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warmau · 4 years

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the door opens as soon as the hand on the clock that hangs right above the line of freezers at the back of the store strikes eight

through it walks yangyang

grey hoodie pulled over his messy hair, stuck to the skin of his forehead with slowly evaporating sweat

he’s dribbling a basketball as he walks down the aisles and you pretend to rearrange the candy display in front of the register

but you’re watching

the sound of the basketball thumps through the otherwise empty corner store

outside, the sun is waving its last goodbye before the moon takes it spot in the sky

and then yangyang rounds his way back to you - placing some loose change down and waving the already unwrapped melon pop he’s picked out

you count the coins, and he’s ten cents short, but you don’t say anything about that

he turns, basketball now tucked under his arm

and leaves without a thank you or a goodbye

you know him - and you’re sure he knows you too - but it has been the same silent routine since summer started two weeks ago

the reason - and it could just be your suspicion - but no other fact has reared its head as creditable

has to do with dong sicheng

yangyang’s upperclassman, friend, and your ex-boyfriend

you lean forward a little and huff, not even really my ex-boyfriend. we fooled around all of last semester and then-

you feel something weird curl up inside your stomach

sicheng had called it off

you remember what he had said to you;

“maybe if you weren’t always looking at -”

the door opens again and your eyes barely shift to see who it is now

only to see yangyang again, melon pop abandoned, grey hoodie abandoned, basketball abandoned

he buffers a bit before walking right up to the register

you straighten up and feel like the little store has only gotten tighter

he slaps the ten cents he was short down on the counter and you blink

“i owe you this.”

“oh thanks.”

“sicheng isn’t here for the summer. he went abroad.”

you blink, and your instinct is to say - why would i care? - but you just nod slowly

yangyang steps back a little. he’s still got remnants of sweat on him from the summer heat, his hands tucked deep in his pockets

“did you like him?”

“no”

you answer a little too fast for comfort, but there just isn’t enough time to stop yourself from spilling the truth. something you’ve wanted to say for a while.

yangyang is looking at the floor, or maybe the candy, who knows - but he looks up after that.

“he said you were always -”

“looking at you. i know.”

yangyang seems to catch his breath, or maybe he just looks like he’s being suffocated, but either way he points to the sign on the door

“you close in an hour right?”

“yes”

“ill be here. we can - ill be waiting for you.”

even with the streetlights flickering, the night hovering into complete darkness, the heat makes everything feel vibrant and hot

or maybe you just feel all this pressure, finally being alone with yangyang

you’ve changed, you’ve attempted to comb your hair, you’re holding the half finished bottle of gatorade that is acting like some kind of pseudo-anchor as you wait to hear what it is yangyang will say

does he know? did he notice? or did sicheng just tell him for the hell of it that ive always actually liked him?

“i was looking too, that’s why i was so confused.”

he kicks the curb a little and avoids your gaze

“why you chose him - why you were sneaking around and doing all of that with him when i was-”

he throws his hands up in frustration

“when i was there too!”

“i just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

“you think i didnt like you back?”

you cross your hands and nod

“yeah, you never did anything to make me think you -”

“neither did you, you actually did the opposite, hooking up with one of my closest friends-”

“hey!”

you don’t want to raise your voice, but it makes yangyang look at you. really look at you.

“is it a crime to want to be desired? i couldnt get the feeling from you and sicheng just kissed me one day and it felt-”

yangyang steps closer, both hands reaching for your shoulders as if he’s about to pull you in close to him

but just as his fingers graze your skin, you can feel the tension stiffen him into stone

you flatline your voice and stare, “yangyang if you’re going to kiss me then just do it”

he opens his mouth in protest, at least that’s what he intentions, when in the next second

it’s you, dropping the gatorade in your hand, and just tugging him in for it first

he doesn’t kiss with the overwhelming confidence he can saunter around with when he’s with his friends, but he is enthusiastic

it kind of shocks you when after just a soft peck on the lips turns into yangyang wrapping you in almost squeezing hug

he kisses as if he’s trying to make up for something

you chalk it up to the time you’ve both waisted tip-toeing around each others feelings

and when you pull away from him, you realize he’s nearly dragged you off the curb and into the sidewalk with him and you’re like

“let’s get out of the street before we get hit by a car.”

he grins, the brightest light even in the darkness

“wait- just one thing though.”

his hands don’t let go from being wrapped around your waist, his bare skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. how many degrees is it out? at least eighty something.

“what?”

“do i kiss better than sicheng-”

you yank him back onto the sidewalk and roll your eyes in response, yangyang just leans down to laugh into your neck

you’ve still got to work at the shop all summer, but now yangyang doesn’t just stop by at just eight

he’s there as much as possible

sitting on boxes of soda and chips - hand on your leg as you two watch the array of interesting neighbors and customers that pass their way through

there’s a nice old couple that beams at you and yangyang, talking about how much you two remind them of themselves

there’s a social recluse that scurries up and down the aisles even though he always buys the same two things every time he’s in here. yangyang theorizes he’s a spy or something and you’re like im pretty sure he works for an IT company

there are giggling groups of middle schoolers enjoying the summer, there are teenagers who spend more time kissing in the corners rather than buying anything, there are adults rushing to and from work

sometimes yangyang’s friends stop by, the ones he plays basketball with, and they wolf whistle and wink and push him when they think you’re not looking

but now kun - who apologizes to you every time for their CHILDISH behavior

the summer that you thought would be dragging slowly because of this dumb job, has become something like a rainbow.

colorful, eventful, and beautiful

especially when you’re sitting up on the register counter and yangyang is leaning up to kiss you

lips cold from the ice-cream you both just shared

he’s gotten better at kissing, and at hand-holding, and staring at you like you’re the entire earth and more

he leaves for a couple of hours to go play basketball - and one evening you close the shop early to go watch him

he looks so different from the yangyang that makes bad jokes, the yangyang who chases the local stray cat around your store, the yangyang who is still a little too shy about coming over to your house when you’re both alone, the yangyang who fell out of a tree trying to get a stuck balloon untangled for a crying toddler

he looks serious and focused - he looks more mature

when the set ends he jogs over, lifting his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face and you realize you’re also still a little shy, averting your eyes to the side

he doesn’t notice, if he did - you would not hear the end of it - as he leans forward to kiss your nose

you pull back and tell him ew- he’s so sweaty and smelly - but he just pouts and says thats never bothered you before!

“yeah, it’s never bothered you before so you guys should just make out-”

hendery’s voice echoes from somewhere before you presume kun puts a stop to that

yangyang raises an eyebrow

and you give in - leaning in to press your lips to him

“salty?” he asks when he pulls away, “very!”, you laugh and yangyang joins in

“oh sicheng you’re back?”

the sentence drowns you and yangyang’s momentary bliss

you don’t want to turn around and see if it’s really him - but yangyang leans away from you so you stand up too

“how was your trip?” it’s kun’s voice - followed by yukhei who exclaims that he’s missed him so much!

sicheng answers them, looking over his shoulder at you and yangyang

the sounds of the park all wash out - you don’t feel anything romantic toward sicheng, but this is still awkward and you’re more than anything worried about-

“yangyang - can i be on your team?”

sicheng is referring to the next game and you want to say something to yangyang about how it’s really all over, like it didn’t ever even mean anything

but then sicheng looks at you

“can i steal your boyfriend away for a bit?”

the playful banter sizzles the tension down and you feel yourself relax, and yangyang does too

“sure bro, but you better have gotten good during your trip - your freethrows always suck!”

sicheng laughs and you do too, kissing yangyang’s cheek before he goes back to join his friends

when it gets too dark to play anymore and everyone’s exhausted - yangyang and you part from the group

hendery tries to yell something about kids being safe, kun drags him away by the ear, xiaojun, yukhei and ten echo the sentiment anyway and sicheng says;

“im happy for you guys.”

you feel yangyang squeeze your hand in his - when it’s just you and him left

you shiver a little because summer is ending and falls kiss is sweeping in

yangyang shrugs off the grey hoodie he’s always wearing and you slip it on before taking his hand in yours again

“was it weird seeing sicheng again?”

“not really - i mean it’s just sicheng.”

you stop walking and yangyang does too

“he’s your friend and he’s just my friend. seriously. yangyang i want you to know that.”

he smiles softly, not the big toothy grin you’re used to, and tugs you a little into him

“i know that.”

he kisses your hair and then laughs

“if it was me, you would have jumped right into my arm-”

“yangyang!”

you give him a look and he swears he’s joking, he promises

but he’s also right

years later - as you’re standing in the airport looking up at the switchboard of flights

you light up when you see that the plane from taiwan is landing

you rush to the gate and wave as soon as you sicheng

he waves back, and so does kun and ten and everyone

and holding up the end is yangyang who abandons his luggage, to come barreling toward you

you can’t hold it too, it’s been all summer that he and the rest of them have been gone

and it’s been so boring without him, and so lonely, so when he opens his arms

you do jump right into them - getting attacked in a whirlwind of kisses

the rest of the group catches up to you two and from somewhere you can hear kun mutter

“they’re acting like kids”

but sicheng defends you two

“let them, they’ve been looking at each other since then.”

when yangyang finally decides to let you go, he adds:

“yep, and we haven’t stopped since.”

#i started this listening to still woozy and then ended it by listening to jbalvin thats how my night was going #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang scenarios #nct au #wayv au #yangyang au #member: yangyang #sfw #yangyang #wayv #nct

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syubub · 3 years

Note

Rae I was hoping you could do a reading (nothing grand, it can be small) on BTS’ (each member’s individual) current post-Grammy energy? The past 24 hours have been a rollercoaster of emotions. I noticed a lot in their demeanors on both their vlive, and reaction to the loss they posted on Twitter. I have my own analysis and observations, but all that mostly comes from a psychological/logical pov. I want your take on the spiritual side and most importantly your thoughts on what the cameras won’t show us and what the members would probably never vocally/publicaly express (since bless their hearts, they’re such humble people). — 💼

That's such a great ask 💼 anon! I love the idea and I have to do it right now bc I need to know lol

bts post-grammy energy reading

Disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes and not to be taken as fact. This is only my personal interpretation!

So first off we have the energy of the group.

The 6 of coins, the magician, ten of wands reversed.

Starting with the 6 of coins

This to me feels like they are happy to have preformed and likely feel very loved.

Like they're happy to have shown their talents to the world and spread some joy and love

The card itself Is a lot about give and take and sharing and I think they feel that with army

The kind of solidarity and appreciation of eachother

With the magician (this came up in pre grammy read too) it feels like the determination and drive to succeed. They probably are feeling motivated to come back again stronger.

