#there are so many tiny details hidden away in this show

[lilacthebooklover]

An Analysis of the Choreography and Physical Acting in the "Nerdy Prudes Must Die" Song

the choreography in this song is exquisite (lauren lopez, you never cease to amaze), and the use of physical skills in jon and will's acting is absolutely phenomenal. here, i'm going to explain why.

first of all, the facial expressions. will pulls off max's rage and loathing flawlessly, down to way his face scrunches up and his lip curls at the start of the song as he walks through the audience. the movements are jerky, his head tilts and the broad gestures of his hands showing both how confident and furious he is. richie seems terrified, the way he crosses his arms over his chest and backs away at the start of the song showing just how scared he is- the actions look almost involuntary. he's shaking, and looks like he's on the verge of tears.

max is confident as ever, believing himself to be invincible. he bares his teeth like a predator on the hunt, and richie runs like his prey. this is a game to max, that much is obvious. he has full control here- richie tries to run behind him, but max holds out a hand to his chest and turns his head, and richie cannot move. his chest heaves and he hunches in on himself, petrified, after max moves away again. even the little things, like max shaking his hand as though disgusted after touching richie as he walks away, have such a cool effect on the performance.

as max talks about the smoke club, he adds their special hand gesture- he knows who they are, and could quite possibly have been a part of them at some point. then, he forcefully throws his arms to the side, glaring out at richie.

after that is one of my favourite bits of choreography in the scene: the levitation segment.

max steps forward and lifts his arm as though holding something up, and richie rises too, head tilted away, back arched away, neck exposed. then, max throws his arm down, therefore throwing richie down, and jon pulls off the fall perfectly. the syncronisation is on point, and that tumble looks painful.

the power max holds over richhie is clear even from afar. this works not only in conveying his control and the fruitlessness of richie's attempted escape in this scene, but also works as a metaphor for the control he's had over the cast throughout their school years. pete's afraid to talk to steph because max forbids it, richie's afraid to make friends because max has branded him as a loser. there are so many layers to the effect his bullying's had on pete, richie and ruth, and him quite literally controlling richie without even touching him works excellently to demonstrate this.

richie runs off, scrambling to his feet and towards the audience, where max came from. max doesn't pay attention to him, caught up in imagining the aftermath of the victory he knows is coming. he looks out to the audience at "the jock you demonised", then turns to richie, addressing him again. richie looks over and sees that max is watching him, freezing for a moment before running again, quicker than before. but max just raises his arms, and richie startles at the exit to the theatre; it seems like max has been able to lock them in using his lovely new ghost powers.

at "buried and left me", max moves closer to the floor, almost reenacting what happened. with each new accusation, he moves closer to richie, then points at "you pushed me off the edge": he's blaming richie for what's happening.

max's tongue sticks out in apparent disgust at the next segment, even the flouncy hand movements he uses mocking how "well-behaved" the world is. the next gesture he does is condescending too, like he's explaining to richie that he's "too weak to be enslaved".

most of the next chorus just seems like dancing, but that in itself holds a message. max is having fun with this. again, it's all a game; he's toying with richie, with everyone, high on power. he speaks to someone who isn't there, vividly envisioning his dreams.

at "expose the bloody lines", his hands move out slowly, being exposed to the audience. then, max looks at them, literally saying that the blood will be on his hands. he plans to kill every "nerd" at hatchetfield high, imagining doing so with vigour.

i believe that the line "watch me spawn/ and prey upon/ you anti-socialites" could have a dual meaning. the first being that he is, again, a predator, and the nerds are his prey. the second, however, could be "pray upon", tying into his god complex- he's still addressing the nerds, telling them to watch & pray upon him. here, he does a classic, monster-style pose; the very opposite of a god, but an excellent callback to 'literal monster' earlier on.

he doesn't even look at richie as he runs past, max just raising his arm and easily throwing richie to the floor. the use of levels here is phenomenal; it's a perfect way of showing that max is the one with all the power here, richie completely at his mercy, and max has none.

as max walks away, richie can be seen trying to crawl away in the background, only to freeze when max turns around again and focuses on him, knowing there's no way of escaping. he's curled in on himself and trembling, but he stays where he is, still looking like he's about to start sobbing.

max's face softens, looking almost sympathetic at the line "who will pray for me". it's a sharp contrast to the order from seconds before, and richie hastens to follow it, slightly delayed as he sits up and discreetly tries to continue crawling back. max's face hardens again at "when i'm gone", and while richie continues moving back, he's focused now, arm shaking as much as his voice.

at "or until another richie comes along", max leans over him, back to being as intimidating as possible. richie sits up further in alarm, looking like he's about to run for it and stretching a hand out as he asks max to repeat himself.

where richie is weak, barely able to move, max is still full of energy, his movements much more fluid now that he's used to this form. up until them, they've been jerky and sharp- a nice nod to the dismemberment of his limbs in the waylon house- but now, they're even stronger than before. he's putting his all into this, because if he's going out, he's going out with a bang.

he's not talking to richie anymore when the chorus repeats. "is this the eternal dark without a dawn?" shows that clearly enough. he's wondering who will pray for him when he's gone, and the answer is no-one. he's seen how things have changed, and in the grand scheme of things, it's clear max meant nothing, not even to the place he had such an influence on. and that affects him more than anything- he sees himself as a god, and does not appreciate people preferring richie lipschitz of all people to him.

he turns back to richie, pointing at him again as the chorus repeats, his movements once again giving the impression that he's envisioning what's about to happen. the other cast members march in like soldiers, oblivious to what's happening to richie as they focus on their own lives and social statuses, characters like grace and pete obvious amongst them- neither of whom had too large of a reaction to richie's death, too busy running from max and the police. meanwhile, richie himself is forcing himself to do what max says, face scrunched up like he's bracing for an attack.

at "i'm not a loser", he leans forward, eyes tightly shut as he tries to hold onto the reality he's formed for himself since max's death. he's losing everything fast, but by defying max's order of repeating after him, he holds onto a shred of that newfound confidence and social standing.

at the same time, max's stance is broad, his fists coming down as he blames richie for both of their deaths, trying to make richie believe that too. it takes him a moment to realise richie isn't copying him anymore, but when he does, he turns to him furiously with a yell, glaring spitefully. the lighting change here is also very effective (creating a more solemn atmosphere and plunging the stage into much colder, foreboding colours than the anger and tension of what had come just before), but i won't go too deeply into that since this is an analysis of movement.

as richie begs for max to not kill him, he shakes his head quickly, panting as he stays below him, unable to defend himself. at his second "i'm not a loser", his mouth twitches into something akin to a smile, because richie isn't a loser, not anymore. he's found his place, he's well-liked, he's worthy of being friends with, and he won't let max convince him otherwise anymore. so instead, he tries to convince max that he's right. and max does not appreciate it in the slightest.

he shifts back into his jock persona, straightening up and using the same condescending voice and jerks of his chin as he did before his death. he wants to intimidate richie, and by using that familiar attitude and approaching him slowly, max wipes the half-smile off of richie's face. richie jerks, falling a little as he tries to get to his feet. it's an excellent echo to the earlier hallway scene between him and max; he's reverting back to that state of powerlessness and terror again, but now, it's further exemplified by the threat on his life.

max comes to a stop in front of richie, placing the audience's focus on himself as richie looks up at him desperately. he's in power, he's above richie, and he demands attention as he looks down on him.

pete, steph, ruth and grace stand behind him in the shadows, steadfast and stoic as they look straight ahead, not at richie or max. they don't seem to care about his death, and have hidden max's, and they're not there to help him get away, no matter how much he wishes they could.

max makes himself seem larger, looking at his hands and holding them out like claws, seeming like the true image of a monster. he stands directly over richie as the lights dim, richie pleading and curling in on himself more with every second that passes. just before the blackout, max dives down and grabs richie by the throat, a sweeping motion that seems almost inhuman.

to conclude, this song is a masterpiece, and lauren lopez is a genius at choreography. i might edit this later, it's around 1am and i am very tired, but i'd love to hear your thoughts in the replies/reblogs! i'll probably also do an analysis on this song based more on the vocal acting and lyrics themselves because i've been listening to it non-stop this past week- maybe i'll add some elements of lighting in too; it's very effective in this scene, especially at the "who will pray for me" part. thanks for reading!

#i love this song #npmd analysis #there are so many tiny details hidden away in this show #i'm looking forward to picking them out #did i spend an hour on this? #why yes #yes i did #analysis #why do i do this to myself #idek #it's fun ig #and i get carried away in my hyperfixations #i'm so tired #oh well #hope you enjoyed! #richie lipschitz #max jagerman #ruth fleming #peter spankoffski #pete spankoffski #grace chasity #stephanie lauter #starkid npmd #npmd spoilers #major spoilers #it's an analysis lol what do you expect #starkid #team starkid #musical theater #musical theatre

[watchmegetobsessed]

THE USUAL

A/N: i fell down a rabbithole of AI pics and this was inspired by those👀

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SUMMARY: It's a slow day at the diner, everyone is in a post-Christmas haze. However yours clears up when your favorite stranger shows up, smug as always but this time some nasty bruises are all over his handsome face.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The days after Christmas feel like you’re just floating through the void. Nothing feels real, you have no sense of time and it’s all a blur.

This year you’re working on the 27th, most of your colleagues have families so you wanted them to have an extra day at home. All that’s waiting for you at home is your leftover takeout, unfolded laundry and reruns of Home Alone. Working at least gets you out of your cave.

It’s always a slow day, the diner is almost entirely empty, only a few of the regulars are occupying their usual spots by the counter or in their booth. It’s just you and Molly, the college girl waiting tables, she was keen on escaping her family as soon as possible after the holidays, and then Jeff is back in the kitchen probably playing on his phone, because it’s so dead here. 

You like to keep yourself busy even when there’s nothing to do. Wipe down the tables, rearrange the shelves, get rid of old receipts from behind the counter. In a weird way this place feels like a second home, you’ve spent most of your time here the past three years, working 50 hours a week usually. Of course you like to keep it clean and organized. 

You’re watering the plants when you near the booth in the corner and you can’t help but think of who usually occupies it. You can see his signature smile in front of you, the way his eyes follow your every move, his smooth voice is ringing in your ears as he greets you. You know so many tiny details about him, yet you know he is just a stranger. You know his name, his order, you know how you get butterflies in your stomach every time the bell rings above the door and you see him walk in, but nothing more.

He is a mystery. A very handsome one, might you add.

It’s been weeks since the last time he wandered into the diner, but still, every time a tall curly haired man walks inside, for a split second you think it’s him, as if you’re expecting him to show up. 

A family of four comes in around five so at least you have a table to tend, they order hamburgers and pancakes and you listen to the kids rave about the gifts they got from Santa. 

Once they leave you clean up after them and grab the trash to take out. You’re mindlessly humming the song that was playing inside as you drag the bags out to the back where the containers are. The lighting is not the best out here, you’re usually cautious when you step out after sunset, but somehow you’re too caught up in your thoughts to look around this time. So when you throw one of the bags into the container and a tall figure steps closer from somewhere next to it, you jump with a squeak.

“Not even a proper scream, Darling? What if it was someone else?”

Harry, your mysterious stranger walks over to you with a charming smirk, his hands hidden in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Shut up, why were you hiding there?!” you scold him with a hand on your chest as you wait for your pulse to slow down. 

“Was just having a cig, no hiding.”

“Why didn’t you come inside?”

“Mm, I think I need the cold air right now.”

It’s only now that you notice the nasty bruise on the side of his face. A curl is kind of covering it, but it’s noticeably there and very likely fresh. There’s a cut too, obviously bloody and it hasn’t been treated. 

“Harry…” you breathe out as you step closer and without hesitation, you reach up, brush his hair out of his face to see his wound. The pad of your finger touches the cut and his face flinches the tiniest bit before he moves his head away, the smug look back on his face.

“Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re worrying,” he cheekily replies.

“What happened?”

“Just a bit of a disagreement,” he shrugs his shoulders.

Your gaze moves down his arms subconsciously, because somehow, deep down you know that if someone did this to him, there’s no way he didn’t fight back. And if he did, then his hands…

He notices you staring at his hidden hands and with a defeated sigh he pulls them out, revealing his bruised knuckles. 

“Nothing to worry about?!” you snap as you take his right hand, running the pad of your thumb over the dark red, purple and almost black marks gently. 

“It’ll heal. Not my first rodeo.”

It was supposed to be a joke, you see the smirk on his face, but it just bubbles anxiety in the pit of your stomach, thinking of all the times he ended up beaten up before. You feel silly for caring so much, it shouldn’t matter, but you can’t help it. 

“Hey,” he says, seeing the look on your face, his voice now soft and tender as his bruised hand takes yours. “I’m fine, really. I didn’t mean to worry you, that’s why I didn’t go inside.”

“Then why did you come here?”

You look him in the eyes as he hesitates before answering.

“Wanted to see you. I saw you through the window and decided not to go inside. I was about to leave when you came out.”

He sounds honest and you’re not sure what to think of his words. He gets into a fight, comes here to see you but then doesn’t come inside so you don’t see his wounds. Why did he come here? Were you his first thought?

“Let me clean that cut up,” you then say, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach that are now very much awake. 

“No need, Darling. I’ll be fine–”

“I know you’re a big boy and you’ll be fine on your own, but let me do this one thing so I’ll worry less about you.”

His lips press together into a thin line before he finally nods. He lets go of your hand and grabs the other trash bag you dropped when he came out of the dark, he throws it into the container and gestures for you to go inside, he’ll be following you. 

It’s still just as dead inside as before, so no one notices when you bring him into the restroom that’s for the staff. He closes the toilet seat and sits on top, watching you snatch the first aid kit from under the sink. 

“How was Christmas?”

He asks while you grab everything you need from the kit and angle his head so you see the cut clearly. It looks worse in the light, but you swallow down your theories of how he got it and just start to clean it.

“Fine. Quiet.”

“No big family get together?”

“No family,” you correct him with a straight face and you see the surprise on his face. He stays quiet for a bit before speaking up again.

“You spent it alone?”

“Yeah.”

“What about friends?”

“Don’t have many. I’m usually working. I like my colleagues but we’re not close enough to spend Christmas together,” you explain with a shrug, gently tapping a cotton ball drenched in alcohol on the cut, earning a hiss from him. His hand comes up to your hip out of instinct and you stop at the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin. His grip is firm and warm and it makes you think of how it would feel if you weren’t wearing your uniform. 

Your eyes lock with his for a second before he removes his hand.

“Sorry.”

You just shake your head, almost disappointed at the lack of his touch, but force yourself to return to the cut.

“So then spend Christmas with me next year,” he speaks up after a while, the corners of his mouth curling up in a cheeky grin.

“Sure,” you chuckle.

“I’m serious. We can have a feast, watch Christmas movies, anything you want.”

“Don’t you have anyone to spend the holidays with?”

“I’m usually with friends, but I would trade that in a heartbeat to be with you.”

Oh fuck, he is so smooth!

He is definitely turning you into a giddy little girl, as if he knew what to say to make you melt, but you try your best to mask just how much his words affect you. Shaking your head with a smile you just continue tending to his wound without a word. 

“Ow, she is silent, not a good sign,” he teases you as you put on a few butterfly bandages on the cut to help it heal prettier. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Nope,” you shake your head avoiding looking at him. “And you’re all done.”

You turn back to the sink, busying yourself with packing up the kit, but you see him standing up in the mirror and stepping right behind you, so close that if you leaned just a tiny bit back, you’d bump against his chest. 

“Y/N, would you look at me with those pretty eyes, please?” he asks and you have to take a deep, shaky breath before forcing yourself to look up and meet his gaze in the mirror. He brings his face down a bit, so his cheek brushes against the side of your head and you finally give in. 

Moving your weight back you lean against him and his arms curl around your waist instantly, as if he’s been waiting for this all along. His embrace is welcoming, warm and you fit into his arms perfectly. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror.

“It’s just a few bandages,” you whisper.

“No, not for that. Thank you for caring, Y/N.”

Your knees would probably give up if he wasn’t holding you up. His words sink into your mind and burn into your memory forever. Even if you never see him again, you’ll remember this moment for the rest of your life, how he just made you feel, how the connection felt unbreakable and irresistible.

Not able to speak, you just let yourself sink further in his hold, turning your head a bit so his lips meet with your forehead. You’re not sure if they just brush against your skin or he kisses you, you’re burning up way too much to decide but whichever it is, it’s just drawing you even closer to him.

His hands move to your hips and he gently turns your body until you’re facing him, wedged between him and the sink. His eyes find yours again and you imagine a thousand possible things that could happen right now. Yet, when he opens his mouth, the words still surprise you.

“I care about you too.”

Your lips part and you suck on your breath. Maybe it’s his charm, maybe it’s the force pulling you towards him or maybe it’s how long you’ve been on your own, but you feel so weak yet so courageous in this moment. His eyes flicker down to your lips and you know what’s about to come and you are so ready–

“Y/N? You in there?”

Molly’s voice is coming from outside with a knock on the door, completely shattering the moment.

“Yeah,” you call out. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that woman, Jo, I think? She’s here and she only wants you to take her order.”

Jo is a regular and she always insists on having you as her waitress, because she thinks only you know how to put her order in right. You do nothing differently, but she doesn’t know that.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

You wait until you hear her footsteps go down the hallway. Harry moves back just enough so that he is not pressed up against you anymore and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip while you put the first aid kit away.

“I need to go back.”

“I know,” he smiles at you. “Is my booth free?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I’m feeling quite hungry.”

