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apompkwrites · 3 years

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reader impact || first meeting: archon edition

series masterlist characters: venti, zhongli genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: i still don't know if this will be a series but last post would've been too long if i had all four in one

venti's playthrough -

hoo boy, venti's streams would be VERY chaotic.

this boy has nothing to tie him down except for his own mortality, but will that stop him? no.

lots of late night or early morning streams because his sleep schedule is practically nonexistent.

he does a lot of singing or storytelling streams, which is why the time is perfect.

he'll sing lullabies and read bedtime stories at night. in the morning, he'll sing soft songs to wake up his viewers and talk about the rare dreams he'd have once he passes out.

he'll also have drinking streams where he just drinks as much as he can. he's a drunkard, what can i say?

anyway, gaming is something he isn't opposed to, but mainly ones with music or just pure crackhead energy.

when his viewers suggest genshin impact, he'd be somewhat hesitant?

he needs games that are chaotic and filled with energy to keep his attention.

his mods and viewers, however, are able to convince him because of a certain drunken character.

as soon as he sees the non-spoiled description of your character, he's off to download.

he actually enjoys a lot of the adventure aspects of the game, even if he's known as a lazy streamer.

anyway, his viewers definitely should have warned him about your appearance.

they never told him you were such a cute character!

"don't be afraid. it's alright now, i'm back."

"HASGDGSJFK"

he shrieked when you started talking.

"HOW ARE THEY SO CUTE?!?!"

he gets sad when his character sets off dvalin...

you disappear and your dragon friend flies off... now venti's just sad he might've made you upset.

he's pouting the whole way through mondstadt, thinking of ways to make it up to you.

he doesn't care if you're a video game character, he loves you nonetheless.

and once dvalin shows up in mondstadt, he's genuinely excited. he knows your bound to appear again because your friend is here.

when you help venti fly behind dvalin, his chat is teasing him because of the grin on his face.

he's so soft for you, man...

he will spend hours just ranting about you when he's going through the domains with the standard characters.

when he finds the other statues in mondstadt, he likes to climb up it to admire your archon design.

even though he's known you for a few minutes, he will automatically recognize your face in the game.

he knows it's annoying but he can't help but ask his chat if he'll get to see you again soon. he really doesn't want to spend hours without hearing you and seeing you in game.

he likes to yell at paimon whenever she makes fun of you

he shrieks again when he sees you running past the fountain.

he almost cries when he sees you playing your lyre for the first time.

you're perfect in his eyes and all he wants is to spend every minute of this game with you.

although, he did have to take a break the first time he saw your archon form illustrated.

you just... look like an angel and his body can't handle that.

he loves listening to your tales. like the battle pass story that occurs every time it renews, he never skips it. soon, he'll memorize it and recite it with you once it appears.

"oh! i remember you two. you both scared dvalin away!"

"I'M SORRY"

please forgive him. he knows you won't because the game doesn't require it, but he decides to always call stormterror dvalin to make up for it.

"ah, right! i haven't introduced myself... i'm (name) the bard!"

please this boy is so smitten for a video game character.

when you're revealed to be the archon, he's not too surprised? i mean, he already recognized you from the statue.

he is so excited to steal the lyre for you.

it takes him a bit, though, just because he has a bad attention span and ends up revealing his location.

he's even more excited to learn you're a regular at diluc's tavern.

he would do anything to drink with you.

he'll reluctantly end the game there just because it's time for his bedtime songs/stories.

"i'll be back tomorrow, (name), my love! i promise!"

zhongli's playthrough -

zhongli's a really good streamer even when he doesn't try to be.

he is basically the king of just chatting streams.

daily tea times and storytime streams are a go!

his voice is what lures them in and his charm is what traps them there.

he's still poor, though...

he relies on the donations from his viewers but he always expresses his gratitude.

man's respectful, what can i say?

anyway, he does play games every now and then. he doesn't tend to enjoy fighting games though.

although, he's rather good at them... for some reason.

his gaming streams tend to be a lot longer because he picks games with an overarching story.

i'm talking long games like night in the woods, detroit: become human, really any long game with deep meanings and stories.

his viewers will pay for him to just sit there and read to them.

anyway, someone donates to him and recommends he play genshin impact because of the long story and hidden lore.

he definitely enjoyed the beginning of the story, but got even more attached once he reached liyue.

he seems very intrigued when he begins the quest by watching liyue's archon fall dead on the ground.

he would definitely go on a long rant about gods and goddesses that have fallen.

when he meets childe, he does take a liking to him.

now, this man is known for being stoic and serious, so it comes as a surprise when he almost loses his composure when you appear.

keyword being almost.

he manages to stay composed but his chat knows for a fact he's freaking out over you.

your fancy suit/dress reminds him of the anthropological tales of gods/goddesses and kings/queens.

let this man drink tea with you please--

"it is an honor to meet you. i have heard tell of you from mondstadt."

"... they have quite the pleasant voice."

his chat is going wild at this point.

they get to listen to two heavenly voices talk to each other at the same time?! it's a dream come true!

another man that will let your long lines of dialogue play, listening intently to the stories you tell his character.

he actually really likes the image of his character talking to you.

he's so short compared to you--

he also really likes your animation when you're standing still.

not your idle animations, even though those are really nice as well. i'm talking about the movement of your clothes when your character is standing there. it's just so... soothing to him.

the gradient of your hair color to your elemental gnosis is also a nice detail to him. he likes how there are subtle ways archons look compared to normal citizens in teyvat.

when he finds out you are also a person who struggles with money... oh boy, this man cannot relate more.

you both can be broke together.

he will look to his chat for help every time a bargaining option occurs.

similar to venti, he'd be able to tell you were an archon automatically, mainly because of the way you carry yourself and your design.

when you give away your gnosis, he was really interested in the fact that you were so dedicated to your title of the archon of contracts that you would just willingly give your gnosis away.

when he meets the adepti, his chat jokingly says that the yaksha is yours and his adopted child.

"... i would not be opposed to that idea."

all of the artists and writers in his chat are dying at this point.

he'd look up all of the lore, especially ones involving you, and use them for his storytime streams.

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whynotcherries · 2 years

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from Nothing’s changed at all verse, do you think they would play DnD? and/or what characters they would make for themselves? (i’m sorry if this has been answered in the fic, i still have a few chapters left) <333 also i love your blog so much aaaaaaa and you’re an incredibly talented writer :)

awh hi! i'm glad you like it, thank you!

i think maybe some of them would play it? i've never played it but from what i've HEARD about it, i think that maybe later on in the fic they could all be convinced to join for a game if the right people were there (*cough cough* kaz and matthias) (if that's how this works? it seems like it's usually an ongoing story so i have no idea if they could play for just one game).

for the characters. i have made a list. i did use wikipedia (and if it's possible, i am almost certain that inej and nina would make up kaz and matthias' characters for them. just by the way.)

so. i think kaz would be a rogue, matthias would be a barbarian (if nina set it up for him, ABSOLUTELY), nina would be a cleric, jesper would be a fighter, inej would be a paladin, wylan would be a sorcerer, and jordie would be a bard.

and like, this is all based on the principal base classes page on wikipedia, so i hope it makes sense lol. i read the basic pages for these but i have no idea what their functions are still.

#I TRIED I'M SORRY lol i hope this works #i have no knowledge over dnd besides what i've seen on stranger things and tiktok </3 #six of crows #ask box things #nothing's changed at all

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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I don't mean to bother... but i am going through an exceptionally difficult time at the moment and was wondering if you had a piece of fluff tucked somewhere that I might be able to borrow? Your work is amazing and I love how you support everyone you interact with <3.

💖 My darling nonny! It is never a bother. I’m sorry you’re having such a bad time! This turned out a little hurt/comfort with a fluffy ending but I hope it works for you love! Thank you very much for your kind words!! _______

One word. Sometimes one word was all it took. Over the years the criticism had become easier to handle. He knew deep down that it was his mistakes that helped him grow as a performer, writer and bard but it stung. He’d always reacted more violently to criticism than his peers at Oxenfurt. They were able to brush it off and move on but not Jaskier. Jaskier still thought about that one performance where he’d accidentally said ‘shit’ instead of ‘sit. That was years ago now but it haunted his nightmares and probably always would. These days he brushed off the bad reviews with a swear word or three and a sneer. He pretended that he was above all of that. They didn’t get to see how much it hurt.

He didn’t owe them shit.

It was such a stupid feeling. All the thug of a man had said was that he preferred the first song but in Jaskier’s mind it spiralled. What had been wrong with the second song? It was a song of aching heartbreak and Jaskier had worked hard on the imagery and metaphors. It was, in his opinion, some of his finest work but they’d preferred the first piece. A short little drinking song he’d made up one night when he’d been completely off his head on ale that tasted like fucking horse piss.

He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and let out a wordless scream. There were tears prickling in his eyes but he wouldn’t let them fall. He was better than that.

“Jaskier?”

Fuck.

He wiped the snot from his nose and sat up in the bed. He should have known Geralt would find him. They were sharing a room after all. Geralt was standing in the doorway. He was scowling up a storm but Jaskier could see the concern hidden in Geralt’s lovely golden eyes. He always saw what the witcher tried to hide from the rest of the world. He sighed and pulled his knees up to his chin. “Hi.” He mumbled.

Geralt was across the room and on the bed in a heartbeat. His strong arms wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and let Geralt’s familiar warm, musky scent surround him, leather and horses. It shouldn’t have been a pleasant combination for a bard who’d grown up as a noble but it was Geralt, and Geralt was as far away from Lettenhove as possible. Perhaps that’s why he loved him so much. Even if Roach did stink half the time.

“Hmm.” He said as he buried his face in Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hands were running through his hair in slow but steady caresses.

“They were wrong.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier felt a press of lips to his hair. He let a breathy laugh, he hadn’t even needed to tell Geralt why he was upset. Bloody bastard. Jaskier hated how well Geralt knew him some days.

“An opinion isn’t wrong.” Jaskier sighed as he snuggled closer into Geralt’s arms, frowning at the feel of the leather under his fingers. It was all well and good for slaying monsters but terrible for cuddling. “Off.” He prodded at Geralt’s chest.

Geralt let out a heavy sigh, dramatic enough to rival his own. He methodically removed his armour and then gestured for Jaskier to stand up. He huffed but did as his witcher asked. Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead and then gently tugged his bright teal doublet off his arms. Geralt folded it neatly along with his armour and then laid down on the bed with wide arms.

Jaskier beamed and practically jumped into Geralt’s waiting embrace. He fell on top of Geralt chest in a flop before frowning. There was a lingering energy crawling under his skin and his heart was still fluttering in his chest. “Flip?” He grumbled and he heard Geralt’s low chuckle before the witcher rolled them over. Jaskier’s back hit the mattress and he let out an undignified squeak.

Geralt loomed over him with a bloody smirk on his face. Jaskier glared up at him but his words of protest were muffled by Geralt’s lips on his. Jaskier groaned in frustration but it didn’t take long for him to relax under his lover’s affections. He let out a happy hum as Geralt’s lip moved along his jaw and he nipped at Jaskier’s neck.

“You were brilliant tonight, Jask.” Geralt murmured. “The song was beautiful.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier replied, not convinced.

“I like when you sing like that.” Geralt insisted as he let his weight fall onto Jaskier’s chest, snuggling up just like Jaskier had just moments before. Jaskier’s fingers immediately found Geralt’s soft silvery hair. He loved playing with Geralt’s hair almost as much as he enjoyed Geralt stroking his. There was something incredibly calming about gently running his hands through his lover’s hair. It was even better when Geralt really started to relax as there was something about his witcher mutations that meant that when he was extremely happy, he would purr. The soft rumbling in Geralt’s chest grounded Jaskier better than any song he could write. “There’s an understated beauty in the words. The bastards don’t appreciate that.”

Jaskier hummed as he gently pulled Geralt’s leather hair tie from his hair. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. They know shit all.” Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s chest through his shirt.

“Thank you, darling.” Jaskier sighed. There was still a heaviness in his heart but Geralt was there with him, and he was doing ok.

________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass (reminder you can be added/removed at any point)

#the witcher #geraskier #hurt/comfort #established relationship #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #I'm not projecting here at all #I'm fine I swear #maybe #Anonymous

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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A Very Strange New Year’s Eve

An Ikemen Vampire fanfic. Approx 6K words. This was supposed to go up for Jan 1, but I didn’t finish in time. I considered just not posting, but went ahead and finished it. So . . . 3 months past the holiday, but hey!

The mansion was bustling with activity on New Year’s Eve. It was tradition in this time for men to go from estate to estate, drinking and dancing, singing and carousing. Few ever made it out as far as le Comte’s country home, but Sebastian wasn’t about to let that excuse him from preparations. And you got recruited to help.

First there was the front courtyard, now a wonderland of ice sculptures and colored lanterns. Red ribbons graced the bare branches of trees, and winter flowering plants dotted the path to the door. The entry way was a ballroom, cleared of furniture and hung with garlands of ivy and mistletoe. Then there were the refreshment tables with carefully crafted centerpieces . . .

“Sebas. Comte says no one comes out this far. Can’t we just call this good enough,” you whine. “I’d really like to just enjoy the rest of the holiday.”

Sebastian moves faster than you’d expect, given he’s like you - just human. But there’s no way you could dodge the thump he lands in the center of your forehead.

“Ouch! Wh-what was that for?”

“You should start the new year as you plan to continue. Do you really want to spend it lazing around instead of getting things done?” Sebastian’s mild frown is almost worse than the sting on your forehead.

You sigh. “Fine. Yes. So what else do I need to do?”

Sebastian gestures with his chin toward the stairs. “Comte needs someone to bring him the case from the study. Why don’t you do that and see what else he needs, since you’ve no head for decorating.”

“Alright.” You hurry up the stairs.

Comte is already in the study, case in hand. He notices you come in and his lips curl up in a wistful smile. “Did Sebas chase you away from his masterpiece?”

“Yeah. I’m not . . . enthusiastic enough. Anyway, he said you needed some help up here?”

Comte nods, gesturing to some books. “You can carry those for me. Come along.”

The books are obviously old, the bindings a thick leather. Symbols are burned into them that you don’t recognize. “What are these for?”

“The turn of the new year provides a brief window for certain experiments. Those are notes and guides from other studies,” Comte explains.

“Like magic?” You eye the books suspiciously. “Is it something like the door?”

Comte chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you could say it’s something like the door. Manipulating time is a narrowly explored side of alchemy. Science, more than magic, ma cherie.” He stops at a door you hadn’t noticed before and unlocks it.

Inside there are a variety of strange looking devices. Twisted metal constructs, oddly shaped glass containers, shelves of bizarre looking ingredients and other things your eye can’t quite focus on. You step inside but Comte holds out a hand to stop you.

“That’s far enough. This room is not . . . safe . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d set the books down at the door.”

Your skin breaks out in little goosebumps as you step back out of the doorway. “Alright. Well, was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

Comte turns. “There is. Would you make sure everyone is out of the mansion before 9 this evening? Help them hurry along. I need peace and quiet if I’m to make progress. And I’d hate for any of you to be caught up in unexpected side effects of my experiments.”

“Side effects?” You stand a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but yes. Sometimes these tests produce unintended effects that spread beyond my laboratory.” He smiles as if this is unimportant. “So, can you make sure everyone is out by sunset?”

You nod. “Sure. Vincent is going out with Will to see some musical at the Moulin Rouge. Arthur, Dazai, and Theo are going to the Parade of Fools . . . I think Isaac and Napoleon are visiting an orphanage? And Jean is going to Notre Dame to pray. But I don’t think Leo or Sebas planned to go out anywhere.” And neither did I, you mentally add.

“Well, you must convince them. I am sure you’ll think of something.” He takes the books from you and closes the door. As soon as it shuts, you almost don’t notice it’s there again. Weird. But there’s no time to stand around and stare at a locked door. You’ve got a mission.

First you stop in to check on Arthur. Dazai and Theo are in the room with him, dressed in ridiculous colors and patterns. “Looks like a little bird stopped in to see what we’re up to,” Arthur grins at you from where he sits at the edge of his bed.

“Just making sure you’re on time. Can’t be late for the uh, the parade.” You realize you aren’t entirely sure what that is but parades usually start at a certain time so - it makes sense, right?

Dazai grabs your elbow, guiding you inside. “Yes, thank you Toshiko-san. Are you hoping to come with us?”

Theo scoffs, “No puppies allowed.”

Arthur stands and you realize his shirt is unbuttoned. His chest is more muscled than any writer ought to be. Your eyes can’t help but run from his sternum down to the buckle of his belt. “I don’t know, Theo. Could be fun to bring our skirt along.” He runs a finger along your jaw line, earning a frown from Dazai.

Theo shakes his head. “No. Look at her. Just touching her cheek turns the girl into a tomato. Can you imagine her face at the feast of fools? No.”

Dazai nudges Arthur back with his shoulder as he turns you to face the door. “Well, that is that Toshiko-san. It seems this is a boys only trip.”

“But - but I didn’t ask to go. I just, I need to make sure you leave before it gets dark.” You protest.

“Yeah, yeah. We got it hondje.” The door closes on Theo’s dismissal. You hear Arthur’s laughter as you head down the hall. Well.You delivered your message at least.

Next you decide to check on Vincent. He is painting with a look of intent focus. The canvas shows a field of flowers, their edges blending together in ways that make your head swim. You feel like you could drown in that picture but not tonight. Tonight, you have a job. “Vincent!”

He turns, his blue eyes wide with surprise. When he sees you, he smiles. “Oh! Did Will send you to get me? Is it already time to go?”

“No, er, yes,” you stumble over your answer. It’s hard to think straight with those big baby blues trained on you. “I mean, yes, you should get ready to go and no - I haven’t seen Will.”

Vincent looks a little confused, but turns to put down his paint and brush. “I guess you’re right. It will take me a bit to put the paints away and clean my brushes. I should start now. Would it be ok if I asked you to help?”

You are just about to say yes. After all, spending time around Vincent is always pleasant and it’s still basically what Comte asked you to do - but before your mouth opens, a pair of cool, smooth hands come around your waist and pull you tight against a narrow, wiry chest.

“And hast thy tongue given voice to words untrue? Or did thine eyes pass me over me as I stood on the stair awaiting your pleasant greetings?”

“Will!” You try to politely pull away from him, but he holds fast.

“Shall I take my revenge on you for such rude welcome? Or perchance, I only need keep you close to sooth the ache your averted gaze has given my heart.” Will set his head on your shoulder so that his lips brush your cheek.

“Will! Since you’re here, you can help me with the brushes,” Vincent exclaims. He takes hold of one of Shakespear’s hands, tugging the bard away from you.

Reluctantly, Will releases you. “Ah, friend Vincent. I could not deny you this. Besides, if I refuse, we would be late!”

Vincent chuckles. “Sorry. I got carried away with this painting. I appreciate the help. I’m sure we’ll be finished in plenty of time.”

You nod, backing toward the door. “Well, you two better hurry. Comte needs the mansion to himself tonight, so you need to get going.”

This seems to get Will’s interest, but he doesn’t get a chance to pry as Vincent hauls him off to clean brushes.

