#ask the knightly mail

[ask-the-knightly-mail]

would you rather have games...unlimited games...but no more bacon... or games...unlimited games....but no more games? (question is for anyone)

🩵Well, at least one of us gave a straight answer...

Text:

🩵Yes

💚??? Does this include board games? I guess unlimited games but no bacon... I'm vegetarian anyway...

❤️But I love bacon 💔💔💔 AND I love games 💔💔💔

💜Ts pmo. (This shit pisses me off.)

[kabr0ztrousers]

An big gentle dom orc doing anal for the first time with his shy girlfriend? (She’s the one receiving the anal)

Also, your work is incredible!! Take care🫶

Kabr0z Writes Episode 133: Backdoor Shenannigans

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here! including the other two times we've seen Oreg the Orc!

Here's the Ao3 series!

CWs: Oral sex; anal sex; alcohol use; returning characters; enthusiastic consent; size difference; age gap

A/N: Now I'm having to do some homework to figure out if these two have done it up the ass before. By remarkable happenstance, they hadn't, so we get to do that today 😁

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Dawn light spilled through the fine curtains covering your bedchamber windows. You rolled lazily in the bed, knowing Oreg would already be up and in his chapel, as he so often was. You've been married about a year and a half now, ever since the village, and today was his birthday. As usual, you'd bought him some necessities you knew he wouldn't have bothered getting himself until he'd already been in dire need of them for a month, as well as arranging for his favourite meals to be prepared by the kitchen staff. He's all to happy to spend money on you, but when it came to indulging his own wants, he was practically an ascetic. Years of knightly oaths and cloistered upbringing are hard to shake, even for a noble.

You were giving him another gift, too. Prepared entirely without his knowledge. You weren't even sure he'd go for it, but he was an orc underneath all the piety and nobility, and if you knew anything, you knew orcs. You wrote him a letter, to be presented to him as he took his breakfast, which would be soon. In it you asked him to put aside his good manners. For the day you were his to do with as he pleased, not as Duke and Duchess, but as an Orc chieftain, and his favourite prize. In truth, this was as much a gift to you as it was to him, but he always did need a little convincing to come out of his shell and take what you both knew he wanted. You smiled to yourself, who knows? Maybe this'll be the thing that finally tips him over to being the stereotypical permanently-horny orc you'd always expected you'd marry.

You could hear him moving through the house. Heavy footsteps thumping through the downstairs corridors. As predictable as any clock, he would've seen the dawn light through the window and finished up, walking across the main hall to his office where he'd go through any important documents and await the mail whilst he ate breakfast. The staff were very happy to inform you how some years he'd entirely forget it was his birthday unless someone reminded him, even then he'd normally just shrug and get back to it. Again, practically an ascetic when it came to treating himself.

Today was different. Ordinarily, you'd just roll back over and go to sleep for another hour or so before your chambermaid woke you to attend to something or other while Oreg worked in relative silence keeping the duchy in order and planning whatever public works he wanted to channel funding to next. Instead you heard his footsteps again, thumping down the hall and on the stairs, presumably he'd seen your gifts and realised what day it is.

Sure enough, he stepped into your room, only now trying to soften his footsteps. In his arms were the new belt and cloak you'd given him, and the unopened letter you'd written.

"Naughty, you were meant to have read that already" You smiled blearily at him, propping yourself up by your elbow "Go on then, open it up"

Oreg's huge fingers pulled on the ribbon running through the wax seal, cracking it and unfolding the letter. For all his attempts at being the perfect steward, and a certain mathematical gift, he was never the fastest at reading the common tongue, preferring to write in Elfish or Orcish when he had to. Unfortunately, literacy was never a priority when you were growing up so while you spoke Orcish, you couldn't read or write in the language. You followed his eyes as he slowly scanned the paper, going over some parts twice, furrowing his brow in places, before placing it down on the bed

"Sweetheart, did you write this?"

Your heart dropped, you'd upset him. "I'm sorry, darling, I thought you'd like it"

He grinned "Of course I like it, I just wished that if you wanted me to be like that, you'd have said something" He sat on the bed, the mattress squashing under the weight of his immense bulk. He cradled your face with one of his hands, so large your whole head fit into his palm.

"I do want you to be like that, but I also like you as you are. It's tough" you nuzzled into his hand, your own small hand against the back of his, holding it in place as he leant over and kissed your forehead

"So, what would you like right now?"

You looked at the letter, then back to him. His big brown eyes followed your gaze and he smiled warmly, his filed tusks peeking up from his lower lip, greenish-grey skin darkening with a blush.

He drew you close to him, your head against his chest, hearing the bass drum of his heartbeat as it sped up. You rested a hand against him, laying it on his barrel chest. His breath sped up as he held you in one rigid arm. You giggled, considering how bold he was the first time you'd met him, he gets so bashful when it comes to him taking charge sometimes.

Wait a second, maybe that was it. "One moment, dear, I've just had an idea"

His hand released you and you raced out of the door, sprinting in your slip and precious little else towards the pantry. You found what you were looking for, picking it up carefully and walking with measured steps to your bedroom. Oreg was in the bed when you got back, his tunic and trousers in a pile on the floor, the letter carefully laid on top. He looked over to you and raised an eyebrow "Wine? This early in the morning?"

You opened the bottle and stepped onto the bed "Last time you really took charge, you were drinking with Mazorn. Let's see if it was the booze or the company that did the trick" You held the bottle up to him and he took it in one great hand, taking two great gulps, almost draining the bottle before offering the last mouthfuls to you. The wine was strong and dark, warming you from within. Only a couple of mouthfuls made you giggly, and he'd had far more than that.

He rolled his head, stretching out the muscles of his neck before draining the last dregs of the bottle. You watched as the alcohol reached his head, the timidness brought on by years of temple education and chivalric training melting away. His gaze became hungry, his eyes slipping from yours, lingering on your tits, your waist, your legs. You sat on the bed, stroking the mornings stubble, rough against your hand. You laid your other arm across you, tits squeezed between your biceps in a practiced motion you'd had work on dozens of young orcs in the past. "Like what you see?" you mock-pouted, drawing in close to your lover, draping yourself across him.

Oreg sat up slightly, stroking the side of your face, his gaze softening a moment before his hand slipped around the back of your head and his grip tightened. He guided your head under the blanket to his crotch. You could already smell him, thick musk emanating from his balls as he guided you down. You repositioned yourself, pointing your bare arse and pussy at him while you lay on his belly, face to face with his cock. You felt his fingers at your entrance, stroking your lips as he got hard in front of you. You bit your lip, his rough hands tantalising you, riling you up for what is to come.

You gave the tip of his cock a kiss, then a lick, teasing the tip as you watched it throb and grow in front of you. You could feel yourself starting to drip with arousal as you huffed his smell, kissing and fondling his cock.

"You're a real slut when you get going, aren't you?" Oreg's chuckle was deep and heavy, almost a purr.

You lifted your hips, opening yourself up to him "Only for you"

His hand pressed down on your head, forcing himself into your mouth. You opened as wide as you could, but you could still feel him struggling to stuff himself into you. You gagged on him, even as you whined at his fingers exploring your slit. Your whines turned to a satisfied groan as the finger sank into you.

He knew you, every fold, every corner. His finger twisted inside you. Your muffled groan told him he'd found what he wanted. The finger crooked. Your hips lifted higher. He was still fucking himself with your throat, even as he pressed against your spot. Your eyes rolled as he used you, twitching and groaning, a thick finger in your cunt, a thicker cock punishing your throat. You felt yourself getting hotter, sweat beading on your skin as your legs shook and kicked. Pressure built in your loins, pressing against you as you got closer to the edge

"Let go, sweetheart. Let go for me"

His voice, soft and deep. Gentle and commanding. You came hard, tears welling as his cock stifled sobs. You sprayed over him, the pressure releasing in a jet of hot relief.

He pulled out of your throat, leaving you gasping over his cock, still kissing the tip as it twitched and jumped in front of you. He manhandled you to the pillow, holding you down with one hand placed on your back while two fingers still slick with your juices slid into your mouth. You sucked on them, tasting yourself on his skin as he slapped your ass with his slick cock

"How far am I allowed to go?"

You whined, too blissed out to form words. He chuckled again, shifting his weight to pin you down, leaning over you "Tell me if it's too much"

The head of his cock slid between your asscheeks, pressing against your hole. You looked back at your husband, caught somewhere between the desire not to hurt you, and the deep, primal need to stuff himself inside.

You met his eyes. He was waiting for you. You gave the nod.

You gasped as his tip entered you. It didn't hurt as much as you expected, but the size of it stretching you out made your eyes water even more than before. You groaned as he picked up speed, the pain fading as your sphincter relaxed around the thick orcish cock pounding it. You could feel him filling you up, his thickness stretching you out. You lifted up into him, enjoying the sensation of fullness. Your hand strayed underneath you, brushing your clit as his cock thumped into you.

Your next orgasm came quicker than the last. Your fingers circled your clit, rubbing in time with your husband fucking your ass. The familiar twitching and whining, then the whole-body clenching. You felt yourself tighten around him, willing him into you with every fibre of your being. Your hand left your twitching, drooling cunt and gripped his oversized balls, holding him in as you groaned with relief. You could hear his breathing speeding up. You rolled his balls in your palm, feeling the weight of them as they slowly climbed towards his abdomen.

"Cum in me" you groaned to your lover as he throbbed inside you "Give it to me"

Oreg roared. The roar of an orc chief claiming his prize. You felt his balls twitch. Once, twice, thrice they pumped before his cum came flooding into you. It was a river of hot, sticky reward. You sighed as it filled you, flowing through you, warming you from within. He always gave you a lot, and today was no exception. Wave after wave, pump after pump, he filled you up. You could feel it flowing out of you, dripping onto your cunt, mingling with your juices and squirt, slicking your hand with cum.

It felt like forever before he pulled out. You were just on the verge of falling asleep again, surrounded by his warmth. Cum leaked from your gaping ass, flowing out of you and into a puddle on the bed.

Someone's going to have to clean that up

#####################################

You know when you're sure you posted something last night, and it doesn't appear in the morning?

Yeah. Tumblr sucks ass sometimes

[dullyn]

The Knight

This is for the third prompt of @mordredpendragon 's Maydred. It is set in the cult horror universe, which is also the reason why some of the details are a bit odd and unexplained.

--537 AD--

Never has he wished to be back in his body more than when he leaves the menacing stone walls of Camelot. Everything is just so fascinating. Golden rows of grain stretch across the land surrounding the castle and the lower town. He wants to run to them and hold the strands in his hands. Are they as soft as they look or stiff like the straw in the stables? He doesn't know, and he never will. The closest he ever got to reaching the endless fields was when he was younger and smaller; he snuck his way out of the gates and made a break for the lower town. He only made it halfway down the road before he was plucked from the ground by Sir Lucan. All he could do was stare as the gold got further and further away. He was locked in his room for a full moon as punishment, only allowed to eat, sleep, and do his letters.

Agravaine had snuck him a wooden sword for his eleventh birthday, and they would practice fighting. As good of a teacher as he was, Agravaine was nowhere near as good as their eldest brother, but he was still leagues better than Mordred. Eventually Mordred learned, he learned enough to beat Agravaine, to dream of beating even the best of knights. The legend of Lancelot gnawed at the edge of his mind, the same as it did with every boy his age, the stuff that bards sing of, the quests that can never be matched. Mordred used to ask Gawain for stories, but Gawain never told him a single one.

