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light-yaers · 1 year ago

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tangerine. | part one [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 5.2k

PART ONE

“What is the point of this entire trip if you’re not going to tell me the restaurants in advance?” Sydney whittled off, trying to keep up with the storming legs of her partner. “Carmen, are you even listening to me, right now?”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he said, peering back at her as his legs kept up their pace.

He slalomed through people on the sidewalk of 8th Street and St. Marks Place, with Syd close on his tail. She didn’t know these streets like he did. His prior positions in the city were prestigious, ranging from sous chef roles all over the damn city, before he finally made chef de cuisine at Union Square Cafe. As the time had passed, understanding came with it, but she still wouldn’t ever wrap her head around him leaving NY for The Beef.

She knew Michael meant a lot to him, to the family, but dropping it all for a sandwich shop in Chicago would always be something she’d secretly question. Syd tried not to think about it too much; the fear of him leaving, or bailing, and the like; because at the end of the day she’d bled herself dry for this.

A restaurant. A place. Somewhere her dad used to love, and would love after the renovation. The Beef was gone, it was true, but in its place would be The Bear. The product of all of Carmen’s and her hard work.

Syd sped up to a jog, until she finally wrapped her fingers around Carmen’s forearm. She tugged him back, and used it as an opportunity to catch her breath. “You’re not listening. I don’t even know where we’re fucking going, Carm.”

He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “This is a last minute addition,” he said, before he placed his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to get it over with. Sorry for rushing.”

Sydney nodded at him, listening. “Okay. So, let me in, dude. Tell me about this place so I’m less confused, and you’re less… whatever the fuck this is,” she said, gesturing to his erratic behaviour.

Carmen shuffled on the sidewalk, peering around at shop fronts, and the abundance of restaurants that lined up outside Tompkins Square Park. This was an area he knew like the back of his hand, but one he hadn’t visited since long before he’d left New York.

“The first place I ever worked in the city. It’s not fine dining, or Michelin starred, or any of that shit,” he started, and despite the abrupt way Syd’s eyes widened from annoyance, she still let him continue. “The vibe of it, though,” he said, and chuckled the words out of his mouth in surprise. “Just, come on.” He gently placed a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leading her forward so they were on the same page.

From the outside, Lucky Strike Diner didn’t look like anything special. It was a small unit, placed betwixt two taller apartment buildings, to the North of Tompkins Square Park. Syd looked up at it, grimacing slightly, but she tried to keep an open mind. She’d been around her fair share back alley barbeques and hidden gems to know you should never judge a book by its cover.

When she glanced over to Carmen, he looked practically childlike. There was a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they’d first decided to bin off The Beef and bring in The Bear That wonder, that craving for something new, and excitement of something unknown. Nostalgia danced over every feature of his face, and she watched as he sucked in a sharp breath, before entering the diner.

Inside, the decor was minimalist, but homely. Black and white photos lined the walls, pictures of families, of friends, of celebrations. Cream and red colours graced the walls, and the booths looked comforting and inviting. Despite the drab appearance outside, inside was bustling. Practically every table was full, and the old style bar was inviting. Through the kitchen window, sparks and fire shot up whenever something burned, or flambed, on the grill.

This vibe, the one Carmen had mentioned; Sydney felt it all immediately. That warmth, like you were stepping into a family function instead of something elitist. Businessmen sat with their laptops, next to mothers with their babies, and grandfathers on their own. This was a place for everyone, and that was clear to see.

As servers scattered over the busy restaurant floor, one of them stuck out to Sydney. You scuttled, slaloming through tables with ease, as you made your way to the host stand by the door.

Saturday rushes were always hardcore, but you’d grown accustomed to them. You grabbed two menus before you even looked the two new customers in the eye, and let out a simple “Welcome to Lucky Strike Diner, table for two–?”

You stopped when your brain finally computed his face; a face you hadn’t seen in a long time. Carmen Berzatto was standing in your fucking restaurant. “Carmy.” His name slipped out easily, and along with it came a sickly feeling in your gut.

He cleared his throat. “Table for two, yes. Please.”

You glanced at the second member of his party, quickly, and shot her a smile. You didn’t particularly have anything to smile about, but it wasn’t her fault that she’d just been planted into the middle of this inevitable shitstorm. That smile disappeared instantly, as soon as you looked back at Carmen.

“Great,” you said plainly. Even disappearing assholes like Carmen wouldn’t stop you from being professional and civil at work. You loved this place too much, had been here too long, to do that. “This way, please.”

You steamed forward as you picked out a table in the corner, furthest away from the host stand. You didn’t want him in the middle of the room, where he could easily find you in the crowd of servers. Why he was here and what he was doing didn’t cross your mind until you seated them, dropping the menus down on their respective settings.

Carmen scooted his chair in, and peered up at you. “It’s been a long time–”

“So, have you guys ever been here before?” you cut over him, and mostly looked at his partner. She shot you a clearly awkward smile, but nevertheless shook her head politely. Carmen stayed silent, and bit upon his tongue. “Okay, so I’ll lay down the lingo for you,” you said, as you quickly went through the menu with her. “You need anything, just wave one of us down and we’ll be happy to help, all good?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Sydney said with a smile, before she looked over at Carmen. That smile quickly turned to a small frown.

“Fantastic,” you said. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start?”

“Um, I’ll take the lemonade, thanks,” Sydney ordered, as she attempted to hold this entire interaction together by the skin of her teeth.

“Great choice, it was made fresh this morning like always.” You turned to Carmen. “And for you, sir?”

A vein had popped out on Carmen’s forehead very noticeably. It was one that Sydney knew well, when he was either under insane amounts of stress in the kitchen, or fighting against the urge to yell. Maybe both meant the same thing, but still– she could see from a mile off that this was not the way he’d wanted this reunion to go.

“Surprise me,” he said, as he looked up and caught your eye.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m no good at surprises, so I’ll just bring you some tap water until you decide,” you said, trying and failing to keep things light. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a few minutes.” You went to leave quickly.

“Hey, just–” Carmen reached out for you as fast as he could, but as his fingers grazed your wrist, you managed to snap your arm away from him just in time. He gave up when disappeared through the doors to the back, and dropped himself back into his chair.

Sydney leant forward immediately. “Okay, dude. What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Carmen said bluntly.

Sydney started laughing breathily. “Yeah, sure, that was nothing. Don��t test me, Carm.”

“I– fuck,” he spluttered. “Just pick your fucking food, please.”

Sydney was a pro at telling Carmen to calm the fuck down, but this interaction had her stumped for a solution. “What do you recommend?” she said, switching her tune.

Carmen met her eye in some kind of silent apology. “Uhh, the eggs. The eggs are fantastic. And the french toast, that’s the restaurant’s best.” As the subject changed, Carmen delved into the menu alongside Syd. They talked about their menu ideas, and paralleled them with the dishes they saw here.

Maybe bringing a diner styled meal to a (soon to be) Michelin menu wasn’t so much of a bad idea. It fit the theme. The homeliness, paired with the decadence of the chaos menu they’d been discussing priorly.

In the back, you quickly punched in their drink order, before you slalomed through the kitchen. “Behind!” you yelled, as you made your way through each station. The chefs all shot you concerned looks, as it became apparent where you were heading.

“Is today really a walk-in day?” One of them, Paulie, said as you raced by. He’d known you for years now, and knew when something was fucking wrong.

“Yep!” you exclaimed back at him, tugging open the handle of the walk-in swiftly.

“What the fuck happened?” he boomed, but you slammed the door shut before you could muster up a reply.

Inside, you breathed alongside the ingredients. The vegetables, the homemade sauces, the fresh smoked salmon. It was cold, but not too cold that you couldn’t stand it. The cool air made everything feel calm, like you had somehow been transported to some Icelandic lake in the summertime. The air was crisp, and noise was muffled through the door, like the solace you felt by locking yourself in the upstairs bathroom at a house party.

Carmen Berzatto showing up out of the blue had been something you’d long stopped indulging in. He’d made himself clear, the last time you’d seen him, that he had no intention of continuing the working relationship or friendship you’d once had. It was only then that you realised how fast the time had gone.

You were twenty when you met him, the same age as each other. Both of you tried to navigate life together as you stumbled and fell, and got yourselves up again. You were on par with each other, both in intelligence and maturity. Paulie had liked Carm as soon as he’d walked through the door for his interview, and pretty soon after being hired, he’d turned Lucky Strike around like it was no skin off his back.

He was a refreshing change for the life you’d found yourself in. He’d made this place great, and you’d taught each other some life lessons. You’d always known he was destined for more, and you’d always been the first person to sing his praises.

Before his abrupt switch in personality, you’d thought fondly of your time here together. The same old grind of opening up the diner together in the morning. While he prepped for service in the kitchen, you did so on the restaurant floor. It was a collaborative effort, and without both of you together at that point in time, the diner would have gone under. That’s what made it sting even more, when you thought of your life now– you wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t come along. It was like rubbing extra salt in your already open wound.

You sucked in a deep, cold breath, and let it out slowly. The cold invigorated your lungs, and gave you the strength to continue with your day. Lunch service was on the brink of its lull, anyway, but having him there, sat outside, with his fucking face that he used to look at you so fondly with, you could hardly stand it.

A gentle knock sounded from the walk-in door, and you quickly wiped a few spots of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah!” you yelled.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” Paulie urged you, and you hadn’t been able to refuse him for the time you’d been working at the diner– so that wasn’t going to start now.

You pushed open the door and sealed it shut behind you, before you allowed yourself to peer up at him. He was a burly guy, but soft around the edges. You had no idea if he was in his forties or sixties, since he had one of those faces that were sort of stuck in time. He spoke like a character straight out of Taxi Driver.

“What the hell happened, huh?” he asked gently, patting you on your shoulders sturdily.

You sighed. “Carmen. He’s in the restaurant,” you said.

“Carmy’s here?” Paulie exclaimed, as he frantically looked around the kitchen. “Guys, Carmy’s here!” he yelled. A few of the chefs, who’d been employed here for time, started muttering loudly.

Paulie’s joy only made you feel worse, but you didn’t hold it against him. Carm had been a staple here all those years before, and had taught a lot of the guys all that they knew about their role. Literally. “Table twenty,” you said. “Knock yourselves out.”

Service stopped momentarily as Paulie and two other chefs made their way out to the restaurant. You stayed back, and peered through the kitchen window. Beyond the bar, you saw Paulie exclaim as Carmen stood up and shook his hand. They hugged like bears, and he introduced Sydney to them all.

Paulie’s voice was one that carried, so it was impossible not to hear every note of their conversation from where you were. “We’ll whip you up your old favourites. You still like salmon?” Paulie went on, and Carmen nodded and smiled in appreciation the entire time.

You composed yourself as best as you could, before you left the kitchen. You grabbed their drinks, already prepared, on the bar, and gently shoved yourself through to their table.

“Aye, aye, aye– we have hungry people waiting, Paulie!” you said, allowing yourself to don a small smile as you gently set down their drinks. “Come on now, back to work, chefs!”

Paulie squeezed Carmen’s shoulder, before he gestured to you. “She’s practically the boss around here now, Carmy. The big boss,” he said. Carmen gently met your eye, but you looked away as fast as you could.

“Alright, alright. Big boss says three orders of french toast on the fly, chef,” you said, grinning as Paulie held up his hands defensively.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, as he started treading back towards the kitchen. “Good to see you, Carmy!” he boomed.

“You too, Paulie,” Carmen said, before he awkwardly sat back down and tucked himself in.

You caught your breath again, as you cleared your throat. “So, it seems our chef has already picked your order for you. Can I get you guys anything else that he didn’t mention?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sydney said, pointing to the menu. “What is this exactly?”

You read the words just above her fingertip, and your gut dropped. Tangerine salade. You were torn between wanting to laugh maniacally, or leave and never return to the diner. Carmen’s eyes widened in realisation at Sydney’s request.

“Oh, it’s–”

“It’s–”

You and Carmen stopped talking when you heard the other start. You’d both gone to explain the dish– if it could even be called a dish. You held your breath abruptly and took a small step back. Part of you wondered if he remembered the entire meaning, but you weren’t about to explain it all in great detail. Not when it didn’t feel as special anymore.

“I’m sorry, you tell us. Please.” Carmen shut his mouth and sat back, as if he was on best behaviour.

“It’s exactly what it says,” you said. “Tangerine salad. Two fresh tangerines, cut into slices like big oranges, instead of peeled and segmented.”

Sydney smiled, amused. “Where did that come from?”

