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soulmate-game · 4 years

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Continuation of the story from Day 1, because you guys requested it enough that I started Thinking, lol.

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 3: Siblings

—*—*—*—*—*

Dinner. One day after meeting her father for the first time. She had managed to postpone any sort of… socialization and emotional bonding, during their meeting earlier for everyone to choose from Marinette’s initial sketches for them and generally consult some more, by once again steamrolling everyone with Professionalism and Business Marinette.

But no longer. She couldn’t escape. Staring at a giant wooden, elaborate door like it was her pathway to Prison—

“Stop dramatizing everything in your head, Mari,” Adrien fondly scolded, gently rapping the side of her skull with one knuckle. “I got things to do, for your company I might add, so I can’t stay. But, you’ll be fine,” he leaned in, smirking at her and winking as he lowered his voice. “Besides, you’ve been through way worse than a little family reunion, Bugaboo. You’ve faced down way scarier people than the Waynes. You got this,” he encouraged before giving her a solid clap on the shoulder and a chaste kiss on the cheek, walking back towards their sleek but understated dark red car. Rented, of course, for the business trip, but nonetheless very nice.

Adrien had driver’s licenses for just about every major country. Marinette stopped questioning it a while ago.

She waited until he was gone before throwing her hands up. “Scarier people, he says. Like the Bat clan isn’t known for being some of the most intimidating heroes and vigilantes in the spotlight,” she grumbled. When she turned around, it was to the door already being open, and she jumped a bit in surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone answer the door, but sure enough Alfred Pennyworth stood there holding the door with a small smile, with Bruce Wayne and all of Marinette’s siblings gathered behind him. At least this time, nobody had their spouses or children. Every one of them was smirking, some more sharply than others (Damian).

“Would you like to come in, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Alfred asked, waving his hand to gesture to the fact that there was plenty of room for her to enter. Blushing, she did just that, taking a breath and forcing herself to actually look at the family she had just met instead of down at her glossy navy blue pumps. Jason, the man with the white fringe in his hair. Second Robin, current Red Hood, her mind supplied, spoke up with a grin and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You don’t look so suave anymore, little Queenie,” he teased. Marinette instantly made a face, screwing up her nose.

“No. That nickname is vetoed. One of my friend’s nicknames is Queenie, and not only will she never let me live it down if she finds out someone called me that, but, just no,” Marinette dramatically shivered. “Most of my friends call me Princess nowadays anyway,” she shrugged. “Adrien started it, and it somehow caught on. It’s too much work to protest at this point.”

“You’re not good with crowds,” the soft spoken woman, Cassandra, decided to add. Marinette winced, shifting on her feet even as she followed the group to the dining room.

“Ehhh. I’ve gotten used to dealing with press and stuff, to a certain degree anyway considering my alias. And wearing my Business persona always helps in consultations. But, I’m not…” Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, clearly a little uncomfortable as she looked around. “The best at… actually talking to people outside of my small group of friends.”

Bruce sighed as most of his kids chuckled or snorted at that. Dick, the oldest but second-shortest of the men besides Tim, came over and draped an arm familiarly over Marinette’s shoulders. He still towered over her though, so he had to slouch a bit to do so.

“Ah, that would be the genetics. Let’s hope you stay where you are at instead of getting as bad at communication as B,” he told her cheerfully. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What about Damian?”

“He’s even worse!”

“Tt,” said teenager tutted, rolling his eyes as they entered the dining room and he was able to come up to Marinette’s other side. “That was mostly how I was raised before I met Father. I have gotten a lot better than I used to be, Grayson.”

Dick gave him a smile, graciously relieving Marinette of the close contact in favor of rustling Damian’s hair despite the fact that the younger Wayne was taller than him already. “Yes, you sure have! But you still need improvement, baby bird.”

Soon enough, everyone managed to get seated around the large dining table. Bruce insisted that Marinette take one of the seats next to him at the head of the table, across from Damian, since this was her first family dinner. Dick sat next to her, Jason across from him, followed by Tim and Duke on Damian’s side of the table. On the other side of Dick sat Cassandra, and then Stephanie. Alfred served everyone before also taking a seat at the table, on the opposite end from Bruce.

And, true to BatFam tradition, everything was a little awkward for the first minute or two. Marinette didn’t know what to say, and nobody quite knew where to begin. Dick would normally start a conversation, but he was trying to glare into Bruce’s head a silent message of “talk to her, damn it.”

Finally seeming to get it, Bruce cleared his throat and turned to Marinette. “So, I wanted to ask. When do you find out about being my daughter?”

Several people around the table closed their eyes in mourning for Bruce’s social skills. Marinette though, just smiled in slight relief at the decision of how to start talking being taken from her.

“Oh. It was in stages, really. When I was ten, we started our unit in school on genetics. I don’t usually care enough about science to do much more than the school requires, but genetics captivated me for some reason. I researched it almost obsessively at home for a while, almost instantly realizing that there had to be a reason that I had blue eyes when none of the rest of my family did. After a week or two, I found my Maman and Papan’s adoption papers in their room,” she blushed, tugging on one end of her bangs, which she had framing her face since she was wearing her hair down that day. “I uh… I’ve always been a little nosy. I never told them that I found the papers, to me it was just the answer I needed. I didn’t think about it at all after that, and my obsession over genetics went away. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I decided to look into my birth parents,” Marinette sighed, shoving a bite of food in her mouth to buy her time before continuing. Everyone was focused on her, and it was a little unsettling. Every one of them had a sharper gaze than a normal person, and it made her feel like she was made of glass and everyone else could see right through her. “I was going through a lot, back then. I wanted someone to be mad at, I wanted to be able to blame my DNA for the things that had happened.”

“Things?” Bruce interrupted, back straight and eyebrows drawn down. “What things?” Marinette giggled, tilting her head instead of answering and just letting her eyes study him. Bruce Wayne, Batman, the Dark Knight. Original vigilante of Gotham city, one of the founding members of the Justice League. Famous for his secrecy, intimidating presence, and intelligence. Then she switched her gaze, one by one, to everyone else at the table before leaning back and taking a sip of her soda.

“Do you guys know anything about the situation Paris experienced for four years?” She asked, instead of directly answering. It was Tim who frowned, leaning forward to look at her and reply.

“I heard very vague rumors of weird things, but nothing concrete enough to investigate. What happened?”

Marinette hummed, deciding to sum it up for them. “The short version? When I was thirteen, a classmate of mine spontaneously turned into a giant rock monster and destroyed a good portion of the city. Turns out, that was the first of many attacks by our city’s very own supervillain, Hawkmoth. He had a magical artifact that allowed him to take advantage of anyone’s negative emotions to give them powers and brainwash them into being, essentially, temporary villains that he used for his own means. Two heroes showed up out of nowhere, powered by similar magical artifacts, to combat him and free the people he corrupted. Ladybug and Chat Noir, the original Parisian heroes and the leaders of the team that later had to form.”

Jason frowned, along with everyone else at the table. Finally, it was Duke who asked:

“How did we not know about villains in Paris?” To which Marinette just gave him a dangerously wicked smirk that was far too similar to Damian’s for anyone’s comfort.

“Because I do my job,” she told him flatly, sipping from her cup as everyone stared at her in various amounts of shock. “That’s why finding out that my biological father was Batman made so much sense. That’s why I wanted to find out who my birth parents were. I wanted to blame the heroism on genetics. And, it doesn’t look like I was exactly wrong.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Yeah, that was how her first family dinner and subsequent identity reveal went.

Luckily, considering that Bruce had hired MDC for a pretty long job, Marinette was able to finish school online instead of going back to Paris for it. There was no real need anyway, they had defeated Hawkmoth and gotten Adrien emancipated so for now it was calm in Paris. They didn’t need their heroes anymore, for the time being. This meant that Marinette and Adrien, along with a few employees that helped measure and cut fabric and do secretarial duties they needed help with, got to stay in Gotham while Marinette went back and forth to Wayne manor, Wayne Tower, and back to their temporary home.

After about a month, Marinette was comfortable enough with the Waynes that she found herself lounging in the bat cave as she sketched, though she kept raising her eyes to the glass tubes that held old uniforms. Damian was sat across from her, essentially laying out over two chairs while he played some game upside down on his phone. He might usually be a cold brat, even for a sixteen year old, but even he liked to abuse the way furniture should be used and ignore the world via technology.

But he still caught her constantly wandering gaze.

“You don’t like them.”

“They suck!” Marinette immediately agreed, slamming her sketchbook on the metal briefing table. “Your Robin outfit is the only passable one there is! The colors aren’t even the issue, even high fashion designers can appreciate a good color clash moment. But what was Father thinking?! Putting Grayson in that glorified onesie— why are there no pants?! Jason’s at least as a cape that can cocoon his body and prevent anyone from seeing the disaster beneath. I should thank Tim for at least upgrading the suit to having pants, but he still kept the outside-underwear look that I cannot forgive. The attempt at fashion, though, is appreciated. Disappointing, but appreciated.”

“That pretty much sums them all up,” Damian quipped, getting a snort of amusement out of his sister. Maybe that was one thing he had grown to like about her. She didn’t reprimand him for his sense of humor, and usually she even laughed along. The more morbid humor would get a playful shove and a glare, but no real animosity. And she understood him on a different level, too. One he appreciated even more.

“You said, yesterday, that the Cure brings back everyone who dies during a Miraculous-related incident,” Damian spoke up again after a moment, pointedly not looking at her. “Did you ever count?”

Marinette, this being one of the reasons he was quickly growing fond of her, immediately understood. She sighed, closing her notebook. She might have only been two years his elder, but she had had what felt like a lifetime of more experiences than he did, usually in the friendship and social department though. They were roughly equal in their heroism experience, which was weird to think about, but Damian still valued her input. It was different from the rest of the family.

“It was different in Paris than it would be for anyone else. I didn’t keep track of the number of people who died,” she finally answered, taking her hair out of its work bun and running her hands through the midnight black locks. “But I kept track of how often. Since nobody remembered their deaths, I guess I felt it was my responsibility to remember my failures for them. My former best friend, Alya. Over the course of those four years, she died seventeen times. Her boyfriend, Nino, died fourteen. The Mayor died three times. Chloe, my current friend and former bully, died twenty-two times,” she grimaced at Damian’s shocked expression, nodding grimly. “During those first two, maybe two and a half years, she was one of the primary Akuma targets. She was still either an active bully or in the beginning of trying to change for the better, so she caused a lot of negative emotions everywhere she went. Things got better once she matured a bit, though. Anyway, there’s this girl I used to babysit. Manon. She died five times before she was even ten years old,” Marinette shook her head, that look of age and exhaustion that Damian saw in every Wayne and every hero he had ever fought with seeping into her eyes. “My parents, they died thirty-seven times. They were constantly worried about me, and ran into danger on several occasions trying to find and keep me safe. But I could never tell them who I was. I physically could. I had the power to sit them down and say; Hey, I’m Ladybug. Stop running out and getting yourselves killed. But I never did. I valued my identity first. So I usually ended up seeing, in the middle of a fight, one or both of them squished under falling debris. Or drowned. Frozen solid. Burned alive,” she paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “So no. I don’t understand what it was like for you, to count bodies as you felled them. But hell, if it doesn’t feel like I should. Logic doesn’t mean much in the face of emotion, especially guilt. I know I didn’t kill the people I care about, but every single one of their deaths weighs on me like I was the one that caused it.”

Damian nodded, and they shared a few moments of peaceful, contemplative silence as they both ruminated on their less than pleasant memories without fear of being yelled at for what those memories contained.

“But, I do have a secret,” she admitted softly, attracting her brother’s emerald-eyed attention again. The normally cheerful woman was much more subdued even than before, sapphire irises self conscious and vulnerable, which was rare. She licked her lips, even more rare considering her love of her light pink lipstick, and moved off her chair so that she was, instead, sitting on the cold stone floor. Without hesitation, Damian joined her.

“Technically, it didn’t happen. It was a timeline that my friend, the one who I gave the snake Miraculous, essentially erased when he reversed time. But I remember it even though I shouldn’t. How could I forget?”

“You took a life,” Damian whispered, grimacing in empathy. “First time?”

“And the second, and the fifth,” she admitted. “Viperion had to try seven times before I stopped repeating it. But it was always the same person, back during our final battle. I killed Gabriel Agreste seven times. But nobody but me and Luca will ever remember.”

Damian and Marinette both knew it wasn’t the same as Damian’s childhood. They both knew that they would likely never fully understand one another’s trauma. Not the nuances of it. But they did understand the important parts, the broad strokes. Despite their vastly different lives, they understood the big parts that shaped one another.

That was why Damian took to her so quickly. If he had been younger and still bratty, naive, and angry at everything, then it would be a different story entirely. But he was matured, more willing to let himself feel sympathy. And that made the difference.

“You never forget the first person,” he remarked.

“No matter the age or timeline,” she agreed. “I saw how hard it was to stop. How sickeningly addictive it can be, but I hate what it makes me more than I like how it feels.”

“... me too,” Damian whispered. “Me too.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Wooo!” Marinette cheered as she flew through the air, her hands latching onto Dick’s. There was no audience, but there didn’t need to be. Just the two of them, doing a routine that they’ve been working on during the few chances they had for the past several weeks. Marinette had never done trapeze before Dick helped her learn, but her time swinging through Paris streets helped tremendously alongside her general Gymnastics experience.

Marinette and Dick flipped through the air, swinging from bar to bar, Dick occasionally catching and tossing her again. They soared through the air, both curling through two flips before landing on their respective platforms with matching wide smiles. Marinette, chest heaving a bit since she was slightly out of shape (meaning that she wasn’t at all out of shape, only out of practice when it came to swinging through the air for any length of time. There’s a difference). She met Dick on the floor, who proceeded to ruffle her hair happily.

“That was awesome! Looks like you finally got the routine down,” he praised. She laughed, elbowing him.

“I bet I’m better on the balance beam,” she challenged, making Dick grin widely.

“Oh you are on!”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Ya ever died before?” Jason asked, making Marinette chuckle.

“Two-hundred and eighty-seven times.”

“You started as Ladybug at thirteen, right?”

“Yup. No training or mentor for the first year either.”

“Yeah, then that sounds about right. Wanna go break all the traffic laws?”

“Only if we take your bike.”

“Fuckin’ Duh. What else?”

—*—*—*—*—*

“You stalked Adrien?” Tim asked, smirking that insufferable smirk of his. Marinette groaned, flopping back onto the sofa.

“No! I didn’t mean it that way, anyway. I just took a lot of pictures and spied on him.”

“Yup. You’re Bruce’s kid,” he remarked, tapping away at his laptop. Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“You have noooo place to judge, Mister ‘Dick Grayson is the only person alive who can do four somersaults in the air!’ And ‘Yes, I‘ve known that you are batman since I was eight. Look at all these pictures I took when I— what was your terminology again?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but a grin was peeking through. “Yeah, yeah.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Four months later, and Marinette was staring down at all the garment bags she had painstakingly filled. Outfits for every single one of her new family members. It took a while, but they were ready for the Wayne Gala. Adrien slung am arm over her shoulder.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Princess,” he praised, grinning at the array of coveted outfits they were about to transport. “But one teensy weeny, tiny little thing.”

“What is it, Chaton?”

Adrien grinned. “Do you have a dress for yourself? Bruce invited you, too, didn’t he?”

Marinette’s face drained of color, right as a knock sounded on the door. Adrien, seeing as Marinette was so far into Panic Mode that she could not be reached at the moment, went to open the door. A second later, plastic was all Marinette could see. Blinking, she raised her head.

It was Cass, holding out a pink garment bag with Marinette’s name on it.

“Thought you would forget,” was all the other woman offered as explanation. Marinette, after gaping for a moment, slowly took the bag from her. Cass smirked. “Present from WE.”

Marinette laughed.

“You guys are the best.”