That didn’t matter. He was going to be the greatest knight in the land, even without his eldest brother’s help. In his sleep, he saw dragons and maidens and the promise of glory, of the satisfaction of a deed well done. If only he could see such things now, if only he could sleep.

Things seemed so easy back then, he thought that the only thing keeping him from his knightly destiny was his father’s overbearing nature, that if he left Camelot, he could achieve his dreams. A child’s folly. There was never a future like that for him to achieve; he would never don mail, never wear a scabbard, never even get to wield a sword made of anything but wood. If he had any bodily sensation left other than that of lamb’s blood, his teeth would be aching with how much he wanted it, how much the path of being a knight has scarred his very soul.

Now he is cursed to follow along on the knightly quest he used to see in his sleep, only this time he cannot do anything. He is not the leader, not the best of the gathered knights; he is but a shadow following the steps of a man made of light. 

All of his brothers follow behind, their faces holding darkened expressions. None of them wants to be on the quest, that much is clear, yet all of them volunteered for it. The jealousy that used to grow in his chest when they would leave without him and return with gifts has increased tenfold. For now, he gets to watch them in action, and he cannot contribute at all. Solemnly, he runs his hand along the edge of Gawain’s sword, no cut forms on his hand, no blood drips down the blade. He almost wishes it would.

-

It has been days of traveling on this quest for the Grail that will provide them with the final piece of the ultimate ritual, and every day is the same. Galahad rides at the front of the formation, his horse is a fleabitten grey except its speckles are so small it looks almost solid white, his armor is also white, apparently it is the suit that Lancelot used to wear back in his questing days. Mordred only knows this because Galahad told him, the knight is fond of talking incessantly about God and himself. Almost everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like a speech at mass that Arthur would give about the dedication they must give to God so as to carry out his work. It is painstaking to listen and respond only with nods or words of biblical glory. 

Behind him are Percival and Elyan, they form a triangle in their positioning, something not lost on Mordred as he knows about Galahad’s obsession with the Trinity. Everything he does is a sort of biblical reference, just as his birth was and his life has been. Only Mordred and Elyan could ever begin to understand it; their childhoods were all identical in intensity and discipline. 

All of them are split now, though, in this new phase they have found themselves in. Elyan and his body are something wholly different from the boy that Mordred once knew; he still can feel the sting of shame whenever he clenches his hands; it was his fault after all. Often, Elyan seeks him out. Mordred had not expected it when he first learned that all of the other sacrifices could see him. He asks Mordred about the future and whether he will ever be well again; no answer could be given that would be truthful. His questions are always full of a certain desperation that Mordred himself has never experienced; he doesn’t understand how one could kneel at the feet of someone else and beg them to guide them. Free will exists for a reason, and it is not right to give it up for blind faith, be it in a deity or a person; that is something he always struggled with when he was stuck in Camelot.

Now he is free of the walls; they are all free, and yet they are still stuck on a predetermined path. He wants to scream, they have their place in the world, they could go be knights and become someone. They all could go live out his childhood dream and bear their arms and fight for honor and battle scars. Knighthood is forever out of his grasp, but they could do it. All of their lives have been a torment of authority and religious promises that have brought nothing but blood and suffering.

Percival could never truly know what it was like; his place in their trio is a sham, one not born of religious torment but of human greed. It makes Mordred’s blood boil if he thinks about it too long, for what does the boy have that he didn’t?

It is a tragedy that it is hard to let the rage take full control. The moment he feels he is about to snap at someone, Percival looks at him with something akin to an abandoned dog, shaking and fearful. It serves as a reminder that Percival didn’t ask for this, none of them did, and that he knows even less about what is happening than Mordred, Galahad, and Elyan. If he were an ounce crueler, he would take the young knight’s fear and turn it against him, torment him away from going on this quest. 

He doesn’t, though; instead, he acts as a friend. Advice spills from his lips over the days, nights spent teaching him how to swing a sword and telling him of the rituals and the holy words of Uther’s book. Things that are like a well-worn coat to Mordred, yet Percival listens to him with rapt attention as if they are the most fascinating stories he has ever heard.

He feels that for Percival he is a companion, Galahad a believer, and Elyan a reassurance. An odd combination of roles that has him feeling off-kilter as he speaks with them, as he tries to keep up his different appearances. It is a long way away from what he thought he would be when he went on the quest for the Grail, back when he thought that he would be the one to get it; now he just finds himself as a cursed witness to it all.

He thinks he has accepted it, that this is all his existence ever will be, but deep down inside, he can feel his soul mourning for the knight who will never be. 

[indigowallbreaker]

If the Bleagles prompts are still open, can you please do angst 49, I don't think I can forgive you, between Edelgard and Ashe

There were several directions that came to mind with this one. Here's what I settled on! Thank you for waiting.

[prompt rules]

[more Beagles stories]

49. "I don't think I can forgive you."

--

A scowl tugged down Ashe's face as he made his way to the second floor dormitory. A student had asked him to deliver a letter, which Ashe now clutched too tight in one hand, palm purposefully obstructing the recipient's name. He couldn't bear to see "Edelgard" written in such loopy, love-sick handwriting.

If the student had told Ashe from the outset who the "sensitive letter" was meant for, he would have politely refused. This was not the kind of conversation where Ashe wanted to act as the go-between. Not only was Edelgard the Imperial Princess-- she was also Ashe's house leader. She probably didn't want him, a random commoner from the Kingdom, involved in her love life.

Ashe wanted to pretend that was the reason-- the division between their stations making this inappropriate. But as he reached Edelgard's door, Ashe had to admit to being offended on her behalf. She shouldn't have to waste her time with someone so weak willed as to hide behind Ashe. A man who couldn't even deliver his own letter had no chance with a princess.

The scowl morphed into a sneer. Edelgard deserved better than this random student. Ashe had watched her since he joined the Black Eagles-- saw how hard she worked to improve herself in studies and fighting, the rare moments she let her expression break into a smile. The letter crumpled in Ashe's hand. This guy couldn't know the first thing about her or he wouldn't have tried this stunt.

Seizing the letter in both hands, Ashe glared down at it, seriously considering tearing it in half.

"If you are stealing my mail, I don't think I can forgive you."

A squeak left Ashe's chest and he stumbled back. Edelgard's dorm door was open, and Edelgard herself was standing in its place, one hand on her hip. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not stealing!" Ashe defended quickly. "I'm... I'm supposed to give this to you." He held out the letter.

Still looking perplexed, Edelgard took it. Ashe winced at the condition it was in-- he hadn't realized how twisted and creased the paper had become.

He opened his mouth to apologize-- but stopped when Edelgard rolled her eyes and tossed the letter over her shoulder. It disappeared into her room, and she stepped into the hallway and shut the door before Ashe could see where it landed.

"Honestly, a letter a week is getting to be too much," she said, more to herself than Ashe.

Ashe gaped. "You get one of those a week?!"

"Not from the same person. But they might as well be-- those kinds of letters tend to blend together after a while."

"I'm Sorry."

Edelgard shook her head. "I'm sorry you were dragged into this one. Please, put it out of your mind."

Ashe nodded, watching her walk down the hallway. All those letters. All those cowards. Was it that difficult to just speak?

"Princess Edelgard?"

She turned back to him.

Do you want to go into town with me tomorrow? The words didn't leave Ashe's throat. Pink tinged his cheeks. Not very knightly behavior. "Um, I won't bug you with those kinds of letters anymore," he said at last.

Edelgard smiled. Ashe's heart skipped a beat, the heat in his face increasing. "Thank you, Ashe. I will see you later."

Then she was gone. Ashe let out a long breath.

Yes, apparently, it was that difficult.

[workglowed]

{“Mundie at work!” and may I say I am VERY excited you're including a swap!verse for the bee man as well— >:O}

“Officer King. Been a while.” Howie nods.

((Thanks for reading the rules! : D EXPECT A STARTER SOON))

[hwsforeignrelations]

Knightly Interruption

Notes: Written for a 2020 Halloween event. USUKUS, word count: 378

“Arthur!” Alfred screeched, weakly swatting at the hands. Despite his movements being shaky, his hard glare was not. “You know I ain’t into this freaky shit!”

Arthur walked closer, not wanting to attract the knight's attention if Alfred wasn’t in immediate danger. He shrugged, holding his elbows and falling into a relaxed stance. “What am I supposed to do? Exercise the good man?”

America nodded vigorously.

“I can’t,” Arthur stated simply. The air was sharp and sliced through the stitches of his sweater to bite his flesh. And their wine had spilled into the grass. Damn.

It hadn’t a head, the top of a rotted spine protruding from the gaping hole of its neck. Its armor was in tatters with broken bits of rusted shrapnel embedded in a series of exposed ribs. Metal scattered the graveyard soil in a trail.

And all this drama because they’d (unintentionally, accidentally) rolled over an unmarked grave after sharing a bottle of sherry. England only managed the buckle of America’s belt before the soil underneath them broke and a rotten hand shot out and snagged America’s ankle.

The grip was unexpectedly firm (for a dead, headless knight) so when America cried out and dragged himself away, he hauled the rest of the body out from the deep caverns of the graveyard floor.

Coming to a decision, Arthur walked over and tapped the knight on the shoulder who turned around with an awful sound of rusted chain mail grinding, and asked kindly, “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

The knight stopped pawing America’s quivering back and turned its busted front to face England. 

Damp hands encompassed his and shook them firmly, a clear yes. When Engalnd squeezed back it dropped their shake and stumbled to kneel over a packed patch of dirt, gesturing at it with creaking, slow, but communicative motions. 

Then it pointed to a gross-looking shovel propped against an iron gate.

England didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that America was passed out and went to grab the tool with a sigh.

Planting the shovel into the dirt and jamming his foot over the edge, the Brit bemoaned how differently this night would’ve gone if they just remained on the blanket.

“Just a moment, sir.”

[agentrouka-blog]

In AFFC, Brienne remember that during her time in Highgarden, many knights tried to woo her with different favors. But she rejected them. Later she found out that they placing the bet who would get her maiden head. The bet was later revoke by Randal Tarly but she blamed Brienne too. Seems like Sansa situation surrounded by unwanted suitors who are trying to woo her so that they can claim her and she is rejecting them. Another parallel between Sansa and Brienne.

Very much so.

Big Ben Bushy was the first, one of the few men in Renly's camp who overtopped her. He sent his squire to her to clean her mail, and made her a gift of a silver drinking horn. Ser Edmund Ambrose went him one better, bringing flowers and asking her to ride with him. Ser Hyle Hunt outdid them both. He gave her a book, beautifully illuminated and filled with a hundred tales of knightly valor. He brought apples and carrots for her horses, and a blue silk plume for her helm. He told her the gossip of the camp and said clever, cutting things that made her smile. He even trained with her one day, which meant more than all the rest.

She thought it was because of him that the others started being courteous. More than courteous. At table men fought for the place beside her, offering to fill her wine cup or fetch her sweetbreads. Ser Richard Farrow played love songs on his lute outside her pavilion. Ser Hugh Beesbury brought her a pot of honey "as sweet as the maids of Tarth." Ser Mark Mullendore made her laugh with the antics of his monkey, a curious little black-and-white creature from the Summer Islands. A hedge knight called Will the Stork offered to rub the knots from her shoulders.

