#and his children dont have to be miserable either. yes he fell back into the cycle and we see how much he pushed JL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atiny-piratequeen · 3 years

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since you dont know many german tales, how about the original story of rapunzel?

There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world.

One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion - Rapunzel, and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, and had the greatest desire to eat some. This desire increased every day, and as she knew that she could not get any of it, she quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable.

Then her husband was alarmed, and asked, "What ails you, dear wife?"

"Ah," she replied, "if I can't eat some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall die."

The man, who loved her, thought, sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will. At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It tasted so good to her - so very good, that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, he let himself down again. But when he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him.

"How can you dare," said she with angry look, "descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it."

"Ah," answered he, "let mercy take the place of justice, I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she had not got some to eat."

Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, "If the case be as you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into the world. It shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother."

The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath it and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses, wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the king's son rode through the forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king's son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed up to her. "If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too will try my fortune," said he, and the next day when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

Immediately the hair fell down and the king's son climbed up. At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes had never yet beheld, came to her. But the king's son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, he will love me more than old dame gothel does. And she said yes, and laid her hand in his.

She said, "I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse."

They agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day.

The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king's son - he is with me in a moment."

"Ah! You wicked child," cried the enchantress. "What do I hear you say. I thought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived me."

In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great grief and misery.

On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress fastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the window, and when the king's son came and cried,

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!"

she let the hair down. The king's son ascended, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks.

"Aha," she cried mockingly, "you would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest. The cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to you. You will never see her again."

The king's son was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of his dearest wife.

Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contented.

so i have been taught a version that is a little easier on children, where rapunzel was basically safed by her prince and they lived happily ever after. and no birthing twins either. BUT this version has been the one read to children for decades since it was written.

i liked the disney movie, but as usual it glossed over the original everywhere. thats fine tho, it was fiction in the first place and an accurate verion might be more of a thriller, or horror movie... or just a very sad one. it just saddens me sometimes when so much detail is lost. just like malificent wasnt called by her original german name (malefiz) in the german dub of her movie. that irked me greatly.

(also if this is starting to get annoying, tell me!! i just really enjoy revisiting fairytales and telling people about them uwu)

Its not annoying at all. Again, i always appreciate this so much. Plus you're sharing part of your culture, for folklore and fairytales, even those with more wider known adaptations, are still important to people's culture. So even if you tell me a Grimm or something that i do know, i still appreciate it so much.

I know a lot of fairytales have gentler adaptations for the kiddos but ive never seen the traditional one for rapunzel so thank you sm!

#asks #schimmelspore #long post

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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*tosses coin to my writer, o valley of plenty* if I may get a little Jask fic where the reader is cursed to be extremely ugly, and is ashamed and hides in a cloak/helmet/whatever to hide her face. Obviously shes in love with him, but theres no way he would ever love someone so hideous. Inevitably, one day someone sees her without the mask, (I dont care who, it can be anyone, even Jask) and they end up talking feelings and shame and all that good stuff.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,236 Rating: Ga/n: I love the concept of a reader being cursed and bonding with Jaskier over emotions instead of the usual “you’re hot, I’m hot, let’s fuck” (though my catalogue supports that I am not against this particular trope at all). I had a bit of a dilemma when trying to figure out how to approach because I am very cognizant of the way ugliness is socially constructed and I didn’t want to put a bunch of features on blast that someone may recognize in themselves and feel shitty about. Fanfic should either make you happy or sob or sigh but it should never make you feel bad about yourself. So I put a bit of a spin on it and I hopethat’s ok. I think I’ve still got the core of what you’re asking for here and I hope I handled it well. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

There were those who spurned fairytales. They dismissed the stories of fairy godmothers and curses as children’s tales, moralistic tools for discipline. You knew better. You knew all too well how real fairy godmothers were, and how vicious they were when their charges were mistreated. You’d never been able to glean from your father what act he committed to enrage the fairy so but you knew the fallout. Your mother died in childbirth and you, against all odds, stubbornly clung to life and survived. Another punishment had to be handed down and the curse was placed. When you looked in the mirror you saw someone plain. Features indistinct and uninteresting, a canvas of a person.

You were the lucky one. When others looked at you, they saw the face of the ugliest creature their imaginations could conjure. The fairy had been clever, knowing all too well that beauty was in the eye of beholder and that the only way to ensure your misery and loneliness was to make sure that every eye that beheld you saw something so uniquely gruesome to their own taste that they could not look past it. Your father was included in this and though he denied it you knew between that and losing your mother he was not able to feel or express love for you as he would have been if you weren’t so repugnant in his eyes.

You took to traveling and healing, still clinging to life like you had in your infancy, still determined to fight for your space in the world. Travelling meant you never had to get to know anyone too well or get too close. You’d tried using paints as other ladies did if they wanted to change their appearance but this only seemed to intensify the revulsion you inspired. You ended up wearing a heavy, hooded cloak and a kerchief about your mouth for extra measure. You were an intimidating figure but you tried to balance this with a soft voice and greater skill in healing. If you could offer something to people, you could briefly get the interaction you craved. But you always kept travelling and you rarely ran into the same person twice.

Until Jaskier.

You met him the way you met most people; providing a service. He’d come by your wagon in a rough state, explaining as you cleaned up his wounds that he’d gotten into a disagreement during his performance the night before. He was charming and kind, only asking about your odd attire once and then leaving it be when you made it clear you didn’t want to discuss it. He paid you more coin than you would have asked and you felt grateful that you’d had the chance to meet him and knew it would remain an encounter you kept close to your heart the rest of your days.