You escape the room to go check on your toughest target. Leonardo. The narcoleptic genius. The tobacco scented DILF. The most infuriating member of the mansion . . . da Vinci. You knock on his door, certain he’s there thanks to the present smell of fresh tobacco smoke and the warm light coming from under the door.

No response.

You knock again and call out. “Leo? Comte sent me!”

Nothing.

“I know you’re in there!” You try the knob and find the door unlocked. The room beyond is a disaster area. Bits of wire, gears, pretty rocks, books, and only Lumiere knows what else cover every surface except the bed.

Leonardo is lounging against a mound of pillows, his cat perched above his head, a book open on his chest. His bare chest. His wide, muscled, gorgeous . . .

You clear your throat.

He finally opens his eyes. “Ah, cara! Why are you in my room? Did you need something?” He doesn’t sit up or shift position. Or cover his distractingly visible self.

You clear your throat again and will the heat in your face away. “Uhm, ah, Comte wanted me to tell you - ah - he needs you to go someplace tonight.” You manage to get the message out by fixing your eyes on the mess and not the man.

“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” Leo shrugs. He turns the page in his book. Lumiere cracks one golden eye open to watch you.

“Yeah, well. Comte needs you to go out. He’s doing an experiment.”

At this, Leonardo sits up a bit, disturbing the cat. Lumiere hops down in a huff and begins to pick his way through the unholy pile of crap on the floor. “An experiment? Well. Then I should go along, I suppose.” He grins at you and it’s one of those dangerous smiles of his. “Could you put this book up for me while I find my shirt?”

“Sure?” You carefully walk over and around the mess, wobbling with each uneasy step.

When you’re in arms’ reach, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you onto the bed. Onto his chest. His bare skin against the backs of your thighs. “Wh-what the hell, Leonardo?!” You sort of struggle to stand, instinct fighting pride.

“Oh, sorry cara mia. You looked like you might fall.” His dangerous grin was still firmly in place, his golden eyes laughing.

“If I was going to fall, it’s your fault. You need to clean this place up!”

“I would. I’m just so busy.” He tries to help you up, his hands touching you on your legs, your hip, your everywhere - completely unnecessarily - until you get back on your feet. “Maybe you can come help me, hm?”

You try to frown at him but your heart is racing and your cheeks are pink. The look has no impact except to make him smile wider. “Maybe. You can ask me tomorrow, but right now, can you find someplace else to be?”

“I think I’ll go watch the fireworks,” he sighs. “It would be even more beautiful with company . . .”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to watch it with,” you snap back. Then you hurry out before he can reply. But you’re not fast enough. You never are.

“I already found you, cara . . .” His voice, like warm honey, follows you down the hall. It takes you a moment to shake it off. This is not the time to go all doe-eyed. Not when you’ve got Jean to deal with.

He isn’t in his room. Or the library. You find him in the studio, doing, of all things, aerobics. Of course, Jean d’Arc invented aerobics for soldiers so it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. Or maybe it’s just seeing him covered in sweat, his linen undershirt stuck to his skin. Thin silk leggings clinging indecently to . . .

“Mademoiselle?” His empty one-eyed gaze brings you back to the moment and your purpose here.

“Sorry to interrupt Jean. I was coming to check on you because -” you pause. Jean and Comte don’t get along well. If you tell him le Comte needs him gone, it might have the opposite effect. So instead, you say, “I was thinking of visiting Notre Dame with you. I wasn’t sure when you were leaving.”

He looks disturbed. “Right now. You won’t be able to accompany me.” He moves toward the door, all leonine grace.

“Don’t you need to clean up first?” He pauses, looks down at himself and frowns. “Yes . . .”

“Then we have plenty of time. I’ll meet you up front.”

“Mademoiselle -”

Unlike the golden-eyed flirt upstairs, it’s easy to escape Jean before he’s had his say. You feel bad for doing it, but you haven’t been to see the cathedral yet and this is as good an excuse as any.

The hour is growing late, and you know you don’t have much time. You head to Isaac’s room where thankfully, he and Napoleon are gathering the last of their supplies for this little mission. Food and warm coats for the children, nothing fancy but special enough to give the orphans a happy new year.

“Hello you two!” You stand in the doorway, grinning at the way Isaac hops up at your voice. And Napoleon’s warm, slow smile.

“If it isn’t my nunuche. Come to help us pack?”

Isaac shook his head. “We’re pretty much done. No help needed. You can go.”

“Oh? Well . . . I wasn’t really here to help out anyway. Sorry ‘Leon. I just wanted to see how soon you’d be leaving.”

“Do we need to rush?” Napoleon set a hand on one of the packages as if he might pick it up and go now.

“No, I don’t think so. But soon? Comte is doing some sort of experiment tonight. Wants the mansion to himself.”

“An experiment?” Isaac’s eyes light up with interest.

You can’t help but smile at how adorable he looks. “I don’t think it’s the kind of experiment you’d want to be involved in. Less physics, more hocus-pocus.”

“Hocus what?” Napoleon looks confused.

“Nevermind,” you shush him. “Are you about done?”

“Just a few more items to pack,” Isaac reassures you. “We’ll be out within the hour.”

“Perfect.” You smile at them. Isaac looks away, fiddling with his shirt. Napoleon grins back at you.

That smile reminds you of all the surprise kisses you’ve got, waking him up for breakfast. Incorrigible man. You turn to go, with one last target in mind. The hardest target, in fact.

“Oh Sebas?”

Sebastian turns from the table he’s decorating. You see a measuring tape in his hand which he quickly tucks into his pocket.

“Were you . . . checking the distance between that candle stick and the crystal dessert tray?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows go up or the rise in pitch.

Sebas coughs. “Of course not. I was . . . merely . . .” He stops. His eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs assisting le Comte?”

“I am! I was, I mean. He sent me down to tell you we need to get out of the mansion for the evening. He’s doing an experiment.” You aren’t going to let Sebastian intimidate you with his perfect butleriness. Not tonight!

“An experiment you say? Did he mention what?” He lowers his voice as if to add just to himself, “I haven’t seen him perform an experiment first hand yet. What a fascinating entry that would be . . .”

You clear your throat. “You know I can hear you, right? Besides. I don’t think le Comte wants any observers.”

Sebastian turns to look at the beautifully decorated parlor and entryway. It is breathtaking. The colors, the placement, the food . . . it’s a shame to waste it. “Surely we can stay long enough to see if some guests arrive,” he ventures.

“You could ask.”

“Or you could run along and ask for me. I have a few more things to finish here.” Sebas gestures to the absolutely perfect decor.

You frown. “It looks done to me. And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

The two of you argue good-naturedly back and forth until Arthur, Dazai, and Theo come traipsing down the stairs.

“Would you quit yapping, hondje? I can hear you all the way in my room. With the door shut!”

Arthur elbows him. “Come on chap, that’s an exaggeration. It was only with the door open.”

Dazai gives you a wink. “I think you are both teasing Toshiko-san. Her voice is too beautiful to complain of hearing. Like birdsong in the morning.”

“I’m not a fan of that myself,” Napoleon chimes in on his way down the stairs. He has a box almost as big as he is in his arms. Isaac is right behind him, carrying another man-sized container.

You aren’t sure if you should be insulted or flattered at this point, and in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because just as you’re about to speak up, Leonardo comes up behind Isaac a little too quickly, startling the physicist.

Isaac drops his box, which tumbles down to take out Napoleon. Napoleon’s box goes flying and in seconds, the whole entryway is covered in children’s clothes and shoes, and little baggies of candy.

Sebastian looks as if he might cry.

Napoleon starts to laugh, one of his hard, belly-shaking, can’t-stop fits.

Which of course, is when Jean arrives. He looks down from the top of the stair like a visitor in a madhouse, watching the patients with a look of chagrin.

“I suppose we need to help pick all this up before we go,” Theo grumbles.

Arthur gives a reluctant nod as Dazai bends to lift a tiny little dress that looks as if it was made to fit a toddler. “This is almost Toshiko’s size, isn’t it?”

You punch him lightly in the arm. “It might fit my foot . . . thanks.”

Vincent and Will are the next on scene, and while angelic Vincent immediately rushes to help, Shakespeare just looks sad that he missed the mayhem.

“Would that we were just a moment quicker. I could have caught the look of surprise on Isaac’s face and watched this riotous madness unfold.”

“Will,” you frown. “Can you just help pick stuff up? This is taking forever and le Comte said-”

The hall clock rings the hour. Nine. Precisely the time you were all supposed to be out of the mansion.

Surely, you think, surely le Comte would make certain he was alone before doing anything dangerous. Right?

A wave of heat rushes through the house as if something burst in its stone center. The air ripples and the walls bend and flex as if they were made of soft pudding. Colors flow and blend in bizarre combinations that end in black. Darkness and silence.

You realize you’re lying on the tile floor of the entryway. Your eyelids feel heavy and your head is pounding. You open them carefully, hoping the world is ok and you are ok, and all the residents of the mansion are fine too. Above you, the ribbons and lights Sebas strung up are still hanging. You turn your head. There’s the table, and the remains of the mess.

And sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes is a . . . a little boy. With blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looks at you and smiles like an angel.

“Umm, hi,” you say and give him a wave.

“Hi.” He imitates your gesture.

Where did the kid come from? And where are the vampires? You sit up and look around. And there’s another kid! This one looks a little older. Dark black hair, eyes like big round jade beads. He’s naked, sleeping with his little butt in the air, legs curled under him, head on another pile of clothes.

You scramble to your feet, beginning to panic. There are other children in the room. A little boy with strawberry brown hair and cherry-blossom eyes is constructing a tower from silverware, assisted by another boy with dark grey hair and amber eyes.

A little boy on the steps is trying desperately to tie Jean’s eye patch to his head and hold a bit of shirt to his chest, only he can’t because two hands isn’t enough.

You slap yourself to wake up.

A tiny little hand tugs at your skirt. “No. No owies.”

You look down to see another blue-eyed tot, this one with chestnut hair. He is staring up at you in disapproval and the expression looks damn familiar. “Theo?”

He grunts, which is probably a yes. “Pancakes. Want pancakes.” He tugs your skirt in the direction of the kitchen.

Definitely Theodorus. You crouch to look him in the eye. “Huh. Pancakes? Alright. If I’m stuck in a dream about kiddie vampires, I might as well make them pancakes.”

Your words draw the attention of most of the boys. They crowd around you, herding you toward the kitchen. All except Mozart who is on the table, tapping champagne glasses with a spoon. He glances at you in annoyance before resuming his table-symphony.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you tell them. “I’ll make pancakes, but first you’ve got to get dressed.” You point at the clothes on the floor. You notice one messy-haired boy picking his nose. “And wash your hands.”

“Are they . . . are they all children,” asks a confused voice from behind you. Sebastian stands up from where he fell, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“No. I’m just having a very weird dream,” you inform him.

Sebastian pinches you. It hurts. “No. If this was a dream, that should have ended it,” he says after a moment.

“You could have pinched yourself,” you mutter.

“Not if it’s your dream.” He glances around, counting the little boys that are scrambling into their clothes. “Seems all of them are accounted for except le Comte. Have you seen him since you got up?”

“I just woke up a few minutes ago. I’ve only seen these,” you gesture to the group, then reach out to snag Dazai before he empties a pitcher of champagne over the sleeping Napoleon.

The little dark haired trickster wriggles out of your grip and runs off laughing. You’re pretty sure you need to keep a close eye on that one.

“Then I will go upstairs and check on him. You take this lot to the dining room. I think some food will settle them down.” He watches as Jean, dressed now in an adorable red and white frock, chases after Will with a fork. “It seems they have no memory of themselves.”

“I don’t know about that. Theo has his usual frown. And he asked for pancakes.”

Sebastian nods. “Probably elements of his personality that existed when he was a child. Just a guess. Hopefully le Comte will know more.”

“Hopefully he can reverse this,” you reply. The idea of spending your life with immortal children is terrifying. At least, you think, they are out of diapers.

As Sebas bounds up the stairs, you herd the (now dressed) munchkins into the dining room. They tumble forward, all little knees, elbows and fists, knocking over vases and coat hangers and a chair on the way.

Little Arthur stumbles onto the carpet and his eyes begin to tear up. Vincent kneels down beside him to check the ouchie while Theo pats him gently on the head as you would to calm a dog.

You bend down to see if the tyke is ok. His leg is a little red where he bumped it, but probably fine. “Do you want some ice?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No. Pick me up. Pwease?” His eyes get big as he pleads with you.

Unable to say no, you lift him into your arms. He’s a little heavy, but not more than a sack of flour anyway. “Is that better?”

“Mhmm.” Arthur gives you an endearing smile. He lays his head on your chest and sighs happily.

“Ok, but I’m going to have to put you down to make pancakes. Alright?”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t complain when you settle him in a chair. You realize then that this is not going to work. These seats are for grown adults, not little kids.

Before you can think of how to solve it, little Leonardo does it for you. “I have a big books,” he announces. And grabs Jean and Napoleon by the hand. “Get a books.”

The three of them tromp merrily away, with you not sure if you ought to go with them or keep track of the rest of the kids.

“Hondje,” Theo giggled from behind you. “Hooooondje! Pancakes!”

You glare down at the little tyke. “I am not a puppy!”

Your fierce tone puts tears in his eyes and in a heartbeat, Vincent is there, hugging his brother. They are so adorable that you forget to be annoyed. “Alright, sorry for yelling at you, cutie,” you tell Theo. You ruffle his hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.”

You snag Dazai off the windowsill before he can pull it open. “You too, you little prankster.” He giggles adorably and seems perfectly happy to watch the world from your hip.

Mozart follows along behind you, still looking annoyed that he had to leave his ‘instrument’ behind.

Isaac and Arthur stay at the table, where you can just see the tops of their little heads. You’d worry about leaving normal kids alone, even for the time it takes to cook some pancakes, but these are vampires-turned-kids. They’ll probably be fine. The dining room might not be, but that’s le Comte’s problem.

But . . . where was Will? You realize you haven’t seen him since you picked Arthur up. And if any one of these little devils is a danger on his own . . .

You carefully set Dazai down and pull the pancake batter ingredients out. You put them in one big bowl and hand Dazai, Mozart, Theo, and Vincent their own spoons. “Alright my big-littles, if we’re going to eat pancakes tonight, you have to stir.”

Vincent’s happy little face takes on a serious look as he plunges his spoon into the mix and begins to stir. Theo watches him for a moment before trying out his own batter-making skills.

Mozart looks at the spoon and then at the batter. “No. Dirty.” He throws the spoon across the kitchen and crosses his arms.

“Wolfie, come on. It’s not dirty. You don’t need to touch it with your hands.”

He turns his head and refuses to look at you.

“Oh come on,” you sigh. “Fine. You can . . . supervise.” Which is a fantastic idea right up until Dazai tosses a handful of flour at Mozart.

Mozart flings himself at Dazai and they begin to chase each other around the kitchen, Dazai laughing and Mozart snarling like an angry cat.

“Good enough. You guys keep up the good work. I’ll be right back.” And off you go in search of Shakespeare. He isn’t in the dining room. Or in the entryway. But you notice a slight hazy smoke coming from the parlor.

You poke your head into the room and damned if that’s not exactly where he is, trying to catch one of the heavy curtains on fire with a candle. “WILL!” You dash across the room and pull him, and the candle, away from the smoking curtain.

“William Shakespeare, what do you think you’re doing?!” Your tone is scarily reminiscent of your own mother and it makes you wince a little. But that doesn’t seem to have any effect on the tiny bard.

He grins up at you, his eyes sparkling. “Twagedy.”

You can’t help but notice he’s missing both his front teeth. Kinda like a reverse bunny. “Tragedy, huh? If I catch you trying to burn down the mansion again, I’ll show you a real tragedy mister.”

Rather than looking threatened, he seems excited by this. He nods his head. “Ok. Ok!”

“Ah. No. I mean, I’ll show you a real tragedy only if you’re a good boy and you don’t try to burn down the mansion. Alright?”

Will scrunches his face up, as if thinking hard about this. Then he nods again. “Weal twagedy! Ok!”

You sigh and carry him to the dining room. Where Isaac is pulling apart a house plant and making little noises to himself. Arthur is nowhere to be seen, but judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, you’re pretty sure where he went.

You set Will down and throw open the door. Just in time to see Dazai and Arthur toss a canister of flour over Mozart. At least Theo and Vincent are being good, you think.

Mozart, dusted white from head to toe, looks about two seconds from going full cage-fighter on the other two boys. You scoop him up and set him in the big sink. “Nope, no fighting Wolfie. We’ll just clean you up.”

You turn to look at Dazai and Arthur. “That was really mean, you two. Now he’s got to change clothes. You go get him something to wear. Now. Something clean!” You aren’t completely sure they understand, but they both walk in the direction you point. Hopefully they grab Mozart some clean clothes from the pile. Or at least, don’t find more trouble while you give him a mini-bath.

Just as you turn on the water, you hear Theo behind you. “Pancakes.” You turn and he’s staring at you, arms crossed.

Vincent looks at you with huge, blue eyes. You swear they get bigger as they fix on you. “Pancakes?” He looks like he might cry.

“Yes, yes. I know. Pancakes.” You sigh. Mozart has stripped off his clothes and is trying to wash himself under the faucet. You put the plug in and add some soap for bubbles. Then step over to the stove to heat a griddle. Talk about multitasking!

Will is watching all of this with keen interest. Hopefully it’s enough ‘twagedy’ to keep him occupied.

Mozart manages not to drown himself in the sink while you cook, and wonder of wonders, Arthur and Dazai bring back clean clothes. The bright, chaotic colors and the tulle tutu are nothing Wolfie would normally wear, but hell, at least it’s clothing.

You set a dripping Mozart on the floor with a towel and finish cooking. With the last pancake on the griddle, you decide to check the dining room - there’s a lot of noise coming from in there. When you poke your head out, you see Leonardo directing Jean and Napoleon in book placement.

“A books!” He tells you proudly.

Mozart in his plaid yellow jacket and pink tutu comes toddling out to see what’s going on.

Leonardo covers his mouth at the sight and Jean just stares blankly. But Napoleon collapses in a fit of giggles.

Mozart huffs and crosses his arms.

You pat his fluffy white hair. You mean to comfort him, but it’s so soft you can’t help petting him more. Wolfie glares up at you but he doesn’t try to get away, so you figure he probably doesn’t hate it.

“Thank you Leo. And ‘Leon. You too Jean. You are very good boys.”

Leonardo gives you a wide, lazy smile that you swear is just like the one he wears when you catch him napping in weird places.

Napoleon gets ahold of himself enough to give you a little bow. On his pudgy toddler self, it looks ridiculous but also endearing.

You get the boys into their chairs, where thanks to the books, they can reach the table. Then you serve up the pancakes. This is about the point Sebas comes back, carrying a little blonde kid. One with astoundingly perceptive golden eyes.

“I see you found le Comte,” you sigh. If he’s a child too, what are the odds he can reverse this side effect of his little experiment?

Sebastian looks over the table of seated munching munchkins. “Good work with the boys. And yes, he was wandering the hall outside his laboratory.”

Le Comte turns to look up at him. “I was not wandering. I was walking to my study to fetch another set of research notes.” His voice is high and sweet, even though the words are quite adult.

“Does he remember everything then? He doesn’t sound like the others,” you ask Sebas.

