forum funking,,,,,,,,JEANUBIS
Started by @AloeVera groupMentallyImInACottage
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@AloeVera groupMentallyImInACottage

Anubis:
"i may be a dumb bitch

𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓲 𝓪𝓲𝓷'𝓽 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓹𝓲𝓭"

@AloeVera groupMentallyImInACottage

AU where i write a good AU

Also Known As

Medieval AU!

I wouldn't like to brag about my knowledge of dragons, because it's not like I could ever use them in conversation. Everyone told me I'd never find a princess if I indulge myself in useless knowledge and myths, but, the more they said that, the more I realized I didn't want a princess. I never really cared to find one. I'm young, why do I need to bother with finding someone to inherit the throne right now? Even neighboring kings tried to pair me with their daughters. I've had to come up with a new excuse every time to explain why I'm not interested. The public eye has grown so scolding and cold that I've had to retreat to the forest numerous times in order for some peace and quiet. There I could read up on ancient myths and legends.
The thing about dragons is that they originated from the sea; that's where the people believed they reside, they teach that dragons are sea spirits.
Water, however, is not my specialty.
I centered the kingdom around fire. It was sort of an accident, actually. Someone caught me playing with fire, so I tried to come up with something philosophical about fire; something that a leader of a kingdom might say about fire. Unfortunately, the civilians praised my words.
"Fire is passionate! Fire is hot and strong! Fire shows us just how human we are!"
Or something to that effect. There are bonfires nearly every night in the town square.
Oh, right, dragons.
Now, I wouldn't necessarily call myself mad; my mind is perfectly functional, but the past couple of days, when I went to the forest, I still felt eyes on me.
My biggest concern with this is that they're not scolding eyes; they're curious ones. Almost as if someone is studying me. My endless attempts to search around and find them were in vain. I have even tried pretending that I don't feel their presence, that I don't hear their gentle movements, as they approach so close that I swear they could be standing right next to me; yet as I swiftly turn around in all directions, there is only a small harmless creature, maybe a bird, picking twigs nearby, paying no attention to me.
I stand up and turn to the setting sun, the last sliver of it's light just barely visible over the horizon. My eyes fall onto the leaf-ridden ground, where the bird hopped around, occasionally stooping to examine a twig.
"I don't suppose you're the one breathing down my neck, are you?"
The bird responds by hopping a few steps away from me before flying away.
Damn, I suppose I am losing my mind, if I'm talking to animals.
The sun had set, I'd lost any light I had out here for reading, so it was high time I return to my castle.
That is, until the bird fell to my feet, bloodied and barely alive.
I bend over and pick up the creature, twitching in an attempt to escape whatever pain it's in, as if flying away can heal its wounds. As I examine the bird, a shadowy creature, larger than me, lands in perfect form in front of me.
A dragon?
Though the sun had already disappeared, it's golden eyes glowed solemnly. It remained frozen, as if mimicking my heart, as we gazed at each other intently. The rest of his body seemed to be a dark color, maybe black, but the moonlight often was untrustworthy.
"You…you're a dragon." I whisper in amazement.
Strange that I steadfastly held that they're real, yet remain petrified in awe upon seeing one. Without warning, his eyes dart behind me and leap forward, sprinting further into the forest.
"Wait, come back!"
I turn around and follow him, my feet hitting the ground and stirring up the leaves in a brisk moment, but nothing matters right now. Not the kingdom, not the people, nothing. I must follow this dragon, even if he is merely a hallucination.
In all honesty, the dragon had long since exited my line of sight, but I continued running. Something inside me burned; sort of like the supposed philosophical fire in the village's souls. It burned and it cracked and it roared for me to continue running. In hindsight, I don't think I was chasing the dragon; I was running from something.
The forest only grew thicker, the trees closer together, and it was hard to see very far in front of me as the leaves and branches scratched at my face, some so sharp I could feel the blood running down my skin. I cover my face with my arms, refusing to stop just to take a breath.
I suppose that's why I couldn't smell the smoke.
I burst through an opening, nearly tripping on the sudden emptiness and lack of obstacles. I just barely catch my footing before I notice the fire across the opening. It's light held something different from the bonfires in the village. I don't think it was a regular campfire.
Then I see him. The dragon peacefully laying on the forest floor, but he's not alone.
Next to him stood a man, his face completely unfamiliar, but hidden under his generous hair. He gazed at me with curiosity, which I return in silence.
"Is he yours?"
I call out, my voice a little hoarse from being out of breath from the run.
The man furrows a brow, the curiosity converting to judgement.
"By that logic, I could ask him the same thing about you. What are you doing out here?"
I pause, unable to answer as I think about the question. Why did I leave my kingdom? Why do I no longer attend the bonfires, despite my affinity for fire? Why do I put on a mask when speaking to the townspeople?
"I was chasing freedom," I mutter as the man adjusts his weight onto the other foot, tilting his head and eyeing me.
"Actually, his name is Prince, but I'll let it slide this time."
He shoots a quick smirk at me as Prince blinks his glowing golden eyes, something about him communicating a sense of knowledge I may never be able to understand.
"And your name?" I call out, daring to step closer to him.
"Jean," He breathes, studying me closely.
I nod in response. He must not know of me. Should I give him my name? Would he ask for it? Does he already know it? I am royalty, after all.
No. I'm not.
They can find themselves a new king.
I'm not the King Olliver they want me to be.
"My name's Anubis."