It came from Carmen. You had a habit of stealing fruit from the walk-in, when you realised you hadn’t eaten on a shift. Tangerines were always ordered, but hardly ever used, so there was always an abundance of them, destined to rot.

Carmen caught you everytime, eating them like orange slices, just so they were quicker and easier to scoff down during a rush. The juice didn’t get on your hands as much, and you enjoyed the vibrant colour they produced over the white pith that covered their segments when peeled. Carmen had taken it upon himself to add a new item during a menu refresh in the early days. Tangerine salade was born, and neither you, nor Paulie, had ever thought to get rid of it. Even after all this time.

“Why did you call it that?” you asked Carmen, gobsmacked to see it on the menu for the first time, all those years before.

“Salad didn’t sound as good as salade,” he explained.

“You chefs and your obsession with French words, huh?” you joked, as you rounded his station and dropped the menu down upon the pristine surface. “This is sweet, Carmy. Sweet, but unnecessary.”

“Not true,” he countered, bashing his shoulder into yours playfully. “Now that it’s on the menu, it’s got a button on the system. Whenever you need a tangerine just punch it through, and we’ll have two of ‘em, waiting for you when you get a moment to fucking breathe.”

You felt Carmen’s stare on you at Sydney’s question, and forced yourself to suck in a breath and come back to reality. “Tangerine salad is our version of McDonalds apple slice bags. For the kids,” you lied, but nevertheless kept a smile stamped on your face. Carmen looked positively pale at your response. “They’re good fucking tangerines, though,” you added, and Sydney chuckled in surprise.

“Okay, I need to try these tangerines,” she said.

“One order of tangerine salade, on top of all the rest, sure.” You made a quick note on your order slip, even though you didn’t need to. It was just a way to avoid Carmen’s stare even further.

For the rest of the lunch rush, you pretended like he wasn’t there. You did the rounds, topping up cups of coffee, and rushing fresh dishes and dirty plates to and from the kitchen. You stayed on top of admin when you got a spare moment at the host stand, and scrolled through invoices from suppliers.

Without meaning to, you’d stayed at Lucky Strike Diner for seven years. It was life for you now. You lived a few blocks away, through the park, but having an apartment felt like a waste when you practically lived in the restaurant.

You and Carmen had talked about so much, when you’d both been confined to these walls. What lay beyond for both of you. His dream to cook in top restaurants, and eventually build his own restaurant from the ground up. You didn’t really have any dreams, just the security and stability of a good life, and good people around you, but you indulged whenever he mentioned his own place.

“Well, if you ever need a front of house manager, you know where to find me,” you joked, as you wiped down the bar at the end of the day. Carmen poked his head through the kitchen window.

“Why don’t we do it, then?” he asked abruptly. You stopped wiping the surfaces, and turned around to face him. “Open our own restaurant.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Money, taxes, insurance, money,” you listed off, and he tossed a wet cloth at your face. You dodged it, and watched it crash onto one of the restaurant tables. “Hey!” You turned back, shooting him an amused grin.

“You’re too much of a fucking realist,” he said, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the restaurant.

“And you’re too much of a fucking dreamer. These things take time, Carmy.”

“I know that,” he said, as he grabbed the cloth he’d thrown. He approached the bar, and leaned over it, bridging the gap between your faces. “We could still do it, though. Have our own place. Cook our own menu.”

You smiled at his words, and rearranged the napkin holders next to him. “Can’t do that when you’re about to join the big leagues,” you said, and Carmen slid off the bar.

“You’re gonna fucking jinx it!” he wailed.

“It’s called manifesting!” you exclaimed. “You’re gonna get the fucking job, Carm.” He pulled out a chair from one of the tables and dropped into it melodramatically.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” he muttered. “You think Paulie will still talk to me if I leave?”

You were the one to throw your cloth at him now, and it hit him square in his face with a slap sound. You smacked your hands over your mouth in surprise, before you tried and failed to stop chuckles from cascading out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry–” you started, rounding the bar.

Carmen slid the cloth off his face. “You’re fucking funny,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Carmy, really,” you said through chuckles, as you dropped yourself into the chair opposite him. You took the cloth from his hands, and gently squeezed his hand in apology.

A comfortable silence, one that you’d grown accustomed to over the past eight months, descended upon the two of you. All you could hear was the playful pounding of your hearts and the soft way he breathed. It was a relaxing sound.

“You’re gonna get it,” you said again, and Carmen only had eyes for you then. “And when you do, I can’t wait to go and eat the best meal of my fucking life.”

Carmen smiled. He’d always been shy, always quiet, unless he was in the kitchen. “My brother has a restaurant, back in Chicago. When I finished culinary school, I really thought he’d let me join him, you know? It could be a family restaurant. We could run it together, or something,” he said. You hooked onto his every word. “But, he told me no. Said he didn’t want me anywhere near it, and– I don’t know. I think that’s why I came here.”

You bit your lip, inhaling his words. “Family will always be our harshest critics,” you said.

Carmen scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “You can fucking say that again.”

“You know, my sister lives in Chicago,” you said.

Carmen leant forward. “Really?”

You hummed. “Has for a few years now. My mom didn’t like it when she told us she was moving, but.” You shrugged. “That’s just because my mom has never lived anywhere else than here.”

“Yeah, my own wasn’t thrilled about me coming to New York, either,” Carmen said, before he huffed in dark amusement. “It’s funny. She hates us, my brother and sister and I, when we’re around, when we complain, when we do anything– but she also hates it when we all wanna get the fuck out because of it.”

You smiled at him softly, in understanding. “They fuck you up, don’t they?”

Carmen flicked his gaze over your features. “You don’t seem fucked up to me,” he said gently.

“Give it time,” you said. Smiles slowly appeared on both of your faces, until laughter trickled from your mouths like drops from a tap. “One day you’ll realise just how messed up I am,” you joked.

“Is that a challenge?” Carmen questioned.

You scoffed, and raised your hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I don’t want to tempt fate when it comes to how fucked up chefs can be.”

Carmen pointed at you abruptly, sternly, but there was amusement all over his face. “That is an untrue stereotype,” he said. “Not all of us snort coke.”

“All?” you asked.

“Well.” He leaned closer to you, stretching his arms across the table. “Not me.”

You regarded him softly. You hardly got the chance to do this during service; just look at him. Hold his gaze, feel him close. You would never admit it, but having Carmen around was a constant over the past months that comforted you. You liked having him near, liked seeing him practically everyday, and it was clear that you got on enough to talk bullshit with each other.

When you got home that evening, way past midnight, you opened up your laptop and went to the Union Square Cafe website. You hovered your mouse over the reservations tab, thinking something crazy.

Carmen hadn’t heard back from the restaurant yet, but he’d only applied as the CDC there a number of days before. You knew he was going to get it, and felt it deep within your soul. That feeling is what lead you to book yourself a solo dinner, for the first available date you could possibly find– a years’ time.

You knew that, by the time that year was up and you were sitting at your table, Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking your meal. You didn’t tell him about it either, but kept it to yourself for the remainder of his time at the diner.

You’d been right, when within a month, he’d gone through a rigorous interview process and landed the position and USC. Paulie had faked being mad, but it was clear to see the immense admiration he had for the young Carmen Berzatto. When his last shift approached, you had secretly arranged a goodbye celebration. At the end of a long Saturday, as you and Carmen shut up the diner and headed out, you were ambushed by the servers and chefs as you tread through the park.

Drinks and laughs were shared at your apartment across the way. It was the most you’d seen Carmen socialise in the time you’d known him, but he didn’t look uncomfortable once. He knew he had a support system behind him from the diner– and from you, predominantly. When the moon shone down onto your building, you found yourself out on your fire escape with a beer bottle in your hand. You looked up at the stars, and only looked away when someone shuffled out of the window and sat next to you.

Carmen crossed his legs next to you, and gulped down his own beer contentedly. You turned to him and smiled fully, overly excited for him to start his new endeavour.

He huffed at you softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said.

“I know,” you replied. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Carmen shuffled awkwardly next to you. “I know, I know, it’s just–”

“For once, you need to be okay with being the centre of attention, okay? Deal with it.” You hit back, and laughed when you saw the way his eyes widened at your tenacity. “We’re so excited for you, Carm.”

Carmen nodded, and allowed himself to accept all of your praise, just this once. “I’m excited, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I got it.”

“I can,” you said. “If you don’t get some type of chef award in the next year then I’ll be surprised.”

Carmen laughed. “Chef award?”

“You know, like ‘Best New Chef On The Block’, or ‘Shyest Chef In The Business’, or–”

“Enough, enough,” he let out, chuckling. You weren’t done yet, however.

“Or the James Beard award.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s called mani–”

“Manifesting!” Carmen finished your sentence for you, imitating your past words. You leaned against the wall in awe at his playfulness.

“So, you do listen to me sometimes, huh?”

“I guess I do,” he said, and shot you a knowing smile. You held his gaze when he gave it to you, because it was somewhat of a rare thing.

Maybe you’d always been too out there for Carmen, but he’d learned to live alongside you despite it. You were glad about that. You enjoyed his company more than you’d ever say to his face, and despite being so happy for him to leave the diner, part of you was aching at the thought of his absence.

You flicked your gaze over his face, taking in his features. He had a strong nose, and the kind of cheekbones that they talked about in women’s magazines. His eyes, though– God, his eyes– they were so blue that they looked artificial in some lights. Like the kind of blue food colouring you put in cake icing. Alarming, but also impossible to shy away from when he was properly looking at you.

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple shifted in his throat. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, almost croaking out the words. Your heart melted. Your brows furrowed softly. Your chest compressed. You let out a shaking breath through your nose.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Carmy,” you let out. It felt like the best and worst kind of goodbye.

You hadn’t thought about that day in years. The last time you had, it was after your reservation at USC the year after. Coincidentally, that was the last time you’d seen Carmen Berzatto too, until he showed up at the diner and plummeted you back to those thoughts from those previous years.

As the lunch rush died down, you wiped the bar down from lack of what else to do. In the corner, Carmen and Sydney were finishing up their meal. Sydney had made an abundance of notes in a small notebook, while Carmen talked in hushed tones and spilled all the old diner secrets. With his hands clasped on the table before him, used napkin to his left, plates practically licked clean, he turned himself around to glance around the restaurant.

You sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes hit yours. You almost froze, but remembered yourself as much as you could. You tensed, and looked away first quickly. You smacked your hands down on the counter when you looked to the kitchen, and caught Paulie’s eyes. “I’m going for a smoke!” you announced, before you slipped off your apron quickly.

“Those things will kill you!” Paulie exclaimed back, his voice booming across the restaurant floor.

“Maybe that’s the point,” you muttered to yourself, as you headed towards the back door of the diner. You slipped a cigarette between your lips on the way.

Carmen’s gaze followed you as you disappeared through the door. Sydney saw it all as she sat opposite him, and had the strangest urge to give him guidance.

“So, shall we get outta here?” she asked. Carmen’s attention was still on the door.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Just– give me one second,” he said, as he stood up from the table. He started towards the door, and Sydney grabbed his wrist abruptly. Carmen froze, and looked down at her.

“Don’t push her,” Sydney said suddenly. “I don’t know what shit you guys have going on, but I’m good at reading faces. Just don’t push her too hard, Carm.”

Carmen regarded her thoughtfully. He nodded. Then, he was gone.

PART TWO

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hautevaux · 7 months ago

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@caeca-iustitia

For once, waking up took longer - a general lingering grogginess from actually resting clinging to the tailor of whom was bundled up on the sofa, blanket around shoulders and herbal tea betwixt long fingers. Eyes, still laden with the weight of sleep, were closed for the moment - but ears could note Vincent meandering around - the extra presence in his otherwise large and empty apartment truly adored and appreciated.

"You know, darling - - -" Vaux chimed, finally prying his eyes open enough to glance around to see if he could see the other: "---I think we should give you a good pamper day." He'd have suggested going to a spa, but Vaux cannot help but feel that the situation may just make his dear company rather uncomfortable. Too many other people, he supposed and he couldn't blame them, even Vaux found it too much at times.

"A nice hot bath with essential oils, maybe a bath bomb - - I could wash your hair, some nice treatments~~" A pause is taken, one just long enough to sip at his tea, the gentle smile grewing upon his face as he thinks over which products Vincent might like.

"-- manicure, massage, comfy clothes - - -" He continues, leaning his head backwards. He was certain he had some plush fabric in his stash, and the very idea of making Vincent something soft and slouch my to wear was wonderful.

"What do you think, darling - -?"