I see this too as bts not holding back and doing what they feel they have to do (I'm excited for what it could be)

Then we have 10 of wands reversed

This talks about feeling relief about being able to release a burden

This makes a lot of sense

In a way they were kinda carrying A LOT on their backs with this grammy nom

And for it to be over I think now they can catch their breaths

Seokjin

Knight of wands.

This is so very him.

Passion, inspired action, energy.

It's the "pushing foward bc I have a thing that I'm going to do" energy

I see this as him being fired up and like "Okay so this is how we can do this and next time this will happen and we can do this as well"

Very much no time to dwell

It's the confidence and belief in himself and the group and their goals

Like he took his time to be be angry, sad, mad and whatever but I don't think it was at not winning. It was all the other stuff

And now hes ready to continue and push through

He could have a million ideas in his head rn

The knight of wands is one of my absolute favorite cards

It's also associated with sagittarius so maybe I'm just a bit biased lol

Renewed energy and passion

Love it

Yoongi

YOONGI

It's in caps bc im yelling

Ace of cups

You absolute pain

Yes this card can be about love

In this context though I see it as creativity

Ace is always the start of things.

The ace of cups is an emotional beginning

The beginning of a new creative project fuled by emotions and your emotions about your experiences

Yall

Yoongi is writing and making stuff and this might just be the new project that takes them to the grammys and win them the trophies

Yoongi had a planned we should always listen carefully to his words.

He technically said a 2021 grammy preformance and 2022 grammy win...

Ugh

Essentially I think that whatever project comes from the emotions of this time will be extremely significant for them

Maybe we'll get a song or album that talks about the shit they go through with interlude: FUCK YOU AND YOUR BULLSHIT

I hope we get swearing...

Probably not bc in true bangtan fashion they can form their emotions and experience into beautiful metaphors.

To sum up I think yoobi kinda knew what would happen so he sees it as an opportunity to take the emotions/creativity and create a very special thing(again, is he consciously aware of this shit??)

Hoseok

Wheel of fortune reverse

Hobi :(

Dissapointment and misfortune

It's that "the whole world is against me" feeling

I bet he was extremely excited and it was just an emotional blow to him

I think he probably can't help but be hard on himself

Like, "if we did this better" or "we should have done this"

But he knows that it's not his fault. It's just hard not to question yourself

It's feeling like they just can't catch a break

With this card though I feel like there's also an energy of no longer feeling like they have to "play the game"

Breaking the cycle

I think dynamite served 2 purposes

1. To bring joy and some sense of normality to a mid pandemic world

And 2. To play the game by its rules. Everything according to the book

Kinda an experiment

And to see that even doing everything right and excelling at the game didn't really change the scammys mind

Theirs freedom there

They did it the grammys way

And now they'll do it the bangtan way

Bc they've learned

Maybe they'll try another English song but it will be more them

Namjoon

Seven of cups

This card...

The first thing I want to talk about is illusion

The idea that an option you pick has a whole lot of things hiding behind the surface and it's not what it first looked to be

Being hyped up by the grammys and having a bunch of interviews and stuff only to be used

I think namjoon is dealing with that extra hard because as a leader I think he has this idea that he's ment to protect his members

I think he feels a bit like, "I should have seen this coming and been more careful"

Stuff like that.

When joon said "I told you" after they announced the winner

I feel like he told them that it was un likely bc the closer and closer it got he kinda started to see things for what they really were

I think too that joon is trying to decide where to go from here

Do they try a new English song?

Do they say fuck it and make a metal album?

Do they make an album focusing on the positives?

Do they make an album talking about the negatives?

Do they mix a bunch of ideas together?

Do they go back to their roots?

Very many options and namjoon is trying to choose the best one

However.

Everything has an upside and a downside

Jimin

Chim chim

The hermit

Soul searching and introspection

Listening to yourself

I think jimin might feel a bit down

Like, he needs time to re evaluate

I think jimin tends to base his worth on some external factors and he might have put a lot of his own worth on this situation

So now he has to go back and remind himself that this doesn't define him and that his value has nothing to do with the grammys or how others view him

Like hobi he might be bit hard on himself rn

But the hermit is such a powerful card bc you find yourself in the soul searching and you can asses how to move foward

I think also the hermit might also symbolize feeling shut out of the music industry and maybe too a bit of shame about not winning

JIMIM :'(

Taehyung

The high priestess

This whole situation did not pass his vibe check in the first place

I think he probably knew

Maybe his angel told him or he subconsciously knew

Very much trusting his intuition and will probably be using that to guide him going foward in what he will do with this situation

Creating and being vulnerable and open is important

Anything that has to do with intuition and creativity and empathy

He's probably also comforting jimin in preticular rn

He's also probably thinking about how to comfort us

(Maybe he's working extra hard to push the mixtape foward in order to comfort us)

(( we are trying to comfort YOU. You don't need to comfort us!!))

Regardless

It's a very intresting energy and it makes sense lol

Jungkook

The hanged man

Koo

A pause to re evaluate

Similar to jimin in that this is a time to reflect and to do some soul searching

Taking the time to see things from a new perspective that is desperately needed for him

Some new and important thing might be on the horizon (see yoongis reading) and he will be able to see it and see its potential because he's taking time to just

Exist

Gather his thoughts so that he can know what he's feeling and take that

Morph it into something beautiful

And use that to move foward with a new perspective.

I think also this could indicate feeling like this is a hurdle they can't get over.

Stuck where they are bc the obstacles are insurmountable.

Another interpretation is being made an example of publicly?

Like he might feel like they failed publicly and that it hurt rather than helped south Korea as a whole?

But overall feeling like he needs that new perspective and taking this as an opertunity to find that!

I hope this kinda makes sense! I only pulled one card bc I think they're all feeling A LOT of things and I wanted to focus on the main theme.

It's a lot more positive than I thought but that's bts for you, always looking to grow and learn and create. I'm really interested to see what kind of songs come from this emotional influx! I think it definitely differs some from what they've shown so I'm curious how this energy manifests for them!

#💼anon #bts #bts tarot #seokjinnie #seokjin #jin #suga #min suga #yoongi #hoseok #jhope #hobi #namjoon #rm #jimin #park jimin #taehyung #v #tae tae #jungkook #kookie #jk #bts reactions #bts imagines

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foryouthegays · 3 years

Text

techno liveblog w timestamps lets go for ‘a new home (dream SMP)’ stream

good laugh times: 00:13:50, 00:14:55, 1:38:45, ik it doesnt look like a lot but like u should watch the stream anyway bc philzas there and his laugh is amazing and they just go so well together

times techno calls phil his friend: 00:6:00 00:37:00, 00:45:17, 0:1:09:30, 01:11:15, 01:26:35, 01:50:05, 2:35:00

FSDJKFAF;LS HE KEPT THE MUTED INTRO IN JHKADFLS (ends at 00:1:25)

i like how, when faced with Leaving Youtube, techno would choose to be an author. i want a book by techno. reblog this if u want a book by techno (with an audiobook by him as well) /hj. 00:1:33

i love how he says ehhhhhh so much lskjhdfas (abt 2 mins in)

who the FUCK just remembers that the word fortuitous exists wtf 00:5:17

00:7:45 PHILZA TIME PHILZA TIME LETS GO

00:8:55 tommy time :/

0:14:10 rANBOO JUST WALKS IN, LOOKS AROUN ,AND LEA VE SIM CRYING

i love how much philza laughs at technos jokes bc pretty much everything he says IS a joke he just says it in such a serious voice that p much everyone else is like,,,yeah,,,,yup,,,,and phil just knows when hes joking and his laugh is so good with technos voice. sbi? whos that? i only know philza and technoblade

00:19:30 ghostbur joins! this is my first time hearin ghostbur btw

00:19:40 haha string axe technos so bad at crafting what a fool /j

00:21:07 ghostbur: “Even I remember how to make a fishing rod!” ghostbur u just MURDERED technoblade oh my god im gonna scream hgjdfksla i love ghostbur so much

00:23:55: GHOSTBUR NO!! DON’T DIE YOU’LL BECOME A DOUBLE GHOST!!!! -technoblade 2020

00:24:55 technoblade neva lies -guys he almost did the technoblade neva dies ahh!!!!!

i havent heard anyone talk about this but techno has a dedicated roleplay voice. like listen to him talk to tommy at 00:25:08. his voice gets more even, he uses names a lot more often (seriously, listen to his theseus speech. he says tommy so often, its incredible.), and his voice gets,,,,deeper? not deeper but smoother, in a way, and he repeats what he says for emphasis instead of humor. and his voice is louder, and he seems more assertive.

00:27:30 philza: where we goin, by the way? techno: to our- to my new home.

techno cmon let phil live w u wed get so much more content cmonn

00:28:50 the fact that he calls the manhunt theme “dream music” makes me laugh so hard. and then his version of it,,,,,m love he (also he sings it here and at 01:14:20)

00:35:10 why is ranboo so cryptic im-

why does he just casually know the word sentry wh at i hate him 00:39:45

this is the worst sentence (structurally) ive ever heard techno say im gonna cry 00:49:33 ‘im too busy thinkin of new ideas to sleep so i could actually execute them’ and tubbos *oh?* after is just hdsfgkjlka

LKSJDHFJK 00:51:49

00:54:30

techno: thats one of dreams powers, he can just stop the rain

tubbo, quietly: like jesus!

i love them sm dsfhkjla they kept going but i jus gdfhjksa jesus has op

techno @ being the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans: haha funnie!!

techno @ having fun w religious stuff: i wILL BE CANCELLED NO-

00:58:10 “hey if ur [ghostbur] a ghost, do instant damage potions heal you now?” “...no,, they hurt me still :(” DSIULZKJHFSLKFJH

01:04:00 his brother named the cow bob im- aww

also he has a fanart wall again!!!

01:09:30 “phil, you’re the only friend i have left in this world.” aWWWWW HE GAVE HIM THE COMPASS

“dont smoke, it’s a joke” -technoblade 01:14:15

ROLEPLAY SPEECH VOICE IS BACK AT 1:16:10 “they pillage my base for everything i’m worth, they use me for the revolution, but oooOOOoo i took a pickaxe with his consent? oOOOooOo i’m a thief!”

holy shit 01:17:15 “you know what, phil? for you, the world, alright? it’s fine.” oH MY GOD HHHHGHG (context, right before they were arguing bc phil took some blocks from his base and techno thought that when he said phil could take anything he meant from the chests)

the COMIDY of that villager coming in and sleeping while techno was readin donos at 01:22:05 RIGHT AFTER phil freaked out abt inturruptin his dono readin im SFDHKJLA:

techno talkin bout the winstreak and how he wont be able to live up to that sort of playin at 01:22:30ish is super important and ill transcribe it tomorrow, but if u can id highly rec watchin it.