Brienne refused him. She refused them all.  (AFFC, Brienne III)

It’s like Joffrey showering her with attention at the feast after the Hand’s Tourney, or the Tyrell’s doing the same, Tyrion’s empty protection, the Hound’s aggression, Marillion, Littlefinger, Harry... Sansa is swirling in a dance with a barrage of insincere suitors, just like Brienne. 

But we know who won the melee at Bitterbridge and stood triumphant, a true knight. 

Sansa will overcome them all. 

[arronlannister]

Profile Princeps Arron Lannister, Magister Navis, et Princeps Insulae Pulchrae. ( The Profile of Prince Arron Lannister, Master of Ships, and Prince of Fair Isle. ) | Part 1 of many as noted by Scribe Cicero

note; this is the canon reputation of arron lannister. arron has no ideas these documents exist because he has no care for them as he knows men will write their words long after he is dead and he can’t read it then. also, the scribe will be referring to him as a Prince and the Lannisters as a royal family throughout the texts. These are notes of Scribe Cicero

Upon his birth silence filled the room and the late his mother spoke and he opened his eyes and turned his head in her direct. His blue eyes are the same hue of his mothers, everything else being a mirror image of his father save for his size. Arron stands 6’8 with strong shoulders and powerful arms. His voice booms like thunder over the sea. Arron’s well known for his efficiency and prowess, if the King is sending his princely brother the conversation is over. 

Arron wears heavy, gray plate armor with layers of mail, and boiled black leather underneath. His sword is a great sword of black rippling steel, due his massive size and strength he wields this sword as if it is light as a feather. His horse is just as ill-tempered and feared. Smallfolk have whispered there that the black stallion has red eyes that shine in the dark of night. While there is a general fear should the Prince have to arrive and handle a Lord, it can be noted that the Prince uses knightly judgement in his actions.

Arron is not flashy in his style of dress, it’s obvious his clothing is fine to anyone with an eye for fashion, but he doesn’t dress to stand out. Often seen wearing black unless a feast or ball calls for the Prince the prince to wear the crimson and gold of his house. Though, even in this occasions, the color may only come from his cloak of the proud, prancing lion displayed upon his chest. 

Arron is called The King’s Rage and one doesn’t have to wonder for long if they ask around enough. Despite this reputation for brutality, he’s quite intelligent. With a mind for seafaring and battle, he has a love for the mechanics of ships and how to make them better. After the burning of the Lannister Fleet he has worked tirelessly in improving their ships and their ports. Even with the eradication of the Ironborn.

Arron has a few squires, he won’t accept weakness or soft boys in his service as he doesn’t want anyone whispering the boys he squires are weak. These young men are made up of Lannister cousins, Farman cousins, and those of high status from Fair Isle.

Arron’s emotional. He can mask these emotions well but once the gasket blows, his feelings are out there. He can be possessive, he is more often than he isn’t. He has high expectations and a strong desire for the feeling of perfection. As with his mother and the strict routines of Fair Isle he has little tolerance for someone who can’t meet his wants and needs.

Arron is very religious, a close relationship with the Gods allows him to find peace in the knowledge they watch over him and his. Arron has his worries and his questions, he has never read the holy text but some times, he wonders if he should. 

[shivada-jade]

codename: vind

older sibling!reader

characters: diluc, kaeya ➡ mentions: adelinde, crepus, la signora warning(s): alcohol consumption, swearing, and because for some reason, older siblings tend to be shorter than younger siblings. iDK WHY but ugh, yeah you're shorter than diluc and kaeya bc you're the older sibling. ik, i hate it too

like, i wanna be a tall 6'2 woman

diluc's 5'10 so u can still be tall in the story.. just not 5'11 😢 sorry over 5'10 folks

➡ WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 so uhh :D

notes: platonic w diluc and kaeya, duh bc ur the older sibling. sibling love!!! sibling love !! woop woop !

"Dad, I'm home!" You bellow out to the house, waving a polite hello to Adelinde who looked shocked to see you. You kick off your shoes and slide your way to the long table in the living room, swiftly grabbing an apple before heading upstairs.

Your hands graze the railings and make your way up to find your dad. Upon reaching the last flight of steps, you were suspicious with how the place was very quiet. Granted, your younger brothers are now adults, but it still felt too quiet. Maybe you expected to see your brothers playing a game of chess, maybe bickering and fencing. You were hoping to see your family after being away.

You were a part of the Fatui under the Mondstadt branch. It was and at the same time wasn't a choice to be roped into the Fatui. You got roped into the wrong group of friends and found yourself blackmailed by the infamous group.

You didn't want to join. You didn't want any of it. You've been disconnected from the world. Wiped out from the face of Earth. No one gave information to you, you couldn't learn anything about what's happening currently. The most you could do was send letters, but even those were difficult to send out. You had to do it in secrecy or you'd be in trouble.

Love, the better sibling,

[Y/N]

Or another common send off is:

Please write back soon,

[Y/N]

And your family never failed to send back letters. They asked what you're doing, where you are and how are you, still you never told them your occupation, fearful of what they would think and where your loyalties lie, so you told them you were working under an adventurer.

It's for the greater good. You remember trying to convince yourself.

You're a horrible person.

You were sixteen then. Your younger brothers were twelve. It's been 10 long years since you last saw them, and 6 years since you last received a letter back. You miss them dearly. You often wondered what sorts of adventures they did without you.

But why are you wondering about this? You knew what they did: you knew everything that happened.

You're living under a heavy burden.

"Dad?" You call out again. Maids and wine makers look aghast when they see you, and they're on the verge of fainting when you call out to your father.

Stop the act.

It's strange how the letters were suddenly cut off. The last letter you received was from Kaeya, telling you how you needed to come home straight away. You tried to, but the Fatui prevented you from doing so. A lady called La Signora supervised you directly to make sure you didn't leave.

You know...

Adelinde brushes the dust off her uniform and hurries up the stairs to catch up to you, "Dear, is that you [Y/N?]"

"Did you forget me that easily? I'm offended Miss Adelinde," you chided, but the teasing look in your eyes give Adelinde relief to know you aren't actually offended. "Miss, where's dad?"

You're sickening.

Adelinde takes one look at you and squeezes your shoulders with a smile, "I'm afraid that's not for me to say. Master Diluc should be able to-"

"Oh, where's Diluc and Kaeya?" You ponder, and the corners of your lips curl upwards. "Those two were always attached to the hip. Where are they now? Horseback riding at the vineyard? Ha! I-"

You glance at Adelinde's watery eyes and stop your babbling. "What's wrong Miss Adelinde?" You reach for her hands on your shoulders and hold them. "Ah, has father been making you work too hard? I can request him to lessen your load."

Adelinde shakes her head no. "You don't have a clue, do you? Oh," she sighs. "Please, rest yourself by the fireplace. I'll prepare tea for you." She rests her hands back at her side and scurries to the kitchen.

You frown, unsure why she's jumpy, but you follow her request and sit by the fireplace. The crackle of the fire contrasts the tense air you feel when maids brush past you, offering tea Adelinde made. You thank them, gently blowing on the drink.

After taking a sip, you place it down with a pinky to lessen the noise it makes on the table. You hear the door open, and the choruses of maids greeting someone.

"Welcome home, Master Diluc," you hear and other voices saying, "We've prepared a meal for you and your sibling, would you like to rest yourself?"

You peek from your chair, he obviously hadn't realized you yet.

Diluc's lips make a thin line and shrugs off his jacket, "Why is Kaeya visiting. Isn't he supposed to do his knightly duties?"

You have no clue why he says it like that. The venom in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You decide this is your cue to give him a warm welcome. You stand from your seat, and open your arms in a grand gesture and waltz to your brother. "Diluc! It's been a while huh?"

You clearly see him tense hearing your voice. His head snapped to your direction with his mouth parted. The maids respectively take their leave, bowing before they do so.

Diluc looks you up and down, still not believing you're there, like you're just his imagination. His hand slowly reaches out to you as if you're a dream.

Your feet lead you closer and you grasp him tightly in an embrace.

He freezes, but slowly relaxes in your hug, reluctantly bringing up his own arms to wrap around you. You feel his grip tightening, and you feel his shake out silent sobs. His face buries in your neck, letting tears fall on your clothes.

You soothe his back, and press a kiss on his hair. "I'm home, Diluc."

He trembles, pushing himself away to look at you clearly. Why hadn't you come home earlier? He wanted to vent, he wanted to yell, shout, he wanted to know how much he missed you in your absence.

He clears his throat and coughs in his fist. "You should have told me about your arrival," he adjusts the gloves on his hands, and looks to the floor like he did when he admitted he accidentally broke your toy when you were 10.

After these years, he still looks up to you as his older sibling. Not a thing has changed.

But you couldn't help but notice one thing. You knew Diluc and Kaeya had matured, you knew they would grow taller, but shit, now Diluc's taller than you.

"I sent a letter a month ago," you began. "It should have been sent to your office in the Favonius Headquarters? That's where I send my mail after you told me about your promotion to Cavalry Captain."

You squish his cheeks with both your hands. "Because I know you're a workaholic and only respond to letters that mean business, so that's where I sent it off to. You never write back, neither does Kaeya," you pause, thinking for a moment. "Neither does dad. Tell me he hasn't gotten sick that he couldn't respond to my letters."

Diluc lifts your hands off his face and frowns. He doesn't know how to break the news to you- not when you look so excited to be home and tell of your adventures to your family, so he asks, "Did you eat yet?"

You note the frown on his face. "'What's got you grumpy," you prod. "I need to find dad first. Told him in the first letter I gave him, I'd give the first gem I find."

Diluc watches you leave him to go to Crepus' room on the second floor. He hears the thuds on the floor and the opening of the door, but does nothing to stop you. You left with a smile, and you come back confused.

"Why is dad's room empty?"

How cruel.

...

Kaeya hums, passing by Flora's shop and purchasing a Calla Lily for the sake of it. He is well aware of the Fatui that stand by corners. Whispers of the wind give him intel, and so does alcohol apparently. He leans on a wall right outside Angel's Share, watching two Fatui members drink some of the tavern's strongest alcohol, imported from Snezhnaya.

"That damn," the one with the red and black mask hiccups, lifting a mug with foam overflowing. "Damn brat's gonna snitch on us to the Knights- *hiCC* boss lady wou- *HicC* would have our heads!"

Thankfully, their more responsible Fatui friend takes the mug and switches it with their drink, water. "You're the one who let Vindicta out of your sight when you know their frequencies to escape. This is all on you, buckaroo."

One of the Fatui escaped? How peculiar.

Kaeya hums, in steady strides he shows himself to the Fatui and takes a seat from another table and sits in front of the two. "My, my, my. If it isn't the wonderful Fatui," he divuldges. He twirls his Calla Lily around his fingers, amused with the Fatui's reactions.

Their mouths drop, knowing who he is and they hastily clean themselves up by sitting straight and wiping away the alcohol from their faces. "Good evening, sir."

"Evening to you too," he places the flower behind the person's ear, flustering them. "Well? Drink up. Everything you order will be on me."

The Fatui look at each other, skeptical with Kaeya's kindness, but the drunken one accepts the offer. Kaeya celebrates in the inside as he slowly gains Fatui intel.

Though, the second Fatui whom he dubbed the "Responsible One," took a while for them to take a sip. Turns out, they couldn't handle alcohol, that's why they avoided drinking it.

"So, my dear friends," he slides a coin on the table and stares both of them down. "A mora for your thoughts? I couldn't help but notice the tense of your shoulders when you first arrived here."