“He seems to,” Sebastian confirms.

“He is right here,” le Comte interrupts. “And perfectly capable of answering questions himself. Myself. So yes - I remember everything. I know who and where I am, and what happened.”

It is so weird to hear those words from that cherubic little face. You reach over to pinch his little cheek.

“Ma cherie . . . please . . .”

“Sorry. You’re just so cute like this.” You grin at him. How often do you get to see le Comte out of sorts after all?

Sebastian clears his throat to get your attention. “He says there isn’t a way to reverse this, but that it should wear off.”

“When?”

“Based on my calculations, the effect is bound within the rule of threes. So if I extrapolate from the formula what the far edge of the continuum disturbance might be, I’m left with three options. It could evaporate within 9 hours, 9 days, or 9 months.”

While you aren’t sure what most of that means, you get the time frames. “So, wait. This could be over by morning or I could be stuck babysitting for NINE MONTHS?”

Sebastian grins at you and you swear he is enjoying this. But then, he’s not the one that spent the last two hours wrangling the little monsters. He looks over the table where the tiny-tot-vamps are fist to facing pancakes, well except for Mozart who is using his fork. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. You seem to have a talent for this.”

“Fine,” you grin. “I fed ‘em dinner, you get them ready for bed.” See how he likes chasing down the terror-tots for bath time, teeth-brushing, and pajamas!

Sebastian nods. You can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows exactly what you’re trying to do. But he’s the world’s best butler and if he can handle this herd as adults, he’s sure he can handle them as children.

He claps his hands together to get their attention. Eleven little faces turn to look at him in unison. “It’s time to get ready for bed.” A chorus of whining little voices insist that in fact, they don’t need to sleep anytime soon, but Sebas is having none of it.

With another clap, he rounds the little vamps up and herds them out of the dining room, trailed by le Comte who looks like he wouldn’t mind going to bed right now at all.

You spend the next hour cleaning the kitchen and dining area. How such little people can make such big messes is beyond you, but this job is still easier than rounding them up for bathtime. You tiredly make your way out into the hall, only to see Sebas dragging himself out of the baths.

His hair is mussed. His clothes are soaked. He has bubbles coming out of his ears.

You try to hide a grin but can’t.

“Help me,” he mouths silently as a mob of partially dressed boys appears behind him.

Though it’s tempting to just walk on up to your room, you can’t leave a soul in need like that. Besides, Sebastian would definitely get revenge later. So you stop and smile at him sweetly, reaching out to snag Will as he tries to dart past you.

“If you boys will put on your pajamas properly, I’ll read you a bedtime story,” you offer.

“Twagedy?” Asks Will, tugging his arm out of your grip.

“Sure, hon. I’ll make it the saddest story ever read for toddlers.”

He beams up at you with genuine pleasure in his mismatched eyes.

Sebastian nearly cries with relief. He helps the boys finish tugging on their nightshirts and helps you gather them in the study.

The little vampires pile onto the couch like puppies, except for Leonardo. He slumps onto the floor and begins to nod off while the others are still getting comfy.

You look over the book selection. There’s not much here for kids. Sure, a treatise on combustion engines would probably put them to sleep - well, maybe not Isaac - but everyone else, yes. But it’s not very . . . kid friendly. Or, uh, tragic. Then your eyes light on an illustrated copy of The Ugly Duckling. Perfect.

You sit down on the couch in the midst of the boys. Theo snuggles to your left, and Arthur snuggles to your right. Dazai and Vincent sit on your lap, and you’ve got Mozart lounging on the back of the couch, peering over one shoulder, while Will does the same on your other side. Le Comte curls up on a pillow at the far end, next to Jean. Isaac claims his own spot on the opposite end. Napoleon sits across from you on Sebastian’s lap.

With all the boys accounted for, you begin to read them the tale of the ugly duckling. It doesn’t seem like the kind of story to put a crowd of little boys to sleep, but before you reach the last page, every single one of them is out like a light. Soft, even breathing and little snores fill the room.

You look across to see if you can get Sebastian to help you carry the tykes to their room, but he’s fallen asleep too. As you look down at their sweet, sleeping faces, you think, it’d be a shame to wake them. So you get as comfortable as you can on the couch and in no time, you’re dozing off.

Dreams of baby vampires run through your mind. In one, you try to explain to your mother that none of these babies are actually yours, but she won’t believe you. In another, you push a giant stroller through Paris and lecture the tots on the architecture. It’s almost a relief when a surprised shout stirs you awake.

An adult Napoleon is mid-kiss with poor Sebas, who certainly didn’t mean to wake him. Leonardo laughs from his spot on the floor. A grown up, full bellied laugh. That’s about the point you realize Arthur and Theo are also back to their adult selves, their heads still pillowed on your lap. Dazai and Vincent are snuggled to your chest, looking quite pleased. You jump to your feet, nearly knocking them to the floor.

Mozart loses his balance and falls off the back of the couch, and Jean leaps away from le Comte as if burned. Dazai is chuckling and muttering something about one hell of a good joke, while Isaac looks deeply disturbed.

“What happened,” Will asks, sounding dazed.

“It’s better not to ask,” you reply and head to your room to sleep off this weirdest of new year’s eves.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #new years 2021 #better late than never #fanfic #fanfiction #otome #otome boys #fluff #silliness

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raeynbowboi · 5 years

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The Character Forge: Building an Embodiment of Insanity

I’m going to diverge from my usual routine a bit today. Normally, I pick a pop culture character and make a build for them. But today, I want to do something different. I’m going to build a character around a theme, motif, or focus area. I’ll be covering a character focused on insanity. My goal for this build is to create a character who is explicitly crafted to instill and feed paranoia, delusions, and psychological trauma in as many facets as possible, including racial traits, feats, and spells where applicable.

Building on Insanity:

it’s easy to simply say I want to drive people crazy, but it’s another thing to actually map out the effects you want to have on people. So before we can address individual spells and features, we need to discuss what impacts we want our abilities to have.

Alter Senses: Spells such as Unearthly Chorus, Blindness/Deafness or Blur that distort what a person sees and hears is a great way to instill a dread of insanity. Spells that buff your abilities or debuff the target are great ways to effect people’s perceptions.

Hallucinations: Similar to alter senses, Hallucinations cause people to see things that aren’t really there, playing a trick on their mind. A focus on illusion magic will help with this.

Fear: While insanity is not intrinsically linked to horror, the ravings of writers like Lovecraft and Poe often feature protagonists who have lost their minds or interact with people who have, usually accompanied by horrible nightmare imagery. Frightening people is a good way to warp their mind.

Mind Control: There’s nothing scarier than realizing you don’t have full control of yourself. Through Charmed effects like Compulsion, Command, and Dominate Person, you take away free will and make their mind your plaything.

Mental Anguish: a focus on attacking the mind itself, psychic damage is the best way to actively attack the minds of your victims.

Mind Alterations: Permanent changes to someone’s mind like Modify Memory can be truly horrifying, especially when the stolen or altered memories make it so that a person’s mind no longer makes sense.

Powers, Features, and Abilities

Altered Senses Blindness Deafness (Bard, Cleric, Sorcerer, Wizard, Spore Druid, Fiend Warlock, Undying Warlock) Blur (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard, Desert Land Druid, Hexblade Warlock) Maddening Darkness (Warlock, Wizard) Mental Prison (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Pass Without Trace (Druid, Ranger, Trickery Cleric) Power Word Pain (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Unearthly Chorus (Bard)

Illusions, Delusions, and Hallucinations Alter Self (Artificer, Sorcerer, Wizard, Warlock: Master of Myriad Forms*) Disguise Self (Artificer, Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Trickery Cleric, Warlock: Mask of Many Faces) Dissonant Whispers (Bard, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer, Great Old One Warlock) Distort Value (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Hallucinatory Terrain (Bard, Druid, Warlock, Wizard) Illusory Dragon (Wizard) Major Image (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Minor Illusion (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Mirage Arcane (Bard, Druid, Wizard) Mirror Image (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Trickery Cleric, Coast Land Druid) Mislead (Bard, Wizard) Project Image (Bard, Wizard) Silent Image (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard) Simulacrum (Wizard) Weird (Wizard)

Psychic Barrage Mind Sliver (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Mind Spike (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Phantasmal Force (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard) Phantasmal Killer (Wizard, Hexblade Warlock) Psychic Scream (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Shadow Blade (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Synaptic Static (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard)

Fear and Paranoia Cause Fear (Warlock, Wizard) Enemies Abound (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Eyebite (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Fear (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Oath of Conquest) Hallow* (Cleric, Fiend Warlock, Divine Soul Sorcerer, Theurgy Wizard)

Brainwashing Command (Cleric, Paladin, Fiend Warlock, Divine Soul Sorcerer, Theurgy Wizard) Compulsion (Bard, Order Cleric, Heroism Paladin, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer Warlock: Bewitching Whispers) Dominate Person (Bard, Sorcerer, Wizard, Order, Trickery Cleric, Conquest, Oathbreaker, Treachery Paladin, Archfey, Great Old One Warlock) Enthrall (Bard, Sorcerer, Heroism Paladin) Incite Greed (Cleric, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Mass Suggestion (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Otto’s Irresistible Dancing (Bard, Wizard) Suggestion (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Tasha’s Hideous Laughter (Bard, Wizard, Great Old One Warlock)

Mind Altering Crown of Madness (Bard, Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard, Oathbreaker Paladin) Confusion (Bard, Druid, Sorcerer, Wizard, Knowledge Cleric, Oathbreaker, Treachery Paladin, Warlock: Dreadful Word) Feeblemind (Bard, Druid, Warlock, Wizard) Gift of Gab (Bard, Wizard) Glibness (Bard, Warlock) Mind Blank (Bard, Wizard) Modify Memory (Bard, Wizard, Trickery Cleric, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer)

Eldritch Horrors (Fear of the Unknown) Arms of Hadar (Warlock, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer) Create Homunculus (Wizard) Enervation (Sorcerer, Warlock, Wizard) Evard’s Black Tentacles (Warlock, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer) Hunger of Hadar (Warlock, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer)

Oh How the Mind Races

When setting up a race for this build, like with the spell list, we need a race whose features exacerbate the insanity features.

Changeling: Being able to shapeshift so easily is a great way to make someone feel crazy.

Eladrin Elf - Winter: Their Fey Teleportation can Frighten those they appear next to.

Gith: They have psionic features.

Kalashtar: Split between two minds, Kalashtar is a race with psychic powers.

Simic Hybrid: While not inherently mental or insane, their existence as gene spliced humans with animal features, it’s an easy way to invoke Lovecraftian Horror.

A Class in Judgement

Bard Whispers: This subclass is hellbent on attacking the mind, unearthing people’s fears, and preying on them.

Sorcerer Aberrant Mind: This subclass gets their power from a mental aberration, and is a Sorcerer variation on the Great Old One Warlock, and invokes Lovecraftian Horror.

Warlock Great Old One: Invoking the twisted mind of H.P. Lovecraft, who himself was paranoid, the Old Gods similarly prey upon the minds of mortals.

Wizard Divination: Not really a mental subclass, but you could flavor Portent as messing with perceptions, and making people misjudge their aim. Illusion: This school of wizardry is focused on making people believe things that aren’t there.

Stats and Proficiencies

As the main classes suggested cast with Charisma, that is our main stat. You need to convince people to believe your mad ravings are true. Dexterity will make you hard to hit, all the better to convince people you aren’t real, are a figment of their imagination, or otherwise paranormal. A good Constitution ensures that even if you are hit, you can act like it’s no big deal, or like you’re supernaturally immune to pain or injury. Having high Wisdom reinforces your own perceptions and makes sure you can’t be fooled. Strength will follow, it’s not a super important stat for this build, but if you want to deal at least decent damage with your physical attacks, it’s a little important. And Intelligence gets dumped. Book Smarts won’t help you much in deceiving people or driving them insane.

Race: Changeling Background: Charlatan Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Class: College of Whispers Bard (14) Aberrant Mind Sorcerer (6) Base Stats: Strength: 10 (0) Dexterity: 19 (+4) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 8 (-1) Wisdom: 12 (+1) Charisma: 20 (+5) Saving Throws: Strength: 0 Dexterity: +10 Constitution: +2 Intelligence: -1 Wisdom: +1 Charisma: +11 Combat Stats: HP: 137 AC: 17 Speed: 30 Initiative: +7 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 17 Dark Vision: 0 feet Proficiencies: Deception (Charlatan) Insight (Changeling) Intimidation (Changeling) Perception (Bard) Persuasion (Bard) Slight of Hand (Changeling) Stealth (Bard) Skills: Acrobatics: +7 Medicine: +4 Animal Handling: +4 Nature: +2 Arcana: +2 Perception: +7 Athletics: +3 Performance: +8 Deception: +17 Persuasion: +17 History: +2 Religion: +2 Insight: +13 Sleight of Hand: +10 Intimidation: +17 Stealth: +10 Investigation: +2 Survival: +4 Damage Resistances: Psychic Sorcerer Feature: Sorcery Points 6 Sorcery Points Sorcerer Feature: Metamagic Extended Spell Subtle Spell Bard Feature: Magical Secrets Evard’s Black Tentacles Immolation Pass Without Trace Phantsmal Killer

Spell Slots 1st (4) 2nd (3) 3rd (3) 4th (3) 5th (3) 6th (2) 7th (2) 8th (1) 9th (1)

Spellbook of Madness

Cantrips 2nd Level 4th Level Chill Touch Blindness/Deafness Compulsion Dancing Lights Blur Confusion Friends Calm Emotions Evard’s Black Tentacles Mending Crown of Madness Phantasmal Killer Message Darkness 5th Level Mind Sliver Detect Thoughts Dominate Person Minor Illusion Mind Spike Immolation Prestidigitation Mirror Image Mislead Unearthly Chorus Pass Without Trace Modify Memory 1st Level Phantasmal Force Synaptic Static Arms of Hadar Shadow Blade 6th Level Dissonant Whispers 3rd Level Eyebite False Life Enemies Abound 7th Level Tasha’s Hideous Laughter Fear Project Image Hunger of Hadar Major Image Sending

Actions: Countercharm: Using a Performance action grants friendly creatures within 30 feet radius advantage against charmed and frightened conditions. Bonus Actions: Bardic Inspiration: Add 1d10 to 5 allies’ rolls per long rest. Flexible Casting: Convert your Sorcery Points into spell slots. Features: Change Appearance: Shapeshift as an action. You have advantage on Deception checks to cover your tracks. Divergent Persona: You have proficiency with a tool. Create a false identity for this proficiency. While using this identity, you have doubled proficiency with the tool of your choice. False Identity: You have created a fake identity, and can forge documents if you have seen their handwriting. Font of Inspiration: Regain a Bardic Inspiration after a rest. Invasive Thoughts: Create a telepathic link with a creature 30 feet away as a bonus action. Mantle of Whispers: When someone dies, steal their shadow and wear their shadow as a disguise for an hour. You gain access to the dead person’s general information. Psionic Defense: You resist Psychic damage. Psionic Sorcery: You cast Aberrant Mind spells without components. Psionic Spells: You gain additional Aberrant Mind spells Psychic Blades: Add 5d6 Psychic damage to your melee weapon attacks. Shadow Lore: Those who fail a Wisdom check become Charmed to believe that you know and will expose the deepest darkest secrets, and obey your commands out of fear of being found out. Song of Rest: With a song, add 1d10 to healing effects from a rest. Unsettling Visage: Once per rest, impose disadvantage on a creature trying to hurt you. Warped Being: your AC is 13 + your DEX mod while without armor Words of Terror: Your words instill fear for 1 hour.

This build was a bit unorthodox, but it was also a lot of fun to put together. Can you think of a better way to embody madness and insanity in DnD 5e? Do you think you’ll use this in a campaign? Do you have any ideas for something else I can do with DnD 5e? Thanks for joining me, and I’ll see you guys next time in the Character Forge, where heroes are made.

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kaiju-z · 3 years

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“Moonlight Tryst Under The Eclipse”

Right! So! A little clarification is in order! Um. So like. There’s this D&D show called “Role With Me”/”The Ties That Bind”. And the party have recently reached a high-tech Elven city and are learning all kinds of things about the society there. Including that they found fucking God fan fiction. Fan fiction written about Arkanos, God of Magic, who is also the elves’ God. And of Solomon, the God of Undeath. Who is basically enemy to all elven kind, after he convinced a group of them to worship him, in exchange for “immortality”, which is the secret origin of the drow in that world.

So like. It’s them. As like. A ship. They found shipfics and were reading them.

So this is basically inspired by that. And it’s a fic, “as written” by a writer in that world, that city. That internet. So yeah. It’s a fic, within a fic. ó ____ ó;;; That’s it. That’s the joke.

Also yes, you should watch Role WIth Me. Very Dark Souls/Witcher-ish. With a flavor of Bloodborne. Also lots of funnies between the rough stuff that our heroes go through.

An Arkanos/Solomon fanfic by RainbowRunner899

It was meant to be a distraction. A simple. Basic. Get your mind off the ear-splitting screams and wails distraction. A honest to yourself one. And yet here you were. Hours after the fact, still locked in an embrace with the long eared boy scout!

Arms around your body, you can easily feel his fingers trace every smooth pattern and ridge of your back as the stars shimmer and shake under his dexterous touch. Unlike your dark dealings in your domain beyond mortal comprehension, here you are incapable of hiding your intents and secrets. Or at least, the ones you can gesticulate.

Damn him! Damn this know-it-all paragon that bewitched you with his soft voice and alluring eyes! His words, his face, his everything! It drives you to madness! Like that’d mean anything to you, anyways. You were already unhinged. By some slight you yourself perceive as such. You blame your makers for it and have stated it as such to him, many a nights.

Many, upon many, for centuries, long since after he took his foolish followers and ran off into parts unknown, leaving you with your defiled flock of sycophants! You hate them, for they fell so easily and thus, you send them to do all sorts of cruelties. Just to test how far they’ll go for you. When they’d snap. Break. You figure that is why he had come out of hiding the first time, since your conflict. And confronted you.

The two of you had fought for dominance, throwing stars and supernovas at one another, frightening the populace around you. And, had it not been for his quick thinking and raised defenses, you two surely would have exterminated all life in the vicinity.

‘Damn him.’ you think, your face flushing as his hands move to your front, caressing the 8 pack. Damn him for seeing through your ruse that night. Through to the very core of who you were and why you did what you did! All that cruelty and anger! All of it, creating a Seeming of unseen proportions, hiding the broken man in need of help underneath.

Only he saw it! Neither Vanderen, nor Fleetfoot. Nor the old man and the revelry wench got even the slightest idea you had this secret pain! They were too stupid, too blind to see. But not Arkanos. He knew and he punished your body so with the palms of his hands. Your breathing growing heavy to his actions and you contemplate evasive maneuvers.

He reaches for your pa-aaand you grab his wrist. “No.” you go, hissing at him with a glare of pure death. Or undead. As is your aspect.

He looks at you with those gentle eyes. Those honest and wise eyes. “No?” he repeats, questioning you with his pretty little face. You’d bite your lip, if you had one. Then shake your head.

