hello, i am typically not that active on tumblr anymore, but i wanted to put my account to use to share a survey that i am conducting. for my sociolinguistic final, i decided to take a look at online communities and how people communicate with each other. so, if you can spare 5 mins of your time to take my survey i would really appreciate it. and, when my results have been collected i will be posting a fun little editorial on here and my other social medias for everyone to enjoy. tyyyy
So I recently commissioned the amazing @kejiyaa to draw me some soft NanaGo, and they did not disappoint! I mean, just look at this beautiful masterpiece 🥰💗
If you're looking for someone to commission for art, especially if you're in the JJK fandom, I absolutely recommend Kejiyaa!
Commission them: click here for info
Please do not repost, crop or edit this artwork in any way, or remove the description or source.
It’s then that Dream realizes that perhaps everyone around him was trying to escape this fate. Working against a tradition of centuries. Yet while the rest of the world struggles to find an out, he’s standing still. He doesn’t get to walk away that easily. If not for his little brother. If not for an entire nation counting on him.
Summary: or, Dream is prince to a kingdom that is cursed and he desperately tries to outrun the inevitable.
Chapter Summary: Dream is forced to grow up and it hurts.
Tags: royal au, platonic soulmates, curses, gods & goddesses
Warnings: depictions of violence, anxiety attacks and memory loss, mentions of death
Note: third chapter of the fic, hope y’all enjoy!
Dream hates the smell of blood.
In fact he has a general disdain for the crimson liquid. The sight of it makes him nauseous while the taste causes him to gag, but the smell—the smell has always been the worst. Somehow, the scent of freshly spilled blood makes dread swell in his stomach. It’s a threat, a warning that something terrible has just transpired.
When he was seven, there was an attack on the palace during their Winter Solstice celebration. Most of that early morning was a blur. He could only recall fragments. Like Philza handing him a present wrapped in red cloth, or Sapnap’s upset stomach after eating “trop de bûches de Noël'' (or at least that's what his mother had said). The guests had all gotten drunk on sweet wine and the merry atmosphere.
The attack happened whilst everyone had already retired for the night. Whatever joyful mood they had been in was promptly shattered by the sound of panicked suffling, then screaming. Philza came bursting into his room frenzied. He grabbed Dream and threw him over his back, not uttering a word of explanation. He’d thrashed until tears ran down his cheeks.
A part of him wonders if that's why he gets so antsy around the king.
It wasn’t until Philza brought him to the gardens that a young Dream realized what had occurred. His mother stood stall, blade in her right hand and his little brother carried by her other arm. Blood stained her dress, coming from a wound on her shoulder. Philza ran to her side, giving a frightened Sapnap to Dream before checking her injuries.
In complete horror, Dream watched as his mother nearly collapsed from blood loss. Some part of him could hear the dangerously slow heartbeat that banged in her chest. In that secular moment his mother was dying. Dream could feel it in his very bones, to the way a strange marking began to carve itself on his wrist. He looked down to find his skin, mutilated by his own genetics. As if the burden of the Evergreen wanted to latch itself onto the next host as soon as it sensed the current one in danger.
However, his mothers will to live was stronger. She fought and won the physical battle against enemies sent to kill them, now she would fight to give her son a few more years before he took the burden. The next day his mother was still breathing and Dream’s skin healed over without leaving a trace.
But the smell of blood stayed with Dream. Years have passed and he still can’t stand it. A perfect reminder of the day he’d almost lost his mother, or even worse, lost himself to the curse.
That's why even though he knows he shouldn't, he steps in front of George. He knows there’s no avoiding Technoblade’s attack. It’s coming at full force towards him, sure to cut deep and make piping hot pain rush through his body.
The moment the dagger touches skin, he doesn’t even feel it. The impact sends him back a few paces, George still behind him. Dream focuses on how to stop Techno from striking again. He crouches before running at full force towards the other prince.
He draws his blade once more, but Dream has already got his arms wrapped around his torso. He tackles Techno to the ground. The Wild prince yells obscenities in his ear, desperately trying to escape Dream’s tight embrace. He refuses to let go, fueled by the adrenaline coursing in his veins.
Dream can hear the shouting of George as he continues to hold Techno down. The commotion seems to be enough to grab the attention of people in camp. A few guards run up to Dream’s side, attempting to pull him off Techno. He doesn’t let go, he can’t let go. Not until he knows the prince won’t try to hurt George.
“Dream.”
He doesn’t respond, voice drowned out by the sound of waves crashing against rocks. Techno’s expression is not one he’s ever seen on his friend. His eyes are red, redder than they’ve ever been. He bares his teeth as if he were an animal, for lack of a better word.
“Dream!” Again.
There’s a million different questions running in and out of his head. He’d known about “the voices,” but Dream had assumed Techno was joking this whole time. If the other prince was harboring this much resentment, why act now?
And why not towards Dream? Why did it have to be George?
He opens his mouth to speak, to ask, but he’s pulled off Techno by George before he can.
He watches as Technoblade is picked up from the ground by none other than Wilbur. He forces his brother to look him directly in the eyes, muttering what Dream can only assume are words of comfort.