Responsible One raises their mug drunkenly, and gives a pointed look, "You... you know too much. How?..." They stare at their friend and whisper shout, "Don't tell him about Vind or-" They fail to continue their sentence and pass out on the table.

Kaeya feigns a surprised face and looks at Fatui number 2, "Who exactly is Vind? I'm sure you don't mean the storm watcher up at the cliff." He coats his voice with sugar, and it seems Fatui friend fell for his kindness.

"The damn brat," they spit out before hiccupping again. "Recruited them, fed them, saw potential, gave a home, and they escaped."

Kaeya nods and pushes another bottle of wine to the Fatui's direction, urging them to continue.

"Was supposed to be one of the Agents to spy on the *hiCc* to spy on the Ragnvindr family, because *HicC* Vind was one of the best there is. They were about to be promoted Harbinger after an assignment *hiCCUpp* but then Big Boss Lady said 'End the Ragnvindr legacy,' Vindicta left without a word. They escaped."

The Fatui downs another bottle of wine. "But judging from Boss Lady's reaction, Vind did the job: killed him and placed the blame on the Knights."

The Calvary Captain knits his brows and places his hands in front of him. It laced themselves and he watches the Fatui person empty out his wine.

"I'd be careful of what you say if I were you." His lone eye glints dangerously.

"End the legacy?" Kaeya frowns. "Can I ask..." He couldn't ask why or the Fatui would stop talking to him. "Can I ask when your beloved spy did their job?"

The Fatui waves a hand, "Six years ago. After they killed that damn aristocrat's father, they tried escaping. Big Boss supervised them under their watch. 'Potential' the Harbingers always say, but I don't see the potential in them if they don't have loyalties under the Fatui. A wild card, really."

They lay their cheek on the table. The temperature drops quite dangerously. Kaeya's diamond eye glints with coldness before it turns back to warmth.

"Rumours have it," the Fatui sighs, playing with his empty mug. "The training Vindicta went through is rougher, so we were hoping they would tie their loyalties to us. We let them explore once, and they escaped under my watch. Maybe it was their assignment to leave, maybe it's not, because Boss Lady was okay with it, she said 'Vindicta will always return in our hands.' when they first escaped, and surely enough they do return. But either way, I'm fucked for letting them go missing the third time of the week."

Kaeya laughs with no soul and quickly ends the lovely 'conversation.' He pushes himself from the table and stands, "Thank you for chatting with me, it's been interesting." He tucks in the chair and glances at the two Fatui dozing, or close to dozing off.

He swiftly turns away, scoffing when he's out of sight from people. Vindicta is a dangerous card. Not even the Fatui know where their loyalties side.

Vindicta. How peculiar indeed.

One of the best Fatui, which probably meant they were payed well with respect and mora, but why are they labeled as an escapee when they always return? With someone as dangerous as a Harbinger, who do they side with- the Fatui or something else?

Kaeya has a lot of questions.

...

Diluc sits on a cushioned chair and hunches over, resting his chin on his hands, thinking.

Always thinking.

The once lit fireplace is soaked with water he splashed over. The scent of burnt wood wafts nearby. The light chatter of maids go through one ear and leave the other.

How long had it been since he last saw you?

Eternity is his answer. It's been eternity since he last saw you.

He lets out a long sigh, throwing his head back and running a hand through his untied locks.

Too much thinking for today. Diluc groans in frustration and sits back up. He turns his head slightly, seeing you in the corner of his eyes taking out boxes of things you owned from 10 years before.

It doesn't make sense to him. Why come back so suddenly after years of not seeing you? Though, you claim you sent him letters, he never got them because he closed himself off from the Knights.

"Diluc," you set down a small picture of a family portrait you took out from hiding behind many books.

You are taking this oddly well.

You're taking this too well, in fact.

This raises a red flag for Diluc. He told you the fall out of your family, how he quit the Knights, but still you're going around the place like nothing had happened.

Don't you feel any rage? Or even sadness?

He sees too many red flags and hates it- from the way you can hide things like Kaeya so easily, to the way you just suddenly appear back in his life. It feels weird. It's not easy to let someone that in quick, yet you're still his role model, so it's okay, right?

He's always looked up to you when he was younger. You never were at a loss of words and stood up for him. You were the person he can turn to when something wrong happens, but what were you doing for yourself to be gone for so long? Adventuring Teyvat could not have taken ten whole years. Where did you even stay?

"Diluc," you crouch in front of him and talk to him as if he were six again. "I'm okay, okay?"

Diluc takes a shaky breath and sits up straight. His posture resembling a king's. "I have an idea, and I would like you to help me."

You look at him in awe. The realization settles in: Diluc has grown, and you're still stuck trying to make up the past.

"And what do I help you with?"

"Finding who's responsible for father's death."

notes: had this in my drafts for a long time and i was like "wait where was i going with this..." until BAM i have the idea again so im gonna continue it

(part 2)

[ask-the-knightly-mail]

horse or honse

Transcript below if hard to read.

🩵"A very meaningful question worth a few minutes of pondering in a white void over." ... "damn." ... "honse"

[xenodile]

Bylgrael: “I appreciate the armor, really I do, but it’s a bit much to wear around town, y’know?”

Thancred: “And your silver-inlaid doublet and gauntlets weren’t?  They might as well have been attached to your skin for how much you wore them.”

Urianger: “I myself cannot recall ever seeing thou not clad in glittering mail, no matter how far down history’s winding road I peer.”

B: “I can wear regular clothes!  It’s not that unusual for me to wear something besides armor, is it?”

Y’shtola: “As I remember it, even when practicing your spellcraft you misliked wearing robes or more aetherically conductive garb.”

U: “Indeed, when thou approached me requesting mine assistance in the study of healing arts, still thou clung to thine knightly trappings.”

B: “I don’t only wear armor, I have other clothes!!”

T: “I’m not convinced.  Perhaps we should ask G’raha and the twins, they’d certainly know all about our friend’s secret wardrobe.”

B: “You keep them out of this.”

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 2: Potions Class

A Loki fanfiction!

Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

-----------------------------

“Freya!” a booming voice called your name from the courtyard.

You turned around with your books in hand and walked towards Professor Odinson. His cropped blonde hair shone in the sunlight as he gave you a winning smile. You had to admit that he was handsome in a knightly sort of way.

“Yes, professor?”

“You’re headed to potions class, right?”

“Yes…” you said, looking at him suspiciously when he reached into his pockets.

He took out a small blue envelope with the words “Loki Laufeyson” in swirling black ink across the paper. Your heart stuttered as you wondered what Professor Odinson wanted. He smiled at you again, in a requesting sort of way, and your stomach clenched. “Freya, would you do me a favour and pass this along to Lo-Professor Laufeyson after class?”

“Why can’t you?” You blurted out. Your face flushed as you apologized.

He laughed and rested a large hand on your shoulder. “I know it’s strange. But I can only entrust this task to you. My brother is…well, I don’t think he will want to speak with me yet. So I must make this request of you. No questions asked.”

You sighed. “Yes, professor,” you mumbled, taking the envelope and putting it inside your textbook.

He smiled at you and sent you on your way. “Ten points for Hufflepuff!” He called behind you.

You walked down the stairs into the dark hall that led to the potions classroom. Most of the class was seated and as soon as you entered, the doors slammed shut behind you. You nearly jumped a foot in the air from the sound. Professor Laufeyson was at the front of the room, smiling at your dread.

“Note that I will not hesitate to shut the door on anyone, regardless of where they are standing. So do be on time,” he said to the class, eyes glancing at you briefly. “Broken noses are such a bother.”

You took a seat beside Pom, a seventh year Ravenclaw, and placed your textbooks on the table. She smiled at you as both of you took out your feathered quills and inkwells. You opened up your notebook and hoped that Professor Laufeyson’s class would not screw up your good standing for the N.E.W.T.S., though it was inscrutable what sort of curriculum the man would present. Anything would be better than Rattowl...right?

Professor Laufeyson shed his cloak to reveal muggle clothes underneath. Your breath caught in your throat. They looked good...distractingly good.

You lived as a muggle in foster care until an owl had landed right on your head on your eleventh birthday and dropped a letter in your hands. From then on, it was magical history. However, it was so rare to see a witch or wizard in muggle clothing, you could not help but stare.

He wore a form fitting gray shirt, with a thin black tie and black trousers. You ran your gaze down his body to his silver belt buckle when a vivid image of him unbuckling it with his slender fingers flashed before your eyes. A heated ripple ran down your chest. You blinked several times and looked back at his face. He was looking right at you. Was that a ghost of a smile on his lips? You blushed and looked down at your notes. Luckily your dark skin hid your flush from plain sight, though the room grew incrementally hotter.

“Advanced potions are not for the weak,” he began, rolling his sleeves up and standing at his podium. “You may have come to believe that conjuring a few ingredients together in the correct quantities is what it takes to create extraordinary brews and concoctions. This is not true. Potions require more than wand flicking and sheer force of will,” he said. He waved a hand and a dark green swirl of light emerged from it. A cauldron suddenly appeared on the table beside the podium, and tubes of ingredients floated over from the shelves behind him. The class gasped in wonder, as he could use magic this way without his wand. “It requires intelligence, focus, and an unyielding mind,” he continued. A vial of pink liquid he poured into the cauldron caused it to bubble, then the room began to lower in temperature. Frost formed at the edge of your textbooks. You breathed out and saw the vapour of your breath in front of you. Once again, the students, including you, clapped.

You had never seen a display so fantastic in all your lectures. Your stomach dropped as you realized this would be the toughest class of them all.

Freya.

Your thoughts shifted back to the dream. You pictured him in the darkness, calling your name. There was something about the way he had said your name that stuck in your mind. So you did all you could to push it out of your thoughts.

“He’s kind of handsome, isn’t he?” Pom said under her breath as you both took notes. She giggled and focused back on her papers. “Though I heard that he’s got quite a past - been to Azkaban, apparently.”

You looked at Pom, trying to contain the surprise on your face. She continued, “Killian told Jatin, who told me he’s-”

“Am I interrupting, ladies?”

You looked at him, standing at the podium. His eyes were light, but his expression was stern, as if you only had to poke him further to reveal the wrath just under the surface. You both vigorously shook your heads and stopped talking. He continued his lecture.

There was a fluidity to his movements, the way he stood and the way he carried himself that nearly bordered on arrogance but somehow felt unquestionable. It was a regality that felt familiar to you, and then it hit you. His motions were similar to Headmistress Frigga. There was an air of royalty about him. However, it was not the same warm and kind disposition that she carried. Professor Laufeyson carried something darker with him. His very presence was a mystery. His aura pulled you in the deeper you looked into it; an ever-growing vacuum, and you feared getting too close.

Class was finished before you knew it and you nearly stepped out the door before you remembered the blue envelope in your textbook. You turned back and searched for him, but he had already disappeared. There was a curved stone staircase that led up the tower to his office. You took a deep breath and climbed up the stairs.

A series of arched windows passed you by. Cloudy skies awaited you outside and you wondered if it might rain. The rainfall did wonders to calm your nerves.

Once you reached the large wooden door of his office, you heard voices from inside.

“You’ll never find what you’re looking for!” grumbled a voice. It was not the professor, but you almost recognized it.