And then you saw him again. This time he caught you unawares, out on a very rare excursion away from your wagon to get some supplies. You’d never had someone see you a second time and look so happy about it. He joined you on your shopping, haggling with the shop owners and asking you for advice on the songs he was writing. He tried to get to know you a bit more, asking about how long you’d been traveling and why you’d chosen healing as a profession. It was easy to talk to him and you almost forgot he couldn’t see the burden you hid beneath your wrappings. He walked you back to your wagon, even going so far as to help you up into it, his hand grasping yours lightly to support you. Your touch starved skin tingled for hours in the spot his hand had been.

The third time you saw him was the worst day of your life. You’d known you were taking a risk by leaving the wagon without the hood and mask but you tried to convince yourself that you were only going down to the river for a moment to bathe. It was early winter and you knew no one would be around, smartly tucked up in their houses with their loved ones and fending off the frost. The water stung your skin but you enjoyed the sensation, happy to be free of the heavy clothes for these moments.

And then you saw him.

You clamored out of the river but you’d only pulled on your dress, still scrambling for the cloak when he stopped in his tracks. Confusion followed by recognition followed by even more confusion washed over his face and you felt your heart break as he cautiously approached.

“Y/N?” he asked. There was no point in pretending, the cloak and kerchief were in hand.

“Jaskier,” you said. You stood across from each other in silence for what felt like ages. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. Not everyone who saw you was cruel, some were just afraid which was almost worse. Jaskier just looked confused and intrigued. His eyes kept traveling over your face like he was trying to commit it to memory.

“Say something,” you said finally, your voice choked with repressed tears. He walked towards you slowly as though he were trying not to spook a horse. By the time he reached you the tears fell from your unblinking eyes. You kept looking for the moment he would turn. The revulsion that would shatter the lovingly preserved memories of him forever. He reached out and brushed away the tears and then reached down and took the cloak from your hands. You stood unmoving as he gently wrapped the cloak back around you, lifting the hood to cover your half-frozen hair. He held the kerchief in his hand but didn’t cover your face, just fidgeted with it as he worked to form words.

“So this is your deep secret,” he said. You nod, unable to form words.

“I’m disappointed.”

The words broke your heart.

“I thought it would be that you were a murderer or a dangerous fugitive,” he continued.

“What?”

“Well, I mean, unless, are you?” he asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Ok so you wear the cloak and the kerchief and the layers and things because…” his voice trailed off, leaving the question open for your answer.

“Because I’m hideous,” the words are like ashes in your mouth but you’re accustomed to the taste.

“According to whom?” he asked. You scoffed incredulously.

“Everyone. Literally everyone. That’s how it works.”

“That’s how what works?”

“The curse.”

“You’re cursed? How fascinating.”

His words anger you and you fear that he’s mocking you, that maybe the kindness he’s shown is just an act and that this a fresh way to experience cruelty. You thought you’d seen them all.

But you tell him the story. You tell him about the curse and your mirrorless childhood and the moment you saw your face and the worse moment when you began asking people to describe you and learned the true nature of the curse, far beyond the loss of a mother or a plain face. You don’t know when you both sit on the ground but at some point you’re there next to each other, leaning against the wheels of the wagon as the words continue to tumble out of you like a dam that’s finally broken. No one has ever heard this much of you, seen this much of you, or sat this long with you in your life and you stop caring how he’s going to react at the end. This isn’t about him anymore, this is about you releasing all that you’d carried and all that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. When you’re done you notice he’s taken your hand at some point and his thumb is softly rubbing soothing circles around your knuckles.

“So now this is my life. I stay hidden for my sake as much as everyone else’s. I heal because it’s better than sitting locked up in a house all my life and because it helps me feel… well, just that I suppose. It helps me feel. I would rather feel those brief moments of connection than stay numb my whole life,” you say. You’re startled to see there are tears in his eyes and he pulls you into a hug, not sure if he’s comforting you or himself but you hug him back though you’re long out of practice.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into the hood of your cloak, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Everyone has their curses I suppose,” you mumble, a little embarrassedand uncertain how to respond.

“Yes but the worst part is it’s all so stupid. So people find you ugly, so what? What could that possibly have to do with your worth as a person?” he asks.

“It’s easy to say that when you’re beautiful,” you say bitterly.

“Beauty doesn’t secure your place in people’s lives. It sure as hell doesn’t make them want you around either,” he says. “But tell me you realize this can’t keep on forever.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well this… lonely existence, it’s miserable. No offense. Even you said as much. Are you really going to just hide yourself away forever?”

“I didn’t… I don’t see any other option.”

His hand is warm as it gently cups your face and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

“Take me with you,” he says.

“What?”

“Take me with you. I make a better travelling companion than most think. And I can help! Not with the healing and such but… listen, I had a friend who was treated much the same as you describe and I was able to help… bridge the gap between him and the people around him,” he says.

“How did you do that?”

“I wrote a song. Now, I’m not suggesting I write a song unless…” his voice trails off and he waggles his eyebrows winningly but your stony face is answer enough.

“Yes that’s what I thought. In any case with me by your side your loneliness is eased and if being there doesn’t communicate a more welcoming message I can at the very least defend your honor.”

You laugh, the sound foreign to your ears.

“And how will you do that?” you ask.

