, you will be timed. One of the guards will be in charge of that. You must be accompanied by 4 at all times, and they are to report to me if otherwise. Just a few short months away, my Prince. Precautions are necessary.. After all…it would be a shame if anything were to happen before your beloved soul ceremony, would it not?”

Then her smile, dripping across her face, stinging the ground.

Kaiser stays silent.

He gives a nod, and excuses himself away.

He goes into the right door facing the entrance, and Ness follows, prying his eyes away from the woman still watching them over to the Prince, and down to the scroll he is gripping ever fiercer. His robotic steps go on until he opens the door and they stand in the isolated narrow hallway, now fully disappeared from the woman’s gaze.

Kaiser stops.

“You are free to leave.”

Ness stiffens. Kaiser is speaking to him, he realizes. Even though all Ness can see is the back of his head.

Still, he bows in response.

“Forgive me, but I am afraid I can not. I am required to stay nearby for the time being.”

“And by whose orders?”

“The Inner Circle’s, my Prince.”

Prince Kaiser does not respond. From his right, light sprinkling in from the transparent glass windows of the hall frames his side, and makes his blue rose mark glimmer. He clears his throat.

“Very well.”

He does not speak to him again.

When they exited, Kaiser’s duties took initiative.

For the rest of the daylight hours, they enter from room to room, hall to hall, where Kaiser attends everything from meetings from kingdoms overseas to the planning and checking off of the events scheduled for the week. Ness watches and listens, but never speaks.

His position is to be on the right side of Prince Kaiser, and a few feet behind him. If Kaiser were to do anything suspect though, he is permitted to move a step to the right or one forward to peer over. But otherwise he is to be still, and silent.

Silence is the key.

Ness makes sure to note everything though, as he always did. Especially today in particular.

After all, Kaiser was much quieter during the representatives’ meeting.

His signatures on the documents were messier.

He hestitated before entering the guard room.

He passed by a room before retreating to go in.

He was zoned out, never quite paying attention.

He did not once look up at the family portrait on the 5th hall.

By the time they arrive at the office, where Prince Kaiser’s paperwork begins and Ness’s service ends, he has gotten all the information he needs and comes to a conclusion.

Something is clearly distracting the Prince.

It must have been this morning. The peculiar morning where everything began odd and different. An event that is keeping his mind busy.

Perhaps it is the conversation with Lady Ilse, and her underlying threat. But those types of interactions between the Inner Council members and the Prince are nothing new. One would have to be utterly oblivious to not see the tension that has long existed between them. Perhaps it is the trip to the shop. The items, the jewel and scroll.

It can be, but what proof does he have that shows that was the case?

All he knows is that Kaiser has something on his mind. The question is only what.

Ness looks out at the windows painted across the large hallway walls.

They tower tall and high before him, looming in a way that is not threatening. The whites of the frames and the blues of the curtains are saturated in a light warm orange, mixed in with reds and purples at its very edges. It spills into the hall, until the air becomes nothing but drenched in the rays of the setting sun. So much so Ness feels like he could breathe in the warmth of those colors and take them in as his own. As if he is feeling its life while drowning with every step.

Judging from those colors, they are just a short time away before dark.

Ness peels his eyes away and focuses back on the growing hall before him. One that stretches on and on and on until eventually fading away into obscurity. A small insignificant darkness looms at the very end. Dull and dead.

It is sunset, yet there is still so much left in the day.

He feels the familiar two-doored entrance before he sees it.

Down on the 8th corridor, in the most silent part of the castle. The most lifeless. Only offices and important meeting boards litter the hall, where the few faces Ness saw are that of the highest of royal officials. The townspeople who occasionally visit know well not to come here. Even the prince himself rarely frequents this place.

Feeling the back of his hand with his thumb, Ness stops in front of the entrance.

This is the only room in the hall with two doors leading in and an engraved wooden sign on the wall, smooth and placed high above the entrance. The words are large and easy to read.

Inner Circle Board

He takes a deep breath.

And carefully draws a door open.

“Ah, you could make it after all.”

Spacious and high-ceilinged, the Inner Circle board room is filled in gray and brown, wood and metals, silver and stones, and perhaps some other precious jewels scattered about. Peaks of pearly whites dot the walls, but for the most part the dull hue has engulfed the roundtable meeting, a reality hidden by the blinding light coming from the windows. Blinding white light.

Tables and cabinets and drawers line the edges of the walls, and for the first few feet beyond the entrance, the floor stays largely empty. At least before the steps to the upper ledge.

Ness walks forward, making sure to stare straight ahead, and goes up onto the steps. He deepens his stance into a bow at the top.

In front of him, a large round table takes up the room. 8 seats wrap around 2/3rds of the table, and out of those 8, 6 members are present. Various papers sit in front of each and in the center of the rich brown surface, there lies a small dial, slowly ticking and ticking forward.

Ness mindlessly counts them as he stares at the floor.

“At your service.” He stands straight back up.

Judging by the papers sitting in front of the members, they were having a meeting before this, and moved time specifically for his designated slot. Not an uncommon act, but a nerve-inducing one nonetheless. He feels a pair of eyes staring at him from the right, and breathes in a little deeper.

“On point as usual, very well,” the center-head chair says. He is an older man, with growing in white hair at his roots and a large, rough face. His words carry a low rumble, but float with a sort of airiness behind them, like they are soft gray clouds drawn across the sky. That is, until he turns to the right, right to that pair of eyes, and those clouds wisps away.

“Now, Lady Ilse?”

Ness turns slightly to look at her, and sure enough, she has a soft, smooth smile on her face. Dark eyes to peer with right across.

Ness feels their heaviness upon him. The morning flashes in his mind.

“Thank you, Sir Adal. Now, I am sure you are all aware of this morning, but the Prince went into town without a word despite our insistence on otherwise. In fact, it seems he did so in utter disobedience. A rebellion, if you will.”

She stops to the endless nodding all around.

“Granted, this is nothing unusual for a boy his age, to go against those who have done so much for him…”

Her eyes that have been scanning across the room land on Ness with those words.

Ness stares at her back.

“But, of course that does not change that such a thing holds trouble for us. So Ness,”

Her smile responds.

“The report, please.”

And his feet stay firmly planted.

His head nods.

“Of course.”

And the words begin to spill.

“Prince Kaiser went into the Teno marketplace this morning, shortly before high noon. 4 of the lowest ranked guards accompanied him and came equipped with the newest soul mark devices. Many gifts were given from the townspeople. They are all at the 4th meeting hall for closer inspection if needed. The destination was a jewel shop on the 4th row, 7th stall, and once we arrived, he did not allow the guards to come closer.

“A peculiar interaction was exchanged with the shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a green snake soul mark on his wrist. Little was said, and the shopkeeper was nervous. The Prince simply said he wanted a sapphire and the man gave him a small bag. It is unclear if it holds the jewel. He also received the jewel’s scroll, to which the Prince is currently holding onto very tightly. He held these items himself after receiving them.

“After the conversation with Lady Ilse, he told me I am free to leave, which would have left him alone. However, after being informed of your orders, he did not debate on the topic. For the rest of the day, the Prince has been careless, sloppy, and distracted in his duties. This continued until he went into his room and office for the night. That is all.”

He breathes out a bit.

All 6 members are staring at him, or rather, listening and focusing on what they just heard. Their eyes are fixed into place. Pressing against his shoulders, silence weighs the air, its tenseness quickly taking the place of oxygen. The room becomes filled with it until the stares become suffocating, and Ness has to dart his gaze to the floor.

He tightens his grip on his hand. Takes in another breath.

Counting the seconds as they pass.

And feels the skin beneath his fingers.

“Thank you, Ness.”

Ness looks up.

“Amazing job as always.”

Lady Ilse gives him a smile, gentle and curved.

The stickiness of the air evaporates. Ness nods with a blank face, but in his mind, he is responding with a smile of his own.

The head chair nods, and leans back against his chair. “I see. Well, we will have to keep a close eye on him then. Lady Ilse, what did you say to the boy?”

“Not much at all, Sir. Simply more restrictions on his leaving and coming, to limit his options. Whatever he may be doing or scheming, it all but renders useless if he is unable to be alone to do them.”

Next to Lady Ilse, a short woman with chin-length hair and a plump face nods enthusiastically.

“Of course, of course! But Lady Ilse, I am afraid that perhaps this will make the Prince more likely to do more actions behind our backs. Is it not a saying that one is more likely to do something if it is against the rules?” Her delicate eyes scrunches with worry.

“Maybe if we were talking about any other teenage boy,” said another man from across the table. To the left of the center, skinny and tall and can not be more than 30. Dark hair frames around his deep angular eyes, where further eyeshadow has been placed beneath to enhance their effect. His chapped lips presses thinly. “But this is the Prince. His level of perception far exceeds that of any other his age. I doubt he would do something so idiotic. Especially if he is aware of what we are aware of him.”

Sir Adal nods from beside him. “Siene is right. But Lady Helena has valid concerns.

“The Prince is aware of us just as much as we are of him, that much is no question. If he knows our objectives, I see a possibility where he could break completely from our control, and become a loose threat under the guise that he has nothing to lose. In a way, this would benefit our case. To run rampage and eventually…”

He takes in a breath, closing his eyes for just a second as if to see something beneath the darkness of his eyelids, and lets it out again.

“But I doubt we would be that lucky. For the Prince to do such a thing would be unimaginable.”

The table falls silent.

And the last word lingers in the air.

Feeling a heaviness descend on them once again, Ness looks around at all their faces, and the dullness that has engulfed their expressions. It is such a far-cry from the usual that Ness becomes tense. What is this shared thought? And how is it that he has no part?