01:24:20 “[readin dono] what’s your favorite movie? uh, the princess bride is pretty good” techno ily that movie rocks also he said it so fast like hes ashamed of it noo

techno says no to canon ranboo son btw! 01:25:30

01:25:55 “i wasnt in that story, therefore it doesnt matter” all of technoblr be like

01:37:49 is great lemmie transcribe

“how have you still not gotten a second monitor?? holy shit.”

“let me tell you something. and im only telling you this because i know that so many people in the chat are gonna be furious. so i recently realized- i think the second monitor can just be any ol’ monitor, right? you literally just plug it in, and its set up? well i mean you have to turn on some settings, but like, thats it, or something?”

“yeah,,,,, uh techno you fuckin destroyed my chat, by the way, oh my god, [earlier techno told his viewers to twitch prime philza] there has been like 40 primes just flying through”

“yeahhh twitch prime!!! twitch prime philza yeahh!!! so anyways the other day, i like, i looked to my left, and realized that my old monitor has been like, five feet away from where i sit and stream for the last three years?”

“oh my god...”

“so i- i literally do not have to leave my room to set up a second monitor and i havent. and i’m still usin my laptop for this stream.

“is this gonna be one of those situations where you like, you have a thing, you just refuse to do the thing?”

“listen, my desk is-

“yOU STILL HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE!!!”

“AHHHH I HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE! I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY MCC COIN! DUDE I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBER PLAQUE! ITS STILL THERE RIGHT BEHIND ME! ITs sTILL IN THE BOX! i never made a video on it....”

“bruhhhhh [philza laughs] thats FREE VIEWS what are you doing??”

“ill open it at 8 mil :/.”

“you could LITERALLY make a video of you just like, throwing it off a wall, and then thumbing up, like doing a thumbs up, and then that would be it. 10 seconds. ten seconds. thumb and elbow in shot. [laughs]”

techno is such a disaster i love him

01:34:18 the way techno says “tommy, that statement has NEVER been true” i dont like sayin i simp for block men but GOD sometimes his voice is nicer than usual hhhgn

“man i sure wish tommyinnit was in this stream” -nobody ever (just after previous timestamp)

01:40:15 is fuckin hilarious and im actually crying oh my god techno just says things and says them well with a completely straight face how does he do it

i cannot WAIT until theres a president w the last/first name andy so we can say president andy and think abt technoblade

IM CRIASDNGUSFHD 01:44:38 PHILZA LOOK OUT LOOK OUT PHILZA LSKJDAFJASD;LKF

i love when techno talks abt his vids. like u can tell he puts a lot of thought into the vids (esp these ones) and like at 01:47:00 he talks abt the “I DIDNT PUT DEAPTH STRIDER ON THOSE BOOTS, FUNDY!” and how its just that creepin realization that you were doomed from the start and how he made the armor, he isnt intimidated by the netherite bc he didnt enchant it all the way and only he knows that,,, and i just,,,hgg he

he reveals that hes writin the next arc at 01:48:00: “oh, speakin of arcs, chat, i’m writing the next arc. so, you know. hope nothin bad happens in two weeks, chat!” IM SO EXCITED like he clearly has his character fleshed out and is SO good at writing and retellin history im so so excited to see where he takes it AHHHH and also taht means he might stream more bc he might make his character more important (keep in mind this is the guy who wrote self insert hypixel fanfics. he has no shame in puttin himself first and i respect him so much for it)

01:51:20 “they’re tryin to get a second customer but they’re riskin their first” is lowkey a good line

has anyone else noticed that techno says wise a lot? like at 01:55:10 he literally says “wise dragon armor” as a joke but like i think he says wise so much BECAUSE of skyblock like hjkfdsla

01:57:30 techno plea se eat

ok 1:58:45 is hilarious and all but at the end of his ramble he says “come back, i miss you” and lowkey im crying

techno needs to stop knowing his audience more than we know ourselves im hsfkjda 02:05:25 “the chat’s spammin ‘eat technoblade, eat!’ like they’re not gonna start, like, theyre not gonna get super sad if i ended the stream right now, like theyre not gonna all cry ‘i miss technoblade *sniffs* why- whyd he leave to eat food, why did he listen to our advice noooo’”

02:14:50 NEW VIDEO POGGGG CARL THE HORSE POGGGGGG NOT A STREAM HIGHLIGHT POGGGGG

02:17:40 “i could start a potato farm out here to show how much ive changed” techno last time u made a potato farm u started an entire war that lasted a year that does NOT say calm and retired to me lskgdfjagsldj

02:23:00 why does techno just reference greek mythology so much. makin me scared for his arc.

also he talks abt smp earth a lot in this stream i love it so much

i also just. love?? how much sbi respect tommy like they bully him but when talkin bout him they just have so much respect for how much work he puts into youtube and i just,,,,hgnn they r friends

02:33:13 sbi streamer house lets go cmon

02:34:15 “i think if i streamed every day i could keep up” on one hand YE S but on the ohter oh god techno no we have to keep up tho

hearing techno say “violence isnt the answer” is so scary 02:35:40

02:37:30 technosneeze

hiS BROTHER SENT HIM 46 DISCORD MESSAGES SFKDJLFLKASF 2:49:25 i love his end screen so much hes just sadness,,,,retirement,,,t,echnoblade,,,the government is going to fall on its own due to lack of organization and ideals,,,,,,subscribe,,,,,sadness,,,,,also 2:50:45 is making me laugh so hard its just sad music and technos like??? whys phil in my house drinking milk?????

overall, fantastic stream, if ya want some chill techno philza content i highly recommend.

#stream post

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sithisreadingcorner · 2 years

Note

Well hullo again! Your last reading for me was so completely on the nose, I would love to have your divinitory insight on something :) In case it's needed again, 3/12/1998! I've been all over the place with religious/spiritual goings on but through it all Loki and the old bastard have been reaching out and reaching out. I've worked with them for years now but I feel like my discernment is rusty after shying away from opening up to them for a while. I know you are very familiar with these *ahem* lovely chaotic forces, could you facilitate a vibe check? Idk if there's a Message or a Feeling that's getting lost but it all feels vaguely important and like I'm missing bits of it. Thank you! <3

Did you just say VIBE.... CHECK?.......... Okay, sure.

I thought doing it to Ódin was redundant since he's probably vibechecking himself on a tree literally as we speak, but that's neither here nor there.

No, you are good with the birthday, I mean technically it's enough if I can confirm it once since it's somewhat unlikely to change, but there are a few new rules now. I put a little secret clause in the terms that people have to find, to confirm for me that they actually read it. (I mean, it's not a secret, nor is it hidden in the slightest, in fact it's even highlighted, but it's still really hard for some people to find for some inexplicable reason? Maybe they reach the "oh btw im a self employed queer artist with links :3" part and choose to black out immediately, lest they even accidentally help a queer person with anything, lol.) Unfortunately I can't answer these questions on principle since they didn't show me the sign of having read the terms, and there is no way for me to determine whether they did that accidentally or out of wilful ignorance. I will give you a pass this time because you did know my terms from the other blog and you couldn't have known that they have changed. But sneak it in there somewhere next time okay? 💖

No shame in getting a little rusty. You will dust off those discernment skills in no time for sure. But in the meantime, I'll see what I can do. And yes, *takes long drag from a cigarette* you're correct, I might be somewhat familiar with these bastardous energies. Depends on who asks... Okay that's enough fooling around. Let's get right into it.

Well, the Hanged Man just straight up fell out so it seems like the old man wants to talk first.

emperor reversed. the magician page of swords reversed. ten of coins

I'm getting really weird, mixed messages here, but hear me out. This is talking about something that's going to happen to you in the near future, that will seem like bad news at first but you will somehow turn it to your advantage tenfold and there will be a happy ending for everyone involved. I feel like this is not going to catch you completely off guard, since out of the possible "bad news" cards you got one of the most benign ones. I had a feeling that this is either not something big, or you knew this was coming. Unfortunately, it will probably fall on your shoulders to do something about it, but you seem more than capable, so don't worry about that.

Now, there's somebody in the picture... It's definitely a person, and I'm almost completely sure a human, though it could be something more abstract like an institution but I would think its in the real world somewhere. The emperor... somebody (or something) that has a perceived authority over you, and you seem scared, or at least vary of them, but they have an exploitable weakness. And that's the thing... I don't really think that exploiting that weakness is the play here. You definitely could, in theory, but that's not going to lead you to the happiest outcome. The energies between you and them are very confusing. There is clearly something intensely negative here, I would almost call it vitriolic, the tensions are super high. But it's as if by pushing you away, the Emperor wanted something that is... somehow the opposite of that effect. It's almost like a secret cry for help, even if the action is completely misguided.

This looks like a mess. I didn't really want this many cards, but I couldn't help myself and tried to pull a clarification on the identity of the reversed Emperor, and of all things, I got... not only the Empress but that's also reversed. Are these... your parents? Are they okay? Did you guys have a fight? I really don't wanna scare you or anything, maybe I'm completely off, but it surely wouldn't hurt to call them and see what's up just to make sure?

Whoever these are, I don't think that anything bad HAPPENED to them, at least not all of the sudden without you knowing, but it seems like they really need you right now and only you can fix their problem. If you did have an argument... well, do what you feel is right, idk what your situation is, but. I feel like you are completely right and they are in the wrong, and if you choose to do something about this, very likely you will have to be the one who reaches out first, though that might be a hard to swallow pill. The thing is, there seems to be some kind of benefit for putting it aside and being the bigger person (just this one time) that, if true, I don't want you to miss out on. I don't exactly see how, but maybe you can leverage this situation in some way. At least consider helping them if you are safe and able, because there will be something in it for you too.

