#michael bodt

[zoe-bug]

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So a lot of people have been saying here & on twitter how they’re excited to hear Mick’s character voice in the ATSIT podfic!!

So, as an apology for taking SO LONG to get out updates (and because I promised it to Morgan ages ago) I recorded some Mick!!

You can read “All The Stars In Texas” by @southspinner, HERE

OR listen to the first 5 chapters read aloud by yours truly HERE

(Art of Mick by the fantastic @2-bee )

[shingekicornwrites]

The prince is a savage man.

That is the tale told in the pubs. In the dark corners where drunkards tell their tall tales, the whispers are never ending as the story is twisted and warped only to be passed to another tavern in another village. In their endless trek to find His Highness and bring him home they have heard many stories from men that smell too strongly of brew to be trusted.

In one village they say the prince was like a siren, charming them of their wares before vanishing into the night.

In another they say the beast that took him hovered like a demon, possessing their heir in his claws with no intent on letting go.

In one remote village they say they don’t remember seeing the prince at all, only tired strangers who stopped to eat and bathe in the clear springs before moving on.

And on and on it goes. Something new every day. One villager swears the prince isn’t a human anymore, that he is more beast than animal. Of that the knights believe could be true. When they pulled Prince Michael from the ruins in the mountains he was a screaming mess. When he wasn’t making noises of distress he was completely mute. He lacked an understanding of who he was, what his role meant.

The boy was completely wild, raised by a beast that left him unable to understand they were trying to save him.

It must have been so easy for this monster to take him away again. Swaying him from his bedroom in the palace to be taken to whatever hole it crawled out of. The poor prince, who doesn’t know any better…

Even if he is wild, they will bring him home. Of that the knights are sure.

some time ago I made an au based on the epic romance of @southspinner‘s Michael Bodt and Eren, in which Michael is the ‘princess in the castle’ who is rescued from the wild and the beasts that kept him captive.

Except not.

reintroducing the micheren dragonboy au

[shingekicornwrites]

I suddenly remembered the micheren dragonboy au

Imagine the night after swearing himself to the prince, Eren sneaks into Michael’s room and they escape after stealing back the few things Michael really cares about. He takes back the armor of scales he built in the mountains and they rob the knights armory before taking off into the night. 

Imagine the both of them hiding in the deep forest as the king sounds an alarm that the poor prince has been kidnapped again. Imagine Eren taking Michael to the people who helped him while they were separated and Michael not really trusting them, but he doesn’t say anything because he’s so glad his dragon came back he’d follow him anywhere. 

Imagine the kingdom being told the poor, traumatized prince has been taken again as he slips right through their fingers under traveling cloaks, hand in hand with his ‘captor’. The stories tell of a mute man who suffered at the hands of a beast, so the smooth talking liar isn’t glanced at twice. 

Imagine Mick and Eren looking up at the stars, sad because they can’t return to their mountain but happy that they’re together again. 

Imagine the two of them being chased from village to village, constantly dodging the law as the villain who stole the crown prince is demanded for punishment. Imagine Eren having to wear disguises as exaggerated pictures of his face are put on posters. Michael laughs at them sometimes, and Eren feels so much better when he does because he’s missed his smile. 

Imagine Eren breathing out campfires for the two of them to warm up next to, a glimmer of scales dancing across his skin as Mick holds him close and listens to his heartbeat. Every brush with the knights leaves him scared of watching his dragon fall again. 

Imagine Michael putting his golden tongue to good use and scamming villagers out of money, slowly collecting a good emergency fund and buying the things they need to live on the run. Imagine Michael buying Eren a cloak as green as his eyes. 

Imagine Eren being hopeless concerning human behavior at times, and Michael (while more knowledgeable from his time with his ‘family’, doesn’t actually know a lot about the common folk) has to help him figure in the gaps. Michael doesn’t like the humans much, he doesn’t think he ever will, but Eren finds them fascinating. Michael doesn’t understand why. He feels nothing but anger towards them for their sins against them both. 

Imagine Eren seeing humans in love and trying to do what they do with Michael, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before telling him his feelings in the language they both speak more than the common tongue. You are a flame within my heart. The highest form of love a dragon can give. 

Imagine the knights actually closing in and one manages to injure Eren, finally rallies the call that he caught the fiend who stole the prince-only for Michael to stick his sword in as far as it will go, roaring with fury. He screams at the knights that he is not their prince and never will be, and he’d rather die than return to the prison that is the castle. His roar is his own fire as he slays as many men as he possibly can before taking Eren and running. 

Imagine the news spreading that the prince has fallen, Michael smirking to himself as he and Eren continue their crime spree in the form of robbing nobles passing through the forest. Michael gives Eren all of the shiny jewelry before pocketing the money. 

Imagine the feral prince who rejects his title, and the fearless former dragon who guards him with his life as they slowly make their way towards the coastline where they’ll scour the mountains for a new home. 