What does Sir Adal mean by what he said? Is the “thing” he is referring to not the possibility to break away like he said? Or is he referring to something else?

What are they hiding from him?

“Then let us just continue to keep an eye on him.”

Ness looks over. Right side of the center chair, next to where Sir Adal was sitting grimly, a woman settles her arms on the table. Her long red hair sways slightly, and her tall stature towers over them all. Eyes which are rimmed with glistening red eyeshadow yet drooping tiredly glide across the still, quiet room.

And land beside her.

“Sir Adal, the climate is changing,” she says. Her voice naturally holds a sing-songy undertone, but when dropped, it feels more like a funeral song complete with bells and all, like a cloud rumbling across the atmosphere.

A mirror reflection that makes Sir Adal stop to look back at her as she continues.

“Within this past week, two monster attacks have occurred. On opposite sides of the kingdom. We have discussed this but consider for a moment what this might mean.

“Even if no one died in the attacks, the fear still lingers. The townspeople are scared. The Prince’s people are scared. What they need the most to feel safe is not the strongest defenses nor the absence of monsters. It is a figure to look up to. To admire and worship. Do you not think that the son of the most beloved King in this kingdom’s history would know that? Do you not think that he would be well aware of this fact and act with it in mind? That he would stop at nothing to achieve it, and cherish the last thing left to him by the King?”

“My point is,” she says, ”no matter how you look at it, that boy is the King’s son. He cares deeply for his people. And he would not do anything to harm them. Sir Adal, he will not commit such a thing. That much I am certain of. But it is a weakness we can exploit.

“The preparations are mostly finished. For now, all we can do is to continue to keep an eye on him. It may just be the best chance we have.”

The woman settles back against her chair, and the Inner Circle glances around each other. Sir Adal coughs.

“Thank you, Lady Leonie, for your contribution.” Lady Leonie scoffs.

Lady Helena puts her hand against her face. Her usual droopy eyes, sad instead of tired like Lady Leonie, becomes watery.

“Oh, I have heard of the monster attacks...”

“Acres upon acres of destroyed houses,” Sir Adal says, closing his eyes. “It would take a lot of time and many men to reconstruct them all. And the aid from the other kingdoms can only go so far.”

Sir Siene nods, and ticks his tongue. “Well, this could have all been prevented if those careless townspeople and stationed guards had taken our precautions seriously, and properly checked every soul mark. But apparently that takes too much work for their feeble minds to handle. All that spent on new items and spells for the new devices only for it to land on a bunch of ignorant gossipy fools-”

“Siene.”

Sir Siene stops. His eyes widen. He glances over to Sir Adal, who has a warned expression on his face.

His eyes are fixed facing right beside him. Right at Lady Helena.

Her eyes are watery and shaky.

“The destruction they have caused, tricks and games meant to do nothing but hurt….Those wretched beings… horrible horrible creatures, all of them!”

Her trembling outburst is soothed by Lady Leonie slowly rubbing her back. Lady Helena wipes her eyes.

“Thank goodness we have captured them this time. To think we live in the same world as those…disgusting monsters! Wretched… wretched creatures…”

The rest of the table stays quiet with their heads down. All that is heard through the silence is Lady Helena’s sobs. Her teary pained words slipping out. Vibrating across the spacious, high-ceilinged room, coming out as if they are tearing straight from her soul and laying out for display for them all to see. A rawness not meant to be seen and a grief still yet to be processed.

Ness is trembling too.

His hands, clenching one another.

Clawing through their backs.

Shaking violently with the urge to tear the skin right off.

As if that would fix everything.

But other than that, he stays as still as possible. As calm as he can while Lady Helena sobs and sobs. He even switches hands to clutch, in hopes of making the feeling go away.

Eventually chairs scrap the floor, and when Ness looks up, there are empty spots where Lady Helena and Lady Leonie would be. Just 4 chairs left makes the table feel empty and void.

The dial blinks and dings.

“Ah,” Sir Adal says, “Time is up.” He reaches forward to click the dial back into place, and stop the ringing.

“Ness.”

Ness straightens up. “Yes, Sir?”

“Tomorrow there will be a change of plans. As a result of the recent monster attacks. We will hold assemblies in the townsquares of Hosek and Konto. A showcase for the townspeople to raise their spirits. Inform the Prince of these activities, and that he is to meet with the officers in the morning for further instruction. That is all.”

Ness bows forward. “Yes, sir.”

As he exits the room, the glimpses he got of the looks of the Inner Circle bore trenches into his mind. The stoic stares from Sir Adal, Lady Ilse, Sir Harian, settling upon the sounds of weeping Lady Helena, and Lady Leonie surely comforting her.

But what stands out the most is the look of a member who has not spoken the entire meeting. Who lies largely in silence.

Sir Hadrian. Brother of Lady Helena, sitting in the 3rd overall chair, next to Sir Siene. In the brief glimpse he got, Ness did not see his usual stern and mean expression, but a sorrowful one, complete with watery eyes. Eyes that are small, but droop naturally at the edge with a curve. It is one of the few similiarties he shares with Lady Helena.

It looks like the mention of monsters touched his soul too, and made it tear open.

Ness closes the door.

Monsters do not have to be physically present to hurt people. Simply its existence sends ripples throughout them all, denying them the illusion of safety and lingering as a constant threat over their heads. Its presence, defined by the destruction it causes.

Creatures with no emotion, no mercy, no love, no humanity, distinctly marked by its very lack of a soul mark. And it can be living among them as they speak. Just the idea that something like that could exist is enough to send terror into anyone, and make them fall apart.

But for Ness, it only makes his hand sear even more.

He arrives at the Prince’s bedroom door before he knows it.

Two guards stand in front. With no armor on, they only bear the uniform of the lounging castle staff, mismatched with their resting angry expression. Tiny squinted eyes, eyebrows pointed inwards, small faces and mouths on top of large arms and chests. Their bodies appear almost naked without the glints of silver and metal all over.

After one scans his hand and gives the go ahead, Ness steps up to the door, and slowly pushes it. It is heavy, yet free-flowing, and draws carefully open.

Warm air rushes to his skin.

The royal bedroom is large, and spacious. Many things cover the walls and floor, and yet somehow, it feels empty at the same time.

The Prince is sitting inside, at the very far desk. His back is to the door and arched slightly forward.

Both of his arms rests on the desk and his hair is tied up, allowing the blue roses soul mark on his neck to put itself on display. Glimmering and shining like night has just fallen. Right in the darkness of the room, where only dim lanterns and candles scatter about. A stylistic ancient look drenched in the darkest colors. No wonder the sparkling blue pops out like the brightest star.

Like the first of the night.

The Prince stops, and turns his head slightly up.

Ness jumps.

Ah, right.

“My Prince.”

Prince Kaiser turns around. Light from the desk’s lamp rims around his silhouette, reflecting off the planes of his face and making highlights in his narrowed eyes. He stares at Ness with pressed lips. As if Ness’s sudden presence has given him yet another thing to think about.

Ness lets out his held breath, and bows forward quickly. When he looks back up, he notices the desk is completely empty where Kaiser was previously looking at. As if nothing was ever there.

Ness pretends he does not notice.

“I have a message from the Inner Circle. There has been a change of plans for tomorrow. They will be holding assemblies in the townsquares of Hosek and Konto, in light of the recent monster attacks, and your presence is required. You are to visit the officers in the morning for further instruction.”

The Prince does not say anything, staring once again silently at Ness for far longer than he is comfortable with. Then he slowly gives a nod.

Ness lets out another silent breath. The tension in his hands and chest fades. The task is done.

His eyes peel away from the Prince’s ever stoic face, and scans around the room. Despite being so dark, he can spot every sense of light that matches the Prince’s, in both his eyes and soul mark. The marks of blue that feel scattered all over, and the touches that make it feel his.

That is no surprise, of course, as this room is only an extension of the castle. His castle. This is what the Prince gives with his presence. A feeling that fills any empty void with its beating heart of life.

It is no wonder Ness rarely comes here. This is a world too far away from his.

He turns to leave.

“Ness.”

Only to stop in his tracks.

He twists around to see Prince Kaiser turning back away from the desk and looking squarely at him, his chair fully turned in his direction. That expression that was filled with contemplation and uncertainty and questioning, that all but seemed unnatural on his face, has been exchanged for a new one. For an emotion Ness can not quite put a finger on.

Kaiser’s eyes stagger on Ness, but eventually they rip away to look towards one of the few windows in the room, facing the night sky. The stars, the absent moon, the clouds hiding them all. And for a brief moment, Ness thinks he hears the Prince take in a silent breath of his own.

“Are you aware of the old 5th star tale?”

Ness blinks.

“...what?”

Prince Kaiser has a small smile on his face, but for some reason, it looks different from the one he gave to the townspeople this morning. Where that smile sits on his face with polite dignity, this one reaches up and pinches the corners of his eyes, not afraid to contort into a state where the lamp’s warm light blatantly shows the new small folded wrinkles. Ness can hardly believe his eyes.

“My father said it to me once,” he says. “That from the 5th star to ever appear in the sky, there emerged the ancient people of our ancestors, setting foot on this new land. It was barren and hollow, empty for all where the eye could see. They tried to give it life, again and again, but eventually gave up. Afterwards, every single one of them left, all except for one young man. Because while everyone said it was hopeless, while he was called insane, crazy, and a fool, he still believed the land had hope and promise. He was left alone for decades.”

His hand that had been resting on the desk comes up to close in around his neck, resting on it slightly. His palm settles on the blue roses.

“When they came back, they couldn’t believe their eyes. He’d succeeded, and the land had been reborn.”