Then you heard Professor Laufeyson’s voice. “Shut it, you old fool. Odin’s time is almost- “

The doors rushed open and the tall figure of Professor Laufeyson stared down at you. “What are you doing?” He said, his eyes darkened. The easy going composure he kept in class wore thin on his face now.

You tried very hard not to stare at your feet, but the weight of his glare was immense. It was as if all the wonder of his presence during his lecture had dissipated into a cold shadow. “I-I was supposed to give you this, Professor Laufeyson.” You presented him with the envelope and tried very hard not to tremble.

Suddenly, the professor smiled, and the shadow disappeared - or so it seemed. He picked the envelope from your hand and gestured you inside. “Please come in, how kind of you to deliver my mail.”

You reluctantly stepped inside and looked around. There were tall shelves filled completely with vials, bottles, jars, and cauldrons with all sorts of exotic ingredients. There was barely any wall space save for a section to the right of his gigantic oak desk, where the paintings of previous professors hung. Most of the old professors were snoring away in their chairs or staring into space absentmindedly. There was one painting with an empty chair that bore the name “Hubert Rattowl” below its wooden frame. You wondered where the old man was and that was when you realized it was his voice which you heard earlier.

Before you could think on it deeper, you noticed that there was a separate door behind the coat rack that must lead to his private chambers. You wondered what his room would be like. Would he keep anything that would reveal his personality? You quickly glanced at him as he put away some papers on his desk. His hands were slender and long, yet underneath his seemingly lean frame you could see the muscles of his forearms.

You wondered what his bed might be like. Satin or cotton sheets? Did he prefer the coolness of an open window or the warmth of a fire on his bare skin? A vivid image of you naked on your back with him crawling on top of you flashed before your eyes and you were so startled that you flinched. The back of your hand hit the edge of his desk. There was a chipped section of wood which dug into your skin.

He turned to you from behind his desk. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” You said, too cheerfully, and noticed that your hand was bleeding.

He saw it, put the envelope down and reached over to take your hand. “My dear, humility will get you nowhere.”

You froze when he held your hand in his. He waved his free hand and the same green aura emitted as a drawer opened and a small jar floated over to you. Once he opened it, you saw a yellowish cream that he hooked a finger into. He looked at you and you nearly gasped at how blue his eyes looked from up close. “This may sting slightly, but it’s better than what they have in the infirmary,” he said with a wink.

You nodded and flinched slightly as the cold cream touched your skin. He was so gentle as he smoothed it over and around the cut. His fingers worked accurately and quickly.

“Shall I assume it was Thor who put you up to the task of delivering me the letter?” He said as he continued to hold your hand in place and conjure a stack of bandages on the table.

You looked from the bandages to his face. “Yes,” you said meekly.

“My brother, predictable as ever,” he said. His eyes hardened, but you pretended not to notice.

“There you go, Miss Eves,” he said, letting you slip your hand out of his grip. You felt yourself do it slower than was appropriate, as you looked into his dark blue eyes. He raised his eyebrow. “I would have asked you to sit and catch me up on all the Hogwarts gossip, but seeing as you’ve injured yourself, I shall not keep you,” he said.

Please do. “I apologize, professor, I can be a bit clumsy on occasion,” you said.

He smirked and looked you in the eyes. “Why do I doubt it’s only on occasion?”

You smiled at the tease. “Thank you for the bandage, sir,” you said. And turned to leave.

“Miss Eves?”

You turned around and he glanced down at your books, which were still on top of his desk. The embarrassment you already felt could have filled the Great Hall. You quickly walked over, grabbed them and thanked him for reminding you. He chuckled as you left.

***

“It was mortifying!” You said to Valkyrie as you both tried to make your goblets disappear.

“Evanesco!” You said with a flick of your wand. The bottom half of the goblet disappeared, leaving a cup that looked like it was floating.

Valkyrie did the same, and the top half of her cup disappeared, leaving the bronze stem visible.

Footsteps approached. “Together, you both might make one competent witch,” Professor Sif said as she walked by. “Try again.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Someone’s in a mood again,” she said, glaring at Professor Sif’s back. “Odinson probably turned her down for the tenth time.”

“Shh! She’ll hear you…” you said, glancing at Professor Sif. Her face was drawn into a serious expression that almost invited provocation. As you and Valkyrie worked, you brought up what Pom said about Professor Laufeyson’s apparent background.

Valkyrie suddenly looked troubled and focused extra hard on her goblet. “I talked to Killian this morning. He told me who they’re saying Professor Laufeyson’s biological father was.”

“Who?”

“The Dark One,” she said, looking down.

You dropped your wand and the entire class looked at the both of you.

The rest of the lecture was spent practicing in silence as a response to the raging glare Professor Sif gave you and Valkyrie. She also decided to give all of you a ten-page assignment on the history of disappearing spells. It was one of her more generous moods.

Everyone groaned, and she crossed her arms, chin held high. “Transfiguration requires a knowledge of the spells, perhaps then one of you will finally make an entire goblet disappear. Now off with you lot!”

You and Valkyrie rolled your eyes at each other and quickly shuffled out of the classroom. Both of you fell into step together. You spoke first. “He’s the Dark One’s son?”

Valkyrie shrugged. “It sounded just as crazy to me. Let’s ask Mo tomorrow. That boy knows everything about everyone,” she said.

“Good thing he’s our friend,” you said with a laugh.

Once you both came out of the hall that led to the Transfiguration classroom, you saw a figure with locks of black hair that almost made you stop in your tracks. His blue eyes passed over you inconsequentially, as if you were an anonymous student, as he continued walking towards Professor Sif’s office. Both you and Valkyrie turned your heads to watch him glide down the hall.

“Wonder what that’s about,” Valkyrie said.

You tried not to be bothered by the fact he did not notice you. It was a stupid and silly thought you pushed deep down and away.

“So, what was your dream about? Was it the glowing thing in the lake again?” Valkyrie said.

You sighed as the memory of the dream resurfaced. His screams echoed in your mind. “It was sort of the same...but I saw him, Valkyrie. I saw Professor Laufeyson.” You led her to a secluded area by the trees. “I think I saw him die.” You left out the part where he said your name. It was too strange. The thought of Professor Laufeyson saying your name at all sounded quite embarrassing and ridiculous.

Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! You have to tell someone, it’s way over my pay grade,” she said. She looked up at the sky and tilted her head. “What were those things? Zombies?”

You shook your head. “They seemed similar, but I don’t think so…They were something else.”

Valkyrie looked thoughtful. “Remember that time we snuck into the restricted section of the library?”

You smiled. “Oh my god, and Skurge almost saw us!”

“And we had to hide in that damned cabinet for two hours! My legs were so numb I never thought I’d walk again…” she said, and started to laugh.

“And you nearly gave us away, scratching at the damn door!”

“I was marking our secret hiding spot! For future generations of troublemakers to be inspired.” She glanced at you, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “There might be something there.”

“We couldn’t do it again!”

“Why not?”

You shuffled your feet. “What if we get caught this time? They could expel us.”

Valkyrie put her hands on your shoulders. “All I’m sayin’ is that your answers could be in there.”

You smiled. “I’m going to go see Professor Heimdall. He’ll know what to do,” you said.

“Alright, bet you five sickles he’ll already know what’s on your mind.”

“I’m not betting against that!” You said, giggling.

Eventually, both of you split off as Valkyrie went to Quidditch practice and you went to see Professor Heimdall. The trip took you longer than usual. Two sets of stairs changed on you, and it led you on a dash across the fifth floor and then back down to the third floor before you could get to the divination tower. But you eventually made it to the classroom, where the air smelled of peppermint tea leaves and pipe smoke.

“Come in,” Professor Heimdall’s deep voice said before you even knocked on the door of his office.

You opened it and walked inside. Today it smelled of lemon tea, which he sipped on as he graded assignments. You saw the grade in red just below his quill on a student’s assignment; the poor kid was not passing this one. Divination was not for everyone.

“Sit, would you like some tea?” he said.

You nodded and set your books down on the table. He reached behind him and placed a black mug on the desk. The scent of warm lemon tea permeated through the air and you inhaled it deeply as he slid the mug in front of you. “Thank you.” You took a sip. “I suppose you already know why I’m here?” You said with a smile.

He chuckled. “Freya, I am not a mind reader. The gift of divination is just that, a gift. Gifts do not always come when we want them to.” He paused to take a drink. “You have had a vision, haven’t you?”

You set the cup down and rested your thumb on the rim. “I...don’t know.” You explained your dream to him, from the lake to the pale bodies that attacked Professor Laufeyson. Once again you refrained from mentioning anything about your name being uttered. When you completed your recount, you sat back and sat on your hands, waiting.

Professor Heimdall looked at you with those glowing orange eyes, as if he looked right through you. Perhaps he did. You looked back at him and saw the minute changes of expression in his eyes, inscrutable to most. First he was serious, then he grew pensive. As the silence extended, there was a slip of fear that disappeared behind the two blazing suns. He took a deep breath, his voice deepened to almost a growl. “Do not go near that man Freya.”

“What?” You nearly tipped your cup, spilling a drop of tea on the table.

He folded his hands in front of him on the desk and looked at you sternly. “Keep up with your classes, but keep your distance. Professor Laufeyson is a dangerous man.”

You drew your eyebrows together in a confused expression. “But - he’s the one that’s in danger. I saw him die!”

“You don’t know what you saw. You’re not in control of your dreams. Perhaps it was just that.”

Heat flushed your cheeks. “I know what I saw.”

Professor Heimdall grew more fierce. “Do you do the extra homework I assign you? Do you meditate in the dream trance like I told you?”

You remained silent, trying not to look like a pouty child.

“So you are not in control of anything, Freya. You have a gift, which you waste by not harnessing it. Then you have a nightmare and come to me for an explanation that is not there,” he said. His face was so still it could have been cut from rock.

You stared at him, an incredulous expression on your face. He sighed and leaned forward on his elbows. “Because I care, and because most of this information is of public record - to those who know where to look - I will tell you of his origin.”

“What, that he’s the Dark One’s son?” You blurted out.

If Heimdall was surprised, he did not give it away. “I see you students are far more privy to scandalous information than I had initially thought,” he said, taking a sip from his cup. “When Odin fought the powers of darkness nearly a century ago, he fought the Dark One, known to a select few as Farbauti. Many fear speaking his name, but he is long dead. To fear the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Farbauti had two children, one died alongside him in battle. The other was Loki. He was an infant that Odin found in the ruins of Farbauti’s castle. The other wizards wished to slay the child; they wanted to cleanse the world of anything related to the Dark One.”

You barely breathed at the thought of several adult wizards wanting to kill a child.

“But Odin did not believe in infanticide. Instead, he took the child to raise as his own and to show the world that evil is not in the blood but in the actions of the person. However, when Loki grew up, he displayed much of the...unique abilities his birth father had. He was drawn to dark magic, and in his youth he found several Farbauti loyalists and went into league with them. Loki was in Azkaban for one year as a teenager, they only released him on account of him being a minor.”

“W-why was he sent there?”

Heimdall’s eyes were grave. “He killed someone. A close friend of his father’s.”

Your skin erupted into gooseflesh as a shiver ran through you. A sense of dread coloured your vision.

“So you see why I ask that you leave him be?” Heimdall said.

Emotions raged inside you, both frustration and fear. Even if Professor Heimdall was right, were you the judge and executioner of this case? Perhaps you would not be the one to kill Professor Laufeyson, but was your inaction not an act of murder in itself?