The next to come are his mother and Philza. She seems utterly mortified when her attention lands on Dream. He shakes it off.
“What the hell did you do?!” Philza’s loud voice booms over them. “Answer me!”
Puffy walks towards Dream, standing by his side. “Isn’t it quite obvious Phil? Your son attacked mine.”
George lets Dream go.
“No, Dream was just defending me. Technoblade—he tried to hurt me.” he explains.
Philza’s expression goes angry, “You expect me to believe a word this boy says? He tried to kill my son last time!”
“Don’t you dare call him a liar,” Puffy defends, “George is a good person. He’s proven far more than trustworthy.”
Despite the fight they’d had not even an hour ago, Dream is grateful that his mother is here.
“He’s right,” Wilbur says, finally making his presence clear. “Techno attacked them. The voices, father, they got too loud for him.”
Philza shakes his head. The anger on his face disperses, and transforms into frightening realization. Like he knows exactly what his son is talking about.
Dream would feel sympathy if he hadn’t just faught Technoblade off. The pain is beginning to set in. His sides ache from being pushed back, vision in his left eye slightly obscured. The world starts to spin.
It’s then that Dream realizes that perhaps everyone around him was trying to escape this fate. Working against a tradition of centuries. Yet while the rest of the world struggles to find an out, he’s standing still. He doesn’t get to walk away that easily. If not for his little brother. If not for an entire nation counting on him.
Summary: or, Dream is prince to a kingdom that is cursed and he desperately tries to outrun the inevitable.
Chapter Summary: George settles into his new world of princes and magical curses.
Tags: royal au, platonic soulmates, curses, gods & goddesses
Warnings: depictions of violence, mentions of death
Note: second chapter of the fic, hope y’all enjoy!
“What were you thinking?!”
George can hear the high pitched voice of Queen Benoit as she scolds her son. From where he sits, hands bound by rope, he can catch a glimpse of the young prince. He doesn’t seem to take any word his mother says into account. Dream’s attention is elsewhere, eyes glimmering with some sort of pride.
Though he’s rather terrified of the situation he finds himself in, Puffy’s worried shouting, cracking down like thunder, calms him. She cares for Dream beyond regal matters, seeking to protect him from harm because she loved him and not for what his death would do to the country. Kings and Queens don’t exactly nurture their children for the right reasons, many don’t want them in the first place. Though that doesn't apply to royalty alone.
No , George thinks with a smile, no it does not .
For as long as he could remember, George Altwater had been alone. His parents, whoever they might’ve been, decided to abandon him in front of a church. A part of him wants to conclude that his parents abandoned George to ensure him a good life, as unlikely as that is.
He was raised by nuns, learning scripture and mathematics alike. The sisters would yell at him for not wanting to say prayer. Rulers against wrist, belt slapping skin and hot tears streaming down his younger self’s face. What a beautiful childhood. Growing up at the church grounds made him hate religion, perhaps more than he should’ve. Call him arrogant, but George has always felt he was bigger than that.
It wasn’t all bad. He fell in love for the first time in that place. A groundskeeper offered to teach him how to shoot an arrow properly. At ten years old George held a bow the size of his torso, and trembling like a leaf in the wind, shot his first arrow. He missed the target, but the blossoming adoration for the sport was enough. By the time the week was over, his tiny hands were bruised and bleeding. Even so, he stayed past sundown everyday to keep practicing.
Now at age sixteen, archery had been the thing that almost got him killed.
He’d never seen royalty up close. Most citizens of The Greater Lands could not recognize the princes at all. Dream and Nicholas Benoit were sheltered, kept from the world. Their illustrious bodies were considered too precious to be tainted. That’s why George understood how grave his mistake of firing that arrow had been. Hiding out in the woods was his pathetic effort of not being put to death. It didn’t work in the end. His short, inconsequential life, would end at the hand of the monarchy.
Or so he’d believed.
Terrified, George had trusted the word of Dream. He’d looked up at him and not seen a savior, he saw a lifeline. How was he to refuse that?
The clinking of a spoon againsts porcelain snaps him back. Right , his mind says, her . George’s eyes land on the woman sitting across from him. Lady Kristin of The Wild. Two black wings lay hidden under her blouse. George can’t help but stare at the feathers that begin at the tips of her collarbones.
She chuckles, “Curious little thing, are you?”
He darts his gaze away, cheeks flushing red.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m sure this is the first you’ve seen someone from The Wild. It’s okay to be intrigued. ”
George slowly shakes his head. It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered someone on this side of the border. Living in the woods, he stopped many travelers. Human looking creatures except for a pair of antlers on the sides of their head or a fox tail hanging between their legs. The scripture he was exposed to described the people of The Wild as devils. They wanted to teach him to resent them for cursing their kingdom. While disdain for the neighboring land was not uncommon, George carried no such hatred.
“How did you even stray so far from The Greater Lands?” she asks.
His entire body goes rigid at her words and Lady Kristin seems to notice. Her lips raise into a smile resembling a waning moon. George knows he’s in no position to lie or hold back an answer, but the truth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
One moment George had been walking through a crowded market place and the next he woke up in a dewy meadow. Rather delirious, he stumbled through the foggy territory until he reached the woods. It took him an entire day before George realized he wasn’t in The Greater Lands anymore. He was lucky to have his quiver on his back and bow in his hand or else he would have starved to death months ago.