I'm not gonna lie, this seems like a lot. 😕 But do you remember, the Magician came out for you last time too? You are still in that energy, holding the reins, in control, literally nothing can knock you down, and I think you will stay there, very much so in the foreseeable future at least. I'm very happy to see that. Nothing but respect for my queer manifestation king. 💅

ace of coins. four of wands ten of swords reversed. ten of cups

Loki promised me not to waste any time and stay brief. There is some kind of an emerging opportunity, but I feel like this relates to something spiritual or magical, or... You know, it's something between you two, and you have already talked about it or at least it has come up in some way. I hope that you know what this is about because Loki is holding a pretty tight grip on how much information is slipping out here... not that I want to pry of course. He wants to do something together with you. Teach you something perhaps, or... Well the four of wands is the "homecoming" card? which seems important, take it as you will. You seem so very anxious about this, it's almost frightening, but please relax, it's completely fine. Loki seems super excited and thinks that you will be overjoyed with the results. Instinctively this feels very safe and happy to me too, I think Loki is right. You can trust him and you don't have to worry about anything. Whatever is worrying you, he'll take care of it, and you won't even have to lift a finger.

I don't know for sure if that's applicable, but if perhaps YOU were asking HIM about something and hoping for a yes, then that is enthusiastically granted.

Disclaimer: no bastards were harmed in the making of this post.

tip

#tarot #txt #spirit speak #loki #odin #spirit

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fictionkinfessions · 2 years

Note

ooh, were talkin about kin songs?? my weirdest one is probably either… it will come back by hozier or cabo by ricky montgomery. it will come back isnt that weird i guess thematically speaking but i have absolutely no idea why cabo makes my kin brain go brr when its a song about being in a secret relationship, something i definitely never did (and probably couldnt have managed honestly because i was way too affectionate for that. you know that picture of will smith pointing at his wife? those vibes, 24/7, no off button). oh and square by mitski technically makes sense but the vibes are so fucking different from every other song that gives me kin feelings (theres several playlists full lol) that it loops back around to being weird. theres also rose colored boy by paramore but im not actually sure if that one gives me kin feelings or gender euphoria. or both i guess because there is an unsettlingly large overlap. (same goes for talk by hozier, but i think that one leans more towards gender euphoria?) also i know this one isnt really on topic for the prompt but honorable mention for talk too much by coin because it somehow helped me figure out that yes i am actually remembering shit and not just really weird about a made up guy (and then made figuring out if im just really weird about a different made up guy about ten times harder because its on just about every playlist anyone has ever based on him but thats not the point.) -qibli from wings of fire, and once again i am so sorry for rambling holy shit

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #qiblikin #wingsoffirekin #mod party cat!#kin songs #hozier cw #ricky montgomery cw #mitski cw #paramore cw

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 9: Outlander Avenger

this took too long to post heehoo ive noticed that sometimes italics don’t save when im posting on tumblr? might have been a glitch idk but in that case it’s better to read on AO3 where the formatting is actually proper lol

summary On their arrival to Vivec City, the twins part ways and Fahjoth finds himself drawn into the investigation of a very serious crime.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

————————————————————————

“Ey, Ribyna, have you ever heard of Ashlanders?”

“Yeah, why?”

Fahjoth paused, pulling a disgruntled pout. The sun had well and truly set now; the last vestiges of warmth had evaporated entirely, replaced by a nipping chill and creeping shadows that submerged their surroundings in deep blue blankets. Vivec City loomed in the distance, unlike anything Fahjoth had ever seen before. Instead of individual houses like he had seen in every other town he’d been to so far, the city was populated by rows of colossal cantons, square and blocky yet towering over them with a kind of intimidating grandeur. Walkways bridged the gaps between the cantons, stretching over the rolling waters of the Ascadian Isles’ open bay, and several flags and tapestries fluttered from the sides of the cantons, embroidered with differing patterns and art that Fahjoth couldn’t make out from a distance.

Turning his gaze back to Ribyna as they crossed the bridge towards the first canton, Fahjoth gave an exasperated huff, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. “Oh, so it’s just me, then?” he questioned. “Being an idiot as per usual. D’you know, I made a right tit of myself to Cosades earlier. Told him I didn’t know what Ashlanders were, then he gave me a bollocking for being a dipshit. I mean, how was I supposed to know? Nobody’s told me!”

Ribyna’s response was surprisingly terse. “Well, maybe if you kept your mouth shut more often instead of chatting a load of shit, you’d listen and actually learn something for once.”

Fahjoth blinked, taken aback by this harsh rebuttal. He was used to Ribyna’s blunt manner of speaking of course, but this was something else entirely. He had noticed her demeanour getting more subdued and her posture stiffening the closer they got to Vivec City, and chalked it up to weariness after their long walk. Now, however, he was not so sure. Was that a hint of nervousness he detected in her voice?

“Are you alright?” he asked, then frowned sympathetically. “Bit nervous about being in the big city?”

“What?” Ribyna turned back to Fahjoth and flashed him a scathing look. “No, of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

“Then what is it?” He received no response, as Ribyna stopped walking and examined their surroundings, occasionally dropping her gaze down and squinting at the map she held.

“Right, I’ve got some shit to do,” she announced, as if she hadn’t even heard Fahjoth’s concerns. Fahjoth was certain that this wasn’t the case. “I’ll see you later.”

“Whoah, hang on a second!” Fahjoth protested, disconcerted by Ribyna’s unexpected change of plans. “I didn’t realise we’d be splitting up. What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff,” Ribyna replied vaguely. Fahjoth grimaced; perhaps it was best that he didn’t know the details after all, if she was here on business with the Thieves Guild.

“Alright, fine,” Fahjoth said, relenting. “But where should I meet you?”

“Uh...” Ribyna gestured aimlessly at the immediate canton, the details on its banners now impossible to make out in the dark. “The map says this is the Foreign Quarter. Just find a cornerclub or something in here and get a room sorted for us. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Right,” Fahjoth replied mutedly. Admittedly, he was disappointed; he had been assuming that he and Ribyna would explore Vivec City together, but now, he was resigning himself to being Billy-No-Mates for the next few hours, or however long Ribyna would take to do her mysterious errand. “See you later then.”

Fahjoth thought Ribyna may have flashed him an apologetic glance before she turned away, but then she stalked away along the path flanking the canton and rounded the corner, disappearing out of sight. Heaving a sigh that materialised in the air as a faint puff of steam, Fahjoth turned and headed up the sloping path towards the canton’s upper door, slipping inside and into the warmth.

The inside of the canton was well-lit with torches and rather cheerfully decorated, an array of potted plants sitting in the corners while colourful tapestries and banners hung from the walls. Fahjoth could see a variety of people going about their business, not just Dunmer but Imperials, Bretons, and Redguards, among others, and in that moment he felt a strange sense of almost belonging. Initially he was surprised, until he realised that he was in the Foreign Quarter, and he was left with a deep feeling of despondency instead.

This grim reminder that he truly was an outlander was accentuated by the unrelenting glares he received from the Ordinators who patrolled the corridors, striking an intimidating presence with their gleaming gold armour and helmets, fashioned into the shape of a sharp elven face with a crest of hair atop their heads.

“We’ll have no trouble here,” one of the Ordinators said in a low, rasping voice as he walked by. “Move along.”

Suppressing a shudder, Fahjoth began to wander around the upper floor of the canton, trying to look as if he knew where he was going as opposed to being totally lost. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before he found himself at a door with a sign overhead reading The Black Shalk Cornerclub. Figuring that he was not going to find anywhere more ideal than this, he pushed the door open and stepped in with caution.

The cornerclub was quiet, with only a few punters sitting around tables or standing in the corners of the room, deep in conversation. A Dunmer stood organising a collection of bottles behind the counter, while an Argonian sat at the bar nursing a drink of his own. Fahjoth approached, plonked himself onto a stool near to the Argonian, and offered him a smile of greeting. The Argonian, who had seemed quite tense as Fahjoth sat down, suddenly relaxed and gave Fahjoth a polite smile in return.

“Can I have a mazte, please?” he asked the barman, reaching into his pocket for his coin purse. “Oh, and how much would a room be for the night for two people?”

“That’ll be twenty drakes for the room, sera,” the barman replied, pushing a bottle of mazte towards Fahjoth. “And ten for the mazte.”

“Oh, alright, cheers! I’ll take it then,” Fahjoth replied, handing over the coins with relief. He caught the Argonian’s eye and chuckled, a wry grin curling the corner of his mouth. “Ribyna reckoned it’d be more expensive than that.”

“Ribyna?” the Argonian questioned.

“Ah, that’s my twin! She’s off doing... something,” Fahjoth answered, his voice trailing off thoughtfully as a mild frown settled on his face. “I’m not sure what. She wouldn’t say.”

“I see. That sounds rather sinister.” The Argonian smirked. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Fahjoth couldn’t hold back an awkward giggle. “You’re right, sorry. My name’s Fahjoth,” he said, holding his hand out, which the Argonian shook after a brief pause.

“Huleeya,” he introduced himself, withdrawing his hand and taking a sip of his drink. “Well, I can’t blame your twin for being secretive. Not with this recent spate of attacks on outlanders.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped from his face. “Attacks?”

“Oh, yes.” Huleeya nodded gravely. “Not just attacks, but murders. Five outlanders have been found dead this week. Not only that, but two Ordinators have been found dead too. Killed in the same way — that is, with their throats slit.”

“Gods alive... Do they know who’s doing it?”

“If they knew, they would have been caught already,” Huleeya replied. “The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer, from what I’ve heard.”

Fahjoth paused. Though this had given him a lot to think about, there was something else he wanted to ask. “Is that why you looked a bit...” — he gestured vaguely with a wave of his hand — “on edge when I came over?”

“Hm? Ah, no. It’s not that,” Huleeya said. “It just wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had trouble from the local Dunmer, that’s all.”

“What do you—?”

“Excuse me, outlander. I should get going.” Huleeya finished the remainder of his drink and stood up. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fahjoth. You and your twin should be careful if you’re out wandering alone at night.”

“Ah... we will. Thanks, mate,” Fahjoth answered, watching as Huleeya said his farewells to the barkeep and took his leave. Once again, Fahjoth was left alone with his thoughts, and he began to get some very dangerous thoughts indeed.

The Justice Offices are looking for help in catching the killer...

He bit his lip as he nursed his mazte, quietly wrestling with his own brain. To think that he would be able to go up against a serial killer who had slain two highly trained Ordinators was madness, and yet...

By the time he had drained the last of his mazte from the bottle, he had made his decision. Fahjoth stood up, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of foreboding, dropped off his supplies in his rented room and headed outside into the fresh night air once more.

——————————————

The Office of the Watch was much further away than Fahjoth had anticipated, and by the time he arrived, his legs — which had been trembling with nerves — were heavy and aching from weariness, which didn’t bode well for what he had to do. It had been a very long day already, and more than anything Fahjoth was craving a nice warm bed to fall into, but he’d come all this way. There was no going back now.