...and also, imagine the feral prince’s younger brother, watching this news unfold with his wannabe-knight boyfriend and deciding to come find them before the law does. 

[shingekicornwrites]

the long awaited micheren dragonboy!au

After much procrastination (and hard work on my erejeanmarco fic Bootleggers) I finally finished up the first part to this idea I had from micheren week. Originally it was going to be the ‘winter’ prompt but...it kind of got away from me a bit. 

Pairing: Michael Bodt/Eren Jaeger

Words: 2003

Michael Bodt belongs to southspinner and All The Stars In Texas, all character credit goes to them. 

Fire of the Soul: Part 1

He dreams of warm scales and the smell of smoke. A heartbeat and deep rumbling beneath his hands, sheer comfort from the knowledge that as long as he’s there, nothing can harm either of them.

He dreams of the world he’s lost, of a castle half crumbled but filled with the warmth of family, of armor made from scales and a lifetime of chasing his brother through the stones under the watchful eyes of their mother. Their Heart Mother, she called herself, but to them she was simply Mother. He dreams of Mother leaving, of his brother following her to the south to seek what the mountains couldn’t offer, but not feeling alone because he still had someone watching him and keeping his home safe. He dreams of beautiful blue green colors and slanted eyes.

He wakes to a human maid pulling his curtains back and showing him an icy world left barren with snow. She rattles off his agenda for the day, the same as it was yesterday and the day before and the day before. Breakfast with the not-mother. Lessons on what he missed while he was gone. Another attempt at being bred to feel content with the dull life he’s being forced into.

His dreams dissolve into nothingness as it all comes back to him. The world of scales and adventure and freedom is nothing more than a fleeting thought. He remembers that world doesn’t belong to him anymore. He belongs to the circus of humans now. He remembers the celebrations for the long lost royalty. He remembers a long trip on a rickety wagon covered in scratchy blankets. He remembers men babbling stories of a woman they claim is his mother and the adventures of a man they call his father. He remembers his own screams as he was dragged out of his home and the men in armor made sure his protectors blood stained the stone floor.

His dragon is dead, and he is a prince once more.

People like to talk as if he can’t hear or understand them. He doesn’t understand them, just not the way they think. He doesn’t understand why they wear clothes that aren’t meant to get dirty. He doesn’t understand why the women are talked over. He doesn’t understand why, when he showed an interest in the face paint the women of the court wear, he was steered away with harsh words. He doesn’t understand why everyone is always so cross with each other. He doesn’t understand why lies are the common tongue. He doesn’t understand why he has to have all the dirt scrubbed from his skin, even if it’s a microbial spot on his hand from touching a flower.

He doesn’t understand their ways at all.

But he understands their words. He isn’t stupid.

“Prince Michael, kidnapped by a beast when he was just a boy. He doesn’t seem to remember his own family. What a shame.”

“I hate to think of what that monster did to him.”

“He hasn’t spoken to anyone since they brought him back. Must be shock.”

“They still haven’t found his brother. Must have died in the mountains. His poor parents…”

He wants to roar at them in fury. Poor no one. The people he is told to call Mother and Father are not his family. The one called Father looks at him with wariness and the urge to change; to morph him into a smaller version of himself so that he may inherit a court of fools and repeat the cycle. The one called Mother only frets when others are looking. When they are left alone Michael turns his full hatred toward her and she cowers. Without speaking he conveys as much anger as he can.

The knights who brought him ‘home’ are given a party and they force him to sit on a throne as some sort of trophy. Michael looks at every one of them with disdain. They retreat and when one mutters choice words about leaving the prince where they found him, Michael almost breaks his vow of silence to agree.

But his words are wasted on fools and so he doesn’t give in. These people are the real monsters. He refuses to allow them the privilege of hearing his voice or seeing his smile.

His ‘parents’ are elated to hear of his ‘progress’. What a farce.

In books he never progresses, he can’t focus on the tiny lines of tiny words in sentences that make no sense to him. He doesn’t understand the prose that takes up pages upon pages listing pointless details. The language of supposedly proper literature is lost on a mind that simply doesn’t care for it. In mathematics he refuses to use the tired old strategies of the tutor and the old bat refuses to allow him to use his own way of counting, and so the entire subject lands on a standstill where Michael refuses to work and the tutor refuses to teach. Speaking goes about as well as expected. The court physician proposes that he’s simply mute from having no one to talk to.  History is met with fury because the accounts the tutor recalls are so blatantly biased.

But in physical activity, he stuns.

Swordsmanship ends with Michael putting his instructor face first in the dirt. They criticize his technique for being too wild, too improper, but Michael continues to use it and he continues to win. The memory of Mother, of learning to counter the hatchlings claws with sticks and makeshift shields, makes his heart sing and under the cover of a block Michael smiles. He has been playing this game for so long that the humans attempting to teach him are flailing like hatchlings themselves.