Prince Kaiser turns his head back around, to face Ness again, only this time it is with that wrinkly, squinty eyed smile that somehow grew larger. “It is an old fable. From a time when gods and deities still existed. Naturally, it is false, and now we see it as nothing more but a child’s tale. But you’ve heard of it before, right?”

While he has still never seen this look on the Prince, something about it did not feel as unnatural as the prior. In fact, for one reason or another, this one felt safer, and more comfortable. Fitted on him perfectly, like a suit tailored just for his size. Different, but not unrecognizable.

Ness looks down to the ground in response.

“Yes, I believe I have.”

“I still think about it from time to time… I just wanted to know if I was the only one who still cares about that old tale.” Kaiser laughs. A light laugh, slightly rough but in a polished way. Sweet and airy. Captivating, even.

Ness does not know what he expected, but it certainly was not that. To hear and see Kaiser act in this way. To witness these polished cracks in perfected marble. It feels he is intruding, like he is overhearing something he should not hear, like he is being mistaken for someone he is not. From his knowledge, no one else has seen this side of this Prince. What has he done to be any different?

A part of him wants to ask, but he can not bring himself to look up to meet his eyes. No matter how comforting this new expression that the Prince has gained is, something about it makes Ness unable to look at it for too long.

Luckily, Prince Kaiser has moved his attention away to look back at the window. He seems like he is entranced with it. No, Ness realizes, it is not the window he is entranced with. It is the stars in the night sky.

Perhaps he truly is captivated by that tale. And has decided to share it with him.

“But in any case, that children’s tale does not matter much now. After all, it isn’t too far off now,” Kaiser says, wistfully. “Just a few short months away.”

The soul ceremony. From the way he says it, the words sound more like an echo than anything.

He turns back around and settles his arms on his knees; his stare presses deep. Ness can see it from the edges of his vision.

“Are you excited?”

Ness hesitates before nodding. “Everyone is, my Prince. It has been years since they have had a proper king.” He regretted those words immediately as soon as he said them. His eyes flick up to see the Prince’s reaction, but to his surprise, not a thing about his appearance changed.

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Prince Kaiser says. “It always has been for the people. But I am not asking about them. Surely, as my righthand man, you are excited as well, are you not? I don’t think I’ve ever seen even a sliver of a smile cross your face.”

The idea that Prince Kaiser would be thinking of something like that made Ness’s mind come to a halt and his heart jump to his throat. He attempts to stammer a response.

“I-I have no time for any of the sort. Your wellbeing is of my highest priority, my Prince. I am of no importance. I exist solely for your sake.” The lies make his tongue grow bitter. But in many ways, they are not entirely untrue. It is just not the Prince that they all apply to.

Kaiser stares at him for a long time.

“Well, that’s a shame then. Because I think you’re quite interesting.”

He puts a hand to his cheek, and leans against it with a smile. A boldly cocky, flirty smile.

His blue rose mark glimmers against the lamplight.

Ness has not noticed when the tension in his hands faded away during their conversation, but it immediately flares up again. Not in an achy throbbing way, but in a way that sends chills down his spine. And his heart rate pick up tenfold.

Kaiser continues talking. “Soulmate or not, everyone here is awfully lonely. Nothing I can do can change that. But even so, we all hold our own value, whether we see it or not. Whether we are using it well or not.” He holds on especially to that last sentence, and Ness clutches his hand even harder.

“Perhaps that is the only thing we have control over. As for me…”

The Prince glances out the window.

“No matter what, in a few months, I will be the king of this kingdom. I’ll make sure of it.”

He looks back, and with his smile now fallen, his face settles back into a daring stare. Locking his eyes with Ness, he searches for the truth with his words.

“So I will repeat myself, Ness. Will you be there when I do?”

This is a test. Treading the fields on Ness’s loyalty and searching for the cracks and lies. The secrets that keep his lips sealed and that weigh his steps down. The possibility that Kaiser knows Ness’s true motives strucks him, but he quickly shakes it off.

Ness has done nothing to make himself suspicious. He has made sure of it. Prince Kaiser is not aware of his meetings with the Inner Circle, nor of his connection to them. For all he knows, Ness has hardly even spoken with any of the members.

Perhaps he is simply suspicious of everyone. Yes, that must be it. Kaiser knows the Inner Circle’s motives, so he must be testing as many as he can to search for more traitors.

Nonetheless, Ness knows his answer.

He is loyal to the Inner Circle. And if they succeed, Prince Kaiser will never become King.

That is a reality he has always been working for. A future he is giving his life for. No, that future is the entire reason his life exists.

All he has to do is lie to Kaiser’s question, not even to say a single word. Just a nod would be enough.

So then why is he hesitating to do so? Why does Prince Kaiser’s flirty smile keep replaying in his mind over and over, and why has that heartrate pulsing in his ears and throat not settled down? It is such a simple look, that stare and those eyes, but for one reason or another, it has stripped him bare completely.

But as he replays that smile over and over, the truth settles on him in a bitter taste, leeching away any warm feeling he might have had.

That smile was not for him. And he would be foolish to think Prince Kaiser would ever be interested in him that way. Not with his soulmate ceremony so close on the horizon. It is clear Kaiser acted the way he did because of that question alone, and to make him vulnerable enough to expose any disloyalty; that was his entire intention.

But the thought that it could have been genuine is so nice and warm that it does not want to leave. He does not either. He wants to indulge himself in it, to drown in that delusion.

So when Ness finally brings himself to meet those eyes that are staring deep into his own, against all rationality and sense, he pretends he can see that boldly cocky, flirty smile all over again, and a smile finds its way to his lips.

“Of course, my Prince.”

And for a second, he almost believes it.

Prince Kaiser stays silent; his stare on Ness does not move at all, still searching and searching and searching.

Then his expression softened. “I hope out of anyone, it will be you. It is getting late now, you should start heading off.”

Despite all the questions running through his mind with that response, one that simultaneously puts him on edge and makes his heart flip one more time, Ness obeys. But as he grabs the door’s handle, he finds himself glancing back over to where Prince Kaiser is turned back around towards the desk.

“By the way,” Kaiser says without turning around. “You should smile more. It suits you.”

Ness’s hand stops. Just for a second.

Then without a word, he exits the room.

When he enters the hallway, the guards hardly give him a glance. In the night sky, it seems that the clouds have finally parted away. Faint moonlight spills into the floor from the wall-sized windows, a coolness that contrasts the warmness of tiny lights scattered about.

Compared to the Prince’s bedroom, the hall is cold. He keeps his hands in the small pockets of his pants as he walks down, as much of them as he can fit. But the cold still bit at him anyway.

This is nonsense. All of it. Prince Kaiser has no interest in him, not in the slightest. Besides, it would not even matter in the slightest. Prince Kaiser has a soul mark; he has a soulmate. He is by the far the most important person to have a soulmate.

And Ness…

Ness does not.

His hand begins to ache, and he snatches it to clutch it closely to his chest.

It is said that one’s soul is located in their heart, and that is why people with soul marks on their necks or stomach are the strongest in terms of power. Soul in tandem with soul marks equates to power. Ness wonders how that would apply to someone like him. Someone who had theirs taken away.

None of it is fair, not in the slightest. And he hates himself for it every second of the day. Logically, he knows who he should blame: the monsters that took his soul mark away from him. For the longest time, he could not help looking down at his hands and seeing the bareness of either side, the utter lack of any mark, and seeing more of the monster that took it away than the human that he supposedly is.

And now, the fake soul mark on his hand feels like it has the words, “traitor” written all over it.

If Prince Kaiser knew, he would not have acted the way he did, even if it was a means to an end. Ness has known that since the beginning.

And yet, he can not shake off the racing heart rate in his chest. The feeling of the radiance he was able to witness from the Prince that has always been so heavily talked about and gossiped. Some of it can still be felt, spread across the deepest part of his core that he did not even know existed. It still stays, ingrained into his chest. The townspeople’s words sink into his mind.

“To be captivated by him happens all too often. And it takes only an instant to be utterly entranced, and unsalvageable.”

So this–this is what it means to be captivated by Prince Kaiser.

As Ness’s steps echo across the ever-growing hall, he takes in a deep, shaky breath.

None of this matters. Not with the soul ceremony so close on the horizon. If they succeed, then Prince Kaiser will no longer be an issue, and all of this will be meaningless. Only a few short months left.

Until then, Ness’s loyalty is to the Inner Circle. Tomorrow he will report the conversation, and prove his usefulness once again.

They have already done so much for him; he can not betray them.

Not when they trust him so deeply.

The thought brings an easiness to his tense hands and a comforting warmness in his chest.

“You should smile more. It suits you.”

The moonlight shines behind him as Ness brings a smile to his face.

#my writing #bllk #blue lock #blue lock manga #bllk manga #crossposted #fic #>10000 words #michael kaiser #alexis ness #kaiser x ness #kainess #pale spirit

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thelioncourts · 11 months

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You said you think we're on the Merrick timeline. What do you mean by that?

well, it's complicated. I know I'm not the only one who thinks it, as I've seen other people theorize about it on here, but my general take on the show's timeline is that we are....jumping throughout the books moreso than working linearly through them.

things that are immediately, and drastically, different in the show than the book are the timeframe we are working within as well as the interview itself. these are things we know; in the book, Louis and Lestat are both children of the 1700s. we also know that when Louis meets Daniel in the 1970s, Daniel publishes the interview as a book that becomes a phenomenon and a book that Lestat discovers upon waking up in the 1980s, leading him to write and publish his own life story, The Vampire Lestat.

the show is -- not that. Lestat is still our child of the 1700s, but Louis is more a 1900s boy (born in the super-late 1800s), their story is taking place in the 1900s, and it appears, from what we've seen and what we know so far, that the interview in the 1970s was never finished and, therefore, not published.

this in turn has us on a weird timeframe, made weirder by the focus of 2022!louis and armand still being together (anyone that knows their breakup in iwtv knows that this....shouldn't be happening). so, it has us all wondering where we are, what's happened already, what's set to happen next, etc.