After navigating the Hall of Justice — with some difficulty, assuaged only slightly by the directions given to him from irate Ordinators on patrol — Fahjoth eventually found himself at the doors of the Office of the Watch, which he knocked gently and waited to be given permission to enter.

Peering around the door, Fahjoth was faced with a rather small and cluttered office inhabited by three Dunmer in the usual golden cuirass and boots, who were sitting at messy desks and perusing sheaves of parchment. One of them, a dark-haired Mer with a moustache and goatee, eyed Fahjoth as he crossed the threshold, the heavy bags under his eyes indicative of his tiredness.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “We’re very busy, as you can see.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Fahjoth apologised, “but I’m looking for an Elam Andas?”

“Yes, that’s me. I am Elam Andas, chief of Vivec's Order of the Watch. Are you here looking for work?”

Fahjoth bit his lip, knowing full well that this was his last chance to back out of his foolish and potentially suicidal mission, but he ploughed on anyway. “I heard you were looking for help solving these recent murders.”

The effect his words had on the office was startling. The officers stopped what they were doing, each of them fixing their red eyes on Fahjoth with dubious expressions. Fahjoth remained silent until Andas spoke again.

“We cannot officially hire you as only Ordinators can serve the watch,” he explained. “But if you can find this killer and bring them to justice, we’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your efforts.”

Bring them to justice? Now that was something Fahjoth was sure was well above his pay grade. He had been hoping to do a bit of investigation, to help the Watch with their search, but to be tasked with bringing down a serial killer himself? That wasn’t something he was at all confident he could handle.

“Oh, I—” he started in alarm, but Andas cut him off.

“I require no commitment from you,” Andas informed him. “In fact, I can’t even officially accept one. But if you’re serious about helping, I can tell you what we know so far about the killer and the victims.”

After a moment of hesitation, Fahjoth nodded, and Andas gestured to the seat across his desk. Fahjoth obeyed, sitting and listening in silence.

“There have been seven victims so far, five outlanders and two Ordinators, and all with their throats slit. Three of the victims were found in the Foreign Quarter, one near the Arena and one in the Hlaalu Compound. None of the outlanders had been on Vvardenfell for more than a week.

“Our Ordinators were found near the body in the Hlaalu Compound, and we think they interrupted the killer at work. Despite the fact that they were armed and on duty, their weapons were still in their sheaths when their bodies were found, which is unsettling. We’re likely looking at someone incredibly stealthy, or adept at illusion magic.”

It was times like this that Fahjoth dearly wished he could read and write. At least then he would have been able to make notes.

“Finally... there is the matter of witnesses. We’ve had no official witnesses come forward, but one outlander reported being threatened by a Dunmer woman with a dagger in the Hlaalu Compound, around the time of the other murders. He couldn’t give us a very clear description as he teleported himself away to safety, but he told us she was wearing a skirt and netch leather armour.”

Fahjoth nodded, frowning as he tried to absorb all of this information, all the while his heartbeat had quickened uncomfortably with apprehension. Without further ado, he stood and excused himself from the office, heading back outside and into the late night’s chilly grip.

Hearing about the victims, as well as Huleeya’s dire warning, had strengthened Fahjoth’s resolve. Someone was lurking in the shadows of Vivec City, slaughtering innocent people seemingly purely because of their foreign origins. People just like him.

His years spent away from Morrowind had left him as good as an outlander in the eyes of the native Dunmer, and if someone considered that fact alone a trait punishable by death, then they couldn’t be allowed to continue to walk free. Someone needed to deal with them, and if the city’s Ordinators couldn’t — or wouldn’t — then perhaps it would be up to him.

Although... it would probably be a good idea to find Ribyna first, Fahjoth figured as he set off towards the city’s northernmost cantons, before he went blundering headfirst to his potential death. Again.

The path ahead was dark and unsettling, and Fahjoth found himself throwing anxious glances over his shoulder every few minutes, flinching at the slightest unexpected sound and eyeing every shadow with mistrust lest he be ambushed by a dagger-wielding, skirt-donning Dunmer intent on ending his life. It was with relief that he made it to the first of his destinations and, incidentally, the last place he had seen Ribyna heading towards — the Arena.

——————————————

Unfortunately for Fahjoth, Ribyna was nowhere to be seen, so he lingered around the Arena for long enough to do some investigating, inquiring with a few inhabitants and Ordinators but turning up no new leads. Eventually he was forced to resign himself to the fact that he would be a lone worker in this case — a thought that inspired a well of dread in his gut — and moved on.

The same was to be said with the Hlaalu Compound, where Fahjoth had checked in the hope that someone would have seen something about the attempted attack, but he had no luck there either. He then moved on to the Foreign Quarter where, to his surprise, an Orc was happy to assist.

“I recall someone — maybe one of the sewer cleaners — saying something about seeing a Dunmer woman down in the Underworks. Wouldn’t be that odd, but... in the Underworks? That’s odd. Nothing down there but rats and sewers.”

Which led Fahjoth to his next point of investigation — the Underworks.

——————————————

The moment he stepped foot in the Underworks, the smell hit him like a brick to the face. Almost choking on the pungent stench of sewage water, Fahjoth lingered for just long enough to feel just a little more regret before he set off, trying to forget the misgivings he felt. He yanked his scarf up to cover his nose and mouth and navigated the Underworks as carefully as he could, every footstep deliberately placed to be as quiet as possible. He was well aware that the killer could be lurking around any corner, and the deeper he tread into the sewers the more he felt his legs begin to tremble.

It was almost silent down here, the only sounds being that of the murky water sloshing against the smooth stone sewer walls and the occasional drip of moisture from the damp-ridden ceiling. Every so often he would hear a rat scuttling around in the darkness and his heart would jolt, requiring him to take a moment to stop and let his adrenaline levels fall after an unpleasant spike that set his pulse racing.

As he progressed, however, more unpleasant thoughts began to surface in his mind. One possibility kept presenting itself to him, and as hard as he tried to reject it, he found that he couldn’t wholeheartedly dismiss it.

“What are you doing, anyway?”

“Just... stuff.”

He remembered that strange look on Ribyna’s face when he mentioned going to Vivec City. He could tell easily when his twin was apprehensive, and as brief as it was, it had been only too clear to see on her face back in Balmora. Was she nervous about returning to the scene of the crime?

But that was ridiculous! His twin wasn’t a murderer!

What reason would she have to kill outlanders, anyway? The more Fahjoth thought about it, the more illogical it seemed. Least of all because he had never even seen Ribyna wear a skirt for as long as he could remember. So why couldn’t he simply disregard it? The fact that he even had doubts in the first place said enough, and he was even more nervous as he crept through the tunnels, dreading the possibility of seeing his twin around the next bend.

So wrapped up was he in his own thoughts that as Fahjoth rounded a corner and exited a smaller tunnel into a larger section of the sewers, he didn’t even notice the figure standing at the end of the tunnel until he was looking straight at them. With a choked gasp, he flung himself back around the corner from which he had just emerged and pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach tied up in knots. After pausing to listen for any sign of the stranger’s approach, he deemed it safe enough to peer around the wall again and get a better look at the figure ahead.

Even in the low light, he could tell that it was a Dunmer, and they were indeed wearing a skirt with what seemed to be a leather cuirass. This particular corner of the sewer almost looked like a base, with a scruffy bedroll laying on the ground near evidence of where a makeshift fireplace had been lit in the form of a charred mound of wood scraps. A pile of dilapidated crates and debris were strewn haphazardly around the alcove, in some cases holding — or failing to hold — contents like food and bottles of alcohol. Evidently, this was someone who had stocked up for some time.

Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed Fahjoth yet. She sat atop one of the crates, perusing some sort of book or journal and occasionally making notes. A dagger — stained an ominous rusty hue — sat by her side, and Fahjoth’s suspicions were all but confirmed.

How was he going to do this?

He could call it a day, back out quietly the way he came and return to the Office of the Watch with what he knew of the killer’s whereabouts. But even then, would anything get done? Would the Ordinators get here in time before the killer made another move, and claimed another victim?

Perhaps if he could sneak up behind her, he could get the advantage. He knew better than anyone that he was no master of stealth, but she looked fairly preoccupied. Perhaps if he was quiet and quick, then—

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did he become aware of a weight suddenly pulling vigorously on his foot. As he looked down, he silently squirmed and grimaced at the sight of a large rat digging its teeth into the chitin, shaking its head as if determined to pull his boot clean off. It made no noise other than a soft, squeaky growl, but the splashing of the water beneath its paws was unsettlingly loud and echoed due to the circular tunnel’s acoustics. If this kept up, it was only a matter of time before the killer would notice him.

“Get off!” Fahjoth hissed, frantically shaking his foot. “Get off! Get off, you little c—!”

Unfortunately, the rat refused to budge. It was dragged along in the wake of Fahjoth’s mild kicks, which gradually grew more and more vigorous as he fought to free his foot of the rat’s vice-like grip. Leaning on the wall for balance, he raised his foot up off the ground, now aggressively kicking at the air when all prior attempts at gently shaking the rat off failed. The situation would have been comical had Fahjoth not been so painfully conscious of the murderer sitting barely 20 yards away from where he stood.

At last, after what felt like hours, the rat let go. However, the momentum given to it by Fahjoth’s kicking motion caused it to gracefully soar away as it was flung off his foot and land with a tremendous splash in the deep sewer water in front of him.

Instantly, Fahjoth froze. He pressed himself back against the wall, his breathing fast and laboured as he strained his ears for any sign of movement. Apart from the splashing of the rat as it swam away, apparently done with terrorising Fahjoth for the time being, all was silent. Then, as he dared to peek around the corner to evaluate the situation, a pair of red eyes stared into his own as he made direct eye contact with the Dunmer.

Her reaction was instant. She leapt up from her seat, dagger in hand, and stormed the length of the tunnel towards him, already screaming abuse and profanities in his direction. Kicking hard off the ground, Fahjoth threw himself into motion, and with the Dunmer hurtling closer his options for where to go were limited. A brown and grey blur in his peripheral as he passed indicated that the Dunmer was giving chase, but with the advantage of having longer legs, Fahjoth half-sprinted and half-leapt over a nearby bridge spanning the sewer water before pelting down to the tunnel’s end. Whirling around once he came to a stop, the Dunmer was mere seconds behind him, so Fahjoth drew his sword and stood fast.