His eyes return to your lips and you know he is not talking about the food right now and you wish to have just a little more time with him right now, but you need to go out. 

“You can’t come out from here,” you simply tell him. So when you step out of the restroom you turn him towards the back door and give him a push. You hear his chuckle, but he doesn’t protest, just walks out.

When you return Molly is eyeing you with suspicion and you wonder if she heard Harry’s voice in the restroom before knocking, but you ignore her and start stacking the glasses.

The front door opens, the bell rings and you don’t have to look up to know that it’s Harry.

“Good evening, ladies,” he greets you and you finally glance at him only to see that smug smirk on his face as he walks over to his usual booth and slides in. 

“I assume you’re taking him, right?” Molly asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing a menu even though you know what he’ll order and walking over to his booth with your notepad and pen you stop by the table and look at him, unable to hold back a smile. “What can I get you?”

“The usual, Darling.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

[aliea82]

Steve had a secret.

There was a box hidden under his bed that was filled with books, books that held page after page of sketches, drawings, and paintings.

Steve had never shown a single person what he could do, what he had taught himself. He spent years of nights spent filling these pages, then hiding them away never to see the light of day.

He had started when he was four, his then nanny buying him his very first book of blank pages. He had drawn on every single page. Little drawings, drawn by little hands using crayons and pencils. His nanny had loved each one, heaping praise and encouragement. When he had shown his mum, she had only nodded, not looking. But when he showed his father, he had scoffed, told him how ridiculous he was, how he had wasted his time, that his four year old pictures were pathetic and stupid. Steve had spent that night ripping each page to tiny pieces, falling asleep in tears, waking to find them gone, cleaned away by his nanny who simply bought another book, leaving it on his desk.

Steve didn’t touch it, left it blank for years, until the first time his parents had left him alone, no nanny, no babysitter, just himself, he was nine.

That first night, he didn’t sleep, to afraid, to scared of the dark. He had sat on his bed, covers piled up around him, staring at nothing, listening to the silence.

The second night, he did the same until he got up, walked to the desk, pulled out the book of blank pages, and started to draw.

It became his coping mechanisms, drawing night after night, sketching, shading, colouring, and perfecting.

With every book he filled, he would spend time looking through it before storing it away in his box under his bed, never to see the light of day.

As he grew up he became good at what he did, sketching his friends, Tommy, Carol, then the many girls he had taken to his bed, private art, their breast, their hands, their mouth, never the whole of them, just parts, parts he had enjoyed.

When he met Nancy, she filled so many of his pages, her hair, her eyes, her nose, her quirky mouth. He loved her hands, so small and delicate, he had drawn them time and time again, brushing back her hair, holding her books, touching his hand, delved into his hair.

For months she was his obsession.

Then it became the Demogorgon.

The pages became dark, dangerous, gruesome. Blood, and nail bats, fire and bear traps.

He filled so many books with the monsters he had encountered, of Billy, dying, blood covered, and sorry.

He drew the kids, and they all had their own books, Dustin’s was the one that needed two until he met Robin. Robin the light of his light life, the ying to just yang, the soul mate he didn’t know he was looking for. She filled a single book in under week, her smile, her eyes, her hair, and ears. She was the first full portrait he had ever done, a whole page full of her face. He drew her constantly, but he never showed her, not once.

The first time he drew Eddie was after picking Dustin up from a DnD night. He has watched as Dustin had spoken to him, his eyes drawn instantly the curls of his hair, of the way the light had landed on them. That was the first thing he drew, in a new book, in a book that now belonged to Eddie even though Steve hadn’t even spoken to him.

Over the months as Steve picked up Dustin, catching glimpse of the man Dustin now gushed over as he got in the car, he would study different parts, all from a distance and slowly his book of Eddie held parts of him, his eyes, never coloured because Steve wasn’t sure what colour they were. His mouth, so full and always smiling. His hands, covered in rings that shone in the light but held no detail because Steve never got close enough to see.

He filled a whole book of parts of a man he didn’t know, but he couldn’t stop, and why would it matter? No one would know.

The night after the boat house Steve spent the whole night filling page after page with details, of brown chocolate eyes, of fear shown on a full mouth of rings so chunky and metal, a cross a pigs head a skull and a black stone. He placed each one on the right finger, then he drew his second ever full portrait, Eddie lost, sat on a create, looking defeated and scared.

He stared at that picture a lot once finished, his fingers tracing over it as if he wanted to sooth the tension away to make it better.

After that night, he didn’t draw again for a week.

When he finally drew again, it was Vecna, and bats and vines and blood and death.

It was Dustin holding Eddie, it was Max in a hospital bed, it was cracks in the earth, it was Robin smiling, it was Lucas crying, it was Nancy with a shot gun, it was El with her buzzed hair, Mike hugging his mom, Will with his hand to his neck, Erica with a flash light.

It was Eddie, eyes wide, blood on his face, mouth full of it, hands covered in gore. It was another hospital bed, white bandages, and heartbeat lines. It was forming scars and bats still eating.

He counted the following months in sketches of everything that happened, drawings of fighting, hands around guns and Molotov cocktails and when it was all over he sat on his bed watching Eddie flick through page after page after page of books full of everything Steve loved.

After that, Steve drew of Eddie, of his bare back, his hips and scars, his mouth open in pleasure, his hands in Steve’s hair, around his throat, around his dick. He drew Eddie, and he showed him, allowing the sketches to see the light of day for the very first time.

#eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #ao3 author #steve and eddie #artist steve #steve harrington

[lets-try-some-writing]

Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes. 

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it. 

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement. 

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.”  The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to. 

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave. 

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be. 

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating. 

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance. 

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience. 

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally. 

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.”  His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present. 

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star. 

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response. 

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made. 

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it. 

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal. 

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval. 

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident. 

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer. 

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character. 

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance. 

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character. 

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality. 

“PRIME!” 

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark. 

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction. 

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was. 

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #alternate universe #ultra magnus #jazz #soundwave #actor au #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #optimus is an oblivious idiot #hes too wrapped up in his role to see the obvious indicators that this is very real #in the words of my friend #“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.” #but look! second chapter yall! #I actually did more for an au :D

[sweetestofchaos]

Blackthorn Ch 14 | M.YG

Pairing: Crown Prince Dragon!Yoongi x Crown Princess Impundulu!Keena  Genre: Soulmate AU | Arranged Marriage AU | Fantasy AU | Fluff | Angst  Word Count: 10.6K  Warnings: Mentions of Terminal Illness | Kidnapping | Attempted Rape | Physical Violence | Shifting | Murder | Blood | Prince Yoongi Gets His Scar Rating: 21+

My Gift To You Part 2 - The young royals sneak out of the palace and go to the night market.

a/n: Like before I will put a warning where the violence/ar starts and ends with ⚠⚠⚠. The fighting and Yoongi's eye injury will be described but I will not go into too much detail about the attempted rape.

a/n 2: As always thanks to @sailoryooons for making the banner. Thanks to @theharrowing for being the beta this chapter.

Harrow and Hali both took time out of their lives to listen to me rant and overthink about different parts of this. I made things 10x harder for myself and they both just said "stop. take a minute and rethink this. do you need shit to be this complicated? can you simplify it?" and guess what? I damn sure could and I did. So thank you so fucking much to the both of them!

a/n 3: @minisugakoobies, my darling Sunny is heaven sent! She helped me with the fight scene. So huge shout out to her!!

a/n 4: The awesome scar free Yoongi edit in the banner is made by @colormepurplex2. Character asks and the taglist for Blackthorn are always open!

Taglist: @thickemadame ​​@loisje123

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Prince Yoongi held out his hand and Hoseok placed something in his palm. He walked to the Princess and took her outstretched hand in his own before he kissed her knuckles. She still wore his rings on her left hand and he grinned since her right hand was bare. Silently, he raised his hand and slipped a gold ring onto the Princess’ ring finger. Her eyes widened and Prince Yoongi winked as he released her hand. She looked at the ring in awe, it was a plain gold band that split into tiny branches that held an emerald-cut smoky quartz gem the size of a lima bean.

“Shall we, my gem?”

Hidden from the eyes of the crowd, Prince Yoongi stood with Princess Keena at the base of the steps leading towards the arena. Aga and Hoseok were on high alert as the cheers from the townspeople reached the high heavens. Music played loudly, and the Princess could feel the beat in her bones. The Prince squeezed her hand lightly, brought her fingers to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“We will part for only a moment, Princess. Two blinks and you will be back by my side where you belong.” The Prince explained with a soft smile on his face as his thumb brushed over the rings on the Princess’ fingers. 

“You have nothing to fear.”

Princess Keena nodded her head and allowed for Yoongi’s hand to pull away from her own. Their fingertips bent to catch each other’s and the Prince smiled reassuringly. As his hand dropped away from the Princess, Aga and the other guards crowded around her, barricading the space with their bodies. Yoongi held his head high as he ascended the steps, his face void of emotion as the crowd's sounds and chatter became louder. 

The music switched, signaling the entrance of the Prince and once more the crowd fell silent as the eunuch spoke loudly.

“His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince Yoongi!”

The sun above caressed the Prince’s face as he emerged from the shadows, the bold colors warmed his skin as they absorbed the heat from the rays and the scales on his jaw caught in the light. A vision of raw power and perfection, just as a Prince should be. A few bodies in the crowd leaned in and whispered to each other in the stands about the Prince’s attire. It was bright and unfamiliar, a style that many (if not all) had never seen before.

The Prince stood before his parents and bowed to show his respect. The Empress’ eyes flashed gold and Prince Yoongi stood in front of his throne with his back facing it. Emperor Min motioned for his son to take his seat and cleared his throat before he stood to address the people.

“The sun shows us favor by shining us with its light! It is a most joyous day in the Min Empire, my dear subjects!” Empire Min clapped his hands together once before he folded them within his robes and smiled. “Today marks a new era for the Min Empire!”

All around everyone started to cheer, a new era meant an increase in imported goods and money. A new era was good health and longevity to all. A new era was something none of the commoners in attendance were expecting. Emperor Min sat back down and nodded his head to the eunuch to continue on.  Standing tall, the eunuch unrolled the scroll in his hand a little more and held it out in front of himself, making sure not to block his face as he read the written words.

“His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince Yoongi is to be wed in the seventh month as in accordance with the unification to the land to the east, the Escistan Kingdom. As peacetime reigns over our lands, war rides the coattails with an unrelenting force.”

The news of the Prince’s engagement was cause to celebrate. There would be a Princess in the palace, the likes of which no one has ever seen before. She was from the Escistan Kingdom, a land unknown to most of the common folk. However, at the mere mention of war the crowd started to grow uneasy. News of the West’s plight against the Escistan Kingdom was common knowledge. The foreign land had many sought-after resources, magical and null alike. An alliance with the Escistan Kingdom would open up a new trading route and bring in more wealth for the people of the Min Empire. 

“Standing beside our allies of the Escistan Kingdom to show a united front in the face of an impending war-” the eunuch paused for dramatic effect and Empress Min laughed to herself. 

“To show those in the West that we stand strong, Her Royal Highness Princess Keena has accepted His Imperial Highness’ hand in marriage!”

Upon hearing her name, Princess Keena took a deep breath in and gathered her skirts in her hands. The wind picked up and flower blossoms rode the breeze by the entrance from which the Prince first came. The Princess rolled her shoulders back and held her head high as she took the steps one at a time to reach the balcony of the pavilion where the royal family all sat. Dogwood petals danced around her as she stepped into the light and the eyes of every person burned deep in her heart. If the Prince was a vision of power then the Princess was that same vision wrapped in beauty and elegance.

The Princess squeezed her skirts and relaxed her hands before she allowed the material to fall loose. The sun greeted her with open arms while a cool breeze pushed her towards the waiting royal family in a spotted blanket of petals. In front of the Emperor and Empress, Princess Keena crossed her arms over her chest and bowed. Empress Min smiled softly at the show of respect from the Escistan Kingdom. She is proud that Keena is willing to incorporate her nation’s practices into what she has been taught during her stay in the Min Empire. 

Emperor Min bowed his head and the Princess turned on her heels to face the crowd. Prince Yoongi rose to his feet and strode over to stand by the Princess’ side while the eunuch continued his speech. He listed off the Princess' credentials, the status of her homeland, her role within her nation, her achievements, and much more. By the end of the speech, the crowd was impressed.

The Princess of the foreign nation was a woman for the people and within the Min Empire that attitude would take her far. As the young royals stood side by side, everyone took in their appearance. The Prince’s attire complemented the Princess’ in style and color. The unknown style of some of the garb was contributed to the Princess’ homeland of Escistan. A few of the women in the crowd wondered to themselves if the fabrics and styles would be something they would see sold at stalls in town at some point. Maybe not as bold in color but the style was in favor, the skirt of the Princess’ outfit looked easy to walk in.

“I give you, His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Yoongi and Her Imperial Highness Crown Princess Keena!”

Princess Keena did not miss the change of her title, the new power suddenly granted to her as the arena ruptured into loud cheers and claps. People shouted their joy and excitement as they watched the royal family all sit together. Dancers and musicians went back into the center of the area and put on a show. The Princess was surprised to see Ellarian and Kwangseon in the mix of bodies. Ellarian took the lead as she leapt and twirled with the other women while Kwangseon kept the tempo on his Janggo. Princess Keena tapped her fingers to the beat and when the Prince noticed, a smile pulled at his lips.

He leaned over and whispered in the Princess’ ear, “Are you enjoying yourself, my gem?” 

The way the sun kissed the scales on the Prince’s jaw, a mini rainbow appeared on the Princess’ neck and the Prince smiled as he nuzzled his nose underneath her ear. So close to the gland at her neck, the Prince inhaled deeply and smirked as goosebumps rose on the skin underneath him. The sweetened tang of citrus doused in honey blanketed the Prince’s mind and he purred, his inky eyes swirling with gold as he tried to pull himself away. Princess Keena rested her hand on top of the Prince’s and laced their fingers together.

“Behave, my Prince.”

The Prince growled as the Princess squeezed his hand lightly and she turned her head to face him. His nose skimmed her cheek and pressed into the corner of her mouth, she was thankful that no one was truly focused on them. Without a word, the Princess kissed the Prince’s nose and snuck a quick kiss to his lip. Ginger, spicy and warm, surged around the Princess and Hoseok coughed from somewhere in the distance.

“Focus, young ones.” Empress Min’s voice was as firm as it was teasing, just enough to pull the Prince from his muddled headspace.

“Apologies, mother.” Prince Yoongi muttered and pulled away from the Princess but he refused to let go of her hand.

The announcement celebration came to its end soon after. The royals took their leave, the Emperor and Empress arm in arm while Prince Yoongi offered his hand to the Princess. Hoseok resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's display of affection while Namjoon and Seokjin giggled with each other. Aga shared a knowing look with Hoseok as the two followed the family downward. At the bottom of the steps, out of the people’s sight the Emperor and Empress embraced the young royals.

“Welcome to the family my dear,” Empress Min cooed as she cupped the Princess’ face lovingly. “You will bring a new chapter to this world and I am eager to watch it unfold.”

“Easy, deartheart.” Emperor Min placed a hand on his wife’s lower back as he stood by her side. “They still have much to learn. Let us not rush the process and-” A sudden cough interrupted the Emperor's words and he quickly covered his mouth as he fell into a fit. Empress Min rubbed his back and motioned for guards to step in.

Daehyun came forward and helped support the Emperor before Hoseok pulled a starstone from the jumeoni at his hip. He crushed the stone and blew the dust over the Emperor silently. Empress Min gave everyone a tight smile.

“Worry not, His Majesty is fine. The pollen in the air is heavy today.” 

Princess Keena nodded her head and squeezed the Prince’s hand when he didn’t respond to his mother’s words.

“Give His Majesty our regards and rest well,” Princess Keena bowed her head and the Empress smiled before she took off to her husband’s chambers with guards behind her. 

Prince Yoongi watched as his mother disappeared with a frown on his lip. A gentle pressure wrapped around his fingers and he glanced down to see that the Princess had placed her hand in his. Her fingers were so small compared to his own and he sighed as the frown melted from his face. Raising her hand to his lips, Prince Yoongi kissed the tips of the Princess’ fingers and smiled.

“Shall we walk in your garden, my gem?”

The Princess stared into the Prince’s dark eyes and squeezed his hand lightly before she tugged it down to their sides.

“It is as much mine as it is yours, my Prince.”

The grin widened on the Prince’s face and he nodded his head silently. Together, arm in arm, the young royals strolled the pebble paths, crossed the bridges over gurgling waters, and admired the colorful flowers as they walked from the palace front to the eastern wing. The place where the seventh garden, filled with Blackthorns from the Princess’ homeland, created the perfect picture of peace.

The sweet almond scent from the blackthorn blossoms filled the air and intermingled with the flowers scattered throughout. The faintest echoes of rushing water hid in the canopies of the trees and the Princess felt herself breathe for the first time today. 

All worry vanished from her body the moment she stepped foot on the lush green grass of the garden. She loved this place more than anything in the whole palace (excluding the Prince). This was a place of silent devotion, filled to the brim with a tenderness that only the young royals could truly appreciate together.

Hoseok and Aga spaced out the other guards in the garden, making sure to give the simulated couple their space. If the Prince sat on the ground with the Princess between his legs, arms wrapped around her waist as they shared whispered words, the guards turned a blind eye.