“No.” And you’d get up and try to make way out of the room, specifically by him, to protect you both from prying eyes. “I’m leaving. Going back, I-I have work to do. Monsters to raise. Many dark biddings to be made, Arkanos.” You growled, pitifully to show aggression. But he’s unmoving, unperturbed by your behavior as you struggle to put your robe back on. Damn thing! Did you start putting it with the wrong sleeve forward?! You’d struggle and huff and puff as you forced your head through a familiar opening and then flinch backwards, bumping into the wall.

“You’re having those thoughts again, aren’t you, Sol?” he asks you directly, his voice peaceful, like a river during summer. Disgusting. And beautiful, damn it! So beautiful! You think that as he had been standing right to face you once you put your head through the clothing. “Don’t lie to me. My eyes cannot be tricked, my ears cannot be lied to… and my heart- And he’d reach for his chest, tapping the left peck, before reaching over to tap your own.

You had no pulse. Not that it mattered. You were a god and who honestly cared about pulses, when you would live forever! Or unlive. Or-aaah, fuck it! You’d look away, scowling a boney scowl. “This game ends here, Arkanos. You’ve seduced me many a times before, but this ends now. You know you could never beat me in a fair fight and I know that you can’t backstab me like some mortal rogue under the pale moon light.” you scoffed, grabbing the door handle.

Twisting it, turning it. Opening the entrance and, in your case, the exit from his awkward situation. But right before you’d leave, the door would shut, without you even taking a full step ahead. You flinch, step backwards and bump into his frame. Then you have to straighten yourself as you attempt to prevent flushing of the cheeks. Straightening yourself and your clothing, you scoff. “Of course, right. Your wards.”

“Yes, Sol.” He’d smile a little smile your way and you feel your spine shiver. That cute smile that drove you crazy. After everything you did. All the people you killed and brought back as your meat and soul puppets! And he has the gall to smile at you like that.

“Well, undo it!” you try to regain footing. To find your equilibrium and tower over him, make yourself bigger, like one of those bear things that roam Fleetfoot’s forests. But intimidation does not work on him and you know it. He’s too brave. TOO STUPID, you try to think, but you know he’s too smart for you. Of all of them, even you, with all your dark and vile magicks, he was always the superior intellect.

He’d sigh a light sigh and glance over to the nearby window. It had been darkened off with the Darkness spell, which you made sure to cast, in case one of your flunkies or one of his randomly popped their head through. And he’d walk over to it, tapping it gently with a finger, dispelling. The sky appeared an odd mix of colors. It was familiar. Reminded you of your many birthdays. Yes, even the one good one you had all those millennia ago.

He’d wave a hand to you to step on over and join him at the glass separating you two from the outside. No words were needed. He had prepared the right set of movements, didn’t he?! A pregnant pause. And you go over, though you dare not look upwards at what the sky would be like. You just look down, no head in the clouds. Only down towards the muck.

“There is no shame in what you feel, Sol. You know that, right?” he’d say, side-glancing you every now and then as he faced the sky, while you watched the passerby folk, well, pass by. Wordlessly, you listen to him. And then have to find yourself blinking as the silence became deafening. Like he wanted a direct answer from you.

You’d grimace and cant your head some in a direction of your choosing. “I’ve killed and converted and had them kill… so many people. And you’re trying to psychoanalyze me, Arkanos. Don’t you find the flaw in that?!” he’d sneer. “The daddy of the elves meeting with the step dad of your little traitors. In secret and for centuries now. Isn’t that a little-Don’t you think that’s kind of fucked up?!” he’d not even raise a brow over your foul mouth. He was used to it.

He was used to keeping it occupied, too. Hmph!

“Is it really so crazy, Sol? Is it, though?” he’d smile again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You. And I. Have such a history, spanning many a lifetimes of many a people. From the short-lived to the ancient. Friends. To rivals. To enemies. To friends…” he’d giggle and your face would change shades. It was a whole galactic party on your features. “To so much more.”

“Fuckbuddies.” he scoffed at your phrasing. He was used to the cussing, but that sort of direct crassness gave you a bit of an advantage… every now and then.

“Call it as you want, Sol. But I know the truth. I peered through your actions and your thoughts and I saw the real you… And I saw the broken pieces. They were there, inside you. Calling, screaming to be reshaped.” He spoke to you with such determination and passion. You’d mistake him for one of those new-fangled “bards”. “Is it honestly that big of a surprise that once you reached out as you did, I would reach back in turn?”

You look away. “After everything I put you and your kids through, how is that a surprise, Ark-“he has a hand on your cheekbone, slowly turning your face in his direction, as you sought to glance away in your shame and woe. “I-I mean-“

No time to finish the sentence. He pecks your face with his lips. Quick and focused. Your spine shivers at his advance. But you don’t really fight it, though you hate him pulling away.

“You are a lonely man, shrouded in a darkness of your own making. Unwilling to show the pain to those around you, fearing their response.” He’d say softly. “But I saw and I felt and I knew that day…”

“You knew…?” you asked.

He’d nod to you with a, well, knowing smile, his cheeks turning pink. It really didn’t take you that much to figure out what he meant.

“O-oh. Oh!”

“Yes.”

“Ohhhhh…” it was all you could say, while he glanced back out the window and you followed his gaze to the sky above. Where the moon had gone before the sun, creating a rare masterpiece that the mortals found fascinating as all hell. But to you? To you this was your birthday. Again, damn it, you’d bite your lip if you had that.

You feel his hand on your person. Fingers entangling with your own. You look to them. And you look to him. His eyes took that “look” again. A familiar one that the two of you would act upon whenever the opportunity struck.

He walked back. And headed to the bed that faced the door, light step after light step, pulling you along. One knee on the bed. A creeking sound. His other knee on the mattress. A repeat. Shifting of weight as he pulled you on over.

You’d open your mouth to speak. “I-“

And he’d answer. “I know.”

Wordlessly, the two of you would lock faces and commiserate as he helped you take off the robe again. This time much slower and to the point than in a simple moment of passion. There was more feeling there.

As he’d undress you and you him, a thought would crawl into your mind.

Perhaps it was possible. Perhaps it was, yes, that the shattered insides of your soul could be put together again. Perhaps he could do it.

To Be Continued.

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Author’s notes: WONDERCRAK! Thank you, dear readers, for all the well wishes and kind words about the last story! Even you, KnuckleTucker3000. I appreciate the criticism on my grammar and took it to heart o w o! Wow, like, wow! So like, I was really excited to get to this part of the story, ‘cause, obviously I finally got to reveal what kinda day Solomon was born on u w u Next week’s continuation’s gonna get extra spicy, tho, so I have to bring back the reminder >8( This one’s for the grown-ups and it’s gonna be tagged NSFW! Don’t read if a Lemon Fic isn’t your thing! I’ll drop the hidden lore bits I’ll be putting in that one!

Stay tuned u w u, RainbowRunner899 out!

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tomakeitbeautifultolive · 4 years

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Defending Jon Snow’s Honor

Re: "Jon Snow is Trash": Because if you accept the season eight depiction of Jon Snow as credible, then you might as well admit that Daenerys was mad all along.

Disclaimer: This is not a defense of Jon Snow's actions in season eight, but a refutation of his portrayal.

To begin, we must confront the elephant in the room: In season eight, the character of Daenerys Targaryen was butchered both literally and figuratively. It was such a brutal and heinous maiming of her character that by the end of the series, it was impossible to suspend disbelief and accept the inane and illogical choices of the writers.

But when you then turn around and insist that Jon Snow has always been "trash"—it's no different than the people who insist Daenerys has always been mad. The hit job on Jon Snow was, admittedly, a bit more subtle. But it was a hit job nonetheless. Do not let two talentless writers convince you that Jon Snow, at any point in season eight, acted within the bounds of his established character or even within in-universe show logic.

Because he didn't.

And no, I won't put any of this under a cut. Let the sheer length of this post serve as proof, itself, of just how dirty David Benioff and D.B. Weiss did Jon Snow.

The Real Jon Snow

While the writing on Game of Thrones suffered the further the story strayed from the books and from its original creator, George R.R. Martin, season seven—for all its faults and imperfections—still seemed to follow the natural progression of the story. Everyone still felt more or less in-character, particularly Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen.

So, that's where we'll start. To me, season seven Jon Snow is the rough culmination of exactly where I believe his story arc will lead—and it's a great season to help showcase his qualities.

Regardless of any personal preference for characters, in season seven, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are equals. She is a queen and he is a king.

When they meet, she appeals to her power and her claim by inheritance in order to convince Jon to bend the knee. Of course, it was never going to be that easy. Jon's a stubborn man and he has no reason to put his blind faith into well, anyone.

It is only upon revealing her true nature—her selflessness and willingness to use her power to help others—that Daenerys earns not only his respect, but his heart.

To say that "Jon Snow was always trash" is an insult to Daenerys and her judgment.

Dany's love for Khal Drogo was born of adaptation, to make the best of a situation she never asked for. Unlike Jorah Mormont, Jon's devotion to Daenerys had nothing to do with her looks. Unlike Daario Naharis, Jon's devotion to Daenerys had nothing to do with her power or status... and everything to do with who she is fundamentally. Jon Snow pledged to fight for Daenerys based on the content of her character rather than her beauty.

Further, Daario Naharis really stood face to face with Daenerys Targaryen, the Mhysa, and said "fuck the people". Meanwhile, it is Jon Snow's mysterious scars that prove he and Daenerys harbor similar ideologies—demonstrating that Jon is willing to stop at nothing for his people—even if it requires giving his own life.

Many have called Jon Snow "stupid" for exactly this, completely missing the point that there are qualities that deserve to be held in higher esteem than self-preservation or cleverness.

Compassion.

Self-sacrifice.

Humility.

Dignity.

Honesty.

When Jon Snow declares his loyalty to Daenerys in the Dragonpit in front of everyone—this is yet another moment people like to point to as "stupid", yet...

"I'm not going to swear an oath I can't uphold. When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies."

Jon Snow's integrity is more important to him than lying just to save his own hide. After all, he tried that once before, and the only thing it resulted in was heartache and regret. Jon Snow more or less asserts that a life wherein he must pretend to be something he isn't—isn't a life worth living.

This is as profound a revelation as it is bold.

Whether or not you agree with his convictions... Jon Snow's moral foundation is as unyielding as Valyrian steel. It is no wonder that this was the man who ultimately won the heart of Daenerys Targaryen. A man whose favor cannot be bought or exploited.

One fundamental change in Jon Snow's character from page to screen, however, is his ambition. This emphasis on his reluctance in ruling becomes an unfortunate cornerstone of season eight. But if Jon Snow's book counterpart—the one who dreamt of becoming Lord of Winterfell, of conquering and leading men into glory—lacks this hesitation, and instead, takes leadership so seriously that he only celebrates becoming Lord Commander with one gulp of alcohol... then what impact could his ambition have on the story?

Upon learning that Jon is Rhaegar's son, it's easy to jump to the conclusion that he'll suddenly start vying for the Iron Throne. But if Jon Snow pledges himself to Queen Daenerys in the books, then we have every reason to believe his word is as good as gold. Jon is not a man who takes his oaths lightly. Nor is he a man who is easily manipulated.

Jon Snow deciding to swear fealty to anyone is momentous.

Take, for instance, Stannis Baratheon. Jon's 'father', Ned, pretty much died in support of Stannis' claim to the throne, so he approaches the boy and appeals to Jon's deepest desire—the first thing he can remember wanting—to become a Stark.

All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do ... was forswear his vows again. And this time it would not be a ruse. To claim his father's castle, he must turn against his father's gods.

This is not an easy decision for Jon Snow. He spends a great deal of time considering the offer from just about every angle one can. Admittedly, it's hard to showcase deep internal reflection on a television show, so we didn't really get to see that process for Jon on screen. But it's always been apparent that two men of privilege—David Benioff and D.B. Weiss—struggle in writing from the perspective of a bastard. Fundamentally, they cannot fully inhabit Jon as a result, because they've never experienced a lifetime of unprovoked contempt, resulting in an unfortunate lack of depth in Jon's translation from page to screen.

Even so, we do get some insight into the depth of Jon's character in season seven when Theon Greyjoy says to Jon:

"You've always known what was right. Even when we were all young and stupid, you always knew. Every step you take, it's always the right step."

In turn, Jon replies:

"It's not. It may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, it's not true. I've done plenty of things that I regret."

So, by the time that Jon must decide whether or not to accept Stannis Baratheon's offer, he does so with the consideration of future regret. It is in a reflective moment that Jon decides that his greatest desires are not worth the moral expense.

And so, Jon refuses to betray his father's gods, and remains a Snow.

The Kinslaying Problem

Speaking of gods... Way back in his wildling heyday, Ygritte recounts the tale of Bael the Bard to Jon Snow, in which she reveals a curious detail:

"The gods hate kinslayers, even when they kill unknowing."

While you could make the case that this foreshadows Jon as a kinslayer regarding Daenerys... considering it was their kinship that drove a wedge right through their relationship in show canon, it's safe to say season eight Jon knew full well he was kin to Daenerys when he killed her. So what else could this quote mean?

The "kinslayer who kills unknowing" probably won't refer to Daenerys at all—but the mysterious figure known in the books as the Night's King, of whom all records have been destroyed, his very name forbidden.

But... Old Nan insists we do know his name. At least one of them:

"He was a Stark, the brother of the man who brought him down."

Keep in mind that it's Bran she tells, not Jon. And her words even echo the kinslaying element between these mysterious and legendary figures in and around the North.

Interestingly, one of the most prominent kinslayers in the story is the one who, in season eight, ultimately convinces Jon Snow to murder his queen. And somehow, it takes virtually no effort on Tyrion's part to persuade Jon Snow to commit not only regicide, but kinslaying (whatever happened to "The man that passes the sentence should swing the sword"?)

This may mean nothing in the show, but in the books it's reiterated over and over again we're told how accursed such an act is. And we have a pretty good example that it might be true. Rickard Karstark warned Robb Stark prior to his execution by the Young Wolf's hand:

"We are kin, Stark and Karstark. Old gods or new, it makes no matter. No man is so accursed as the kinslayer."

And we all know the fate that befell Robb Stark.

The Incest Problem

Speaking of kin... let's talk incest! While there's no question that on earth, discovering you've been copulating with your aunt might be a cause for surprise... In Westeros? It's not even considered incest. No, not even in the North, where we're given two examples of uncle-to-niece pairings:

"In Westeros incest is only applied if father lays with daughter, mother lays with son, or brother to sister, and the children of such unions are considered abominations. The views regarding marriages between an uncle and a niece (or an aunt to a nephew) might differ between the Faith and the old gods. In the north, Serena Stark had been wed to her half-uncle, Edric, while her sister Sansa Stark had been wed to her half-uncle Jonnel Stark."

In the original draft of the story, Jon was supposed to have a romantic relationship with Arya Stark—his cousin by blood, but who, for all he knows, is his sister. Seeds of this are still scattered in early chapters of ASOIAF, as illustrated by the sheer tenderness of their relationship in A Game of Thrones.

For years, Arya Stark was the only woman who treated Jon with respect. It's no wonder that his feelings for her have always bordered on romantic (and let me make a clear distinction here—I said romantic, not sexual). Considering that it was George's original plan, it's pretty safe to guess that being a willing participant in an incestuous relationship is not necessarily out of character for Jon Snow, as was predetermined by the man who created him.

Jon Snow is a polarizing character for people who love Targaryens and hate Starks—and vice versa. Whether or not you like it, Jon Snow is a Targaryen. And thus, the Doctrine of Exceptionalism applies to him, which states:

"The Targaryens wed brother to sister as the Valyrians had always done, and as the gods had made them this way, it was not for men to judge."

While the show canon did next to nothing with Jon Snow's true Targaryen lineage—never forget that the entire reason David Benioff and D.B. Weiss were given the rights to Game of Thrones was that they could correctly answer the question "Who is Jon Snow's mother?"

An incestuous scandal was the best that the lackluster show writers could come up with. And to then accept that the only reason George R.R. Martin penned this central plot twist in his medieval fantasy story exclusively to create some modern-era incest drama is, frankly, insulting.

David Benioff and D.B. Weiss are creatively barren. As barren as... um, Daenerys apparently?

To further exploit the show's lack of logical reasoning—it turns out that, yes, according to show canon, Daenerys was barren the whole time. While Jon doubted the validity of Mirri Maz Duur's claims... he was wrong. And Daenerys was straightforward with him that their union would produce no offspring. And apparently, despite all the wasted dialogue used to foreshadow, she was right.

This means that even within the boundaries of the show's broken logic, the anti-incest angle never held water.

So... if season eight Jon Snow's rejection of Daenerys is what ultimately causes her to "snap", yet it's unlikely that book Jon Snow will feel the same strong aversion about their relation... will she "snap" at all?

The Execution Problem

When it comes to the 'old way', Ned Stark has taught his sons well, Jon Snow among them:

"We hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

When Jon encounters Ygritte, he can't bring himself to kill her despite the command to. She reminds him of his sister, Arya—the girl he loves the most in all the world. And so, he asks Ygritte to yield. Jon Snow, simply reminded of a girl he loves, cannot bring himself to kill Ygritte.

Later, we directly witness Jon applying Ned's logic to his execution of Janos Slynt. After advising Janos on how best to achieve a quick death, he says:

"If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them."

"Please, my lord. Mercy. I'll … I'll go, I will, I …"

No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.

Like his father before him, Jon advised Janos to speak his last words. And upon hearing them, deemed him fit to die.

This is Jon Snow's execution style.

We see it repeated even in season six when he executes his murderers:

"If you have any last words, now is the time."

Patiently, he waits for each of his four murderers to speak before letting them hang.

This is Jon Snow's execution style.

Alternatively, we see another style of execution when it comes to Jon Snow's own murder, as carried out by Alliser Thorne. Let's just go ahead and refer to this style as dishonorable and cowardly (two qualities that we've now established that Jon Snow does not possess).

Jon Snow was led, unarmed, into a false sense of security—where he was then cornered and stabbed in the heart by his enemies, left lying in a pool of his own blood.

The change in Jon Snow's execution style to suddenly emulate the way in which he was murdered is a cold-blooded betrayal of Jon's character.

But back to Janos.

On the surface, Jon Snow made a snap decision to execute Janos Slynt for disobeying a command—though if we're being honest, it was more-so because Janos was an entitled and sniveling Lannister loyalist that couldn't be trusted, or, a clever political move to ensure Jon’s future safety as Lord Commander.

Jon then severed the man's head as he cried and begged for his life.

You expect us to believe that this man...

...would be bothered by the execution of attempted murderer and traitor, Varys? A man who openly suggested they collude and commit treason?

While the above gif looks a little more like the Jon Snow we know, it’s not. Especially considering the writers tried their hardest to make us believe Jon Snow is incapable of dishonesty and lying, even by omission, he neglects to tell Daenerys of Varys’ treasonous ways. He cannot lie to his siblings or to Daenerys about his Targaryen identity, yet he can omit a very troubling piece of information regarding one of the allies of the woman he loves and is pledged to. What?

Further, compare the execution below with the above gifs of Jon Snow's two executions. He even shows more satisfaction in the deaths of the lives he’s taken than Daenerys did. Varys surviving means Dany’s life will forever be at risk. Not only is Varys an oathbreaker, but he attempted regicide by poison. Having Jon Snow judge Daenerys for this action is a blatant double standard that makes zero logical sense.