@AloeVera groupMentallyImInACottage

listen i know it's april fool's day but we have a

special au;)

in the works!
it's got like 456789 aspects that make it so special but all i'm revealing about it is that it's,,,,special

@AloeVera groupMentallyImInACottage

Here It Is

Jenny and I actually collabbed on this AU!!! so it features both of our writings:)
anyway I call this the AU AU goodluck!

She reapplies the brass knuckles before quickly turning to me, bending her knee, and delivering an uppercut to my chin, sending my head upwards which in turn causes my whole body to fall backwards with the chair from the impact.
Jean is still silent.
She turns back to the phone, awaiting a reaction from Jean.
"I'm not going to die today." He utters, thankfully, followed by what I can only assume is the girl sighing in frustration. She approaches the table in silence I try to see what she's grabbing, but her back covers what little light I had to use, especially from my angle on the floor.
"Maybe not," She murmurs, turning to me and pointing a gun directly at my head before finishing her sentence. "but he will."
She waits for Jean to stop her, but instead he says something neither of us could have predicted.
"Then kill him." I inhale sharply and look to the girl, alarmed that it was ending so quickly.
The last thing I hear is the gunshot before everything stops, quickly fading from my vision.
I didn't know which hurt more.

The familiar empty, floating feeling surrounds me once again. Not necessarily painful, but the feeling makes me want to stretch, yet I can’t move. I want to reach for something solid. Somehow though, I know there’s nothing around me at all.
And I wake up into the next one. I’m in my familiar navy blanket. I get in that good stretch I so desperately wanted to feel only moments ago, but it’s not as satisfying. I scan my room, but nothing is diff-
“Anubis! Wake up! It’s time to wake the fuck up!” Jean barges through my door with a huge grin on his face. I flinch and cover Jean with my hand, as if he is the sunlight or something. What version of Jean is this?
“I wake up when I want to,” I groan. All of a sudden I feel his grip around my wrist and I’m being pulled to the kitchen. I squint at Jean - who’s wearing a bright pink shirt. Yet, his shirt does not compare to the decorations in his house; random abstract paintings on certain walls, weird trinkets scatter across shelves and the blanket on the couch is a bright blue. The house itself isn’t cluttered, just more lively.
Jean scoffs, “Oh, you silly goose! You’re always tired! It’s time to have fun, Anubis. Do you know what fun is?” I raise a gay eyebrow. Jean is bouncing off the walls, tapping his foot, fidgeting in excitement for something I’m unaware of. His energy rose exponentially higher than mine. You’d think I could predict what could happen in every universe, but it’s always a surprise.
“I need this to end,” I mutter under my breath, but Jean doesn’t hear. He seems to be too slap-happy to care.
“I have a whole agenda for us today, Anny! Just look at this sweet list! We’re gonna work out and then…” I stop listening as he points to each bullet on the small notepad.