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brideofdiscord-rewritten · 1 year ago

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Bride of Discord Chapter 6: The Decision

the next day, now the beginning of the next month Kimono knocked quietly at the door of the hut. The gentle roll of her hoof on the oak door gave way to the clinks of hanging metal decorum and the rattles of wood hanging next to the shiny wind chimes. There was the audible announcement of her dear friend. The door opened, notably without creaking.

"Kimono dear, please, come in! Sit down with me and let's begin."

The pony loved her peaceful greetings. "Thank you very much for inviting me here. I'm sure that you can give me all the facts without bias, from outside of ponyville."

"In that case, please be wary, what I will tell you is quite scary! Discord has angered me too, so unbiased fact I cannot give you!"

Kimono snorted. "If I get caught with fake news you're coming down with me!"

"no my friend, you're sorely mistaken! If you are caught I won't be Forsaken!"

"YOURE COMPLICIT! THERE CAN BE NO WITNESSES!"

They howled in laughter as they pretended to square up, before they stopped only because zecora nearly knocked down a jar of roots.

"Ive known the week's chaos as the product of discord's reign throughout equestria from letters. I wrote much down whilst touring ponyville. But I have no idea what happened at the canterlot castle, nor do I know what is happening in this forest."

Zecora spoke slowly, so as to give the pony across from her time to write it all down for the archives. kimono was the keeper of all pony history, and did her best to upkeep her reputation as the mare to go to for knowledge. Zecora looked on as she scrunched her face, stuck her tongue out, and attempted to focus and knew she could be a pony that learns around her. They were mutualists and learned from each other.

Her train of speech of interrupted with Kimono's questions.

"and what of his demands?"

Zecora tensed and scratched her chin. "A bride he demands, as well as land. His next demand is awfully unique. They can't use the elements to defend the meek."

Kimono sipped her Rooibos mango tea.

"and what would he want- in a PLOTTING manner, with a bride?"

"A "plotting manner" is precisely the issue, to hurt his bride I don't think he'd wish to. Perhaps it's love the creature seeks? I don't know, to me he won't speak."

"it has to be somepony... Somepony who can handle prolonged isolation."

"Applejack sent a letter a while back, saying that fluttershy's about to crack. She considers marrying the draconequus. Apple's trying to disparage this wish."

Kimono frowned, her eyebrows screwing up into a sympathetic expression. "Maybe fluttershy thinks it'll bring her purpose. When ponies make big decisions such as this, a sense of inferiority or insignificance is the root cause."

"if that's where the decision resides, she should know she's made great strides."

"Let's send her a letter, I will help you!"

Another 30 minutes passed and betwixt tea, parchment, and ink the ponies sent Fluttershy a letter of comfort and as much advice as they could give. Zecora advised Kimono to sweep the path leading up to where she lived, for fear of evil forces affecting her. Of course, not before sweeping her own porch and blowing up on it cinnamon from her hoof.

"Applejack, some pony has to go with him. What choice do I have?"

"There are plenty of ponies in Equestria! It doesn't have to be you!"

"But how many do you think would be willing to go?"

"I…well…"

"This is my choice, Applejack. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, Sugar Cube. I've seen you face up to a manticore and a full-grown dragon. But Discord…" She sighed. "Look, I just don't want you to get hurt, and I know the others don't wanna lose you to that…"

"If I don't go, no one will. The sun will never be in your pastures again!"

Applejack stared up at her friend with blurry eyes and then hung her head. "I can't stop you shug. I want'cha to be happy with the rest of your life, y'know."

"I can be happy this way applejack." The mare lifted her friend's head with her gentle hoof, caressing her Cheech as gently as she could while a small tear soaked into her coat.

"Just…promise me you'll write. And even if he don't let ya see the letters, just know I'll still be writin' em."

The cold and unyielding castle they housed felt warmer.

Fluttershy embraced her friend. "I knew you'd understand, Applejack." When she pulled away, she smiled smugly. "So what's this with you and rainbow? You've both been going to Rarity's more often!" The farm pony bolted upright

Applejack turned beet, (or rather apple,) red. "It ain't nothin'! Really! It's just an idea!"

"What would THAT be, applejack?"

"Rarity really likes us both real bad, but she dont wanna date just one mare. It's this poly-whatsit thing..." her very ears seemed to flush red. "Me and dash ain't dating, but we're both... goin steady with Rarity. It's kinda embarrassin'. Ya can't tell any pony, ya hear?"

Fluttershy giggled. She squealed in awe "Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye! You're just like a filly again!"

Applejack nudged her shoulders.

Fluttershy said nothing and headed towards her room. Applejack caught up with her before she could close the door.

"Fluttershy," she called, "whatever you choose, I just want you to know…"

She turned to her. "Yes?"

"You…you just might be the bravest pony I've ever known."

Fluttershy smiled, knowing that it was always the truth with her. "That really means a lot to me, Applejack."

That night, she slept lightly, slumped over a large circular pillow, and a small parchment wrapped in her hooves. of, and the words that her friends had written: "He may not be an angel from above,but perhaps what he needa is love" The words soothed her. The more she thought about it, the less worried she was. She was scared, but never terrified. She liked to think it was all true. Discord is an animal just like her, so he surely has a heart, doesn't he? And hearts are the symbols of love.

Twilight gazed out her window. The sun hadn't risen in the week leading up to this month. The moon seemed to fly away from the earth. There was nothing left amongst the clouds. There was nothing. This was the before, the dreamscape.

A cry from Rainbow Dash interrupted her thoughts. "YO EVERYONE! Twilight! You'se not gonna believe it!"

"What is it?" the princess demanded.

"It's Fluttershy, she's gone! She freakin' did it!!"

Twilight didn't waste a second and followed the pegasus to Fluttershy's room. Rarity, Pinkie, Applejack and Spike surrounded the empty bed. The dragon held a note in his claws. The unicorn removed it with her magic and read it aloud:

"Dear Fluttershy,

Do not let the needs of the few outweigh the needs of self. In turn, the needs of your mind being filled will save everyone who matters. Go to the draconequus, if it's truly what you wish. He's not be an angel from above, but perhaps what he needs is love."

Every pony turned suspiciously towards Applejack, who bore the expression of a foal who'd eaten a lemon for the first time.

The cowgirl stomped her hoof. "She did it! She gone and did it! I tried to talk her out of it, I really did! She made me Pinkie Promise not to say nothin' before she did it!"

"Calm down, Applejack. What happened?"

What would've been daybreak. The sun should've illuminated the foggy dew kissing the plants that reached towards the great pink-orange heavens. Instead, there was what only looked like night.

She took a deep breath and looked up at them with tears in her eyes.

"Hello?" she called out weakly. "Anyone home?"

Fluttershy stood at the cave entrance. A part of her was telling her to turn back, but another was telling her to go in. She had to do this for her friends, for the princesses, for Equestria. She inhaled deeply and walked in.

It was dark, but that's not what frightened her. She had the feeling that he was going to jump out at any moment. Stop it, Fluttershy, she told herself. You need to be brave.

"Well, well, well."

She yelped in surprise and spun around to find the draconequus standing over her.

"If it isn't the Element of Kindness herself? How nice of you to drop in!"

Suddenly, the ground beneath her disappeared and Fluttershy screamed as she fell through a hole. She landed with a thump and looked around to find that she had landed in the same spot that she had fallen.

"How did…?" she stammered.

Discord laughed maniacally. "Oh, that was priceless!" He wiped away a tear. "So what brings you here, horsey? Come to negotiate some more?"

Fluttershy struggled to stand, as her knees were shaking. "Well, I have come to negotiate something…" the term "horsey" made her blood boil.

"Strange that Twilight would send you to try to reason with me. Well, you can tell your precious princess that I will only take a bride and that's final!"

"And a bride you shall have!"

Discord stared at her, shocked at her sudden outburst. "Is that so? Well, where is the lucky mare?" His outfit appeared as that of a game show host.

Her teeth started chattering. "R-right…h-here."

He blinked. "Say again?"

Fluttershy closed her eyes and straightened up. "I will be your bride."

For a long while, there was silence and she opened her eyes to see his face full of confusion. Then he erupted into a roar of laughter.

"Oh, I get it! This is a joke, right? Alright, who put you up to this? Twilight? Maybe that prankster Pinkie Pie?" She did not respond. "Rainbow Dash?"

"They…don't even know I'm here. Well, they should by now. I left them a note."

"Why would you leave them a…? Nevermind!" Buzzers and Foghorns pelted her ears. Flashing colorful neon lights and confetti brightened up the scenery.

He would have never expected her, the pegasus afraid of her own shadow, to accept his offer. Actually, he was beginning to think no pony would come forth at all.

"And no pony put you up to this?"

She shook her head. "This was my decision. But…" She backed away nervously. "If you'd rather have some pony else…"

"Now hold on!" She jumped as he appeared behind her. "I didn't say I wasn't interested."

He circled her, studying her carefully from every angle. Comedically, of course; with an oversized magnifying glass he examined her like a crime scene. He'd never stand there and check her out like a pervert. He lifted the mare's hoof and studied her well kempt horseshoes. Her hooves, which had been through so much for years, perfect because of this hunk of metal.

"hey now, where'd you get that made? And does it come in more sizes?" He popped off his hoof and showed her the size 13 mens' label.

Discord had to admit, for a pony, she wasn't that bad to look at. Her silky pink mane was well-groomed and smelled of honeysuckle, her big teal eyes, though closed now, were almost adorable, and her voice was sweet as honey. This must have been a trick of some sort. There was no way this pony could have come out of her own free will, but he knew she wasn't a trickster. Besides, when was he going to get another chance to do this!

He poofed a giant boom box now held above his head as he stood there, in a white snapback, open white button up shirt, and baggy white pants. The boom box blasted throughout the air, making the nearby corvids fly away in sheer awe of the smooth R&B caressing their pathetic bird lives.

"You'll do," he said with indifference. "But are you certain this is what you want, my dear?"

°°I vow, To never call you out your name

I vow, To treat you as me the same°°

Fluttershy looked up at him boldly. "If I were to go with you, you will keep your promise and let the princesses go?"

"My dear," he said with a bow, "you have my word."

°I vow, To cover that with love actions and words

I vow, To talk to you sincerely°

"And…my friends?"

"Will never hear from me again."

She gulped. "Nor me?"

He stooped down to her, his face just inches from hers. "Of course they can talk to you! It's just that I would have to send you back, and that's against our agreement! So, letters will have to do. Don't you want your every need catered to?"

°°To bow down at your feet, Not to worship you as a God, But as a queen°°

"Catered to my every need?"

"If we are to be married, what's mine is yours. If it is in my power, I shall give you whatever you desire. Call it a prenup."

She could not tell if he was serious. Being offered whatever she desired did sound tempting, but why would he do that for her? Perhaps Zecora and Kimono were right. Maybe he was desperate for a companion.

Seeing that he was getting to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "So what'll it be, my dear?"

It didn't matter. Equestria needed the princesses returned. She breathed in.

"I'll marry you."

"Excellent!" He leapt excitedly into the air.

"Now where are the princesses?"

Instead of answering, he smirked. "Why don't we make it official?"

He snapped his fingers and a box materialized in his paw. He opened it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. Intricately carved within it was words.

"Oh dear," Fluttershy muttered.

He chuckled. "I'll ask again. Will you marry me, my dear Fluttershy?"

"Fluttershy, don't!"

The pegasus turned to see Twilight racing towards them, the others running behind. The song

°Me and you Against the world, No matter what comes up before us baby-° the music abruptly stopped.

"DUDE I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING!" Rainbow shook fluttershy. Applejack carried dash to the ground and kept her as close as possible.

Discord stopped them all with his magic. "Do you mind? I'm in the middle of a proposal here!"

"Put them down!" Fluttershy begged. "Please, just let me say goodbye to them!"

He rolled his eyes and released them from his spell. Fluttershy rushed to Twilight's side.

"you shouldn't have come after me, I'm grown! I know what I'm doing!"

"We couldn't let you go with him!" the unicorn bellowed, pointing accusingly at the draconequus.

"You don't understand. I have to do this."

"No, you don't! There has to be another way!"

"If I don't do this, Equestria's doomed for all eternity. I'll be doomed! This is the safest option."

"But do you have any idea what this monster might do to you?!" Pinkie shouted, "he might just lock you in a tower!

"Now, THATS A harmful stereotype-"

"No pony chooses my fate but me."

"Fluttershy," Rarity pleaded, "you can't possibly marry this…beast!"

Discord dramatically clutched his pearls.

"I'm sorry, but this is my decision."

"But Fluttershy," Pinkie sniffed. "We'll never see you again."