And speaking of attempted murderers... Let's discuss Randyll Tarly.

Randyll Tarly is no stranger to Jon Snow. Sam told him all about his father way back in episode four of season one:

"You're almost a man now, but you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black, forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north. If you do not, then we'll have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble, and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more."

So, you're going to tell me that Jon Snow is suddenly perturbed by the execution of a man who both threatened to murder his own son and who betrayed his liege lord?

To fight alongside the Lannisters, no less?

According to the books, this is what Jon Snow thinks of the Lannisters:

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn."

And in case you missed it, this is how Jon Snow punishes those who betray their liege lords:

Maybe you’re itching to argue that it’s Dany’s execution style that is the problem. That perhaps, 'death by fire is heinous and cruel! Beheading and hanging and punching someone to death are all "merciful" deaths!' Because, stupefyingly, that's a popular argument for those that (also stupefyingly) defend Randyll Tarly.

That argument might work if not for the fact that Jon instructed his men to launch flaming arrows at the Battle of Castle Black, thus using fire as a means to kill.

The Arya Stark Problem

We've already discussed Arya Stark a little bit in terms of her deep bond with Jon Snow... but in order to truly show how out-of-character their reunion was, we need to backtrack a little bit.

Upon gifting her Needle, Jon and Arya have this exchange in the books:

"And whatever you do..."

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.

"...don't ... tell ... Sansa!"

Not only do the pair have an understanding which excludes their sister or trusting her with sensitive information... when Arya is caught with Needle later on, this happens:

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.

And when Arya attempts to shed her identity at the House of Black and White, she can't bring herself to part with Needle, because:

Needle was Jon Snow's smile. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can't have this.

Arya Stark refuses to part with the physical representation of Jon Snow's smile.

For the most anticipated reunion in the entire show, it fell flat. Don't get me wrong, it was exhilarating to see Jon Snow and Arya Stark embracing after being apart for a decade—and Kit Harington and Maisie Williams did their absolute best with the poor dialogue they were given.

But this was not the reunion of two characters who survived some of their toughest challenges by merely recalling the memory of the other. Jon and Arya shared a bond that nothing could tarnish—not even time. A bond that no one—not even their fellow family members—could penetrate.

The nerve of the writers making Arya Stark, one of the cleverest characters in the books despite her age, say that Sansa Stark is the smartest person she's ever met? No. For one, Arya Stark did not need to live as a bastard in order to empathize with them—which means that even as a little girl, she possessed wisdom that is years ahead of her elder sister's.

Much like Jon Snow, Arya Stark is not a character who is easily persuaded by the opinions of others. Which is why she and Jon are close at all—she never once believes the stigma attached to his bastardy, because it's so blatantly obvious to her that his character simply doesn't fit the rhetoric.

I'd be willing to bet that Jon's incredibly loyal sister would trust his judgment in pledging himself to Daenerys. And I won't for a minute believe that the girl who said to Gendry...

"I can be your family."

...would suddenly regress into intolerance, particularly not at someone else's behest.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who said...

"The woman is important too!"

...would turn around and suggest that the woman who provided her armies, dragons, and resources to save the North should then be discarded afterward.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who makes allies and friends everywhere she goes would turn around and argue that allies aren't important.

I won't believe for a minute that the girl who named her direwolf after the warrior queen Nymeria, the girl who said...

"He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

...wouldn't at least give the person she loves the most in all the world, Jon Snow, a few minutes to explain why he supports and believes in Daenerys.

Lastly, there is absolutely no reason to believe that Arya Stark would ever betray Jon Snow. It is an insult to one of the purest and tenderest relationships in the entire series to suggest otherwise.

The Winterfell Problem

Even on Jon Snow's AWOIAF Wiki page, he is described as "quick to sense a slight", as well as observant, "a trait he developed on account of being a bastard".

Yet, during the feast following the Night King's death... Jon Snow is suddenly portrayed as oblivious all in service to the plot to alienate Daenerys. Jon Snow's sudden disinterest in the woman he spent season seven so intently studying was both frustrating and compromising to his character traits.

After all, the most impressive leader Jon Snow has ever witnessed followed him into his homeland to save his men for nothing to gain (and in fact, to sacrifice her own men and resources), not just for the man she loves—but because it's the right thing to do.

The writers really expect us to believe that this man, who turned Janos Slynt's insubordination into an example of what happens to men who openly disrespect him and his orders...

...is going to suddenly sit idly by while his own people make a fool of him by disrespecting his chosen queen, and by extension, him.

Don't let the writers believe for an instant that he would stand for it.

Taking a step further back, what in seven hells was going on during that battle?

The betrayal to Jon Snow's character is the most glaring during episode three of season eight, in which the writers really decided to sideline the most talented and quick-thinking swordsman in their cast (next to Furdik—who, by the way, was also sidelined).

Jon Snow conveniently forgets virtually everything he learned from defending the Wall in season four and reclaiming Winterfell in season six. The King in the North who travels all the way to Dragonstone for not only dragonglass, but in hopes of gaining the help of the queen and her armies is really going to let one of those armies gallop head-first into the army of the undead with metal weapons? Jon Snow is the first character in the show to learn that regular weapons don't work against wights!

And while it may not be Jon Snow's fault that the trebuchets managed to make it to the front line of all places, he certainly would've pointed out the flaw in that decision. As well as the placement of the trenches—which physically severed the troops from the safety of the castle upon retreat. Retreat, if necessary, would be a priority for Jon Snow especially, as he, above everyone else, knows that every fallen man means one more undead soldier they must deal with.

And speaking of the trenches...

To add insult to injury, the writers really decided to add a shot of Jon Snow sitting idly next to the trenches on top of Rhaegal, a dragon that he was just using to light the dead on fire, as Melisandre struggled to light them with magic:

What? You mean this Jon Snow?

The Jon Snow that once used his quick-thinking to discover that fire kills wights... doesn't think to use dragonfire to light a trench on fire? Come on.

And since when has Jon Snow ever balked during battle? Of all the characters, he's one of the few who actually understands what the Night King is, how big his army is, what the odds are, and what it's like to be in the midst of not only battles—but ones that are going really poorly.

Yet at Winterfell—the place he fought so hard to reclaim and that he reluctantly went south to rally support for in order to protect it—he suddenly has no idea what to do? He's historically one of the most quick-witted and innovative fighters in the entire show, if not the most.

And speaking of battles...

"We find our true friends on the battlefield"

Whether or not you agree with the writers' choice to have Sam attempt to persuade Jon to commit treason against his queen... I just cannot accept that Jon Snow willingly turns away from his oldest friend in a moment like this:

Even in the most hopeless of situations, Jon Snow won't hesitate to save someone he loves. Like when he tried, against all odds, to save Rickon.

Even with complete strangers, Jon Snow has shown his gallantry.

As well as his aptitude for forgiveness.

Whether or not Samwell Tarly offended Jon, he would never leave him to die. Their principals may no longer converge the way they once did... but never forget that when, in the books, Chett suggests Thorne should kill Sam for being weak, Jon speaks up on Sam's behalf:

"Lords are gold and knights steel, but two links can't make a chain. You also need silver and iron and lead, tin and copper and bronze and all the rest, and those are farmers and smiths and merchants and the like. A chain needs all sorts of metals, and a land needs all sorts of people. You can't hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn't mean tin is useless."

The Night King Problem

Speaking of the battle for Winterfell... By denying Jon Snow the climax to his story arc—squaring off with the Night King—and instead, granting that honor to Arya Stark (who has no relation to anything happening north of the Wall in either book or show...) it disrupts the natural conclusions for both characters.

Jon Snow and the Night King had unfinished business—at least, that's what all those long and intense stare-downs seemed to indicate. Even in the books, the only POV chapters that mention the Night's King are Jon, Bran, and Sam.

Kit Harington was very gracious when trying to explain why he would've liked to get the killing blow:

"I was a bit pissed off, only because I wanted to kill the Night King! I think I felt like everyone else did, in that it had been set up for a long time, and then I didn't get to do it."

But even in all his graciousness, Kit points out that it's been set up for a long time. And you know what George R.R. Martin has to say about changing your plan mid-stream:

"If you planned your book that the butler did it and then you read on the internet that someone has figured out that the butler did it and then you suddenly change in mid-stream and it was the chambermaid who did it? Then you screw up the whole book because you've got this foreshadowing early on and you've got these little clues you've planted and now they're dead ends... and you have to introduce other clues and you're retconning. It's a mess."

Yet... The fact that Jon Snow vs. the Night King made sense was exactly why the writers chose not to do it!

"We hope to kind of avoid the expected and Jon Snow has always been the hero, the one who's been the savior. But it just didn't seem right to us for this moment."

Sure, Arya Stark killing the Night King "subverted expectations" (I'm so sick of typing those two words together at this point, but it's impossible not to do when trying to discuss season eight)... but at what cost? The cost of any emotional impact.

Just like virtually everything else in the last season.

(As an aside, if the writers really felt Arya Stark was the right person to land the killing blow, they should've had Jon lose the swordfight and before the Night King is able to finish him, his ride-or-die sister comes flying out of the darkness to save his life. The audience gets what they were promised and Arya still gets to be the hero in a way that not only makes sense, but fits her character…)

Of course, the showdown with the Night King was not the first major plot point that was teased over the course of the series to be ultimately robbed from Jon Snow.

Nor would it be the last...

The Prophecy Problem

To claim that Jon piercing Dany's heart with a quick sneak attack has any resemblance to the legend of Azor Ahai is a gross oversimplification. Let's take a look at what the legend actually says:

"He summoned his wife. 'Nissa Nissa,' he said to her, for that was her name, 'bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.' She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel."

Yes. Daenerys was stabbed in the heart. That is the only similarity her season eight murder bears to the above legend.

Where was the declaration of love? Where was the permission asked? Where was the consent given? There was no cry of anguish and ecstasy—there was a gasp and a gurgle. Dany's life was not given in exchange for anything, it was simply taken. There was no transference of courage or strength—just a quick and (troublingly) unimpactful "shock" death.

Of course, it's important to point out that Azor Ahai is never even mentioned in the show. And while The Prince that was Promised was mentioned (as late as season seven)... So far as show canon goes, this prophecy meant absolutely nothing in the end.

That makes two of us, Kit.

Jon Snow (and Kit Harington) Also Deserved Better

Aside from George R.R. Martin, the man who knows Jon Snow best, Kit Harington, was overcome with heartache, disbelief...

...and frustration upon reading the treacherous turn his character took in the season eight script.

David Benioff and D.B. Weiss completely neutered Jon Snow's character.

Figuratively and well, maybe literally? Year after year, they have shown themselves to be petty and spiteful with various cast and crew—from Kit Harington to Ian McElhinney to Alexander Siddig to George R.R. Martin, himself.

Remember that stupid dig at Jon Snow's penis size upon his resurrection? Just a dumb joke, right?

Or was it?

It was sure important enough for them to go on record with major publications and clarify that, no, it wasn't just a joke, but canon! Pay very close attention to how it's worded:

"He just had the look. The brooding intensity; the physical grace; the chip-on-the-shoulder quality that we always associate with extraordinarily short people.

There has to be some downside to being Kit Harington, right? It's impossible not to like him. Maddening. The one thing we can do is saddle his character with a tiny pecker."

This isn't about Jon Snow's penis. It's about taking Kit Harington down a peg. Not only did they give Jon Snow a canonically "small penis", they had to give Daenerys lines about how he's "too little for her", to poke fun at Kit's height. You know, because he's apparently "extraordinarily short".

Utterly juvenile.

Much like with Tyrion Lannister, Jon Snow's cleverness far exceeded that of the men who were in charge of writing him—and they failed to replicate it. And so, the further Jon Snow strayed from his creator, George R.R. Martin, the further his IQ dropped until, by season eight, he was reduced to a bumbling idiot shouting at dragons and saying little more than "muh queen". Why? Because if you're actually an idiot, you cannot write a clever person.

As for the books, Jon Snow's true fate remains to be seen. And for as much as I don't want to get my hopes up for a better ending, I cannot ignore that Jon Snow's foreshadowing just doesn't point to futility, and that if it does—George R.R. Martin sure put in a lot of work to convince us otherwise.

As the man, himself, recently said:

"People know an ending—but not the ending."

It is as much an insult to Jon Snow to have Daenerys descend into spontaneous madness as it was for the fans who loved her. Over the years, Jon has proven himself to be a great judge of character—and this was the man who assured Daenerys, in her most vulnerable moment, that she does deserve to be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

After all, there’s just no denying their similarities as characters:

"From the very beginning, Jon and Daenerys' stories have paralleled and contrasted each other, with both starting from a position of weakness and insubordination before ascending into leadership roles. Both had to maneuver their way through the difficulties of power while maintaining their sense of justice, and in doing so, had to face many hard decisions along the way. Both were mocked, attacked, and betrayed for doing the right thing. Both reached their low points and were figuratively reborn at the same time, both coming out stronger as a result." -Brandon Jacobs

If you loved Jon Snow prior to season eight, you were never wrong or misled, nor was your judgment unsound. I hope that, somewhere in this post, there was at least one example that reminded you of why Jon Snow was able to win your heart in the first place. Writers who don't understand the most fundamental qualities of a character should not be given the power to rob you of your love for them.

I am willing to bet that like me, and like all of Jon Snow's fans... you know him better than the two men who were granted the honor of writing his television canon. An honor they proved in season eight that they never deserved.

Please do not grant these two incompetent writers and poor storytellers the power to turn you against one character while praising the other, especially when both were ruined beyond repair or recognition.

Forgiving Jon Snow as a character ≠ condoning what he did in season eight, just as forgiving Daenerys Targaryen ≠ condoning mass genocide.

Like Daenerys, Jon Snow deserved better.

#jon snow #game of thrones #meta #jon snow defense squad

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witcherslittledove · 3 years

Text

Time is Running Out

Joey Batey/Henry Cavill

Rated E

Summary: Henry goes to see if Joey is ready for the premiere.

CW: Somnophilia, dub con (see somnophilia), Joey in a Dress, masturbation, hand jobs

Also on AO3 and written with the help of @jaskiertheflowertwink

_______

“Joey?” Henry knocked on the door of his cast mate’s hotel room. The premiere was starting in just over an hour and the younger man said he was going for a nap almost two hours ago. No one had seen him since and Henry was beginning to worry. He’d noticed Joey got easily overwhelmed by that part of acting and honestly he couldn’t blame him. It was hard, the screaming, the cameras flashing, the autographs, rewarding but utterly exhausting, and Joey wasn’t used to it.

There was no response from the other side of the door and Henry frowned, staring at the wood as if it would suddenly respond. It didn’t. Henry sighed and tested the handle of the door. It gave way and the door drifted open.

“Joey?” Henry called again before stepping inside the room.

His breath hitched in his throat as he saw the sight before him. Joey was lying on the bed, sprawled out on his back, head lolling to one side. But the thing that really caught his attention was Joey’s attire. He was wearing a teal silk night dress with black lacing around the bust and hemline.

“Jesus Christ, Joey…” Henry breathed, letting his gaze roam over the well-toned muscles that were usually hidden underneath Jaskier’s puffy outfits. Thick dark hair covered Joey’s chest, arms and legs, and despite the delicate silk dress he oozed masculinity in a way that Henry hadn’t thought was possible. His mouth felt dry and he felt the stirrings of arousal, hot and heady.

Joey snorted in his sleep, his leg kicking off the edge of the duvet. The movement made the hem of his dress shift upwards over his hips, revealing his soft cock.

Henry knew he should but he couldn’t look away. His cast mate had always been attractive, those pretty blue eyes that pierced your soul and a voice of an angel, but watching Joey, silk adorned and sleeping, it awoke something deep in Henry.

And he’d suddenly never wanted anything more.

Henry crossed the room before he could change his mind, pulling up the thin strap that had fallen down Joey’s arms, tantalising and so fucking sexy. He made a valiant effort not to look at Joey’s cock but he was weak. His gaze kept drifting down before snapping back up to look at Joey’s face, admiring the soft bristles of stubble that covered the younger man’s cheeks. His fringe was falling into his eyes so Henry reached out to brush it away.

“Henry…” Joey murmured, rolling over so he was facing Henry.

Time seemed to still. Henry’s cock was hard and straining against his trousers, and he groaned. He’d only come into Joey’s room to make sure he was going to be ready in time for the premiere, and now his thoughts were spiralling out of control. His fingers dug into his thighs in a herculean effort not to touch Joey, but holy fucking christ he just looked so goddamn irresistible.

As if reading his thoughts, Joey moaned softly, fingers gripping the sheets of the bed. Henry stared wide eyed as Joey reached down to cup his balls, fingers stroking down his length.

Henry knew he should leave.

He knew he should leave.

But it was impossible. He was trapped, caught in Joey’s spell. Christ, the man had to be fae or something. No one was that captivating in their sleep. Henry stroked Joey’s cheek, running his thumb along his bottom lip, and Joey let out a soft breathy moan that made Henry’s world light on fire.

“Fuck,” he groaned, palming his own aching cock through his trousers.

“Henry, please,” Joey gasped as he began to writhe and moan on the bed, and that was Henry’s undoing. He swore, knocking Joey’s hand away from his cock and taking it in his own hands. It had been so long since he’d been intimate with another man but it felt so natural to stroke Joey’s cock as it hardened in his hands. Henry glanced up, but Joey’s eyes were still squeezed shut and his lips were parted in a soft ‘o’. He was still asleep.

Fuck, this really should stop but it was too late now. He was past the point of no return.

He stroked the tip of Joey’s cock, gathering up the beads of precum on his finger. It glistened in the light of the hotel room, and Henry couldn’t resist drawing his finger into his mouth. The taste was bitter but not entirely unpleasant, and Henry thought about forgetting his hands all together and taking Joey into his mouth, but that would be harder to explain if Joey were to wake up.

“For fuck’s sake, get a grip,” Henry muttered, willing himself to let go but Joey just keened and bucked up into his hand. His resolve crumbled underneath him and he gave in to the urges that he’d been repressing ever since his bard had first sauntered into the dingy old room for the read through.

Henry licked his lips as his gaze roamed over Joey’s body. There was a faint blush on his cheeks that crept down his torso below the plunging neckline, partially concealed by the delicate black lace. Joey whined as Henry’s finger brushed over his slit, the sound sending a rush of pleasure through Henry’s body, heat prickling across his skin.

“Henry,” Joey half moaned, sounding completely wrecked and blue eyes snapped open.

Henry froze, his breath catching in his throat as their eyes met. Joey’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Henry?”

“Shit!”

“Am- Am I still dreaming?” Joey asked, his voice shaking and his tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

Henry shook his head. “No, not dreaming.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Joey’s eyes never left his, blue turning to almost black as his expression melted into something oh so alluring, and Henry was reminded of Jaskier, his famed sexual prowess that the show never quite explored. “Well don’t stop on my account, darling.”

The world seemed to spin, as Henry crashed his lips against Joey’s. He’d been dreaming of this for so long, their natural chemistry spilling out onto the set. It was really no wonder that the fans had clung onto their characters. Henry himself had been disappointed when he’d heard rumours that one of the writers had pitched a kiss between Geralt and his bard that didn't make the script. He told himself it was for the best, though, convincing himself that if he could keep his distance then his feelings would disappear. It clearly hadn't worked.