—*—*—*—*—*

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl

#mlb x dc #ml x dc #maribat #b!dbwm2020 #bio dad bruce wayne #Day Three #platonic Brucinette #Platonic Daminette

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kylopen · 4 years

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Dating an ‘edgy’ girl

(House neutral)

Warnings: I have a tendency to swear

Read the Marauders era version here

Includes: Draco, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Fred, George and Neville.

I can’t add a “read more” thing for some reason I’ve tried many times so idk sorry

Draco:

* You both meet when he bumps into you in hogsmeade.

* He fully hits you with that “who the fuck do you think you a—“

* Then he slowly looks up to find a girl, drenched in black clothes.

* “You what?”

* Suddenly, he’s lowkey a bit intimidated.

* He tries not to let that show.

* “You... you heard me”

* “And who even are you?”

* He was shocked and embarrassed that someone like you didn’t know who he was.

* (You definitely knew who he was)

* After that first meeting he was beyond intrigued.

* He began to try the most stupid things to get your attention.

* This would include throwing things in your direction.

* Until one day, he hits you with a small pocket book, to which you replied with a swift punch to the stomach.

* Okay but why did that turn him on

* He would take on a nicer approach after that, sending you notes in the shape of things he knew you loved, like your favourite bird or flower.

* You were sure he was just messing with you.

* “What do you even want Malfoy?”

* He plucks up enough courage to finally say it

* “You”

* He loves your confidence and how unafraid you are to be yourself.

* You hit him with the “I’ll think about it” which leaves him stunned.

* Of course you actually wanted him too, you just wouldn’t give him what he wanted so easily.

* That’s pretty much how your whole relationship went

* You would try your hardest not to give Draco what he wanted so easily because honestly his little whines and groans when he doesn’t get what he wants are so cute.

* Some people expected your relationship, others didn’t.

* Lucius straight out doesn’t like you. Narcissa on the other hand, often likes to take you shopping or to tea, she loves how happy you make her son.

* Not to mention your similar taste in style.

Harry:

* “I made a friend today” Luna would tell harry.

* “That’s very nice Luna” Harry chalked it up to an imaginary person

* But then you joined them. A very real girl.

* A very beautiful girl.

* He automatically expected you to be rude, based on how you were dressed but as soon as you started conversing with Luna...

* Heart eyes.

* You spoke so kindly and you were so sweet.

* You ask for his name, despite knowing it already because he was probably sick of hearing “you’re Harry Potter!”

* And he knew it.

* That just made his little heart melt.

* You would be whining about potions being difficult when he whips out the:

* “I’m pretty good at potions... I can tutor you if you like”

* Hermione would roll her eyes knowing that he was only good because of the “half blood prince’s” book.

* You spend quite a few evenings in the gryffindor common room studying.

* You finally pass a potions exam, giving Harry a sweet kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a dark lipstick print.

* He honestly loved the mark you left.

* It was something he adored more when you finally start dating.

* Black/Purple/red lipstick stains everywhere.

* People really didn’t expect the chosen one to choose someone so... dark and edgy...

* People would try to convince Harry that maybe you weren’t the one for him.

* He’d get super mad at those comments.

* Fred and George would make constant sex jokes about the two of you.

* “Been tied up lately Harry?”

* “Rough night?”

* He’d look at you pleadingly but you’d just lean back with a big old smirk on your face.

* It was quite amusing to watch him get flustered over the thought of any of that stuff happening

* Remus was the one to tell you that Lily would have absolutely loved you.

* That meant the world to you and Harry.

Ron:

* You meet Ron when he is running down the hallway and smacks straight into you.

* You go into full rage and the poor boy just stands there.

* His lip quivers in fear and your face softens.

* “Sorry I’m just having a shit day and you spilt my sweets” you pout, pointing to the sweets scattered around the concrete floor.

* “I- I’m really sorry...”

* He gets a proper look at you

* And boy does he love what he sees.

* Like, you look so fucking awesome to him.

* “Maybe... I mean... if you want... I have a stash... back at my dorm... if you maybe wanted to come eat”

* He would be delighted to find out there’s a childish side under all those black clothes.

* He asks you out suddenly when you meet him looking good as fuck.

* Not that you normally didn’t look good but you had obviously put more effort into your daily look and he couldn’t help himself.

* When you started dating people were beyond shocked.

* Molly was fairly apprehensive when she first saw you walking with her son

* But then she saw the two of you interact with each other and realised it was perfect.

Hermione:

* you meet in the library.

* Some Slytherins knocked over her pile of books on purpose and you come to her aid.

* She doesn’t look up, too embarrassed to face whoever was helping her.

* When she finally faces her saviour her heart: thump thump thump.

* She’s instantly captivated.

* You notice her flustered movements and red tinted cheeks.

* UwU

* “Would you like something done about them? I have a few pranks up my sleeve” you ask

* “T-They’re not worth it anyways it’s fine”

* She takes the moment to scan you fully, the healed boots, the choker.

* Wow

* She stands abruptly, muttering a thank you before scurrying off.

* Not without a flirtatious comment from you “if you’re really thankful Granger, maybe you can eat lunch with me some time” you’d wink and she’d walk away faster.

* Naturally, Hermione was too nervous to even attempt to get you to eat with her

* So you took matters into your own hands, strolling over casually, sitting yourself down next to her.

* “Hey Granger” you’d smile and rest your head on your hand, admiring her flustered face.

* The others would look at the two of you questionably, unsure as to what’s going on.

* She would love hate how you managed to make her so flustered so easily.

* Your personalities blended so well, you would make sure Hermione doesn’t overwork herself and she would make sure you don’t take too much time off.

* When you both finally start dating Hermione would constantly be staring at you.

* Like I mean to the point you distract her from working.

* “Like what you see Granger?”

* “Oh shut up”

* “Make me”

* Her parents absolutely adore you, being muggle born you fit in very easily with her and her family.

Luna:

* you noticed Neville ask Ginny to the Yule Ball at dinner.

* you focus your attention the cute blonde beside them.

* And then you hear some of the other third year girls making comments and joking about Luna being too weird to be asked to go to the ball.

* Third years were only allowed to go if asked by an upperclassman.

* So you slid into the seat next to her.

* The girls quiet down for a moment and you take your chance to ask her.

* “Wanna be my date to the ball?”

* The other girls make comments on your dark outfit choices.

* “I would love to accompany you... but you don’t have to ask me just because Ginny is going”

* You notice the girls snicker and mention something about you both looking odd and “made for each other”

* Luna would hold your hand to stop you doing anything.

* Because honestly, she loved how different you both were. It just meant you could both be yourselves around each other.

* She wore a beautiful dress. It spilled to the floor around her feet, a gorgeous blue and around her neck, a peacock collar, feathers and all.

* Her hair was swept up into a bun, loose curls falling down around her neck and face

* Time stopped for the both of you.

* Your black dress with the long lace sleeves.

* You both couldn’t look more different yet so made for each other as you walk arm in arm into the hall.

* Xenophilius would be beyond happy when Luna would describe you too him.

* Seeing his daughters face light up was more than enough.

Fred:

* You meet Fred when he loses control of his broom during quidditch practice.

* He flew directly into you, falling on your body.

* “Fuuuuuck” you groan in pain, eyes screwed shut.

* Fred doesn’t even get off you because he’s just awestruck.

* Like how can someone look so edgy yet so cute at the same time?

* He finally snaps out of it and helps you up.

* You vomit.

* He panics.

* And that’s how he ended up staying in the hospital wing with you until curfew.

* You talked about anything and everything.

* “So... the Yule ball is coming up—“ he would start.

* “I have a date”

* “O-Oh yeah sure no I mean—“

* “And he hit me with a broom the first time we met” you wiggle your eyebrows.

* He leans back, trying to be all confident and chill only for the chair to give way.

* “You’re such a dork”

* “Says you. Trying to look all intimidating but you’re a little jelly bean” he would say as he boops your nose.

* “My soul is black okay. I’m like a kidney bean not a jelly bean” you would huff and he would just swoon.

* You both began dating. No one really asked, it just kind of happened.

* The fact that you get along with George is so amazing to him, it was important you did.

* He would watch lovingly as you interact with his brother.

* “What’re you staring at?” You’d try to be intimidating all the time but Fred would just laugh and ruffle your hair.

George:

* the first time he ever meets you was during Umbridge’s reign of terror.

* Him and George are talking to a first year who was hurt by her.

* You come storming round the corner.

* For a second he thought you were going to hit him.

* And then you turn to the kid.

* “Are you okay Vince?! What did she do to you?!”

* The boys don’t know what to say.

* “Is this your brother?” They ask worriedly

* You explain that you were put in charge of the first years of your house

* Umbridge comes out with her “naughty children deserve to be punished.”

* Before George can even open his mouth you’re storming over to Umbridge, your black heeled boots making you tower over her.

* “I’ll show you a fucking punishment” and before you can do anything else George grabs you and pulls you away

* But Man, his heart was pounding.

* You were so caring yet so aggressive at the same time.

* And he loved it.

* “Close your mouth mate you’re catching flies” Fred would joke.

* You tell them you need to get the boy back to your common room and George basically screams that he’ll accompany you.

* Of course you let him.

* He tries to ask you out before you enter your dorms but he fails to build up the confidence.

* So you plant a small kiss on his cheek.

* Heart eyes as he walked back to his own dorms, hand on the cheek you kissed the whole time accompanied by a cheesy, content grin.

Neville:

* he meets you when you join Dumbledores Army.

* Shy boi

* He cannot speak when you start a conversation with him about his patronus.

* “That’s cute” you would comment.

* But when he does open his mouth:

* “Y-Youre cute. WAIT THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT”

* You laugh and because of your slightly intimidating appearance he automatically assumes you’re laughing at how stupid he is.

* But you’re actually laughing at how simply adorable he is

* You’re the one to start every conversation because he’s always too nervous to.

* That is, until Seamus slips some truth serum he stole from Snape into his juice at breakfast.

* “Sit back and watch the show”

* Hermione would automatically go nuts when she found out and try to get him out of the hall before you arrive.

* But she was too late.

* “Hi guys!”

* “Y/N, good morning youre looking beautiful as always”

* Your face heats the fuck up. You didn’t expect that to come out of Nevilles mouth.

* “So Neville, how do you feel about Y/N?” The boys would ask.

* And that’s when the truth comes loose.

* He’s still a shy boy in your relationship, but as you both become more comfortable, he begins to act on his own.

* Like, hugging you first, to holding your hand first and so on.

* Everyone is honestly so supportive of Cutie Neville and his edgy girlfriend even though it was unexpected.

* And Nevilles grandmother? She LOVES you. Which melts his heart.

#draco x reader #harry potter x reader #ron weasly x reader #hermione x reader #luna lovegood x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #neville longbottom x reader #harry potter #draco malfoy x reader

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

Request: Heey. I don't know if you're into MBTI but I really think ashton is an ENFJ and I know that I'm an ENFP and I would be incredibly happy if you could write something with that 💕

Word count: 2.8k

And away, and away we go!

I blew into my hands before rubbing them fiercely together as we walked along the crowded city sidewalk, my breath visible in the frigid air. I gave them a quick shake, flexing the numbness out of my fingers before shoving them in my jacket pockets and taking a few longer strides to keep up with my friends. Britt’s laugh was ringing off the buildings as she clung on to Luke’s arm, his own arm steady around her waist. A pace behind them was Michael and Crystal, their gloved pinkies interlocked as they walked. And bringing up the rear was Calum, and, of course, me. “So how long is this play?” Calum piped up loud enough for Britt to hear him.

“Uh… Y/N said it was like 2 hours I think? Plus the intermission. Why?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at the man.

“Just curious,” Calum grinned. When Britt turned back around, he glanced over at me and rolled his eyes. “Two fuckin’ hours? Seriously? Our one night off? In New fuckin’ York. And we’re spending it watching a play? Fuck…”

If he was looking for sympathy about basically being a fifth wheel on group date night, Calum had another thing coming. “It’s a musical, not a play, Cal,” I said, nudging his shoulder with mine.

“There’s a difference?”

“Yeah. Musicals have singing. That’s why they’re called musicals.”

Calum rolled his eyes again, letting out a small snort of laughter. “Genius, mate. MuSiCaLs HaVe SiNgInG,” he mocked.

I laughed with him. “Aw, c’mon Cal. It’s fuckin’ Broadway! Can’t go to New York, and not see a show.”

“Uh… yes we can. We do it all the time.”

“You fuckers gonna hurry up before or after I freeze to death?” Michael asked. Crystal was huddled into his side. Beside them, Britt and Luke were hugging each other with Britt’s arms looped through Luke’s jacket as he sheltered her from the cold.

I swallowed the pang of envy I felt at my friends’ relationships, and flashed a smile. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

“Wake me up at intermission,” Calum said, feigning a yawn and stretching his arms up over his head.

Luke punched him.

“Ow!” Calum winced, hitting Luke back. “The fuck was that for?”

Luke shot a glance over at Britt who had turned to get our tickets from will call, her shoulders slightly hunched. “Britt hasn’t seen Y/N in months, and she’s really excited about this. I guess it’s like a really big deal for her friend, plus she misses her. Don’t fuckin’ ruin this for me just cause you’d rather be at some club.”

“Plus, this musical is supposed to be really good,” Crystal put in.

“They made it a movie, yeah?” Michael asked.

“I think so,” I answered. “With… what’s her name…” I snapped my fingers and my mind fumbled for the name. “Anna Kendrick! That’s it. It’s a movie with Anna Kendrick in it.”

“That’s who Y/N’s playing!” Britt’s voice piped up as she started to hand us our tickets.

“She’s playing Anna Kendrick?” Calum asked stupidly.

“No, she’s playing Anna Kendrick’s character. Which happens to be the lead,” Britt explained, her pride in her old friend evident in how bright her voice was growing. “She’s so amazing, you guys are gonna love her. And the show!”

We all murmured in answer as we made our way inside the theater. Calum thumbed through the playbill ushers were handing out. “You said she’s the lead?” he asked.

“Yep!”

“Hmm… interesting,” he muttered under his breath, still looking at the page.

I thumbed through the little booklet myself, figuring out what was just so interesting about this to Calum. “There’s only 2 roles…” I murmured back.

“How great of an actress can Britt’s friend be to get a lead where it’s literally the only option?” Calum continued to whisper so only I heard him, still hopeful I’d take his side of being bitter about tonight’s activity, but I still wasn’t accepting his pity party invitation.

“Probably really fuckin’ good to get the only female role,” I whispered back with a grin.

The brown eyes rolled as he plopped down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sometimes you’re too optimistic for your own good, you know that? Happy about playing fifth wheel…”

“We’re the fifth and sixth wheel regardless of what we do, Cal,” I told him, taking the seat next to him.

“Yeah, but at least at a club, I can get me a seventh wheel, if you know what I mean.”

“We go to clubs all the time, Cal. One night isn’t gonna kill us. Plus we’re being supportive of Britt’s friend, isn’t that right, guys?”

“Right!” they all chorused, Luke shooting Calum another sharp look.

Calum raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Hey, Mike, wanna hit the concession stand with me?”