“I… will figure that out!” he vows.

“Can I ask you something,” you ask, growing serious again and avoiding his eyes.

“Anything.”

“What do you see? When you look at me? What do I look like?”

He considers the question and then pulls out a journal and quill from his travelling bag. You try to lean over and see what he’s doing but he pulls the journal away from your sight, tsking at you and telling you to be patient. Your stomach twists in knots as he glances between the journal and you and just when you’re about to lunge for it, he makes a final flourish and hands you the book.

A sob wracks through your body the moment your eyes meet the page and a trembling hand covers your mouth.

“I’m not an excellent artist but I don’t think it’s so bad,” Jaskier says, concern furrowing his brow. You can’t form words for a while, the jagged sobs seemingly endless as Jaskier rubs your back, confused but trying to be supportive until your sobs break into something that sounds a little less heartwrenching and then breaks into laughter. You look at him, eyes shining with tears and something else, something a bit more hopeful and new.

“It’s me,” you whisper, pointing to the drawing. The drawing of the face you saw in your reflection as a child, just older. The face no one has ever seen until this man who’s looking at you like you’re insane but also very relieved that you’d stopped crying. Well, not entirely, but they seem to be happy tears now.

“Yes I know,” he says.

“No, Jaskier, Jaskier, it’s me,” you can’t explain what this means just yet. There aren’t words and you aren’t sure you understand yet yourself.

“I see you,” he says, wiping away some of the tears again, leaning in closed to rest his forehead against yours, “I see you.”

There are those who spurn fairytales. They dismiss the stories of destiny and of a love that cannot be repelled by curses or the weight of a life heavy with trauma. You know better.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #long post #fanfiction #reader request #Anonymous

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sablesides-ask-blog · 4 years

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Hi, I Have Another Request For You. Can You Do “I thought I’d never get to see you again.” With A Prinxiety Tangled AU? (Something About That Line Gives Me Big Tangled Vibes,,)

Sorry this took so long! Tumblr was lagging on my inbox :T

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Virgil didnt exactly have the best memory, everything from his child hood was basically a hazy blur. All his memories seemed to be a mush of images and information given to him by his father. The only thing he seemed capable of holding onto was the name Roman, but he didnt know who that was. His father had always told him that it wasnt important, that he should forget he ever heard the name to begin with. But his father was always keeping secrets, there was always something off about his smile. But Virgil supposed this was all in his head. He was safe in the tower, his father kept him fed and warm, why would he need to mistrust him.

Virgil glanced over at the small spot grey cat hiding by the fireplace. He'd found the cat trapped in his abnormally long hair one day and decided to keep him. Of course his father couldnt know about the poor thing or it would be straight out the window with it. He named the cat Patton, it seemed fitting for some odd reason. "Are you going to come out or are you still asleep?" he asked, odd sort of thing to do, talk to a cat like it was a person. But Patton got up either way, meowed, and proceeded to bound over to the middle of the room, where he promptly laid back down across Virgil's feet. Virgil sighed and picked him up, cradling him as though he were a small child and not some fluffy animal that liked to raid his closet and eat his clothes for fun.

"I'm working on something new, do you want to see it?" he asked the cat. Patton purred and rolled over in his arms. Virgil took that as a yes and placed him up on a pedestal, climbing up himself and pulling aside the curtains. Behind was a stunning mural of a sunset, with Virgil and an unknown person sitting underneath at what looked like a picnic.

Patton meowed and reached a paw out towards the mural. "Dont touch it- the paint isnt dry yet," said Virgil, covering the mural again and jumping down from the pedestal.

He felt a jolt of fear when he heard a voice from outside the tower call "Anxiety, Anxiety! Let down your hair!" he rushed over to the window, not daring lean his head over the edge until he was sure Patton had hidden himself safely once more. Only then did he hoist his vibrant purple locks over the side of the tower. He tried not wince as his father climbed back into the tower. His father, who insisted on being known only by that title, was a rather gaunt man dressed primarily in red and black. It seemed to be the only thing that didnt blind him, he absolutely despised Virgil's paintings, always claiming they were to bright and obnoxious.

"How was your journey father? Did you find anything new?" Virgil asked in his calmest voice. He'd hoped to go outside for his birthday, to see the world as it really was- outside of the dusty old tower he'd grown up in, and he feared the only way to do that was to convince his father he was old enough for it.

"Only dust and ashes my flower, makes a man feel his age doesnt it?" he said, taking a seat on an ornate chai. "Could you sing something for me ?" he said, grabbing a brush from the nearby counter. Virgil was used to this routine, it was an every day sort of thing for him. So he sat down and muttered the same incantation as always. Incantation, that's what he'd always called it- it never sounded like songs to him.

"Father- I wanted to ask you something, about my birthday," the words escaped Virgil's lips in a hoarse whisper.

His father raised an eyebrow "What is it?" he said, his tone icy.

"I-I was wondering- if we could go into the kingdom for my birthday- to see what its like out there," Virgil said, a little louder this time. He regretted mentioning it as soon as he saw the snarl upon his father's face.

"What could you possibly want from the village that you dont have here? Have I not done everything I can for you?" he said, there was hurt in his eyes, the wave of guilt Virgil felt might have been strong enough to kill a man. "I've tried my best you know, but you children are just so unpredictable sometimes, forgive me if I'm not perfect," he said.

"But father I-" Virgil's words were cut off by his father pressing a finger to his lips.