I can't tell you what's happened already. I've seen some theories that rockstar!Lestat has already happened (that seems. pretty unlikely? but maybe?), I've seen some theories Memnoch has already happened (! and I kind of agree, just hear me out), I've seen some theories that we're heading into Prince Lestat soon (also something I've thought about!), etc.

here is a general guess though: I think that, whatever has happened, Lestat's absence in 2022 is due to him being in one of his sleeps, his comas, like he falls into at the end of Memnoch (hence why I do think Memnoch already happening is a slight possibility). and I think that Louis sticking his hand into the sun in episode 1 for Daniel to see and Armand's comments about Daniel chronicling Louis' suicide are both foreshadowing Louis attempting to kill himself at the end of season 2, an act that will ultimately wake Lestat up from his sleep coma, just as what happens in Merrick, and eventually lead to the ability for him to tell his life story after saving Louis.

edit: you want to hear how I think season 2 is going to end? I think Louis is going to step into the sun, accept his death, and I think the audio (which will probably have Daniel and/or Armand yelling after him, maybe even Claudia's voice calling out to him from beyond) fade out and we're only going to hear his heartbeat slow and slow and slow. and then I think, as the heartbeat is still slowing, the camera is going to do one of those 'rush across the the Dubai apartment, down into the street, over the ocean, etc.' kind of things to where Lestat is. and just as Louis' heartbeat comes to a stop, Lestat's heartbeat is going to pick up in the same rhythm and then his eyes are going to open. end season. after all, Lestat and Louis' hearts beat in sync (canon ! <3) and it would be poetic as we hear that in the finale of season 1.

#amc iwtv #iwtv #amc iwtv speculation

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hamliet · 1 year

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Hi! Do you think RWBY as a story is inconsistent in tone? It is a criticism I keep seeing around? But what exactly means to have tonal inconsistency? Can you give me an example?

Nope.

I'm actually surprised to read this. Maybe because I'm on the outskirts of the fandom, but I really would not have put "tonal inconsistency" in like, a top 10 list of things I thought people might label a flaw of RWBY's. It had honestly never occurred to me.

I'd actually call RWBY extremely tonally consistent, which is hard to maintain over 9 volumes and counting.

I'm curious if these posts elaborated at all about how or what makes it feel tonally inconsistent--are there examples? Because I can't think of one. Since I don't know, I'm going to have to speculate.

Is it about fairy tale stories dealing with death? Because every fairy tale deals with death; that's kind of the central core of the vast majority of fairy tales.

Is it because this volume certainly contained RWBY's darkest episode ever? Because it did, but the descent to the underworld and meeting with the goddess is a part of the heroine's journey. Stories always get darker before they get better. Plus, I don't see how anyone could think that the volume wouldn't get very dark considering we just tackled genocide and the sunshine character died.

I also think that Volume 9 has been extremely clear since the first teaser way back in 2021 that it would deal with Ruby's mental health. The opening line is "you should never have been born." Ruby then has a literal panic attack. She faints in horror when she's told about her friend dying.

That's just episode 1.

I guess people might be thrown by the juxtaposition of simplified life, which is the essence of the Ever After, with a complex topic like mental health? But I actually think that's quite brilliant. When you're extremely mentally unwell, which I have been before, things do seem to paradoxically become simpler even as the complexity overwhelms you. Things can seem black and white. Good and bad. And you? You're bad.

Idk, no one's experience is exactly the same, but to me it rang honest. It's fine if others felt differently.

Was it about mixing humor and dark topics? But like most stories do that. I mean, going back to damn Shakespeare, at likes 45% of each of his tragedies are dick jokes. The Bard loved a dick joke. It did not even have to be a good dick joke for the Bard to love it and include it in literature to be read by billions. I mean, I'm slightly hyperbolizing about the percentages, but you literally have Hamlet lamenting about going insane and contemplating suicide in one of the most haunting soliloquies in the English language (Act 3 scene 1's "To Be or Not To Be..." ) and then making numerous dick jokes in the very next scene (Act 3 scene 2). Even when it's all gone to the grave (heh) in Act 5, Hamlet takes time to hold up a jester's skull and joke about "alas, poor Yorick."

Like, yes, there are jarring ways to incorporate humor with tragedy. I don't think RWBY is doing that, though. The last episode had some genuinely heartwarming moments of realization (the paper pleasers) and tension, and then we had Cat!Neo still being a complete cat and lolling about like "Oh HEY GUYS." (The cat is hilarious, and they've always been like this.)

The entirety of Volume 9 has dealt with grief. Even the fight with the Red Prince is the prince throwing a tantrum mingled with grief.

Idk, stories do generally progress. They go from good to bad to good to bad to worse to how is this even worser to okay there's some hope to catharsis. If you can't connect the dots and see the progression, that's tonal inconsistency. If you can, and you absolutely can with RWBY not just in Volume 9 but the entire show as a whole, then... it's not tonally inconsistent.

The theme of identity has been present from the beginning of the show. Ruby looking at a grave and hence dealing with grief is one of the founding images of the entire series. To fully explore death, characters generally have to potentially end up there at some point. That Ruby would wonder whether or not she should have been born is obvious from the first minute of this season. Her spiral has gotten worse and worse, but if you paid attention, you could see it happening.

Again, the show began as a boarding school story with some pretty dark themes (abusive relationships, parental abandonment, parental death). That the darker stuff becomes explored more fully is pretty par for the course. Even like, again, Harry Potter gets progressively more dark. So do the Avengers movies. It's like, normal.

Idk, to me saying RWBY is tonally inconsistent for any of these reasons sounds like saying, I don't know, Othello is tonally inconsistent because the first scene has Othello and Desdemona standing up against bigotry for their love and their marriage is not annulled; therefore the play should end in the defeat of racism and love conquering all. Things change. The seeds of what will happen, the ugliness of racism and the limits of love and reality of misogyny are all present even in that opening scene, and unfortunately they consume the characters.

When I think tonal inconsistency, I think of, I don't know, the ending of Tokyo Ghoul, which thematically contradicted the entire 200+ chapters and 1.5 mangas leading up to it. Things that were framed as negative were suddenly framed as positive. I also think of BNHA, which, while I do think maintains its optimistic/hopeful superhero tone, does sometimes switch the framing and tone around certain characters (Hawks, Endeavor).

So yeah. RWBY has flaws for sure, but I just don't think this is one of them.

#rwby #rwby vol 9 #mental health #tw #just in case #ruby rose #tone

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beneaththebrim · 1 year

Text

Lie Huo Jiao Chou Vol.2 Simplified Print Extra

Prepare for Lingyuan baby lore.

Caveat: This, like all my translations, is a learning translation, relies heavily on dictionaries, and likely contains some mistakes--I appreciate corrections/feedback! This extra contains spoilers through Book 4.

The year myriad beasts tramped iron-hooved over Nanming Valley, Nanming’s fires cast down, burning the world map to tatters. The arrogant last emperor’s blood quenched the land, leaving his former retainers of wealth and influence to scatter anchorless. As madness descended upon both man and yao, the mixed-blood Human Sovereign was born in a run-down thatched hut in the countryside.

An evil produced in the wake of chaos, his pupils bore flames by nature, a Vermilion Bird clan sigil graced his forehead, and he was born laughing. Outside the window, flocks of birds descended at the sound of his laughter and perched in utter silence—as though waiting for something, or perhaps in some silent mourning. Just as Empress Chen and her thousand midwives and maidservants stood around cluelessly, a flame streaked across—the Bifang clan had dispatched an “assassin” to “opportunely” steal away the newborn princeling.

As recorded in the Qingping Annals, History of Qi: All the midwives, maidservants, and twenty-one bodyguards who had been on the scene to witness the abnormal phenomena that day—apart from Empress Chen herself and her trusted confidante Lady Ma—“succumbed to the wicked yao’s evildoing.” There were no survivors.

The Bifang clan, those silly birds, had arrived under the Vermilion Birds’ ordinance, risking death to retrieve the “bloodline of the Vermilion Bird,” and hence blundered into carrying this great black pot. It wasn’t until returning and looking more closely that they discovered, this “bloodline of the Vermilion Bird” was a mixed-blood half-yao.

Yaokind had always discriminated against half-yaos, which they took for the lowest of slaves. In wartime, the half-yaos’ situation was even worse off; most of them were put to death or abandoned at birth. But, this half-yao bore the bloodline of the vanquished divine bird, and all the winged kinds had no choice but to revere him as a young ruler. What were they to do? The Bifangs sheltered this hot potato, neither killing nor worshiping it.

Pulling long faces, the big pheasants all put together their walnut-sized brains, and, propped up on their singular legs[1], discussed the matter for days on end, only to discuss themselves into a bowl of mush: Since it was a matter of carrying out the Vermilion Birds’ order, they had to receive him with proper courtesy. But, half-yaos were inauspicious, so they couldn’t help but remain on their guard.

Thus, they simultaneously gave this kid the “young ruler” treatment and regarded him as disaster incarnate. Estranged, they exalted him. Coldly, they waited upon him. They let him have whatever he desired, but never got too close.

What kind of good egg might this sort of rotten henhouse have incubated?

Hence, when Danli brought back the “missing” crown prince, he got himself a tyrannical, crafty, insidious, and overbearing little hellion.