Aga gazed up into the sky and inhaled the scents of his homeland. His chest ached for a short moment before he closed his eyes and drank in the warmth of the sun. Once the Princess was wed to the Prince, Aga would go back to Escistan. He would leave the Princess to Hoseok, who in Aga’s eyes was more than capable of protecting her. He would leave Mingi as the head of the Princess’ guards and put Chan as his right hand. Together with the rest of the guards, the Princess would be safe. Standing by the Prince’s side, the Princess would be happy.

"Rete tann mwen, mon amour. Jis yon ti tan ankò." 

Aga opened his eyes at the sound of movement from his right and Hoseok was making his way over. Aga rolled his shoulders and glanced at the young lovers, lost in their own world, hidden from the many eyes of the palace.

“We must head back soon.”

Hoseok’s voice was soft and low as if he spoke any louder he would disturb the atmosphere that the Prince and Princess had created. Aga nodded his head in agreement. A luncheon was scheduled for members of the council to pay their respects to the young royals. It was within two hours and the couple parched under the tree needed to freshen up before they stood before the council members. 

Grunting, Aga made his way over to the young couple and offered the Princess his hand to help her up. The Prince stayed close by the Princess’ side as they traveled back to the palace arm in arm. They spoke in hushed whispers and the Princess’ suppressed giggles made those around them smile. How light the palace had become since the Princess’ arrival. A true breath of fresh air and eased the worry of most servants. 

Outside of the Princess’ chambers, Prince Yoongi lifted their clasped hands to his lip and whispered tender words that made a wide smile pull at the Princess’ lips. Heat warmed her face and she was quick to slip into her room, a hurried wave over her shoulder as her handmaid swarmed her. The door shut with a firm thud and the Prince sighed.

“Let’s get this over with, Hoseok.”

Prince Yoongi nodded to Aga and the other guards before he disappeared into his room beside the Princess’ two yards down. Once in his room, the Prince freed his hair from its bun and Hoseok pulled it into a low ponytail that rested against the Prince’s back. They sat on the settees and couches in silence, letting the events from earlier play in their minds.

In the Princess’ room, she was stripped of her clothing and led into the warm waters of her bathing room. Hyejin used a loofah to exfoliate the Princess’ skin before she washed away the light layer of sweat and makeup. Sweet almond and mint oils were mixed into the water creating a soothing aroma that made the Princess sink into a peaceful headspace. The Prince’s words from the garden played in her mind and she smiled to herself.

“Wait for my word. You will know when it’s time.”

For the next few hours, Princess Keena was pampered by her handmaids and dressed in a beautiful rosewater and lilac bazin brocade boubou. The sleeves were wide and flowing, creating a wing-like appearance as the Princess moved about her chambers. Her braids were piled into a high crown-like bun on the top of her head with two single braids framing her face at the sides. Butterfly and daisy-shaped meori-kkoji were played in her hair for added splendor before rouge was brushed onto her cheeks and lips. The Princess’ eyes were lined in black kohl, elegant wings drawn at the ends.

Prince Yoongi wore deep blue baji with a thick golden band at the bottom with a matching jeogori. Two four-toed dragons were stitched into the shoulders of the jeogori. The Prince’s long blonde hair wrapped and pinned at the top of his head in a black sangtugwan with his golden dragon donggot to bring attention to the two dragons that gleamed on his shoulders. Gold hoop earrings rested in the Prince’s ears and many chunky gold rings decorated his fingers. He was ready and with one final touch to her outfit, so was the Princess.

In the hall when the young royals stood before each other, the Prince smiled at the sight of his betrothed. She was a vision, pure and sweet in colors that pulled an angelic hue from her skin. The side of Prince Yoongi’s lips lifted as he noticed the familiar norigae that hung from the Princess’ hip. The white moonstone and golden tassels complemented the softer colors of the Princess’ garb and a low rumble crept from the Prince’s throat.

“Your beauty never ceases to amaze me, my gem.” 

Prince Yoongi spoke calmly as he offered his arm and Princess Keena rolled her eyes playful as she slipped her arm in the crook of the Prince’s elbow.

“I could say the same for you, my Prince. Blue is a handsome color on you.”

Hoseok cleared his throat and the Prince frowned at the interruption. Smiling, Hoseok motioned for the couple to move along.

“We need to go now, your Highness.” 

On the way to the luncheon General Daehyun informed Hoseok that the Prince’s parents would not attend the luncheon but gave their best wishes. As acting host, the Prince sat proudly in the Orlilurth Throne, and when Princess Keena moved to sit beside him in a beautiful hand-carved throne that was smaller but no less regal looking, a deep growl echoed in the hall.

The Princess stood unphased in front of the smaller throne and all eyes were on the young royals. Prince Yoongi’s eyes started to swirl with gold as he rose to his feet and took a few steps to stand in front of the Princess. Wordlessly, the Prince grabbed the Princess’ elbow lightly and guided her to the Orlilurth Throne. His hand slid down the length of her arm and their fingers linked together loosely. The command was silent, a deadly dare for those around to voice their concerns. No one moved and no one breathed as the Princess sat in the Orlilurth Throne and crossed her hands in her lap. 

Prince Yoongi huffed out a thick plume of smoke from his nose and motioned for someone to take the smaller throne away before he sat beside the Princess. After the show of dominance, official after official stood and bowed to show their respect. The vein in Hoseok’s temple was throbbing but he stayed quiet and watched as Prince Yoongi kept his face blank while Princess Keena sipped her tea. She smiled politely and listened to the spoken promises and superficial wishes of good health with tender eyes.

The people before her were not the ones who would sit in power once Prince Yoongi took the throne. Their sons, nephews, and cousins would take their place and pledge their loyalty to Prince Yoongi’s reign. For now, the young royals played their part and accepted the endless praise. Aga and Hoseok kept a close eye on everyone in the room, with so many new faces before the Princess, Aga felt on edge. His time spent in the palace consisted of training guards, war meetings, and watching over the Princess. There were many in this room that Aga had yet to meet and they could be a threat. 

Green-lentil jelly, pancakes, and sashimi were shared with the council members. Along with honey glazed duck, spiced jams, sweet breads, flan, pork dumplings, somen noodles in a tasty and creamy sesame miso soup, and much more. Dancers in elegant peony pink and baby blue hanbok performed a feather dance and kept the council entertained while musicians played music. The meeting hall soon filled with laughter and loud voices as the council members started to relax and enjoy themselves. 

Prince Yoongi paired a slice of beef with gat kimchi and cleared his throat softly, “My gem?”

The Princess pulled her eyes from the dancers and the smile that graced her face made the Prince’s neck heat as he stared at her. He held his chopstick in his hand, the end pitched a nice mouthful of food and he leaned closer to the Princess.

“Try this, I think you will like it.”

Princess Keena made sure that her sleeves were out of the way before she leaned forward and allowed for the Prince to feed to her. The meat was tender and melted on her tongue while the gat kimchi held a slight crunch before it slid down her throat. The Prince stared at her expectantly and she smiled.

“That was not the kimchi I’ve had before.”

The Prince grinned, pleased to see the Princess reach for more of the beef and gat kimchi. He informed her that it was the Emperor’s favorite type of kimchi and that his mother, the Empress, disliked it very much.

“And you, my Prince?” 

Prince Yoongi took a sip of his water and looked at the kimchi before he turned to the Princess to see that she had her own hand held out towards him. He licked his lips and leaned in, not once taking his eyes off her. As his lips wrapped around the beef and gat kimchi he winked with thin golden bands circled around his irises. Swallowing down the food, Prince Yoongi allowed for himself to move closer to the Princess, their thighs touched as his nose brushed against her temple and he purred low in his chest.

“I can think of something far superior.”

The side-eye from the Princess wasn’t missed by the Prince and he chuckled as he pulled away, his face pleased and smug as one side of his mouth turned upward. Princess Keena slowly turned to face the Prince and clicked her tongue before she spoke.

“There is a saying in my land,” Princess Keena lifted a cup to her mouth and sipped her tea. “Silans, tou, se yon lang.”

The Prince’s brows pulled together in confusion and the Princess smiled as she motioned for Aga to come to her side. “Silence, too, is a language.” 

As Aga reached the Princess’ side, she rose to her feet and bowed her head.

“I will retire for now, Your Highness. I must check on Cookie.”

The Prince watched as the Princess was led away and he laughed to himself. He could smell the Princess’ arousal the moment he invaded her space. Sitting upright, Prince Yoongi looked out at the council members and motioned for Hoseok. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” 

“Have Seokjin take over in my stead. I have prior engagements I must see to.”

Hoseok stared at the Prince for a while and sighed when his emotionless expression gave nothing away.

“As you wish.”

The Prince rose to his feet and everyone in the room quickly scrambled to their feet. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back as he looked out at the council members.

“Enjoy your meal and drink to your heart's content. This feast was a great honor to spend with all of you here today. As the great ones before me, I wish you all a good time. I must take my  leave for now.” Prince Yoongi spoke clearly and watched with dark eyes as everyone in the room bowed. He smirked in amusement and turned on his heels before he left the meeting space with Hoseok at his side. Seokjin sat at the bottom of the stairs where a chabudai table and chair was placed. The throne was left empty and as everyone took their seats, Seokjin smiled and raised his cup as a silent toast. 

Since the announcement in the morning and during the luncheon, the Princess’ maids and other attendants have moved most of her belongings into her room within the palace. The butterfly house was still the Princess’ cherished getaway but now that her title had changed, she was expected to stay in the palace with the other royals even with Agust’s recurring appearances.

At the butterfly house, the Princess sat outside and watched Cookie as he chased a butterfly. The boubou from earlier was replaced by a cream blouse with wide sleeves and a scoop neckline that had a soft geometric pattern. A peach wrapper sat on the Princess’ hips, an overall simple look compared to what she wore during the announcement ceremony. 

San and Kai are on guard. The pair shared a knowing look as they watched the Princess admire the flowers that Namjoon had planted.

San was nervous and excited for tonight. Together with Kai and Minho, the three made sure that everything would be perfect for the Princess’ first unofficial visit into the town. The night market was a major event in their town. Merchants and entertainers came from all over to share their goods and stories. There would not have been a better time than tonight to sneak the Princess out of the palace.

Footsteps crunched on the walkway and Princess Keena looked up, a smile spread wide on her face.

“Seokjin!”

Seokjin was dressed down from what he wore in the early morning like most of the palace staff that held positions of power. A white cross-collared shirt dropped into a white skirt with a thick pale grey silk belt wrapped around his waist. He wore a scalloped seashell-colored open cross-collared jacket over top that had pale grey and cream rumen flowers stitched along the wide sleeves. His dark bangs framed his face while the rest of his hair was pulled into a high half bun, half ponytail style that had a good portion of his hair cascading down behind his shoulders.

A wide smile took over Seokjin’s face as the Prince called his name and he continued his way to her. Once in front of the Princess, Seokjin bowed and clapped his hands.

“You looked stunning on that stage, Princess. You looked regal and elegant, a true blood born leader.”

“You flatter me, Seokjin.”

“Nonsense, Princess. You had everyone on their toes. The women of the court have yet to shut up about your attire. They are already requesting the style.”

Princess Keena felt her face warm at the news and shook her head softly. Seokjin jumped at the sudden weight on his foot and when he looked down, Cookie was sitting on his toes. Bending down, Seokjin scooped the tiger cub up with a huff. 

“He has gotten bigger since I last saw him.” Seokjin spoke as Cookie head butted his chin. “Soon none of us will be able to carry him.”

“I’m sure my guards will be able to handle Cookie. He’s just a big baby.”

The Princess reached out and scratched behind Cookie’s ears as she spoke and smiled at Seokjin.

“What brings you to the butterfly house?” 

Seokjin set Cookie down and offered his arm to the Princess, “Since His Highness is busy with his own tasks, I thought I would offer to keep you company.” Seokjin explained as the Princess slipped her arm into the crook of Seokjin’s elbow. “I really must apologize for not taking the time to visit more often.”

“You are a busy man, Seokjin. Why should I fault you for doing your job?”

Seokjin’s cheeks flushed at the Princess’ words and he started to walk along the path through the garden.

“You are too kind Princess. Your gentle candor is refreshing.” Seokjin watched his steps as Cookie ran around them in circles. “His Highness was blessed by the ones before us to have you intertwined into his life. Together, with you by his side-” Seokjin grins and chuckles, “I see a long and beautiful union for all of us.”

Seokjin had spent a few hours with Princess Keena. At some point Kai left his post by the Princess’ side; he felt unwell. Minho took his place and San knew that it would soon be time for the night’s operation to begin. 

Conversation between the Princess and Seokjin was easy. As the sun started to sink in the sky, the Princess voiced that she had felt unwell and when Seokjin offered to escort her to her chambers, Minho and San took over. They reassured him that the Princess would be okay and that he need not worry about her care. Seokjin watched as the trio walked back to the palace and he chewed on his bottom lip in worry.

In the palace, Hoseok and Aga were informed of a sudden council meeting to discuss the ongoing war and strategies to ensure an overall victory. When Hoseok left his post, Kai slipped into the Prince’s room with a small bag hidden within the belt of his outfit. Prince Yoongi sat alone in his chambers behind his desk with a scroll in front of him. Upon Kai’s arrival, the Prince rose from his seat and motioned for the guard to follow him into his bed chambers. 

In the room, Kai removed the bag from his belt and laid the contents out on the Prince’s vanity. Charcoal and commoner clothing were bundled together neatly and the Prince was impressed. Kai helped the Prince strip out of his regal clothing and carefully dressed him in the simple hanbok before he removed all the jewelry. He sat in front of the mirror and watched as Kai came up behind him. In his hands was a small cup of water and he set it on top of the vanity before he grabbed a brush and detangled the Prince’s hair. 

Once the Prince’s hair was knot free, carefully Kai pressed the charcoal stick to the blonde hair. Again and again, Kai repeated the process before he ran a fine toothed comb through the Prince’s hair to fully cover the hair. Gone were the blond strands, now replaced with flat ink black. Prince Yoongi was fascinated as he turned his head from side to side to get a better view of his dark hair. Kai pulled it into a high bun that sat on top of the Prince’s head with a simple black cloth tied around to keep it in place.

As he stood from his seat, the Prince smoothed out his hanbok and gave Namjoon a tight-lipped smile. 

“How do I look?”

Kai eyed the sand-colored jeogori that hung from the Prince’s shoulders. The matching baeja was simple enough with a white trim along the hem. The beige baji paired well with the straw jipsin shoes. The dark strands of hair really made all the difference and Kai nodded his head, pleased with the Prince’s disguise.

“I would give you a few coins if you asked.”

A smile stretched across the Prince’s face at Kai’s words and he laughed. 

“Everything else is ready for tonight?” 

“Yes, Your Highness. I recruited the help of Byulyi to assist the Princess in dressing.”

The Prince narrowed his eyes as he frowned, unimpressed with the news of Byulyi now knowing about his plan. He didn’t want more people to know about his whereabouts, but it couldn’t be helped. The Princess did indeed need help to get ready and that was a fact that the Prince had not accounted for.

In the Princess’ chambers, Byulyi helped her into the hanbok that the Prince had gifted to her a few nights ago. The other handmaids were dismissed by the Princess in fear that she would get them sick as well. Byulyi had been the first to speak up about staying behind and passed a note to the Princess while she clasped her hands tightly. The Princess agreed with little to no argument and the others left with low bows.

The sand-colored jeogori with its thick beige cuffing fitted the Princess loosely and the beige pleated chima swayed around her feet. The cognac colored norigae was carefully attached to the Princess’ skirt by Byulyi before she was led over to the vanity. Byulyi pulled the Princess’ braid to the back of her head and twisted them into a single plait that rested against her back. The cream silk ribbon with gold larch and lupine flowers embroidered at the ends was tied to the bottom of the plait to complete the look.

As the Princess walked over to the tri-view mirrors, she smiled at her overall appearance. Her makeup had been removed and replaced with a simple neutral smokey eye and a rose tinted balm to her lips. The only jewelry that she wore were the two rings with thin gold bands and three white scolecite gems on each that the Prince had gifted to her. The engagement ring was tucked away with the rest of the jewelry for safe keeping. Princess Keena had been reluctant to remove the precious gift but Byulyi had reassured her that it would be safer to leave it behind.

Out in the hall, Wonho and Jooheon stood guard. They were determined to make sure that the Princess wasn’t disturbed while she rested and recovered from her sickness. Inside the Princess’ chambers, Byulyi lit a candle and walked over to the closed window. As she opened it quickly and stood with her back facing the Princess. Silently, Byulyi covered and uncovered the flame six times before she blew out the candle and walked away from the window. The Princess was confused but Byulyi gave her a knowing smile.

“Be safe tonight Princess and have a wonderful time.”

Byulyi draped a dark cloak around the Princess’ shoulders and carefully lifted the hood over her head.

“Where am I going, Byulyi? His Highness didn’t tell me anything.”

“You will learn in due time, Princess.”

A soft knock at the window made the two women turn around and Princess Keena was surprised to see San standing in the window; his calcite eyes glowed in the darkness. 

“Time to go, Princess.”

Byulyi and San helped the Princess climb out the window and Byulyi wished them luck once more before she closed the window and covered all the sunstones for the night. Princess Keena stayed close to San’s side as he led her through a series of twists and turns until they reached a small cluster of trees. It was dark and grew darker still. As they approached, shadows started to move and the Princess’ steps faltered.

One of the shadows stepped out of the darkness and as it was bathed in silver moonlight, the Princess’ mouth dropped open in awe. There stood the Prince dressed in clothing that did not befit his status and his blond hair was gone. Dark inky locks gleamed in the moonlight, and the Prince’s lips were turned upward as he extended his hand outward towards the Princess.