“Henry,” Joey moaned against his lips, legs wrapping around his waist and Henry suddenly felt incredibly overdressed.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back from the kiss, “the premiere.”

“They don’t need us.”

“I’m the leading actor, Joey,” Henry chided, but Joey just pouted up at him, looking so very angelic and yet utterly sinful.

“They can wait, I need you.”

Henry wrestled with his conscience for less than a second before groaning and shrugging off his suit jacket. “You’re a fucking menace, Joey.”

Joey winked, biting his lips. “Oh but you love me,” he purred, his accent thickening which made Henry’s pulse race.

“Menace,” he repeated, kissing Joey deeply before the younger man could protest.

Joey was an enthusiastic lover, now that he was awake, and he pawed at the fastenings of Henry’s trousers, whining when he couldn’t get them undone fast enough. Henry chuckled, kissing along Joey’s jaw, sucking bruises into his neck whilst the musician’s hands worked at getting his zip undone.

“This shouldn’t be so hard!” Joey grumbled.

“I thought that was the point?”

“Bastard.”

“Brat.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

And Henry did. He kissed Joey as if his life depended on it, relishing in the cute little moans that escaped his bard as his hand explored Joey’s body. The silk nightgown was so soft under his fingers and the noises, god the noises, Joey made. They were more enchanting than any song he’d ever heard, fuck if he could make an album from just these sounds… he’d never have to work again.

Joey let out an obscene moan as he finally managed to get Henry’s cock free from his trousers. “Holy fucking mother of god, Henry,” he breathed, running his hand along the length.

Henry thrust into Joey’s hand, a needy whine escaping his lips. “Shit!”

“Lube, fuck, I need lube…” Joey muttered, letting go and scrambling to dig through his bag that had been dumped on the floor by the bed.

“We don’t have time,” Henry protested weakly.

“We don’t, and you will fuck me after this sodding premiere is over with, but I want to get you off before we go,” Joey smirked.

And suddenly all Henry could think about was pulling that damned silk gown up to Joey’s waist and fucking him into the mattress until they both came so hard that they blacked out. But the premiere was awaiting them and Henry knew he had a job to do, they both had a job to do.

He pulled the bottle of lube from Joey’s hands, clicking open the bottle and generously coating his fingers. His bard was right, they didn’t have much time and this would make things far more pleasurable. Henry took both their cocks in hand, stroking them roughly, capturing Joey’s lips in a blistering kiss.

Gasping, Joey nipped at Henry’s bottom lip, “Fuck, please. I’m so close.”

Henry had always suspected that Joey would sound just as amazing crying out in pleasure as he did singing, and he had been right. He tightened his grip, stroking faster, enjoying every gasp, every moan he managed to coax from the other man.

He leaned down, pressing their mouths together, swallowing Joey’s moans as he felt himself growing closer. “I won’t last much longer,” his voice was rough, a growl directly into Joey’s ear.

“Fuck, me neither. I’m so close, fuck.” Joey rolled his hips, thrusting up into Henry’s hand, gasping and panting as their cocks rubbed against each other. “Jesus Christ, Henry…”

Henry grunted, biting Joey’s lip as his orgasm pulsed through him, spilling over his hand, his cum splattering over the soft silk nightgown that hid Joey’s body from view. His bard took over, stroking them both through the waves of pleasure until Joey followed Henry over the edge, biting down on Henry’s shoulder. The pain shot through him, only heightening the ecstasy of his orgasm, and Joey fell apart underneath him, collapsing onto the bed. He’d never looked more beautiful.

Time was not on their side. All Henry wanted to do was hold Joey in his arms and sleep the night away but the public was waiting. He sighed and pressed his lips against Joey’s in a chaste kiss. “We need to get ready.”

Joey whined. “I really don’t want to.”

“I know, me neither,” Henry sighed, “but the quicker we go, the quicker we can pick up where we left off?”

“Oh yeah?” Joey smirked, his fingers stroking down Henry’s shirt, playing with the buttons.

“Yes,” Henry all but growled and pulled Joey into another kiss.

They were late to the premiere, but no one dared to question why.

#the witcher rpf #joey batey/henry cavill #joey/henry

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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Welllp These Are Books: the April 2021 Edition

I did not read Romeo and Juliet this month. I read a bunch of other books. Like, a bunch. More than one series. Because Big Bang burnout is real and grown adults missing their deadlines is a real good way to stress me out. So, I read a bunch. Good books, very bad books, books that caused limbs to flail. For positive and not-so-positive reasons. Naturally, all those reasons must be shared. Under the cut with occasionally long and rant-prone reviews, as well as spoilers. Beware of spoilers under the cut. Please keep telling me what to read, internet. My library wish list is almost comically long now.

GIVE ME ALL THE WORLD BUILDING AND SNARK AND FIGHTING! WITH MAGIC! AND SWORDS! IT’S MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Shades of Magic Series by V.E. Schwab

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

— Picture it, approximately twelve forty-seven am. My husband is asleep. I am reading. The second book in this series ends. And I say, right out loud, at what might now be twelve forty-eight am, HOLY SHIT IT JUST ENDED. Justin thought we were under attack. No man has ever snapped awake quicker. He was not pleased. At least not in the same way that I was about these books. Which I goddamn LOVED. Loved. The world building. The magic. The banter. Rhy and Kell’s relationship. Once more. RHY AND KELL’S RELATIONSHIP. Which I might have cared about more than the romance??? Maybe??? I cannot get over how good this world building was. I know people have quips with it, and that’s fair. I saw the “twist” coming in the first book, and I think trying to preserve that left some plot holes that are understandably frustrating. Because Lilah definitely needed depth perception to fight as well as she did. Also did Schwab really refer to her as a cross dresser in her author’s note? Yikes. She wore a dude’s jacket, like—c’mon V.E. Other than that though. I loved it. Also shout out to @peglegsjones for suggesting this one in my 2020 post and call out to me for taking so long to read it.

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can't pull it off alone. . . . A convict with a thirst for revenge. A sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager. A runaway with a privileged past. A spy known as the Wraith. A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums. A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes. Six dangerous outcasts. One impossible heist. Kaz's crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don't kill each other first.

— I’ve talked about how little I cared about anything that happened in Shadow and Bone before, but I kept seeing gifs of the Crows in the Netflix show and my brain was like: huh, I could like them. So, after some help from the very helpful internet, I’m happy to report I do in fact like them. At one point, I slunk into the couch. Like that’s how overcome with emotion I was. Kaz ripped a dude’s eye out! For Inej! Matthias loved Nina’s laugh! I would like to hug Jesper. Seriously, this hit all my high points and world building and banter and I lol’ed at “scheming face.” I would like my hold to come through faster on the sequel.

THEY DID NOT CALL INTERMISSION HALFTIME AND MY COLLEGE EXPERIENCE WAS WAY DIFFERENT THAN THESE KIDS

The Off Campus Series by Elle Kennedy

Hannah Wells has finally found someone who turns her on. But while she might be confident in every other area of her life, she’s carting around a full set of baggage when it comes to sex and seduction. If she wants to get her crush’s attention, she’ll have to step out of her comfort zone and make him take notice…even if it means tutoring the annoying, childish, cocky captain of the hockey team in exchange for a pretend date. All Garrett Graham has ever wanted is to play professional hockey after graduation, but his plummeting GPA is threatening everything he’s worked so hard for. If helping a sarcastic brunette make another guy jealous will help him secure his position on the team, he’s all for it. But when one unexpected kiss leads to the wildest sex of both their lives, it doesn’t take long for Garrett to realize that pretend isn’t going to cut it. Now he just has to convince Hannah that the man she wants looks a lot like him.

— The first book in this series was free on Amazon. So, I read it. And really liked it??? It was so chock full of cliches and badly written tropes and Garrett probably should have accepted that Hannah didn’t want to go out at the start, but like—he was cute? And as we all know I am TRASH™ for stories set in the same verse, so, like, I just kept reading these trashy college hockey books. Trashy is a compliment here. God, these kids had so much sex. So much. An incredible amount, really. I once had a guy tell me he was physically attracted to me, but not emotionally attracted to me in college. Like, that was my college experience. The first and second books were the best, I think. I didn’t really like Dean that much.

MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE HE WAS A RABBI???

The Intimacy Experiement by Rosie Danan

Naomi Grant has built her life around going against the grain. After the sex-positive start-up she cofounded becomes an international sensation, she wants to extend her educational platform to live lecturing. Unfortunately, despite her long list of qualifications, higher ed won't hire her. Ethan Cohen has recently received two honors: LA Mag nominated him as one of the city's hottest bachelors and he became rabbi of his own synagogue. Low on both funds and congregants, the executive board of Ethan's new shul hired him with the hopes that his nontraditional background will attract more millennials to the faith. They've given him three months to turn things around or else they'll close the doors of his synagogue for good. Naomi and Ethan join forces to host a buzzy seminar series on Modern Intimacy, the perfect solution to their problems--until they discover a new one--their growing attraction to each other. They've built the syllabus for love's latest experiment, but neither of them expected they'd be the ones putting it to the test.

— Ok, I know that sounds bad. Again, I’m a creature of predictable habit and this was the sequel to The Roommate, which I absolutely LOVED last year. But where as the relationship in that one was kind of swoony, this one was...I don’t know, really. Everyone was a well-rounded character and the plot was good, but there was this semi-invisible something that made it difficult for me to get fully on board with the whole story. Honestly, it might be because he was a religious figure?? Also, they got together real quick. Like zero to sixty in twenty-six seconds flat.

I KNOW IT’S BAD, IT WAS BAD AND YET—I CANNOT STOP READING IT???

Too Wild to Tame by Tessa Bailey

Sometimes you just can't resist playing with fire . . . By day, Aaron Clarkson suits up, shakes hands, and acts the perfect gentleman. But at night, behind bedroom doors, the tie comes off and the real Aaron comes out to play. Mixing business with pleasure got him fired, so Aaron knows that if he wants to work for the country's most powerful senator, he'll have to keep his eye on the prize. That's easier said than done when he meets the senator's daughter, who's wild, gorgeous, and 100 percent trouble. Grace Pendleton is the black sheep of her conservative family. Yet while Aaron's presence reminds her of a past she'd rather forget, something in his eyes keeps drawing her in. Maybe it's the way his voice turns her molten. Or maybe it's because deep down inside, the ultra-smooth, polished Aaron Clarkson might be more than even Grace can handle . . .

— Last month I read the first book in this series and it was absolutely ridiculous. This one even more so. The Clarksons are still on the road trip (sans one sibling because she fell in love in a week in the first book) and Aaron was, like, not a root’able character? Very Edward Cullen I’M A BAD GUY, BELLA vibes and his relationship with Grace was so strange. Super rushed again, obvs. Meeting in the woods is weird enough. Professing love forty-eight hours later is decidedly unbelievable. Also there was a kidnapping involved? I totally put a hold on the next book in the series.

COME UP WITH DIFFERENT TRAUMA, I DARE YOU! OR NO TRAUMA. WHAT A CONCEPT!!

The Trouble With Hating You by Sajni Patel

Liya Thakkar is a successful biochemical engineer, takeout enthusiast, and happily single woman. The moment she realizes her parents' latest dinner party is a setup with the man they want her to marry, she's out the back door in a flash. Imagine her surprise when the same guy shows up at her office a week later -- the new lawyer hired to save her struggling company. What's not surprising: he's not too thrilled to see her either after that humiliating fiasco.

Jay Shah looks good on paper...and off. Especially if you like that whole gorgeous, charming lawyer-in-a-good-suit thing. He's also infuriating. As their witty office banter turns into late-night chats, Liya starts to think he might be the one man who truly accepts her. But falling for each other means exposing their painful pasts. Will Liya keep running, or will she finally give love a real chance?

— I had such high hopes for this one. Which is on me, I guess. Because I didn’t hate this one, but it was...not great. Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety but I am BEGGING romance writers to come up with different trauma for their female protagonists. Not every woman has to have been assaulted to rationalize their current personality. Doesn’t have to happen. Like, ok, yes it does happen. Far more than it should. But that’s an entirely different story, and I am so tired of female characters getting absolutely destroyed by their past only to have that be their defining characteristic for so much of the book. Until a nice man they were initially mean to shows up and he’s UNDERSTANDING and he CARES and it’s just, bleh. It’s bleh. Tired and predictable and I’m over it.

IN WHICH I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AT THE COVER

Much Ado About You by Samantha Young

At thirty-three-years old Evangeline Starling’s life in Chicago is missing that special something. And when she’s passed over for promotion at work, Evie realizes she needs to make a change. Some time away to regain perspective might be just the thing. In a burst of impulsivity, she plans a holiday in a quaint English village. The holiday package comes with a temporary position at Much Ado About Books, the bookstore located beneath her rental apartment. There’s no better dream vacation for the bookish Evie, a life-long Shakespeare lover. Not only is Evie swept up in running the delightful store as soon as she arrives, she’s drawn into the lives, loves and drama of the friendly villagers. Including Roane Robson, the charismatic and sexy farmer who tempts Evie every day with his friendly flirtations. Evie is determined to keep him at bay because a holiday romance can only end in heartbreak, right? But Evie can’t deny their connection and longs to trust in her handsome farmer that their whirlwind romance could turn in to the forever kind of love.

— Ok, so I had had this book on hold for so long that I genuinely forgot about it and forgot who it was written by. Samantha Young wrote that one book that I called the worst book I had ever read. Only I did not realize that when I started reading this one. So, you see how this sets us up for disaster. Because this book was a disaster. Everyone was goddamn annoying. And whiny. Shit, everyone whined. About everything. Also, the actual writing was atrocious. I am not usually one to be like “men can’t write,” but at one point I told both @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl that this book must have been secretly written by a man because no woman writing it would be so obsessed with pointing out where her cellulite was. Like, what??? Also the first sex scene? Oh my God, I laughed. Guffawed. The so-called love interest literally asked: “Are we going to have sex now?” And then they just did. It was so bad. Also there was a dog? Who went everywhere with the so-called love interest. And they just never explained that? I thought it was going to be part of some crushing and depressing backstory. Nah, he was just there.

HOLY SHIT THIS WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS WAS A BOOK! A BOOK MEANT FOR YOUNG ADULTS! WHAT IS YOUNG ADULT???

The Queen’s Secret by Melissa de la Cruz

Lilac's birthright makes her the Queen of Renovia, and a forced marriage made her the Queen of Montrice. But being a ruler does not mean making the rules. For Lilac, taking the throne means giving up the opportunity to be with love of her life, the kingdom's assassin, Caledon Holt. Worse, Cale is forced to leave the castle when a horrific set of magical attacks threatens Lilac's sovereignty. Now Cal eand Lilac will have to battle dark forces separately, even though being together is the only thing that's ever saved them.

— Remember last month when I was like: can’t wait for my hold to come through on this sequel so I know what happens? What an idiot. THIS BOOK WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE IT WAS A BOOK. As always in my rage-induced rants, no apologies for spoilers because seriously do NOT read this, but Lilac (legit, that was her name) married some other dude but just kept fucking Cale??? Like she had a secret door? So he could come in and they could fuck?? I just—oh my God. So, all these things kept happening. Magic and bad stuff and horses were killed. Lilac’s mother was the absolute WORST. Honestly the most worthless character who at one point was like “well, my story is over, guess it’s time to leave,” and then just left?? Forced Lilac into a marriage of alliance and no love and then everything evil was defeated in point two four seconds. It happened so fast I wasn’t even sure it happened. So, then I’m like, ok, how are Lilac and Cale going to end up together? Because this is YA and that’s how it’s supposed to work. Only her being married and that marriage requiring an heir is something of a rather large hurdle. Don’t worry! Remember when Lilac and Cale were fucking? Everyone totally knew. Including the king Lilac is married to. Who is somehow like...ok with this? And tells Cale that Lilac is pregnant. ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL! Sure, because now they can lie and claim its the king’s heir. ONLY IT’S CALE’S KID! AND CALE IS COOL WITH THIS! His entire internal monologue during this is about how he realizes he might not ever be able to tell his kid he’s their father, but he’ll be around and that’s good. Wait, what??? But there’s more! Not only is Lilac having Cale’s kid, but the king she’s married to is in love with one of Cale’s spy associates. So the king and the spy are going to go hang out (and presumably have their own kids) at one castle and Lilac and Cale are going to go to another. Lilac and the king never get divorced or annulled or whatever. Everyone stays as is and married as is and—they all live happily ever after? This was presented as a good ending, I swear. What the shit, guys, seriously.

#book rec #book reccs #fantasy recommendations #rom com recs #laura reads books #i am still waiting for people to respond to my emails #and only vaguely stressed out about it #welllp these are books

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vampire--dad · 4 years

Text

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle prompt bingo!

Prompt: Grieving

I am so sorry

(you did this to yourself kell)

——————

(song: play this when i’m gone — Machine Gun Kelly)

I’m writing you this message just so I can say that I love you.

The letter slips from Jaskier’s satchel as Geralt moves it aside to find his nice black doublet. His eyes follow the parchment as it falls to the floor and sees his name penned delicately across the folded page. He’s almost scared to read it, especially today. But he does. He picks it up from the floor and sits on the edge of the bed as he unfolds the page. He almost hears the bard’s sweet voice in his head, wishing that it was more than a figment of his imagination, that it was real, that he was still here.

They both knew it would happen someday, but Geralt had hoped they’d have more time. Jaskier’s death came early even for a human. Some sickness had caught him. Yennefer and Triss did everything they could, brought all the help they could muster, but nothing worked. No herb or potion could cure whatever it was that ailed him. All they could do was ease the pain as he slipped away.

The witcher sighs as his eyes pass over those three words. Jaskier could never say it too many times. It never lost its meaning. He proved it in new ways every day, even on his deathbed.

I had to let you know that everything about me was you.

As if Geralt didn’t already know. Jaskier loved to say that Geralt was his smile, his laughter, the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes that he misses so sorely. The witcher almost smiles thinking of those eyes and how Jaskier used to set them upon him and smile and tell him for at least the fifth time that day that he loved him. Sometimes Geralt wasn’t sure why he did. Jaskier would lay with him late at night or early in the morning, brushing a hand through his hair, and remind him of all the reasons he adored him.

But not even those memories can ease the pain of the truth. Those eyes now remain closed, the smile nothing more than a memory that Geralt clings to. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and relaxes enough, which doesn’t come easily, he can almost feel Jaskier’s fingers in his hair, brushing through the snowy locks and twisting them into a braid. He only wishes it was real. That he was still here next to him peppering kisses on his cheeks and making him laugh like no one ever could.

I think it’s time for me to leave, but I’ll never leave you.

He dares not look outside. He knows that by now Eskel and Lambert will have laid his body on a pyre. He promised himself that he would hold himself together for as long as he could and seeing his body, having to accept once again that he’s gone, will break him before the funeral even starts.

His free hand rests on the chain around his neck that carries two rings. They dangle just below his medallion, close to his heart. Both are made of gold, one shaped like two vines woven together, the other simple, but not bland. They hang next to his heart as a reminder, something for Geralt to remember his husband by. Not that he needs it. Jaskier is burned into his brain like a brand. No matter how many years pass until he sees his lover again, he’ll never forget him.