Yaokind was different from humankind; yaokind’s juvenile stage would stretch long, but lack an ignorant stage of infancy; upon birth, the young could run and scamper about. Half-yaos lay between human and yao; at two-some years, half-yaos would have already completely cast off their yao form, and appear no different from a human child. Their intelligence, however, was around that of a seven- or eight-year-old human.

Being forced to return to humankind, the young crown prince initially feigned an adorable sort of ignorance. Then, taking advantage of a moment when his guards weren’t paying attention, he’d poison the entire cluster of bodyguards into a tizzy. Upon being dragged back after his aborted attempt, he’d play the same act again, with an innocent look like he’d never done anything. This little hellion fled four times in three days, inflicted surprise stab wounds upon two among his retinue, poisoned them once, and set fire to them another time—up until he finally realized that Danli was simply playing cat-and-mouse with him for his own amusement.

The young Sheng Lingyuan looked rather like an immortal youth in a painting, yet was unable to speak even a word of human speech. All he uttered was birdspeak, and moreover filthy birdspeak. Danli rather amusedly listened as the kid verbally tortured him to death and dismembered his corpse, poured His Loquacious Highness water to wet his lips, and when the boy was done drinking, pinched him unconscious—at which point he sighed in exasperation: The winged clans were truly uneducated and dull-witted; for a child to have been raised over two full years to this sort of quality, their end was inevitable.

Fortunately, the Cauldron of Heaven and Earth was already in place, and he could still be remolded. To kill the body and become a demon was to be born anew; another round of cooking, and this little thing wouldn’t have any memory of his “prior life” in the Bifang clan.

As for his temperament…

Danli pinched the child’s face in his hand, giving him a careful once-over. This kid’s face was just like Royal Lady Wanfei’s, while his profile retained a shadow of Emperor Ping—nary among them a good person.

Danli thought: Perhaps it wasn’t all the Bifangs’ fault; this kid is likely just no-good by nature.

Fortunately, he was not planning to provide humankind with a benevolent Son of Heaven for the ages. As a tool, to be a sharp blade was enough.

Eighty-one of humankind’s masters sacrificed, flesh recast in the Cauldron of Heaven and Earth, and the heavenly demon was merely a vessel, but hadn’t yet taken shape.

The heavenly demon was humankind’s means of pulling a fast one on yaokind to refine a “living Chiyuan.” Its sea of consciousness being interconnected with Chiyuan, this heavenly demon’s body would be at the receiving end of all the world’s hostility. As long as he couldn’t wield it freely, all the resentment and hatred of those unable to rest in peace would be absorbed into his sea of consciousness, either to be consumed by the heavenly demon, becoming his very first “nourishment,” or, while the heavenly demon was still weak, to contaminate the place and consume his divine consciousness in turn, taking hold of his body—just like cultivating gu.

Resentment accumulated bit by bit. Although it wasn’t a single whole, the convergence of tens of thousands of droplets would pour into a sea, and could even drown out a juvenile heavenly demon’s divine consciousness. Danli reached out to press against the as-yet-unconscious young heavenly demon’s scalding forehead to peep into his sea of consciousness: Within was a black expanse like any ghostly netherworld of legend, countless “shadows” hovering therein. Those “shadows” were the dread of the dying, were all-encompassing resentment, were unbearable pain and bone-deep rancor.

Danli felt this little whelp wasn’t likely to survive, in which case things would prove simple—the heavenly demon’s body would lie dormant for three to five years, just in time for the “heavenly demon sword spirit” lodging therein to form consciousness enough to wake. Vermilion Bird overcame demon by nature; when the time came, the last little Vermilion Bird in the world could easily subdue the pack of demons and take hold of this spiritual vessel.

After all, what was a “Human Sovereign” really? No more than the sentiment of those fools toward that prophecy Wanfei had trumped up, a tool begot of vain hope. As long as the heavenly demon’s body was present, souls were all the same. The Vermilion Bird harbored inside would thence be able to make use of humankind’s sentiment to revolt against yaokind; each side would have what it wished.

But there was a “what if” to everything. What if Wanfei’s bastard son inherited her viciousness along with Emperor Ping’s greed and arrogance, and truly could consume all the demons, or find another way… This truly was a bit pesky.

Danli stroked the soft hair at the crown of the child’s head. Recalling that face of Wanfei’s that wouldn’t close its eyes even in death, he sighed, and spoke into his ear: “No one is looking forward to your birth. You haven’t even seen the light of day, and have already incurred this much hatred, why take the trouble? Far too painful, why not just go; perhaps in the next life you shan’t be cast into such a bullheaded mold.”

His words fell into the heavenly demon’s sea of consciousness, rousing a chorus of ghostly wails. However, the living person in the sea of consciousness couldn’t understand human speech, and curled up in a corner. Vaguely sensing his malice, he practically shrank away into nothing.

On the third day of the heavenly demon body’s refinement, the young heavenly demon’s divine consciousness woke.

Initially, the young heavenly demon instinctively wanted to retract his body’s five senses. As soon as he did so, he came face-to-face with two floating “shadows” in his sea of consciousness. Their unbridled resentment pierced the juvenile divine consciousness like the tip of a blade, nearly rending him to pieces on the spot. Danli watched the tiny divine consciousness still itself for a moment, perhaps coming to, and then, with a start, it scurried frantically into the deepest depths of the sea of consciousness.

Observing him, Danli withdrew his hand and thought to himself: As expected.

After all, as a mere wisp of intelligence in the sea of consciousness, the young heavenly demon rapidly learned how to avoid those “shadows.” In the ten days that followed, he grew more and more nimble; in the first couple days he’d still accidentally be knocked over by those “shadows” every now and then, while later on he learned to come and go like a specter.

The “newborn” heavenly demon didn’t remember anything, but his level of intelligence remained. To seek gain and avoid harm required no instruction; after suffering one “beating,” he naturally learned his lesson. Lest he again endure hardship, the little thing would begin to hide himself away and no longer dare to strain himself trying to wield control over his sea of consciousness. But if he couldn’t handle taking the initiative to consume the shadows and condense his divine consciousness, he’d miss his only opportunity.

In no more than a month, the resentment passing from Chiyuan to his sea of consciousness would grow denser and denser, and he’d no longer have anywhere to hide.

When that time came, even a master who’d cultivated their divine consciousness a century would find it difficult to carry on, let alone a mere child whose memory was a blank expanse.

Ignorant of these matters, the little heavenly demon had no idea that his fate was already set in stone.

This most revered bloodline of both human- and yaokind had crystallized, only to perish at the tender age of two, alas.

The no-faced incarnation of the divine image lacked capacity for sorrow or joy. Gently, he kneaded the young heavenly demon’s lockstitched brow, knowing that he no longer had to pay heed to this little thing. In comparison to the suspenseless matter of the heavenly demon body’s ownership, the missing Cauldron of Heaven and Earth and Vermilion Bird remains were far more pressing. These two matters were inextricably connected to Meng Xia, but unfortunately, he shouldered the Sacrifice of Blazing Light, and couldn’t publicly break face with Wanfei…

The eleventh day, Danli went to the front line for good, and the hiding place of the young heavenly demon trapped in “Chiyuan” was changed.

He remained hidden for the twelfth day, the thirteenth day…

However, on the seventeenth day of his hiding away, a surprise attack was mounted upon humankind’s principal tent by a young nightmare beast. The dream-urging technique it released spread far and wide, and the exhausted little heavenly demon was briefly dragged into a nightmare.

In his flailing, he was captured by the ever-thickening shadows in the heavenly demon sea of consciousness.

The young heavenly demon awoke with a start amidst a flurry of resentment painful as being dismembered alive. The backlashing shadows threw themselves over like a moth to a flame and scrabbled mindlessly at him, tearing at him, gnawing at him.

He had no way to avoid them, and in the end, at this hopeless impasse, the little heavenly demon’s innate ferocity was ignited. A raging hatred overtook him; his heart beat madly, and his thirst-driven fangs and claws sprang out in counterattack. It was then that another shadow threw itself fiercely at him. Some other commoner slaughtered by cultivator or great yao, their hatred and bitter pain trickled over his entire body, and the fledgling divine consciousness silently struggled—

Kill them all…

I have to kill them all…

“Wummm—”

A hum emanated out from his spinal column, answering its master’s powerless wrath.

The heavenly demon sword spirit was endowed with life through the death of the mixed-blood half-yao. To fool the eighty-one human cultivators offered as sacrifice, Danli did not mess with the contract between heavenly demon and heavenly demon sword—as long as the heavenly demon’s divine consciousness lived, he would indeed be the sword spirit’s master. In any case, the sword spirit forged of a Vermilion Bird heavenly spirit ought not have matured enough to awaken for another three to five years. By that time, whether the heavenly demon’s divine consciousness had already perished or suffered heavy injuries after repeated “lessons,” he would have well and properly given way for the sword spirit.

However, because this heavenly demon sword spirit was “endowed with life” by the master of the sword, the connection between sword spirit and sword master was far more intimate than Danli could have imagined—that in that moment, the sword master’s powerful killing intent would awaken the sword spirit ahead of time.

A flame abruptly streaked across the young heavenly demon’s pitch-black sea of consciousness. The densely-packed shadows scattered as though in fright, while the flame rushed at him like a fledgling swallow toward its nesting grove.

The young heavenly demon had no time to hide. Startled, he was smacked head-on by the flame. That moment, an ineffable warmth wrapped around him, and he heard another heartbeat which pulsed along with his own intention.

The flame turned into a hazy-edged ball, rubbing against him like a clingy child. As the invisible connection between sword master and sword spirit intertwined the pair of ignorant souls, an abrupt, rootless concept arose in the young heavenly demon’s mind.

Dazedly, he thought: Is this… for me?

He’d no memory of his past, but seemed to vaguely know, there’d never been anything in the world he could call his own.