Michael rocketed up from his seat. “Snacks?”

~~~

Whatever bitterness had taken over Calum was diminishing by intermission and was completely erased by the end of the show. “Damn, Britt, ya girl’s got some pipes.”

“See?!” Britt gloated, sticking her tongue out at him. “I told ya she’s amazing!”

“Yeah, she is,” I marveled in what I thought was just in my head. But based on how all my friends’ heads swiveled towards me with raised eyebrows had me thinking I’d actually said it out loud. “What?”

“Ooooo! Does someone have a little crush?” Michael teased, making kissy faces for dramatic effect.

“Damn, Ash. I knew you were a romantic type but I didn’t realize you fell that quick,” Calum snickered.

“Aw! Look at how red his cheeks are!” Crystal pointed out.

“I-“ I stammered, every part of my face warm, even the tips of my ears. “I was just agreeing with Britt and Cal. Y/N is uh… very talented. You know with the acting and the singing… she really draws in her audience. It’s uh… yeah…” Call it a sixth sense, but I had a good feeling about the girl. And she was Britt’s friend, and Britt and I got along fine. Who’s to say I couldn’t get along with her friend? Her stunning friend with the captivating voice that I was sure would find its way into my dreams? Okay… so I was a bit of an impulsive romantic. But so what? What was the point of having a good instinct if I didn’t listen to it?

“Well, c’mon!” Britt encouraged hurrying out of our row of seats. “She told me something about a stage door. Oh, she’ll probably want to go get food. Are you guys okay with that? If we go find a diner or something?” Her eyebrows pulled together and her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she looked up at Luke with big hopeful eyes. I smiled as Luke nodded at her before turning to us with a similar expression. They were like golden retriever puppies, the two of them. The same childlike glee with a dash of shyness that sometimes came out of nowhere. That was the thing I had noticed about my friends and their relationships. Both Luke and Michael had found someone like them. Someone who matched their energy. And maybe that was my problem. Maybe I just needed someone that matched mine rather than someone who counteracted it like I’d previously thought. Maybe opposites actually didn’t attract, and it was a lot more birds of a feather flock together sort of thing. Or maybe I was overthinking love dynamics way too much for my own good.

“I’m always down for food,” Michael shrugged.

“Of course you are,” we answered with eye rolls and friendly laughter.

By the time we got to the stage door, there was a small but decent sized crowd milling about. “Feels weird being on this side of things, huh?” Calum questioned as he drew up his hood, and I wondered if it had more to do with how cold it was outside, or out of years of instinct. Whatever it ended up being, the rest of us also pulled up our hoods to hide our faces, both from the people and the wind.

I was about to entertain Calum’s comment with a chuckle about how it was definitely a little weird to be the ones lying in wait rather than the ones about to be ambushed, but the door opened and everyone started clapping and whopping. A few girls even screamed that ear splitting scream as the male lead raised a hand in greeting, flashing a million dollar smile. But he was of little interest to me. My focus zeroed straight in on the woman of the hour who came out just behind her co-star. Eyeliner smudged in the corners of soft, bright eyes like she’d taken off her stage make up in a hurry, and she looked very comfortable in a hoodie, leggings, and a beanie pulled snugly down over her ears. A stark contrast from the costumes she donned on stage only moments again, but breathtaking all the same. Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled and her mouth moved with words of gratitude and greeting.

Britt was practically jumping in place with her excitement to see her friend, but we waited for the crowd to thin before Britt let out a loud and excited “Y/N!” Then, she ran the short distance to crash into her friend.

“Britt! Oh my god! I didn’t know you were coming!” Y/N matched her friend’s excitement as she hugged Britt tight to her.

“I told you I would come!” Britt beamed.

“I know, but I didn’t think you meant like tonight. And you brought company!” Y/N’s attention turned to Luke first. “You must be Luke. Heard a lot about you. I’m a hugger, is that okay?”

“Nice to meet ya, darling,” Luke smiled, offering her a hug. “The show was amazing.”

“Aw, thanks! And let’s see…” She brought a finger to her lips as she studied us all. “You two,” the finger pointed at Michael and Crystal, “have to be Michael and Crystal, right? Michael, I hear you give amazing hugs.”

“That would be us,” Michael laughed before giving her a tight bear hug like they were long lost friends.

“Oh damn!” Y/N laughed, her face flushed. “Now that’s a fuckin’ hug! Crystal, you are one lucky lady.”

“Don’t I know it,” Crystal nodded, hugging the other woman. “So wonderful to meet you.”

“Oh, same! It’s amazing to put faces to the names Britt tells me about. I mean, not that it’s hard to put faces to your names cuz… well… it’s just really nice to actually meet you all finally. Which brings me to Ashton and Calum, yes?” she asked, her attention now fully on Calum and me.

“That would be us. I’m Cal,” Cal went first, giving her a quick hug in greeting like everyone else had.

“So that means you have to be Ashton,” she said.

“Yep,” I managed to get out before her arms were wrapping around my shoulders. My arms snaked around her back, reveling in the feeling of holding her against me.

“Don’t tell the others, but you’re the one I’ve been most excited to meet,” her voice whispered in my ear for only me to hear before she let go, and I let her step out of my grasp. I swear she even shot me a covert wink before clapping her hands together. “Oh this is great! I’m so glad y’all could come see the show. I’d love to continue to hang out with y’all, but I am starving. So if you guys had other plans you wanted to do to-“

“Food sounds great,” I interrupted. “Right, guys?”

“I could eat,” Michael agreed while Britt and Luke shot me a grateful look.

“Okay, awesome! There’s this great diner a couple blocks up. Walking distance really. Just um… let me run back inside real quick and grab the rest of my things. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She gave Britt another quick squeeze before dashing back inside the theater.

The man she’d come out with snapped out of his own haze to realize that it was just him and us standing around. “Thanks for coming to the show,” he smiled politely as he took a few slow steps towards the door, giving us ample time to stop him and ask for autographs or pictures, but we didn’t stop him. No offense to him, but we weren’t here for him. But we gave a polite wave and muttered a congratulatory “great show,” as he walked inside.

A few minutes later, the door pushed open and out popped Y/N, laughing loudly as Mr. Broadway laughed with her just a step behind, his hand above hers on the door to help push it open. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, you goof,” she kept laughing, giving him a swift hug.

“Aw c’mon!” he flirted. “The club’s just a short walk down that way. I know the bouncer. Bound to be a good time.”

“I can’t,” she smiled, holding up her hands in apology. “I’m starving for 1, and look! My friends are in town.” One of her arms slung its way across my shoulders, the other across Britt’s. I tried not to smirk.

The man gave a small laugh as he nodded. “Alright. Well if you guys change your mind after you grab that bite to eat, you know how to reach me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Later, Dean.”

“Later, girlie.”

She blew out her breath as the man walked in the opposite direction from us. “That guy’s a character… C’mon! To food!”

~~~

I’m not sure how it happened, but one minute we were all in a diner, swapping stories with Y/N like we were all old friends catching up instead of just meeting for the first time, and the next it was just her and I walking through Central Park. I was too busy being captivated by the way her eyes sparkled, and her hands flew as she talked animatedly, a smear of ketchup in the corner of her mouth to listen to what my friends' excuses for leaving were, or even if they had tried to get me to follow. All I cared about was being in her presence. “You know, you’re really great, Ash,” she said as she stopped and leaned against the stone wall of the bridge we were crossing, a street lamp casting her in a soft glow. “Can I call you Ash? I heard them all calling you that, so I figured it was okay. But if it’s one of those ‘only my closest friends get to call me that’ then obviously I won’t.”

“Ash is fine,” I giggled. “You’re pretty great yourself. Which makes this next part a little narcissistic, but you kinda remind me of myself a bit.”

“I don’t think that makes you narcissistic. And yes, I’m a hundred percent saying that because I see it too, and don’t want to be a narcissist myself. We have very similar souls, I think.”

“I think we do too,” I told her as I rested my arms on the ledge of the bridge, looking out at the water. “So, um… What's the deal with that co-star of yours? Dean?” I tried to ask slyly.

“Great actor. Bright career. But actually a narcissist.” She gave a small chuckle before sighing. “I’m single. These actor types… well they know how to lay on the charm, let’s put it that way. I don’t want to date someone as a publicity stunt, ya know? I want it to be real. So I’m pretty selective about who I date.”

“Mmm, so that would be a no to coffee in the morning?”

“I didn’t say that.” She spun around so her back was no longer resting along the wall of the bridge. She propped her left elbow on the ledge, cupping her chin in her palm, and her right hand came to rest lightly on top of mine. “I really like you, Ashton. Britt… She tells me stories about you guys all the time. And I get how weird it is to only hear stories about a person and think you’d get on with them. And I also get that there’s only so much you can learn about someone in a few hours through even more stories. But-- and I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am-- I get the feeling that you really like me too. That we have a connection that somehow transcends needing to know more about each other for us to be certain about how we feel about each other. That…” She paused for a moment, looking for how to explain the unexplainable.

“That if I don’t kiss you, I might die,” I supplied, hopeful she meant something along those lines.

“Something like that,” she breathed before we both leaned in, our lips meeting in the middle.

Tag List

@aquarius-hood1996 @creator-appreciator @philthepegacorn @myfavfanficsever @cxddlyash @youngblood199456 @stormrider505 @tarltongrl96 @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @hoodhoran @metalandboybands @maybeememez

#birds of a feather #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Little Kestrel (Part 11)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to prevent her suspicion about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

He wouldn’t be back for a while, and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away. It would just be so easy.

Yet, he did not act.

He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that Virgil hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better than he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that was why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days.

Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in the prince’s closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling, the stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he’d made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people’s.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

“And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to have at least seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

“I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before you’re sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right, you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other than to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you’d like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh.” He thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

“Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him into bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #character thomas #adriana writes #little kestrel #birds of different feathers #implied/referenced child abuse #assassination attempt #knives #torture mentioned #captivity

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poptod · 4 years

Note

hello! can i get a ahk x reader where the museum has a new exhibit with an ancient king from what ever culture, just around ahk’s age, and when he comes to life he hits on the reader, who is very flustered and ahk gets jealous and he and the other guy end up duking it out for y/n’s affection? school’s been super frustrating and i really need something fun and playful rn. thanks!

notes: hi! totally get the whole stressed thing with school. it aint fun but hopefully this helps you a little :)

He'd known you for much longer. Far longer than that ratted King had – but still, you spoke happily with him, smiling and giggling as though it was all a little game, and it was. Just not to Ahk. You were far too important to him to have the whole situation be considered nothing more than a game.

Standing in the corner, he watched the new exhibit speak, his words soft as he looked up to you with a reverence Ahk had shown many times before. The King, who went by the name of Otanes, had recently arrived from a museum in Europe, where they held an exhibit for old Persian kings. Otanes fit the description for any rich-kingdomed ruler; tall and handsome, with enough charisma to overthrow a government should he wish. Ahk was not like that. Perhaps that was what irked him most – he wasn't like Otanes at all, and you seemed to like the King quite a bit. After all, Otanes actually had a decent sized rule, while Ahk was King for only a day and a half.

It didn't help that you couldn't move, either. What with the whole actually being a painting made by Maoli people many, many years ago, no one had bothered to try and enter the stone you came from. You were startlingly clear next to the images of birds and trees – startlingly beautiful in the red stone.

Despite his feelings towards you, a bitter taste fell on his tongue when you smiled, the softest of blushes coating your cheeks as Otanes complimented the flowers in your hair. Ahk had been meaning to do that; he hadn't yet built up the courage to compliment you so directly, and the thought of Otanes stealing that opportunity from him had anger welling up deep in his chest.

"Ahk!" You called for him, your voice soft and his name welcome on your tongue.

He perked up, finding you waving him over, and Otanes looking rather sour. The tiniest of smirks came to him at that. He joined the two of you, standing side by side with Otanes.

"Why were you off sulking in the corner?" You asked with a small smile, your attention now fully on him. He knew it didn't mean anything, but a happiness began to sprout in him – you had a habit of doing that to him.

"Just.. enjoying the view," he answered cryptically.

"Well, Otanes is very handsome," you said, and every ounce of happiness you gave him curdled, his left eye twitching in irritation.

"Thank you," said Otanes with a small bow to you. "I'd say you're far easier on the eyes than I."

Stupid Otanes with his stupid words.

You flushed red, attempting to stutter out a reply. When you couldn't manage one you looked to the floor, the ghost of your laugh still on your lips, and your blush still prominent even on the stone.

"Actually, I had a question for you," Ahk interrupted, coming up with his sentences on the fly. "Do you remember any of your time in Hawai'i?"

"Not really," you answered seriously, "but I do remember the prayers people gave me. I still get them sometimes... I'm always listening for them."

"That's fascinating," Ahk said before Otanes could say anything.

Throughout the entirety of the conversation Otanes kept circling back to your beauty, complimenting and flirting with you till you could barely speak over your bashfulness. At least Ahk was trying to hold a regular conversation – this Otanes didn't care at all for things like that. He could tell that; he just wished you could, too.

He held himself together for a good long while, but all that buildup of irritation and anger burst when Otanes decided to remark on your legs of all things. Even if he had a good point, it was a weird thing to comment on, and you were clearly getting more and more uncomfortable. Ahk hadn't quite planned on punching anyone in the fact that day, but since the situation called for it he took great amusement in watching Otanes get a nosebleed from his fist.

"I don't think I've met anybody as bad at taking a hint as you are," Ahk said when Otanes sat up, looking up at him with an angered eye.

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you," Otanes spat back.

That was the general situation as you watched with wide, frantic eyes as Ahk attempted to punch the living shit out of Otanes. You knew a lot about Ahk – he spoke to you often, and you knew he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but it didn't stop you from worrying about the both of them. It seemed a foolish thing to argue over to you. After all, they were both only making conversation, right?

"Would you two stop it?!" You yelled when Otanes rolled the both of them over, now pinning Ahk down with his fist raised to land a direct punch at his head.

"(Y/N) –"

"No, I'm mad at both of you," you said when Ahk tried to say something. "What are you even fighting about?!"

They both paused, looking at each other before looking back to you, confusion lacing their gaze.

"You don't know?" Otanes asked, his grip on Ahk's collar still tight in his fist.

"Oh my Gods," Ahk muttered beneath his breath, relaxing his head backwards, astounded by your lack of clarity. A small, amazed smile came to him. Gods, you were endearing.

"It's – we're fighting for you," Otanes tried to explain, but the confusion on your face only grew worse.

"I don't want you fighting though?"

"We're fighting for your hand," Ahk finally said, loud enough to echo in the mostly-empty room of your exhibit.

Silence.

"What's wrong with my hand?" You asked, looking to him then back at your hands.

"Listen, there's a very simple solution to this, I think. Just go along with me (Y/N)," Otanes said, watching for your approving nod which came a few seconds later. With you on board, he asked, "which one of us do you like more?"

"Like... who do I enjoy talking to more?" You asked for clarification.

"Sure," he said.

"I like you both plenty," you said, beginning to fidget. "I.. I've known Ahk longer, but that doesn't really mean anything... um.."

"Doesn't Otanes make you pretty uncomfortable?" Ahk asked, sprouting another blush on your cheeks. "He says some pretty demeaning things."

"I do not!"

"Well... a little," you mumbled before the two of them could return to fighting.

"See?" Ahk said with a winning smirk. With your permission granted he fought back, forcing Otanes off his body and shoving him out of the room.

Once assured he wouldn't return, Ahk resumed his position in front of you, a sweet smile replacing the resentment so obvious just a couple minutes ago.

"Sorry about that whole thing," he said, watching your expression carefully.

"It's alright. Thank you for noticing, though. I didn't want to say anything," you said in a soft mumble, tracing your fingertip over your thigh.

"Of course," he murmured, reaching his hand to place it on the stone where your own hand lay.

To his surprise he found no purchase – rather, his eyes widened, watching his hand fade into the dark stone of the large tablet, the outline of his skin nothing more than charcoal. You gasped in surprise, backing up with eyes just as wide as his. Slowly he continued, letting himself enter the stone, where he turned into a painting like yourself, this time able to see you in 3D. He knew you were beautiful, but now that he was able to touch you your beauty seemed insurmountable. His mouth hung parted slightly as he reached for you, touching your skin for the first time. In silence he entwined his fingers with yours, staring at where you ended and he began, oblivious to the people watching the painting outside, oblivious to the other drawings. All that he saw was you – your hand in his, the flowers in your hair.

Tugging slightly, he pulled you to your feet, thoughtlessly leading you out of the black and white and into the real world, where he still had yet to notice the several people watching the two of you. The corners of your lips perked up, widening into a brilliant grin as your fingertips began to turn to color.