You straightened in your chair and said, “but sir, what if what I saw was real? What if I’ve seen his death?”

Professor Heimdall tightened his grip on his mug. “Then I suppose he deserves it.”

[fedine]

Tell me about your ocs

I have a comically long composition notebook with 657 characters listed in it but it needs editing. Here's a picture of three that I've been thinking about a lot lately.

Left to right: Peppa Fillius Potts, Aurélie Lemoine, and Marshall Knightly.

Under a cut because this will get long.

Peppa is trans femme, British, and autistic, and her special interest is gardening, and specifically growing peppers. Her favorites are an ornamental variety that she's wearing in her hair (dyed green and styled like that, with resin hairpins she made that are real peppers and flowers). She also named herself after them. I'm obsessed with them myself. I really, really love gardening and peppers are something I really enjoy reading about but I've been having a hard time growing them so I live vicariously through Peppa.

Next is Aurélie, who is an anxious little mess made up entirely of mathematics and caffeine. She's an elf from France (used to be a WoW Nightborne), because I just pour all my OCs into my own setting where magic is real, and Aurélie is in magic college right now. She's a mathematical genius, a skilled codebreaker, and a linguist who can speak over 10 languages fluently, but she's extremely gullible and for a while didn't think that true crime was real and after she found out she was terrified of America. She's living there now because of magic college though.

Marshall is a vampire and he's studying at the magic college for the fields of enchantment and summoning. His background is in theater as a stagehand so he's actually very handy but he tries to look super aesthetic all the time because he's a bit of a bitch. He's American. And he has Instagram brain. I just like assigning random traits to my OCs.

So Aurélie and Marshall met because they were roommates. Aurélie was afraid of him for a while, because she's afraid of everything, but wanted to be on his good side so one day when their dorm was just suddenly filled with plants she went out to a local garden center and got him a new plant. That's how she met Peppa. They liked each other's vibes and started hanging out.

Marshall, who loves plants and being kinda weird, started writing Peppa letters asking about what plants she had in stock and advice on plant care. Aurélie was the one who delivered the letter, and Peppa definitely thought it was weird, but figured it would give her time to consider how to word things and so they started passing letters through Aurélie (who they nicknamed "Snail Mail" after this).

After almost a year of this they wanted to actually meet in person, but they were more interested in seeing how long it would take Aurélie to get tired of the arrangement, but since her brain is SO fried from math and magic and linguistics and codes she just Let's things happen to her a lot of the time. So she barely even noticed she was being used as a free postal service. Peppa and Marshall did compensate her, though she didn't even notice they were doing it at that point. Just, "Here, give this to Peppa, here's a muffin."

Marshall liked enclosing gifts in the letters too, seeds especially since it was a safe thing to get for a gardener. Peppa started growing a lot of them and would sometimes send some of the produce back to Marshall, but also let Aurélie have some too. They did end up meeting in person when Marshall was hiding in their dorm to avoid someone he'd pissed off (a whole other story) and Aurélie brought Peppa there to hang out. They reacted in a "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE" sort of way and Aurélie thought they didn't like each other for a second before they explained what they were doing and Aurélie just kind of went "Oh, okay :)" and continued on, so now the three of them hang out in person.

Peppa teaches Marshall how to take better care of his plants, Marshall learned to cook so he could experiment with some weirder produce that Peppa wanted to grow but doesn't like to eat, Aurélie plays chess with Marshall and beats him every single time because she's a computer who can experience sleep deprivation, Aurélie likes trying peppers that Peppa grows because somehow she has an incredibly high spice tolerance, Peppa likes watching Marshall try to eat the peppers Aurélie eats and not having a spice tolerance, and Aurélie and Peppa like to attend plays that Marshall helps put on. They're all good for each other :)

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 2 - Homecoming - We Welcome Back The Lords Of Chaos

Danny, Sam, Tucker and Valerie - lovingly known as the defect quartet - may have been held back one year but there’s no way they aren’t starting off their last year with dramatic bullshit. Because, honestly, they're tired of wearing masks and the lies. Besides, they’ve all moved to the Ghost Realm anyway, so what does it matter.

Danny lounges across the arms of a high backed chair, lazily swirling a half-filled wine glass of ectoplasm. Sighing up at Sams’ bedroom ceiling, “so we’re really doing this huh?”.

Tucker huffs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, “might as well dude. It’s our last year to really throw Casper High through a loop”.

“And sources say, all the fuckers we should have graduated with last year will be there”.

Danny tilts his head down to look at Valerie, who’s repairing an ecto-blaster, chuckling at her, “is that your way of saying you spied on everyone?”.

Valerie just smirks making the halfa laugh, as Sam comes in the room. Everyone looks to her and takes in the deep red and orange knee-length dress made of felt leaves, dark purple under-bust corset; the arm sleeves long flowing sheer black and decorated in gold filigree. Black hair short and spiked, with leaves sticking out in places; her ever-present combat boots on, grapevines for shoelaces.

All three make a point of whistling.

Valerie kicks Tucker, “your turn to get dressed up, techno geek”.

Tucker grunts, “ladies first”. While Danny laughs, “Tuck fuck, you’re the one who’s going to enjoy this most. Parading around your royal ass for chics to fawn at”. Making Tucker groan as he rolls over and pushes to get up, “y’all are never going to let me live down that shit are you”.

“Nope”.

“Not a chance”.

“Wouldn’t think of it”.

Tucker just flips them off as he leaves the room.

Danny downs the rest of his glass and flips in the chair to be sprawled out on his stomach; chin up on the armrest and feet touching the floor. Blowing cold air at Valerie who sends him a dirty look as he speaks, “you’re not gonna take long are ya?”.

“I’m a girl”.

“But you’re well, you”.

“Asshole”, Valerie smacks him over the head with the butt of her gun, “but no, unlike you lot I’m not going all ghost royal to freaking homecoming”.

Sam rolls her eyes as she does her make up, “wait for prom, this is just basic lazy day royal garb”.

Tucker comes back in seconds later, a white intricately pleated kilt with gold trim and belt. Simple chain mail t-shirt and white robe, tied closed loosely with a silk rope. Topped off with a large bronze necklace etched with snakes and jackals, and wearing no less than fifteen gold, silver, and iron bracelets and rings; embedded with gemstones.

Danny, raising an eyebrow, “fucking speeding dressing? Is that a challenge?”.

“Dude no”, Tucker continuing to speak as he puts on a pair of sandals, “you can make your clothing appear instantly and out of thin air. Meanwhile, I simply calculated the highest rate off efficiency based on my clothing and accessories. You know, a real skill”.

Valerie snorts as she stands, tossing the ecto-gun on the bed, “I don’t know Tucker, creation and teleportation of damn ghost clothing sounds like a far superior skill. And less geeky”. Tucker makes a show of looking offended before pulling out black eyeliner and green eyeshadow; joining Sam at her vanity.

Danny flings over the chair, standing up as Valerie leaves to get dressed. Danny walks over to the vanity and squeezes his two friends' shoulders, “we are going to freak everyone out, now hand me an eye darkness stick”.

Sam snorts, handing Danny an eyeliner pencil, “drama queen”.

“King actually”.

Sam just rolls her eyes while Tucker points at her, “he’s right though. No one will be surprised by you, miss ooky spooky, but the rest of us? Just chaos”.

Danny snickers as he leans over them, pulling down at his eyelid as he lines his eyes, “poor Mr. Lancer’s going to have a never-ending stream of heart attacks this year and we’re starting it off today with a showy flashy bang. I’m surprised we even got Val to go along. The quartet’s truly complete”.

Sam smirks as she finishes off her lips with a metallic purple, gold shimmer layered over top, “I just want to see Paulina’s face. She couldn’t even afford Tucker’s outfit”.

“Isn’t she, like, a small-time model now or something?”.

“Yeah dude, for cars I think? Course she only stuck around Amity for your ghostly spandex covered ass”.

Valerie leans on the doorway after reentering, “well it is a great ass”.

Danny slaps his ass and winks exaggeratedly, “you mean it’s deadass drop-dead gorgeous”. While Sam and Tucker both turn their heads to take Valerie in, being the only one who isn’t some kind of ghost royalty. Knight was close enough to garner looking fancy as shit though. Having been knighted by all three of them.

Red titanium breastplate, waist plate, shin plates, and forearm plates; breastplate etched with black images of battling hellhounds, the rest etched with blood blossoms. Over top of a sheer black near floor-length pleated sleeveless dress, a dark cherry red silk knee-length long-sleeved pencil dress underneath that. Long curly hair pulled into a low ponytail and laying forward over her shoulder. Simple black titanium band rings on every finger and black dress shoes.

Danny makes a show of swooning as he hands her make up bag over. Which she uses to bop Danny on the nose with, as he leaves to change.

Shaking her head as she trades seats with Sam, who goes to sit on her bed and paint her nails black. Valerie only somewhat seriously asking, “so just how excessive is he going to look?”.

Sam chuckles, not even looking up, “good luck getting him to not wear a velvet cape”.

“My god what have I signed up for”.

Tucker snorts, “generalised suffering and ringing in the year of mischief”.

Danny dramatically swishes the vines covering the doorway out of the way, near shouting, “more like singing in the mighty reign of the defect quartet! Humanities rejects!”.

Valerie points towards his voice, “hey now, I still live in the Mortal Realm...mostly. I haven’t totally defected from normal human soci-”, cutting herself off as she turns around and gapes.

Danny’s standing there in a Superman pose, floor-length black crushed velvet cape with white plush lining; clasped together by two large green skulls, images of flames etched in pale green, and connected by a loosely hanging large blackened silver chain. Over top of a silk dark purple surcoat with black satin swirling embroidery, black leather double belt decorated with black spikes, and long-sleeved fine silver chainmail under it all. Black clawed titanium gauntlets and segmented knee-high boots of the same metal; both embedded with emeralds, rubies and onyx stones, at every joint and the cuffs. The whole ensemble finished off with a black leather choker, a green skull centrepiece with a large black obsidian ring hanging from its mouth.

Sam and Tucker start laughing at Valerie’s still gaping facial expression, while Danny slumps exaggeratedly, “What? Too much?”.

Tucker laughs hard, thankful his make up is already set, “dude! We’re going for street royal! Not ‘we’re going to the opera house’!”.

Danny sticks his arms out to the side slightly and looks down, “this is street royal”, plucking at the cape collar, “this cape is barely one step up from civvies”. Making Valerie finally lose it and start laughing her ass off. Wheezing, “you! You’ve been! Been here too long!”.

Tucker points at Danny’s shoes, “at least go for low top shoes and wrist-length gloves”.

Danny rolls his eyes and alters their length, before sticking in decent sized emerald earrings and giving himself black leggings, “happy?”.

Valerie shakes her head with a smile, “this school year is going to be a mess”.

Danny smirks, “perfect then. They have the audacity to hold these royal and knightly asses back a year then they deserve it. Plus”, pointing at everyone in turn, “how has no one figured shit out yet. Like this is getting sad, and it’s not like any one of us actually need the acceptance or even tolerance of the mortal world”.

Everyone sighs, “would still like it though”, before shrugging, “screw the lot of ‘em otherwise though”.  

Tucker points at Danny, “really says a lot when even Mr. ‘Oh-Ancients-what-if-they-don't-accept-me?’ no longer gives a damn”.

Danny shrugs, “kind of hard to care when my folks and your folks, and maybe Val’s, are the only ones I’ll ever really be seeing again. And they’ve all accepted our crazy bullshit”.