Wielding a dagger which seemed to emanate a sickly red glow, his opponent lunged, landing a glancing blow against Fahjoth’s armour as he leapt back. But she was much faster than he had anticipated. He stumbled back and threw himself from side to side to avoid the Dunmer’s aggressive strategy of repeated jabs and slashes, breaking into a sweat and feeling his flanks ache with every shallow pant. One thrust of the dagger slid between the gap in the chitin protecting his arm, slicing through the sleeve and nicking the skin beneath.

With a gasp, Fahjoth flung himself backwards. There was a dull thud as his heel collided with something on the ground and his balance was completely thrown off.

His stomach lurched as he began a sharp descent, hitting the ground with a painful bump. The scraping and groans of the crates he fell against rang in his ears as the Dunmer was suddenly filling his vision, dagger poised ready to plunge into his throat.

With his sword arm raised in a vague attempt to defend himself, Fahjoth reached to the side, grasping at nothingness in a frantic search for something, anything, that could—

The cold sliminess of damp wood brushed against his fingertips. He fastened his grip, braced himself and flung the broken chunk at his assailant with as much force as he could muster.

The jagged lump of wood, a deadly weapon in its own right in the right circumstances, struck the Dunmer square in the face. She staggered back with a howl of pain, clutching her eye while blood seeped from a fresh injury above her brow. With adrenaline coursing through him, Fahjoth sprung to his feet, clutching the hilt of his sword with fingers now damp from his own blood.

The Dunmer lifted her gaze to Fahjoth again, her uninjured eye blazing with a chilling hatred, but before she could make another move Fahjoth had sprung. He rushed forward and thrust his sword into the Dunmer’s midriff, the tip of the blade piercing the thin, aged leather of her armour with surprising ease. Then he continued pushing forward, until his sword had been buried up to its hilt into her stomach and protruded out from her navel.

The Dunmer froze, paralysed by the deadly blow, and Fahjoth relinquished his weapon and backed off, unable to do anything else but stare as she staggered to the side and fell. A sharp clang announced her collision to the ground as the sword’s blade hit the ground first, but once her momentum stopped and she lay still, total silence fell upon them.

Silence, apart from the sound of Fahjoth’s ragged breathing.

As he stared down at the lifeless Dunmer on the ground before him, Fahjoth only became conscious of how badly his legs were shaking when he tried to take a step forward and his knees almost buckled beneath his weight. Only one thought circled in his mind, over and over, as he silently watched the blood starting to ooze out from beneath her body.

He had done this.

Someone was dead because of him.

The more logical part of his brain insisted that if he hadn’t, it would have been him lying there in a pool of his own blood instead. But that didn’t make him feel much better about the fact that he had just taken someone’s life.

There was a part of him that didn’t even want to approach the body to retrieve his shortsword, but at the end of the day, he had paid good money for that. And it wasn’t as if he had a backup. So with a trembling hand he grasped the hilt, slowly prising the sword out of the Dunmer’s body and wincing at the sickening sound of the blade gliding against flesh, squelching and wet. He cleaned the metal as best he could using linen from the makeshift bed, then sheathed his weapon and reluctantly searched the camp for evidence to present to Elam Andas.

He didn’t find much of any substance. The journal the Dunmer had been reading was, of course, impossible for him to read. Quite apart from not finding any sense in the words, it was damp and smudged terribly to the point where it was barely legible. Still, perhaps the Office of the Watch would have better luck; he took it, along with an old rusty key and the Dunmer’s dagger, which left him feeling oddly nauseous and drained after his fingertips came into direct contact with it.

The damp stickiness of blood on his arm and staining his sleeve was impossible to ignore, as was the injury beneath it, so Fahjoth took a moment to attempt to heal it on his own. With the spell he had acquired from the Mages Guild in mind, Fahjoth closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in concentration; he racked every corner of his brain, searching for any spark that could ignite the spell that he could feel hesitating at his fingertips. But in his already worn-out state, the attempts only ended up draining yet more of his energy and left him with a considerable headache. In the end he conceded and admitted defeat, recognising a lost cause when he saw one.

Then Fahjoth embarked on the long walk back to the Hall of Justice, craving fresh air and a warm bed above all else. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet that he had successfully taken on a serial killer and lived to tell the tale, but there was an odd light-heartedness in his chest as he traipsed back along the paths through Vivec City’s shadowy cantons, feeling somehow more confident than before.

——————————————

Fahjoth’s triumphant — albeit exhausted and bloodied — return to the Office of the Watch was met with disbelief at first, followed by amazement once he broke the news that the killer had been dealt with. Elam Andas was thrilled and accepted the dagger and journal as evidence without question, perhaps a sign of how desperate he was to believe that this Dunmer was no longer a threat. After expressing his gratitude he sent Fahjoth on his way, with a promise that Ordinators would be sent to clean up the mess and the reward of an enchanted belt to protect him on his travels, which Fahjoth accepted eagerly. Although he was pleased with the response to his daring deed, he was now more than ever looking forward to collapsing into bed after a very, very long day.

With thoughts of only soft pillows and warm sheets on his mind as he entered the familiarity of the Foreign Quarter, it wasn’t until he came face-to-face with someone approaching the hallway to the cornerclub from the opposite way that he realised he had forgotten something — or rather, someone.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth exclaimed, recognising his sibling even from a distance. But something was wrong. There was no wave or call of greeting from Ribyna, who walked silently over to him with a pronounced limp in her step.

“Ribyna?”

In the light of the torch that hung from the nearby wall, Fahjoth could see that Ribyna was in a dreadful state. Her armour was scuffed and damaged in places and her hair was a mess, but most worryingly was the copious amount of bloodstains that spattered and smeared her almost from head to foot.

“Ribyna!” Fahjoth gasped, rushing over to meet her and instantly beginning to fuss. “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” Ribyna grunted, making a half-hearted attempt to push Fahjoth away.

“You’re covered in blood!”

“It’s fine. It’s not my blood.” Ribyna paused to wince, doubling over slightly and gritting her teeth. “Most of it...”

Before Fahjoth could question her further, they were interrupted by the rapid approach of an Ordinator, his sword drawn and raised at Ribyna threateningly.

“Halt!” he barked. “Murderous scum! You violated the law, outlander. Surrender and come with me immediately.”

Fahjoth's mouth fell open with horror. Murderous? Surely there had to be some kind of mistake...

However, Ribyna's silence was not encouraging. Instead of protesting her innocence, she reached into a pocket and tugged out a somewhat bloodstained roll of parchment, which she passed over to the guard without a word. To Fahjoth's astonishment, once he had finished reading it, he nodded and tucked the note away in his own armour.

“All of your papers seem to be in order,” he said, dipping his head to Ribyna. “You are free to go.”

And then he walked away, leaving Fahjoth utterly bemused as he stared at his still very quiet twin.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell just happened?” he questioned, and Ribyna huffed.

"In a sec. Let's get inside first," she muttered, slipping away into the cornerclub without waiting for a response. Fahjoth, left with little choice, followed her in and then led the way to their room. The moment he opened the door, Ribyna pushed past him and dropped down onto the bed with a groan — much to Fahjoth's displeasure, as he had been hoping to do this exact thing first.

“Well?” he prompted, lowering himself into a nearby chair and slouching back, relishing the chance to take the weight off his sore feet for a while. “What was that guard on about, calling you ‘murderous scum’?”

It was a moment or two before Ribyna dragged herself upright again and turned her gaze to Fahjoth.

“I joined the Morag Tong.”

Fahjoth, who had been in the process of removing his boots, froze motionless as he felt his blood run cold. “You what?!” he hissed, once he found his voice again. “You’ve— what?!”

“Yeah.” Ribyna’s tone was level as she stared back at Fahjoth, looking more tired than defensive. “Don’t start, alright? I’m knackered.”

“Don’t st—?!” Fahjoth bolted upright, keeping his voice hushed as best he could but fighting to quash the outrage that burned in his chest. “You’ve gone and joined a murder cult and you’re telling me to not start?!”

“It’s not a murder cult!” Ribyna protested. “It’s perfectly legal!”

“Just because it’s legal, doesn’t mean it’s not a—” Fahjoth stopped mid-rant, rubbing his eyes with exasperation. “Just... Ugh, what have you gone and done that for? Can’t you just do something... normal?! Like... I dunno, go join the Fighters Guild if you really wanna stab things!”

“No.” She slouched down, looking suddenly more tired than ever. “Look, maybe I’m fed up of being treated like the shit on everyone’s shoes, alright? Maybe I just... wanted a bit of respect for once.”

Fahjoth faltered, experiencing a flicker of sympathy for his twin. He knew that feeling all too well. “Beebs, you don’t need to become a murderer to be respected.”

“I was already a murderer,” Ribyna pointed out bluntly. Fahjoth felt a twist in his gut, memories from that horrendous day threatening to resurface in his mind. “At least this way I can get paid for it.”

Fahjoth paused, struggling to find an argument and fighting to put into words exactly how he felt about Ribyna’s new career choice. Eventually, he heaved a sigh. “But... it can’t be safe. Look, you’re injured! I’m... I’m worried about you, Ribyna.”

“Well, don’t be. Turns out I’m half-decent at killing people.” Naturally, Ribyna’s answer didn’t reassure Fahjoth in the slightest, but she ploughed on anyway with a change of subject. “Anyway, what about you? What have you been up to?” Now that she was evaluating Fahjoth properly, her eyes soon fell on the bloodstains that still blemished his clothes and armour. “Is that blood?!”

“Yeah... and this time, it is mine. Honestly, you won’t believe the day I’ve had, Beebs,” Fahjoth said, before he began to regale the whole story; meeting Huleeya, learning about the outlander killings, going to the Office of the Watch, venturing into the Underworks...

By the time he had finished, Ribyna was staring at him with an incredulous look on her face.

“Hang on,” she started, “you killed someone and you’re having a go at me for joining the Morag Tong? Hypocrite, much!”

“I— but— what?!” Fahjoth spluttered, affronted. “Th-that’s different! I’m not an assassin, I was stopping a serial killer—”

But he promptly shut his mouth once he noticed the wry grin curling at the corners of Ribyna’s lips.

“I’m only messing,” she chortled, her smirk quickly becoming a proud smile. “Holy shit, that’s amazing, Fahji. Shame they didn’t pay you for it, mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Fahjoth replied honestly, calming down again. “I’m just glad she can’t hurt anyone else.” He paused, feeling heat rising in his face as he prepared himself to confess to something. “Honestly for a little while, I was worried that the killer was gonna be you.”

Ribyna promptly cocked a brow. “You fucking donkey, why would I go around killing outlanders? I am an outlander!”