"Ahk," you murmured, your voice nothing more than a breath, captivated by the dark skin covering your once-stone form.

The moment you took your last step you fumbled, tripping and landing with your face pressed up against Ahk's chest, your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. You went into another fluster, apologizing profusely and trying to back up. He didn't mind, though – he never would, and he held his hands in yours, trying to keep you calm even though his own mind was hectic with thoughts. He hadn't ever expected to genuinely touch you in any point in his life, or death, if he wanted to be realistic.

"What a happy couple," came the sarcastic voice of Larry, his hands on his hips as he watched the display. Instantly your cheeks turned a blazing red once more, and you looked away, adamant to not meet Larry's eye.

"Larry," Ahk greeted him, "we found out something new about the paintings."

"Obviously. Can you help me with the Huns now?"

"Do I have to?" Ahk grumbled, still eager to keep you close to him as possible.

"They're trying to rip Otanes' legs off again, I think that's a little more important than your love-fest," Larry said with a dry laugh.

Ahk looked at you, then back at Larry.

"I don't think I'll be of much help tonight."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #gender neutral reader

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new-sandrafilter · 4 years

Text

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

#timmy #timothee chalamet #4000 miles #british vogue app #Eileen Atkins #my edit

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

Flowers

Welcome to my probably favourite chapter of the whole fic. Have fun reading, guys! Again, this is for @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo.

Summary: Jaskier enters the netherworld in his search for Geralt's soul. He has been prepared for a lot of things, mostly monsters straight out of nightmares. Talking birds and flowers? Not so much.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

Jaskier sat on the soft bed, slowly unbuttoning his doublet as he tried to ignore the warnings his brain shouted at him. He really couldn’t use any second thoughts right now.

“Get comfortable,” Triss had said before closing the door behind him and he really was trying. It wasn’t that he had real doubts about what he was about to do. In fact, he had rarely been so sure about anything in his entire life.

Still, Jaskier knew that it was insane. How could he not, despite his earlier statement he wasn’t stupid. He had gone to Oxenfurt, after all, and quite successfully so if he did say so himself. And endangering your life by entering a netherworld almost no-one ever returned from for your best friend who you were secretly in lo- well, that was entirely besides the point. The point was, that what he was about to do was the height of stupidity, and that he was well aware of it.

Not that he’d change his mind. He was, after all, stubborn as a mule with no sense of self preservation whatsoever.

He folded up his doublet and deposited it on the chair Yennefer had put next to the bed. He took his time with his boots as well, unlacing them almost all the way before neatly placing them under the chair.

Jaskier turned back to the bed and couldn’t help but stare at it. “Alright,” he muttered. And then again, because he hadn’t convinced himself yet: “Alright.” He heaved a heavy breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking out his arms as he did before his performances. In a way, the dread that filled him was quite similar. He supposed.

He kept staring at the bed. It was a nice bed, as far as beds went. Large. Soft, cream-coloured sheets. The kind of bed he’d like to share with a lover. ‘A nice deathbed, as well,’ he caught himself thinking. He really should get on it. Somehow, he couldn’t. “Fuck.”

“Alright, bard?” Yennefer’s voice sounded from the door.

“Yeah. This is weird.” How did one lie down in the bed where one might die? He had never thought he might actually be able to choose. If he was quite honest, he’d always supposed that he’d die all on his own someday, bleeding out in a ditch. Or in Geralt’s arms, confessing his eternal love with his last breath, if he was feeling especially romantic and melancholic. But never wrapped in clean, linen sheets without so much as a scratch on him.

She guffawed. “Weird. And you call yourself a poet?”

“Hm.”

Her boot heels clacked loudly on the parquet as she drew closer. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you-” He laughed nervously. “Do you really want to know?”

“Normally not.” Well. At least she was being honest. “But since this might be our last conversation, I’ll go with yes.”

“I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude,” he joked. To his relief, she chuckled at least. “You see, it’s really quite stupid.”

“It has to be.” She came to a halt next to him and crossed her arms. “Coming from you.”

“Yes, yes, mock me all you want. The thing is, I don’t know if I should get on the bed or in the bed.”

She blinked dumbfounded. “That’s your biggest concern?”

“Momentarily, yes.” And that only because he didn’t allow himself to think about anything else.

“You know, you should probably have very different second thoughts.” He didn’t dignify that with an answer. She sighed. “You also know you don’t have-”

"Don't," he interrupted her with a pained grimace, "make me change my mind."

"Jaskier-"

"No, Yennefer.” He turned around to face her. “I want to do this. I want to bring him back. At least I have to try."

They just stood there, staring at each other for a long time. Jaskier was not going to lose that battle. "Go lie on the bed,” she gave in. “It’ll feel less awkward.”

It was ridiculous how easy it was all of a sudden to sit down and scoot to the middle of the bed, lying down on the soft cushions. Once he got settled, she was still standing there at the foot of the bed, looming over him. “You know what?” he began. “This is very awkward. Reminds me of-”

“Rinde, I know,” she interrupted him. Her face was dark and clouded, her features unreadable. After a few moments she said: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“Yennefer-”

“Don’t you Yennefer me, bard. I dealt with Geralt almost losing you once. Don’t make me console him when you’re actually dead.”

He wanted to tell her how stupid that was. That Geralt wouldn’t be coming back if he didn’t come back as well. Else what was the point of any of this? But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to say that. “I’ll come back,” he said instead.

She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but in that moment Triss called from the hallway: “Are you done, yet?”

“Yes,” Yennefer decreed and swept out of the room.

“Alright, then,” Triss said and closed the door behind her. “Let’s get this over with.” She sounded almost bored. “As your primary healer I am obligated to tell you that this is not only dangerous but downright lethal. And the absolutely most idiotic thing I have ever seen someone do and I have been a healer longer than you have been alive. If you die, you are not allowed to haunt me; I reject any responsibility for this. Got it?”

He gulped. “Got it.”

“Good. So, give it to me one last time. I make you fall asleep. Then what?”

"I will wake in the netherworld, where I will have to confront unspeakable horrors. I will brave the trials and tribulations that are necessary to reach Coram Agh Tera. On my search for Geralt I will speak to no-one, I won't utter my name, nor that of any other mortal."

"And when you have found him?"

He hesitated. They hadn't actually talked about that point. Finding Geralt in an endlessly large world of nightmares seemed impossible enough. He put on a brave smile which he knew wouldn't fool Triss. "Why, then I'll work my bardic charm to get whatever atrocious entity that's holding him captive to release him." He pulled off both his boots and went to lie down on the bed.

"Good enough," Triss muttered and stepped closer. "Close your eyes, Jaskier, and think of something sweet."

He did as he was told, slowly feeling his consciousness drift away as she began weaving her spell.

Weirdly, it was Yennefer’s voice he heard next: "Good luck, bard. Bring him back to us." Hadn’t she left? Hadn’t she-? Hadn’t-

In the sluggish mass of his mind, he registered how strange that was. He wanted to ask who 'us' were. If he might be included. But he didn't dare. He wanted to answer something about returning with Geralt or not at all. But he was so tired.

"Sweet dreams," a voice from far away breathed.

Usually, when falling asleep, there is a certain amount of time that passes before people start dreaming. It could be a matter of hours or seconds; not that they are aware, of course. For them, that moment lasts but the fraction of a heartbeat, for they have no recollection of their slumber before or after their dreams. Most of them do not even remember those.

Once the sorceresses began weaving their spell, however, Jaskier saw that moment stretch out before him. It was an easy thing for him to, without so much as moving a single muscle, take a step. And another one. And then, let himself drift into that dark realm of uncertainty.

And so, he did.

In his, admittedly still rather short life, Jaskier had woken in all kinds of peculiar places. The beds of strangers most frequently, but also on tavern counters, beneath stages he couldn't remember playing on, covered with monster guts, covered with bandages, and, on one very memorable occasion, in a witcher's arms.

But this? This certainly and by far was the weirdest one of them all. 'The sky is the wrong colour,' was the first thing he noticed once he woke up. Instead of the soft blue he was used to, it was glaringly orange, as if eternally stuck in sunset. Only lacking the sun.

In all fairness, he wasn't quite sure if his current condition could be called 'awake'. Oh, well; he'd have to make do. How was a mortal supposed to describe a realm that defied both bounds of rationality and reality at once; a realm of gods that was never supposed to be graced by them, neither in this life nor the next?

The answer to that, of course, is as simple as it is obvious: they aren't. They aren't supposed to be there, they aren't supposed to understand it and mortals most certainly aren't supposed to tell tales of the netherworld.

Yet, one of them had entered it and he was currently struggling not to grin like an idiot as he took in his strange surroundings. Bards are a very strange subset of people, with more imagination than could be healthy for mortals. Weirdness doesn’t—mustn’t!—deter them, for they are weird themselves. One could call in an occupational requirement. And of all the strange bards in this world, this one’s certainly among the stranger ones.

A quick glance around revealed that the sky wasn't the only thing with an unusual colour. In fact, everything around him seemed slightly off. The trees were purple, the mountains in the distance blue, and the clouds gathering above them black. Not the kind of black that clouds tended to be in his world as well, but pure, all-consuming, nothingness. It made goosebumps rise on his arms. The grass with its pink tint under his bare feet set him on edge, as well.

He had never quite fit in: always too loud, always too vibrant, always too different. But a world like this, where he was almost mundane in comparison? Why, Jaskier was having a field day. 'Focus, Jaskier,' he kept telling himself. He had a mission, after all. 'Look for clues.'

But him standing with nothing but his lutecase on a pink field seemed to be the only thing that stood out among all the oddities. 'Oh,' he realised belatedly, 'I'm naked.' A strange feeling crept up on him, a feeling that he should feel embarrassed about it. But then again, there was no-one around. Besides, this wasn't real anyways.

'Well, nothing to be done about that,' he decided and re-adjusted his lutestrap as he weighed his options. There was the periwinkle forest to his left, or the cerulean mountains to his right, with the fuchsia expanse dividing the two. He did not look back.

He was currently debating whether or not he should flip a coin while wondering where he might acquire one given his pocket-less state of undress, let alone one with three sides, when his thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful melody of a lark.

Jaskier craned his neck to search for it among the purple foliage. It wasn't exactly difficult to find, one of the two things he was rather glad for. The other being that it looked perfectly normal.

It opened its beak again and Jaskier leaned forward, to hear the sweet sound once more. "What’re you starin’ at?" the bird asked with a gruff voice that rather reminded him of one grumpy witcher he was searching for.

Jaskier stared at it. "Uhmm."

"Ughh," the bird said and flapped its wings. "Humans. What d’you want?"

"I- uhm- I might be looking for someone." Fuck, he wasn't supposed to talk to anything. Barely a few minutes in and he had messed up already. Well, then he might as well get real information: "There wouldn't happen to be any gods around, would there?"

"Gods?" the lark with the disturbingly deep voice answered. "Nahh, never seen one in my life. There's Wade, but they're chill."

"Wade?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Crazy fucker. Imagines all kinds of things. It's where the good stuff's at."

Jaskier decided to ignore that impossibility pointedly. Something told him that it wouldn’t be the strangest thing this world had in store for him. "And how might one find their way to them? You wouldn't know, would you?"

"Of course, I do,” it scoffed. “You fly. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jaskier echoed stupidly.

"Are you some kind of idiot?" the lark wanted to know and preened his feathers. "It's easy.

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success." It shook out its wings. "Got it?"

"Umm," was all he managed.

The bird rolled its eyes. Could birds roll their eyes? Well, this one did. "Weirdo," it decreed and took wing.

Jaskier couldn't help but keep staring at the branch from where the lark had vanished. "What," he murmured, "the fuck." That might rank among the top five weirdest conversations of his entire life. Maybe even top three. Not as strange as running into the higher vampire, dryad and halfling he’d had a foursome with before sneaking out the next morning, and then explaining the whole situation to Geralt after he had rescued him from their wrath (-ish. Wrath-ish. Yes, he might have been shackled to the bed, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been enjoying himself), of course, but that was hard to beat.

Anyways, what he was trying to say was that he had a lot of experience with strange encounters, and that he was thankful for it. That way it didn't take all too long for him to continue with his trek, muttering to himself about the strange poem the lark had given him.

Not that he was very successful. He had reached the ‘singing to himself’-stage of ‘I’m trying to figure out some bullshit’ and everyone knew that came right before a nervous breakdown. Well. Nothing to be done about that. ‘Just like the good old days in Oxenfurt,’ he mused as he sing-songed: “This doesn’t make any fucking se-ense. Not one tiny bit, but destiny loves fucking me ove-er.”

"You're not like the others,” an excited voice interrupted his masterful performance.

"Excuse me?" he squeaked and glanced around in search of the speaker. No birds far and wide.

"Down here," the frail voice sounded again from his right. Were they imitating his melody from earlier? Rude.

"Uhh," Jaskier stammered and crouched down to get a better look. But no matter how he strained his eyes, there was nothing that would betray any movement between the blades of pink grass and flowers that dotted the field. He bent down even further in hopes of getting a better look. "Um, I'm sorry, but- are you maybe rather small? Gods, is this insensitive? I swear, I don't want to be, this world is just very different than my own and—"

"Not like the others at all," the voice said directly next to his ear.

Maybe he should have been embarrassed over the fact that he fell flat onto his bum or the shrill squeal that escaped him while doing so. In any other situation he maybe would have. In this situation Jaskier decided he didn't care. He had more important matters to attend to. Like dealing with the fact that he was talking to a buttercup, for example.

"I'm sorry," the flower said, swaying gently in the non-existent breeze, "did I startle you?"

"Yes!" he shouted. The buttercup recoiled and he regretted it immediately. It was probably his greatest feat of willpower yet, that he collected himself and answered as calmly as possible: "I'm sorry as well. Flowers do not tend to talk in my world."

"They don't?" It leant to the side as if tilting its head. Blossom. Whatever. "Interesting. None of the others ever told me that. Maybe I could imagine something else."

"Just- one second," Jaskier muttered, holding his hands up to stop the flower from talking. He needed at least a minimal amount of time to process this craziness. A thousand questions burned on the tip of his tongue, each spawning a thousand more. Well, first things first: "Why do you talk?"

"I don't know." It shrugged. "Why do you?"

"Fair point," he mumbled. He hadn’t considered that. On to the second question: "What others?"

"People," it explained dreamily, "tall like you, with those things on their roots so they can move around. But they're very different usually. No conversationalists at all."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I've got my fair share of those in my life. It's infuriating, isn't it? I- oh, fuck. Are there a lot of people here?"

"Hmmm, maybe? Why?"

"I am looking for someone. He's a man like me. Tall. Built. White hair on his head and the worst conversationalist you can imagine-"

"That's a rock," it interrupted him.

"Uh-" He decided that the best bet was to ignore that statement. Not that it was necessarily untrue. Talking to Geralt could have certain similarities with conversations with a brick wall. "You didn't see him, did you?"

"I can't see."

"Oh." Shit, he should have thought of that. "Of course not." It was a flower, how was it supposed to see? It had no fucking eyes. "I, um," slowly, he got to his feet, "I should go."

"Where are you going?" the buttercup asked him curiously.

He winced. "See, that's a bit tricky. I don't really know, yet. I am looking for this man and apparently there is someone named Wade around here who might help me, and— it's just— it's really complicated, alright? I'm just wandering about until I find something."

It nodded understandingly. "I don't know any Wade. But I know a poem about wandering. Would you like to hear it?"

'Anything but that,' he thought but he had no chance to say it, for the buttercup was already reciting: "The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain."

"That's, um, that's beautiful," he answered. 'Not that I understand a fucking word of it,' he thought.