Jean drags me to countless things and by the end of the day, my body feels overworked and I’m ready to sleep at almost 8:00 p.m. Yet, it didn’t end. Day by day went exactly like this, and it is quite difficult to convince Jean to leave me alone. But, I made a small discovery when we relaxed on the couch with a couple of shots of whiskey.
If anyone knows the different versions of Jean when he’s drunk, they’d know that his party drunk is the most out of character for him. I guess, when I say ‘they’, I could only refer to myself. Anyway, the situation with that assertion is that this Jean, when he’s sober, is much more weird and wild than regular Jean’s party drunk. I didn’t connect the dots until the first time I saw this Jean’s angry drunk.
This is probably really confusing, but bear with me - whoever is seeing this.
“Alright, GG, what’s next?” I had huffed, sighing in exhaustion.
Jean didn’t answer, but instead took another swig of his whiskey, pouring more into his cup and slamming the bottle onto the table.
Confused, I look over at him and notice something almost painfully familiar about his change of appearance.
He looked incredibly tired. Not just tired from all we had done that day, but he looked like he just got back from hell.
He looked normal again.
And, if I’m being honest, I missed it.
For a while, I debated with myself. I’d wait for him to suggest drinking and then inconspicuously trick him into drinking more, occasionally bringing up subjects that might piss him off. Angry drunk Jean in this universe was my normal Jean, and I longed to see that side of him, but I didn’t realize it until today. I had been in this cycle for so long, how long has it been?
I don’t condone drinking, especially to the extent he’s reached so far, but whenever he’s sober, I’d rather he’s dead. He’s too much to handle, it’s not right and I hate having to deal with it. Today, I became so impatient and tired, that I practically force him to drink.
“We’ve had whiskey for like a week straight. I’m more in the mood for a fruit smoothie, don’t you think?” he chimes, opening the fridge and grabbing some ingredients. I violently snatch the bottle of whiskey and slam it into his chest, forcing him to catch it as I glare at him.
“Well I’m in the mood to get drunk,” I snap, almost as if I’m trying to get him to repeat my words robotically. Almost as if that sentence isn’t complete. Jean kind of looks at me with a shocked expression, but tries his best to shrug it off as he pops open the bottle and pours himself a glass.
“You’ve been drinking a lot lately, Anny, there something up with that?”
God, I hate that nickname. Or maybe I don’t, I don’t know, I’m just irritated right now. The truth about my drinking habit is I haven’t been drinking nearly as much as Jean. I took a few sips until Jean was too drunk to notice, then I’d give him my cup. If he dies, at least I’ll get a normal Jean back, right? Does this end?
“Sure, if that bothers you, I don’t care.”
Yes, I do. I hope it did. He’ll get angry drunk if it bothers him. He sighs heavily and takes a swig of the drink. I watched him in anticipation.
Am I wrong for doing this? What really is wrong anymore? I’ve suffered not only my own death, but Jean’s, hundreds and hundreds of times, I’ve become too desensitized to it to care. Just give me a normal Jean again.
“Whatever.”
He utters, already drunk.
Something inside me relaxes, feeling more comfortable with Jean back to his ‘’normal’’ state.
I hold back the corners of my lips from twitching into a smile as I take a quick sip of the whiskey. Things are normal now. Other than the strange decorations in the house that he still tolerated on his walls. Something tells me Prince prefers angry Jean, too. Unless that’s just me trying to justify myself, I don’t really care anymore. I’m tired. I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall.
“Got any jobs recently?” I inquire to Jean, but receive no answer, which I’m used to, so it’s nice to r-
Jean drops his cup as it shatters onto the floor, spilling everywhere and staining the floor. I open my eyes and watch him as he doubles over, losing his balance and falling to his knees, coughing.
“Hey, hey hey! Jean, what’s going on?”
He can’t even answer as he clutches his stomach, vomiting so immensely that I see blood. I place a hand on his shoulder, only to be met with a cold touch. I start to panic, especially when Jean can’t even hold himself up anymore, and falls into the mess he made on the floor, barely conscious.
No, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He wasn’t supposed to die when he was angry drunk.
I lied. It still hurts to see Jean die, even if I have experienced it hundreds of times. I roll him onto his back and smack his face a few times in a desperate attempt to keep him conscious.
“Hey! Jean, hey, c’mon, wake up. You can’t die yet, not right now. Jean!”
Despite his slow and heavy breathing, Jean starts shaking violently. His eyes roll back in his head as foam joins the residue on the edges of his mouth. I panic, unable to think of what to do except sit and watch, yelling excessively loudly. It’s not like he can hear me.
After a few minutes, his shaking cools down, the foaming stops, and his eyes return; but Jean himself does not.
“Jean, please come back.”
I whisper with a broken voice, my throat tightening and my eyes puffing up as I resist tears. His breathing continues to drop as I check his pulse in his wrist.
I must be too fidgety to feel it there, I’ll check his neck.
No, it’s usually faint in the neck, right?
I lower my head onto his chest, placing my ear directly above his heart.
His chest rises and lowers every ten seconds, but the interval time increases with each exhale.
This is probably the slowest, most painful death Jean has experienced; and it’s because - I inhale, a sudden realization drifting onto my conscious - of my selfish wants. It’s because I didn’t like this version of him. It’s because I preferred when he was angry drunk, because at least he was normal. I put Jean through the worst death possible.
Even if the next Jean is back to normal, it’ll only be bittersweet.