She looked at her friends sadly. "I know."

"We'll find another way to get the princesses back!" Twilight insisted. "I'll even go in your place! We'll…"

"She's right!" Applejack interrupted. They all turned to her in shock. "Fluttershy's the only pony in control of her destiny. If her decision is to save Equestria, we should respect that decision." She walked up to her friend. "You take care of yourself, ya hear?"

Fluttershy nodded and embraced the earth pony. "Make sure my animals get everything they need."

"Of course, Sugar Cube."

"Fluttershy," Rainbow started to say as she flew down to her. "You can't…you won't…"

She hugged her childhood friend. "You stood up for me so many times. Now I can return the favor."

She hovered over to Rarity. "You can keep my clothes, if you like."

The unicorn was astonished. "Darling, you can't expect me to…" She stopped as she too received a hug. "Don't be silly. I'll send them over."

Fluttershy then turned to the pink earth pony. "Pinkie Pie, I…"

Pinkie let out a wail and flung her hooves around her neck. "Don't forget us, okay? I mean even if you'll never see us again, don't forget our names! I mean it's easy to forget a pony's name after not seeing them for a while and…"

"I won't forget you, Pinkie."

She sniffed and hugged tighter. "I know."

Once Pinkie had loosened her grip, Fluttershy turned to Spike. Before she could say anything, he wrapped his arms around her legs with a whine. She then looked up at Twilight, who was on the verge of tears.

"I'll be fine," she assured her. "I promise."

How can you possibly keep that promise?" the unicorn choked.

"You know how good I am with creatures." The rest she said in a whisper. "I think I can tame him."

"But…but…"

"For equestria."

She nodded and embraced her. Discord was about ready to gag.

"Hello?" he called, waving the ring box. "Waiting for an answer here!"

Fluttershy pulled away from her friends and courageously faced the draconequus. She stuck out her hoof and uttered, "Yes, I'll do it."

Discord smiled in triumph as he zapped the box away. The ring then reappeared on a chain around Fluttershy's neck. The draconequus cackled as he scooped his bride-to-be in his arms. The ponies watched in horror.

"If you hurt a hair on her head…!" Rainbow warned.

"I assure you, she won't be harmed. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a wedding to plan!"

With a final triumphant laugh, Discord vanished with Fluttershy and in their place, the three princesses appeared, their horns restored to their heads.

"What's happened?" Luna demanded. "Where's Discord?"

The ponies burst into tears. Applejack was the only one with the strength to speak.

"He's…taken a bride."

Their eyes widened. "Who?" Celestia asked. In receiving no response, she beseeched her student. "Twilight? Who did he take?"

The purple alicorn buried her face in her hooves, knowing her friend was gone because of her failure as a princess. "I'm sorry, Fluttershy…I'm so, so sorry!"

30 notes · View notes

unusannusbracket · 2 years ago

Text

I’ve had some curious people, so here’s the seed. (Warning that all 366 videos are in a list here, so it’s very long)

Cooking with Sex Toys

Ethan Finally Becomes a MAN

Recreating Every Single Unus Annus Video

Mark and Ethan Attempt an Escape Room

Hunting HeeHoo

Pee Sauna

Goodbye.

Ethan Gives Mark a Viking Funeral

Playing Children’s Games in Total Darkness

Preserving Ourselves in Wax

DIY Geriatric Simulator

DIY Bungee Jump (please don't try this)

2 Truths and 1 Lie -- Waxing Edition

Mark Teaches Ethan to Read with Hooked on Phonics

Duct Tape Crucifixion (Amy, Please Don't Watch This Video)

Bear Trapping 101: An Elegant Knot For an Elegant Beast

The Unus Annus Annual Sleepover

Reacting to Your Hilarious Green Screen Memes

Creating Mark FISHbach

Goat Yoga

Chickens Teach Us About Life and Death

Unus Annus Try Pole Dancing

We Made Nude Paintings of Each Other

Being Brutally Honest with Each Other

2 Absolute Beginners Experience the Dancing Glory that is Salsa

The Unus Annus Annual Costume Contest

Mark Turns Ethan into a Mummy to Prepare Him for the Great Beyond

Mark Conquers His Fear of Night Swimming

Pee Soda

We Got Pepper Sprayed

The Truth of Unus Annus

Mark Teaches Ethan How to Play the Trumpet

Hiding Our Sins from Amy's Holy Peepers

The Wubble

Mark Cooks Blindfolded While Ethan Guides Him Through FaceTime

We Had To Drink Each Other's Pee

We Accidentally Made an SCP While Amy Was Away

Santa's Mukbang (Drinking 1 Gallon of Eggnog)

Beer Sauna: Turning a Portable Sauna into a Portable Hell

Literally Eating Fire

All Our Video Ideas That Never Happened

Mark Reviews The Impossible Burger But There's a Looming Sense of Impending Doom

2 Grown Men Attempt the Presidential Fitness Test

Nutball: The Most Dangerous Game

The Unus Annus Last Supper

We Force Mark to Swim in the Ocean (HIS GREATEST FEAR)

Fixing Mark's Hole with Ramen but Every Time We Add Glue We Get 5% Closer to God

The Koala Challenge: TikTok’s Intimate Couple’s Trend

Pitching a Tent in the Woods But There's a Bear 15 Feet Away

We Tried a Labor Pain Simulator

We Will Churn Thy Butter

Mark Breaks His Nose On An Aerial Hoop

Beating Inanimate Objects to Death

Mark's Outdoor Escape Room

Donating Toys to Charity w/ JackSepticEye

Baby Hands Operation

What in the Hell is a Pink Trombone?

Mark Teaches Ethan How to March in a Marching Band

Drawing on Each Other's Backs in Total Darkness

Crushing Watermelons Betwixt Our Mighty Thighs

Making Our Own Sensory Deprivation Tank

We Lubed Our Floor for a Sliding Competition

A Serious Conversation Under the Stars

Drawing Memes from Memory

1 Man 100 Accents

How to Start a Fire (except don't...)

DIY Chiropractor

Mark Needs To Rub Ethan and Only His Mom Can Help Him

We Pierced Each Other’s Ears

Mark and Ethan Go Casket Shopping

Unus Annus

Mark Punishes Ethan

We Force James Charles to Run a Military Obstacle Course

The Sensory Overload Tank

Mark and Ethan Are Now Fathers

We Made Every YouTuber Battle in the Hunger Games

We Bought Every Grinch Costume on Ebay

Turning Mark Into an E-Boy

Helium Therapy

Everything's Legal If You're Dead

How to Safely Bury Your Friend

Who’s Cutting Onions In Here???

Recreating the Miracle of Childbirth

We Play the Newlywed Game While Consuming That Which Will Kill the Other

The Beginning of The End

We Attempted to Create THICC Water

DIY Boob

2 Idiots Get Crushed by 18-Foot Giant Snakes

Mark and Ethan Get Into a Fight

The Painful World of Aerial Silks

You Blink You Lose

Ethan Will Be Kicked in the Balls

We Looked at Unus Annus Memes

Poopsie Sparkly Critters (a slime surprise...)

Unregulated Axe Throwing

10 Strange Amazon Products Ethan Bought Mark Because He Doesn't Know How to Spend Money Responsibly

The Secret Unus Annus No-Touchy-Touchy Hand Shake

Taped and Afraid

We Played Strip Poker

REAL Ghost Hunting at an Abandoned Zoo

This Video is Completely Unedited

Eating Only Onions for 24 Hours: How Many Onions Does it Take to Kill a Man?

Ethan Teaches Mark Gymnastics

Mark and Ethan Look at a Puppy for 10 Minutes

Pressure Washing Our Sins Away

The Ultimate Trolley Problem

Recreating Mark's Childhood

2 Men in a Trench Coat Teach You how to Save Moneyat the Movies

Mark Teaches Ethan to Wrestle

What Was the Most Painful Thing We've Ever Endured?

Drinking Real THICC Water... How Bad Does It Taste?

This is What Being Tased Feels Like

Only UNUS-es May Watch This Video

We Take a Lie Detector Test to Uncover our Darkest Sins

Transforming Mark into the 8th Wonder of the World

This Is The Most Dangerous Children's Toy Ever Made

Saying Goodbye to All Our Guests

Ethan Destroys Mark's Van with a Bat

BEYBLADE NUTBALL

We Turned our Bodies into Art

Drunk College Party Simulator

Doing Each Other's Makeup in the Dark

The Candy Bra Challenge

A Bear Attacked Us in the Middle of the Night

Too Many Pickles

Making an Indoor Tornado to Flex on Mother Nature

2 Adults Take a 4th Grade Math Test

We Took the Polar Plunge

Brick Soccer

Only ANNUS-es May Watch This Video

Blood Bath

Ethan Kidnapped Mark

How to Rescue a Cat from a Tree

Literally Finding a Needle in a Haystack

Only Watch from 2:15 to 6:11 --- DO NOT WATCH ANY OTHER PART OF THIS VIDEO

Team Building for 2: Trust Fall, Tug-of-War, and More!

Building IKEA's Hardest Piece of Furniture Without Instructions is Impossible

How Many Slaps Does It Take to Cook a Chicken?

Floating in a Real Sensory Deprivation Tank

Ethan Teaches Mark How to Swim

We Eat Bugs

Accepting the Truth

The Annual Unus Annus Dunk Contest

Grip Strength Test: Loser Becomes the Winner's Butler for a Day

7 Minutes in Heaven | 7 Minutes in Hell

Help Us Break a YouTube World Record

Becoming One with the Horse

Mark and Ethan Go on a "Drum Date"

Bobbing For Apples But the Water Keeps Getting Thiccer

Who Can Teach Their Dogs a Trick the Fastest?

Mark Knows What Ethan Did...

We Buy a Professional Hypnosis Video and React To It

Mark and Ethan Learn About the Human Body

Tearing a Phone Book in Half with Our Huge Manly Muscles

How to Escape from a Hostage Situation

Being Attacked by a Fully Trained Bodyguard Dog

Puberty Simulator

Breaking Glass With Our Screams

Dunking Oreos In Literally Anything But Milk

Hydro Dipping A Baby

Attempting to Build IKEA Furniture Without Instructions

Can You Bake a Cookie from Cookie Dough Ice Cream?

The Bad Kind of Cupping

Ethan Explores Mark's Haunted Basement

Would Chica Save Us From Drowning?

Was 2020 a Bad Year for Unus Annus?

Shooting Archery ON A HORSE

This is For FUN and NOT a Fetish

Mark Teaches Ethan Korean

Building the World's First IKEA Boat

Purging Our Sins with a Neti Pot

Discussing the Idea of Murdering Each Other but it's Just a Joke and Definitely Not Serious Haha

Momiplier Teaches Self-Defense

The 1st Annual Unus Annus Roast

Mark and Ethan Share a Drink

The Barrel - Official Music Video

Popping Popcorn with a High-Powered Laser

Is Mark a Masochist?

We Wrote a Hit Pop Song in 30 Minutes

We Attempt to Make UNHOLY Water

We Give Each Other Tattoos Blindfolded

The Ultimate Paper Airplane Showdown

Judging Your Terrible Unus Annus Ideas

Top 10 Worst Things Your Friend Could Possibly Spend Their Money On

3 Big Boys Attempt the King's Royal Fitness Test

Reddit 50/50: Two Player Edition

We Attempt Pottery Without Amy's Help

Mark and Ethan Build a Scarecrow

Learning the Ancient Art of Chinese Archery

Ultimate Horseshoes

This Video Went Completely Out of Control

Cryptid Olympics

Hot Dog'd to Death

Recharging Our Phones Using Only Brute Strength

Becoming a Master of Mime

Harnessing Our Dogs' Unlimited Energy

We Explore the Unus Annus Subreddit for Your Delicious Memes

Forcibly Turning Mark Into Santa Claus Against His Will

Literally Laying On Literal Broken Glass

The Good Kind of Cupping

Blowing Our Souls Into Some Hot Glass

Who Can Make Themselves Taller?