"You are not leaving the tower, that is final." he said, swapping from sorrowful to cold in what seemed like milliseconds. Virgil felt like he might cry, he'd been working up that courage for so long, and now it was all just- gone. His father seemed to notice this "Oh, and now I'm the bad guy, aren't I," he said. Virgil looked down at the floor, blinking back the tears forming in his eyes. "Is there anything reasonable you could think of?" said his father, another tone shift, he always did this- always changed himself to make others act how he wanted.

"I guess I wouldnt mind more paints, I've been running low. . ." said virgil. His father planted a quick kiss on his forehead, but it didnt feel genuine, it never did.

"Very well, it will be a few days before I can come back though, I love you," he said.

"I love you more,"

"I love you most," said his father as he lowered him back out the window. The relief Virgil felt watching him disappear into the woods was overwhelming.

That relief lasted a mere hour or two. For as Virgil had been brushing his hair, or more accurately keeping Patton's claws out of his hair. He heard boots land on the stones. He peered over the rafters and immeadietly felt his face turn red. The man on the floor below might have been the most stunning human he'd ever seen, with dark Auburn hair and stunning ruby eyes, Virgil felt as if he might faint. That is until the man started speaking.

"Stupid horse- chased me all the way from the town to this miserable tower, how am I supposed to make a living if that beast keeps coming after me!" he said.

He's a criminal. . . thought Virgil fearfully. So he did the only thing he could think of in the situation, knock the man over the head with whatever was nearby.

He awoke later with a groan, and immeadietly became startled at the sight of his chains. "Is this. . . hair?-" he said quizzically.

"So, you're finally awake," Virgil said, surprisingly smug. The man looked up and his eyes went wide.

"Look I dont know who you are but-" he paused and looked around "- where is my satchel."

Virgil smiled "somewhere you'll never, ever, ever find it," he smirked.

The man looked around the room once more before stopping on a vase, "Its in that, isnt it." Virgil promptly knocked him out again.

"NOW its somewhere you'll never find it, and you'll get it back after you do something for me," said Virgil.

"I dont even know your name emo." said the man.

"And I dont know yours, but who's in who's hair right now?" said virgil.

"wait- this is YOUR hair?" said the man, he seemed oddly more comfortable now.

"Yes. And unless you take my offer you wont be getting out of it." Virgil responded.

"Alright, but can I at least get your name?" he said.

"You first,"

The man rolled his eyes, "Call me Rogue,"

"Virgil, now onto my demands," he said calmly. "I want you, to escort me into town for my birthday, I've heard of the shows and festivals they hold on that day and I want to see them,"

Rogue looked oddly stunned, "You've, never been into town before." he said.

"No, but you're going to take me,"

"What makes you think that?" Patton appeared out of the shadows and perched on Rogue's shoulders. He looked suspiciously at the cat as Patton subtlety flexed his claws. ". . . Right," he said, "I guess that's what,"

"So do you accept?" said Virgil. Rogue simply nodded. Virgil pulled the ties slightly to loosen them and they fell off easily. He jumped down from the pedestal he'd been standing on and raced to the window. "No time to waste then!" he said, excitedly flinging the hair over a hook. Rogue simply pulled out two knives and began scaling down the tower side.

Virgil stepped out onto the platform, the wind blowing in his face felt almost to good to be true.

"You coming my chemically imbalanced romance?" said Rogue, who had already reached the ground somehow. Virgil took a few steps closer to the edge, and scaled down the tower, holding Patton under one arm and to his chest so as not to hurt him.

Virgil's hair fell moments after he did with a thud.

"Quite a lot of hair you got there huh?" said Rogue, taking a closer look now that they were in better light. Virgil felt his face go red again.

"They'd barely even left the forest when Virgil started wanting to go back. Every twig snap and rustle of the leaves seemed to sound like his father might pop out to drag him back home again, but he was so close- he didnt want to give up yet.

"Are you alright? You seem unsettled," Rogue took Virgil's hand in his own and flashed him a grin that might have caused him to melt on the spot.

He shook his head "I'm perfectly fine- just nervous, this being my first time away from the tower and all," Viegil said. Rogue simply pulled the vibrant-haired man closer to himself and continued on through the woods, his free hand resting on the knife in his pocket. Oddly enough, this made Virgil feel safer. His father had always said men were nothing but trouble, yet Rogue seemed different, almost in a familiar way.

"Are you hungry? We can stop by a place I know and get something to eat," Rogue said, the devilish grin still across his face. Virgil nodded slightly, which prompted Rogue to part away from the path they'd been on for so long and head along yet another, Virgil could've sworn it hadnt been there before.

The place Rogue took him to didnt bode well for the mysterious path either, and the people inside still less. Especially from the moment they tried to drag Rogue off to the castle guards. Virgil was never good in stressful situations, so he did the only thing he could think of, panic. This proved an effective distraction, as it turned out, the British ogres that ran the place were mostly just theatre rejects, and all it seemed to take was a solo from Rogue to get them to let them go. Rogue and Virgil had only just started their celebrations when the sound of hooves caught up to them. Virgil turned just in time to see a brown and tan horse preparing to charge. He grabbed Rogue by the arm and booked it to the ledge of the mountains. He held his breath, counted, and jumped across the chasm. Everything seemed to slow to a halt before he and Rogue plummeted into the water, which promptly washed them into a cave.

"What are we supposed to do now!" said Rogue indignantly. Virgil was to busy examining the rock work to listen.