Still, it seemed like the right answer for the buttercup beamed. "Thank you! It's my favourite. Not that I know any other, but-"

"Look," he interrupted it, slightly annoyed, "it's getting rather late and I should be on my way. Or I think it is, hard to say with this weird light. Where's the sun, by the way?"

"Oh, we haven't got one," the buttercup answered casually as if it was no big fucking deal.

"Right," he drawled and made a point of backing up quickly. "I'm going now. Bye!" With that he bolted. He had wasted enough time already and he obviously wasn't getting any information out of it. Nothing useful at least.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, as he kept heading to the horizon that stubbornly refused to come closer. "Birds and flowers talk here. No biggie." He had been prepared to deal with a lot of things. Nightmares. Monsters. But talking animals? Pink grass? The longer he stayed in this weird place, the less it seemed like a nightmarish hellscape and more like one of his worse trips during his Oxenfurt days. Suddenly, he understood why people went mad here.

Jaskier kept walking. And walking. And walking. He had no idea where he was going, if he was honest, and he wasn't confident he'd figure it out in the near future either. His youthful hate of poetry was in the process of returning with renewed vigour. 'I wonder why.'

This was exactly what he had always hated about rhetoric in Oxenfurt: trying to discern a hidden meaning that probably wasn't even there. Only that this time there had to be one. And he had to find it. It was his only chance of finding Geralt anytime soon. Or ever.

And while he normally prided himself on being able to bullshit his way out of these situations, he had a suspicion that that wouldn’t help in this case.

He had already gone over the formal aspects more times than he could count; that was easy enough. Two quatrains with rhyming couplets. The first had been a trochaic tetrameter, the second an iambic one. And what did that tell him? Fuck all, that's what. ‘Just about as much as Oxenfurt taught me.’

Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that the two poems were not two poems at all, but two stanzas from the same one. No, he couldn't explain it either. Maybe because the last line of the first stanza had the word fearless in it, and the second stanza started with knights- Look, he knew he was grasping at straws here. What else was he supposed to do?

The thing was, he was also rather sure he was slowly running out of time. That idea—as ludicrous as it was—had come to him what felt like days ago and he was still walking. The horizon was still moving far and farther away with every step he took. He was exhausted. But no matter how often he gave his body the command to rest, it still kept on walking. He hadn't met anyone else. No strange flowers anymore. No rude birds. Certainly, no people. And definitely no Geralt. He wanted to weep.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. "Fuck," he cursed quietly. Then, again, louder: "Fuck!" This was getting him nowhere. He had to try and ask someone for help. To decode the secret message, maybe. Or, if he was right and this was indeed one poem, perhaps even acquire the rest of it.

The thing was, the last two times it had been the strange inhabitants of this world who had sought him out not the other way around. He wasn't quite sure if he was able to talk to them on his own initiative. He didn't even know how to discern the talking plants from the mute ones.

He paled as a horrible thought came to his mind. 'What if they're the same?' Jaskier stared at the pink grass down in horror. 'Shit.'

"Hello?" he whispered warily. No response. He glanced around as if to check that he was alone—of course he was—and bent down. "Can you hear me?" he tried again. "Do you talk, too?"

Nothing.

Relief flooded over him. At least he hadn't been stomping all over a sentient being the whole time. At least he hadn't exposed his bumhole- 'Nope! Not going there.'

He fiddled with his lute strap to distract himself for all of these terrible thoughts that were adamant to take over his mind. There was still the lilac forest he tried to ignore. Maybe the trees could talk. Maybe they were smarter than larks and buttercups. He certainly hoped so.

Jaskier cleared his throat and raised his voice: "Excuse me?" he shouted at the trees. "I- excuse me? I've got a question! Hello? Excuse me? Can you hear me?"

He heard a giggle behind him. "Look at that idiot, trying to talk to trees." Jaskier spun around and spotted the culprit almost immediately: two stems with purple flowers he'd recognise anywhere. Larkspur.

He scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am no idiot at all, thank you very much. In fact, I graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt academy."

The flowers laughed again. "Like I said," the second one piped up with a voice that closely resembled another troubadour's he was regrettably acquainted with, "idiot." Jaskier despised it already.

"Well, excuse me that I assumed plants talk here after leading a rather lovely conversation with a buttercup."

"Ughh," it groaned. "That imbecile. We're well acquainted. Are you just as annoying?"

"Gods, I hope not," he blurted before he knew what he was saying. The larkspur laughed again. "So, not all plants talk here?"

"No," the first one answered, as if it were obvious. Strangely, it was.

"Umm." Jaskier blinked, waiting for more. Apparently, that was the extent of the flowers' elaboration, for they didn't say anything else. "You wouldn't happen to know any poems, do you?"

"Maybe," they answered unhelpfully. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if you know one, I'd like to hear it."

They bristled and scoffed. "Why?"

"Uhh-" He hadn't been prepared for that question. Jaskier cursed internally. Why hadn't he been prepared for that question? He should've been prepared for that question. 'Fuck,' he thought, 'fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.' Improvisation it was, then: "Well, you see, when I met that wonderful buttercup over there it told me a poem and it promised that it was the best I'd ever hear in this world and any other."

There was a cry of outrage and Jaskier smirked. There was a lot of things excelled at, and riling up Valdo fucking Marx certainly counted among his most accomplished ones. Or a flower with his voice, he guessed. He didn't really care, truly. He had information to acquire: "So, now I'm wondering. I have to admit, I wasn't awfully impressed, so maybe-"

The larkspur scoffed. "Of course, you weren't impressed. That buttercup is a talentless wastrel pandering to the tastes of the masses," it complained and, oh, Jaskier had heard that one before. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to strangle a flower.

"Also, no regard for intellectual property whatsoever," the first one continued and Jaskier nearly choked on his own spit. He had said that one before. "Just like you are."

Jaskier stared in mute horror as he watched the two stems begin to argue with one another. "It probably didn't even recite the poem correctly. You, good sir, are in the presence of a true master. At least one, I will make no comments about my companion-"

Now it was Jaskier who scoffed, though he didn't dare to interrupt them. If they were anything like— well, any poet he knew there was no chance he'd get the poem after that. And so, there was nothing to be done but try his best to not have his ears start bleeding from the presumptuous lecture he was forced to endure.

After what felt close to an hour, Valdo-larkspur finally announced: "A poem, you say? I give you a poem. Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky." As soon as it was done, Jaskier-larkspur began commenting on his horrible rendition of it.

Jaskier stared. And blinked. And stared again. "That's it?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. "That makes even less sense!" How the fuck was he supposed to descend into the sky?

"Oh, you don't like it?" they nagged. Great, now he had offended them both. "I gave you an hour of my time and this is how you repay me—" Before he knew it, they had descended into another heated argument, of which he recognised rather substantial parts. 'Gods preserve me,' he prayed, 'this is a nightmare.' Jaskier wondered if it was considered awfully rude to rip a flower out in this world, root and stem. Probably. Pity.

He sighed heavily. 'If only they hadn't given me an hour of their ti- Wait a minute.' "Hour, you said?" he interrupted them without thinking. "Do you know what hour it is?"

They scoffed. "Figure of speech."

"Of fucking course," he muttered. Still, he wasn't quite ready to give up on that, yet, so he tried again. "Have you got any idea what time it is? How is it passing here? How long is a day?"

"What is a day?" they answered.

'Gods give me strength,' he begged. "It's from one sunrise to the other."

"What's a sunrise?"

"It’s when the sun appears in the sky?"

"What’s a sun?"

"Oh, this is useless," Jaskier muttered and walked away without another word. He had quite enough of the worst combination of Valdo Marx and himself imaginable. And he had another stanza to think about. 'Not that it will do any good.'

Jaskier kept on walking. It was getting more and more frustrating with every step. He managed to talk to a few other flowers and birds, once even to a snail, but none of them were really helpful. Most of the birds had heard of Wade, at least; the flowers, on the other hand, were very useless. No more stanzas, no more directions, no more references to this Wade. Certainly, and most frustratingly, no answers as to where the sun was. And it was really getting late.

"Does anyone know a poem?" he yelled in the hopes of someone hearing him. He knew it was desperate, alright? But desperate times called for desperate measures. At this point, he'd be grateful for any hint. "Does anybody know what time it is?"

A heavy sigh made him whip around. "For fuck's sake man, how dense are you?" a deep voice grumbled. "Time’s an indefinite continued progress of existence and interdependent events that barely works in your world let alone ours. Just keep on walking."

Jaskier wanted to. He really did. But there was a dandelion throwing big words at him. He couldn't resist. He rushed over and crouched down. "Well, but you surely have a way of measuring it, don't you?" he asked eagerly.

"Time goes by if we catalogue it or not, the outcome is the same.” It yawned. Made a yawning sound. Whatever. Great. Jaskier managed to bore a dandelion. “Your narrow human minds are too focused on how much of it passes that you neither notice how fast it does nor what happens while doing it."

He hummed thoughtfully. “I guess there is some truth to this.”

“Ugh.” The dandelion made a gagging sound. “Truth. Another one of your stupidities. What even is truth but the enforcement of a subjective point of view that is worthless for large parts of society at best, and downright harmful for them at worst? Why are you boring me with such first-grade bullshit?"

Jaskier gaped at him. ‘What the fuck?’ He’d really like to continue their conversation about truth, however, there were more pressing questions at hand: "You have a school?"

"Of course, we do. How else do you think we grow?"

"With sunlight."

The flower turned to the sky. "There’s no sun."

He groaned. And he’d thought this flower was helpful. "Yeah, I can bloody well see that too!"

"Whoa man, what got your knickers in a twist? No need to shout. The volume of your voice does not increase the validity of your argument."

"Let me guess,” he sighed. “Another thing you learned in school."

"Yup." It popped the p.

‘Focus, Jaskier,’ he told himself for the umpteenth time. ‘And calm down.’ Massaging his temples he asked: "Why'd you even go to school?"

"’Cause I'm beautiful, man."

Jaskier scoffed and was about to say something about humility, but it kept on talking: "I'm a pretty little flower with absolutely no purpose. All I’m meant to do is be pretty ‘til someone plucks me and I wither and die. Or I’m meant to stay in the place where I was born until I wither and die. I was havin’ none of that. I like bein’ looked at, don' get me wrong, but I don't like people thinking I'm dumb ‘cause I'm pretty. So, I got an education."

That… made an disturbing amount of sense. ‘Maybe I’m going crazy already,’ he thought. Surely no sane person could emotionally relate to a dandelion.

“Are you done now?” it asked impatiently.

He supposed he was. "One last question: How do I get to... the garden?"

"Follow your heartbeat to the horizon, the second turn to the right after the battlefield pops you right into his garden."

‘Oh, great. More instructions that make absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.’ Desperately, he asked: "Please. Can’t you tell me how to do that?"

"You said one last question,” it complained with a sigh.

“Please?” he begged again.

“Man, this is a paranormal netherworld that exists beyond what any mortal can grasp with its mind, you just do. Just do whatever the poem says."

"A poem!" he exclaimed excitedly. Finally. "Tell me about it, please."

"Man," the dandelion sighed, "really? That's... that's a lot of work, man."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Fuck's sake, I'm on it, I'm on it," it drawled. "Stop stressing me out. It's something like this:

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success.

The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain.

Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky.

Come find me in my garden green,

Come taste the fruit that’s never been.

How to find my mighty throne?

The answer’s plain: you don’t."

"That... doesn't make any sense to me," Jaskier said helplessly.

"It will." It shrugged. "But it doesn't have to. You ever went to school, man?"

"Actually, I did."

"Right. You don't need to understand everything, buddy. Just follow the fucking instructions."

Jaskier sighed and got up. "Thank you." He had almost walked away when he circled back and crouched down to whisper: "Why is there no sun?"

There was a heavy sigh. "I don't know man, I'm just a flower."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed quickly. "Just... don't mind me. Leaving already."

He had a poem to decipher after all. "Just follow the instructions," he muttered. As if that was an easy thing to do.

He tried thinking about it. He really did. He tried to take the poem as literally as humanly possible. As literally as otherworldly possible, even! No success.

It was infuriating, really. His mind was a fickle thing at the best of days, always hopping from one topic to the next. This was not the best of days. Just like the horizon that seemed to be moving further away with every step he took, his thoughts seemed to slip from his grasp once they got into reach.

"Fucking cock!" he threw his hands up. "I swear, witcher, if I get you out of here, I'll send you back myself."

He crossed his arms and sat down on his butt to pout. He knew he was being unreasonable. But really, a world beyond the bounds of reason had no right to expect any sort of respectable behaviour from him. If he wanted to act like a child, he bloody well would. Maybe that might help him figure that out. Thinking like a child instead of an adult.

After half an hour he came to the conclusion that it didn’t, so he got to his feet and started pacing. Always a good option. Normally, at least.

"Ughh!" Jaskier exclaimed and threw his hands up. "I just- I don't understand it! Up is down and left is right, yeah, I get that everything is weird here. To go back- For fuck's sake, I don't want to go back! I want to go forward!"

He stopped his pacing as realisation hit him. "Wait a minute," he murmured. "Up... is down," he moved his head along with the words. "And left is right. To go back-" He spun around. "-I must go forward. But if I go back-" He twirled again; his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Never lose your goal from sight, that's it!"

He pumped his fist in the air. "I am a godsdamned genius!" He laughed giddily.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he told himself and took a deep breath. There was still one line missing: "For the fearless, no success," he muttered.

"Good thing I'm a fucking coward." Jaskier laughed weakly and began walking backwards.

#my writing #For You I'll Always Wait #FYIAW #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher secret santa #triss merigold #yennefer of vengerberg #hey guys remember when i talked about stoned flowers a while ago?#this is the payoff #welcome to the netherworld

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loopy777 · 3 years

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RE: WIPs game: so, haru-tylee. that's one of my favorite crackships right there. what's that doing in your WIPs folder?

Ah, yes, that one. This is the piece that taught that I'm completely incapable of writing an in-character Haru.

I know, it's a weird character to stumble over, but it's true. He's just so bland in personality that there's nothing for me to grip onto. I have to write an exaggerated comedic personality for him in some way, or else the words just stop flowing from my fingers. Writing this small piece was like trying to lift concrete. I can write Azula in the midst of a depressed breakdown more easily than I can write Haru just being a nice dude.

As for why I made the attempt, it was for an exchange. One of the specified pairings was Haru/TyLee, and my only experience with it was that moment in the Chibi short. I figured it would be something fun to try, with a dash of some Romeo&Juliet tension, and would let me write more Ty Lee.

Fortunately, after I recovered from having my soul sucked out of my body, I was able to use one of the recipient's other pairings and meet the deadline (Long Feng/Song, and it resulted in a piece I'm still rather fond of).

Looking back at what I've written, it's not anything bad (except the part where Haru is given the assignment; woof, that's some first-draft writing), but it feels like it's missing some of the SNAP that I like to think exists in my better works. I dunno, maybe if I'd stuck with it, I'd have been able to revise it into something pretty good. Some of my best stuff lacked the SNAP until a little editing found it.

Once again, since this is a relatively short thing that I'll never finish, I might as well post everything I have:

Haru wasn't comfortable with the situation from the start.

When he and his father set out to help liberate all the conquered villages in the entire province, sure, he had been completely on board. It was difficult leaving Mom, but she wasn't a fighter, and Haru couldn't stay behind while Dad went on to help free all the other villages. The other Earthbenders had lent their aid to Haru's home, and it was only right to put his own skills to task returning the favor. That was good work. Not only was Haru living his dream of finally fighting back against the oppressors, he was doing it with his Dad, and together they were continuing their Earthbending training.

However, it seemed that there was more to a war than just saving people and fighting bad guys. An actual General in the Earth Kingdom military contacted their rebel group. This general, Fong, was maintaining a base right near the coast, and doing everything he could to keep his mountainous territory from being overrun by the Fire Nation. The messenger explained that Fong had heard of the rebel group's actions, and applauded them, and wished to direct their attention to an even more insidious threat than Fire Nation conquerors.