The human cultivators repelling the nightmare beast panted back over. Afraid the as-yet unconscious heavenly demon had been affected, they hurriedly employed talismans to dispel the remaining illusion technique, but saw that the corners of the child’s eyes were dripping tear-like blood which trickled down and soaked the hair at his temples.

All the heavenly demon’s tears were but false affection; when he genuinely cried, he’d only cry blood.

The sword spirit had been roused ahead of schedule, and understood neither human nor yao speech. Other than crying, he’d only make chirping “ji-ji” sounds. The young heavenly demon didn’t know what he was either, and so simply called him “Ji.” “Ji” this and “Ji” that, the sword spirit connected to the heavenly demon’s mind understood that this was referring to himself, and in his muddleheaded state, took it henceforth as his name. Only ever “Ji,” for three thousand years.[2]

The sword spirit was leagues apart from the sharp claws and fangs the young heavenly demon imagined, but he wasn’t entirely unhelpful; upon touching a shadow, he’d run into his master’s arms and bawl, and upon bawling, the flame would grow more intense, and the pitch-black sea of consciousness full of flickering shadows would gain a light source. Those shadows would have nowhere to hide in the light; it seemed they’d never gain the upper hand again.

Three days later, having been alerted about “His Highness the crown prince’s abnormal state,” Danli hurried over. It took him a great deal of time to probe the heavenly demon’s sea of consciousness before he withdrew his fingers. Beneath the mask, no one could make out his expression.

After a long pause, he said softly: “No need to worry, it’s simply that the sword spirit has awoken ahead of schedule… This signals a predestined affinity between sword and sword master.”

Ignorant of the truth, the human cultivators erupted in joy. Only Danli sighed in silence.

Over a span of three thousand-some years, crossing past numerous life-and-death entanglements, fate was indeed set—yet it was unclear for whom it was destiny, for whom it was calamity.[3]

Notes:

1) Bifangs are one-legged.

2) This is 叽, meaning “to chirp,” homophonic with Xuan Ji’s childhood nickname 鸡 - “chicken” and his usual name 玑.

3) The word for “calamity” is 劫, the same as the word Xuan Ji uses for Sheng Lingyuan in the Thousand Yao Handbook.

#烈火浇愁 #lie huo jiao chou #drowning sorrows in raging fire #sheng lingyuan #xuan ji #danli #the emperor and his chicken #my translation

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sam-glade · 4 days

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Happy WBW!! I would like to ask about the ruling class in your world! What is their power based on? Is it for example military power like with warrior nobilities of some ancient societies, or land ownership like in feudal societies, or something else? How is the status inherited? For example by first born, distributed to all children, voted for by the members (like in many clan systems), something else?

Hi Karkki, Happy WBW

Let me roll up my sleeves and get on with some info dumping.

Tl;dr: it's heavily inspired, but not a 1-1 copy of the Golden Liberty system.

As of Days of Dusk, the Sunblessed Realm is ruled by the five princes - hence, it's now more often referred to as the Five Princedoms. The king is believed to be alive, but absent, residing in his Palace in the Clouds. He's more or less revered as a god, but honestly, he does jack shit, only serves as a reminder for the princes that there's a higher power. The princes of course test the limits further and further as time goes on.

The princes descend from the king's closest friends and supporters, who fought off the Primeval Darkness with him about 3000 years ago. Given the longevity of the people, it means a vastly different number of generation between the progenitor of the family and the current head of state. For example, Anthea and Ianim are grandchildren of the First Prince, the White Dragon, the King's closest friend, and they're 100-200 years old. The Prince of the North is also from the third generation, and he's just over a 1000. Other families have anywhere between 5 and 12 generations.

Upon assuming the title of the head of state, the prince names their successor, so that there's no squabble over inheritance. The successor's role is mostly representative - I like to compare it to the First Lady in the US, doing mostly charity and outreach work. They'll also attend all sort of formal events from weddings to openings of new factories. The successor can be the child of the prince, but often is the younger sibling, and in one case the spouse.

In the Southern and Western princedoms, which trade a lot across the sea and are very economy-driven, the merchants and guilds hold a lot of power, and the prince is a figurehead. In the others, the princes have a lot more direct power; e.g. the First Prince's power is nigh-absolute. If she weren't such a firm believer in the Sun King's divine rule, she'd quite likely become a dictator. Fortunately, her religious-like faith keeps her in check.

It's also worth noting that the army is separated from the government, in that it's an institution that spans all five princedoms and it's sole purpose is to kill demons, not fight against humans. However, every Sword is legally obligated to serve their 20 years while their Sword develops, and it's genetically inherited, so direct descendants of the progenitors of the princes' families who were Swords end up serving in the army and rising high in the rank (if only so that other officers gain some favour with them outside the army), thus giving them influence there as well. E.g. the White Dragon commanded the Winged Division, which evolved from his cavalry units, and now Anthea is the commander. There are questions raised about conflicts of interest.

By the end of Prodigal Children, this goes too far, and in the South, there's a revolt, which leads to that state declaring itself a republic, and being ruled by a handful of populist leaders, mostly guildmasters. The West on the other hand tries something modelled after elective monarchy, which has the nobility choosing the successor, so it's not locked to a single family, but still relies on inherited titles. Eventually, it will tend to various flavours of democracy (though 3000 years later, in The Truth Teller, it has again gone wrong, where you have basically one uncontested political party turning authoritarian.

So that's the aristocracy.

Now, for the nobility, it's modelled after the szlachta. The key characteristics are that it's a rather numerous class, and the poorer nobles are honestly not as wealthy as a homeowner in a city, as a rule of thumb, while district governors can are comparable to wealthy merchants, so there's a fair bit of spread. The noble houses usually own a village or two, so yes, it's serfdom. The poorer ones may end up co-owning a village, the wealthier - owning a handful of them. One example we see on page is the Sixth Tree, who don't own a village, but a gun making factory, and that's what pays for their taxes.

The noble titles are inherited by the firstborn or oldest adopted child, though that might be changed by a written declaration.

The nobility gathers at regular intervals for local/regional/state-wide assemblies. There, they vote on various changes to the law, resolve feuds, etc. Yes, they can vote by letter. Technically anyone can veto any resolution, and one veto is enough to send it back to the drawing board, which means the assemblies can drag on for a while. Also, there's a tonne of politicking involved, as you might expect - voting for something just to curry favour, etc. (Side note: I keep calling it assemblies, though I've seen 'parliament' used more often in English. It's based on the idea of sejmik).

The assemblies that involve the princes are the prince-wide and general assemblies, and yes, that puts another limit on the prince's power and what they can put into law. If they try taking too much power away from the nobility, they'll be vetoed. However, being too trigger happy with vetoing them is sure to put you on their naughty list ;)

Finally, if the nobility believes that the prince is really screwing them or the state over, they can call for a lawful insurrection - which is how one of the princes gets replaced in Prodigal Children. It's based on rokosz. Then, they choose the next prince from among themselves.

Adding Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-void @cee-grice @cljordan-imperium @elshells

@goldxdarkness @poetinprose @sparrow-orion-writes @tisiphonewolfe

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #days of dusk #worldbuilding #sunblessed realm #wbw #ask and i shall answer

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 1 year

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The Naming Game: Jon Snow x Daenerys Targaryen Version

Calling all Jonerys enjoyers, let’s have some fun naming children (and maybe fighting about it)!

I was talking to some peeps about Jon and Daenerys having kids in the future but we couldn’t seem to agree on any boy or girl names for their first born. So I wanted to bring this fight to tumblr and see in we can come to an agreement here. Hence, I’m hosting a short and sweet naming game.

The scenario:

Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are expecting a child. They’ve sent out a survey to the whole of Westeros, both to lowborn and highborn, and have asked for help naming this new prince or princess. You have decided to answer their call and help them out.

The rules:

1. You will be given two lists. One has Valyrian names and the other has Northern/Stark names. You are expected to choose one name from both sides

2. After the top three names from both sides are chosen, we’ll do two final polls that combine the final six boy and girl names and choose the best one (among each) overall.

Because we don’t know if it’s going to be a boy or a girl, there’s going to be two separate surveys, so four in total; two girl surveys (Valyrian + Northern) and two boy surveys (Valyrian + Northern). If you vote for one, please vote for the other so we try to get close to the the same number of respondents across.

Note: I’m splitting Northern and Valyrian names into two separate polls because 1) there’s too many names to put in one post and, 2) we all know that some people will favor one side over the other; both parents are Targaryen, but let’s remember that Jon is also a Stark!

Ok let’s rumble!

Round 1: Qualifier

Girls (Northern) | Girls (Valyrian)

Boys (Northern) | Boys (Valyrian)

Round 2: Final

Girls (Top 6 - All)

Boys (Top 6 - All)

#asoiaf #asoiaf polls #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x dany #jonerys au #will do a boy version later #but first I wanna see if this one flops aksnsns #so don’t let it flop y’all!!#choose wisely people you only get one try #I hope the top choices won’t be the most basic ones 😭

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simpingandprocrastinating · 2 years

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I wanna know more about your OCs, but I don't know what specific things to ask about. Is it alright to ask for five random facts about them?

No problem sweet anon, I've got you!

I wasn't sure if you meant just 5 facts or 5 facts for each of my OC's so I went with 5 for each. Also because it took me a little longer to answer, I added some extra Hogwarts AU facts.

She decides to become a vet because WoL gives her the opportunity to understand what's wrong with the animals.