"Start pulling on the rocks- quickly," Rogue opened his mouth to argue before he noticed the water spilling into the cave. Virgil began singing frantically, and the cave was filled with violet light. Rogue's shocked face might have earned a laugh had the situation been less dire, and had the smell of blood not just reached his nostrils.

By the time they'd washed up on shore Virgil felt as if the world was spinning. Patton gently pawed at both he and Rogue's faces to make sure they were still alive.

"His hair glows- why does it do that??? People's hair doesnt just DO THAT????" Rogue said, jolting up.

"That's not the only thing it's good for, but we need to find somewhere to camp," Virgil said, getting up. Rogue stood up as well and sort of just stared at him in awe. Virgil's face flushed.

By the time they'd managed to set up camp, night had fallen. They were sitting calmly on a log when Virgil finally remembered Rogue's bleeding hand. "Give me your hand- I can fix it," he said, Rogue hesitated before reaching over to him. "Dont, scream." Virgil said, making direct eye contact before closing his eyes. The incantation felt different this time. When he sung for his father he always felt tired and drained, yet with Rogue it felt almost serene. Virgil opened his eyes to face Rogue, who's jaw was so far down it may as well have been on the floor.

"Im- going to go get firewood- and I'm taking the cat-" he said, getting up and walking out of the clearing. Patton followed him, the cat seemed happier than usual that night.

Which only made the next voice Virgil heard even more of a burden. "Well done, Anxiety, you've really out done yourself with this havent you?" his father stepped out from the shadows, a very familiar satchel draped across his arm.

Virgil froze "f-father I-" his father lifted a finger to his lips to shut him up yet again.

"Come along Virgil, we best be getting back now that you've had your fun," his father tried to grab onto his arm. But something in Virgil didnt want to leave that spot. He dug his heels into the ground, it burned, he'd forgotten he never wore shoes.

"No." he said simply. He'd never forget the look on his father's face at that notion.

"No? Is that what you're telling me? I'm simply trying to protect you, and you tell me you'd rather die out here with a criminal than be safe at home with me?" he said. Virgil flinched as his father tossed the satchel at him. "Give him this, see if he cares what happens to you then," he said, growling.

"I will- I'll prove you wrong father." Virgil said, fighting back tears as he watched his father disappear back into the woods. Rogue stepped out from trees and seemed immeadietly aware of Virgil's discomfort.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he said.

"Its nothing, Rogue, I'm just tired," said Virgil. "But, I do have something I need to show you," he said. He felt like he'd regret this later, but he showed him the satchel. Rogue's eyes lit up as he took the bag in his arms and put it back on.

"Thank you, so much, it probably took you a lot to trust me with this didnt it?" Rogue said. He looked as though he were pondering something. "Perhaps I should trust you with something new as well. . ." he said, looking at Virgil quizzically. Virgil's eyes went wide and he stood completely still, while trying to maintain a calming presence.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My real name isnt Rogue, that's just a pseudonym, my real name is Roman Prince" he said. Virgil felt as if his world had shrunk several sizes. Roman?. . . But I would have remembered him being a criminal- I'm sure of it he stared at him in awe.

"I-I recognize that name- from when I was little.

Roman stared at him, and simply grinned wider, "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out moonbeam, I thought I'd never see you again after all that," Roman moved Virgil's hair out of his face, which was beet red suddenly. "We'll talk more about it in the morning ok? You look exhausted," said Roman. Virgil couldnt seem to find an arguement, so he simply allowed himself to be lulled into sleep.

It didnt last long, or so he thought. The rain was much to annoying to sleep through. Upon waking up he recognized that it was in fact not raining, but there was a horse looming over he and Roman as they tried to sleep.

"What the-"

"Hey uh- Virge- A little help please-" that's when Virgil turned to see Roman, stuck to a tree via some kind of knife. Virgil sighed and glared at the horse.

"Look. . ." he searched the horse for a name tag and found an insignia on its breastplate titled 'Logan' ". . . Logan, it's my birthday, and Im really excited to be getting to the town tonight, especially since I just reunited with someone I havent seen in decades, so if you could fight him later- please- that would be great," said Virgil, his voice clearly shaking. Patton draped himself across his neck and gave a quizzical look at the horse. Logan contemplated this offer for a minute or two before resigning and grabbing the knife out with his teeth. Roman fell to the floor and dusted himself off with an indignant huff.

The town was beyond Virgil's expectations, everything was so bright and happy, much better than what he was used to. But he couldnt seem to focus due to the pain in his skull.

"Virgil, I think we need to do something about all this hair," Roman said from behind him. He turned to see Roman holding up a long coil of the purple locks, and stifled a snicker. They spotted a group of girls playing jump rope on the streets, and Roman called them over. The braid worked surprisingly well, well enough in fact that he and Roman were able to dance and race through the streets without a single issue.

The issue would later come on the boat ride they'd expected to be romantic for their reunion. It was cut short by Roman's excusing himself to a seemingly deserted island, which Virgil followed him to. Only to bed left at the mercy of two men he didnt recognize, who told him what he had hoped were lies about Roman's character, until they had personally dragged him to the shoreline to watch Roman sailing away into the distance. Virgil's insides writhed. He felt like he'd just been gutted like a fish.

"And you know what he promised us?" said the first of the two men.