DIY Bed of Nails : OH GOD, PLEASE DON'T EVER TRY THIS

Mark and Ethan Summon a Ghost

The Great Meat Mistake

Recreating Ourselves as a Cursed Mannequin

DIY Wine

We Played Mad Libs and Ran It Through Google Translate

Bobbing For Literally Anything But Apples

Acupuncture Is NOT Painful

Mark Gives Ethan a HOT (stone) Massage

We Cryogenically Freeze Ourselves

Ultimate YouTuber Boxing Showdown

10 Miracle Products to Give YOU the Thiccest Jaw on Planet Earth

Dummy THICC for Dummies | A Tale of 2 Butts | Pushing Our Butts Even Further Beyond

We Attempt to Make Holy Water

Mark Steals Ethan’s Face

DIY Teeth

Our Perfect (and last) Valentine's Day

Mark Builds a Pillow Fort for the Very First Time

The Egg Smashing Game

Ethan Redefines Male Beauty

Learning to Breathe Underwater

The Great Ice Cream Cake Race

Preparing a 5-Star Meal for Our Youtube Famous Dogs

We Finally Drank Our DIY Win

2 Dirty Boys Wash Their Filthy Mouths Out With Soap

Professional Fire Cupping (Going Even Further Beyond)

Morphing Our Bodies Into Superhero Poses

Bad Bad Beans

We Hired a Real Hypnotherapist to Analyze our Darkest Dreams

This is Goodbye

God's Fitness Test

Edible Slime was a Mistake.

DO NOT TRY THIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

You Breathe You Die

Long Hair, Do We Dare?

Mark and Ethan Desperately Try and Name a Single State in the USA

The Most Dangerous Shave

Two Male Men Judge Female Women on Their Beauty

5 Products to Grow Your Patchy Beard

How to NOT be the Perfect Boyfriend

Learn to Jump Higher in 16 Minutes and 16 Seconds

Playing Cards: The World's Deadliest Weapon

DIY Cheese

We Found Websites That the World Forgot About

Play-Doh Thanksgiving

Ethan Watches as Mark Achieves the Impossible

2 Men 200 Accents

1 Gallon of Jello Nearly Broke Us

Desperately Trying Not To Touch Our Faces

Mark and Ethan Milk a Goat

Edward Pumpkin Hands

Nutball Extreme: Taser Edition

The Unus Annus Space Program

Having an Adventure In VR Chat Because We Can't Go Outside

Using Google Maps to Find the Lost City of Atlantis

Mark and Ethan Desperately Attempt to Feel Something

Ethan Turns Mark into a Werewolf

Looking at Long Lost Memes

The Human Mop

An Extremely Sour, Not-At-All Sour Meal

Going on an Internet Scavenger Hunt

Making Soda With Literally Anything But Soda

Mark and Ethan Become United States Citizens

Consuming the World's Hottest Chip

Learning How to Lockpick (FBI Please Don't Watch)

We Made Fanart for Each Other

There's Something Horribly Wrong with This Picture...

Strange (and legal) Things You Can Do With Your Body After Death

Professional Fetish Scientists Rank the Best/Worst Fetishes of 2020

Recreating Childhood Photos

Fighting Fish to the Death in the Deep Blue Sea

Wikifeet: A Tale of 2 Tootsies

We Google Each Other to Find Our Darkest Forgotten Sins

The Worst Kind of Cupping

The End of Unus Annus is Almost Here...

Middle School Science Experiment Teaches Us About Life and Death

Momiplier Tells Us True Scary Stories from Korea

Making Snow Cones With Literally Anything But Normal Flavors

We Have the Best Bellies on Youtube

We Ate Dog Treats So You Don't Have To

Becoming the World’s Greatest DJ's

Our Fans Try to Scare Us with Their Homemade Creepypasta

DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2080

You Made Beautiful Music for The Barrel... But Only One Could Win

The Deep End of Omegle: Risky Boogaloo

The 1000 High Five Challenge

What is the Least Viewed Video on YouTube?

Mark and Ethan Find the Lost City of El Dorado

The Creepiest Videos on Youtube

DIY Minesweeper

This Is Hiding On Your Body RIGHT NOW.

Running Internet Drama through Google Translate

Will We Break the Boards... Or Will They Break Us?

Speed Reading 1000+ WPM to Gain a Complete Understanding of All Human Knowledge

This Video Will Never Make Sense

Unus Annus Carves the Roast Beast

Making Our Own Gravestones to Prepare For Our Inevitable Demise

Mark's 1 Weird Talent Leaves Ethan Absolutely Speechless

Mark and Ethan Get a Full Body Scan to See What Secrets Lay Hidden Within (and learn their body fat)

Learning to Use The Force

Making the Ultimate Unus Annus Burger

The Scariest True Stories on the Internet

Mark and Ethan Bet Everything on a Wikipedia Race

Giving Away Our 1,000,000 Subscriber Gold Play Button

Amazon Shopping for the Apocalypse

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#not bracket

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hegoeshardasfuck · 10 months ago

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an imperfect mirror

wordcount: 1.3K

tags: subspace, petplay if you squint, praise, heavy petting, selfcest, dubious science, body worship, science/research kink, cat ears, therapy? WRONG. get softdommed

synopsis: Asuka created the near perfect clone of himself, aside from a few mishaps within the personality and the lack of cat ears, they were one and the same- and under normal circumstances he would trash the experiment, but there's a certain charm to his creation that he can't get rid of.

note: i'll be honest i may have been a lil bit high writing this one, but it still turned out good enough to post over here as well. pls dont kill me GG fandom. hope ya'll enjoy and if ya did consider droppin a like or checkin the Ao3 port

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53344246

Asuka was a man of science, but he was never a man of ethics. Everyone who worked with him in any field knew he'd abandoned ethics, whether it be Sol or Raven or Chaos himself, they knew better than to expect a man of moral. They knew better than to expect someone with a mind full of right and wrong, they knew a man with a mind full of questions and answers to those questions.

His clone is one and the same, aware of the corrupt methods that drive through Asuka's head. He woke up with this opalescent slime sliding off of his cloaks and layers of clothing, shivering and gathering a perspective on his existence. He knew from the second he was born into this world he was false, loaded with Asuka's knowledge he knew he could not be the original. His suspicions of living a false reality are only further confirmed when he sees the teal robes of who he knows is his creator.

"Well I'll be damned," The words are muttered by the creator, furred ears give a twitch of intrigue, "It worked."

The shivering form on the floor, as intellectual and logical and smart as he is, can't stop being afraid. He knows the plan, he knows what'll happen if he isn't deemed perfect, he'll be swiftly disposed of. He glances up to find nothing but a muted sense of pride and intrigue on Asuka's face.

He crouches down in front of his clone, is clone even the right word? He'll make a better word later, "Aesthetic perfection on the first attempt, I expected to burn through a couple failures first. Congrats, you're alive," He stands up and steps back from his clone, giving him the space to breath, "We'll call you R."

R nods along to the words, "I see then, Asuka," He stands up and brushes himself down, "Have you decided against the initial plan?"

"Did you brain come out right? You know how I feel about that plan," Asuka chided as he watched his clone come down from the rush of being born out of nothing all at once. Something he'll never experience for himself, he'll have to run tests on the product of his experiment. See what happens if death is threatened, see how the body and the brain reacts in his creation.

R gives a hum, "That it was brash and didn't have any thought put behind it?" He's so bold as to slide hands betwixt the layers of fabric on his creator's robes and there isn't any recoiling, instead those near maroon ears perk up a little straighter and a stifled facial expression almost comes across. But R picks it out, he picks it out with ease because it's his face, "How come I didn't get cat ears?"

"To try and lessen any antagonistic qualities of whose superior, a bit of difference to prevent fighting," Asuka explained rather briefly as he gripped R's wrists and pulled them from out of his robes, "Stay on topic."

"You said the plan was brash and not very thought out, a brief impulse if anything," He didn't dare try and wrench away his hands, instead he stared down Asuka all the same, "Are we going to proceed with the plan, or are we scrapping until proper vital checks are run on me?"

Asuka let go of R's wrists, "Good, you know who your creator is. Do what you like, the experiment will run until I say it's over."

R can't help the small smile on his face, already calculating the hundreds of possible things that he could do to his creator. He starts with taking hold of the fluffed up ears upon his muse's head, grasping them and running his fingers through the fur. He takes note of every single stifled and muted reaction it pulls from Asuka, slowly nudging him ever further from where they stood.

He lowers Asuka down to the floor, tracing his hands from the ears atop his head down the sides of his face to his throat and his clavicle as he drops down further and further. Before fingers can breach lower than the pelvis, the creator is coming down to the floor, butting his head into the touch. He absolutely shouldn't've decided that cat ears would be an aesthetic choice, because apparently that's rooted deep into his brain.

The touch, the slowly increasing amount of touch as he loses himself in the tender touches his product gives him. He loves it and he hasn't experienced it in far too long. He just lets the touch dismantle him in ways he wasn't sure he could experience anymore, ways he forgot existed.

"Good boy," The words are muttered above his head and he just closes his eyes because they stuff cotton into his brain.

He was right, he didn't put enough thought into this experiment. Letting his clone seduce him, letting his clone get him high on arousal, letting his clone fuck him. And at the moment it blossomed in his mind it sounded amazing, having someone who knows his body as well as he does explore it. Rehash known territory but do it differently, a new set of hands tearing him up inside and out to try and get a rush of pleasure. It would've been perfect, even if rough.

But his clone isn't really doing any of those things he expected at the moment, his clone is just touching him. His clone is just touching him and slowly disrobing him, slowly dipping his hands lower and lower and raising them right back up again. Tracing across each spot that he knows is sensitive above the belt and not even daring to go any lower.

It's more than enough to shoot Asuka into next week, but it doesn't stop and he doesn't complain.

===

He's a mess after time has faded into something too abstract for his clouded mind to comprehend. He feels sticky and there's this constant rumbling in his chest as he sinks into the robes he rests on. He's purring and R abuses this fact, rubbing through the fur of Asuka's ears and carding through his hair as his creator squirms just a bit with a weak mewling sound.

"You're doing so good for me darling," R cooed as he ran his fingers down Asuka's front, dipping down to trace his V line as one hand rests upon his throat.

The creator just whimpers, staring up at his creation through teary lashes with nothing but adoration. Sure, he'll have to iron out all of the mistakes in his creations programming later on, but this is nice too. Having R just worship him by barely touching him in any of the spots known to evoke a climax, but still, his body is stained. Slick with sweat and cum alike, his everything shakes and he's not sure why. He can barely think at all, he just knows he's shaking and that R is making everything feel absolutely perfect.

His body convulses once more as two fingers press down at the crest of his pelvis, sliding along where the bone rests. He whines and words don't want to form and it's driving him mad because he has so much to say. He just, he just doesn't know what. Or how to say it at that. His hands come to claw at his creation's own robes as he whimpers and tries to articulate.

Gentle hands rest on his face, "Don't worry, I got you," He murmurs the words softly and they shoot directly into Asuka's nerves and bypass his thought. He melts and tilts his head up into R's touch, "Just breath with me."

And Asuka does exactly as told because if there is a heaven he created it and it's the mess of imperfections handling him so very delicately.

#guilty gear #asuka r kreutz x asuka r #smutfic #smut fanfiction #writing #lemon #fanfic #fanfiction

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fateandloveentwined · 11 months ago

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Anle and Nirvana in Fire: what's so mesmerising about NIF's worldview

Edit, a bit of context: @llonkrebboj did this really eloquent "eulogy" on the gripping nature of NIF, so I guess here's my take on it.

I was watching some episodes from The Legend of Anle, and again the striking similarities between NIF and Legend of Anle surface. Especially with Ren Anle pulling an identity porn game of chess and plotting against the political arena to overturn the unjust ruling of the throne from a decade ago.

And then there's 江山为聘, and, well, Royal Nirvana, The Legend of Haolan, many other kingdom/royalty cdramas and web novels, all about the protag and the heir incumbent working hand in hand to rid the kingdom of injustice and corruption and debauchery of the elite, start anew an epoch of prosperity. It's as if (as if not) every story is hardwired to eulogise a tale of valiance and honour.

So the quality of drama production aside, how does NIF stand apart from all this in my heart, after all this time? Genuinely sometimes I wonder, but the protag Mei Changsu has taken shape and left a unique impression in my mind ever since I've learned of the series, became one of my favourite fictional characters -- while you might as well say that every other cdrama protag is almost exactly like him. What makes him different?

There is no one who is completely free in this world to begin with. So long as one has feelings, has desires, he could never be absolved of all responsibility.

The Legend of Anle reads like NIF. They have the similar motives, they've gone through the same hardships, and in a similar manner have found a way through the pugilistic jianghu back into the undercurrents of the court. Yet the former shapes itself to be a tale of seeking justice, while the latter reads like something of a far greater scale. The bulk of NIF is incoherent handwavy political intrigue, and yet in a very idealised, glamorised interpretation of Mei Changsu, the crux of the story uncovers itself to be not one of retribution and waging a war against bygone injustices, but of an idealistic visionary future for the peace and prosperity of the kingdom that one so loved. And I have never seen something like that.