‌She visits Nepal with Koichi to see Polnareff, the last man who saw her parents before they were killed.‌

Bini loves to slowdance with Josuke on the music of Prince or Roxette. ‌

Bini sees Tomoko as her mother figure, because she lost her own. ‌

When Bini was younger her favourite stuffed animal was a duckling called 'Dukkie' (Dutch translation: Duckie)

‌Jouichirou is the only child of Josuke who got to meet Joseph (Chirou was still a baby). ‌

‌He acts like he's all tough but when he's alone and listens to his favourite songs, he will sing them aloud. If he's in a good mood, he'll even dance to them, but if someone catches him, he'll be really embarrassed and even try to deny he was doing it.

‌At the age of 25, Jouichirou is 6'5"/195cm in height.

‌5-year-old Jouichirou had a crush on aunty Alexandra Parker. Since Jotaro is married to Alex and is his big example, Chirou also asks her to marry him, but with a candy ring.

‌Chirou's earrings are based of Jotaro's signature part 6 look: the chain hook and the star on the left side of his collar.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Jouichirou would be in Slytherin.

His patronus is a Bat.

‌When a girl comes to admits she has a crush on him, he'll be humble. He rejects her in a way she won't get hurt, maybe loves him even more. He will kiss her hand and tell her there's someone better out there for her than him.

‌During his school time, Touma took it upon himself to become class president.

‌Touma is on the school swim team.

‌His favourite season is winter, because he used to go outside with aunty Gogo when it was snowing. They'd build snowmans and she even learned him how to ice skate.

‌He's scared of heights.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Touma would be in Hufflepuff.

His patronus would be a Newfoundland.

He's is actually pretty great with little kids. ‌

Sei is bisexual. ‌

Seiua's type are proud, loyal, and headstrong men/woman. Let's say if Seiua would meet Ermes Costello, he'd definitely ask her out.‌

This boy can't cook. If he's in the kitchen, he'll burn it down. Keep him away from the stove!

‌He loves reptiles.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Seiua would be in Gryffindor.

His patronus is a Stoat.

Kazumasa is interested in history and wants to become a history professor.

‌He likes fashion alot.

‌Kazu was born on th 2nd of February.

‌He is lactose intolerant so he has to take lactase tablets to digest dairy products.

‌Kazu does have a stand (hence the ability to see stands) but he can't use his own because its locked away in his soul. This means he doesn't know it's name and what it can do.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Kazumasa would be in Ravenclaw.

His favorite spell is Capacious extremis, an extension charm.

Minami's love language is physical touch. She loves to hug her friends and family.

‌She was born on the 25th of December (Christmas).

‌Nami is a sweet tooth, she loves candy.

‌Minami is definitely a morning person, and even a bit too energetic for some people in the early hours.

‌While visiting the Kujo household, Minami first met Narciso Anasui and instantly got a crush.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Minami would be in Gryffindor.

‌She would be in the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Chaser.

Fumihiro is actually a pretty intimidating young man.

Hiro has green eyes and auburn hair.

At the age of 25, Fumihiro is 6′1″/185cm in height.

He is very protective of Bini and doesn't like Josuke in the slightest.

Fumihiro and Rohan are good friends.

Hogwarts edition:

‌Fumihiro would be in Slytherin, just like Bini.

His favorite subject is Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Alex belongs to @ahoge-fish & Gogo to @helpimhyperfixating.

#jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #josuke higashikata #jojo josuke #jojo's bizarrre adventure #josuke #mun bini answers #Jouichirou Higashikata #Touma Higashikata #Bini Sugimoto #Fumihiro Sugimoto #Seiua Higashikata #Minami Higashikata #Kazumasa Higashikata #Higashikata family

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meant2beestudios · 8 months

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Lord of Lies Devlog #1

September 9th, 2023

Hey hey, it’s Joy! (Flowersforjoy)

Note: This Devlog is split into sections, so feel free to take it all in or skip to what you want to know. If you read any Devlogs at all, you’re a blessing (also you’re hot).

Without further ado let’s talk about my #Once Upon A Time VN Jam Entry:

(Credit to mikalogo for this gorgeous logo!)

What is “Lord of Lies”? A good question, but before we can talk about “Lord of Lies” we need to talk about:

Okay? What the hell is “Princess Poison”?

In short, ‘Princess Poison’ is ‘Lord of Lies’. In many ways they are the same story, but in many other ways they are two different things.

‘Princess Poison’ was actually my first full length novel I ever finished back in 2019 *gasp*- it is a 60k word, half dark fantasy/adventure, half lgbt romance novel. Written back when I was a young aspiring novelist.

‘Princess Poison’, was a story about Lawrence Bane, a 25 year old man born with a ‘witch power’ the power to track any living thing, given he has DNA to do so. He’s hired by the leader (who only goes by the code name: King) of a witch hunting group known as: “The Noble House Witch Hunters” hence, the code names for the members being: King, Queen, Prince, Princess… etc. Lawrence is hired by King to track his second in command “The Princess” and what they find when tracking her, changes Lawrence’s life forever. Sending him on a wild adventure full of danger.

The entire story is available here on AO3 (I was bold lol).

Note: I don’t actually like the original story nor do I think you should read it, unless you have way too much time on your hands and/or morbid curiosity. I posted it here mainly to prove that it does in fact exist. For me, this story only serves as a way to gauge my growth as a writer in the last 5 years.

The Problems with Princess Poison

What’s wrong with it? You may be asking.

Nothing especially egregious outside of just being the first full length piece I ever wrote. Most of it’s problems stem from the fact that it was an ambitious first attempt.

Princess Poison’s biggest problems were, (to name only the major ones):

Too many characters in the main cast

Villain was predictable and very cartoon-y

Too much dialogue and exposition

Poorly written fight scenes galore

No sense of time progression

Lackluster/nonexistent world building

A poorly explained power system

Complicated, jarring plot twists

Plot holes

Character arcs that amount to nothing

In short, it was a total mess. I had finished the story but, it was too much, and not enough. I was 19 when I wrote it originally (I’m 24 going on 25 for reference) it was a lot for a new author to write a story with so many moving parts.

I was proud of myself for finishing it, and finishing it in a 3 month period. But what I was left with was a mediocre end product.

Not to mention the actual writing for the story was lonely and torturous. I forced myself to get up at 5am and write, I forced myself through scenes I didn’t even like (but thought I needed). It was after I finished writing it that I had a bit of crisis in regards to if I wanted to write again at all because the experience was so miserable. And what I came back with wasn’t even worth the struggle. Worst of all, I was forced to face the reality that I may not like writing as much as I thought I did although I had known I wanted to be a writer since I was 8 years old.

In order for ‘Princess Poison’ to work it would have to be completely rewritten and twice the length.

RPG Maker, The Pandemic, and Mistakes

Okay, so after writing Princess Poison initially I took 3 months off before I decided to continue working on it. I still wasn’t sure if this was what I wanted to do. But I had convinced myself that writing is the only passion I ever had, and that this was just how it had to be.

How naive I was.

So I got to editing and enlisting beta readers. I actually have always enjoyed this process, it feels good to share your work with others (even if they are critiquing it. At least you know that you are making moves to improve your work.

And as we established this story definitely needed improvement.

The common feedback I kept getting were all the problems I listed before. My solution to these problems…I needed to rewrite it.

But I didn’t wanna rewrite Princess Poison, I didn’t want to write a whole other novel, because it wasn’t just a couple things that needed to be tuned, it had to be built from the ground up.

So…why not make it into something that wasn’t a novel?

Enter RPG Maker.

Why RPG Maker you may ask?

At this time in my like I’d been a humongous fan of Dan and Phil for many years. And one of my favorite videos on their conjoined gaming channel, one I would rewatch a lot, was this gem: 14 YEAR OLD PHIL’S GAME - Dan and Phil Play: The Mark Of Oxin!

Basically the video is the two guys: Dan and Phil playing a game Phil had made himself when he was 14 years old in RPG Maker 2000 (I think?)

Something that stuck with me about this video was how Dan was so impressed by Phil making a game so young and finishing it.

Phil’s game made me feel a little better about Princess Poison was it good? No. But, it existed, it was finished and best of all I’d done it all by myself, that alone was impressive.

Had Phil kept making games, he’d have gotten better. What mattered though, was that he had fun. He shared it with his school friends, then Dan as an adult, and then the world.

So again, why not make Princess Poison into a game?

I mean let’s go back to some of those bullet points.

Too many characters in the main cast

Perfect for RPG

Too much dialogue and exposition

If the dialogue was optional, it would add to the experience, not take away.

Poorly written fight scenes galore

Didn’t need to write any fight scenes, you could just play through it.

No sense of time progression

The time progression in game feels a lot more tangible.

Lackluster/nonexistent world building

The world I’d be forced to build, the environments, the people that lived there, the culture, etc…

A poorly explained power system

The power system could be the battle system!

There were still obviously plenty of story related problems that still needed to be fixed, but if I wasn’t being bogged down by descriptions of environments and the logistics of fight scenes, I’d have more time to focus on the characters and plot.

So I’d started learning RPG maker, somewhere in late 2019-and all throughout 2o20, the perfect time to learn it since a little thing went around, that you may have heard of…

COVID 19 and the pandemic! I had gotten my first apartment and had ample time to learn the program.

And boy did I! It became my hyper-fixation I put in easily 500 hours in the coarse of a couple months. I learned, and then it was finally time, nearly a year and half later to make-

Princess Poison: The Game or PP Game as I childishly called it…

At first when working on the game, I kept pretty much everything the same, whole scenes from the book put into game format. It was fun figuring out how to translate the world in my head, to a visual space. The environments especially. Then creating my characters in RPG Maker MV, developing their classes and fighting styles, etc…

I was having so much fun! More fun than I had writing since I was a middle schooler. I’d worked, and worked, rewriting a good portion of the story putting so so many hours into the game.