Lady Kristin’s smirk drops in understanding, or is it pity? George doesn’t try to figure out what her expression reads, he’s just glad she doesn’t press further.
She extends her hands across the table, going for the rope tied around George’s wrists. He flinches as Lady Kristin begins to untie his restraints.
“Aren’t you—Aren’t you afraid that I might try to escape?”
She laughs, “My guard dog of a husband or son wouldn’t let you get that far.”
George shivers at the thought of falling into the mercy of Technoblade again.
“Is Prince Benoit really going to take me to the palace?”
It’s a bold question. Especially after George had attempted to kill this woman’s son. She had every right to want him dead.
“If that’s what he promised then I see no reason he wouldn’t.”
Relief floods the shores of George’s mind. He nods and begins to massage the red marks around his wrists. He never imagined himself entangled with royalty, let alone the heir to the throne. George sees no way of getting out of this, so he might as well shut up and take what fortune has given him. He was able to survive this long which should mean he’s an expert at adapting. Also, the prospect of residing in a palace was not terrible.
“A tidbit of advice however,” Lady Kristin says. “Don’t let yourself become an accessory.”
She leans over the table, “And do not become dispensable.”
George swallows hard, her words promptly shattering any illusions he has. The pitter patter of his heart rings like a haunting melody in his ears. Slowly, he directs his gaze to the opening of the tent. He finds Dream still being told off by his mother. Soft though the boy appears to be, George fears that the prince hides something much darker. Would he wear him out? Tossing him aside when he grows bored of George? Like Lady Kristin suggests, would George be kicked out of the palace after his use was no more or even worse, killed?
It’s then that Dream realizes that perhaps everyone around him was trying to escape this fate. Working against a tradition of centuries. Yet while the rest of the world struggles to find an out, he’s standing still. He doesn’t get to walk away that easily. If not for his little brother. If not for an entire nation counting on him.
Summary: or, Dream is prince to a kingdom that is cursed and he desperately tries to outrun the inevitable.
Chapter Summary: Dream and Sapnap travel to a neighboring kingdom. What awaits them?
Tags: royal au, platonic soulmates, curses, gods & goddesses
Warnings: depictions of violence, mentions of death
Note: first dsmp fic, be nice!
Before hardcover textbooks and mean tutors, Dream relied on his mother for the history of their kingdom.
Laying next to him, she would tell him about the then virgin land their palace was rooted on. How no sight could compare to that of their home. Beautiful in the way it came to life on its own. Dream used to hang on to every word his mother would share with him. From past kings and queens to fearless warriors that came before. All shaping their kingdom to be as great as it was today.
Yet none of those bedtime stories explained why the servants spoke of a darkness. Growing up in the palace, Dream heard the whispers as he passed by. Guards and maids alike would use hushed voices to trade his name between each other. It never quite bothered him, being a prince made conversation about him inevitable, but oh how it made him curious. However, Dream couldn’t ask. Something told him that he wouldn’t like the answer.
Perhaps it would reveal why every spring Lady Kristin came to visit. She wasn’t like Dream, his brother or his mother. Lady Kristin was of The Wild, a kingdom that shared a border with theirs. Two large black wings trailed behind her, an indication that she was foreign here.
Dream hid behind his mother the first time he met Lady Kristin. Her smile made his body run cold. Strong gaze holding him in place as if the woman had some innate power over him. He looked up for reassurance only to find an unreadable expression on his mother’s face, and yet, she pulled Lady Kristin into a welcoming embrace.
Years later, Dream would learn that his mother felt grief.
The way Dream got the answers to his question was in the form of his mother’s last story. He can still see her hollowed out figure walking into his bedroom. She locked the door so his brother wouldn’t interrupt. Stroking Dream’s hair she told him how this nation started, confessing like it was a sin.
A traveler was their first king. He was kinder than most, and the land opened itself to him. They knew he was destined for greatness. He built what no other had been able to, but despite everything, the first king was still human. He’d succumb to what power could offer him and when he did, the land cried. The king went into the wild, searching for knowledge, only to take what did not belong to him. Believing that those of the wild would never come searching for what he’d stolen, the king went on for years until he found a creature in front of his throne.
He begged for mercy, pleaded that they let him live with the wisdom he’d acquired. However, this creature did not come searching for blood. Instead, it offered a compromise. The king could keep what he’d stolen if he promised to house a creature of The Wild for three months of every year. He agreed without a second thought.
After hearing the last of it, Dream found it hard to breathe. His mother lifted her sleeve, showing him the mark of the Evergreen on her wrist. It was forever etched on her skin as a reminder of their burden, and in time, she’d pass it on to him.
The prince would spend the rest of his childhood reading every book on the Evergreen. He wanted it to end. Dream could not bear the thought of having that ugly mark on his skin. Of becoming an empty ruler like his mother. But every passage ended the same way.
He was only reassured that this would be a tradition to last centuries.
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