"Ann ale."

Colors. So many colors, sounds, and scents surrounded the Princess as she walked beside the Prince in the busy streets of the town’s night market. The main market was lit up with sunstones that were strung up high from stall to stall. A web of lights encased in handcrafted lanterns of different colors. Hand-carved and painted signs with the names of products and pricing covered all the stalls while some had no signage. Minho and San kept ten paces from the young royals as they explored the wonders of the night market.

“Ddeokbokki! Fresh ddeokbokki!”

“Bindaetteok! Nice hot, bindaetteok!”

“Samgyupsal! We have samgyupsal!”

In the distance, a pansori told the story of how the Min Empire came to be while another one sang about the war in the West. People moved to and fro, stall to stall with baskets filled with goods. It was exciting and the Princess took it all in. The Min Empire at night was beyond her wildest dreams. Intoxicating scents of perfumes and oils danced in the air and mingled with the sweet aromas of the food. The floral and spicy scent led lonely and stressed women and men alike to the middle of town where The Vine, a prosperous inn known for its more carnal pleasures, resided.  

The building was three stories high with thick wooden posts painted a deep blue out front to hold up the impressive nameplate. The whole building was a mix of blues, creams, and golds. Splashes of brighter colors were hidden away in the rooms reserved for private use. A group of four, two women and two men, stood outside of The Vine to entice those who passed by. Their grabs were soft muted tones of pinks, reds, purples, and blues. Their necks were exposed and if their robes slipped from their shoulders, a helpful hand would fix it.

The Prince had spoken with San and Kai about The Vine, he knew to avoid that area and the walkways were wide enough to do so. Princess Keena pulled at the Prince’s hand and he allowed himself to be dragged to a vendor that sold norigae. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the Princess asked the merchant questions and silently inhaled the sweet tang of honey-dipped tangerines. The satgat on top of his head hid his face from those around him, only showing his mouth when he lifted his face enough to speak to different vendors. 

Prince Yoongi felt himself cross his eyes for a moment as a norigae was suddenly shoved in his face. He blinked a few times and carefully took the knotted silk in his hands. The craftsmanship was impressive and the colors were complementary to a few of his darker outfits in the palace. Red and gold silk rope was woven together in an intricately knotted design with three hanging tassels at the bottom, red on one side and gold on the other.

“The little lady has an eye for the best!” The merchant praised and Yoongi raised an eyebrow as he turned his attention to the Princess.

“My wife finished that one this afternoon, it took all month to make.”

The Prince reached into the waist of his hanbok and wrapped his fingers around his jumeoni that held his money. He asked the price and paid for it without blinking an eye. Princess Keena leaned into his side and the Prince swallowed down a pleased rumble in his chest. The merchant placed the norigae into a small wooden box and wrapped it in a tan cloth. Before he could hand it off, Prince Yoongi gave the merchant a nameplate and asked to keep it on hold. Anything that was purchased in the night would be picked up later on in the week to avoid any suspension. 

Princess Keena slipped her hand into the Prince’s and together they walked to a stall that made the Price smirk. He recognized the name of the stall, it was the vendor that sold the sweet treats. He had a few tables set up for people to sit down and enjoy their food to which Prince Yoongi pulled the Princess in that direction. They sat across from each other at a table and the Princess looked around excitedly. Her eyes were wide as they bounced from place to place. The light of the sunstones reflected in her eyes and the Prince found himself reaching his arm out across the table. 

Princess Keena grinned down at his hand and cupped the back of his hand in hers. Using her other hand, she traced invisible shapes into the Prince’s palm with the tips of her blunt nails. A pleasant shiver crawled down the Prince’s back and he carefully removed his hat, placing it on the seat beside him. He made sure to choose a table that wasn’t in the direct light of the sunstones so that he could enjoy this moment.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my gem?”

“There are no words to express my gratitude...Yoongi.”

The Prince’s fingers wrapped tightly around the Princess’ fingers and he purred. He brought the Princess’ hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips one by one. He never took his eyes off hers and smirked as silver started to quiver to life in the darkness.

A waiter came over to take their order and the Prince rattled off a few different treats. Everything was picked with the knowledge that he had gained over the time spent with the Princess. Hotteok, danpatjuk, yakgwa and manju with a pot of tieguanyin tea on the side.

In the palace, Hyungwon and his assistant Yunho, a dwarf cyclops, tended to the Emperor as he laid in bed. Empress Eunkyung sat at his bedside, eyes bloodshot and puffy from her endless crying. The Emperor was ill and his sickness incurable. From Hyungwon’s examinations and tests, Emperor Chungho had three months to live; six at the most. It was a sickness of his lungs and from what Hyungwon saw, they were slowly withering away bit by bit. The blood that the Emperor coughed up was proof of his lungs' degenerative state.

The news was swiftly delivered to Hoseok and Aga as they exited the war meeting together. They decided to tell the young royals together in hopes that they would be able to comfort each other. Prince Yoongi wasn’t in his chambers, the guards at his door informed Hoseok that the Princess had fallen ill, so His Highness had gone to stay by her side. Aga bristled at the news but kept his thoughts to himself. They made their way to the Princess’ chambers where Chan and Jooheon stood guard.

“Why was I not informed of the Princess’ state?” Aga glared at the two guards and Chan stood his ground.

“Byulyi said that she sent word to you already. Had she not?” 

Aga and Hoseok shared a look before they pushed open the doors of the Princess’ chambers. Byulyi scrambled to her feet and bowed to both Aga and Hoseok.

“It seems to be some miscommunication, Byulyi.” Hoseok didn’t take his eyes off the maid as he spoke. “Word of the Princess’ illness had not reached us and yet the Prince is here with her?” Hoseok clicked his tongue and took a step towards the bed chambers.

Byulyi stepped in his way and crossed her arms over her chest. “I was giving strict orders from His Highness to not allow anyone to disturb his and the Princess’ slumber.” 

“Oh?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow and took one step forward to crowd Byulyi’s space. “And will you take responsibility for my important notice being ignored for the sake of beauty sleep?”

Byulyi’s gaze wavered. What news did Hsoeok speak of? Could she risk it? It had only been a few hours, two at the most since the young royals left the palace. She wanted them to enjoy their freedom a little longer. Squaring her shoulders, Byulyi narrowed her eyes.

“I will.” 

Hoseok huffed, annoyed but impressed. He licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder to Aga who stood by and watched the whole encounter. He nodded his head with a sigh and turned his attention back to Byulyi.

“Forgive me, my dear.”

Before Byulyi could react to Hoseok’s words, he had dug his fingers into a pressure point and caught Byulyi’s limp body in his arms. Scooping her up, he carried her over to the couch and placed her down gently. Aga opened the door to the Princess’ sleeping chambers and the squawk that left his mouth made Hoseok cringe. Aga stepped out of the room and charged to the front of the room. He ripped open the doors and grabbed Chan by his shoulders. Chan hissed in pain as he was slammed into the stone wall.

“Where are they?!” Aga’s voice was an airy mix of whistles,  a song of death that only came from the lips of a citron crane.

Jooheon moved to pull Aga off of Chan when Hoseok held him back. The heat that seeped through his robes and singed his skin was uncomfortable. Flames danced in Hoseok’s amber eyes as he glared at Jooheon.

“Answer the question, kid. Where are the Prince and Princess?” 

The beat of the drums rang throughout the night. Armed guards filled the streets of the night market and stopped anyone who had their face covered. The Prince and Princess were missing from the palace. Any other time, Hoseok would have searched for the young couple without a fuss but with the news of the Emperor’s impending demise, he had no time for subtlety. Minho and San were easily recognized by the other guards and led back to the palace. They both thought to put up a fight but feared the young royal’s cover would be blown. 

In all the commotion, Prince Yoongi pulled the Princess away from the main street and ran between buildings, back towards the palace. The backways were dark and some smelled of waste and spoiled food but the Prince paid no mind to it once he heard additional footsteps echo around him. Someone, maybe three people from the missteps, were following them and Agust coiled himself tightly around Yoongi’s heart. Slowly a gold ring brightened around Yoongi’s iris and his hold on the Princess’ hand tightened. 

A body suddenly dropped from the rooftop followed by two more and Yoongi growled in warning. Footfalls from behind made his back stiffen and he shoved the Princess closer to the wall beside them. His satgat had fallen off his head and hung at his back thanks to the beaded gatkkeun that was attached to it. Prince Yoongi narrowed his eyes and bared his elongated fangs as the footsteps behind him came to a stop. They were surrounded and the Prince wondered where Minho and San were.

“Hand over the girl and we’ll let you live, boy.”

From the accent that the words were spoken in, the Prince knew that these bandits were not from town. As he took in their garb, he noticed that they were dressed in darker colors and wore black leather trousers but what stood out was the scabbard on their waist. The hilt was an ivy white while the sheath was black with golden metal plating. The craftsmanship reminded the Prince of a dagger that he once saw in a book about the West. He narrowed his eyes and positioned himself between the men, ten he counted, and the Princess.

“If you want to leave with your pathetic lives, leave now!”

The men all laughed and drew their swords and daggers all at once. Prince Yoongi cursed for not arming himself with any weapons for the night. Princess Keena pressed herself closer to the wall to shield her back and watched as the men all readied themselves to attack. 

One man lunged and the Prince sent him flying into the building across from them with a single kick to the man’s stomach. His skull hit the wall with a loud crack before he slumped to the ground. Another charged at the Prince and threw a punch that the Prince caught. He pulled the man in closer and sent his knee into the man’s chest three times before he shoved him away.

Prince Yoongi settled into a fighting stance and two men charged at once with their swords. He  shifted their attention to him as he moved out of the way so that the Princess wouldn’t be hurt. He blocked their attacks with his forearms before he kicked them away and smirked. Three out of the four men were groaning on the ground and slowly picked themselves up. A taller man, the leader, if they had to guess, narrowed his eyes and spit on the ground.

“Kill ‘im.”

⚠⚠⚠

Four of the men rushed in and the Prince was caught off guard for a moment. He thrusted his arm out to catch the wrist of the closet man, twisting the man's arm at an awkward angle for the sword to drop. The sickening crack of bone breaking made the Princess wince and cover her mouth as the food from earlier threatened to come back up. The man staggered back, holding his injured arm while the Prince fended off the other three men with the stolen sword. Another man snuck against the wall and kept to the darkness as he crept towards the Princess. 

The clinking of swords echoed in the night and Hoseok’s ears were ringing. The market was a mess with thugs and lowlifes attacking vendors for their goods. It was chaos and Hoseok was worried for his friends. He had not seen any trace of the Prince nor the Princess and something deep in his gut felt wrong. The sky above came to life, stars snuffed out by thick wafts of clouds. The air smelt of petrichor, dense and electric as thunder rolled about. 

A sudden squall of wind, chilling for the warmer night sent a shiver down Hoseok’s spin. A storm was coming and it wasn’t natural. Hoseok gathered the Princess’ guards, even though he felt like everything was their fault and motioned for them to follow him.

“Circle back to the palace! Split up and check the backways!”

The Prince was panting as he punched another man in his face. His fist hurt but he ignored the pain as someone came at him with two swords. Prince Yoongi grunted as he blocked the double blades and fought to keep his balance. The man before he was larger but the Prince remembered his training with Aga.

He let the man gain the upper hand by letting his arms give out before he kicked out his leg and swept the man’s feet out from underneath him. Using that same momentum, the Prince thrusted the blade forward right down into the man’s stomach and yanked it upward, like he had gutted a fish.

“Yoon-!”

The Princess’ voice caught Yoongi’s attention and he saw that she was now surrounded by three men. He hadn’t realized that the men he had fought had put such a distance between himself and the Princess. He took a step in the Princess’ direction and two more men attacked him. As he fought, one pulled a dragger from his hip and lunged. Yoongi was able to block the sword but the dagger was longer than normal and gave the other man the chance to get too close. The blade striked the Prince and his vision blurred, scarlet red. A sudden warmth with a stinging undertone, radiated along the right side of his face.

The Prince gripped his face with one hand. Blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his wrist as he swung his sword blindly in the other, staggering backwards. He tripped over one of the fallen men and before he could catch himself one of the men grabbed his head from behind and smashed it into the closest wall. 

What little vision he had blurred even more and the Princess’ scream echoed in his ears. He struggled to stay upright and the man behind him slammed his head once more into the wall. Black spots entered the Prince’s vision and as he crumbled to the ground, he felt Agust’s claws as they sank deep into his heart.

Worry not, Princeling

Three men were left behind to check on the well-being of the others that were injured by Prince Yoongi. They paid no mind to the broken body that laid battered and bruised, bleeding out onto the dirt. If they had known who he was, they would have run long before they dared attack. Now? Now it was too late. Obsidian was flooded with pure gold, inky black iridescent scales covered more and more pale skin in larger patches and the pink tongue was now indigo and forked.

One man passed over the Prince’s body and spit at the ground in front of him. He noticed that the Prince was still breathing and glowered at the younger man. He squatted down before the Prince and pulled a dagger from his hip. He moved the satgat out of the way and grabbed the topknot that kept the Prince’s hair out of his face with a sneer.

“Enjoy living in disgrace,” the man sniggered and chopped the Prince’s topknot off without a second thought. 

The bun was clutched in the man’s fist and he laughed loudly, pleased with himself. However, the victorious joy was short-lived once he noticed the black scales on the Prince’s neck and face. With the satgat no longer blocking the Prince’s features, the man saw small black horns, almost like thorns that framed the Prince’s eyebrows and two thick black horns that weren’t there before. He swallowed thickly and dropped the topknot on the ground before he scrambled to his feet.

An iron-like vice gripped his ankle and he froze. Long, pointed nails seemingly dipped in tar pierced the skin and the man groaned in pain as he felt his muscle and bone rub together. The bone snapped and the man cried as he fell to the ground. The other men, now four in total, rushed over. They watched uncertain, swords raised in defense as the Prince picked himself up off the ground. His black hair hung around his ears unevenly and stuck to the bloody mud on his face. 

This was not the same man they had tried to kill. This, this was a monster.

Agust grinned at the men before him; his pointed teeth gleamed a wicked red from the flood that trickled into his mouth. He licked his lips and spit the bloody dirt on the ground. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers a few times, his pointed nails glossy and soaked in blood. 

He blinked once and he was in front of the men, nearly nose to nose. He growled as he grabbed one man by the throat and threw him through the wall of the building nearby. The other men dropped to their knees and begged for their lives. Agust squatted down in front of them, setting his elbow on his knee before he rested his chin in his palm.

“And why sssshould I ssspare your livessss?” His words were strung together with a hissed lisp that encased the men’s heart in pure dread.

“T-The girl!” One blurted out to save himself. “I-I know where they took the girl!”

Agust’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits and he lashed out without a word. The man’s whole body went rigid and he looked down slowly as he started to shake. Agust’s arm, up until his elbow was in the man’s chest. His heart beat dully in Agust’s bloodied hand that stuck out his back. 

The other two men watched in horror as Agust ripped his hand out and squished the man’s heart right before his very eyes before he died. He turned his gaze to the other men left and they begged for their lives. Agust enjoyed ripping them limb from limb. The only other survivor was the man who had the crushed ankle and Agust dragged him by the front of his shirt.

“Ssshow me where they took my treasssure!”

A downpour drowned out the muffled shouting that came from inside a storage room behind The Vine. The building was surrounded by lilac and clematis flowers with a cluster of yew trees that casted eerie shadows against the walls. 

Inside the tree men from the alleyway argued with each other about what to do with Princess Keena. They had tied her hands together at the wrists, behind her back and had her knelt on the cold hanji paper-covered floor. Water dripped from her hair and dripped onto the floor. A puddle had started to form where she knelt in silence.

They had not expected the man she was with to put up such a fight and cut their numbers down so quickly. The leader of the group was sure that the man was dead by now but he required a greater sum of money for the inconvenience of having to replace two of his men.

Money was heavy on his mind but as he looked at the Princess, unknowing of her true value, he licked his lips. The hanbok she wore was soaked through. The light beige color had darkened to a brown and clung to her body. The Princess kept her head down, her eyes closed as she willed Ceyeh to slowly come to the surface.

Princess Keena knew a bit more than the very basics of fighting. She could hold her own well enough against one person, but not three. Ceyeh had been a warrior in her time and knew how to protect the Princess at the cost of someone else’s life. It was a price she was willing to pay if need be. 

Behind closed eyes, silver curled and spread through the irises of the Princess. Ceyeh pushed the Princess’ conscious state of mind behind her. Warm brown and soft grey feathers wrapped around the Princess’ subconscious and held her tightly. 

“Not gonna scream for help, girl?” 

Ceyeh ignored the voice that spoke to her as she controlled her presence. No feathers sprouted from her skin and she focused on the shift of her nails. The nail bed turned a deep grey and the rounded tips grew into pointed talons. 

The leader of the group grabbed a fist full of Ceyeh’s hair and jerked her head up. The watery blue silver of her eyes caught him off guard and he grinned wickedly.

“A shifter? Never had a taste of one before.”

The man’s breath was rancid, teeth rotted and many missing. He gripped Ceyeh’s face in his hand harshly and turned her head every which way. He examined her and watched as goosebumps rose on the exposed skin of her shoulder.

“A nice consolation for the death of my men. It has been some time since I’ve last touched someone so-” 

As thunder roared overhead the trees outside hit against the building. Lightning lit up the sky and casted their shadows against the wall. Ceyeh glared up at the man and he looked over his shoulder at the other two men in the room.