I've got to go back! I've got to go back to where I truly belong!

Most protags in cdramas are noble. They are people of integrity and righteousness, and they struggle, they sacrifice their lives to fulfil the moral code they live by. 以身殉道、以死证道 as they say in the book of Mencius (Mengzi): to make apparent the righteousness through bodily flesh and blood, to do what is right in life and death. [1]

Yet humans are fickle, and bodily flesh and blood cannot serve that long a fuel for the flame betwixt the wretched of the earth before fading into glowing embers. There are times of humanity, and there are times in which we yield, just a little, to our own lives and passions and aspirations. We live for ourselves, which is not at all wrong. Most protags are like that. Yet there's this NIF protag who sheds his light for 13 long years and keeps the new flame alight as the past dies into cinders and ashes. It's idealistic, it's surreal, but that's what humans gravitate to: it's not the relatability of it all, it's the beauty of the insurmountable that we aspire to, the deified transcendent that gives us hope, brings one joy, takes us with them one step closer to the utopian ideal that we all once dreamt of as kids.

And this is what my heart longs for and treasures: though I die nine thousand times, I do not regret it. [2]

---

[1] 以身殉道，以死证道。(yǐ shēn xùn dào, yǐ sǐ zhèng dào) Former is taken from Mencius and often used to mean one sacrificing for the fulfilment of righteousness. Latter should be more commonly said as 以身证道, I just replaced the "body/life" in the second character with "death" so not to use the same character in the parallel phrase. This is from Tao Te Ching but is nowadays often adapted for use in xianxia settings where the person sacrifices themselves or goes through some great traumatic events to achieve ascension.

[2] 亦余心之所善兮，雖九死其猶未悔。(yì yú xīn zhī suǒ shàn xī, suī jiǔ sǐ qí yóu wèi huǐ) From Qu Yuan's poem Li Sao.

#nif #cdrama #cnovel #lyb #lang ya bang #nirvana in fire #mei changsu #interpretations realisations #i typed way too much #but what can i say #lemme defend nif though there's absolutely no one against the defence.#rant #fate creates #fate's analysis

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bohemian-nights · 2 years ago

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The Visitor

Word Count: ~5,827

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Nettles

Warnings ⚠️: Spoilers for Fire & Blood; Brief allusions to sex; Age gap relationship

Description: She thought it was the wind. Tried to convince herself it was the wind. It had to be. It was well past a decent hour. The Stranger’s hour. No one was up at this time. Lest not in the middle of a storm. Nettles herself should have long been off into the land of dreams, but her mind kept her awake. Her memories.

AN: This story takes place from 135 AC onward following the events of the Dance. I’ve also aged up Nettles a smidge and basically kept Daemon’s show age for reasons.

Part 2: An Impossible Truth, Part 3: Spring, Part 4: Birth, Chapter 5: Life

—————————————🐑————————————

135 AC-Mountains of the Moon

Guests whether we expect them or not always seem to turn up at the hour we least expect them to. Visiting us when we are fully occupied with some matter or engaged with our own thoughts. These guests have the capacity to turn our lives completely upside down, for good or bad, with one visit. One knock upon our door, their feet upon our steps, and everything is forever changed. Our destinies are rewritten.

Such was the case during the end of the six-year-long winter ending in 135 AC. One final storm to send it all home and make way for spring and pleasantness to come. A storm that transformed the life of a small brown girl residing within a small valley nestled betwixt the Mountains of the Moon.

Oddly enough it had not been a particularly brutal winter for Nettles. She had long since grown used to the harshness that the season could bring in. Sickness, starvation, and upheaval had touched much of the Seven Kingdoms lords, ladies, and small folk alike, but her own humble corner of the world remained just as so.

Time and the going ons of Westeros at large had less bearing on the occupants of the Mountains of the Moon. It was the domain of the mountain clans who kept at bay outside sources that sought to interfere in their affairs. They were ruled over by the House Arryn in name only.

The hill tribes were a fierce hearty fair handed people in accordance with their creed. They came and went as they pleased. Products of their inhospitable environment. Living crude short lives. They preferred their independence and adherence to the old ways instead of the Andals' pageantry disguised as honorable gallantry.

The lowlanders thought themselves civilized worthy men, and they the savages, but what is crueler, more brutal than a man willing to turn upon his own neighbor for a bit of coin? To trample over his bones for an iron chair or one made of driftwood? Better to be a savage than a mindless sycophant.

Nettles did not mind the way of things. She herself was partial to the relative solitude she found in the home she had carved out for herself and Sheepstealer. The young brown girl had long since become accustomed to occupying her time with mostly her own company.

The mountain clans did not bother much. They treated her little different than if she had been born among them. The children viewed Sheepstealer as if he were a giant dog. He himself seemed not to mind the young ones', particularly the boy's, fascinations. She had feared that their interest in her lay in the small brown dragon that she rode, but their admiration and respect were sincere.

The nearby smallfolk found their presence to be a reassurance once the initial shock had worn off. The hill tribes were less likely to raid their farms with a dragon and his rider that they greatly esteemed around. A steady stream of predictability, though Nettles’ mind on occasion did wander off into the past as one often is prone to when left in an idle state with little to entertain themselves apart from their own memories.

Driftmark was a world away from the Mountains of the Moon. Hull and Spicetown were beacons of wealth and prestige. Power. The might of House Velaryon and the late Lord Corlys Velaryon. An ancient proud Valyrian house. Home to treasures brought back from voyages to distant lands from distant corners of the known world. Their crowning jewels or rather were thought of as such.

Yet the old Sea Snake was gone. Laid to rest in his watery grave. The custom of his house. As was Spicetown. Lost to its flames. Hull, like herself, was the last one standing. A lone testament to the glory days of a bygone era. The ravages of time had not bypassed the port town.

Nettles supposed Hull had changed as she had. Ghosts of their former selves. Left to roam around this earth. The Dance shifted everything upon its head. Would she recognize her home if she were to go back to it? Had she ever really belonged? Memory can be faulty. There is always a tendency to think too fondly of the past in the face of an uncertain future.

Nettles had tried to slack her own curiosity a moon past. To see the streets of Hull for one last time. Taking to the skies with Sheepstealer. Nettles had got the timing wrong. The Vale was in upheaval. It was easy enough to forget how things were beyond her valley where no one bothered her and if tried so they would face the hill tribes first, who had taken a liking to her and her dragon, but the Seven Kingdoms was very much in disarray and not immune to the petty strife of men.

A storm had made her seek shelter in a damp cave before she could even reach the lowlanders. Sheepstealer had become frightened when a host of men, weary soldiers, sought to do the same. They recognized her in an instant. She had escaped, but it had been a bloody fiery mess.

Her failed attempt did not grind the wandering to a halt. She could try again. Go back. See how much the world outside of the mountains of the moon had altered. How much she had truly changed. If she belonged anywhere else, but her tiny pocket of earth.

Nettles knew that if she wanted it, she could make Driftmark her home once more. Lady Baela would be more than happy to see a familiar face as would her sister Lady Rhaena and Lord Alyn Velaryon. Whatever crimes she had been accused of by the half-year queen or any others, they would see that she was pardoned, but the older girl's heart was not in it.

She knew just how much she was no longer the small bastard girl running around the streets of Hull and Spicetown without another soul in the world to care for her or a place to call her own. Nettles might still feel like her at times, but one can not go back to things as they were. Once they were gone, they were gone for good.

At any rate, it would hurt too much to make a life for herself upon Driftmarks shores. She gained and lost so much in equal measure. Going back would only bring about old wounds. The scars of battle. While she might regain the company of once dear friends she would not see his face amongst them.

He had left a part of him within her. A parting gift. The reason why he was so quick to send her from him those years ago. He had been her everything and she was his. In all the chaos they had found each other. Their departure from one another had been the greatest sorrow Nettles had ever known, but it had to be done. For her protection. For theirs. It mattered not in the end. Even that the Gods saw fit to take away what remained of him from her.

A boy. A son. His face was as clear as one's reflection in a well. Ever etched into her memory. His father's face. Only a scant trace of her in his nose. Other than that he was all his fathers. He had his silver hair, his bright violet eyes. He was such a small thing. Her parting gift.

He had come too early, that was what Bess, who was the closest thing Nettles had to a friend, and her aunt, Shalla had told her. Shalla had delivered many babes. She knew the signs. Their eyes misted over with strained grimaces and soft words. Letting her down as best as they could. “He will not be long for this world lass. The Gods want him for their own.” She didn’t want to believe them, but his breath lessened as the sands drained.

A beautiful cherubic babe ripped from her before he could live. Before she could know him. Nettles had not known her own mother. She had desperately wanted to give him everything she had not. When it was over Shalla was one to pull him from her arms while Bess held her while she babbled on. Doing her best to lure her into a dreamless sleep.

They had buried him not far from her little cottage. Marking the little grave with some stones and wildflowers. She could not burn him. It did not feel right to. Nettles might be a dragon rider, one of the last, but she was not a Valyrian.

His father might have been, but her babe's blood ran thick with hers too. She had given birth to him and mothered him even if but an hour. Nettles would bury him in the earth. From which we all come. For that was what we all are ultimately.

The consciousness of stardust. Living out our fleeting existence upon this mortal plane. Ants toiling away on the forest floor until our time is up. Our stories and perhaps a deed or two are all that linger on. We can only hope that they are good ones when it is said and done. That is we might have had some pleasure in them.

The days passed by and by without much note since then. Everything had become grayed. Meshing without a care for time. The hours go by one after the other. Blurring together. Stretching on endlessly, but not aimlessly. Nettles had a purpose in her own way. She had never been more settled in her life. She had always bounced from one peril to the next. Never resting. There was beauty to be found in stillness.

It was not about the minutes, hours, or even days. It was what happened in them that meant something. What filled in the gray spaces was how she had grown to live her life. What Nettles had become accustomed to. Simply going through the motions.

Nettles had found company in others of course. She did not live in complete solitude. She had Bess and Shalla. She had Sheepstealer. Her little woods surrounding her cottage. Her garden. The hill tribes would always find some way to include her and Sheepstealer. Shalla, at her insistence, would often take her for her rounds in their valley. Being of service. Helping to bring life into the world kept her occupied.

No she was not alone. Not completely. Going through the days was not a melancholic affair. Dull, but not doleful. She had found plenty to entertain herself, but the company of a lover was another subject completely.

Some of the tribe men flattered her, but she did not take them too seriously. They were charmers, but there was a persistent boy. The son of a shepherd. A good-natured boy. Always seeking her out for her favor. Leaving a sheep or two from his father's flock for Sheepstealer on occasion. Mending her fence post even though she was more than capable of doing so herself. Jon. The matter of Jon who had asked for her hand with a shy smile upon his lips. She had turned him down thrice now.

“He’d want you to be happy dear.” Nettles never spoke about the nameless him. The man whose name was too precious to say, but Shalla knew. The older woman tutted in chastisement when she had sent the boy away time last, after the third attempt with his tail between his legs. “Jon is a good man. He cares for you Nettles. Don’t let yourself waste away in your memories. You’re far too young for that.” A mother's admonishment, but loathe as she to admit it did reign some truth.

Nettles knew that he would wish her to be looked after. He had let her go for it as much as it both pained them. To find joy and pleasure in whatever form it may come. In someone else, but she could not find it in Jon. Jon wasn’t her man and he never would be. He was a boy untouched by the world outside these mountains. Outside of this valley.

Kind in his own way. Gentle even. Jon sought her out for affection. For companionship, but she could not find any in him. He might be good to her. Patient. Care for her in a way she ought to be cared for, but her heart still beat for another. Mayhaps with time, but time does not heal all. He was not him. Her soul would always call out for him.

That silver-haired man. He crept into her very being. He’d given his life for her. Turned his back upon all he’d known. He had done so all for her. He’d do it a thousand times over without Nettles so much as having to utter a single word. She had been loved best by him. What more could she ask for than that?

Besides, she could never make Jon happy. Nettles was not right for him as much as he was for her. She had seen too much and was changed for it. Bore scars that would never fade. She wasn’t even sure if she could even give him her all. An unspoiled girl like Bess would do.

She’d made her own suggestions towards both. Pushed for each to see the other. To put her aside. To know it would be okay. He’d thank her for it in the end. When they had their litter trotting up and down the valley. Teaching their children their trades. How to live. How to be. Going about their lives. A perfectly ordinary life. He’d be happy for it. Life would go on and so it came in the form of a knock upon her door during the last winter storm.