The Fire Nation was also trying to destroy the Earht Kingdom's culture. There was a traveling group, it was explained, devoted to showcasing Fire Culture in a manner designed to appeal to the common people. Fong couldn't spare the resources to track the group down and "discourage" its members, but perhaps a small network of Earthbender rebels could find the time? Such a favor would also be proof of the rebels' reliability.

That's how Haru and his Dad wound up attacking a circus, of all things, and taking all its members captive after a small skirmish that barely qualified as a brawl. Most had been caught in their tents and carts, and seized without a fight. Some of the Firebenders had tried resisting, but they turned out to be mere showmen, and were easily taken by the experienced Earthbender fighters.

Then, the rebels had to figure out what to do with their new prisoners of war. That's where the trouble began.

The noise that night was unbearable. By midnight, the circus animals still hadn't settled down, and no knew what, exactly, to do with them. "We can't just open their cages and set them free," Dad -- Tyro the Indomitable, as most of the rebels called him now -- said to the assembled leadership. "I don't even recognize half these creatures, let alone know if they can survive in this forest."

Haru stepped closer to his dad. "Also, some of them might wander back, and either attack or lead enemies right to us," he said. Around the fire, some of the other rebel leaders nodded in agreement, and Haru had to suppress a smile. He didn't want to give the impression of having a childish need for validation, but after living powerlessly for so long, it was fulfilling to be treated as a man, with respect, by other people that he in turn respected. He had taken to wearing a mustache not to look more adult, but because it felt right.

Back towards the main tent, the screech of what sounded like a Sky Bison-sized bird tore through the night. Everyone around the fire winced. "Well, we have to do something to quiet them," someone said.

One gray-haired woman, part of the original group that had escaped from the same prison rig as Haru and his father, looked at the younger Earthbender. "You're a smart young man. Why don't you pick one of the prisoners and get them to help. Find someone docile who knows what to do with those dusty creatures, and keep an eye on them. You're young and bold, so you can handle it if they try to give you trouble. Maybe one of the captives will be more interested in helping the creatures than escaping."

Haru blinked. He had fought beside all these people, but he wasn't expecting to be handed responsibility for a personal prisoner. That seemed like a job for someone more... ruthless. "How will I know who to pick?"

His dad chuckled. "Look at their eyes. People can hide their intentions, but not their spirit."

Haru nodded, unsure- but ready to accept everyone's faith in him.

All of the prisoners were being held in one of the larger tents, seated on the dirt floor.

Haru hadn't picked the ringmaster, because the man wouldn't stop talking, blustering simultaneously about the troupe's innocence and the coming vengeance of the Fire Nation. He didn't pick the man who professed to be the animal tender, because he was a Firebender who had demonstrated some fine control of his element before he had been dogpiled by a team of Earthbenders in the initial attack; besides, the man had an oily quality that Haru didn't like. He didn't pick the strongman because -- seriously -- the guy was huge!

In the end, it was the trapeze artist who Haru thought was the best bet. She had friendly eyes, seemed well liked by the other prisoners, and didn't seem to quite realize that she was a captive of desperate rebels. Plus, she was just the high-wire act, not even a Bender, so it's not like she could cause much trouble. What could go wrong?

"You," he said, pointing at the girl. "You're coming with me."

She blinked innocently, her gray eyes wide. "Me?" She tilted her head to the side, and the ponytail hanging down her back shifted. She alone in all the circus folk wasn't wearing a straight shade of red; her two-piece tunic used tones of pink, and it somehow made her seem less like an enemy and more like a girl.

Of course, that kind of thinking could lead to trouble. Haru might be a teenage boy, but that didn't mean he had to let his own hormones goose-pigeonhole him as some kind of sap. Dad and the others were counting on him, here. "Yes, you, miss. The animals need to be fed. Do you know how?"

Her face positively lit up with a smile that included her eyes. "Oh! Yes, I know all the animals here! You wouldn't believe how many we have, from all over the world! The bear even knows how to walk the tightrope, just like me!"

Haru frowned. "Bear? What kind of bear?"

She winked. "A platypus-bear, silly. What kind of bear did you think?"

Haru ran his fingers through his mustache. At times like this, he found himself not quite used to the feel of it. "Let's... let's just get going."

"And this is Mister Screechy Feathers! He likes cabbages!" Ty Lee frowned. "Actually, now that I think about it, all these animals like cabbages. Well, except for the meat-eaters. I guess cabbage is the universal animal food? Or maybe we just get cabbage at a discount? I wonder who we buy it from..."

Haru decided that it was a good time to interrupt the acrobat and get her back on task.

Again.

"Well, wherever you get it," he said, "let's give some to him and move on. How many heads does he get?"

"Four. I think. Or maybe that was the platypus-bear. Oh well, we have plenty. We'll let him decide." With a giggle, Ty Lee trotted over to the wagon and began piling heads of cabbage under her arms.

Haru watched her carefully, maintaining a chi-connection with the Earth below his bare feet. She seemed harmless enough, but he was ready in case she decided to dash away. Of course, watching her body and her movements so closely, he was acutely aware of what a pleasant image she projected. She was a very pretty girl, and she didn't act like she was a prisoner. Dust, she didn't even act like she was Fire Nation. She was happy, and friendly. She was lighthearted in a way that Haru had forgotten could exist, in any nation.

Was this really the kind of person who could be trying to erase the Earth Kingdom's culture?

Then Haru realized he was staring, and that Ty Lee had noticed. "So, uh, what kind of animal is... Mister... Screechy Feathers?"

"A vulture-griffon," she cooed. "Isn't he cute?"

Haru looked over at the creature -- with a body like a jungle cat, the wings and gangly head of a buzzard -- then back at Ty Lee. He looked over again at the vulture-griffon, then back at Ty Lee. Vulture-griffon. Ty Lee. Griffon. Ty Lee. "Um, I can think of cuter things in this tent, right now," he found himself saying.

"Oh? Like what?" She leaned forward, and gazed right into his eyes.

Haru suddenly had trouble remembering what spoken language was.

That's when she threw a tight fist out at him and punched him hard near his shoulder.

Haru stumbled back, biting back a cry of pain, and tried to raise his hands into a defensive stance. Only one of his arms actually obeyed, and to Haru's growing horror, that came to a quick stop when Ty Lee leaned over and struck again. He stumbled back, more from his continuing state of shock than the pain, but the acrobat stayed with him, swept a leg to catch his own, and pushed at his chest.

Haru fell, and then reality suddenly went away.

Ty Lee felt just awful about the way Haru hit his head. She hadn't meant for him to step backwards and fall like that. Weren't Earthbenders supposed to especially stable, or something? Ty Lee thought she remembered learning something like that, but even if her recollection was correct, who knew if it was actually true? Lots of things Ty Lee had learned at the Academy turned out to be mistaken.

Still, she was nothing if not adaptable! As long as Haru was unconscious anyway, she might as well drag him off where no one could find him. That was part of her original plan, anyway, and she so rarely made plans that she might as well stick with this one.

Of course, her original plan also said she was supposed to tie Haru up and then go tappity-tap all the other Earthbenders by herself, so maybe she could make some changes as she went along. Princess Azula had said many times that it was okay. In fact, Ty Lee was pretty sure Azula said that the best plans were the ones that changed and got better.

Maybe. Or Azula said that her brother, Zuko, was a moron because he always changed his plans as they were happening. One of the two. Maybe both. Actually, this was pretty confusing.

Focus. Ty Lee carefully hoisted Haru up over her shoulders, and quietly carried him over to the back of the tent, where the hay-bales were piled up to make a kind of isolated shelter.

"Rrrrawk!" said Mister Screechy Feathers.

"Shhhhh," Ty Lee hissed. Honestly, that vulture-griffon could be so cranky sometimes. Although, Muzan was a pretty cranky Firewhipper himself, so maybe that rubbed off on all the animals he was in charge of training and feeding.

She got Haru over to her hiding place easily enough, and laid him down on a bed of loose hay. Now, her plan said she was supposed to restrain and leave him, but what if he had a concussion? She didn't want him hurt. Or dead! That would be awful! He was nice enough, for an enemy, and she could tell from his aura that he had a strong sense of family and honesty.

So Ty Lee sat down beside him, and hoped he would wake up soon.

Haru couldn't tell how much time had passed, when he came to. He had a tough time telling that he was conscious at all, actually.

#haru #ty lee #tylee #fanfic

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grimmseye · 4 years

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A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Six

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Existential Topics, Essek getting excited by both Mollymauk and his weird magic, Mention of Torture (in literally like the first sentence)

— — —

The scars littering Mollymauk's body weren't a result of torture, as Essek had first assumed. Blood magic was still fairly taboo, but he knew it had its merits. The life force was a powerful source of magic, and drawing blood was safer than drawing directly from the soul.

Most blood magic came in alteration and control. One could use their own blood to change themself, to augment their power by manipulating the force that defined them. Or, they could take another's essence, claim it and use it to collar its source. Blood made scrying simple and curses into child's play. It was a very useful component, and Essek preferred to stay quiet about his own applications of it.

What Mollymauk did, he theorized, had to do with sacrifice. There was power in that, too. The giving-up, the exchange of something to gain, or to take from another, was a form of magic that dated back to its most ancient roots. Before there was wizardry, druids, artificers, those who learned their craft and honed it through study and training, there were those who made pacts with something else.

The question then became what Mollymauk was sacrificing to. A god, a demon, a devil? Or simply to the Weave itself, using his blood as the guidelines to tangle its threads in new formations.

It was all very exciting.

So was watching Mollymauk, though he was ashamed to admit it. He hadn't asked the tiefling to undress, but Mollymauk had been more than happy to divest himself of his shirt. It left him in loose pants, the material fluttering in the cool wind that blew past. He'd taken up blades in Essek's backyard at Essek's own request. One of his swords was wet with his blood, and illuminated with a radiant glow.

The radiance took a point away from Mollymauk contacting of the negative planes, though Essek knew better than to negate it completely. Tieflings had infernal heritages, it was entirely possible that all the oddities of Mollymauk's body were tied to a single source. It was doubtful, but it was also worth noting.

Essek did just that, writing down his thoughts, knowing he'd be glad to have them later. A stream of consciousness on a page was better than neat and tidy notes that lacked detail and most importantly context. He seethed when thinking of the number of projects he'd had to abandon all because he hadn't marked down a late-night thought.

"You have another of these, you said," Essek prompted. "The other sword does not use radiance?" It was difficult to look at the blade directly with its sunlit glow.

Mollymauk twirled one scimitar with an idle air, catching it in his palm. "Yeah. Ice for that one."

Essek moved forward, wanting a close look. He muttered a word, burning the first-level slot to sharpen his gaze to magic. "Activate it, please."

Without missing a beat, Molly obeyed. It made his insides shiver to see the blade come up, cutting neatly into his skin. It was shallow and precise, drawing a scarlet line along the edge of the blade that beaded and dripped over Mollymauk's collar. Molly held it still against his chest for Essek to watch as the blood crystallized, frost crawling over the surface of the blade. It was evocation that brought the ice to the surface, and that brimmed off the blade's glowing twin.

A hint of necromancy burned in Molly's blood, and suddenly Essek had the thought: what would he find if he drew some from Mollymauk's veins, was the blood under his skin inherently magical was he built from necrotic energy, he'd crawled his way out of a grave so what did that make him. Surely he wasn't undead, or the way magic interacted with him would change, the spells Essek had cast on him wouldn't work, but he couldn't count as mortal, either.

So what on earth was Mollymauk Tealeaf? The question had a giddy sensation roiling up in his stomach.

"What's up with your eyes?" Mollymauk asked, and Essek blinked back to himself.

It took a moment to remember what he meant. The spell gave his eyes a kaleidoscopic appearance, reflecting colors that shifted madly in the presence of magic. "Ah. I cast a spell on myself, it lets me sense magic in the vicinity. Do you know about the different schools of magic?"

Mollymauk closed his eyes, arms swinging at his sides so the sword blades dragged in the dirt. "... No," he concluded, with a definitive nod. "I really don't know shit about magic as a whole. I don't know why or how this happens, but cutting myself makes my swords fancy."

Essek remembered the way blood had burst in a gnoll's eyes, blinding them, making the snap of their jaws only seize the air. "Is there anything else you can do?" He pressed.

Mollymauk gave him a long, withering look, and snorted. "Wizards. They tell you I know a place and then spend the time quizzing you about your blood curses. Yeah, if I cut a bit deeper, I can affect other... things. People, monsters, whatever. It's only temporary, but it can be enough in a pinch. If someone's about to get run through with a sword..."

Mollymauk's gaze went distant. His breath hitched, and he lifted a hand, putting it on the ragged scar on his chest. "It might be enough to throw them off."

Essek let him linger, uncertain what had captured his mind but hoping that maybe this would help unlock the rest of his memories. If he could return Mollymauk to the Nein, safe and happy and just as they'd found him, then maybe he could relieve the weight of his guilt. If bad and good were opposites, then surely if he just did enough good, that would eventually outweigh the bad.

He knew that logic was flawed. If that were the case, then the teleportations would have eased the pressure. But that was small, not necessarily easy for him but simple enough, something he could do for anyone. This was different. This was special. This would mean something, and then he could be forgiven, even if they never knew of his betrayal.

Eventually, clarity returned to Mollymauk's eyes. He shook himself, his expression pensive and tail coiling. Essek prompted him with a quirk of the eyebrow. Each time this happened, there was the hope that maybe he was fixed at last. And as was true each previous time, it didn't seem to be so — Mollymauk only gave a yawn and stretched his arms out, mindless of the blades he held. "So, yeah. Blood curses. Can't exactly demonstrate them without a target, though."

Essek sighed, but let himself be swept into a new focus. In time, he soothed himself. Mollymauk would regain his mind in time. Regardless, letting the memories filter back gradually seemed to treat Mollymauk better than forcing the issue, even if Essek was still looking for a more direct way to unlock those memories.

He tapped his own temple, refocusing. What Mollymauk said was true, there wasn't a target to use for a demonstration. Unless —

"You said the effects were temporary," Essek checked.

Mollymauk gave a shrug. "Far as I've seen."

"No lasting effects?" The question got him a shake of the head, as expected. Magic usually wore off without a trace. To call Mollymauk's abilities a curse was likely a stronger word than was accurate, too small and too brief to qualify. Curses clung and festered, even a blindness spell was likely to have more effect than what Mollymauk could do — except that it wouldn't come through in a split-second of need, by the time Essek was finished pulling his components and conjuring the sigils in his mind, a sword would be through Mollymauk's chest, through Caleb's, through Jester's.

Life for life. Perhaps it was a more equal exchange than he'd believed.

"In that case..." Essek drew the words out, giving himself a moment longer to consider. "Target me."

Mollymauk's face contorted into bewilderment. "Are you sure?" He prompted.

"As long as what you said is true, and the effect is only temporary, then yes." Even if the thought did make his skin prickle, remembering how blood spurted around the eyes. He wondered how badly it would hurt. Essek could fight, but it did not mean he was comfortable with pain. Not like Mollymauk.

The tiefling shrugged, shifting his weight between each hoof. "Ready?" He asked. Then he broke out into a sudden grin, saying, "Honestly this is weird. It's always a split-second thing for me, I've hardly had to think about it."

"Would it help if I attempted to strike you?" Essek pulled a curl of ice between his fingers, crystalizing purple magic that was so dark it bordered on black. Mollymauk watched the movement of his fingers, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he grinned.

"Talented hands," Mollymauk commented, and then cleared his throat. "But uh. You know what? Fuck it, why not. Give me your best shot, Thelyss."

Mollymauk slunk back, and the shift to his posture held Essek's gaze where it didn't belong. Mollymauk typically held himself lofty and large, filling up the space around him. That meant this change made for a captivating view, to watch as he became a serpentine creature, one who curled one way to the other and then lunged in to strike. He wasn't attacking Essek, though, was only on defense, swaying in place with a hypnotic flow.