Archery is his better subject. Michael had his own bow before the knights dragged him away; a rough but trusted bow that Mother had brought him from a lone woman who lived at the base of the mountain. He knew how to hunt with it. He knew how to hit a target through rain or snow or darkness. So when the instructor places a polished bow in his hand Michael sums up its weight and fires before the fool can finish attempting to teach him what he already knows.

He hits the target in the center, and startles several crows from a snow coated tree.

His not-father claps from his seat on balcony above the training ground. Michael ‘misfires’ and skews an apple from his hand.

The way of dragons is a way of emotion. You gain your name from your fire, from the center in your soul that details who you are and who you will be. Reading such a thing is easy.

The humans have no such center and that puzzles him.

The first week or so of his return he attempted to read everyone in the vain hope he could find a kindred spirit. He reached his heart out, felt for the heartbeats and inner shine, and found only closed off souls that burned with ice.

Small humans have the potential for fire. Michael reads them when he sees them and he feels a bit better seeing the shine in their chests. But no flame ever matches his, an inferno that burns deep inside and scorches all it can reach.

After a month, Michael gives up on searching. He retreats back into his own heart. He feels it break with longing as he does so and looks to the horizon with hope that one day he hears the beating of wings.

The longer time goes on the more he feels his inner fire going out. The light in his eyes grows dull with every passing day that he’s bred to become like the men that ruined his life.

His only solace is hearing the knights run themselves in circles looking for his brother. He smiles to himself every night with the knowledge that Marco is safely exploring the southern shores, far away from this nonsense. His silence is taken as confirmation of his brothers demise and he knights explore the same mountain ridge over and over and over again looking for the body of a small child.

His victories are in the small things. Refusing to meet his not-mothers eyes at breakfast. Spurning the hearts of hopeful maidens come to promise their hearts to the stolen prince. Tracking dirt into his room and wearing clothes that are horribly below the standard his not-family sets for him.

His greatest achievement is the day he escapes into the forest. For a blessed two hours the chattering voices stop and he’s allowed to simply exist as he is.

When the royal guard drags him back he has slush and mud all over his boots and trousers, but the satisfied look in his eye speaks volumes.

They begin locking the gates and doors. Michael only sees the world through windows, and all he sees is the dead emptiness of winter in artificial gardens. He isn’t sure when the last of his happiness fades but one day he awakes with the realization he feels numb inside.

It isn’t uncommon for knights to come and pledge themselves to the royal family. Warriors from small villages make the trek all the way to the capital city to lay their swords at the kings feet and swear themselves to the cause. What cause it is exactly Michael doesn’t know or understand.

Winter isn’t gone yet but the days slowly begin to get a bit longer, and a festival is held. Michael curls his lips at it all, at the waste of food and bones that these humans seem content to throw around with no care, but makes no protest. He sits in his throne with the heavy crown of responsibility upon his head and silently seethes in his hatred.

Once the food is cleared and the entertainment is done with their routine, the annual bunch of warriors approach. One by one they make their way to the king’s feet and lay their swords down. They say their names and the names of their homes and the king offers them a spot in his army. The queen nods her head in approval.

They never expect anything from Michael. He merely looks them all over before making his displeasure known. Not-father is always angry about this and so it spurs him to do it more.

This particular crop is just as bad as ever. Burly men with axes and tattoos, thin assassins with knives hidden all over, youths with naïve light in their eyes; the same groups as ever that Michael knows will become as cruel as the royal guard that ruined everything he loved.

One approaches that makes the room whisper. They don’t seem to be large, rather small actually. They wear a green cloak that barely hides thick leather boots and obscures the face. They silently approach the king with confidence in each step, with no regard for ceremony and propriety as they wrench off the hood of their cloak when they reach the end and stand before the royal family.

Michael feels something stir in his chest. It takes him a moment to realize the familiar feeling of fire in his core, of another heart reaching for his.

“I’ve come to pledge my allegiance to the royal family; to Prince Michael.” Whispers follow his declaration, of his rudeness and his brashness for such a statement, but the figure does not heed them.

The figure kneels and lays his sword down. It’s sheathed in a shining case of ocean colored scales. Soft dark hair frames dark sun kissed skin and an angled jawline, and when he raises his head Michael laughs.

He laughs for the first time since he was brought to this nightmare of a palace.

The court gasps, his not-family stares in both wonder and horror, and the figure on the floor smiles a sharp toothed smile as Prince Michael lets his joy be known.

He knows his dragon anywhere, and the fire in their souls burns brightly in joy at their reunion.  

[my-jeanmarco-blog]

I have this headcanon that Michael (Marcos brother) from southspinners All the Stars in Texas looks like the shadow man from Princess and the Frog except with like a waluigi mustache