Sam groans as she sticks her nails in Danny’s face for him to freeze-dry, “and lucky me, I get to be the odd one out in the acceptance train. But hey, it’s not like I ever actually cared. Not to mention Nana Ida is leaving the four of us everything”.

Valerie coughs, nearly messing up her dark grey lipstick, “wait, I’m included now?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “duh. All of team Phantom is and you’ve officially joined the chaos”.

Danny smirks as he flops back down in the chair, “there’s no way out and nothing but dead ends. But rejoice! For death is only the beginning”.

Valerie squints at him as she finishes, “that's way more ominous than you think it is”. While Tucker gets up and rummages through Danny’s bag, lifting up their assorted headgear. Tossing it to each of them and smirking at Danny’s ‘simple’ three-peaked green crown covered in obsidian stones, “well at least this one doesn’t float, or burst into flames, or give off mist, or give off the horrifying wails and moans of the dead”.

“I’d like to actually be able to hear the music, Tuck”.

Danny adjusts his ‘small’ crown and admires everyone else. Sam in her silver elven like crown wrapped in ivy vines and leaves. Tucker’s golden band of coiling snakes and rubies. Valerie with a blackened silver headband with titanium black ram horns, green skull wrapped in vines with a snake winding through its eyes at the centre. Nodding curtly, “alright, y’all ready to go freak all our former and current classmates out?”. All three of them give devilish grins so Danny continues, “well then, it’ll be a pleasure doing this song and dance with you all”, nodding at Sam, “Botany Lordess NightShade”, nodding at Tucker, “Ranatheo Pharaoh T Duulaman”, nodding at Valerie, “High Dread Knight Rufescent”.

The three of them nod back, “Phantom, High Ghost King”. Before everyone bursts out into laughs as they hop into Sam’s pumpkin carriage drawn by three black horses with flaming manes. Deciding to save Danny’s skeleton procession and fanciful Litter, as their ride for prom.

They all agreed to arrive fashionably late, since being tardy was something all of them were well known for. So it seems no surprise to them that things have already gotten started by the time they get there. Danny’s the first to hop out and holds the carriage door for everyone else. A dude smoking outside going bug-eyed at them and coughing, though the quartet completely ignores him.

Tucker, snickering at Danny, “dude, you’re the highest royal of us all. The fuck you doing?”.

Danny smirks, “gotta take care of my underlings Tuck. And y’all are mortals after all”. All three of them flip him off before the defect quartet head inside sneakily; all of them seriously wondering how long it will take for anyone to notice them.

Valerie makes her way over to the food stand, which honestly seemed like a dumb idea to have in the same room as a high school dance. Munching on some cheesy snacks, there really wasn’t a Ghost Realm equivalent to this level of greasiness and synthetic cheese, when someone taps on her shoulder. Turning around to see Star with some curly-haired brunette. Star speaking with shock, “oh! Valerie?!?”. Valerie just waits and smirks into her drink as Star opens and closes her mouth before speaking, “why? How? Armour?”.

Valerie laughs, takes a sip of her drink and eats a few more cheesy snacks before responding, “yup, it’s the last year and none of you noticed just how weird we were. So we decided fuck it, let’s really be straight strange. And the armour is a status thing, Star. Kind of came with the whole getting knighted thing”.

The brunette speaking up while Star just stares, “you know, I heard there were some unusual people in this town but, uh, this is a bit above and beyond”.

Danny laughs from behind the two girls, “you really have no idea Brittney. There’s no place stranger”, making both girls jump.

But Star quickly collects herself, recognising Danny’s deep and rather unique voice before turning around and stopping. Rubbing at her eyes as Danny and Valerie laugh. Brittney nearly whispers, “how do you know my name?”.

Danny smirks and shrugs loosely, cape bunching up. While Valerie speaks, “oh don’t mind that. Danny knows everyone’s names”.

Star looks back to Valerie while pointing at Danny, “okay...What is going on here? Those are, that is a lot of precious gems”.

Danny waves her off, “these are my less decorated clothing. Probably the most dressed-down I’ve been in a solid month”, chuckling, “ah the joys of being royalty”.

Star chokes and it looks like they’ve finally started to get other people’s attention. Multiple girls are poking at Tucker’s finery, Sam looks to be arguing with some popular girls who took Paulina’s place after she graduated. Dash, Kwan and Dale slowly walking over while eyeballing Danny. “The Hell Fentit?”.

While Sam slips over, escaping the clutches of the younger A-Listers, “hey now, is that any way to talk to your future king”.

Dash scoffs, “Fenturd is no one’s king. What are you four pulling?”.

Danny laughs and pats Dash’s head, Dash goes to whack it away but goes through Danny’s intangible arm. Making Danny laugh even harder, smirking down at the stunned Dash, “I’m everyones king in death Dash. Well, if you become a ghost that is”.

Dale squeaks, “you’re a ghost!”.

Tucker tosses his arm around Danny as the two laugh, the jocks and girls changing to glaring at Tucker. Dash muttering, “what the hell”.  

Tucker chuckles, “naw he ain’t flat out dead. None of us are. Ghost royals all the same though”, plucking at his gold bracelets, “comes with plenty of positives I’d say”, before flicking sand at Danny, who flicks snow back.

Sam glares and shoves her head in between the two boys, “how dare you leave me out”.

Danny points at her as she flicks leaves at them, Danny speaking with a shit-eating grin, “we’d never leaf you out”.

Star slowly looks back to Valerie, “when the heck did you all acquire powers and what’s up with the king thing?”.

Valerie chuckles as Star and Brittney join her in leaning against the food tables, Valerie replying, “like I said no one noticing was getting annoying so we’re not even bothering to hide it anymore”.

Danny sticks his head close and smiles, “if you recall, there was a point in time where the trio went from just the losers three to the weirdo trio. Quite a time that was. Ghosts popping up all of the sudden. The mad man king of ghosts stealing our town into another dimension only to be defeated and dethroned. Only for a certain someone to find out they were the rightful heir to said throne”.

Tucker joins in, “dude yeah, crazy shit. And then the school goes on weird field trips only for another certain someone to find their look-alike in an ancient museum while some crazy evil ghost awakens. And then of course, as things always happen, turns out that look-alike is the rebirth of the ancient ghost pharaoh and thus heir to the throne”.

Sam smirks, “and who could forget the time this dumb town decided to destroy all the plant life only for some crazy powerful ghost lord of plants to turn everyone into mindless zombies and fertiliser. Only for said ghosts to pick a certain someone as their queen and mother to all plants. Before, obviously, getting defeated”.

Valerie shrugs and smirks at Star, “and then what certain someone turns out to be a freakishly skilled fighter and ghost hunter, and friends with the aforementioned certain someone’s. A certain someone who only needed to share their secrets to unlock the door to knighthood”.

All four grin while everyone around just gapes at them, everyone in the room having gone silent shortly after Danny had started speaking.

Dash blinks before blurting out, “that’s bullshit”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snickers, “is that the ‘how dare you do better in life than me’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’ or the ‘you are lying’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’?”.

Dash glares at him and crosses his arms, “the second Fentoad. You four are weird but that’s it”.

The four exchange glances and snicker.

Star shakes her head and puts on a smile, “well whatever, you’re all here so things can actually start now”.

Valerie raises an eyebrow while Danny asks, “wait what?”.

Star nods to someone and suddenly a banner drops down reading ‘Respect, Protect And Never Forget. The Defect Quartet!’, and the music starts up in genuine, playing weird intense songs that are decidedly not normally played at any dances. Balloons and streamers start going off all over the place; most people breaking out into erratic dance, everything from the monster mash to the creep. One person appears to be doing a mash-up of the chicken dance and cotton eye joe. Anyone not dancing wildly in the whirlwind of streamers and flashing lights is leaning against the gymnasium walls watching the chaos.

Danny makes a show of looking like he’s about to faint, “they love us, they really really love us! Catch me”, before going to fall over.

All three others speaking in unison, “no”, as Danny just collapses on the floor.

Sam points at Dash who just finished doing the wiggle, “don’t you jerks hate us?”.

Dash shrugs, “Danny’s the only one I could pummel that would still stand up to me. Not to mention he never seemed to actually get injured”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head, still laying on the ground, “you actually noticed that?”, laughing, “sweet Ancients someone did actually notice something!”.

A couple of people who were just standing around come up, “plus you four are basically a staple of the school and town”.

“Your bullshit is Amity Parks hazing ritual”.

“You’re our mascots”.

Danny flings himself up and yanks the other three in for a tight hug, “guess we have to frequently visit our mortal lair now! Haha! The mortals have accepted their fate!”, before dragging them all onto the dance floor and all four of them break into weird ghost dances. The most ridiculous or over the top ones they can think of.

Danny’s bouncing around on his palms, cape dragging all over the floor and surcoat folding over his face. Sam is stomping and swaying her hands through the air like she walking through vines and pretending to have a seizure. Tucker looks to be doing a version of the robot that involves swords, bracelets jangling loudly. Valerie looks like she’s fencing while doing ballet, occasionally clanging on her breastplate for the sound effect.

The four bursting into an erratic mock fight as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet comes on. People laughing and eventually joining in. Danny notes that even Mr. Lancer, Mr. Lewis, Mrs, Testlauf and Ms. Trent seem to join in.

Danny shimmies his way over to Mr. Lancer, who’s now panting, elbowing the teacher who’s now shorter than him, “thought y’all would get back at us by making things as weird as possible huh? Try to shock us for a change?”.

Mr. Lancer waves him off, “as some would say, ringing in the new year and your last one”, standing up fully, “and yet you all still managed to startle everyone. What even is this Daniel?”.

Danny laughs exaggeratedly, “y’all only have the tip of the iceberg on our oddness. Literally in my case”, Danny swishes his cape out, snow falling out of it, as Danny goes back to the dance floor,

While Mr. Lancer is extremely confused, and then startled by Valerie coming up from behind and stomping her feet; making a show of standing ridged before bending over in laughter. Patting Mr. Lancer’s shoulder as she stands, “Mr. Lancer, you really should have expected us, especially Danny, to pull some shit. Out weirding him is honestly impossible. But hey, that’s the High King of Ghosts for you”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “what?”, while Valerie winks and walks off. Mr. Lancer looks around, Samantha’s lifting a teacup made out of a leaf with a vine, Tucker seems to have a magically appearing red carpet of bandaging appearing in front of his feet and Mr. Lancer’s pretty sure he sees brown snakes winding around him in places, Valerie seems to be showing off a green and red board sword - where did that even come from? - to Mia, and Daniel is seemingly hopping around and changing the colour of the floor every time he lands. Mr. Lancer is officially both in awe and fear of what this year is going to be like. Watching as the Defect Quartet, which he honestly thought was a pretty insulting name for the group, all collapse in a heap on the ground; Daniel throwing his cape over the other three dramatically like a large blanket, while the music quietens down.

Star and Kwan, the previous years' homecoming queen and king, take the stage. Star grabbing the mic, “okay now that we’ve had a chance to adjust to the strange and bizarre again. It’s time for this years homecoming king and queen!”.

Star waits for the cheering to stop, though some are booing too, expected honestly. Clapping her hands, “so the votes were cast by everyone as they entered, meaning!”, Kwan holds up two envelopes that Star points at, “we don’t even have to wait!”.