"A man with magic hair, who'd keep us alive and healthy as long as we want," said the second. Virgil felt a cloth cover his mouth, he ran, he ran as fast as he could until his hair got caught in a tree and his legs gave out. Then he panicked and cried, he heard a distant thud and felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"Father. . ." was all he could mutter. His father gathered him up in his arms, he felt even smaller than usual, like he was a child again.

He woke up seemingly hours later, back in the castle, the braid in his hair completely gone, the flowers from it burning in the fireplace. Virgil glared at the flag Roman had gotten him. It was a flag of lies, from a kingdom of lies. Or so he thought, upon closer inspection of the stars and wings on the flag, he began to notice something. He stared up at the ceiling, squinting at it, pondering it. Until stars began to swim in his vision, and the sound of birds wings filled his ears. He gasped and rushed out of his room.

"What's wrong Anxiety? Are you alright?" said his father, with that fake expression of kindness on his face.

"I'm the lost prince" Virgil muttered. He flinched as his father let a plate slam into the table.

"The mumbling, Virgil, what did I tell you about *mumbling?" he growled.

"I'm the lost prince- those murals, the flag, the stories- that's all me- you're not my real father," Virgil said again, louder. His father glared at him.

"Virgil, this is nonsense!" he said, advancing toward him. Virgil backed up, but he didnt have much room to flee. Soon enough his father caught up with him, and his vision went entirely black.

He awoke to the sound of a groan, and his eyes opened to a dark tower and Roman falling to the floor in front of him, his chest oozed with blood.

"ROMAN!" he tried to scream, but it was muffled. He shook the gag off his mouth and looked around for his father. He felt himself being dragged toward the trap door his father had told him was to remain locked, and he tried to fight against it. "Let me heal him!" he yelled.

"Nonsense! You dont need to heal a theif! he means nothing!" said his father.

"If you let me- I'll go with you, no arguments, no fights, no nothing," he said. Roman tried to shout in protest, but he sputtered with blood.

"Very well, you can heal him. But he cant follow us." said his father, walking over to Roman again. He tied his arms around a nearby post and allowed Virgil to crawl closer to him.

"Virgil. . . please don't. . ." said Roman, his voice was barely above a whisper. Virgil didnt listen, he brought his hair over to Roman's wounds. Roman cupped his face in his hands, and just as he had begun to sing. . . his hair was made lighter. He gasped in shock, the hair on the floor and on Roman's body rapidly began to turn black. Virgil's father swore and began rapidly gathering up the hair, looking for some sign of the vibrant purple it once was. His features had rapidly shifted from young to old in what seemed like milliseconds. Patton grabbed onto some lose hair by the window, and Virgil's father disappeared over the edge. Virgil began panicking, he latched himself onto Roman and tried desperately to get the incantation to work. He buried his head into Roman' chest and began screaming it until his voice went hoarse. But it was no use, he felt Roman's chest cease its heaving, and he began to sob. Patton buried himself under Virgil's arm.

Suddenly, the room began to glow with purple light, Virgil looked up to see where the source of the light was coming from, and noticed odd flower-shaped images emitting from Roman's chest. He gasped and retreated. He watched as Roman stirred, and slowly began to wake up.

"R-Roman?. . ." he said, crawling back over to the man. Roman smiled and took Virgil under his arm.

"You didnt think I'd let you face that old hag alone did you moonbeam?" he laughed. Roman stood and picked Virgil up off his feet. It seemed like he wasnt even bothered by the previous events. Patton clawed his way up to Virgil's shoulders, and the three descended back down the tower. Logan was awaiting them outside, he seemed worried.

After hours of travel back to the kingdom, the endpoint seemed to cause Virgil's stomach to turn, he was finally going to meet his parents.

"Just breath, Virgil, it'll all be ok," Roman said. The two stared out over the kingdom from the palace balcony.

Virgil heard footsteps, and then felt the embrace of someone he didnt recognize.

"I missed you so much. . . I'm sorry I ever let you out of my sight. . ." said the man hugging him. He had round glasses, and his light brown hair was streaked in cotton candy pink. Virgil looked to the man behind him, a man with black sunglasses, and dark brown hair that covered nearly all of his face. These were his parents, these were the real people who should have raised him, and he didnt even know their names.

"Its me, it's your dad, Emile, I wish you could remember me, I'm so sorry you cant. . ." said the pink-haired man.

"Em, it's not your fault," said the other man, walking over to join in the hug. He looked over at Roman and beckoned him into the hug.

Virgil felt as though nothing in the world could change this moment, and he was glad to find that it was true, he never wanted to deal with any of that again. He was safe, and happy, and he would stay that way from that point on.

#tw blood #tw angst #tw abuse #tw violence #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remy sleep #remy sanders #emile picani #tangled au #cori answers

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comicsnas · 4 years

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showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I’m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.

#posted ooc #action post #woof #eye gore text -#graphic violence -#eye trauma -#the rest of this will happen in discord :')#mentioned:#fontjoke #comedianrhapsody #mindparkour #jakepalooka sort of

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jamesgideonbane · 3 years

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Hey, this is a little thing I wrote. It’s called Who Gave You Permission?

Who Gave You Permission?

By James Bane

Logan was used to calls like these. His long-distance boyfriend was in an abusive household where every night could be his last. But Virgil took every beating they had to offer. And then his little brothers' too.

Logan picked up the phone, and hoped to God above it wouldn't be Remus or Janus.

"Hello?" He said, voice shaking. Please let it be him. Please. Please.