She had not expected company. Her babe had been born on a night, not unlike this one. Her first winter storm of the Vale and now the last of the season. Both brought with it arrivals only this time with a stout knock instead of a quiet cry. The sound vibrated off the door into her little cottage. Echoing through the wind. Bouncing off the mountain's walls, carrying it throughout her valley. Waking Nettles from her half musings.

She thought it was the wind. Tried to convince herself it was the wind. It had to be. It was well past a decent hour. The Stranger’s hour. No one was up at this time. Lest not in the middle of a storm. Nettles herself should have long been off into the land of dreams, but her mind kept her awake. Her memories.

She did not expect any visitors. Jon had come by earlier. Along with Bess. The former assembled some useful contraption while the latter entertained her with a bit of gossip over tea. Perhaps they had forgotten something. A hammer? A bit of wood? A mug? They could not make it in a state like this. They were too smart to do so. One knock. Then two in rapid succession. Then three. It wasn’t the wind.

Sheepstealer. It had to be Sheepstealer. He rested in a nearby cave. He perhaps was checking on her. The bond between a dragon and its rider made them keen to each other’s moods. Perhaps he sensed her restlessness. Or mayhaps he was coming closer to seek her cottage's warmth, but that would put him out in the snow. He hated the cold. It might not be her little cottage, but his cave was warm enough and most importantly dry.

Sheepstealer did not think anything of it. Though not vicious, her dragon was more than weary of strangers. The he-dragon was an excellent judge of character. Whoever it was the dragon had not minded its presence in their valley. Why should she?

Another thought crossed her mind then. Lady Baela has sent soldiers to retrieve her. Not to arrest her, they were coming to take her back into decent society. The right society. To Driftmark. Away from the Mountains of the Moon. To be amongst her old friends. Whatever friends were left from the war and the winter fever. To give her every comfort she could imagine.

“My father would not want you here.” Lady Baela would say. She knew what she had meant to her father. That blessed man would not want her in such a cold inhospitable place. Living by her lonesome, keeping the company of brutes.

Small folk were one thing. Nettles was one of them as much as the rest. The Targaryen Lady’s had never made judgment on her for that. She was an orphan girl who could not help the circumstances into which she was born, but the hill tribes, and her friendship with them, was another. Those half-wild men. Fear of the unknown had gripped Lady Baela as of late. She and her family had experienced too much grief, they would not fall prey to another round.

How were these people to be trusted? What were their natures? Would they turn on Nettles if given the chance? If she upset them in accordance with their ways? They worshiped her now, but worship could turn into contempt all too soon. She would not leave her dear friend to them. She should be among those who would care for her without question. Without conditions.

The Lady of House Velaryon would not take no for an answer. Even if Nettles begged her to see that she was lost in time. She was content here. She had a life here. Hull had never held much for her and it would hold even less now.

It was not a smart idea anyway. She had Sheepstealer to think about. Lady Baela’s protection would only extend so far. She could not go back and live a half-life being reminded of everything or one where she would feel the constant presence of a knife on her neck. Another knock.

The wind shrieked, rattling her windows. It was not Lady Baela. She would not come so late and give her half a fright in doing so. Nor would they attempt to come in the middle of a storm. She was not foolhardy. The girl might have spirit, but she was not reckless. She would not risk her husband's men in the process of fetching her. No, only someone mad or desperate would dare to.

She couldn’t just sit in her chair bundled up by her fire doing nothing. At a standstill. Whoever it was, they were not likely to leave unless she were to tell them so. They were decidedly not a threat. They’d gotten past Sheepstealer and the hill tribes unscathed. They came in peace. Perhaps to seek shelter from the storm.

They did not mean her harm. She repeated it to herself. Sheepstealer would come thundering from his cave to her side in an instant if he sensed her hurt or distressed. Nettles let her fear go and let her curiosity overtake her as she rose from her chair and threw open her door. Bringing in wind, snow, and someone that haunted her memories.

“Netty.” Nettles stood as still as a tree trunk. Rooted in the spot. She couldn’t move if she tried. Her dusky eyes went wide. Mouth parting. A simple word spoken with his voice. His steady voice. A voice she’d recognize anywhere. That whispered and told her secrets which lit up the sky. Standing in his skin wearing his face. His violet warm eyes gazed down upon her. Crinkling around the corners when he would laugh.

A face that it would take a lifetime to forget and even then she did not think that it could fully fade from the edges of her mind. His actual person. He was at her doorstep. In the flesh. In the middle of the last winter storm.

The Rogue Prince. Daemon Targaryen. It was impossible. A ghost must be before her. He was a ghost. He was not made flesh, blood, and bone. The only explanation for it. He could not truly be standing before her with the hint of a smile upon his lips. Her man was standing before her and she could not deign herself to believe it. To give herself hope.

Nettles had at one point, early on, convinced herself that he had lived after the battle over the God's Eye. That he was coming for her. For her. Like in a song. Her very own song. The brown skinny bastard girl from Hull believing in songs. It was ridiculous. She knew that. Hope was a dangerous thing. It drove men mad. There was no point in false hope, but she hoped and prayed to the Gods. Gods who seldom answered her prayers, but it was something.

When Rhaenyra fell and her half-brother Aegon II shortly after it became clear enough Daemon had met his end along with the rest. He couldn’t have survived his fall off Caraxes. It was too great a height. The currents were too strong. She convinced herself of it. Willed herself to see the truth. She had to. Caraxes had pulled himself from the water but without his rider. The dragon himself had not survived long.

It had been a suicide mission. The man had gone to his grave. They had never found his body, but whatever had snatched him away from her had been in that lake. No man could survive it. Not even Daemon Targaryen. He could not be before her. It would take an act from the Gods.

“You’re not real.” She closed her eyes and began to back away, back into the warmth of her cottage. She had fallen asleep in her chair. Any moment now she’d awaken. “You’re not real.” He could not be here. She’d wake up alone to the sound of the wind and the crackling of her hearth's fire. “You’re not real.”

A pair of sturdy arms reached out to enwrap her. Cold, but sturdy. They hadn’t lost their mass in their years apart. “Please.” The sound of her door closing did little to calm her nerves. Nettles felt herself being pulled into a solid chest. “You can’t be here.” Her voice quivered, but it was muffled by the fabric of his cloak. He gently shushed her.

Placing a kiss into her dark coils. The young girl felt his hand running circles into her back. That was when the dam broke. “Oh Gods, I’ve finally gone mad.” A light chortle. His laugh. She had missed the sound, but as much as she had longed for it, she could not allow herself to get lost further in her recollections. ”You’re trying to torture me from beyond the grave.”

“You are not going mad, Netty.” He began to brush her hair. Planting another kiss on top of her mane. Trying to coax her to open her eyes. To make her see what was in front of her. She could not. Nettles felt a tear and then another traveling down her brown cheek. Daemon continued to soothe her fright without fail. Pulling her further into his chest. “None of that my sweet girl.” He went to rest his cheek upon her head. The weight was something she could anchor herself onto. “None of that.”

She dared to open her eyes. She couldn’t hold out any longer. Lifting her head from where it was buried to gaze up at him. He had more lines on his face than she remembered. His hair was a bit whiter. He had cut most of the length off. Time ages us all. It did not matter to her. Daemon would always be Daemon. Her Daemon. She’d like to think that she’d always be his Netty.

She was only twenty and five, but Nettles was a mere mortal the same as he. She was small, but not as before. She had gained her womanly weight. Regular hearty meals had seen to it. She was not as young as she once was. Would he like that?

The way he looked at her, Nettles supposed she shouldn’t worry. His violet eyes softened considerably when they met. He had not taken them off her visage since he had arrived. The corners crinkled with mirth. The way she liked best. “Am I a figment of your imagination Netty?” She shook her head. Her voice would fail her. “You are a hard woman to find. Do you know that?” It was her turn to let out a laugh. A belly ache of a laugh. She had not had one of those in a long while.

“You're wet.” The snow upon his coat was beginning to melt from her hearth's blazing fire. It kept her cozy, but it would be hell upon Daemon’s clothes that were half frozen from the chill. He’d be freezing himself if they didn’t get him out of his clothes and into something dry.

“A little nymph wouldn’t let me in when I called upon her.” A teasing smirk, but not a cruel one. Never cruel. She could only fuss over him. Pulling away fully from his embrace to rummage through her cupboards. Jon had left some of his work clothes once in a while when he came to mend things around her cottage. Ever the forgetful man.

Nettles handed a pair of pants and a wool shirt to Daemon without much thought. “She believed me a grumpkin come to snatch her up or a trick of her imagination.” He traced the scar on her nose with some affection before his smile dropped when he took hold of the clothes.

“They belong to a friend.” She blurted out when he raised a silver brow at her. Realizing her mistake all too late. Daemon inspected the pants in his hand as if they were made of spiders. A part of her wished to put him at ease. It was not how it looked. Yet, what could he expect? He had wanted her to move on. He had vanished from the face of the earth for five years. Five long years. A winter of her life, of their life together, gone.

“He’s a friend.” Nettles had begun to wring her hands in an attempt to compose herself. Not knowing where to look so she turned her head to face the fire. “Jon. A sheep herder's boy. He comes by sometimes to help around. He’s sweet, but—” She needn’t say more. He wasn’t Daemon Targaryen.

The former rogue prince simply hummed in reply. Moving towards her changing screen. Five years. Where had he been? What could he be doing for five years? The questions swarmed around in her head. “How did you find me?” She settled upon that one. She’d rather not rock the boat too much at the moment. Better to start out with one curiosity at a time.

“Ser Robert Rowen.” Her flirtation with the past. Her attempt at returning to things as it was. Half the seven kingdoms must have some idea of where she was now. “You’ve been rather busy as of late.” His teasing smile was back upon his pale brow when he emerged from behind the screen, but she could not return it.

So much time had passed. So many mysteries. Where were you all this time? She wanted to ask. Why had you left me for so long? Have you been searching for me? Did you even attempt to? So many answers to an ever-growing list of mysteries. One down. Again she fixed upon another.

“Do your children know where you are?” Why was he not on Driftmark or better yet Kings Landing? His son was king. His boy. A king, but a boy nonetheless. A boy of ten name days. Still very much in need of council. Of fatherly advice.

His eldest children were scarcely younger than herself. His second daughter, Lady Rhaena, was freshly widowed. The comfort of a father would do wonders for her. A gloomy thought overtook her. What if he had just come to satisfy his own curiosity? What if he had expected a silver-haired child to be waiting for him? He had left her with his babe in her belly. His seed. Was he disappointed in what he had found?

She brought her arms up to wrap around herself. Drawing in her own strength. She did not wish to trap him. She never had and she most certainly would not start now. If all he had wished was to inquire of her well-being he had done so. He had his answers. Daemon Targaryen was more than welcome to trek back from wherever he came from. Nettles had survived perfectly well without him. She could do so again. “Surely you must return to them.”

“And you to your sheep herders boy.” Jon. Of course, he would question her about the nature of their relationship or the lack of it. A friend meant many things to Daemon Targaryen. He had his share of many friends over the years. Perhaps Nettles should have left the subject, but there was no other way to explain why she had the clothes. He would have asked either way. “Is that what you would like? Do you wish to continue to have him warm your bed?”

Daemon had always been a possessive man. Not even the brink of death or only the Gods knew he had been, could change that. He did not mean it out of anger truly. It was simply his nature. She remembered the looks some of Lord Mooton’s men gave her when they had stayed at Maidenpool. Nettles had never been a great beauty, but she had attracted enough attention from menfolk.

She had not so much as looked at the men twice, but that did not stop his temper. The blood of a dragon. Nettles recalled how he would challenge the men who became too familiar with her. Nearly cutting down one lad during what was supposed to be a friendly sparring session.

She could not fault him for his jealousy. She herself was well acquainted with the emotion. During their time she had never had a proper claim to him. Yes, she had his heart, his soul even, which were both given freely, but not him.

Nettles would lie awake some nights. Eons ago. Coveting a title which did not belong to her. It had already been claimed by another. No matter how fraught their relationship was, it was a sin in the eyes of the seven. Yet she could not help it. Mayhaps the heart does not know sin or mayhaps it does. She had thought so when her head was called for. When she lost her babe. She had condemned herself to a life of half-seclusion in penitence.

He went to her. Tried to, but Nettles shied away from his reach falling back into her chair. A wall. She had to put up one. For both their sakes. Question and she would not allow things to be swept away. He had a tendency to do that. When they were at Maidenpool. Everything he had held back from her.