“Did you hear that?” 

The men looked at each other confused.

“The thunder?” 

The man in front of Ceyeh spit on the ground and threw her body to the floor. He had heard something in the thunder.

“I think our men are back. Shall we give them a show?”

Ceyeh silently sliced through the rope that bound her hands as the man above her talked. If it was a show they wanted, it was a show they would get. Ceyeh caught the rope in her hands and dropped them on the ground before she made her move. The leader moved faster, he had her pushed onto her stomach and straddled her waist. He leant down and chuckled in her ear as he held her head down against the floor.

“Nice try girlie.”

He licked the side of her face, the warmth of his saliva cooled quickly as he pulled away with a pleased hum. 

“Hold her down!” He ordered his men and they moved quickly. Both men grabbed one of Ceyeh’s arms and pinned them down while the leader pulled his dagger from his hip and cut into the fabric of her hanbok. Ceyeh struggled as she tried to pull herself free but the men were surprisingly much stronger. It had been a long time since she last had to defend herself like this.

“Oh ho!” The man sneered as he looked at the markings on Ceyeh’s back. “What filth is this?” His rough fingers touched the raised marking on Ceyeh’s back and Ceyeh fought harder to get free. “Such a pretty face for a disfigured body.”

A hand pushed the skirts of her hanbok up and Ceyeh clenched her teeth. Feathers started to sprout along her ears and corners of her eyes. Her leg shifted as she dug her talons into the floor and readied herself for the pain she was about to inflict on herself. Brown feathers started to grow from her shoulders.

As they hardened, a crash filled the air as a body dressed in the men’s garb went soaring through the only door of the storage room. The body smacked into the wall, a single hole held the limp body in place by its smashed head. Blood dripped down the wall and splashed onto the floor in crimson pearls.

Through the petrichor, as Agust encroached on the storage house, he smelt the fermented and sour scent of the Princess. She was in danger and Agust growled as he heard a man’s voice over the rain. He dragged the man from the alleyway through the mud, not once caring that his broken ankle was jostled about. He broke the man’s jaw to keep him quiet and once the storage house was pointed out, Agust snapped his neck without a moment's hesitation.

⚠⚠⚠

As the scent of tangerines turned sharper and grew more bitter, Agust had enough. With no warning, he chucked the man in his hands through the doors of the storage room with such force that he became one with the wall. A grand improvement in Agust’s eyes, though before he could voice his musings he took in the sight before him. Princess Keena was pinned to the floor, her skirt was pulled up past her thighs and a man was straddling her from behind. As the man jumped to his feet, Agust caught sight of the off-colored markings on the Princess’ back and thick black smoke spilled from his mouth as fire burned in his chest.

Screams echoed in the night, suffocated by the howling winds and cherry-sized raindrops. Blood dripped from the ceiling and pooled onto the floor under torn limbs. Agust blinked once, twice, thrice before the sweltering heat in his chest settled into a dull flame. Golden eyes shimmered in the night, reflective as light flashed outside. His hair was plastered to his face, wet from the rain and blood that had started to clot. 

Agust cracked his knuckles and wiped his hands on his blood soaked trouser before he ran a semi-clean hand through his hair.  The choppy strands irritated the cut on his eye. The sound of shuffling caught his attention and he turned on his heels sharply with a growl in his throat. 

Silver and gold, two colors that had not existed in the same space in eons, meat silently. Agust’s body was frozen as glistening tears spilled from those all too familiar silver pools. A single drop of blood plopped down from the ceiling and splashed on the Ceyeh’s cheek. A small river of tinted red streamed down her face, yet she made no move to wipe it away. 

Agust stepped forward with a hand raised and Ceyeh’s arm shot out with a startled gasp as she took a quick step backwards. The distance wasn’t much, a handful of footsteps yet Agust felt that there were whole continents between them.

“My moon?”

#yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #daechwita!yoongi #dragon!yoongi #bts soulmate au #bts fantasy au #fic: blackthorn #soc yoongi #blackthorn ch 14

[sixminutestoriesblog]

witch balls

When I was a child visiting little tiny New England towns was different than it is today. These days when I walk down a carefully curated Main Street in some wind swept, coastal town you can barely smell the salt in the air anymore and every shop you step into is pristine air-conditioned and smells like a department store used to, all faint traces of new plastic and underlying pungent scent of whatever it is they paint large shipments of clothes with to keep them during shipping. Most of them are still set up to look old, in fact many of them are in old buildings, but the weight of all those years isn't really allowed to show through. It's all ocean cottage core now, neat and white painted and artistic sea glass and sandpipers in simplified wooden statues, wire legs frozen instead of blurring with motion. Don't get me wrong. I love ocean cottagecore. I would decorate my whole house in it if I had the money. And the little shops, pristine and pretty, absolutely have a sweet appeal to them, not willing to give up their personality for the sterilization of 'Big City' box stores. I do miss however, what tourist shops in those same little towns used to be. Less plastic magnets for the refrigerator shaped like whales and sweatshirts of labrador retrievers declaring them a specific colored Dog and more -

half forgotten not-quite-antique shop, hidden down some narrow salt smelling alley where the stones that make up the road are uneven and there's a dusty smell to the cracks of the wood floors that never goes away. As a child going to a 'tourist shop' in one of these towns was like walking into a magic shop, a true magic shop, with books of breathtakingly beautiful paper dolls as detailed as any old fairy book illustration, imitation scrimshawed whale teeth, old time candy, books about lady pirates and clever glass marbles full of painted fish. The things those old shops offered felt local, magical, impossible to find in any other town in the entire world. Childhood colors everything more vivid than it probably was but I still think of longing and a child's minor spending money in a world of treasures when I remember those shops.

In one of those shops, as a child, I saw my first glass fishing float.

At the time it was being sold as a Portuguese fishing ball, a better buoyant for nets and lines than cork or wood. I remember, distinctly, the surprising weight of it when I picked it up. I was used to glass being fragile, light, airy. The fishing ball was none of those. It had a weight to it and a solid feel to it that said it was fit to ride the choppy waters of the icy Atlantic and do its duty, tide in and tide out. Storms weren't going to break and drown this glass. It would ride the waves forever and when it finally broke free of its net, it would find the shore, in itself or in pieces as polished sea glass. These balls were sturdy and I fell in love with them. The first time I could finally afford one was a triumph and the rare times I managed to find them in shops, as the years and the advance of more proper 'souvenirs' advances, I snatched them up even if it meant my spending money for the rest of the trip would be lean. Finally, eventually, the balls disappeared from the last shop and I thought my meager hoard was all I'd ever see of them again, an old relic that was already being phased out before I'd even discovered them as a child.

Imagine my surprise when, years and years later, a friend, helping me fix my bathroom from some water damage, saw one of them where I had it hanging in the window and seemed surprised to recognize it. He called it a 'witch ball'. I corrected him but he was adamant. And so, thanks to the internet, I rediscovered my glass fishing floats - with a new name and a new story to go with it.

Witch balls are hollow glass balls. They can range in size, I've seen some as small as rounded shot glasses and the older ones seem to be about as large as my fishing balls, which is about the size of a cantaloupe. Like fishing balls, they're not made for perfection, in fact, the bubbles and imperfections in the glass blowing process are considered part of their selling points. They tend to range in colors, with modern day witch balls being an absolute riot of colors or a beautiful gradual shift from one color to the next. They've been around for quite a long time as well. There are accounts of witch balls hanging in English houses, especially sea-faring ones, as far back as the 17th and 18th century, though they were often known as 'watch balls' back then and not quite as riotously colorful as modern ones, tending to be more often made of green or blue glass. Sometimes they would have salt or herbs put in them before they were sealed but the main thing witch balls needed were stands. In fact, something I just learned, the way to tell a kugel (friendship) ball and a witch ball apart is to look for the glass strands inside the ball. Witch balls need those strands to be effect. Witch balls are, after all, created to be traps.

The idea was that you hung your ball inside your house, often in an eastern window but sometimes from the rafters or set on top of a stand. Than, when evil things tried to enter the house in the night, they would be distracted and then captivated by the way the light of the moon played against the glass of the ball. Sometimes, the evil had to touch the glass, sometimes being ensnared simply happened automatically once their gaze was fixed on it. Either way, the evil would find itself pulled into the glass, trapped in the maze of the strands inside and unable to escape. There it would remain either until the morning sunrise burned it away or until the glass ball was broken, freeing it to continue its harm. Not all witch balls worked that way. In some cases, the glass was made to be more reflective with the idea that evil things, as we've already read, didn't have reflections and couldn't bear the reminder or that the glass would turn aside the evil gaze and reflect it back on its creator.

There is some speculation that glass Christmas ornaments may be tied into something similar as well, although, humans also simply like hanging sparking objects up for no reason but 'pretty' as well.

Bottle Trees serve the same general purpose and can still be found in parts of the Southern US, a tradition brought over from the Congo during slavery times. The belief is that blue bottles hung on tree branches will entrance and capture evil spirits inside their depths and hold them there where they can't cause any harm until the morning sun burns them away with its rising.

As a last note, I should point out that calling my collection 'fishing balls' wasn't necessarily wrong. While some of my later purchases did have strands in them, my early ones from childhood didn't. Apparently there's a very invested set of people who collect Japanese fishing floats on the West Coast of the US and Canada as well.

#folklore #superstition #cottagecore #witch ball #witch balls #watch ball #bottle tree #fishing floats #glass fishing float #ukidama #bindama #sea #ocean #ocean folklore #sea superstition #sea folklore

[bogkeep]

i saw titanic (1997) for the first time yesterday (on a big screen, in 3d) and i found the big boat movie very enjoyable actually. yes i'm very late to the party, but i also think i am now at Peak Appreciation Capability, my timeline being this:

- too young to watch it

- ugh they made a movie about this huge tragedy and it's a ROMANCE? UGH (on one hand my teenage argument about 'people will only care about events if there's a romantic plot apparently' is in pretty bad faith and i rescind that statement, on the other hand it was impossible to go see a movie without a romantic subplot and most of them felt deeply unnecessary and tacked on)

- titanic is just a meme movie and so called classics are overrated

- wait maybe titanic is good actually. maybe i can appreciate a period piece and a tragedy and well crafted storytelling now. maybe i will watch it

BOAT MOVIE REVIEW:

- the boat is so big and so pretty

- the people are also very pretty

- i love the "creator got a hyperfixation and wrote a fanfic that's mostly an excuse to impose their rabbit hole findings and feelings upon an unsuspecting audience" energy

- molly is there. movie good

- i'm SO easy to win over with a folk music dance scene

- the fact that the swedish cinema showing didn't put subtitles on the swedes amused me

- actually really enjoyed all the small details and tiny stories hidden away in Everything Is Sinking And Breaking part of the movie. is that a weird thing to say

- actually really liked that it depicted so many layers and sections of the ship

- i fell asleep reading titanic trivia because i want to know how much of the movie is accurate to events

- i'm now listening to a titanic podcast at school while i work

- who could have predicted this

#IT TICKLES. THE SOCIOLOGY/ARCHAEOLOGY INTEREST

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Following the results of this poll, here is a ficlet centered around the word "veil". Have fun reading <3

The markets are alive with customers and merchants alike, the best of wares displayed among dozens of candles and lanterns, voices shouting enticing prices and promises of products never seen before.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji walk through the crowd, holding hands, admiring the merchandise and stopping every so often to check out the items or purchase the odd trinket.

They notice that there is quite the queue in front of a rather large stall, dozens of people interested in what the young, blonde merchant behind the colorful display has to offer. She smiles and counsels every one of her potential customers, and though her voice carries an accent, betraying she comes from lands far away, people are bewitched enough by her products and sweet words that they leave much of their coins in her hand.

"That lady is selling veils! I haven't seen a stall with so many since I was a child!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, dragging Lan Wangji towards the queue. "This foreign merchant convoy would pass through Lotus Pier once a year back then and they sold all sorts of things, including these really beautiful, ornate veils. When shijie turned 16, I bought one for her, it was this really light pink color with jewels sewn into it. She loved it!"

Lan Wangji gave his husband's hand a squeeze, a hidden "i love you" in it, the comfort of the knowledge that he was loved and wanted to combat the bittersweet nostalgia of remembering somebody he lost.

Wei Wuxian huffs, softly, turning towards his husband with a smile. "Lan Zhan, remember when we had our wedding and I wore that red veil over my face? And when you lifted it, we both started crying?"

"I do." How could he ever forget? Every detail of that wonderful day is etched into his memory forever, the day that he finally felt like the world made sense and his life gained color and light and purpose.

"Honestly, I'm surprised I held it in for so long, I was so emotional that whole day!"

"I was, as well. I still am, every day that I'm with you."

Wei Wuxian's cheeks dust pink as he laughs. "After so many years still? You've never gotten used to me?"

"I will never tire of you or take your presence for granted, Wei Ying. Every day that you're here is a miracle to me."

Wei Ying decides to hide his red face in his husband's shoulder. "And I'll never get used to you saying such things, either!"

"You should. I will not stop."

"Meanie!"

It finally is their turn to have a look at the beautiful veils on display. Wei Ying's eyes catch onto a dark blue one, the fabric incredibly soft to the touch, black lace etched into it masterfully.

"That veil is made from the finest silk threading, weaving it takes weeks!" The merchant said, handing the piece to Wei Ying for a closer look. "The lace is hand sewn, and there are tiny crystals encrusted in it."

"It's beautiful, I've never seen something like this before."

"It's a very rare piece. It is usually worn over clothing, as a shawl or a decorative piece, but..." a conspirational smile sent towards Lan Wangji, "...it can also be worn directly onto the skin."

His ears burn red and he looks away. The lady continues her explanation, turning her attention back to Wei Ying. "The material is soft and gentle to the touch, and though it is sheer, it is quite sturdy. It also doesn't stain easily. I have a piece in red as well, if you would like it."

"We'll take them both." Lan Wangji says, and the lady's eyes sparkle.

"I also have this." She says and hands Wei Ying a seemingly simple, black veil that, when angled towards a lantern, it glitters dark red. "Unlike the other one, this is a very delicate material. It is specifically created to be worn underneath candle light, so that the jewels woven into the fabric show their color."

Lan Wangji nods towards the lady, who carefully folds the veil and places it with the other two she promised them.

"I have some more of these... dual purpose veils inside the little shop down the street. My wife is the shopkeeper, tell her I sent you." The merchant winks, "She will know what that means."

By the end of the night, the two merchant ladies are several thousand coins richer than they have ever hoped to be.

And, of course, the two generous customers are more than eager to try out their new purchases.

Hopes and prayers for the furniture in their inn room. At least the Lan sect is wealthy enough to cover for the damages.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Blood and sand - Chapter Ten

He woke on his back in a nest of black tentacles.

The light from the many windows had changed, angling, as if hours of orbit had passed. The room-shaking rumble had stopped, though he still felt the ghost of that tremor through his ankles, knees, elbows.

“That was foolish,” said the god, but his tone had again changed. “Had I not snatched your consciousness from you, you would have emptied yourself on me, squeezed the last drop of yourself onto my raging flame, and so ended your brief life.”

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

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Chapter Ten: The King in Yellow

Breathe, Luke told himself. Breathe, because passing out here would be like exposing his throat to a wild dog.

The King waited, silent, magnificent, and terrible. His face was hidden by a pearl-white mask, and he wore a cowl and cloak of bright and glorious yellow. The darkness of his hide (skin, tissue, whatever it was) ate the light gluttonously, obscuring detail—but the shape of him showed in shadow, in absence. He was twisted vines and tentacles, long voids and power, and though he had head, shoulders, arms, hands—faked with dark and dream-form limbs—he splayed out below like a chrysanthemum upside down, like fire turned ebon, with tentacles so huge that Luke could hide behind any one completely.

There were golden eyes behind the holes in that mask. Golden eyes, massed, gleaming, maybe glaring. The great, robed form did breathe—swelling out and in, slowly—and somehow, for some reason, Luke found that comforting.

A creature that breathed was alive. Creatures that were alive were something Luke understood. His knack made sure of that.

He’d been asked a question. Luke swallowed, licked his dry lips, and tried three times to speak.

The King in Yellow waited.

That… wasn’t reassuring. “I find it beautiful,” Luke managed. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“I don’t know,” said the King in Yellow with horrifying honesty.

“Why?” said Luke in a tiny voice.

“Why?” said the King in Yellow, and moved toward him.

Luke saw him coming. Felt him coming. Could no more get out of the way or fight than a fly could escape a storm.

Hastur reached with one of those ink-black tentacles and picked him up.

Luke had a sudden vision of himself hefted like a doll. Lifted up, up, up, so far up, until he was at eye-level with that mask, until he realized that the King’s size had been obscured by distance. He trembled.

“You are very afraid,” observed the King in Yellow with a voice like many waters.

“Please don’t hurt me,” said Luke.

“I see he was correct,” said the King, those gleaming fire-eyes looking him up and down, seeing through him, peering under his very skin.

Luke had no idea what that meant. “What? Who? About what?”

“You are very magical,” said the King as if considering what to do with him, calmly, distantly. As if eating him or letting him go carried the same weight.

Surely not that magical. This was the Dreamlands. “Loads of people have magic here,” Luke said, and realized he couldn’t look away. Could not. Physically could not turn his head, could barely blink his eyes.

“Not like you.” The King held him closer.

Luke shook as badly as he had that year he’d gotten pneumonia. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“So very afraid,” the King said as if to himself, “and yet you are here, in this place, by choice, where you have been hurt and will be hurt more.”