“I was just freaking out!” Fahjoth protested. “I was tired, and nervous, and you’d been acting proper shifty, and— well, I obviously wasn’t that far off, was I? Might not’ve been outlanders, but you were planning on killing people after all!”

Ribyna rolled her eyes, busying herself with removing her own armour. “Yeah yeah, alright, you’ve already said your piece. Come on, let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’m absolutely wrecked.”

Though he still had plenty more to say on the matter, Fahjoth agreed, for both their sakes. He was looking forward to crashing just as much as Ribyna was, and once they had finished helping each other tend to their injuries and settled down for the night, Fahjoth was asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillows.

—————————————————————————————

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #TES III: Morrowind

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

prompt: IM SO EXCITED WHEN I SAW YOU WERE WRITING FOR THE WITCHER IM FUCKING PUMPED. Would you do one where Geralt’s fighting monsters and being a general badass but working himself to exhaustion and jaskier makes him stop and take care of himself

I really really like this prompt, @this-is-whump-dammit !!

It’s been four days since Jaskier’s frightening mishap with a lone werewolf.

While accompanying Geralt through the woods, he stumbled upon a single werewolf, a rarity as they often run in packs. He had just enough time to whisper Geralt’s name, voice trembling as hard as his knees, before the werewolf lunged at him, knocking him to his back with a loud thud that’s masked by a booming growl. The werewolf’s teeth were mere inches from his face, and Jaskier took a second to consider how great of a song this would be if he lived before Geralt swung his sword, knocking the werewolf’s head to the ground in a single, shaking swing.

He was fine, only shaken to the core, but Geralt insisted they stop at the nearest town so he can rest by wordlessly packing up their small camp set up and grumbling “let’s go,” leaving zero room for argument.

Four days, and Jaskier’s fine. While he’s not complaining at sleeping in a real, warm bed inside... with Geralt because double-bed rooms can get pricey, he knows Geralt is anxious to get back on the road, never wanting to stay in a single town for too long because of the shouts and looks that come each time he steps out in public. At least, that’s what Jaskier’s perceived as the primary reason for Geralt’s wandering lifestyle.

When Jaskier wakes on the fifth day, Geralt’s, once again, already gone. Though, upon closer look, Geralt’s side of the bed looks untouched, the sheets only lightly rumpled thanks to Jaskier’s almost constant moving in his sleep after an incredibly unpleasant dream about werewolves. He smooths a palm across the empty side of the bed, frowning at the cool, soft touch. Come to think of it, he can’t remember Geralt ever coming to bed.

Jaskier remembers having a little too much to drink at the local tavern. He remembers slurring songs out on his lute, and he can faintly remember being tossed over Geralt’s shoulder and hauled back to the inn. After that, everything’s a faint blur of vomiting, being far too hot, giggling, and then blacking out.

He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to make some sense of the many strands sticking out at all ends. He spares a glance to his crumpled clothes on the floor, and he groans, swinging his legs over the bed and getting to his feet. A dull throb clings to his temples, and he feels a little sluggish, but otherwise, he’s ready to take on the day, which apparently, he thinks as he drags slow eyes around the room, is tracking down this dumb Witcher.

He dresses and makes his way to the tavern, groaning at the shouting and singing that assaults his ears the second he steps into the building.

“Oh, the Witcher is buff! The Witcher is strong! The Witcher travels far! I follow along! He fights all the monsters, clean and quick! I can’t help but watch for I want his sweet--”

“--I did not sing such an inappropriate song!” Jaskier shouts, though the flush creeping hot at his cheeks says otherwise. He shakes his head with a low huff, ignoring the shouts and catcalls as he makes his way to the bartender.

“Rough night?” he asks Jaskier, raising his brows.

“My night was perfectly fine, thank you,” Jaskier ignores the low comment “I bet it was” in favor of scanning the tavern for familiar long, white hair. He comes up empty, shoulders slumping as he turns back to the bartender.

“Have you seen Geralt?”

“A saint he is,” a woman sitting at the bar says, and Jaskier pulls his attention toward her, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“He stopped by very early this morning and asked if anyone needed help with anything. We’ve had these pesky giant centipedes causing a ruckus on our farm. He came back an hour later with the head of one, but he wouldn’t accept our payment.”

Jaskier stares at the small satchel of coins lying untouched on the table, brows furrowed. “He didn’t take the money...?”

“He didn’t take mine either,” a young farmer boy interrupts, and soon, others in the tavern are crowding around and joining in, telling their own accounts of Geralt providing his services for free.

Jaskier listens, frown growing deeper, more prominent, with each story, and after a good ten minutes of storytelling, he interrupts the crew.

“Hold on, how many requests has he taken?”

“Hard to say,” the bartender admits, wiping down a mug. “He came back a few hours after dropping your sorry, drunken ass off at the inn and started demanding requests.”

“You mean to tell me,” Jaskier draws out, heart beating a little too fast against his ribs, “that Geralt has been taking requests all night?”

“Sounds like it,” the bartender answers as others chant their praises for the Witcher.

“Well,” Jaskier starts as he slides off the bar stool. “I guess I should go and find him--”

“--go east toward the edge of the woods,” a woman supplies. “There’s an old cemetery. I heard a man tell him some fleders were spotted in that area.”

Jaskier’s heart stutters at the mention of such a dangerous threat, and he offers a thankful nod toward the woman before hurrying out of the tavern. To his surprise, Roach is still tied to a post near the inn, and he approaches the horse with defensive, raised hands.

“Easy, Roach. I’m a friend.” He’s pleased to see that Roach is tolerating him today, and after a few minutes and a lot of falling, he’s finally able to climb onto the back of the horse. “Well, then, let’s head east.” He waits for Roach to move, but the horse, as stubborn as his owner, remains glued to his spot until he presses his heels lightly into his side.

Roach starts at a light trot east toward the edge of the woods, and Jaskier takes this brief moment of solitude to address the urgent sense of panic gripping at his heart. This, he thinks, is unlike Geralt. Taking this many jobs for no pay? It doesn’t settle right in his chest. He can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong, something’s off, and he just hopes that Geralt’s still breathing when he finds him.

It takes an hour to get to the cemetery, but his relief at seeing Geralt alive is short-lived when the Witcher turns toward the sound of the horse approaching. Jaskier sees the dark, cold eyes looking back at him, eyes pulsing and plagued by a strong liquid. There’s a small, empty bottle on the ground beside a dead fleder, and Jaskier frowns sharply at it as he swings his legs over Roach’s back and slides off the horse. He hits the ground, staggers, and falls backward, but he’s quick to get back on his feet.

“Geralt,” he calls out carefully. “What are you doing?” He starts to step forward, but then a fleder flies at him, and he’s sure he sees his life flash before his eyes before Geralt’s large body crashes into him, sending the two falling to the ground.

“Go,” Geralt growls to him, face just inches from Jaskier’s, before he jumps to his feet, sword raised and ready as the fleder flies back toward them.

Jaskier slowly gets to his feet, watching with wide eyes as Geralt takes a long, shaking swing in perfect time with the fleder’s movements. Geralt’s blade makes contact, and the Witcher puts force behind his sword until the fleder is falling to the ground.

The only sound to follow is Geralt’s harsh, ragged breathing, and he jabs his sword into the ground to brace himself against it when he stumbles slightly. Jaskier watches, lips curled into a deep frown, brows furrowed, and he approaches Geralt slowly.

“Geralt,” he repeats. “What’s going on?” He can see the Witcher’s shoulders tense at the question, but Geralt doesn’t turn to look at him. Jaskier takes a few more steps toward him, stepping over a fleder body with a grimace pulling at his face.

“Why have you taken so many requests without accepting pay?” The closer Jaskier gets to Geralt, the easier it is to see the general, curved slump of Geralt’s posture and the tremble of Geralt’s hand that’s gripping the hilt of his sword as if that’s the only thing keeping him upright. Jaskier starts shifting around until he’s facing Geralt just as the potion wears off, dark eyes fading to tired, amber ones.

“All night, I might add,” Jaskier presses, and Geralt slowly lifts his gaze to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier sucks in a sharp hiss of a breath at the clear exhaustion pulling at Geralt’s features, but he opts to remain silent and wait until Geralt’s ready to speak.

After a few, silent minutes that drag on and on, Geralt finally sighs, deep, long, drawn out. “I’m doing my job.”

“You are seeking out work as if you are hungry for a death wish,” Jaskier clarifies, voice sharp yet concerned.

“It’s dangerous out here--”

“--well of course it is,” Jaskier interrupts. “That doesn’t mean you have to go running toward every beast that crosses your path for hours on end with no sleep. You are exhausted, Geralt.” He stresses each word, dragging out the syllables, and Geralt’s face falls. Conflict colors his eyes, a look Jaskier’s only seen once or twice.

“I’m,” Geralt pauses, eyes falling closed in a slow blink. “I’m doing it for you.”

“You’re... what?” Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. He locks eyes with Geralt, and the concern bleeding through his body is mixing with muted confusion, and something else he can’t quite put a finger on.

“Last night. Your sleep was fitful--”

“--I was drunk--”

“--you were afraid,” Geralt’s voice is sharp in a way that Jaskier can’t find a word to interject.

“You shouted about werewolves,” Geralt presses with a sigh.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier tries to assure, but Geralt shakes his head.

“Physically, yes, but...” Geralt’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. “It’s dangerous for you.” He makes to rip it from the ground, but Jaskier closes the short distance between the two and drops his hand atop Geralt’s.

“Just as it is for you,” Jaskier whispers. His heart is threatening to leap from his throat. It’s working in overtime, and he knows his face is blushing like mad, yet he keeps his voice soft, cool, but demanding. “But you won’t do us any good if you collapse.” He holds Geralt’s gaze, the two sharing a silent conversation that Geralt breaks with a low groan.

“I am tired.”

“See?” Jaskier says, a small smile flicking across his lips. “Now, how about we head back to the inn so you can get some much needed rest? I’m sure Roach can carry us both, right?”

Geralt only grunts, and the two struggle onto Roach’s back. Roach grunts a little, but Geralt’s hand smoothing over his neck eases him, and with Geralt behind Jaskier, he reaches around for the reins, trusting Roach to lead them back safely without much guidance.

The ride back is silent. Jaskier wants to fill the silence so that there’s no risk of Geralt catching onto his rapid heart, but Geralt’s chin is is resting atop his shoulder, and the Witcher’s eyes are shut. Jaskier’s afraid to move, to jostle Geralt, so he remains stiff as a board until one of Geralt’s hands drops the reins and slides to Jaskier’s thigh.