Essek watched him, biding his time, a stalemate. He counted the seconds, learned the pattern of Mollymauk's weight, found the point when he'd struggle to shift his movement and then —

Crimson splashed in his vision. Essek gasped, a hand flying to his face as the burn began to settle in at the corners of his eyes. Blood trickled from his tear ducts in heavy drops, sticky as they rolled down his cheeks. The sensation was nauseating.

Necromancy, he recalled. That had been the magic that flashed the second before he lost his vision. He cleaned the blood away with a few casts of prestidigitation, blinking his eyes to find Mollymauk standing much closer with streaks of blood on his own cheeks, and not so much as a speck of frost on his skin.

"Handy trick," Mollymauk commented, as the blood wicked off of Essek's skin. "You mind...?"

He swallowed his nausea, saying, "Of course." Essek cupped Mollymauk's jaw, sliding his thumb across his cheek to where the peacock feather was inked to clear the blood away. He only realized a moment later he hadn't actually needed to touch Mollymauk.

"Thank you," Mollymauk all but purred, and Essek would swear the tiefling pressed into his hand before he pulled it away.

He drew in a breath, and as he let it out he forced his muscles to unwind. "Thank you," Essek returned. "I have some interesting points to consider from that."

"Oh, yeah?"

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "You wouldn't understand it." It wasn't meant as an insult. Or, perhaps it was a bit of an insult, but mostly just a statement of fact.

"True enough," Mollymauk shrugged, and to Essek's disappointment, he didn't bother prying.

In the distance, the sky began to change. The change in the light was enough to draw both their gazes. The clouds that cast the city in darkness had begun to spiral open, an eye dilating over the Bright Queen's palace to let in a light that made Essek wince even from so far away.

"I suppose we will have to pause this," Essek said, turning away to head into the house. "I prefer not to willingly blind myself."

"Please think about what you just said," Mollymauk drawled as he trotted up beside him, tail flicking against the back of Essek's calf.

He had to snort. "You have something of a point, but that was performed as apart of an experiment. Learning, studying, improving, not just..." He stopped himself and just huffed out a breath.

"Oh?" He could hear the smirk in Mollymauk's voice. "That means something."

Essek considered how honest he wanted to be here. Mollymauk was not a subtle individual — to call him such would likely be considered an insult. In that same vein, Molly had shown little if any regard for social norms and standards, often to a frustrating extent. "I am only frustrated," he said. "What you see there is apart of worship of... something they do not understand, and treat as a deity because of that."

"Lot's of folks don't understand me but I've yet to be treated like a god. Shame," Mollymauk sighed. "So it's some kinda ceremony? They wouldn't be having a festival, would they?" His expression lit up.

Essek actually felt bad dashing his hopes. "No, it is not the kind of ceremony you would want to partake in," he said. "It is... reverent, to an alarming degree."

"Wrong: I'd love partake in that — just as long as I'm the center of attention." Mollymauk's comment dragged another chuckle from Essek's chest. He'd been laughing more in general, since meeting the Nein. It followed that one of their early members would be much the same.

Mollymauk continued, "Really, though, what's going on? You conjured a big spooky cloud to keep the sun out, didn't you?"

"You have not heard of our Beacons yet, have you?" Essek prompted. They stepped across the threshold, Essek drawing the curtains that ideally would have only been for decoration.

"I've heard 'em mentioned?" Mollymauk shrugged. "That's — lemme guess, beacon of light?"

"That is the idea, yes." Essek lowered himself into a chair, while Mollymauk all but threw himself into another. He wrinkled his nose as the furniture creaked under the tiefling's weight. "There are these... dodecahedrons. They were found, and so were some of their properties. They found that when one is consecuted — I would say attuned, but they use consecute — their soul enters this Beacon upon death, to be reincarnated at a later time."

As Essek explained the beacons to Mollymauk, the tiefling's gaze grew distant. Snippets of conversation pulled to mind, pieces falling into place for Essek. He nipped his own criticisms of the practice short, circling around to say, "That is reason why your friends are so revered in the Dynasty. They —"

"We found one," Mollymauk interrupted. His voice was distracted. "No. We met in the sewers — Thuron."

The name pinged in Essek's mind, one of those sent to retrieve a beacon. He hummed, quiet and prompting, not wanting to break Mollymauk's reverie.

"He was killed. The guards took it, but we —" A smile pulled at his lips. "Caleb and Nott, those fucking bastards. Can't trust either of them, clever assholes'll stab you in the back at the first sniff of trouble."

Essek swallowed a protest as Mollymauk trailed into silence. Molly's brow furrowed and he shook his head, a hand coming up to cover one eye. "Gods," Mollymauk groaned. "So we'd been lugging around your god in a lead box."

"Allegedly," Essek couldn't stop himself from breaking in. He bit back any further words, but the moment had passed. Clarity returned to Mollymauk's gaze. He gave it a moment before continuing, "I have my doubts that it is any sort of deity. I think they need to be studied, not worshiped. By I am in the... extreme minority, in that regard. And I would prefer these words not be repeated."

Mollymauk gave him a crooked, tired smile. "What's a little blasphemy between friends, Mister Thelyss? And honestly, I don't blame you. That reincarnation thing, that sounds like a nightmare."

The words were alien enough to shock Essek. He cocked his head, leaning forward. "You wouldn't want to be consecuted, given the chance?"

When Mollymauk only scrunched up his nose he added, "Theoretical immortality. Death is no longer an object of fear, as it becomes a delay, not an end. That doesn't appeal to you?"

By his expression, it definitely did not. Molly's voice was rough when he spoke. "What you said about how the souls... awaken. What about the person they would have been? Is it really even their soul, or are they just suppressing someone else? I wouldn't..." Mollymauk pulled his legs up, tail curling around his shins as he rested his chin on his knees. He looked small, in that moment. His voice shook. His eyes were wide. "I don't want anyone else's memories. I don't want anyone else's thoughts."

Essek stood up. The movement was sudden enough to snap Mollymauk out of it, leaving him blinking at Essek with wide red eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, a way to interrupt this descent, and landed on Caduceus' voice: "Would you like some tea?"

Mollymauk stared at him. Then he laughed, hoarse, and pushed himself to his hooves. "Sure," he croaked. "But there's not a chance in all the hells that I'm letting you make it."

They were silent as they moved to the kitchen, Essek standing begrudgingly aside to let Mollymauk make a mess of things. He was a good cook, but hardly a considerate one.

And maybe it was poking the sleeping owlbear, but Essek couldn't deny the questions that lingered on his tongue. "It would, theoretically, still be you," he said. "And who is to say that the person you become is not influenced by the person you were."

Mollymauk snapped his head to look over his shoulder, pinning Essek to the spot with a near-snarl. With teeth bared and ears pinned low, he looked a beat away from outright snarling in Essek's face. Then the fight drained from him. He breathed a sigh through the nostrils, drawing himself upright as he poured water into a kettle. "I am the last person to yuck anyone's yum," Mollymauk said. "If someone wants to go body hopping to the end of time, they can be my guest. But I want no part of that. It's just not for me."

Essek hesitated before dipping his head in a nod, even if Mollymauk couldn't see. "That is fair," he murmured. "I do not think it is for me, either."

"You were pretty pushy about it." Molly clicked his fingers at Essek and pointed to the stove. Essek just sighed and touched the runes, igniting a fire for him to set the kettle atop.

"You can do that on your own. Regardless, I was curious," Essek said, leaning back against the counter. "You are so against having another person's memories, but you want your own back. What is the difference there?"

"It just is." Molly started taking out the tea — all of it, in tins and bags and boxes. Most were blends that Caduceus had given him, but some came in his grocery order. Essek hardly understood the difference between them all. As Mollymauk worked, his tail lashed. It would betray his agitation if the tension in his voice hadn't already. "It feels different. Right now I'm missing pieces of myself. Those people, your people, the Nein, they're important. I don't know why, but they just are. But there was something before them."

Mollymauk turned, the anger in his face now resembling fear. Dread, maybe, or horror. It left him pale and clutching the edge of the counter, looking at Essek like he expected him to sprout fangs and lung for him. "There was something else, and I don't want it. This is my body now, my life. He gave it up. He doesn't get to take it back."

Essek remembered the haunted sheen in Molly's eyes when he'd called him by a different name.

Mollymauk.

Lucien.

"If that is true," Essek said, giving up on any further inquisition, "then you have nothing to worry about. He is... whoever he is. And you are you. You cannot become him."

It didn't work that way. He was making a statement with no backing, barely even understood what it was Mollymauk feared so terribly. But whatever he'd said, it seemed to work, with Mollymauk's shoulders going loose and a sigh expelling from his chest. "Yeah," he puffed. "Yeah that makes sense. Good thinking, Mister Thelyss."

"I am... happy to be a help to you."

And though it was said with a dryness in his voice, Essek found the words rang true.

#Mollymauk Tealeaf #Essek Thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing #a bird in the hand

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

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Survey #281

“is there a method to your madness, is it all about pride? ‘cuz everyone i know, they’ve got a demon inside.”