“But that’s for my wish!” Luke protested. “Not just… for a lark!”

The King tilted his head. The spokes of his crown cut the air, leaving after-images. “And what is it that you wish?”

Luke knew he wouldn’t get that wish right now. He knew. He still had to try. “My brother. He’s dead. I want him back.” He had to try. “Please.”

The King sighed wearily. “Typical.” And he dropped him.

Luke caught himself, not falling too badly, and took a moment to fix the ankle he‘d twisted.

“You have such talent,” said the King in Yellow, and his voice rumbled through Luke’s bones. “Forget the Games. Serve me. I will keep you healthy and happy; I will provide for all your needs. All I ask is that you love me.”

Luke stared, gaping. A job offer? Something more? Definitely something more, but the way the King had said it…

It wasn’t right, the way he’d said it. Distracted. Perfunctory.

Luke had a choice: to respond to the words said, or the way they’d been spoken. He swallowed. The trembling returned, full-force. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I don’t think you mean it.”

There was a pause.

Luke waited to be smashed. It seemed like the kind of thing a person would be smashed for.

“You’re right,” said the King. “I don’t.”

That felt so… weird. Unwanted by the god. It should be a relief. It wasn’t. “Why?” said Luke.

“I want nothing,” the King said simply.

“Everybody wants something,” said Luke.

“I cannot have the thing I want,” said the King in Yellow. “Therefore, naught else matters.”

The same tone, the same distance, saying things as if by rote and expectation. Luke had heard this tone before, and it was always, always from someone who believed they were dying.

So Luke looked.

He couldn’t help it. Second nature, an instinctive response to a living body in front of him whose owner was in distress. He looked, and two things came immediately clear: one, this body was not safe to look at for long. It was like peering into the sun to find its blazing heart. But two…

Two, something was badly, badly wrong. Luke caught one brief, blinding, smearing glimpse before he had to look away, and saw leaking, smudging, somehow, as if the god were being blended into the air like watercolors.

Luke panted, head spinning, trying to understand what he’d seen so he could stop that unseen bleeding.

“Would you heal your god, little human?” rumbled the King.

Luke wasn't sure what was wrong. “If I knew how,” he said softly.

“It is beyond you,” said the King.

No. It wasn’t. “I could try,” said Luke.

The tentacles rose. Tightened. “Only one thing can heal me.” And they rolled, and twisted, and a deep rumble climbed through Luke’s feet and into his knees.

“What?” said Luke. “What happened to you?”

“I was violated,” the King whispered, and the rumble grew, “and taken from,” the King growled, and it climbed, and rattled Luke’s teeth, and he wanted to hide, and he wanted to cry, except this felt too much like the sphinxes he’d treated months ago, in Zakarion.

The sphinxes had been violent because of the sentient burrs digging into their sides, aiming for magical organs. This was no different, and it was Luke’s knack, and he had to try.

Luke closed his eyes and focused.

#

He woke on his back in a nest of black tentacles.

The light from the many windows had changed, angling, as if hours of orbit had passed. The room-shaking rumble had stopped, though he still felt the ghost of that tremor through his ankles, knees, elbows.

“That was foolish,” said the god, but his tone had again changed. “Had I not snatched your consciousness from you, you would have emptied yourself on me, squeezed the last drop of yourself onto my raging flame, and so ended your brief life.”

The tone was… it was…

Present. Engaged. Luke tried to look to see if that smearing wound was any better, but could not: his head twinged with a sharp pain, and a moment of darkness shuttered his eyes.

“Your magic will obey tomorrow,” said the King, still holding him. “You’ve used most of your resources.”

Luke's heart raced, but no pain followed. He wasn’t trapped; he trembled, still.

“I truly would have kept you, before,” said the King, whose focus was heavy as wet towels. “Now, you will die—if not in this wave, the next, and if not that, the next. Such a pity.” And slowly, he slid Luke to his feet.

Like wobbled, but held. “But… then… you…” He wobbled, but stood. “How many waves? When will you choose a winner?”

The many, undulating arms went still. “Such a pity,” he said.

All that tearing, that leaking, that smearing—it had to hurt. “Is it… any better? Did I help?”

Then constant motion resumed, curling and graceful. “Yes.”

He sounded amused. Luke hoped it wasn't a lie. “Why did Mister Collins send me here?”

“I asked to see you. You’re strange; very few new things come my way.”

Luke hung his head, breathing, leaning on his thighs. “You sound like you think you had to do it.”

“I did.” He raised Luke’s face again. “I would have kept you, raised you, taught you. By your childhood’s end, there would be no greater healer in the Dreamlands. Instead, you will die, in this wave, or the next, or the next. Such a pity.”

But he’d just said that.

Luke chose to stand upright. “Does that mean you’ll let me go?”

“Yes,” said the King. “I meant to see you, and I have seen you.”

“What’s the name for what’s wrong with you?” said Luke.

That sound might have been amused. “Impertinent and naive child,” he said with something upsettingly close to affection, “I have been torn. Only the reclamation of my other half can bring me true healing.”

Luke stared, picturing a little man made of dough being raggedly pulled apart.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “I have changed my mind. Join me. Work for me. You may heal here if you wish, receive pay and sustenance. When the time then comes, you will leave, well-off and free.”

“Would I get my brother back?” Luke said softly.

“No,” said the King.

“How many waves do I have to survive?” said Luke. “How many until I win?”

“There is no end,” said the King. “Not until I find my own.”

No. No, he wouldn't accept this. “Sir… your highness, please. Please. I'm very honored you've asked me, but I need him back.”

There was no hesitation. “Very well. Find my other half and convince him to come home, and I will grant your wish.”

Luke’s eyes went huge. “Where is your other half?”

“Close,” said the King, withdrawing into the shadows, vanishing like morning fog.

Luke stared where he had been, mouth open. He felt light as a feather, and about as ready to tumble unpredictably through the air.

“Easy,” said the Butcher, making Luke jump, steadying him with hands on shoulders. “Easy.”

“He’s wounded,” Luke gasped. “You’ve got to believe me. He’s terribly wounded!”

“Wounded, you say?” said Dennis, looking thoughtfully at the shadows. “Well. That might explain a few things.”

“What… he… he talks like there’ll be no winner,” Luke said, unresisting as he was steered back down those many stairs.

“Does he, now?” said the Butcher, keeping him moving.

“Is there a… there’s another part of him here, nearby!” Luke blurted.

“Husssshhh,” said the Butcher. “Yer saying dangerous things, lad. His Dancers take down anyone who speaks the Dark World conspiracy.” They were nearly to the door.

Luke dug in his heels and stopped.

Dennis could have carried him. They both knew it. Instead, he just looked down, eyebrows up.

“What conspiracy?” said Luke.

“There's rumors as have the King somehow being in the Dark World. It don't make a whole lot of sense.”

No, it didn't. “He’s hurt,” said Luke.

“It would explain the madness,” said Dennis.

Like the sphinxes. “We have to do something.”

“We are,” said Dennis. “Giving him all the attention and pageantry he asks for so he doesn’t do Sarkomand again.”

Luke paled. “Sarkomand? He did Sarkomand?”

Nobody wanted to talk about Sarkomand. About what was left of it, and what now claimed its streets. “Aye.”

Luke had seen a sphinx disembowel a man. She hadn’t even seemed to know she'd hit him. He turned and shouted up the stairs. “Did it really help? Did you really feel be-”

Dennis gagged him, hand over his mouth and eyes wide.

“Yes,” rumbled from the floor, the walls, the windows, sending colors to dance along every surface.

Luke shoved the hand away from him “I'll come back, okay?”

“As you wish, small human. Such a pity…”

Luke looked up at Dennis, triumphant.

“Well, I'll be damned,” murmured Dennis, and he steered Luke around and finally out the door.

[chapter eleven] [masterpost]

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #luke yang #kiy malevolent #malevolent madness mixup #blood and sand fic #kayne malevolent #oscar malevolent

[gardens-light]

Wild Party

After a rowdy fight with Eddie, Venom leaves and wonders into the nightlife of San Francisco. Forgetting arguments and troubles, Venom finds freedom in an nightclub, hidden away from the usual hustle and bustle. There was many things he unexpected to experience that night, and one of them was you...

Content- Nothing much, just fluff/smut.

Part 2

"Ugh! Another one bites the dust!."

Exiting the temporary host, leaving the poor man doubling over and throwing up on the side of the road. Venom moved onto another host, taking full control over them and showing his true self to the world.

Entering a night club which was somewhat hidden in a nearby ally. Venom walked in and entered the crowd. Costumed people of all sorts of characters danced out of sink to the strobe lights, and club music. Venom towered over them all, witnessing a sea of various costumes, nearly all accessorised in glow-sticks.

"Look at all these weirdos. My kind of people!" the symboite smiled to himself.

"Nice costume!"

"Hey! Awesome work!"

His smile grew wider, exposing his large teeth. Nobody seemed to be afraid or concerned, only giving him more compliments as they walked or danced past him.

"Greatest costume ever! Awesome work!" A guy in his twenties approached Venom with a camera.

The symboite crouched down and allowed the man, what looked like some kind of band uniform take selfies and group shots.

"Is that Japanese?"

"No, I made it myself-"

"Hello gorgues."

Looking down to his left, seeing a girl with a white full face mask. Big red lips forming into a smile, underneath a large crooked nose, detailed the mask. A hat of red feathers adorned their head.

Venom awkwardly smiled before speaking, "oh... no. Sorry not my type." As he quickly moved through the crowd. "I am out of the 'Eddie Closet!'."

After a few hours of dancing and mingling, Venom made his way towards the back of the club. Settling himself into a quiet booth, simply just watching everyone dance and move pass him. While glow-stick accessories covered his neck and wrists. The coloured strobe lights still hit the area, but the brightness wasn't so harsh. Instead the whole area of booths, and tables were showered with a gentle glow from the ceiling spotlights.

The symboite rubbed his temples and groaned a little, barely overcoming a headache.

"Hey girls, I'm gonna have a sit down. My feet are killing me."

"Really? But the night just started."

Venom looked up, seeing you and your friends standing at the end of his booth.

"Started? We've been here for hours. I doubt you'd call it 'started'."

A girl of blonde curly hair placed a hand upon your shoulder, smiling warmly. "Ignore Tammy. Go for it, Y/N. Would you like company?"

"No thanks, Jess. Just need a minute."

"Ok! Well we're gonna head to the dance floor!" Tammy yelled as she lead your friends. Jess sighed, "be safe. If you decide to go home early. Text me. I wanna know you're ok." You nodded. Seeming satisfied, Jess walked away. As you blindly took a seat at Venom's booth.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to assume-"

"It's alright" Venom assured, "I'm not waiting for anyone."

Making yourself comfortable in the seat across from him. Adjusting your costume, as you awkwardly smile at the symboite.

"So... how has your... night been?" His voice held an unsure tone, as Venom tried to break the ice.

"Pretty good, thank you." Your smile turned more warm, appreciating the attempt of a convocation. "As you saw, some friends and I decided to have a night out. But after dancing for a few hours, I'm feeling kinda tired."

"I understand. I'm slowly getting over this headache" Venom continued to rub his temples. But held out a free hand towards you, "forgive me. I haven't introduced myself. We- I am Venom."

Hesitating a little before you outstretched your hand. Yours barely fit in Venom's oversized digits, as his fingers carefully engulfed your whole hand, giving a tiny shake.

"I'm... Y/N, and Venom? Is that a stage name or something? Your costume is really outstanding by the way."

Your hand returned to your side, as did Venom's as he continued to speak. "Well... let's just say, it's a name I go by. And my costume? Oh! Yes! Thank you. I like yours as well."

You felt your cheeks redden slightly, as you played with the maid skirt. "Oh, it's just a cheap thing from the local costume store..."

The symboite smiled a toothy grin, a shiver ran down your spine. But out of fear? Or fascination? You honestly couldn't tell. Sensing your unease, Venom tried to relax his features in an attempt to expose less of his teeth.

"So uh... what made you come here tonight?" You asked in an attempt to keep the convocation going. Venom lounged back in the seat, taking up room as he rested his arm upon his lap. "I needed to... get away from my... room mate."

"Why?"

His milky white eyes gazed at you with curiosity. His hand slightly clutching onto his leg, as a strange and unfamiliar feeling curled within his chest.

"Why?... Well... We had an argument."

"About what? Must of been pretty bad for you to leave."

"It was nothing. Just an disagreement, which turned into an argument. Which resulted in me leaving. Thus here I am! With new people! Having the time of my life!.-"

"Venom... living with people can be hard sometimes. but you can't just leave whenever someone upsets you, or disagrees with you.-"

His attention snapped back at you,

"Eddie started it! He accused me of 'ruining' things, 'complaining' all the time! Even went as far as, claiming everything was better till I came along!"

His strong fist slammed on the table, the vibrations rippling through the wood. And into the fabric of the seating, "Little did he forget! It was I who made Eddie so great! Therefore he would continued to be useless without me!-"

"Did you?" Your calm and collected tone caught the symboite off guard. "Did you make everything worse?."

Venom's mouth opened but no sound followed. Just sat there in silence, as a frown formed across his face. Then after a hesitation, his expression relaxed, as he looked away in thought. The strange feeling within his chest begun to build.

What... is my heart doing? It's achy and strange. He thought.

A slight sigh left him, as Venom reflected upon his behaviour earlier.

"I... apologize. To you and Eddie... I was rude, on both accounts."

His eyes closed, while he went back to rubbing his temples.

"Eddie and I often do try to- what's the expression? See eye to eye?... Earlier today, I accidently interfered with his work. Well... more like got into a fight with someone at his work. But I apologized! I understand Eddie was angry, but he wouldn't let me explain! He just rambled on how I ruined things! And his life!-."

"Explain to me then."

Again your gentle tone stopped him mid-speech. Venom sensed your sympathy, and the feeling of someone being concerned for him... well, it felt good. Not that Eddie never showed such emotion towards him, but it was rare to feel it from another person. Even from those who knew about Venom and Eddie, the symboite always knew they sympathized with his host more.

"Explain to me."

Venom continued to stare into space, "I know Eddie, just as well as I know myself. We've... seen the best and worse of each other. We don't always agree with things, but we try..."

What is this feeling? Why am I... being emotional?

You reached out for Venom's relaxed fist, sensing that he was choosing his next words carefully.

"He was... interviewing a prisoner. Seeing if he could snap up any last words for himself, or for his victims. But instead..."

A low growl rumbled within his throat, as he gently gave your hand a little squeeze. "Instead the bustard said, how much of a 'cancer' Eddie is to people who's known and loved him."

His grip around your fingers curled tighter. "And not shutting up, about Eddie and his ex-fiancé! And speaking shit about Eddie's father not loving him just because his wife died!-"

"Ow Venom!-"

"Eddie's mother died giving birth to my friend! That pathetic scumbag of a human, had no right speaking in such filth! How dare he speak to Eddie, as if he murdered his mother!-"

"Venom!-" looking down at his hand strongly grasping at yours, Venom quickly pulled away, after seeing the watery tears within your eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry, Y/N! I didn't mean to! I-"

"You have quite the grip" You attempted to smile through the pain, as you opened and closed your hand for a quick minute. "I'm alright."

After a moment, you looked back up at Venom. Seeing the hurt behind his milky eyes.

"What that prisoner said was beyond awful. He had no right speaking about Eddie that way."

Venom relaxed once he was satisfied you wasn't scared, "indeed... that's exactly how I felt. And I got... into a fight with the scumbag."

"I suppose after that, Eddie was beyond annoyed."

"Either with me, or with the inmate. I honestly couldn't tell... By the time we got home. A disagreement erupted. Hurtful words were exchanged, and that just spun into a whole ass argument. And us fist fighting each other."

You reached out for his hand again, "sounds like you and Eddie need some time to cool off, and try talking to each other later.-"

"I suppose. But it's hard to decide where to go-"

"Why don't you stay at mine?"

Bewilderment just washed completely over the symbiote's face. You blushed a little more. "Well, just for tonight I mean..."

"B-But! But!-"

"Relax. Besides after tonight, you'll gain a new friend."

Your smile made Venom's heart flutter, as you slowly lead him out of the booth. He could only muster a mumbled, "ok." Before stumbling out of the club. Reaching the mouth of the ally, Venom placed his back against the wall and slid down.

"Venom?"

"I-I'm fine" he tried to assure you, through a weak smile. "I-I just need a minute."

Venom could feel the temporary host's body slowly start to reject him. Just like all the others he's been hoping to and from. Feeling your gentle touch upon the side of his face. Although he had to focus on each breath, he didn't want to take his sight off you.

"You're... so sweet."

"Take this costume off-."

"No!... No. I just need a minute. I'm just tired, that's all."

Thoughts begun to roll around in his head. Eddie always spoke of how the world was an 'unfair' and 'cruel' place. How if the world knew about Venom, it wouldn't end well. Yet here he was. Surrounded by people who treated him well and greeted with smiles, and you. You trying to nurse him back to health, as a concerned expression softened your face.

His heart fluttered again, as you fussed over him. All he wanted was one night of freedom. Where people didn't see him as a monster, a parasite. Just to try and fit into this world. And to end this amazing night with you.

All... I need is a new body. Just another one for a moment longer. He thought, but how? How can I go to another without freaking her out?.

"Is there anything I can do?"

His head perked up a little. Weakly smiling. "Yes... Yes there is one thing-"

"What?-"

"Can I have some water? I'm a bit thirsty."