“Dad?”

Ciri stands by his door in a long dress of black silk with a light cloak drawn around her shoulders. Jaskier did love that dress on her. It brought out those beautiful green eyes, he’d say. Geralt can tell that she’s already been crying. Jaskier, her papa, meant the world to her as she did to him. He loved that girl as fiercely as Geralt does. She has his wonderful imagination, his creativity, his way with words that Geralt could never understand, and, unfortunately, his flirtatiousness. He hears Jaskier every time she tells a story of a hideous monster or a wonderful woman she’s met on her travels.

Geralt sets aside the letter and stands, returning to his search for his doublet.

“I’m almost ready,” he says shortly, not trusting himself to say much more.

“Are you?” she asks softly. Geralt doesn’t respond. He can’t. A lump forms in his throat that he chokes back down. “I don’t think I am… I’m not ready to say goodbye to him…”

She sniffles and sighs, letting out a chuckle to try to lift her own spirits.

“Gods, I’m a mess already.”

“That makes two of us,” he replies thickly, leaning against the dresser with a sigh.

The pain in Ciri’s voice only adds to his own. Tears shine in his yellow eyes as they meet Ciri’s green ones. Her lip trembles as she throws herself into Geralt’s arms.

I’m not gonna lie and tell you it’s alright. It’s alright.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

Those were his last words to his lover. His voice was barely above a whisper, weak and shaking in his chest as his heart came to a stop. Geralt wonders if he knew when he said those words how deeply they would hurt him when he was gone. He remembers feeling Jaskier’s hand go limp in his, watching his eyes close for the last time and the life slip from his body, wishing he’d had the strength to say ‘I love you’ one last time for him to hear. Yennefer and Triss were quick to leave the room, each holding their breath so Geralt wouldn’t hear them cry. He shakes his head slightly, trying not to think about the moment his husband passed. It only hurts more.

Ciri helps him fiddle with the buttons of the doublet. Usually he would hate wearing these things and would much prefer to wear his armour, but of all people, Geralt insisted that they bring out what little finery they allow themselves to have. Jaskier loved to see them all dressed up. Over the years he shared with Geralt on the Path, the witcher convinced him to wear something slightly more protective than silk and lace, but he loved to dress up. He liked to look pretty for his White Wolf, as he would say so affectionately.

“He would have loved this outfit,” Ciri says softly.

“He would have loved yours more, petal.”

Ciri draws in a slow, calming breath at the use of one of Jaskier’s old nicknames. Her eyes are already reddened and puffy.

“I should have gone out last night and picked some daisies for my hair.”

You’re gonna cry and baby, that’s alright. It’s alright.

It’s a struggle, but Geralt manages to hold back his tears until the fire roars and envelopes Jaskier’s body, wrapped delicately in the finest silk Lambert and Eskel could find. The funeral was going to be painful enough without having to see Jaskier’s pale face.

With his brothers’ arms slung around his shoulders, Geralt looks up at the clouds that hang above their heads and sighs shakily, tears streaming from his eyes. Eskel glances at him and pulls him into a hug. That’s what really breaks him. All of a sudden he’s sobbing quietly into his brother’s shoulder, Lambert’s hand still on his back. Eskel clenches his jaw and blinks tears from his own eyes as they meet with those of his younger brother. Lambert quickly looks away. Even at a funeral, he doesn’t want his brothers to see him cry. Jaskier had become incredibly close with Geralt’s brothers. Eskel loved to share his stories with him for his songs. He always made it known that those stories weren’t of the famed White Wolf, but another charming warrior. He never wanted his brother’s fame, but at least Jaskier gave him the credit. Lambert used to have such terrific exchanges with the bard, sharing the most creative empty insults and making each other howl with laughter. Late at night they’d share much kinder words. Jaskier would tell the witcher that his voice would pair wonderfully with his own. Lambert never took him up on the offer. He should have.

Ciri has her head buried in Yennefer's shoulder, crying her eyes out again. Her papa was her sunshine. She was his daisy. He made sure that she knew how to collect her skirt when she sat down, how to curtsey, how to braid her hair— not easy things for a girl to learn when she’s raised by wolves. Luckily, though he didn’t have sisters of his own, he had many, many cousins. Yennefer was expecting a wild, boyish, awkward child when she took Ciri into her care. She was surprised to meet a polite young lady with expertly braided hair. She often spoke of her fathers, one being a little rough around the edges but loving and kind, the other being like a walking ray of sunshine. Yennefer eventually met this wonderful man she described and found this to be oh so true. She and Jaskier spent many nights together drinking expensive wine and gossiping. He often told her of his latest quarrel with his husband, but no matter how disagreeable he could be at times, he always spoke of Geralt with love and affection. She remembers those nights fondly as she watches flames engulf his body with tears rolling down her cheeks.

I wrote you this song to keep when I’m gone if you ever feel alone.

Geralt hasn’t slept properly since he passed. The only thing that grants him relief from the exhaustion is the exhaustion itself. In the early hours of the morning he’ll pass out, only to wake a few hours later, still alone. That’s quite possibly the hardest part. He’d grown so used to Jaskier lying next to him, snoring softly, that trying to sleep alone is almost impossible. He misses tracing the curve of his back, burying his face in the crook of his neck, kissing his hair and neck to wake him, watching those bright blue eyes flutter open. He wouldn’t dare sleep with another. He doubts he ever will. Jaskier was his light. Nothing can replace that. No one can.

But the weight of being alone becomes heavier with each day that passes. The chain around his neck feels like an anchor, but taking it off would hurt even more. He finds himself bed ridden some days, not seeing much of a reason to get up. He knows what Jaskier would say. He tries to listen. The others don’t say anything, other than words of encouragement. They know how Geralt feels. Jaskier’s passing weighs heavily on all of them but it’s nothing compared to him, the man he would have followed to the ends of the earth. The weight on Geralt is unimaginable.

Part of me doesn’t want this cruel world to know you.

“Freak.”

“Mutant.”

“We don’t want your kind ‘round here.”

“You’re no different from the things you hunt, you know that?”

Jaskier used to work himself into a frenzy over those comments. Geralt reassured him that he was used to it, it came with the occupation, but the bard wouldn’t accept that.

“What the fuck do they think they know?!” he would exclaim. “They call you all these names, but they don’t know you. Not like I do.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to know me like you know me, songbird,” the witcher would reply.

Jaskier would turn to him, still annoyed, but smiling. That was the one thing about him that never aged, his smile. Wrinkles slowly formed around his eyes. Grey streaks appeared among his mass of chestnut hair. But his smile never aged, even framed by a thick but well kept beard.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t want anyone to know you quite that well either. But still, Geralt. They don’t give you a chance.”

Geralt would chuckle and shake his head. Jaskier hated how adorable the witcher thought he was when he was angry, but that anger quickly melted when Geralt pulled him into his arms.

So just try and keep in mind everything that I told you.

Jaskier would shower Geralt in compliments, if not just to see him try to hide how flustered he was. He’d give him all of the nicknames he could come up with and deepen the blush on Geralt’s cheeks by peppering kisses on them and on the tip of his nose. Geralt had maybe one or two nicknames for him. His favourite was songbird. Jaskier would smile brighter than the sun whenever he called him that.

“Your eyes look like rays of sunshine, dear heart. Like the finest gold.”

“Sweet Melitele, your hair, my love. It’s so soft when it’s clean. It looks and feels like fresh snow.”

“Have I ever told you how wonderfully intelligent I think you are, my dearest? You like to act like you’re not, but I know you are. If I had met you at Oxenfurt I would have thought you a scholar.”

“Stop it, Jask.”

“Why? Oh, is my big scary wolf getting all flustered because I called him pretty and smart?”

“No. Witchers don’t get flustered.”

“Bollocks to that. I see you blushing.”

Maybe there was some truth to all the things Jaskier said to him.

This is the last time I’ll ever open up my eyes, I apologise.

That moment haunts Geralt. He tries his best not to think about it, but late at night it flashes before his eyes, clear as day.

Yennefer had sought him out early in the morning, waking him from what little sleep he was trying to get. She looked exhausted, but they couldn’t afford to stop working. Jaskier was getting worse, she told him. She didn’t need to say anymore. They both knew. They were losing him. Geralt was out of bed and up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Even weak and dying, Jaskier’s smile could light up a room in seconds. Despite the tears beginning to slip from his eyes, Geralt smiled weakly and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and kissing him softly. He had to. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew then it would be the last time.

Jaskier managed a soft chuckle and told him he looked like shit. Nothing could quash his sense of humour. Geralt told him he wasn’t looking much better and immediately regretted it, even if it was just a joke. Jaskier shrugged. He seemed to have already accepted his fate.

All of a sudden, Jaskier’s breath rattled in his chest. The smile slipped from Geralt’s face as he leaned over Jaskier and gripped his hand firmly. The bard had kept on smiling and reassured him he was alright. Geralt begged to differ, but stayed silent as Jaskier cupped his face gently and told him he loved him. He said it with such finality that Geralt just about started sobbing then and there. Jaskier wiped a tear from his cheek gently but before he could speak again, he coughed, his hand falling from his face and clutching at his chest. Geralt looked on helplessly as he fought to draw one last breath.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

He doesn’t remember much after that. He remembers clutching Jaskier’s body to his chest and sobbing, but he can’t recall how long he sat there. At some point, Eskel had come in to pull Geralt away. He didn’t want to go, but Eskel had to remind him that there was nothing he could do now. He was gone.

In that moment, Geralt’s whole world had come crashing down before his very eyes.

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @jaskierswolf @patchwork-quilts @viking-raider

#geraskier #fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #grieving #yeah i cried writing this one #this one hurts

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

My good writer, I love everything you have written!!!👌👌👌 I just spent the past day reading the entirety of your blog and could not be more happier!!! Your writing is so good and great and amazing and spectacular!!! Thank you for making these stories that have captivated many, I'm just wowza my friend, I can barely contain all my emotions writing this I feel ive just made myself come off as awkward but uh *throws fingers guns* you got this bro keep doing what your doing it's great👍👍👍💞💕❤💖

I died at the finger guns, it has been too long since someone has done that to me, thank you! If you ever want to be awkward together, my DMs are always open for a chat :D Just bring more finger guns.

And, as it has become tradition it seems, a little ficlet of thanks for your kindness in reaching out and making me smile so much brighter with your words.

For a bard, Jaskier was really rather dumb. At least, that was Yennefer’s assessment as she watched from the door of the tavern. For months now, she’s seen Geralt mooning over him, trying his witcher-y best at emotions. Alas, it was all for naught and more often than not, he ended up sulking into a tankard of ale while his bard smiled and flirted with someone else.

The only problem was, while Geralt only saw his failures, Yennefer saw the other side of the pining too. There were longing looks, lines that Jaskier sang with his eyes fixed only on Geralt.

“Just use your words,” Yennefer nagged at Geralt as she sat next to him. Together, they watched Jaskier sing. Yennefer’s eyes were fixed on his fingers dancing over his lute, Geralt’s were following the sway of his hips. If he kept staring somewhere other than his face, no wonder he missed the longing looks sent his way. In fact, if he stared like that, it wasn’t surprising Jaskier was convinced Geralt glared at his crotch in the hopes of manifesting a new witcher trait and setting his trousers on fire with gaze alone.

“I tried.” The words were gruff and tinged with sadness. “He doesn’t want me. Not when he can wax lyrical about a village hunchback, make them sound like the most beautiful creation on earth. But when it comes to me...”

He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence. It was worse than flogging a dead horse. Sure, Jaskier could sing his praises in sing but he needed to if they wanted any coin. It was a matter of gritting his teeth and lying about Geralt to make ends meet.

Everyone had a breaking point and Yennefer had reached hers. As funny as it had been, watching to idiots be convinced they were both pining from afar, there were limits.

“Right.” She stood up and marched up to Jaskier, who had thankfully just finished a song so it was fine to interrupt. “You like Geralt, yes?”

“Well-”

“Yes or no? Do you want more than a friendship or just a fuck?” Yennefer wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush and she watched as Jaskier’s lips turned down unhappily.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, describe his hair.”

Confused, Jaskier glanced at Geralt who was staring into his ale with a grimace. “It’s like freshly fallen ash, a soft cascade of mercury that glistens in starlight. The gentle light of the moon has nothing on it when it’s freshly brushed.” He sighed wistfully. “To have the privilege of washing it, tangle my fingers in it is a greater pleasure than the finest whores of Cintra could bring.”

“Good.” Yennefer nodded. “Now describe my eyes.”

This was getting ridiculous but Jaskier wasn’t in the mood to defy the wishes of a powerful sorceress. Dutifully, he looked at her and did as asked. “They’re like the dewy glisten of nightshade on a shimmering summer morning.”

Before he could carry on, Yennefer was grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him towards Geralt. Stopping in front of him, she made her next demand. “Describe his eyes.”

After a long silence, Jaskier licked his lips and looked at Yennefer with worry. Of all the things to ask, this was just cruel. However, the hand around his wrist tightened and he hastily obeyed.

“They’re yellow.” Dumbfounded, Yennefer looked at him while Geralt just looked resigned, used to such lack of eloquence from Jaskier. He could see the the way Jaskier’s nose creased, lips curving awkwardly around words. “Like the egg yolk I had for breakfast. Sprinkled with pepper.”

Disasters, that’s what these two were. Yennefer despaired and all but threw Jaskier’s wrist from her grip. “And his hair?”

“White and grey? My family once had an elderly ass whose chin was the same colour when he went grey.”

What the hell happened to cascades of mercury in starlight?! All at once Yennefer understood why Geralt was so despondent and Jaskier was a lovesick fool - the emphasis being on fool.

“Right. Well, your egg yolk eyed ass has been moping for months because you don’t seem to want him. And you’ve been pining through songs from a distance for just as long. This farce has gone on long enough. You either sort your shit out here and now or I’m locking you both in the cellar until you work this mess out.”

Wide eyed the two twits stared at each other and Yennefer gave Jaskier a gentle shove so he’d sit down in the seat she had just vacated.

“So...” There was always a first time for everything and it seemed it was the perfect time for Jaskier to be speechless. To which Geralt replied with his usual silence and stare. “You don’t stare at me in the hopes I’d catch fire?”

It was painfully awkward and Yennefer wanted to scream. Instead she turned to the bar,determined to get herself a stiff drink. By the time she turned back towards the corner, Geralt was all but straddling Jaskier’s lap and kissing him. Slamming back her shot, Yennefer turned to order another. After downing that too, she turned to go tell the other two to get a room. Except the corner was already empty. Thank fuck for that.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #tldr: yennefer plays matchmaker because idiots be idiots

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

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Tangled Salt Marathon - Beyond the Corona Walls Part 2

Part two is here, so let’s get on with the rest of the stupid shall we...

You can find part 1 here - https://rachelbethhines.tumblr.com/post/624977559380213760/tangled-salt-marathon-beyond-the-corona-walls

Summary: Rapunzel and the group return to Vardaros to find Eugene, only to learn about his engagement to Stalyan, leaving Rapunzel heartbroken and regretting her decision on rejecting Eugene's marriage proposal. However, after being encouraged by Cassandra, Rapunzel returns to Vardaros and stops the wedding between Eugene and Stalyan. Meanwhile, Adria gives Raps another piece of the scroll and an ominous hint to her future.

So Why is the Baron Still Operating If Both Raps and Eugene Know Who He Is?

Keep in mind this guy still has a house in Corona that they know about, he’s still a crime boss who’s criminal actions still affect their kingdom, and they both have the ear of the man who is in charge of running things and who has had a vested interest in cracking down on crime for the past 19 years. So why hasn’t Frederic gone after this dude? You can’t say it’s because he’s hiding out here, when he has a base of operations and living quarters in the kingdom itself. And if it’s because he has money, then that’s just further proof that Frederic is corrupt.

The Writers Undermine Themselves When They Try to Make Conflicts Lopsided

So the writers are trying to have their cake and eat it too in this episode. They want to make Stalyan just unlikeable enough so that the audience won’t hold Eugene accountable for his past actions, but not so unlikable that she’s irremediable later. Hence the excuse that the blackmail is her dad’s idea and that she still believes that Eugene is really in love with her and is just playing hard to get.

The problem is, by having Stalyan still aware of the situation and complacent in this plan instead of fighting against it, the audience isn’t inclined to see things her way and less inclined to give her a second chance when they try to pull her redemption later.

Moreover, this also undermines Eugene’s character arc as well, because him learning to be more responsible has to include acknowledgement of his past wrongs. Instead all he does is make excuses or look vaguely guilty over shit that’s only implied not stated. There’s no outright admittance of wrong nor apology for the way he treated her.

Staylan can’t be sympathetic later on if don't show things from her perspective in the now and Eugene can’t grow as a character if he doesn’t realize what he’s done wrong specifically.

Context Is Key

Yeah, that’s a lot of screenshots, I know, but you need to hear/read the line in full. Because there’s not enough context within the episode to make this line work.

What does ‘someone like you’ mean? What was his relationship with Stalyan like before the break up? When did the break up happen? Why did he leave her at the altar? Why is she still trying to be with him after such a thing? Why wouldn’t Stalyan believe him when he says he’s really in love with Raps? And why, oh why, are we going with this ‘marriage is a prison’ metaphor when the person saying it wants to get married herself? To the very person she’s saying ‘don't get married’ to, no less!

Now we get hints to answer some of those questions, but none of those hints are in the actual episode itself. Hence the main failing of the episode. That’s because the writers still don’t want to admit fault in their mains. Because, at the end of the day, for all of their talk about how ‘it’s not a kids show’, they can’t or won’t tackle actual mature topics like ‘relationships are hard and failed ones can be the fault of both parties or neither party’.

‘Contrived Misunderstanding’ Is Literally the Dumbest Plot Point Ever

Unless you are the Bard of Avon risen from the unholy grave himself, don’t fucking do this. Even then I still criticize Shakespeare heavily for bullcrap like this. It’s lazy and more over it’s not fun.

We already know what the ending outcome is going to be so there’s no tension to be had here. It’s just a cheap way to have conflict between the mains without having them actually address shit or grow as people. Instead of having believable conflicts where people have competing needs or desires, they just throw Stalyan in here to be a scapegoat; and then throw the Baron in here on top of that to be her scapegoat.

So Let’s Talk About Staylan’s Thought Process Here

Okay, if we’re to make any sense of Staylan’s actions here, we have to answer some of those above questions.

What does ‘someone like you’ mean? What was his relationship with Stalyan like before the break up?

We honestly don’t know what their relationship was like. We never see them before the break up, only afterwards, and that’s not a good indicator of anything really. All we know are five things;

Eugene wasn’t a very good person during his Flynn Rider days

He is hinted to be a former womanizer in both the movie and during certain points in season one (the threesome joke in TRoS comes most to mind)

He left Staylan at the altar instead of being the bigger person and breaking things off with her respectfully

He’s known Staylan since they were both teenagers (he’s had a crush on her since they were 15/16) and they’ve been in some sort of long term relationship for some undetermined amount of time

They use to pull jobs together, with Staylan sometimes goating him on, possibly taking charge most of the time.