Has anyone ever told you that you looked like a celebrity? No, just a video game character and an animated movie girl when I had black hair. What color is the pillowcase(s) on your bed? Brown. Do you have a favorite day of the week? Tuesday because it’s reset day in WoW and as a mount farmer, that means I get to try my raids for the week again to continue to be denied. :’) Have you ever been in an art show? An art show, I don’t think so. I’ve had two or three things in an art museum, though. Would you consider yourself to be well-exposed to life or sheltered? I’m pretty split down the middle, I’d say. I’ve seen far more emotional pain than I think most young adults have, but at the same time, I’ve very under-exposed to adult experiences. How high is your pain tolerance? It depends on the type of pain. I can particularly say I do NOT handle stomach pains well, though. Have you ever played the game Halo? Nah, those weren’t my type. Have you ever had to learn lines for a play/skit/movie? Only songs sung together for plays in elementary school. Never solo. Do you like your nose? … Sure? Kissing someone with facial hair, do you mind? I don’t care. Would you ever like to be a stunt person? I’m fucking dumb, I read this and thought “you mean little people?” until I read the last person’s answer lmaooo. Anyway, no. I’m not ballsy enough for that shit. Are you a pyromaniac? I find fire pretty, but it still can scare me if I’m too close to it. Are you one of those people who listen to songs on repeat? 110%, it’s literally what I’m doing now lmao. Can any of your friends sing very well? SARA. Would you ever enter any kind of pageant? No, no, no, no. I really don’t support pageants of any type I can think of, beauty in particular. What a way to scream “HEY THEY’RE BETTER THAN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, again, especially in beauty pageants. That fucks people up. What a way to start things like self-loathing, eating disorders, body dysphoria, etc. Do you have piano fingers? Mom has always told me that, “like Grammy.” Have you ever slept on a beach? YIKES, no. I ain’t fuckin’ with the tides going in and out or just a massive wave. I’d also feel WAY too vulnerable. Would you like to be taller? I’m cool with my current height. Are you a fan of piercings on the opposite sex? I just like piercings in general. Have you ever been attacked by an animal? No, besides play getting too rough. Is there a movie that makes you cry every single time you watch it? It’s easy to do that lol. The Notebook in particular will 100% make me tear up. What's your opinion on Johnny Depp? He’s an incredibly talented actor that I find very attractive, but I don’t know him as a person. Can you speak in different accents? Just British and southern. Who was the last person you mocked/mimicked? My nephew, playfully of course. If you write, isn't writer's block the most horrible thing? THE ABSOLUTE WORST. What size shirt do you normally wear? Ugggghhh generally 2XL, I think. It can be one size smaller or one size larger depending on the shirt. Has anyone ever aimed a gun at you? Yikes, no. Have you ever written a song? Just poems. Do you believe there is life on other planets? It’s possible, but I don’t particularly lean a certain way, I think. The universe is just… infinite, you know? But also the circumstances that life rose within Earth were so remarkably perfect to support it that I don’t entirely know if it’s been duplicated elsewhere. When was the last time you fell? Around two weeks ago? I have extremely low blood pressure naturally but also amplified by medications’ side effects, and I got out of bed too fast when I woke up. Hurt my knees pretty bad and barely missed my head hitting the couch. Do you have any sort of debt? I do NOT want to think about this. Is there a specific time period that interests you? The era of dinosaurs of course, as well as the Renaissance, just to name a couple. Do any of your friends own an expensive car? *shrugs* Have you ever been on a train? No. Have you ever been in a parade? No. Are you, or anyone you know, an atheist? I know plenty. Have you ever sent a celebrity fan mail? No. Have you ever been in a musical? No. Is there a friend's family that makes you feel like you're family too? Yeah, Sara’s. Even though I’ve only been with them not that long of a time, they’re wonderful and made me feel so welcome. Do you ever have a fear of getting close to new people? Boy, do I!!!!! It’s funny though, because at the same time, I want to be close with people; I want to rush to the point I have a close friend. It’s weird. What is the worst things about work? N/A And the best? N/A Do you like to sleep in? Not really, honestly. I feel groggy and lazier than I naturally am lmao. Do you like to be an early bird? Well I’m in my best mood in the morning, but I don’t like waking up early. However, I’ve been planning a morning routine to adopt once we move that involves waking up at like 7 or so, so we’ll see how much I enjoy mornings then. But oh boy do I have a habit of saying I’ll do something and then not doing it, so… What is something you notice you just don't watch? History stuff and usually action. Last thing that bothered you even if just a little bit? Something Miss Tobey said to me a few days ago. Last thing that seemed a blessing from above? I don’t believe in supernatural “blessings,” but I’ll bite. The thing that made me happiest recently was uhhhh… I actually don’t know. Nothing that REALLY felt “blessing-ish.” Do you usually drink diet or regular soda? Regular; I can’t do diet. It tends to taste horrible but more importantly the artificial sweetener gives me a wicked headache. Are you on a diet? Not a diet, no. I’m more so just trying to make it a habit to simply eat better and not snack. Someone you highly respect who is not in your family? Sara’s dad. Did you say 'goodnight' to anyone last night? I don’t think I did. Does anyone ever comment on the appearance of your handwriting? People tend to point out it’s really nice. Have you looked at anyone's Facebook profile lately? Whose? Nah. Did you have a cake for your last birthday? What kind? Yeah, red velvet. Can you recall the first horror film you ever watched? How old were you? I actually don’t think I can. Maybe Paranormal Activity? Or The Blair Witch Project? When’s the last time that you mailed a letter or a package to someone, and who was it to? Sara’s bday gift I think. The last book that you checked out from the library? I haven’t done that in years. What was your pet’s last vet visit concerning? Roman got neutered, and the only time I took Venus to the vet was when I first got her and she refused food for almost a year. Changed the tactic of warming the mouse up and she was more than happy to snag it. Which animals do you tend to go check out first at the pet store? The reptiles, because they’re closest and also my favorite section. Last medication or item that you picked out from the drugstore? Nicole picked up a bunch of my prescriptions that needed refilling. Do you usually have a big list or a small list when you go to the grocery store? I don’t do the shopping here, so it’s not my choice. How much was the last check you deposited? How about the last amount that you took out? I have no clue. Have you ever been admitted into the emergency room? For what? Being suicidal and then a suicide attempt. Have you ever been arrested before? Ridden in the back of a police car? No to the first, but yes to the second because that’s just how you’re transported from the ER to the psych hospital here. Have you ever been a victim of a house fire? Thank God no. When did you graduate high school? 2014. How much gas can fit in your gas tank? N/A Does your vehicle break down a lot? N/A What’s the longest you’ve ever had to wait before being seated at a sit-down restaurant? I want to say at LEAST 45 minutes once. Can’t remember why it was so busy, though. Have you ever had a cavity before? How about a root canal? A tooth pulled? Braces? I’ve had cavities and braces, but thank Christ no root canals, and I’ve never had to have a tooth pulled by the dentist, either. Which art forms do you appreciate the most? Man, you can’t ask this to someone who enjoys art so deeply. Like I really don’t know what I enjoy *most*. Music can give me chills, poetry can be so rich and, well, poetic, and traditional artwork strikes awe and makes you wonder how they do it. I just adore art. What is your favorite zoo animal that you would like to set free? To start, I have very mixed feelings about zoos, but I guess I am *mostly* in favor of humane, adequately providing captivity to a certain degree as this allows for conservation of especially endangered species, and zoos also make it easier to study and understand the silent voices of those we share the earth with. As well, they offer a safe environment to expose the fearful to all sorts of animals, and I feel it is very, very important for humans as the alpha species to care for and understand (as best our language barriers allow) our wonderful neighbors. That being said, I definitely believe that a lot of zoos under-provide for their animals, and this is horribly heartbreaking so that I absolutely disagree with their “right” to own and display animals, but for this specific question, I am going to use my state’s zoo as the standard here. Ashboro, imo is pretty damn great and generous to their animals (you should see the miles of land the elephants, bison, antelope, and rhinos have!), but the exhibit that comes to mind first when mentioning animals I’d like to set free iiiis… you know, I don’t know. I was going to say the polar bears since it can get STUPID hot here in the summer and their abode doesn’t have a great amount of ice that survives the sun, but at the same time I’d be very wary about returning a polar bear home for… obvious reasons. I say “I don’t know” because I’m not gonna pretend to know what ample space is for so many different kinds of animals. Damn, now I really wanna go there. Wow this was a long answer to a p simple question lmao. Favorite kind of fish? I don’t have a distinctly “favorite” fish, really. I don’t know enough of ‘em, but I can say I really like clownfish and angelfish. What kinds of museum artifacts fascinate you? Whew, as someone who took Art History just last year in school, ancient art pieces of all sorts! It is so, so fascinating, watching the evolution of art and to see how the urge to just create extends so, so far back into history. Have you ever gone to court before? For a disability case, yes. Also to convince a judge that I didn’t need to stay in a mental hospital for I think the original plan was around six months. What is the last song that you danced to? Ha ha I watching Hotel Transylvania with my niece and nephew and did the macarena with ‘em. What’s your favorite alcoholic drink? Margaritas or sangrias. Is there anyone that you’ve visited in jail? No. Are you more likely to fly in an airplane, or pick people up/drop them off at the airport? Historically, pick people up. Which sporting event would you be most likely to sit through? Dance competitions. Favorite flavor of ice cream? Cone or dish? Any sprinkles? My favorite Basic Bitch flavor is vanilla, just with chocolate syrup. Cone or dish just depends on what I’m feelin’, really. I hate sprinkles on anything; the texture throws me off. Have you ever cut your own hair? No. What do you eat most frequently? Uggghhhh some form of bread, probably. Are you a fan of video games? Yeah, but not as much as I used to be. What's your favorite color combination? Idk really, I like a lot. I will say though that orange and black excites me bc Halloween Vibes. Did you share a locker at school? No. What's one sport you could never play? Wrestling, ew. Have you ever sung karaoke? Oh god no. What is the oldest age you think should wear makeup? lmao BRO tell me this a joke How old were you when you went on your first date? Idr, sometime in the 7th grade, if group dates in middle school even count? lol Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yeah. If so, who? An ex and probably doctors at some point? Did your parents sign you up for anything you hated as a child? Sunday school, really. Have you purchased any cool objects from a foreign country? Considering I’ve never left the country, no. Are you on a laptop or a desktop computer right now? I only have a laptop. Do you remember anyone's number by heart? No, but I seriously need to memorize my mom’s. Do you live above, below, or on the Equator? Above. Do you know how to use Photoshop? I know how to do a decent number of things, but I’m definitely no expert. Where was your first job? I was a sales associate at GameStop. What's the best place you have ever eaten? Olive Garden is fucking fantastic, fite me about it. Do you own a hair straightener? No, I don’t need one. Are you barefoot right now? I always am at home unless it’s cold enough to need slippers. Are you subscribed to any magazine? Nah. Do you need AC right now? No; it’s actually pretty cold inside rn. Do more people call you by a nickname or your first name? It’s just a derivative of my first name; “Britt.” But I guess that classifies as a nickname. Name something you're proud of. Deciding to actually *try* to move on and making massive progress through it with That Person. Lately I’ve wondered if I truly have, though. My PTSD has been really bad of the late. Does any accent annoy you? I can’t say it “annoys” me, given you can’t really control your accent, but I do find it difficult to understand extremely southern accents, even as a local. Do you take vitamins? This just reminded me I’ve been out of my Vitamin D prescription for a while… oops. I’m supposed to take it for my legs. When was the last time you took aspirin or some other pain reliever? Yesterday, actually. I had a pretty bad headache. When was the last time you deeply regretted something? God, last night, I was remembering and accepting some things. Lemme just say I regret the everloving fuck out of the subject. What is something that you regularly wear that makes you stand out? Besides my lip ring, nothing in particular. Do you prefer small birthday parties or big ones? Small. I just don’t like big gatherings in general. What song are you listening to now? “Creatures X: To The Grave” by Motionless In White. What was the most traumatic experience of your life? The breakup w/ Jason. I’ve told the story enough in surveys and I don’t wanna recite it again. Who was your childhood best friend? Brianna. Are you still friends now? On Facebook, anyway, but we don’t talk. If not, why? We just drifted apart. What is one career you don't think you could do no matter how much it paid? Butcher. No fucking way. Have you ever edited Wikipedia? No. Have you ever edited any other wiki? Oh yeah; I’m an admin at the Silent Hill wiki and have invested hours upon hours upon hours helping out there for years. I’m also a content moderator at the Team Ico wiki, and I’ve also assisted a lot at the meerkats wiki because it is a fucking grammatical and formatting catastrophe. I think that’s it? Wait no, I did a few fixes on the Dragons of Atlantis wiki when it was still at the Kabam website, too. Is there a website [besides social networking] that you check almost daily? Yeah, a few. Do you get scared when you know some virus or sickness is being passed? I wouldn’t say I get scared, no. Just more aware and cautious. What’s the worst illness you’ve had? I’ve had a fucking wicked stomach virus before. (TMI alert?) I would not stop puking to the point it was agonizing to the point of tears because my muscles were so exhausted. Which do you prefer: M&M's, Skittles, or Reese's Pieces? BITCH can I choose all???? But in almost any chocolate-related case, I will choose a Reese’s product. Where on your body would you never get a tattoo? I don’t plan on getting a face tattoo, or at least a big one. Maybe something small and cute. OH YEAH EW absolutely never getting my sclera tattooed. That looks painful as a motherfucker. Honestly, have you ever stuck gum under a table or desk? No, that shit is disgusting. If your parents could read your thoughts, would you be in trouble? Not usually. Mom might be mad sometimes when I’m angry at her. Have you ever egged somebody's house or car? No, that’s childish as shit. My childhood house was egged once, so it pisses me off especially. Do you like licorice? UGH no, that shit is disgusting. Did anybody ever read bedtime stories to you when you were younger? My mom did. Which natural disaster do you find the most terrifying? Tornadoes or earthquakes. Do you have a favorite Johnny Depp movie? What is it? Alice in Wonderland. If I gave you a Yo-Yo right now, could you do any tricks? Nope.

#survey #quiz #questions #questionnaire

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theelliottsmiths · 4 years

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Funniest making of video Rammstein moments?

Well this got... Comprehensive. It devolved somewhat as it got to videos I don't care about as much. This is not what you were expecting, I'm sure, but you asked so please be polite and read it. It's like 2/3 from memory so I'm sure I missed just the funniest thing that's ever been in one. Such is life.

P*ssy (let's see if this work of art gets into the tags):

Schneider being a nasty bastard rat man with his leg drumming

Everything Flake says. All of it.

Richard talking about his double, holding his hands about a foot apart

The hoover

Schneider's little kick at the camera because he's 18 years old at most

Das ist ein Bordell?

The little grass song

Schneider trying not to show that the thinks it's 'absolutely stupid'

Flake don't do anything

Their little weirdo best friend hang out warmups

Rosenrot:

Till practicing the murder scene

Paul singing the Rosenrot guitars as he learns how to flagellate himself. This is one of my fave things why does nobody talk about it?

Till saying he wants to make friends too

Till peeping out of the hood asking why(?) he needs make up

Can we count Richards hat and Flakes hair

Richard asking if they should have knives and won't they kill him?

OLI WITH THE WINE UP HIS SLEEVE. It's the funniest thing I've ever seen no matter how many times I see it.

Everything Flake says

Till, don't defend yourself. Richard, let someone else beat the devil out of Till!

The silence after Flake says he doesn't like pain as much as Till

Sonne:

Talking about how they had to make Paul bigger to play a dwarf

Flake talking about them wanting to name the album Herzeleid and then realising there was, unfortunately, already an album called Herzeleid and they're the ones who made it

Did the American tour influence this album? Nope!

Everyone's reaction to the spanking scene

Robert

When Paul feels the Cain Instinct rising and flings the food at Till, Schneider looking on to see his reaction instead of stopping Paul

Mutter:

No :(

Radio:

Mit seinem Mündchen, so spitz!!!

The little opera battle at the end

The fact that it hasn't got subtitles (though I'd rather it did)

Ausländer:

Schneider's dancing

Till saying the actress could like, permanently kick his arse

Schneider and Oli falling over.

Paul with the tusk

Jeez Schneider's dancing though how is he so many contrary things?

Till trying so so hard not to look at the actress' breasts while she's talking (does anyone know her name I feel gross just saying the actress). He does, but he tried.

Mein Land:

Paul and his pale, delicate Berlin skin

The way it cuts from the beach to Flake in his night makeup, which to me feels like they're implying it's his regular everyday look

Flake not super wanting to be there

The dancing. The only time I'm truly reminded of their ages is when I see them dance.

Richard hugging Jonas, just because of the way he flings himself. I bet he runs up to people and jumps, assuming they'll catch him.

Haifisch:

Paul's little blink thing

...Richards hair.

Till dressed as snow white, spanking what would be Paul

Flake being an amphibian

Richard going off track to mention a woman with 'huge jugs'

Stripped:

Down to the booonnneeee

Ich Tu Dir Weh:

fleischfarrrrrrrrrbenen Drrrrrrrraht lang legst. His speech is so rounded, like the bubble writing every teenaged girl uses on posters

The whole mouth piercing story, really. I don't think it's as big of a deal as they do though? It was bigger than a standard piercing and he wasn't very smart about it but it was pretty much just a cheek piercing he treated poorly, he didn't remove a limb. I used to spray stuff when I had a lip piercing so that's just understandable, relatable content.

Ziggy Stardust

Flake saying he's being slandered

Paul's face the entire time he talks about the trucks

Mann Gegen Mann:

Is it weird that I think Schneider's lil drumming noises are funny in the background? They're so small.

Benzin:

Oli really doesn't look like Oli in the truck this isn't funny but that was a strange time huh

The guy losing his mind over the crash scene.

Richards driving face. I remember seeing it as a kid and it was just as funny then. Or maybe that's why I think it's funny

You're the driver, you can't be lying out there!

Keine Lust:

Flake wishing he could be that fat

His safely saddled pirouette

The boys cackling at each other when they see the make up and prosthetics

Schneiders giggle when he says it's his idea. Okay so this is more cute than funny, but have you ever noticed that he doesn't really have a medium laugh? It's either a polite huff or an avalanche of hysterical giggles

Schneider looking at himself in the mirror so seriously idk it just is funny

Paul singing in the makeup chair

Till getting into his suit

Schneider's face is falling to pieces but that's irrelevant!

Schneider peeling himself. Hallo!

Ohne Dich:

Flake insulting Till, Till saying he's going to really make him sweat because of how rude he was. Paul taking the piss out of Flake in the interview.

Did you expect me to run with you? How did you arrive at that?

Tills little mm after he says the sweat thing

He's alive, Schneider, come make it a trio!

Tills small mountain song

Amerika:

Okay mini rant time please bear with me I need to get this out. That guy when Till is getting taped into the astronaut gear? He told Till the Donald Sutherland penis zip story, yet when Till talks about it (using the name, pointing to his dick and zipping) the guy looks completely clueless. It's so American? How could he not get that that's the story Till was telling? Anyway it's funny because he zipped the penis of Donald Sutherland with it so... His boss, his boss did.

Again, everything Flake says. The urinals!

Paul saying their message is Fleisch, Fleisch and Ja and Ich Will, but Amerika was being so annoying that they had to make an exception

Richard with the arcade machine

The director says it's hard for them to play double speed because it's like a punk concert. They... They were all in punk bands. Maybe not Oli (I have no idea what his band was, someone said folk fusion to me once?) but the rest of them?

Paul's little history lesson in his lil nerd outfit

Rammstein created the conspiracy theory that America never went to the moon

Richard re: 10 litres of orange juice

America doesn't exist in East Germany. Why does every country have one country people think doesn't exist? Finland is a popular choice.

Mein Teil:

Moustache.

Schneider's giggling over being the perpetrators mother. Why was he so excited/embarrassed to pretend to be Armin Meiwes' mother?

Stop complaining!

Paul stomping on the suit. Am I just easily amused?

Schneider will just be a bit more woman

Oli's freaky faces

Flake talking about Swedish TV

Mein Herz Brennt:

Till trying to be diplomatic about the Spanish schedule. At least the walls were burning!

Paul being a nasty little thief

The cones.

Paul's reaction to the cones. The giggles.

Till talking to the child!

Oli with the kids when he's in his net. You know what meme that's like, fishermen talking and one gets caught in the net and they're like is it just me or is Dave being hot right now? Yeah that's all I can think then I see his net.

Paul talking about the captive costumes and shouting at Schneider through the cone

Richard having dreadlock flashbacks

The. Finger monster thing where it's like Ta Da

Feuer Frei:

Paul Kebab

Homemade Star Trek video. Paul, please dig it out.

Ich Will:

Paul in the corridor

I really like the way Paul says DDR. Its not funny, I just need to point it out I am legally obligated. Small and cute little country

Paul talking about the cameras killing them and being dramatic

Flake talking about being popular in Iceland

Mein Ohr!

Links 234:

Are there subtitles because of the accent?

That's it, I don't like this one very much at all

Du Hast:

When they forget to tell the fire boy he can cool off

Engel:

Schneider: Paul was upset we tucked him away behind the drums where he could do nothing, he loves meddling and offering his opinion

Paul: *rants about everything wrong with the video* (Paul is correct in every criticism)

Du Riechst So Gut 98:

Till being shy kissing a woman is very funny to me

Seeman:

All of it. The hair, the set, the costumes. Everything. Their reactions to all of those things. What on earth.

Poor Paul talking about the haircuts as if he's ever had more than one decent haircut in his life. Two at most.

Till seems content with it but maybe he's just being diplomatic.

Schneider, me and Oli just fool around in the background and crowd the picture with too many people

B... Bird head. Plague doctor.

Du Riechst So Gut 95:

I love how they talk about it but even though the video itself is super funny, the making of? Not so much.

Schneider saying they wanted to appear aggressive and masculine, screen cuts to what is essentially a gay p*rno/tampon advert

Of course, we had to rub oil into out bodies. Of course.

Till talking about how he layered sunglasses and got the slashes metal things to help. Is it funny or am I just tired now?

Rammstein (I always forget this exists, it's so hard to find it):

Ah yes, first video, let's ask David Lynch. Why not?

#man is till cute in thr benzin interview #my one regret is being too small to lend him my hoodie and or t shirt #rammstein #flake is cute in the keine lust making of look at his hair and lil hat #me rambling #did #schneider tuck for mein teil #i censored myself and itll probably still not work brcause penis is in here #meh probably a good thing

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