People cheer and hold up cups while Star opens a pink one and Kwan opens a blue one. Meanwhile, Sam mutters about gender roles, stereotypes and colours.

Star smiling down at the paper and lifting up her head, “the homecoming queen is...Valerie Gray!”.

Valerie sticks her arms out to the side speaking as people cheer, “the fuck? I’m only here, like, half the classes?!?”.  

Jesse elbows her above the metal, “but you have literally saved people's lives and not to mention basically taught everyone how to work ectoweapons”.  

While Kwan leans into the mic, grinning like an idiot, “and the homecoming king is...Danny Fenton”.

Sam, Tucker and Valerie slowly look to Danny with expressions of mock horror, while people cheer. Danny blinks once, twice, three times before going stiff and pitching sideways, laughing and shouting, “you poor innocent fools!”.

Valerie sighs and grabs Danny’s arm, pushing up his cape to do so, and drags him with her towards the stage. Danny points behind him at Sam and Tucker, “chant as we rise”.

Sam and Tucker shrug and start stomping their feet, “before the armies, start the chaos. ‘Cause these boring skies will be no more”.  

Dash snorts at Dale, “they are really going all-in on this act, aren’t they? Kind of makes me miss Highschool”.

“It’s only been a couple of months dude”.

While Danny bends forward to let Kwan awkwardly put the puffy homecoming king ‘crown’ over Danny’s actual crown. Valerie doing the same as Star tries to situate the tiara in between the horns. Star muttering at her, “this is absurd”. Making Valerie and Danny smirk.

Star and Kwan step to the side and bow at the crowd while Danny does silly hand waving; Valerie being more normal about it even if light is bouncing off her armour.

Star and Kwan hop down off the stage as Valerie grabs the mic and points at Danny, “the Zone were you all thinking putting him up here?”.

Multiple people shout at them about how they basically defined the town and school, were a vital part of the atmosphere and culture. And that Danny was basically the epicentre of it all.

Danny laughs and leans over the mic, looking at Valerie, “face it Val, I’m the perfect collection of blood, guts and other assorted candy store viscera”, before turning to the crowd, “Imma tell y’all a story. ‘Cause unholy guacamole, you have no clue”.

Valerie looks at him and snorts, “origin story time?”.

Danny just smirks before speaking, “you see, it was many years ago. Before you or I, but not really ‘cause I was here and so were most of you. I decided this reality wasn’t for me, space was always my shit. Hence why I get called space boy so much. Anyway, so I tried to aim for a better world. And then what happened? I accidentally opened a hole into the realm of the dead! And you know what I did? What I goddamn did? Waltzed in and screamed ‘Honey! I’m home!’”, clapping his hands before pointing them out at everyone, “and now I’m here with you fucks again, in a town known for its ghostliness. Which I am absolutely the epicentre, or whatever, for. So y’all want atmosphere, I’ll give ya atmosphere”, snapping his fingers making green mist appear in the air, “this year is going to be a dissection of weird for all to see!”, Danny leans against the podium, posture instantly becoming more serious, well sort of serious anyway, “but really, the lot of us genuinely debated whether to even stick ‘round Amity”, Danny laughs as multiple people gasp and some shout “no!” and “never leave us!”, most people just going along with the quartets dramatics at this point. Danny smirks as he continues, “this silly mortal plain can barely handle us, we are in league with the dead after all. But fuck it, this town’s dead enough for our asses and y’all clearly accept our shit”. Resulting in a bunch of cheering, even if most people are incredibly confused.

While Danny nods at Valerie to speak, letting her step up to the podium with a dramatic bow. Valerie chuckles and smiles at him before turning to the crowd, “so obviously I’m the least odd of the quartet. I’m also the only one that isn’t straight up accidental ghostly royalty”, Valerie shrugs, “up to you whether you believe any of us about our bullshit. But just keep in mind, we have been ‘away from town’ all summer. Take a good guess as to where. Anyway, let’s have a wild year and remember”, Valerie leans forward almost menacingly, metal wrist guards clanging on the podium, “this is your final chance to take us down”.

Danny throws his arm around Valerie, “and you call me ominous!”, turning to the crowd, “is our lives nothing but strange or just hard to believe? Question our behaviour but it’s never what you guess. So just let go of what you don’t know. You laugh at us and you laugh with us. But we can be anything you don’t want anyone to be”, snorting and laughing, “because we are humanities defects!”.

Valerie pushes him off the stage and grabs the mic, “he’s a drama queen, obviously”.

While multiple people whisper about how it seemed like the quartet are the ones who came up with their name, which honestly tracks.

Danny shouts from the ground, “KING!”, before springing up and adjusting the fake crown over top of his real one and smiling wide at everyone, “best boil my blood and gouge my eyes, for I’ll never learn to hold my tongue”.

Valerie shakes her head as she hops down from the stage, going with Danny for a dance, “you ominous bastard”.

Danny laughs as he takes her hand in his, “ah sweet sweet normalcy”.

While Tucker and Sam dance, snakes and vines weaving in a dance as well.

Mr. Lewis watches from the sidelines over the rim of a paper coffee cup, “you know, I thought aliens were the weirdest shit I was ever going to see”, shrugging, “but hey, at least no ones tried to kill me yet”.

While the defect quartet roamed the dance, confusing every person they talked to or stood next to or so much as looked at.  

End.

[shakespeareangeek]

ask game: jane austen, lewis carroll, mary shelley

Jane Austen: favourite romcom/romance

oh boi, I love a romcom/romance and I refuse to pick just one. I do really love Pride and Prejudice (2005 Kiera Knightly movie is best movie version). I love the mini series North and South with Richard Armitage. You’ve Got Mail (or the recent Broadway revival of She Loves Me...different adaptations from the same source material, basically). To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Love, Simon/Simon vs the Homosapiens Agenda. so many romcoms...so, so many romcoms.

Lewis Carroll: which fantasy world would you like to visit

Hm...my favorite fantasy books are more magical-realism than anything else, so the world is like...this world plus magic, which I feel is probably evading the spirit of the question. but also like a lot of high fantasy worlds seem...dangerous and bad to some extent? On the more magical realism side, the world of The Night Circus seems cool...very subtle, atmospheric magic. Caraval, maybe...but only if I get to be blissfully ignorant of the ~drama~ going on. A Darker Shade of Magic, but again - I want to be the one idiot who misses all the plot events of the books. Also, plug for the ARG I played (some of which is currently available in book form, more coming soon) - Neithernor from Ackerly Green/The Monarch Papers.

Mary Shelley: if you could invent anything what would it be

oh, if only I knew...maybe like, improvements to things. a better way to hang pictures on the walls in a rented space because command strips still rip the paint off like 25% of the time. some sort of thermally adaptive fabric that actively adjusts how insulating it is based on the weather (aka it’s always cold in my house and I can only wear so many pairs of socks at once). skinny jeans that still look professional but also i don’t need to immediately change into comfy pants when i get home.

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you think alayne having no problem of mya n lothor marriage as contrast to jeyne n beric is a result of grooming by petyr? Bcoz at first she thinks mya was young for lothor brune but she think that petyr told her that young girls are safe with old man.

I don’t think so.

Sansa was willing to marry Willas Tyrell, who was twice her own age (so, 25-ish) because she felt she had no other viable options.

Willas Tyrell was twice her age, she reminded herself constantly, and lame as well, and perhaps even plump and red-faced like his father. But comely or no, he might be the only champion she would ever have. (ASOS, Sansa II)

Still she hopes for an amicable bond, because Sansa is a dreamer and optimist at heart.

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. (ASOS, Sansa II)

Those would be the themes present in her preoccupation with Mya and Lothor, I think. 

Petyr’s quote was specifically about “innocence and experience”, i.e. virginity offered up to an older man who’s been around the block. That’s actually decidedly off the table with Mya.

The most pertinent quotes are in AFFC, Alayne II:

He always smiles when he speaks of Mya Stone. Mya was much younger than Ser Lothor, but when her father had been brokering the marriage between Lord Corbray and his merchant's daughter, he'd told her that young girls were always happiest with older men. "Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage," he had said.

Alayne wondered what Mya made of Ser Lothor. With his squashed nose, square jaw, and nap of woolly grey hair, Brune could not be called comely, but he was not ugly either. It is a common face but an honest one. 

Honesty has become an attractive trait to Sansa. 

Brune would be a good match for a bastard girl like Mya Stone, she thought. It might be different if her father had acknowledged her, but he never did. And Maddy says that she's no maid either. 

My has several things stacked against her in terms of making a desirable match. Being a fatherless bastard, her “ lost virtue”. Just like with Jeyne Poole, and with herself, Sansa is very aware of how status affects prospects. As the firstborn daughter of the Warden of the North and Hand of the King, Sansa was the match of a young, handsome prince. As the daughter of a traitor, the older, disabled Willas is a catch she would be grateful for. He is an heir to a high lord, after all. Capable of protecting her.

Sansa knows Mya is Robert Baratheon’s daughter. Bastard girl of a king. A prevented princess. I think, she is projecting heavily onto Mya, which is why she is romanticizing Lothor’s interest in her. A lowly bastard girl could still be loved by a decent sort of man, even if he is plain and older and of low status. Can a man love a young woman in a romantic, knightly way even if she is no proper lady? If she is lacking the outward trappings? If she has been rejected by a high status suitor and previously linked to another man?

Mya's eyes were her best feature, big and blue. She could be pretty, if she would dress up like a girl. Alayne found herself wondering whether Ser Lothor liked her best in her iron and leather, or dreamed of her gowned in lace and silk. Mya liked to say that her father had been a goat and her mother an owl, but Alayne had gotten the true story from Maddy. Yes, she thought, looking at her now, those are his eyes, and she has his hair too, the thick black hair he shared with Renly.  (…)

The repeated emphasis is Lothor’s visible affection for Mya.

"Ser Lothor is fond of her." Alayne glanced down at the mule girl, twenty steps below. "More than fond."

"Lothor Brune?" Myranda raised an eyebrow. "Does she know?" She did not wait for an answer. "He has no hope, poor man. My father's tried to make a match for Mya, but she'll have none of them. She is half mule, that one."

Despite herself, Alayne found herself warming to the older girl. She had not had a friend to gossip with since poor Jeyne Poole. "Do you think Ser Lothor likes her as she is, in mail and leather?" she asked the older girl, who seemed so worldly-wise. "Or does he dream of her draped in silks and velvets?" 

"He's a man. He dreams of her naked."

Myranda doesn’t share Sansa’s romantic sensibilities, she turns the tender affection into sexual desire, which Sansa still struggles to thaw towards, after her history with assault.

But at the same there’s a truth beneath the crudeness: the trappings don’t matter, it’s the person underneath, skin and soul. 

So, no, I don’t see Petyr’s corrupting influence here so much as Sansa’s dreams desperately looking for a loophole for love. If Mya could maybe find that, why not Alayne?

This is before Petyr reveals his plans for betrothing her to Harry the Heir, though. As of TWOW, we have Sansa struggling anew:

This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. 

Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. "Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger's bastard?"

Once again proving he’s a decent sort of man:

Near the keep, she ran headlong into Ser Lothor Brune and almost knocked him off his feet. "Harry the Heir? Harry the Arse, I say. He's just some upjumped squire."

Alayne was so grateful that she hugged him. 

Don’t stop dreaming, Sansa Stark. There’s someone who could probably have a very detailed conversation with you about bastards who are actually hidden royals, longing for tender affection and courtly love.