But I made a mistake, one many devs/game makers know to avoid.

Backup your builds.

I hadn’t, a file got corrupted, and just like that. All that work- POOF!

Gone.

All my hours, for nothing.

I was devastated. I was so angry, so tired. I mourned the loss of the game I loved so much.

I took another break, but- only for a month.

Because unlike novel writing, I did enjoy working in RPG maker, and though I’d lost basically a third of the total game. It wasn’t all lost.

I just had to work again, but this time smarter.

So I did. I somehow managed to push my grief aside, and work again.

I backed up every save, every time I made a huge addition.

I organized my maps better, I made the story more concise, I worked tirelessly until I was able to catch up where I was, and surpass it.

But another thing happened.

Not as tragic as before, but another thing all devs know.

Burnout.

I was exhausted, I got to the point where opening the build was enough to make me feel ill and I’d close my laptop. I couldn’t stand it.

Not to mention, had I not lost the initial build. I might have been done by now.

It was 2021, and I worked on it but very slowly. Almost not at all.

I wanted a change. I had to do something else.

While looking for assets for PP Game (yes we’re still calling it that), on Lemmasoft forums, I discovered some forum posts asking for visual novel writers. I’d applied, created discord, starting using itch, and fell into the world of VN dev.

I’d done some contract writing for other studios and solo devs, but nothing really ever came to fruition, frustrated I decided to join a jam, met a programmer, and started to make my own visual novels. A boy’s love story you may know as ‘Tattoos and Tulips’, something simple for Yaoi Jam 2021.

I failed initially with Tattoos and Tulips development and so put that aside, and turned my focus back to Princess Poison.

I worked slowly on Princess Poison for a couple more months, leading into 2022, before rebuilding a team for Tattoos and Tulips.

I’d finished writing TNT (a story with more words than Princess Poison somehow lol) in a 3rd of the time (I wrote TNT in 3 weeks). And the kicker… I adored writing TNT, and the final product (back when I only had the script). I had realized I did love writing stories in a novel format. It was possible!

So after I had finished writing TNT I continued running the team and when I had some free time I decided what Princess Poison needed was what I had with TNT- it needed a team.

So I started building one, a small one. Tattoos and Tulips had artists, composers, beta readers, etc… Princess Poison had only me. So I hired an artist, I got a co-writer, and I brought on a composer, and unsurprisingly I fell back in love with it. I was going to finish Princess Poison the game finally, and under my new studio! It was all going to work out.

But then one last thing I forgot to account for happened. I backed up my saves, I took needed breaks, and had others to share my enthusiasm and breathe fresh life into the project, but life happened.

My mental health took a horrible turn, (I’ve dealt with panic disorder since I was 6 years old and have been medicated since I was 17) I didn’t know it then, but I had stupidly avoided my medication for so long that I had started to go through withdrawals, very strong withdrawals. Leaving me anxious, depressed, and laying in bed most days for 3 months. In addition, my teammates had their own mental health issues, and personal life interferences and they had to abandon the project. I was all alone with Princess Poison again

I didn’t start to feel better until the start of 2023, I didn’t work on anything during that time other than my own health, and at that point I’d gotten a full time job.

It was starting to feel like, even if I wanted to work on my games, I didn’t have the time. This proved to not be true. I wrote all of Crabs and Cocktails in February. Then got really involved in the indie dev scene during Otome Jam 2023, releasing Tattoos and Tulips during in April.

I was finding my footing as a studio and dev for the first time.

I met other devs, played their games, and fell fully in love with the community. I was constantly inspired by those I spoke to and worked with.

My development with Tattoos and Tulips, Cassie, and Crabs and Cocktails just felt for the most part second nature to me. So the problem might have been that solo developing a game just wasn’t for me…or was it?

Once Upon A Time VN Jam

Then a little jam came to town sometime in 2023 and I knew immediately I had to join, mainly because it was ran by two extremely talented and wonderful friends of mine Chimeriquement and Len.

This jam’s premise brought up old feelings however, though Princess Poison was never a Fairy Tale or even a retelling, there were many allusions to Fairy Tales in Princess Poison, and a little seed got planted in my head. But I pushed it back, I’d tried so many times to make this project happen and it wasn’t happening. It wasn’t meant to be. So I wanted to participate but with my own new original fairy tale story.

But for some reason my brain would not leave Princess Poison. And I hated that.

That original fairy tale story got shelved, and I wondered if I was going to participate in OUAT at all…

But… I am the type of writer that goes where my heart leads me. I learned from TNT that if I wrote what my heart wanted, it would go well.

So I did a crazy thing. I decided, I won’t do something original for this jam.

I’ll give Princess Poison one last chance.

I work a lot. And my job is the perfect place to brainstorm and one afternoon I got a lot of stuff together.

It was as if all my years of experience writing, deving, living even- helped me develop a story that was much better than the original. Sharing a lot of it’s foundation, but with a whole new structure.

The ideas were firing on all cylinders, the characters were making sense, the plot was compelling, exciting! My playlist I made for the story made more sense now? What was going on?

The story changed, a lot. Some of the key things were the same, but so many things were different. Better.

The title even changed. Princess Poison was too juvenile, too edgy, too misleading- not what this project was.

I outlined the story, and though not perfect it was the best it had ever been.

The main thing that changed, and is directly responsible for the biggest changes in the story is the protagonists’: Lawrence’s power. Instead of tracking any living thing, he could tell verbal lies with 100% accuracy. It was the missing piece, after that everything just worked, and “Lord of Lies” was born.

Redemption Arc/Plans Going Forward

So why do you think its going to work this time? Put simply, I don’t. I am taking a leap of faith. I am solo developing this project, the only outside help is an artist I commissioned, and the support of my friends (and potential beta testers).

It’ll be the first project under Meant to Bee Studios that isn’t made by a team. And that’s terrifying for me.

I think I am a decent writer, I can cast voice actors, I can even market a game. But to have practically everything else be my responsibility. To be creating alone again…

Except I am not alone, I have so many dev friends, many of whom solo develop themselves: Snakkiez, Lacydigital, Chattercap… and so many more! They don’t feel alone, I can learn from them. I have what Joy of the past didn’t have.

Now that doesn’t mean it will be smooth sailing.

I’ve joked on Twitter and among close friends that I feel like Lawrence- thrust into unfamiliar territory with a couple tools to guide me. I’m a young knight leaving their village to slay the dragon.

The jam is generous at 3 months, but this is a really big game. Even with all the stuff I have from last time, lots of it has to be rewritten or taken out completely so in some ways I am working from scratch.

The cast is still large, and I worry some of them may slip through the cracks.

I’ve never balanced and RPG before.

I have to make sure the story takes as much precedent, if not more- than the mechanics and gameplay.

It’s nerve wracking and I honestly question myself every day if this is the right thing to do but, something in me is just saying it is.

That this time will be different and that, if I just apply all I’ve learned from this journey I can finally put a cap on this project for good.

I can beat this boss.

I’ve succeeded with every other project I have worked on, but Princess Poison was the one that got away.

It has the most potential now than it ever has. I’ve spent so much time with these characters, so much time in RPG maker, so much time time managing, running teams, making/playing games, talking to people, living life.

If I felt like Princess Poison/Lord of Lies was beyond hope I’d have dropped it in favor of something else but I can’t. I have to see it through, I have to finish it for my own sanity.

((I do want to note that it’s fine to give up on projects- some you just outgrow and that’s fine.))

But this story has grown with me: this most recent outlining process came together in a way it never had and I loved it again. For the first time, in a long time I believed in this project! And the theme, which I cannot say for sake of major spoilers, is the biggest reason this project must see the light of day. This game has the potential to be my best story to date. And that’s saying a lot since all my stories are super near and dear to my heart. But Lord of Lies can outshine them all, only time will tell.

So here we are….

For the past month or so I have been working on this project, I have character concept sketches, in game maps, a full outline. Now I just need the strength, time, and willpower to see it through to the end. So I decided, let’s make a devlog, let’s document and make others aware of this project, let’s hold myself accountable. In addition, I’ll be reaching out to friends, streaming in discord servers my work process, and having fun with this project.

Because, in addition to some of the mistakes I had made, the biggest one dev’s make- is not having fun with what they are doing, myself included.

It’s good to get things done, there is a culture that is romanticized of ‘the grind’, and yes working hard is great! But it’s not sustainable, it’s not conducive to a project filled with passion. At least for me.

I cannot create my best when I don’t love my project. So I am going to love Lord of Lies in a way I never loved Princess Poison.

I’m going to have a memorable 3 months with this project and right my wrongs.

I hope you’ll follow my journey, and soon playthrough Lawrence’s journey on December 31st 2023 the official release day for Lord of Lies!~

Next Week’s Devlog Sneak Peak

For next week’s Devlog; we will be taking a closer look at what Lord of Lies is, now that I’ve talked about my journey with it’s predecessor: Princess Poison is.

Next week I’ll be talking about the cast, world, mechanics, etc… in a non spoilery fashion. Giving you a glimpse into what to expect from this LGBT Romance/Dark Fantasy/Grim Fairytale/Adventure Visual Novel/RPG.

If you like the sound of that please check back in every Saturday from now until December 30th for all devlogs during development.

Credit to the wonderful: Gisselle! My sprite and CG artist! You’ll be seeing more of this cast and her work next week!

Final Note:

Unrelated but still important! Crabs & Cocktails my yaoi/bl kinetic visual novel just came out! It’s full of sex jokes, beach puns, and a silly/flirty romance between a lifeguard and a bartender! Please go check it out if you’re interested!

Until next Saturday!~

#lordoflies #indiedev #indie dev #rpg maker #vn development #vndev #visual novel

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