That’s it. That’s all we got. You can’t really judge Stalyan based off that information alone. All we get from this is that she’s sometimes bossy and probably a little spoiled, but so is Rapunzel honestly, and neither of those things mean that they’re abusive on their own. If anything, knowing those things actually puts Eugene in more of a bad light, but he’s pulling the woobie card here; so you’re not meant to think about those things in the moment which is manipulative writing.

When did the break up happen? Why did he leave her at the altar?

Now here’s the million dollar question, because honestly the show doesn’t give us a consistent time frame of events and contradicts itself all the time. Some have argued that the break up happened eight years ago when the Baron screwed Eugene and Lance over during that robbery flashback in TRoS. Yet in Flynnpostor the Baron says that he had hired Eugene to steal the crown in the movie indicating that they were still working together all the way up until he met Rapunzel.

So which is it? Cause either answer drastically changes the context of his relationship with Staylan, their subsequent break up, and informs the motivation behind Stalyan’s words and actions.

Why is she still trying to be with him after such a thing? Why wouldn’t Stalyan believe him when he says he’s really in love with Raps?

Here’s what I think went down, and what I think the writers are trying to poorly imply here.

Eugene and Staylan had a tremulous on again/off again relationship for several years; where she’d be bratty and controlling and he’d cheat on her and/or leave, only, for whatever reason, to come crawling back and she’d ultimately ‘forgive’ him and they start at square one. The ‘leave her at the altar’ can’t be a one and done thing otherwise she wouldn’t be conditioned to take him back so readily, nor believe his relationship with Raps isn’t serious.

In fact, if we take ‘stealing the crown for the Baron’ thing at face value then it implies he stood Stalyan up just to be with Rapunzel. Which makes sense as no self respecting woman would wait around for 8 flipping years. One year is already pushing things as is, but if Eugene has a history of con artistry and cheating then, yeah, she could convince herself that Eugene is pulling a scam and still loves her instead.

To Staylan’s mind, she’s just trying to convince Eugene to give up his cushy life of royalty to live with her in a less comfortable but ultimately ‘truer’ way of life. She doesn’t see it as asking him to choose between her and Rapunzel cause she doesn’t see that what he has with Rapunzel as love. She thinks he’s faking it, like always. She thinks that ‘Eugene’ is his latest con and that Flynn Rider is his true identity.

And why, oh why, are we going with this ‘marriage is a prison’ metaphor when the person saying it wants to get married herself? To the very person she’s saying ‘don't get married’ to, no less!

Well the real reason is cause the writers have really messed up ideas about marriage, but the in universe reason is that Staylan sees ‘love’ as ‘unconditional acceptance’. Eugene, or ‘Flynn’, doesn’t have to pretend with her. She knows every awful thing about him, been hurt by him, and she still takes him back, and vise versa. Their on again/off again relationship has convinced her that putting up with mistreatment means that you must really love that person. She doesn’t understand that people can change and grow and that being in a healthy relationship requires both of those things.

That’s the only interpretation of their relationship that actually makes sense of Stalyan’s actions to my mind. Feel free to interpret it another way if you’d like, because we really have no clue. Just don’t try to pass off you’re interpretation as fact. And if you still see Staylan as the only person in the wrong here; I have to ask you to ask yourself why? Is it the manipulative writing, is it cause she’s not conventionally ‘nice’ like Rapunzel, or is just cause you see her as a threat to New Dream? Because holding her actually accountable for her actions is one thing, calling her ‘a child abuser’ (fandom’s words not mine) just cause she’s a bitchy and bitter ex is another thing entirely. (also they’re the same freaking age what the hell tumblr)

This Song Would Hold More Weight If They Gave Us an Actual Real Interpersonal Conflict

I’m just going to split ball a few ideas here, just to show what we potentially missed out on..

Stalyan is blissfuly unaware of the Baron’s plot, meaning Eugene now has to wrestle with admitting the truth of his past actions to her, along with keeping Lance safe, and trying to figure out a way to save his relationship with Rapunzel

There’s is no Baron involvement, Stalyan is his ex, but he comes to realize that they have more in common than he and Raps does. Meaning that the narrative has to actually address his and Rapunzel’s relationship issues; like their lack of communication and their seemingly conflicting life goals

Once again, no Baron involvement and Stalyan is his ex, but she’s just a victim Eugene screwed over when he was still Flynn Rider. She warns Rapunzel of what he use to be like and she has to confront the fact that she rushed into a relationship with someone she barely knows while he has to confront the fact that simply giving up his ways isn’t always enough and other people are still hurt by his actions

Dump the ‘ex’ plot altogether and have Rapunzel meet someone new instead. Have her question if a committed relationship is what she wants, and if Eugene really is the person for her. Address the fact that she has no experiences to in which to judge their relationship by.

What makes these options stronger is that there’s no clean cut bad guy (except for the Baron). There’s no right or wrong answer to the problem; no easy solution. The less sure an outcome the more tension you can add to the conflict, and these conflicts can go any number of ways; from a temporary break up to a reaffirmation of love.

That’s mature. That’s complex. That’s not reaching for the easy low hanging fruit. The creators seem to think thing dark, edgy, and shocking is ’deep’ but it’s actually quite shallow, especially when you constantly present one sided conflicts like today’s episode.

Your Name Literally Means ‘Lettuce’, Rapunzel

Unlike some fans, I don’t mind Rapunzel being jealous and hypocritical. As I said before, I like my heroines to have actual flaws. The problem is that the show goes out of its way to justify her bitchiness instead of calling it for what it is.

I Don’t Usually Bring Shipping Into These Reviews But,

Eugene and Lance have the healthiest relationship in the show. Like there is zero competition, here. Outside of a few ‘not-so-serious’ crack pairings, like Pete/Stan/Willow or Caine/Trevor, I don't really have any other ‘canon’ ships. I’m like 90% of the time shipping crossover pairings and 90% of those are Varian ships.

But this is still a flaw because it’s not intentional. The writers genuinely think that New Dream is a healthy romantic pairing and that Cass and Raps are a genuinely good friendship/sibling relationship, but they aren’t. And before you say anything, Casspunzel, isn’t the intent of the creators; regardless if you or some of the non-writing staff ship them. Like, it’s okay to ship them, but they aren’t intentionally written to be romantic any more than Lance and Eugene.

My point in bringing up all this up is this: A bunch of male writers only knew how to portray a male friendship well; not a female friendship, not a sister relationship, not a mother and child relationship, not a father and child relationship, not a gay romance, not even a het romance. That tells me that the creators on this show have an extremely limited world view. Which you need to expand upon if you have any inspirations as a creative writer.

You’ll Have an Ice Sculpture of Shorty at Your Wedding, Raps.

You don’t get to judge, woman.

I Usually Love the Art Direction on the Show, but, Not Gonna Lie, I’m Disappointed We Didn’t Get an Actual Wedding Dress for Stalyan

This is animated in what? Toonboom? Flash? Would it really have been that time consuming just to make a palette swap of her regular dress here? I mean you made a bunch of new character designs and gave Raps a new outfit just for this episode so clicking a few new swatches on an already existing model doesn’t sound that hard.

But yes, I’m nitpicking here. That’s cause I hate where all this is going, and I’m trying to put off the inevitable.

Deactivating the Rocks Was a Mistake

Like I said, making the rocks no longer a threat means that our heroine no longer has a reason for her quest. You’ve just ended your main conflict and now we’re going to have to sit through a whole season of watching the creators spin their wheels trying to find a new one. While also invalidating both the previous and future conflicts cause all she had to do was touch a rock and that’s it. That’s what this whole story amounts to.

Also you’re telling me that the main hero was just now willing to risk the life of a bunch of innocent bystanders just cause she be jelly?

Lack of Remorse Undermines Stalyan’s Future Appearances

If you want to pawn off the blackmail stuff onto her dad then you need to have her stand up to her dad on screen. Because we get no indication that she learns anything from these events in this episode, we have no reason to root for her redemption later. I mean she’s literally declaring revenge here.

Say it with me; It’s a lack of setup and resolve.

Nothing Is Resolved

Rapunzel tries to hold an honest conversation for once and Eugene just shuts her down. Yet, this is presented as a form of positive growth for him? The whole point of their relationship problems is their lack of communication and Rapunzel not being assertive about what she wants. But sure, let's have them still not communicate and have Eugene actively talk over her in order to drag out this plot point that doesn’t need to be dragged out.

Stop Treating Marriage as a Trap

Okay, first off, she was about to ask you to marry her, you dolt, so stop assuming. Second off, this a really bad lesson and the fact that Rapunzel now feels pressured to lie through her teeth about what she really wants contradicts this whole ‘Rapunzel needs to choose for herself thing’ the story’s got going on.

I want to make it clear that the writers threw in this ‘forced marriage’ plot not teach Eugene responsibility, you know the thing he actually needs to learn, but to teach him that ‘marriage is bad’. Even though respectfully asking the person you're already in a committed relationship with to marry you is not in any way, shape, or form the same as a bitchy ex blackmailing you into doing something you don’t wanna do.

Marriage is Not a Trap; Stop Treating It As Such.

Oh Look, Now It’s Eugene’s Turn To Have His Feeling Ignored

Yes, how dare Eugene have an opinion that different from Raps.

Remind me again which relationship was the toxic one?

‘Destiny’ Is Not a Reason

Like ‘destiny’ in a narrative sense means that there’s either an unavoidable consequence for not fulfilling it, a fate that can’t be avoid no matter how hard you try, or a prophecy to help show the characters what needs to be done. It’s a tool to create tension and foreshadowing. It’s not a goal in of itself. But the series never expands upon this ‘destiny’ stuff. It’s treated like an end all and be all for the characters actions, but that’s not how its supposed to work.

So, What Was the Point?

You’ll hear me ask this question a lot during season two. But for this episode specifically there’s barely anything worthwhile to the ongoing narrative here.

None of the mains learn anything, none of the side characters learn anything, the Baron and Stalyan wind up not adding anything to the overall narrative, and Vardaros and its inhabitants never come back into play after this season. So what was the point?

The only reason why I don’t recommend skipping the episode altogether is because of Adria’s introduction, the DK flashback, and the scroll pecice. But all of that is so divorced from the episode’s A plot that it might as well not have been here.You could have taken nearly all of Adria’s scenes and fitted them into another episode. Meaning, you could have easily cut all of Vardaros, the Baron, and Stalyan out of the show and it wouldn’t have made a difference to the story arc.

Conclusion

I’ll give the opening this much. It lets you know what your in for for the rest of season; lots of filler, a disconnected arc, and no Varian (or other main threat) to be seen. Ugh!

#tangled #anti-tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #stalyan #eugene #rapunzel

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seasidewriter1-writes · 3 years

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Moulin Rouge! !Balance/Obi-Lara AU

Hi, this is really long, I’m so sorry :)

Let’s start with a dramatis personae of sorts:

First on the stage is Obi-Wan Kenobi. A quiet hopeless romantic, born to a well-off family, a lover of philosophy and free-thinking, a man who has five dozen journals filled with thoughts and theories and ideas and interpretations. He moves to Paris to be amongst like minded folk, and perhaps––just perhaps––pursue the career that his father had called ‘hopeless, romanticized, and penniless.’ A writer.

The next player here is Elara Skywalker. In keeping with the Moulin Rouge! vernacular, she is the establishments ‘Sparkling Diamond.’ Revered for her beauty and her captivating performances, all eyes are on her whenever she’s on stage. It’s not a job that she detests, but there are aspects of it that are rather unkind that she doesn’t like. For her, romance is something that only lives in the pages of the books hidden under her bed; but it’s something she wishes she might be able to glimpse some day.

And then there’s her brother, Anakin Skywalker. A bright, enthusiastic, cocky young man who works as a stage hand at the Moulin Rouge. He’s good at what he does––ties the best knots, gets the set pieces on or off the stage on time, runs props from stage right to stage left. He is incredibly protective of his sister (and the other dancers, quite frankly), and has been known to chase out handsy patrons when the bouncers are nowhere to be found. And if you’re chased out by Anakin Skywalker, you are not coming back; and if you try, the boys up front know who you are because Anakin has given them detailed descriptions of the men who are not allowed to come back.

Obi-Wan moves into a boarding house in Paris, happy to be free of the stuffiness of the social circle he used to inhabit, and finds himself almost immediately accosted by the people that he came to seek out

I say accosted because Anakin Skywalker slams right into him as he comes barreling down the stairs, shouting an apology because ‘he’s late for work'

The next day, rather early, Anakin knocks on Obi-Wan’s door and apologizes for the day before, and invites him upstairs for coffee

His flat is the perfect example of what Obi-Wan pictured the Parisian bohemian (the 1900s view of bohemianism, that is) life to be like

A messy bed laden with threadbare but bright pillows, clothing draped over chair backs, papers and books stacked in piles, old, beautiful advertising posters from theatres propped up against various walls

Hell, Anakin looks like the bohemian Obi-Wan expected to see the city rife with

Messy, curly hair, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned brocaded vest, no tie or cravat, roguish grin

Obi-Wan comes to realize that Anakin’s very much the free-thinking kind of person that he’d been hoping to meet

Their friendship starts out as afternoon chats over coffee

They get along famously and have lengthy conversations about anything and everything

Anakin then invites Obi-Wan to come visit his place of work––the Moulin Rouge

Obi-Wan knows of the establishment, it’s impossible not to

And he’s hesitant to agree. Because such establishments, though frequented by the men (and male family members) back home, they were still considered ‘dens of disrepute’; and though he doesn’t have a reputation to worry over anymore, the instinct is still burned into him

But after some convincing––“It isn’t what you think it is. It’s art. And if you’re in Paris, you have to take in the art. I’ll even buy you your first drink.”––he agrees to go

When he arrives, Obi-Wan is absolutely dazzled, to the point of stunned––the lights, the music, the atmosphere, it’s all so much

Everything seems so free; the drinks are flowing, the energetic joy is pervasive, the entertainment is lively... it’s everything that he’s not used to, and he’s enthralled

And then he sees her.

The Sparkling Diamond, in all her glory, performing on the stage––and she is gorgeous. Her dress is dripping with sparkling beads; it catches the light in such a way that makes it impossible for anyone to miss her

And despite his gentlemanly upbringing, all he can do is stare

He’s entranced by everything about her, from the command she had of the stage, to the dazzling smile that pulled across red painted lips

The night starts to wind down, different performance sets come and go, and all Obi-Wan can think about is her

And then Anakin pops out from backstage and, with a bright grin, asks him to follow, because there’s someone he’d like Obi-Wan to meet

He’s led backstage and to a private dressing room––inside of which is her. The dancer.

Whom Anakin introduces as his sister, Elara

Which, quite honestly, floors Obi-Wan

But once Anakin had revealed the relation, he could see it––in their eyes, in their smiles...

Elara’s still wearing her glittering, sparkling dress, with a short skirt and thin straps; but she’s smiling at Obi-Wan and that’s all he can see

And, funnily enough, that’s the first thing that she notices about him––his smile

And then she notices that he doesn’t gawk. He’s not hungrily eyeing her legs or reaching out to touch her bare arm; his eyes have respectfully remained north of her shoulders, even when he tucked forward to kiss the back of her hand

Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed to be a perfect gentleman

After the cabaret closes for the night, Elara invites them both back to her room for a nightcap

Obi-Wan’s initial reaction is panic––he’s being invited back to the room of a very beautiful woman who works at the very notorious Moulin Rouge (how his mother would swoon at the thought)

But he’s also being invited back with her brother, so that eased the panic a little

But, still, he’s initially very polite––“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”––and she insists––“Please, I insist. Believe me, it is of no imposition or inconvenience.”––so he accepts

So during this nightcap, hard-working Anakin straight-up passes out in an armchair, his drink half-drunk and still in his hand

Which leaves Obi-Wan and Elara effectively alone in the lavishness of her room

And that, again, puts him on edge again, because he has no idea how to guide this conversation

He’d been raised in an environment where men spoke philosophy in a smoky, whisky drenched study and women gossiped in perfumed, well-lit parlors

And it is to his great relief when he discovers Elara is quite the conversationalist

She asks if he’s read Shakespeare and, almost started, he replies ‘yes,’ and suddenly their deep in a conversation about The Bard; and it’s all flowing so easily

One minute they’re talking about Shakespeare, the next he’s explaining Platonism, and then Elara’s giggling as she tells him about Anakin’s not-so-secret relationship with her friend, another talented dancer named Padmé

He’s genuinely never sat down with a woman before and just... talked without fear of pretense or status quo; and he’s enjoying it very, very much

By the time Obi-Wan leaves––let out the side door by Elara herself––his tie is undone and loose under his collar, the sun is rising, and he’s smiling brighter than he has done in years

Soon enough, he’s going to the Moulin Rouge every night, and if it’s not to see the performances, it’s Elara letting him in through the back door so they can have a nightcap and a conversation

In this time, Obi-Wan speaks about the stuffiness that drove him from home, and Elara reveals she initially took the job after her and Anakin’s mother’s death as a way to provide for themselves

In the afternoons, if she’s not rehearsing, sometimes Elara goes to visit Anakin

Which turns into her excuse to go see Obi-Wan, showing up at his door with a ‘I came to see my brother, but he’s still sleeping.’ Which turns into him asking if he can ‘tempt her with a cup of coffee and some good conversation.’

And then something hits Obi-Wan hard––very hard: he’s in love with her

He’s in love with the diamond of the Moulin Rouge

Half of him is ecstatic, yet shocked, about the revelation––and the other half warns him against it

That second half speaks in the voice of his father, in the voice of propriety; that falling in love with a dancer is not what he should do, especially when she’s so sought after

He agonizes over this for days. Days. He struggles with what to do––either reject the feelings or throw himself headlong into them

And then one day, Obi-Wan gets his answer

He and Elara are sat on his narrow, uncomfortable loveseat, his back against one arm rest, hers against the other. Her feet are in his lap and his are dangling off the edge of the cushions. And they’re just reading quietly. Neither of them has spoken for at least an hour. And it’s so nice. Everything about it feels perfect

Obi-Wan happens to look up and sees Elara reading her copy of Much Ado About Nothing, one of her knuckles pressed to her lower lip, eyes rapidly flickering over the words on the page

And that is when he knows his answer

To hell with it––if he loves her, he loves her, and he damn well better do something about it

And he does.

In a dramatic gesture worthy of a romance novel, he throws his book down onto the floor, which is enough to get Elara to look up in surprise

“What are you doing?” she asks through a little laugh, and with a smile.

And Obi-Wan moves her legs off his lap and shuffles himself closer to her

He slowly pulls the book out of her hands, drops it to the floor, and brings his hand up to clasp her cheek

Their foreheads gently come to rest together, their noses brushing...

Elara’s fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt, only to glide up the side of his neck to come to rest on his cheek

And that’s when he kisses her, slow and sweet and reverent

And their books remain forgotten on the floor, fictitious tales of romance giving way for the real thing

I, uhh, got carried away on that! But if any of y’all have read it all and want elaborations on anything/want more, let me know! I kinda just did a basic AU this time around, not much plot.

#a Balance AU #moulin rouge AU #Obi-Lara AU #obi-wan x oc #obi-wan/oc fic #mary writes headcanons

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