"Hey, Lo," Virgil's rough voice answered.

"How bad are you?" Logan prayed he would get an answer.

"Purple."

Logan sighed in relief. They had set up a color system after it came to light that Virge was suicidal. Blue for good, purple for feeling a little down, red for medium, green for bad, and black for the end.

"How can I help?" He asked, his heart lifting a little as he thought of the smile that Virgil would give at the question.

"Just talk to me for a bit." Logan heard a small voice at the other end. "Jan, it's Lo-Lo, you take Remus and get into bed, I'll just be a moment." There was a slight pause before Virgil spoke again. "Yes, I'll ask him if he'll read to you two, but only if you go brush your teeth." Logan gave a small laugh as Virge came back to him.

"Hi," Lo whispered.

"Hi," the other whispered back. "Sorry for that."

"You don't have to apologize for getting distracted. What time is it there?"

"Nine o'clock," Virgil let out a yawn. "Why am I tired?"

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday," Logan sang, not able to help himself.

"Don't you Billy Joel me," Virgil laughed. "How was your day, Star?"

"Stupid college professor didn't like my essay because it 'lacked emotion,' okay, whatever. That doesn't mean you can dock points."

"Which class? Was it the stupid chemistry one?" Virge asked. “Because he can jump off a cliff. Your essay was amazing, I just know it."

"Yeah. After that I met Patton and Roman for lunch and they drug me to a strip mall," Logan frowned, remembering how much of a headache it was to keep Pat away from the animal store. “You will love them.”

"I'm sure I will. Did you get anything?" Virgil prompted.

"I got a few more ties. Oh, and I bought you a jacket!"

"Mm, what does it look like?" Logan heard a clatter on the other end. "Stupid books," Virgil muttered.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ru left some books out and they fell on my foot. I'm going to set you on the table while I put them away, okay?" Virge answered.

"Okay," Logan waited quietly while his boyfriend cleaned up.

"Alright, I'm back," Virgil said after a few minutes. "Sorry for taking so long."

"Don't apologize. It's fine," L replied.

"Oh, sorry."

"Virgil…" Logan warned. "What did I just say?"

"Not to apologize," Virge answered sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Virgil!" Logan exclaimed, laughing. "You just did it again!"

"Telling me not to apologize just makes me want to do it more!" V blurted. "I'm sorry, okay. Just accept it so we can move on!"

"This is me changing the subject!" Lo responded. He heard Virgil laugh on the other end. "How much longer until school ends?"

"Four months. Then I can come home to you," Logan could hear the smile in Virge's voice through the phone. "I've already been accepted to your college."

"That's only if you make it out," Logan whispered, hating to put a damper on their conversation.

"I promised I'd come home to you, didn't I?" Virgil said softly. "I'm not going to break that promise."

"You never promised that, though," L tried hard to keep his voice from trembling. He wanted that so bad.

"I didn't?" V sounded confused. "I guess that must have been something I said to myself to keep going."

That was all it took to break Logan. He sobbed hard, trying to control himself, but failing miserably.

"Logan?" Virgil asked, sounding worried. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Who gave you permission to do that?” Lo choked through his sobs. “Who gave you the permission?”

“I don’t understand, the permission for what?” Virgil sounded so concerned. “Logan, are you alright?”

“Who gave you the permission to make me feel things?” Logan hastily wiped at his face, trying and failing to keep a level head.

“You aren’t a robot, Lo,” Virgil said fiercely. “You’re allowed to feel things. I know you try hard not to, but it’s okay.”

“Why do you care so much?” L whispered, tears slowing down. “You care for me more than anyone ever has.”

“Star…” Virgil let his voice fade before starting again. “Starling, you mean so much to me. I care because no one else has. Because you deserve to be cared about.”

“I love you,” Lo declared. “So much.”

“I love you too,” Virgil responded. “And I will come home to you. I promise.”

“I’ll be here waiting,” Logan took a shaky breath, calming his flittering heart. “I’ll count the days.”

“I bet you will.” L heard Virge’s smile through the phone. “So, are you okay to read to the little ones?”

“Yeah,” Lo looked around his room for a book. “What do you want?”

“I’ll bring you to them and let them decide, okay? I bet Donte’s Inferno is too mature for them.”

Logan laughed, “Yeah, we don’t want to give the little arsonist any ideas either. Bring me in!”

“Giveth me a memento!” Logan heard the door open as Virgil entered the room. “Alright, you’re on speaker.”

“Salutations, my tiny humans!” Lo exclaimed.

“Hi, Lo-Lo!” The twins replied.

“What books shall we read tonight?”

“The Giraffe That Can’t Dance!” Janus said.

“Jan, stop bouncing.” Virgil scolded. “Ree, what do you want?”

“No David!”

Logan walked over to his bed and pulled out the box that housed his children's books.

“V, do you want to choose which one we read first?” L asked. “And do you have those two on your end?”

“Why don’t we read the giraffe one, since it was called out first and last time we read Remus’s first. And, yes, I have both.” Lo heard the phone be set on the bed and Virge went to receive the books. A few moments later, he was picked up again. “Okay, books have been achieved. You start.”

“Gerald was a tall giraffe whose neck was tall and slim, but his knees were awfully bandy and his legs were rather thin….” As Logan read, a peace fell over him. Virgil was safe. They would be together soon. Things would turn out okay. It would all be okay.