"Of course! I'll be right back! Stay here!" you promised. Leaving a gentle kiss upon his cheek, before heading back into the club.

He waited till you were out of sight, before slouching against the wall even more. Placing a hand to his cheek where your cheery red lipstick marked with a kiss. Strange and unusual thoughts begun to swirl in Venom's head even more.

I want to know what she tastes like. How it feels to have her body close to mine.

It was always Eddie getting the women. And even when they were somewhat aware of Venom, their mood towards the purposed relationship quickly ended. Venom liked the idea of someone being attracted to him. Determined to not end his first night of freedom in this way, Venom looked around.

People pasted him, walking in and out of the club. Some simply just gave him a side glance and hurried away.

I just... need a new one. Only for a while longer, that's all. Just... a little longer-.

"Hey buddy, you ok?"

Rubbing his eyes a little, so he could refocus. Venom looked up slightly, seeing a guy tall and slim frame kneel towards him. The stranger smiled.

"Haha, had a little too much to drink, mate?"

"Haha, yeah... you could say that." Venom attempted to weakly smile.

"Can I give you a hand? I'm happy to help you get a taxi home, or wait till any friends of yours arrive."

"Thank you, but no need to trouble yourself. May I take your hand though?"

"Of course buddy. I'll help you up..."

Exiting from the club, in a little hurry, carrying a bottle of water with you. Making your way through the crowd that started to line up at the door. Approaching the spot where you left Venom, but only to find a guy leaning against the wall, vomiting his guts up. Mumbling in a confused daze.

"Venom?-"

"I'm here."

Emerging from a small corner on the other side of the ally, Venom's voice caught your attention as he slowly walked towards you. Raising an eyebrow, "you seem to be feeling better..."

The symbiote smiled as he held out a hand towards you, "yes. I apologize earlier. Something I eat didn't sit right."

You wasn't quite sure what to believe, looking over your shoulder to the guy behind you and back to Venom.

But... you were right here... You assured in thought.

Venom brushed a strain of hair out of your face, as he snapped you out of your thoughts. Gently taking the water from you and having a couple of sips from the bottle.

"Thank you, for helping me out"

"You're...welcome. I'm glad you're feeling better."

Venom nervously laughed a little. "Let's not allow this to ruin our night. I'll walk you home."

You returned his smile. "I'd like that."

#reader x venom #venom #x fem reader #fanfic #gardens light #marvel fanfiction #x reader #mcu fanfiction #venom symbiote #venom movie #venom x reader #venom x you #venom x y/n

[sugxrslushy]

Hi hi hi congrats on your follower milestone!! May I please request Smoker, or if you're not down with that, maybe Katakuri or Kidd with a bouquet of marigolds and morning glories? Thank you so much!! 💖💖💖

🌸 a/n: me: "I'm scared of writing Smoker because I don't think I do a good job." also me: *writes this whole thing* but haha thank you for the congrats, I hope I did this ask justice. it was lots of fun to write and I threw in my favorite cliche of "one person two beds" because it felt right! enjoy <3

🌸 bouquet: marigolds (cuddling each other) + morning glories ("you make me happy")

🌸 details: SFW//Smoker x gn!reader//w.c: 1.2k

You hated it on this damn island, the icy chill of every gust of wind chilled you down the bone. No matter how many layers you threw on it seemed like the cold air would wind through any little space in your jacket, sending chills down your spine. You clutched at the cuffs of your fluffy jacket to try to seal out any coldness.

You’d been sent there under suspicious activity from some pirates passing through the island and you were stuck trying to keep up with Smoker in the investigation. But on the snow fallen island the heavy snow caught onto your trudging boots and the freezing atmosphere burned against your skin. Smoker continued on, seemingly unbothered as if this was his element.

One final stumble almost sent you sprawling to the ground if it wasn’t for the curl of smoke snaking around your waist to keep your face from meeting your snowy demise. You laugh sheepishly, almost embarrassed to meet the vice admiral's face with your blatant clumsiness on show. You were a marine yet at the moment you seemed everything but that. 

Instead of the lashing words that your fellow navy members would have been met with, genuine concern spills from Smoker’s mouth. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” He asks gruffly, holding your cold hand and helping you steady yourself in the soft snow underneath.

You plant your feet in the large tracks left in the snow from the man, waving away clouds of smoke that seemed to worriedly hold you still. You try to grin in the face of your embarrassment, wanting to shake his hand from yours because it was making your heart beat unfairly fast but his stern grip is unwavering. “I’m all good, a bit of snow shouldn’t be anything that keeps me back.” A shiver runs down your spine and you curse yourself silently, even more when his grip on your hand only tightens.

He slides off a single glove to take your hand in his, chewing on the end of his cigar as your icy touch meets his warm one. He ponders a quiet thought for a moment, calculating quick expenses in his head before speaking up once again. “We can stop by somewhere so you can warm up, it’d be no good if you accidentally got frostbite.” You barely catch the subtle emphasis on you, almost as if it was a soft confession that he only cared about you.

Yet you refused to let it get to your head, insisting to yourself that the island’s atmosphere was messing up your train of thought. There was nothing good to come if you thought too much about it but your body betrays you with a warm blush on your cheeks. Hiding your face in the fluffy hood of your jacket, you quietly follow the man through the soft snow, avoiding small talk as if you can’t trust your tongue to not trip up.

You end up at a small inn, hidden among the snow capped hills. It’s quiet, occupied mostly by travelers like yourself but you're mostly convinced the silence is from a vice admiral being present. Smoker books a room for you both to share and you once again follow him up the stairs to it, your nerves pumping anxiety through your body at the prospect of sharing a room with him.

And as the door opens with a loud creek, you learn a room wasn’t the only thing you’d be sharing. 

“We were supposed to have two beds.” Smoker breathes, almost equally as shocked.

You breathe out a laugh, a tiny wisp of cloud air floating in front of your face. “And they told us there’d be heat.”

“You can’t win everything.” 

“What a shock to hear you saying that.” You grin at him as you flop down onto the bed, shockingly warmer in comparison to the rest of the room. Curling into the piles of blankets left you can finally find at least some warmth, screwing your eyes shut and bathing in the feeling you’d missed dearly. It felt like the shining sun on a cold day.

The silence that follows is odd, as if something was standing above you and you can’t keep your eyes closed. You blink up at Smoker awkwardly standing around, watching the fluttering snowflakes outside the window with no real interest. More like he was avoiding looking at you like it was some sort of sin. Despite the comfort of the room surrounding you both he was tense.

Sitting up, you catch him peering through the corner of his eye. “Just because there’s one bed doesn't mean we can’t share enough room for two. You’ve gotta be at least a bit cold too.” You pat the spot next to you and he hesitates, head buzzing with excuses and reasoning something something vice admirals shouldn’t do that but he caves.

Climbing into the bed beside you, his body beside you a welcome warmth that you took to quickly. His movements were stiff, a bit of worry still residing deep in his bones all it takes is a single shiver from the cool air rushing in for it all to dissolve away. He shrugs off the fluffy jacket he wore and tosses it over you, covering your body in the soft warmth it carried. You bury your fingers in the fabric, curling closer to both it and his side that he accepts shockingly fast.

His jacket has the thick scent of his cigars in it that soothes your nerves, filled with familiarity of the man whose footsteps you’d fallen in line with for years. Your admiration was as clear as the glass window pane by the bed, it didn’t take a genius to notice it but with how you craved his touch so much in this moment it cleared away any fog left on the glass.

Cuddling up against his side you can feel the warm bliss flooding your body. His tenseness seems to melt away and he leans into your touch, a cautious arm snaking around you to pull you just a bit closer. He’s comfortable, more comfortable than you would’ve expected, the muscle acting almost like a soft little pillow on your cheek. Your heart beats just a bit faster in your chest with how close you are, comfortably laying in his arms. 

You shatter the fragile silence with your soft words. “Why didn’t we keep going, I think I can handle a bit of cold?” You laugh softly, the question has been following you like the swirling cold.

“Because you would complain the whole time.”

“Not like anyone else would do that, you normally don’t care when we complain. What’s the difference with me?” You quip, prodding at him gently for more.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, a replacement for the cigar normally between his lips. “You… make me happy, it’d just be worse to hear you in pain. Your hands were really cold after all.” You can tell he wants to backtrack, to take his words back from the embarrassment of saying something like this to you. 

As chill as the air outside the window, you just shrug and rest your head against his bicep. “Thank you for caring about me.” You trace his fair skin with feather light touches. "I... care about you too."

A response resides in his throat but he swallows it, only cupping your hand with his larger one. The corners of you lips turn upwards and you bury your face closer, the thick smell of smoke invading your sense. Something you once hated, you could get used to it as long as it kept the vicious chill away and made your heart feel this light.

tag list: @missbeckman @portgaes @thegrandlinesimp @dxvilmanlev

#one piece #one piece x reader #smoker one piece #smoker x reader #white chase smoker #smoker x you #one piece fic #fluff #bouquet of love event

[lavful]

Ninjago Rarepair Week, Day 4 - Roleswap for Raincloud!

aka my excuse to write mermaid Vania. I'm a day behind but that's okay! Edit: I posted it an ao3

Summary: Benthomaar finds an unconscious mermaid and helps her return to the ocean.

Excerpt:

Right after dawnbreak, Benthomaar jogged down to the beach. It was an interesting place after the storm; he was fascinated to see what washed up on shore afterwards: driftwood, crab traps, new shells, even different sea life. 

Bentho weaved through debris to arrive at the tidepools. He stepped carefully on the rough rocks with his sandals and peaked into holes to see what he could find. A shy octopus jolted away under a rock when it noticed him. Colorful nudibranchs crawled along strings of kelp. Tiny crabs skittered along at the bottom of a deep pool. 

He kept adventuring until he came to the little hidden cove. Not many beach visitors walked this far out, you had to be very steady on your feet and knowledgeable of the tide. So Bentho was surprised to see a human-shaped figure lying on the sand, seemingly unconscious. Perhaps they’d fallen off a ship and washed ashore. Worried for them, he moved closer and strange details became apparent. The person had their back turned to him but he could see they had long, golden hair and wore shimmery pants, or actually…that looked more like a tail. Benthomaar couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked repeatedly in the bright morning light. There was no way there was a mermaid in front of him. Regardless, she seemed to need help. 

“Excuse me?” he said. No response. 

He edged closer and touched her shoulder. “Excuse me, are you alright?” 

The mermaid jolted awake and turned, letting out a short scream when she saw him. She dragged herself a couple feet away and Bentho stepped back to show he meant no harm, holding his hands in front of him. “It’s okay! I’m not gonna hurt you. You just looked like you needed help.” 

The mermaids’ chest heaved with breaths as she studied Benthomaar. On land, she couldn’t get far so she froze instead. She had very pale skin and big black eyes. There was a red mark on her forehead, it looked like a bruise. After a bit, her expression quirked with recognition. “It’s you!” 

“Huh?” Bentho questioned. 

#ninjago rarepair week23 #raincloudshipping #ninjago vania #princess vania #ninjago benthomaar #prince benthomaar #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago #lego ninjago

[jaerie]

Everything slowly grew quiet and Louis was lulled into a light sleep until a loud snore startled him.  He hadn’t noticed the irishman climbing up next to him and now he was very deeply asleep.  It wasn’t any different than the loud sleepers in the rooms at the boarding house.  The walls were so thin that they might as well have been sharing beds.  

He turned over to attempt to fall back asleep when movement caught his eye.  The decorations on the wagon were raised so they were mostly hidden from the ground and he had to lift his head to take a look.  

Like an apparition, Louis saw the eerie  light of a lantern illuminating the large body of an elephant walking towards him.  He gasped silently as it came closer and then relaxed when it stopped in the middle of the semi-circle as if on command.  A moment later, the lamp came around from its side and he could see the shadow of someone resting it carefullydown in the grass.  It was still dark, but the nearly full moon was enough for his eyes to adjust to some detail.  

The figure wore a long, loose-fitting coat that he shrugged off and gently folded near the lantern.  It was easy to see then that it was Harry.  He wore another knit bodysuit that was the palest pink.  It only came to just below the knees, his usual stockings absent.  His feet and calves were bare and his long hair was free and loose about his shoulders.  It curled and bounced as he moved and Louis was mesmerized by it.  He’d never seen a man with such beautiful hair before.  Unlike the long hair he’d seen on hobos, it wasn’t ratty or unkempt.  It was as beautiful as any woman’s.  

Worn pinned up during the day, Louis’ thoughts hadn’t wandered to just how long his hair might be.  

“Good evening, Miss Cecilia,” Harry said as she patted the elephant gently on the trunk and then stroked his hand down as she responded.  He said something Louis didn’t understand and she lowered her trunk to allow him to step up onto it.  

Like a re-lived memory, Louis saw the tall man shrink down to a small boy in a scene that he had witnessed once before. He threw one leg over to sit atop her head, patting her gently as he spoke with her.  Louis was caught up in a moment he hadn’t thought about in ages.  

“You’re not supposed to be up there!” 

“Yes I am!” 

“Get down from there!” 

“She’s my bull.  I can stand on her if I please.”  

“She’s not yours.”

Never had it crossed Louis’ mind that the little circus boy who made him dream had grown up the same as him.  The familiarity he’d felt was something he couldn’t place and now it made sense.  Cecilia was a memorable name for an elephant.  He should have recognized it sooner when Niall had listed them off by name.  

Harry’s legs were long and draped over the sides of Cecilia’s head now.  He didn’t look tiny now where he sat.  He watched the soft conversation Harry had with her before he carefully stood on her shoulders and went through the motions of a routine.  It was even more impressive now that it was a full grown man balancing atop an elephant’s head instead of the child Louis saw doing it first.  

His body moved in ways that seemed impossible.  Balancing on his hands, he spread his legs into the splits in a slow and controlled motion.  He bent backwards in a curve so elegantly that he couldn’t look away.  Up close in the moonlight was so different from the same tricks in the ring where one’s focus was always on many things at once.  Louis had never appreciated the beauty of movement the way he could now.  

Harry wasn’t kidding when he said he could perform all of the acts.  This routine with Cecilia wasn’t one that was part of the show and yet Harry executed every part of it flawlessly.  Though it was billed as the headlining act, trapeze wasn’t the only thing Harry did in the main ring.  Louis had also caught a glimpse of the tumbling he did with the strong man.  It made him wonder what else he could do.  

For an hour Louis was audience to Harry’s practice, watching his body bend and defy gravity.  Although he wasn’t completely hidden, Harry never noticed that he was there.  When he was done, he just led Cecilia back to her spot and collected his jacket and lantern.  He looked soft in the gentle light, the coat somehow not fitting on his thin body.  It was too formal for a curly haired man who wore lace stockings.  

#circus fic

[telomeke-bbs]

BAD BUDDY EPISODE 10 – JOKE’S ASIDE, AND PRAN STEPS BOLDLY FORWARD

Pat’s public confession scene (Ep.10 [1I4] 9:47) hides meanings in many different layers, and with so much subtext touching on a diversity of ideas (more explanation here), I wasn’t expecting to find any more hidden messaging. But there is a tiny bit more. 😊 Hiding in plain sight are some small but significant details that elaborate on the story of Pran’s growth and how he finally breaks out of his shell to live his emotional life out in the open…

Although it’s Pat doing most of the shouting, this scene (a wedding of sorts, explained in the link above) is important because it is the first time Pran boldly acknowledges their couplehood out loud in public, without any hesitation and perhaps even with a note of pride. His previous diffidence had less to do with the fact that theirs is a gay relationship (for Bad Buddy is set in a world without homophobia) and more to do with Pran’s almost pathological instinct for always wanting to keep his emotions battened down and out of sight.

But even as we watch the very public display of Pran stepping assertively into the limelight at Ep.10 [1I4] 12.17, coursing beneath the surface are undercurrents of subtext that link this scene with two others, one at the end of Ep.1 and the other at the start of Ep.5. When read together, they reveal details that help to explain the meaning behind Pat’s public password reveal and the role of Pran’s fifth-year peer mentor, Joke (whose appearance here is more than just a random clownish cameo 😉).

The Ep.1 [4/4] scene beginning at timestamp 7.04, with Pat and Pran wrangling on how best to be admitted into each other’s mobile phones, shows us that their devices are also a metaphor for their hearts and minds (explained here).

And when Pat asks for Pran’s password at Ep.5 [1I4] 5.22 (which is also a metaphor for intra-couple consent) the digital echoes of Ep.1 [4/4] tell us that Pran’s computer is another symbol for his inner world – the protection that Pran’s passwords provide for his computer also mirrors how Pran resorts to all sorts of defenses to protect his heart and his feelings from dangers outside.

One motif that we see in Bad Buddy up until Ep.10 is how Pran had always lived his life under the protection of some sort of gatekeeper or guardian. His mom was the very first, shielding Pran from the threat of Ming and his family (see Ep.1 [1I4] 14.22, Ep.2 [4/4] 7.23 and Ep.6 [1I4] 8.24 for some examples). But outside the family home and away from Dissaya’s protective influence, Pran relied on other defensive measures instead. At his student apartment, the giant smiley on the door (e.g., Ep.4 [3I4] 5.41) fulfilled much the same function, providing psychological comfort in the guise of a benevolent door-guarding talisman (explained here with a reference to one of Director Backaof’s earlier dramas).