“Relax. It feels as if I’m resting on a rock.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier squeaks out, but he obliges, huffing out a shaking sigh and willing his muscles to loosen. It works, he supposes, because Geralt lets out a low, pleased hum that squeezes hard at Jaskier’s heart.

By the time they’re back at the inn and Geralt’s bathed and in bed, Jaskier feels as if he might faint from a rapid heart. He grabs his lute and starts toward the door, freezing at the low growl that comes from the bed.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?” Jaskier turns around.

“Lie with me.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your sleep--”

“--you won’t,” Geralt responds sleepily. “I need to make sure you are...”

“Safe,” Jaskier whispers, finishing Geralt’s sentence as the Witcher struggles to keep his eyes open. He moves toward the bed, climbing atop above the covers until his back is pressed against the wooden headboard.

“Will you sleep?”

Jaskier breathes out a shaky laugh. “I’m far too strung to fall asleep, I’m afraid. Plus, I’ve had a full night’s sleep unlike you.”

Geralt hums, rolling over until his hand is resting atop Jaskier’s thigh. “Good. I cannot protect you from your dreams.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier starts, but Geralt interrupts with a gruff voice.

“Sing something.”

“My lute’s over--”

“--no chords. Just your voice.”

“I thought you hated my singing.” He meets Geralt’s half-lidded eyes, and Geralt narrows his slightly.

“Sing.”

“Fine,” Jaskier huffs. He tilts his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling and clears his throat.

“One’s heart’s too loud, screaming for something more. Screaming for nothing more than to scream for what he shouldn’t adore.”

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ofhelens · 4 years

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HELEN WORTHINGTON: AUDITIONING FOR THE ROLE OF LADY MACBETH

oh boy. okay, so without rambling too much..........originally, i wasn’t going to have helen audition for anyone. why would she? with the possible exception of lady macduff, macbeth is full of characters who are totally unlike helen & anyone she’s played up-to-date. plus, the subject of the play is just a little too on the nose for her - and given her self denial at the moment, that isn’t a can of worms she’s looking to open. however, as i was writing this, it became clearer and clearer to me that helen playing lady macbeth would go really well alongside her general trajectory in the roleplay (downhill, like a damn roller coaster) and i could definitely see the “out damn spot” monologue playing well alongside some juicy orson reveal stuff :) also poetically...seeing “the ingenue” go from basically being the embodiment of an angel to playing one of shakespeare’s darkest heroines is...chefs kiss.

it’s strange to say that my character surprised me...(because im writing them?!) but yeah...helen surprised me!! she’s absolutely terrified by the idea of playing someone who is a little darker, a little stranger - but that’s exactly why she should do it!! i also genuinely think it’ll help her grow as an actor, which is something i really want to see happen. helen is pretty mediocre - but she doesn’t have to be!!! the only way we can grow as individuals is by challenging ourselves - something i’m keen to see heidi make happen.

having said that, i am not ride-or-die for lady macbeth and do not expect her to be cast as her at all!! if orson was casting, helen would be lady macduff without a question (we stan a self aware queen!) - and now that she’s made that point explicit to heidi, i feel like the latter will be way more inclined to cast her as anyone-but-that. if not lady macbeth, i could definitely see her playing one of the witches. essentially, i just need helen to play someone with a little more meat, someone who is darker; meaning that as she tries to nail their characterisation, she’s forced to confront some ugly things about herself and almost deal with the darkness in a therapeutic way.

“Helen Worthington.” She had expected stepping out onto the stage to feel more poetic. There was supposed to be sorrow in finality, grief in endings. And this was it. This was the final time she would audition for a play as an Alderidge student - perhaps her final audition all together. Whilst her peers clamoured for the limelight, she would have been perfectly comfortable making this her swan song. A moment passed. “I’ll be auditioning with Cleopatra, Act 5, Scene 2.” She could still hear Zahra’s words of encouragement in the back of her mind, quelling any doubts.

A brief look of surprise crossed Heidi’s face, she glanced down at her paper, as if trying to match the person she saw before her with words on a page. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Alright...am I to assume you’ll be auditioning for Lady MacBeth then?”

It took a moment for Helen’s mind to make the connection. She shook her head firmly. “No - no...no. I could never play Lady MacBeth...she’s...” Too monstrous. Too big a part. Too much like everything I never want to be. Settling on diplomacy, Helen sighed. “I could never do her justice.”

This seemed to interest Heidi. “Why not? Looking at your previous roles - “ She shuffled the papers in her hand “- you seem to have done a standout job with Celia. Lady MacBeth isn’t such a jump. Lines wise, at least.”

Helen shook her head, adamant that Heidi see what she did. “Playing Celia isn’t hard. She’s soft. Dreamy. And a character in a comedy.”

Heidi frowned. “So it’s Shakespeare’s tragedies you’re opposed to? Or being challenged?”

She was so unlike Orson that Helen had to blink twice, just to be sure her senses weren’t tricking her. “No. I don’t like tragedies. Everyone dies. I love theatre because it’s an escape - because it’s a chance to live out someone else’s stories. But why would I want to live like...like Lady MacBeth? She’s a terrible person. She’s a monster. I’d hate to even feel an inch of who she is.” Because what if I’m good at it? What if it’s easy to become her? What does that say about me? About what I’ve done?

“And being challenged?” A dog with a bone, Heidi continued to tug at the remaining loose thread. “Is it a fear of letting people down? Are you afraid that you’re not talented enough?”

Back against the wall, Helen was forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. The purest of which was this: she never had been challenged. Any malevolent thoughts were packed in dusty boxes at the back of her mind, never to be opened. She was practically adored by her peers. Orson had never dragged her out of her comfort zone. She had no idea what being challenged was like. All she knew was that she didn’t want it. “I don’t know.” She conceded, sighing. “I’ve only ever played Celias.”

“And you want things to stay that way?”

Helen closed her eyes. Her mind was awash with a thousand memories - hanging out with Chandler in between As You Like It auditions, kissing Jonah backstage, laughing with Harry, cooking with Julian...she didn’t want things to ever change. That was why she poisoned Orson, wasn’t it? So that they could stay in a glorious summer, where no one ever got hurt. “Yes. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

Heidi shot her a thoughtful glance and opened her mouth as if she was about to ask another question, before shutting it abruptly. “Alright Helen -” She said slowly, nodding. “The stage is yours.”

Now nervous about her audition piece, about what it said about her and about whether she’d be able to deliver; Helen closed her eyes. She had never been to Egypt, never even left the country - but conjured the sensation of balmy evenings, a heart full of love and a crown weighing you down. “Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me - “ Perhaps she and Cleopatra weren’t so different. She understood what it was to long for immortality of another kind. You could have even said she was desire itself. It was those parts of Cleopatra Helen chose to emphasise.

Pretending to shuffle on a robe, Helen stared out into the audience. Cleopatra saw a kingdom.

“now no more the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act; I hear him mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: now to that name my courage prove my title!” The love between Antony and Cleopatra, Helen had decided, was ugly. It was brutal. It should not be celebrated. But she also thought she understood it - the sensation of being bound to someone, of loving them so intensely you would do unspeakable, regrettable, things in their name. If someone dared lay a finger on Antony, would Cleopatra burn them to the ground? Helen was sure she would. As she came to understand Shakespeare’s heroine, she began to lose herself in Cleopatra’s skin in a way she never had before.

Opposite her, but unseen by Helen, Heidi sat up a little straighter.

“I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.” Her kiss brings death. It was a terrifying kind of beautiful. Against her better judgement, Helen’s mind began to wonder...to remember. A wine glass. A toast. Poison. A deceitful smile concealing burning hatred. Who was she to judge Shakespeare’s characters...when she had wrought such destruction...

Lips trembling, Helen paused - momentarily unable to continue with her performance. See, this was why she hated Shakespeare’s dark and decrepit creatures. They drew something carnal out of her...they overwhelmed her, threatening to seize her voice and take it as their own. To be on stage was to be exposed...and this was one reflection she refused to peer into.

Why did Zahra encourage her to use this piece? Did she know something? Or did she just want to see her falter?

Ten seconds later, she regained her composure. Her break did not go unnoticed by Heidi.

Kneeling on the floor, Helen took Iras’ imaginary body into her arms, cradling him as he took his last breaths. Childish and impulsive she may be, but Cleopatra had heart. She wasn’t wholly wicked. Maybe in her performance, Helen could find her a kind of redemption; a thousand years too late.

“Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, the stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world. It is not worth leave-taking.” Was Cleopatra brave to watch Iras take his last breaths? Was she a coward for letting Orson die alone? Panic’s familiar sensation threatened to take a hold of her. Breath quickening, her last sentence was slightly slurred as she raced towards the end, to the moment she could be done with Cleopatra, toss her aside and never wear her face again.

Her story was not Cleopatra’s. She and Jonah were not Antony and Cleopatra. She was just a role. It was all make believe.

“See -” Helen began, gentle, but sad. “There’s a reason I don’t get cast as the Lady MacBeth’s of the world.”

Wearing an expression equal parts confusion and sympathy, Heidi returned her smile. “It’s not your fault you’ve never had an opportunity to dig deeper with your characters. Now that isn’t to say that his comedic characters don’t have depth - but it’s like the other side of a coin. If you want to excel as an actor, it’s important you learn how to play both kinds. Life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows.”

Why not? Knowing better than to vocalise her disagreement, Helen swallowed her words. Idealism never...carried well with people. They thought she was a child, head in the clouds, living in a world of fantasy. Had she been a crueller person, she would have asked them why they were so adamant to continue living in a world of grey. So instead, she nodded politely. “Thank you for letting me audition.”

"Thank you for coming in Helen. And props for choosing something we wouldn’t expect.” Glancing down at her sheet, she tapped her nails against the paper. “You still haven’t told me who you’re auditioning for.”

Her first instinct was to steadfastly refuse to audition for any of them - and let the chips fall where they may. Or even to ask to be moved down a year, to the third year’s comedy. “Orson would probably cast me as Lady MacDuff.” It was the only character she ever could have volunteered herself for. Domestic bliss, it was something she embodied easily.

“Well - “ Heidi said, inclining her head, “I’m not Orson.”

No, Helen thought, you’re not. May that be a blessing, and not my curse.

“Would you toss your hat into the ring for Lady MacBeth?”

No, Helen thought. Not a chance in hell. But then, betrayed by her mouth, she nodded. “I’d consider it.”

As she exited the stage, Helen couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

#this is literally the first thing i have ever...designed myself #em did all the thinking on the main graphics #ensembletask

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