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thermodianne-blog · 5 years

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I seriously think love is a fictional word. I mean , I never felt it before. I doesn't know what love is. I had heard many stories . About love , about romance. But none of them made me believe that love did do exists. I never got the chance to know my parents. Or even any of my relatives . I opened my eyes seeing lots of children . I grew up in an orphanage. So frankly speaking, how could I believe in love when in fact even my parents doesn't love me , if they do then why did they leave me? I think of the children I am with as my siblings but It seems like I'm just the one thinking like that . They all hate me. Why? I'm different. I can read their mind . Stupid ey? Funny ? Crazy? Well yes maybe. I even think that I'm really crazy. They explained me that this talent or so whatever called , is a psychic ability. Reading people's mind is weird. It makes them hate me.

Iam 12 years old when someone got the guts to adopt me . But they don't really love me . In fact, they adopt me to be their slave . Taking advantage of my ability , they made me do bad things. They made me use it to blackmail people. Since I can read their mind, we know everything they do and that makes them scared.

I entered my 3rd year highschool in some well known university . I don't talk. I don't smile . I just need to act as if I never existed so they won't hate me or be scared of me. But I can't control my power . Whenever they think bad things bout me , I just can't help but to answer back. And that was the time when they knew I had this weird ability. Everyone is scared. They all hate me. They called me monster. I didn't care at all. After all , I am indeed a monster having this psychic ability. Im first in whole 3rd year but I never been proud of it . Why? Since I don't even study , whenever there's a quiz or exam or activities , I can read their mind . It's not cheating, coz it's not my fault reading their mind. I don't even have time to think.

One day, there is this transfer student who is known as a nerd. He's handsome , I admit . He is my seatmate. Everyone started thinking that he is the unluckiest man , having to seat beside me. But really, that person never smiles. He never laughs. He doesn't think of anything. I can't read his mind. During quizzes or exams , he doesn't think at all . It's not that because he's dumb. , As a matter of fact , he is our first now. I'm quiet shocked knowing he can be the first or the top one without doing some weird powers like me . Genius ey. I idolize you for that .

December 2, Jessy (the name of the woman who adopted me.) introduced me to this company who's actually owned by the father of my seatmate,Adrian . Jessy wants me to marry Adrian. Adrian's father want the same thing . For what reason, well i dont know. But Seriously, Adrian's dad is the very first good person that I Met.

Adrian didn't said no from our arranged married. I can't say he's happy , but he's not also sad. Hes so neutral. We had our date. But we never talked. He always read a book. So basically, I can also read them . I can read his mind . The books are about either science or math. It's hard to understand.

One day , When we were eating in a restaurant . Suddenly there was a heavy rain . That day , neither me nor Adrian brought some umbrella . My phone's dead, and so his . He didn't bring his car. Meaning, we're really stuck. Our house are way too far . There's some hotel near the restaurant so we stayed their. Unfortunately, there is only one room left with one bedroom. Adrian, being an innocent man, said yes immediately. We don't care about it , since we are not interested with each other , so whats the big deal? It's not like we have plan to do something. We decided to sleep in one bed . Adrian actually told me he will sleep in the sofa , but I rejected that idea. I mean, it's not comfortable to sleep in the sofa , and it's his money we use. So I told him it's OK if we sleep in the same bed . After I took the shower. I already went to bed. But I can't sleep . It's my first time sleeping with some man. His mind was in peace. He doesn't think of anything.

I really can't sleep so I decided to ask questions from him.

Me: Adrian? Are you asleep?

Adrian: nah.

M: are you not scared of me?

A: why would I?

M: coz I'm weird. I can read your mind.

A: I don't think a lot so that wasn't a big deal

M: aren't you embarrassed whenever people tell you that you are marrying a monster?

A: do you eat humans?

M:what? Of course not. That doesn't make sense

A: exactly. So why are you a monster?

M: but they do think I am

A: but you're not

M: do you believe in love?

A: yeah. It's real. According to science

M: have you ever fell in love?

The moment I said that , he turned facing me.

A: there is only one girl

M: one girl?

A: I only felt it in only one girl.

M: mind telling me who?

A: I don't know if what I felt is love . But the book says so.

M: you read books about love?

A:at home

M: then who's the girl?

A: who do you think?

M: I ain't got any clue

A: it was you.

I was shocked . I don't think he is lying. But I don't also think he's telling the truth . I mean? Why me?

M:huh? Why.?

A: do we need a reason to love someone?

M: then, how?

A: we met before.

M: what? I don't remember anything

A: because your life is miserable . So you ain't got the chance to remember good memories , I think.

M:when?

A: when we were both kids. We played before. You told me all what happened . I also told you about my lonely life before. You know, I had a big crush on you since then.

M: so? When did You fall in love ?

A: when I transferred. I knew it was you. Then I felt it. Again. Again and again. I keep thinking of you. Isn't that love?

M: aren't you embarrassed telling me that?

A: you asked for it

M: and? Why not talk to me when we go out.?

A: you like being on yourself. You hate talking with others. I respect that.

M: do you really think that is love?

A: if I don't love you ., Do you think I'll go out with you? I'M actually an introvert. Why the hell would I waste my time going out with someone who doesn't even dare talking with me?

M: but...

A: you don't love me? I know. But you can eventually learn to love me. Just take your time.

M: do you.....

A: let's sleep.

Then he turned his back again . I don't know why but that night I slept with a smile on my face.

..... Part 2?

P.S i didnt edit this so any typos or bad grammar or whatever is there, im sorry

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