Part of me also wonders if Pran depended on Wai as a protector of sorts when he was sent away to boarding school, since Wai’s bellicose nature also parallels Dissaya’s (and we know Dissaya adores Wai from Ep.5 [2/4] 13.37, suggesting a kindred connection in spirit between these two hot-heads of different generations). This would explain Pran’s unwavering loyalty to Wai in the present day (e.g., demonstrated at Ep.1 [1I4] 2.34, Ep.9 [1I4] 7.20 and Ep.9 [2/4] 6.08), even though he’s admittedly difficult to like or love.

And so, knowing that the metaphor for Pran’s inner world (his computer) was also protected by guardians (his passwords), we need to take a closer look to see who else was watching over Pran’s heart... 😉

When Pran tells Pat that his password is “Pransocool” at Ep.5 [1I4] 5.24, it looks at first like code spun from his user ID “Pranrakul” that we see on the screen, itself a moniker derived from his actual name “Pran Parakul”. But this is also where the subtitles lead us astray (for the second time in this scene – the other instance is at Ep.5 [1I4] 4.40, with significance for Ep.6, and explained here). Pat’s question regarding the password is translated as “Are you a fan of So Cool band?”, a bit of transformative license that is a step away from the actual Thai. For if you listen carefully to Pat’s question, what he actually says in place of “So Cool” is “Brajao Joke” – and he then proceeds to address Pran as “Brajao Pran” at Ep.5 [1I4] 5.54, chortling gleefully at this newly-bestowed title.

The band reference is relevant, in that Brajao Joke (บร๊ะเจ้าโจ๊ก) was the vocalist and leader of the popular Thai rock band So Cool from the mid-noughties. (So Cool's song Farewell Party is also referenced directly at Ep.12 [4/4] 14.20 during PatPran's drinking game on Pat’s apartment terrace.)

(above) A still from the music video (a touching mini-movie, really) for So Cool's song สิ่งมีชีวิตที่คิดได้และเจ็บเป็น, dating from their last album and showing the band in a later incarnation

Brajao Joke’s real name is Joke Kornpop Chancharoen (โจ๊ก กรภพ จันทร์เจริญ) and as his nickname of “Joke” suggests, his image is one of a lovable, unfiltered, rule-breaking rascal – like one of the boys from MTV’s Jackass perhaps, that granddaddy of all don’t-try-this-at-home pranksterhood reality shows (So Cool also dates from roughly the same era 😉).

The “Brajao” part of Brajao Joke’s name (“บร๊ะเจ้า”) is also interesting – it’s a made-up honorific coined by Joke Kornpop’s devoted fans that is surprisingly rich in semantic sleight. They took the word “พระเจ้า” (pronounced more like “Phrajao”, different from the “บร๊ะเจ้า” in Brajao Joke) that online dictionaries tell me means “God” (and is sometimes also used for royalty) and replaced the first bit with “บร๊ะ”, which is the Thai rendition of “Bro” or “Bruh”. The second bit “เจ้า” (“jao”, retained in the neologism) has many meanings related to venerated high station, including “prince; princess; ruler; esteemed person; lord; master; holy being” and “one who is very skilled or well-versed (in)” – see http://www.thai-language.com/id/133083 for more details. So the honorific “Brajao” carries some sense of “Bro with God-like status”, and “Brajao Joke” (“บร๊ะเจ้าโจ๊ก”) is variously translated as “Joke the God” or “The Jokester God”.

After the disbandment of So Cool, Brajao Joke stayed on in the public eye as a popular YouTuber and a proud dad, and also acts in dramas. He still maintains his image of the loud clown given to bouts of (harmless, if potent) jackassery (always looking a little under the influence, when he’s really – probably – just high on life).

(top left) Brajao Joke from the early 2000s; (top right) Brajao Joke in April 2022 on his Facebook; (second row from top) one of Brajao Joke's signature pranks – closing his eyes to reveal some message or mantra on his eyelids; (second row from bottom) a still from Brajao Joke's cameo in the 2011 Thai movie “SuckSeed” – the words on his eyelids are a rude insult directed at the protagonists; (bottom) Brajao Joke goofing off in July 2021 on his Facebook

Google translates “บร๊ะเจ้า” (“Brajao”) as “Oh my god” and the suggestion of exclamatory horror is not wildly inappropriate given Brajao Joke’s hijinks when seen against the expected decorum of strait-laced Thai society. In Thailand, where the culture dictates different levels of formality in different social situations (and the Land of Smiles is mostly polite society) Brajao Joke stands out because he projects his irreverent, rough-hewn, authentic self all the time.

Brajao Joke is also known as “Joke So Cool” (see his MyDramaList page), and this explains why “Pransocool” makes Pat chuckle with such relish at Ep.5 [1I4] 5.44 and 5.54 – in Ep.1 [4/4] Pran had made fun of his chat ID “PatInwza55+” that contained a reference to Pat being god-like, and which is also seen as childish word-play (more information in the Ep.1 [4/4] mobile phone scene analysis mentioned above). In Ep.5 [1I4] Pran’s been caught out with a jokey god-like self-reference in his own computer password, and his embarrassment is obvious. Pat calling him “Brajao Pran” is also funny because the OTT image of Brajao Joke/Joke So Cool is quite the polar opposite of prim and proper Pran, who tries hard all the time not to breach social codes.

From the password referencing Joke So Cool that protects Pran’s computer, we know that in the non-virtual world the protector of Pran’s heart would have to be some version of avatar Brajao Joke’s real-life counterpart – and this is where the other individual in Pran’s life named Joke (his loud, brash, transgressively-tipsy and larger-than-life peer mentor) comes into play.

Although the scene beginning Ep.10 [1I4] 9.57 is the only time that we actually witness senior Joke looking out for Pran, we can infer from Ink’s watchful, protective peer mentoring while Pa navigated the uncertainties of freshman year (even discounting any romantic intentions in the mix, e.g., at Ep.7 [1I4] 8.15 and Ep.7 [2/4] 0.52) that Pran would have been safely under Joke’s wing during his time as a newbie too. And from the robust, intrusive interrogation that Pat is subjected to, we can see that Joke continues to take his role as protector of Pran’s heart very seriously, so much so that he’s still a fearsome, volatile Papa Bear standing guard in front of his little cub here, despite the fact that Pran’s no longer a first-year.

The picture that emerges from this is more than just a little poignant, and my heart goes out a tiny bit to our sensitive Pran. We are being told how much he needed to bolster his psychological defenses with the protection of some (purportedly) higher being, everywhere and all the time. At home Pran looked to Dissaya as his protector; at boarding school Wai (probably) played that role; in his student apartment (his home away from home) he had his door guardian smiley; and at SouthTechnology University (or at least at the Architecture Faculty) Pran had Joke, his mentor from three years ahead, as a belligerent watchdog standing sentinel. And just as his computer password referenced a protective brother (the “บร๊ะ” part of “Brajao”), his chat ID “por.pran” revealed at Ep.1 [1I4] 7.55 makes me think that Pran may also have been invoking the protection of his dad for his mobile phone, since the Thai word for “father” (“พ่อ”) is pronounced something like “por” but with the r silent – Pran also references the need for Pat to obtain his dad’s permission at Ep.7 [1I4] 2.31, which in turn echoes mentor Joke’s goading of Pat at Ep.10 [1I4] 10.39. (I would also argue that for most other places Pran’s hobo bag, with its double P graphic that stood for Pat+Pran quietly broadcasting his love for Pat even while it masqueraded as a single P for Pran, also served as his emotional crutch – a grown-up security blanket – to help shield him psychologically from the world.)

So no wonder protector Joke aggressively tells outsider Pat at Ep.10 [1I4] 10.39 “I don’t remember you asking my permission to love my dear brother.” And although Pat asks for this permission at Ep.10 [1I4] 10.46, significantly we don’t (ever) see Joke actually granting it. Instead, he challenges Pat to prove he really knows Pran, which Pat does by divulging his personal information. This, of course, leads to the password reveal at Ep.10 [1I4] 11.35, and Pat’s disclosure that “Pransocool” has changed to “Praninlove” marks a key shift – for Joke then appears to accept that Pat’s love exists, and challenges him to shout it out. And just as Brajao Joke (referenced by “Pransocool”) has been replaced as protector of Pran’s computer by “Praninlove”, we see that Pat’s love has replaced Pran’s reliance on outside guardians in real life, as Pran steps boldly forward while peer mentor Joke simultaneously moves off to the side and out of view (at Ep.10 [1I4] 12.20).

From this point onward it’s Pran confidently taking control of the situation. Instead of relying on Joke to steer the proceedings of his own wedding – and no longer needing him (or anyone else) to grant permission with regard to matters of his own heart – Pran is now the one issuing khan maak challenges to Pat, advancing down the stairs to meet him halfway, where he speaks for himself (accepting Pat’s proposal by saying “It’s a yes”) before they formalize their union with a fist bump. 😊💖

Thus it all comes together on the steps of the Architecture Faculty – as “Praninlove” has replaced “Pransocool”, Brajao Joke (the pseudo-deity whose title is a corruption of the godly “พระเจ้า” or “Phrajao”) is retired from guard duty even as mentor Joke steps aside. And Pran (giving up his reliance on false gods and other guardians) strides forward as pilot and protector of his own heart, having finally unearthed the courage to be honest about his feelings, after finding his ultimate emotional refuge in the safe harbor and forever home of Pat’s love instead. 💖💖💖

#bad buddy analysis #bad buddy joke #patpran #telomeke #bad buddy wedding #bad buddy episode 10

[hannmadi]

The Burnt City, July 2022

Stepping onto the set of Punchdrunk’s The Burnt City feels like being simultaneously catapulted into a futuristic neon utopia and plunged back into the sprawling cities of ancient Greece. Spread out across two former arsenal buildings in Woolwich, the space is unlike any theatre set imaginable. You’ll have to take my word on this one as prior to entering the set itself all phones are secured inside crossbody bags worn throughout the show. Thus, I have no footage of the mammoth 3-hour production but I will do my best to describe the experience.

(I must preface this by admitting that performance art in general is something I am relatively new to. In fact, I have been guilty in the past of assuming it to be the kind of art which is only accessed in a gallery space, the sort of art which has people gathering in groups and muttering in confusion. Within contemporary art, the vast sub-genre that is performance art undeniably harbours a stigma stemming from the anger of misunderstanding the concepts and themes explored, something which I myself have fallen prey to at times.)

The first piece that actually allowed me to connect with performance art, to feel as though I understood it, was Marina Abramović’s piece Rhythm 0. Unfortunately, I wasn’t around in 1974 to witness the 6-hour work unfold, though reading about it on the internet many years later still produced a startling effect. Rhythm 0 masterfully explored an idea central to performance art – what role should the audience play in its creation? By allowing visitors to choose from 72 objects (including chains, flowers, needles, and a gun) and use them in any way they wished, Abramović produced a work reminiscent of Zimbardo’s Stanford prison experiment. Audience members began by offering her flowers and gentle touches, but as time wore on and the performance entered its 4th hour the thrill of anonymity and lack of accountability meant that people became violent. Ultimately the piece ended with a loaded gun pressed against Abramović’s temple and a fight between those who could still had a sense of morality and those who were consumed by violent desires.

Audience participation and anonymity have also found their place at the heart of Punchdrunk’s practice. At each of their performances, audience members are required to wear a mask resembling a cross between a plague doctor’s and that worn by The Phantom in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera. Whilst daunting and ngl kind of creepy at first, once you get past the discomfort (we had to wear masks as well because this was soon after lockdown had eased) it was fun to step outside of yourself. Throughout the production, talking is banned and you are encouraged to wander off on your own, though admittedly I was too afraid to do that so clung to my boyfriend the whole time. One-to-ones occur between actors and audience, though this is not a guarantee. We saw a man get pulled into a cupboard at one point and he didn't emerge for the few minutes we stuck around.

I can't even begin to describe how visually rich the set was, everywhere you looked there were tiny clues linking it to ancient Greece. Whilst I definitely missed loads of said clues at the time, I could still appreciate the talent and dedication that went into designing the set. Every last detail was meticulously thought out, from the tiny drawings and stamps hidden away inside drawers to the beautifully choreographed finale, the whole show was jaw-dropping. The story itself only lasted one hour though it played out on a loop three times to ensure you could catch the main parts. That might sound easy but you can't imagine how big the set was, running around and following certain characters could easily take the full three hours. I'm considering going back to try and see what I missed the first time around. In fact, many people do.

Honestly, I can't praise it enough, the experience was unlike anything else. No performance art piece could compare. I don't think all of my senses have ever been so engaged at once. And with so much to explore and see, there is absolutely something there for everyone. You can spend the whole time discovering the set, or following characters, getting lost in Punchdrunk's world, and no matter what you see I bet it will be life-changing.

#art #art history #contemporary art #performance art #punchdrunk theatre #immersive theatre #the burnt city

[leyswhumpdump]

Hidden Ink #10: Off Map

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Hunter caretaker, maps.

The cabin felt far too dark after the brightness of the day outside. Mika had to use the hurricane-lamp to search the recesses of the cupboard. Ari, exhausted from his little adventure in the tree, slumped at the table and laid his head on his arms. He only looked up when Mika set the box down.

“Here.” Mika kept the lamp to hand; dark spots from the sun still bloomed in his vision. He pressed the latches on the box and lifted out the sheaf of papers that had been inside. “I don’t know if these are any use to you, but… They’re quite old, by the way. Be careful with them.”

Some of the maps predated his father’s birth. Age had made them fragile, and the at-times damp nature of the cabin had not done them any favours. One of the larger maps had been folded and refolded so many times that he thought it might fall apart along the creases. The musty smell hit his nostrils as he spread it on the table.

Ari’s eyes widened. “Karto,” he breathed.

“Maps, yeah.” Mika squinted, trying to make out any finer details. He could see the forest, marked out in unforestlike orange ink, and the contour lines of some of the hills. The lake where he sometimes hunted formed a puddle to the east, half-hidden by the ripples of the crease. No wonder he’d had to discover it through exploration—although in truth, the intimacy of knowing the land for himself had largely rendered the maps pointless to him. “You came from the north, right?”

Ari was already one step ahead. He traced a wobbly line through the forest, up towards the centre of the map. A frown settled over his features when he hit the edge of the trees. He pushed the map away and retrieved another from underneath; a larger-scale one that showed landforms Mika had only ever heard about. “That bit there is sea. Like a lake, but far bigger. Uh, and there’s what my dad said was called a mountain range—”

Ari held up a hand. It took Mika a few more fumbled-out words to realise he was asking for silence. “Oh. Sorry.”

Ari’s finger tapped the mountain range, but uncertainly. His frown deepened. His other hand met the mountains, moved south, paused. His eyes flicked between the two maps he’d used, as if trying to find something in common.

“The cabin’s here on this map,” Mika said, and showed him on the smaller-scale map of the forest. “And then, I guess if the forest ends here…”

Ari made a little noise of understanding. He moved his finger to the northern side of the forest, which this map showed as a featureless spread of green. Still the furrow did not leave his eyebrows. Mika leaned against the table, trying to show interest without making himself seem too nosy.

“You okay, Ari?”

Ari shook his head once, still staring intently at the map.

“Where… where you…” Mika pointed at him, trying not to feel like they were caught in another stupid game of charades. “From? Mika… from… here.” He indicated the cabin on the map.

Ari’s frown disappeared in a laugh. “Katakast. Uh, here?” He tapped the mountain range again.

“My father never mentioned Katakast. Actually, he never really mentioned anywhere. Not that I remember.” There was nothing on the map to indicate any form of settlement where Ari was pointing. A few tiny words did appear to mark other things, south of the mountains but north of the tree line. Mika did not even bother straining his faltering eyes on the blurry lettering. Ari wouldn’t know how to read it, and Mika physically couldn’t. The maps might have been more useful in better, more capable hands. “Where were you going?”

“Go… going?” Ari queried. Mika sighed and walked his fingers along the map. “Ah. Um. Dakrii?”

“Where is Dakrii?”

He could have sworn Ari blushed at that. He moved his hand off the mountain range, stabbed each of the blurry labels in turn, and followed it up with a shrug. “So you don’t really know where it is. I can tell you this, though.” Mika looked at the sea of forest, at the cabin still indicated by Ari’s finger. “You got yourself very lost.”

“Going… Dakrii.” Ari sat back in his chair, his face strained. He bit hard on his lip, mumbling something to himself.

“Okay. Well, I’ll leave these out for now.” Mika thought for a moment. “Did you end up picking any berries?”

“Berries. Berries. Oh, mourasta. No.”

“Let’s do that, then? Or you can help me chop firewood. But no going up trees this time. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

“Berries.” Ari nodded, still chewing his lip, as he followed Mika outside.

They kept themselves busy for the rest of the day. Mika managed to get most of the firewood cut, and Ari returned from his foraging with a full basket of berries. He declined to taste them when Mika made the offer.

“We might be able to ferment these. My dad used to make alcohol out of them.”

The sun had stuck their clothes to their skin. Mika fetched water so they could clean themselves up a little. He chuckled at the sight of the bits of tree that Ari had acquired from earlier. “You have leaves in your hair again.”

“Oh.” Ari watched as Mika retrieved them. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You got a bit scratched up as well.” Mika didn’t press that matter. It was still an uphill battle to get Ari to let him look at his injured leg.

By the time they returned to the cabin, the last rays of sun were disappearing and the night was setting in. Mika bypassed the table on his way to bed but barely considered the maps, having already associated them with a long and exhausting day.

It was only later that night, when he awoke to an empty space instead of Ari, that he remembered.

Part 11

Taglist: @heart4brains @mechanical-caracal @the-blind-one-speaks @thegreatwhodini @wolfeyedwitch

#whump #whump writing #caretaker pov #maps #hidden ink #original post