The brown girl supposed it was to protect them both. The most intimate he had been was within their bed chambers. When all was quiet around Lord Moonton’s castle. When they lay as naked as the day they had been put on this earth. Bathing the stress of the day off one another. When his member was inside of her. Sometimes when she pretended to sleep she would catch him whispering adorations muffling it into her hair with a kiss.

Daemon had only stated his feelings in truth when it had all been too late. Those six moons felt like a lifetime, but they had so little time together, but it did not take a lifetime to know someone she had found.

“Forgive me.” He looked embarrassed for his outburst. Nettles spotted a tick in his jaw from the corner of her eyes as he moved his gaze toward the fire. It was gone in the blink of an eye. Perhaps some of his blood had cooled. “I do not care what green boy has stuck his cock in you.” The Rogue Prince had ever the way with words. “That matters not now.”

“They know where I am.” Two. “Baela does at least.” Daemon sighed as he brought a rough hand up to his face to rub down. He was too weary to argue. She could see that. Nettles did not wish to exhaust him further, but she did wish for answers. She had to know. She needed to know if this was real. “I’ve lived out my myth. They do not have a need for me.” Three. Not as she needed him. Perhaps not as he needed her.

“I was not well.” He bent down to take her brown hand in his pale one. Playing with digits. Nerves. Daemon Targaryen was nervous. Nettles would’ve descended into jolly hysterics at the sight if the situation did not call for seriousness. “If I had been able to— if it was at all possible, I would have come to you.” He dropped her hand to take her head between his hands.

She did not flinch from him this time as he placed his forehead to hers. Drawing circles into the side of her face with the pads of his thumbs before pulling back slightly. “Nothing would have kept me from you.” Brown met violet irises. “Do you wish for me to go?” Four and a question for a question. He called her bluff. Her terms. It was up to her now. She would blink as he had. For what else was there to do, but allow themselves some happiness after a storm?

His eyes softened when she shook her head. Five. “No.” A whisper. If he had not pressed himself to her he would’ve been unable to hear her faint reply. He continued to stroke down her cheeks as he let out a breathless chuckle. A balm to his weary soul.

Despite their age, there was something innocent in his violet orbs. Childlike even. She wondered if her expression mirrored his own. Nettles let herself imagine it. To hope. To dream. For there was no harm if they shared that very same dream. A million images flashed through her mind. Reality is not so simple. So easy. It had never been so easy for her, but perhaps it could be. Perhaps it would be.

“I’m here for as long as you want me.” He placed a tender kiss on her hand. Bringing it up to his nape she wordlessly repeated his actions. Tracing the scars on the back of his neck. New and old alike. “As long as you have need of me Netty, I will stay my sweet girl.” She had need of him yet.

Ao3 Link:

#house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #hotd #daemon targaryen #nettles #prince daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #nettles asoiaf #daemon x nettles #nettles x daemon #daemon targaryen x nettles #dattles #dettles #daetty #detty #houseofthedragon #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #bnhotdfic

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avampyone · 4 months ago

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Prompt 16: Wayward Son

Characters: Ange B'londe, Takahiro Ashida, Gabriel Devrau, mentions of Hemlocke.

Synopsis: In keeping busy with looking out for those he's sired, Ange continues to avoid the far more complicated business of his own son.

Setting: In the depths of the Great Gubal Library.

Warning - Blood, suggestive themes.

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“...In the end, it was nothing more than a third-rate production and a waste of my time! I think I would have a better time flaying myself.” Ange complained aloud in all the dramatic flair of an esteemed critic. Every now and then, he recalled flicking away the burning ash from the slender black clove that lay betwixt two fingers after a relaxing intake of smoke. It did nothing to settle his frazzled nerves.

He wore his usual black immaculate suit with a long black coat settled over his shoulders with the thick curtain of white interlaced with strands of blood red trailing down his back. With his well-groomed appearance, Ange had only just returned from a disappointing trip to the theatre. He had thought it was going to be a dramatic ill-fated romance, but it ended up being a tale about one of those so-called ‘warriors of light’ he had been hearing about.

Good overcoming evil trope – Uninspired and boring for him. The elder vampire sat down on a turned over bookshelf having been careful not to step on the old tomes that lay scattered across the fine marble floors. An equal waste to have such knowledge thrown out as it was, but it was always useful to the ones who sought such or so he found.

The one of whom he spoke with was, Takahiro Ashida, a midlander male with short black hair and brown eyes, covered in many scars. He wore a black far Eastern smock worn and aged from many battles fought, long plaited pants and sandals. In his hands, he wielded a vintage katana with the symbol of a snake entwining about the old hilt with the sharp silver blade well maintained. Every slice through the dummy he practiced first with slicing the wooden hands off at the wrists in two precise movements – stepping forward to slice upward and another down in a quick flash of steel too quick for the eyes to see.

“You know! I wonder if I should make a theatre of my own. It might be a grand idea to meet people and gain new partners in business. I only need to brainstorm on what would make mine a success compared to all others, we could have the finest- “Takahiro sheathed his blade loud enough to stop that outward train of thought, giving the quiet hyur a moment to speak up, “You saw him today..?”

Takahiro’s roughened hands bled from the constant training he had taken part in for hours, like he wished to forget something. It leaked from his hands like a stream onto the floor below, uncaring of the mess or the pain, “I had...a son too once. I do not wish to soak my blade with the blood of yours...”

Gloved hand coming to curl into a fist on his lap, Ange smoked down through the clove as if it were nothing at all now and finally quiet enough to regard Takahiro’s words. His brows furrowed together as if troubled, “It has become very…complicated. But I have hopes he will come around one way or another. You know how *delightful* this world is. He thinks he can co-exist, but it is never that easy.”

“But he is not so much like us either...” The elder vampire brought the clove to put out the burning edge against the palm of his gloved hand without a care and came to shrug his lean shoulders, hands gesturing out, “Let us speak on this more later on lest you become upset, darling. Come, your hands are bleeding again.” Takahiro frowned and staggered forward, shaking his head like the whole conversation might send him into a panic.

The vampire brushed his hand along his back in such a friendly manner that was nothing more than meant to comfort. He brought out fresh white bandages from his pocket like he expected this of his childe, “There, there. I know it becomes lonely here with our few remaining companions. It hardly helps our newest member is out all hours of the night!”

Ange had chosen that moment when Gabriel came stalking along into the room, carrying a jacket loosely from one hand and shirtless with an unamused roll to his pale eyes, “Suck it, old man! At least I’m out having fun with my life – unlike whatever it is you all get up to here. Come on now – this whole bit about living in the shadows, creeping around, hissing at people– It gets old, right?”

“I am quite certain you do enough sucking for the rest of us- “Not stopping the pace to head along to his own living quarters, Gabriel’s full lips perked in a knowing smug little grin. He made no attempts to deny what he knew he was, “Fine, fine~ Have fun choking on the one-inch layer of dust building up in your unoccupied bed. Later!” The blonde waved them away, striding off once again.

Pressing his red lips together in irritation, Ange huffed a little while he had become so engrossed in wrapping Takahiro’s palms – It had been applied a bit too thickly, “He may have a point...It is not good to linger in the shadows, nor avoid these topics.” Takahiro brought up quietly as if seriously considered this when the elder vampire shook his head vehemently, “Tch, not you now too! Now, I think it's a fine time for a change of subject..Hmm. On the other hand, that might be an interesting story for the theatre- “Takahiro made no attempt to suppress his heavy sigh.

#hemlockeffxiv #ffxiv oc #ange blonde #gabrieldevrau #ffxiv original character #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxiv writing challenge #third-rate #IDK felt kinda meh about this one but it works lol

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blxsscd-x-fxrsakcn · 9 months ago

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witch!gabe au headcanons

✧ got funky hair coloring going on, blue-gray fading gradient ( almost looks purple in certain light ) while near the part stays a dark brown. shoulder-length as always

✧ has snake bites, industrial bar, lobe, and helix piercings, and a bridge / earl bar

✧ ( gonna keep liboiron as his fc for now )

✧ non-supernat people think he's got strange tribal lineart tattoos from elbow to wrist. nah, they're otherworldly markings, granting him pseudo longevity via "healing" -- siphoning his own mana reserves constantly ( takes a ton of naps to compensate )

✧ in the middle of his palms are eye tattoos that he can use to "see" into places & traverse beyond the veil betwixt mundane and non-mundane

✧ wood and metal's easier to be able to peer through. stone isn't, especially black onyx / volcanic-ash infused materials

✧ allergic to charcoal products

✧ his tats seem ( are ) sentient, telling him important things -- daily life tips alongside prophetic omens ( like that one comic strip with the woman getting possessed by a demon, but in actuality the demon is helping her out of a depressive funk )

✧ said patron 'deity' is one of those strange long-forgotten gods that everybody never gets the name right of. he just calls them steve.

✧ total whiz with spells, hexes and curses that have to do with words / wording ( e.g., a client walks around with a hexed stone / bag in their pocket, and their harasser goes to speak their dead name only to instead say their personal chosen one )

✧ finds out he can dreamwalk, which is another gift he isn't quite accustomed to yet

✧ also REALLY INTO plant magic, just fyi

✧ thinks social media "witches" are stupid and essentially all just money-hungry grifters

✧ is a "can't sit straight to save his life" bisexual and has a death-head hawkmoth familiar ( which can come alive from a tattoo across his throat / make smaller copies of itself )

✧ he likes humans, angels & angel-adjacent monsters, minotaurs, gnolls, kobolds, & cat types, orc and orc-types, werewolves & werebeasts in general, satyrs, centaurs. the fae occasionally veer into uncanny valley territory. not too much a fan of vampires, though. or zombies / ghouls / thralls

#❝ nothing is ever certain ❞ ✧☾ { headcanons }#[ witch!gabe tbt. ]

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banerpg · 1 year ago

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DUSK BLADE / NAME UTP

ROGUE ( WOOD HALF-ELF ). IDENTITY UTP. ( 26+ / 326+ ). Faceclaim Utp ( poc ).

Not all victims of the Great War had fought within it. Some would suffer after, in the trials which shadowed the wake of a shattered land. Your father had been captain of the elven guard, serving Elendim and its king for a thousand years prior to Asgrim’s end. And your birth came then — a tentative union betwixt elf and mortal — in a town before the realm was known as Rinlun, before the elves had barred their borders to preserve what remained of the good. The product of a venture to restore numbers lost, you were born as half the blood of a fading race, and half of another that wanted you dead. There was no peace to be found with mortal men, no matter how much your parents desired the joined lives of both their kin. They were caught in the midst of these animosities, in a skirmish that left only you to bury them. You found those men, eventually, and took your vengeance in the night — you’d always been good at blending in — and met something of an elven rogue in the gloam, a prince both cowled and cloaked, with the moon dead-dark above you. It had been some time since you’d seen another of your kind, caught in the war of those left behind, deciding who lives and condemning who dies. Then proffered a place amongst others like you, the last two centuries saw you in Miras, immersed in a culture that should have perhaps always been home to you. But it’s time to pick up your knives, assassin, and return to a fight that still has its claws in you. Having pledged yourself to your elven kin, you are tired of losing family — a tale NIGHT SHRIKE shares with you — and take up the role of guard that your father held before you.

DUSK BLADE IS CLOSED AND THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS DEXTERITY.

#dusk blade #closed

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johntylermounce · 1 year ago

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"But one doesn't forget their superficial studies thy classic, this conventional defense is valid, the logical construction."

-John Tyler Mounce

Along with,

"A told piñata of thy merciful mayhem, to betwixt a leverage of facet to imagine; those that belief to dreamin'."

#JohnTylerMounce

http://poetizer.com/johntylermounce

#quoteoftheday #quotes #life quote #beautiful quote #book quote #quotation #nuclear lithos #Christmas Eve 2023 #redbubble #findyourthing #SoundCloud

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tenebriism · 2 years ago

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"wait. don't hurt them."

kaeya grabs diluc's wrist, stopping him before he can set his claymore alight and take even one step further towards the hilichurl camp. the look on his face is a faraway one, gaze flicking to and fro between the creatures as they communicate with each other in a language that sounds, to the untrained ear, more like animalistic grunts and shouts than anything else.

"those two over there ---" kaeya points to the right, "--- they're just kids, 'luc. the bigger one is scolding the littler one for venturing so far away from the camp unaccompanied. the littler one is insisting he did nothing wrong. they're bickering just like siblings do." kaeya pauses, giving diluc a watery smile. "i just ..." he starts, then falters. "i ... they aren't hurting anything, 'luc. they're not threatening the city. they're not storming the walls or causing any trouble. they may be ugly beasts, but ---" he sucks in a sharp breath, "--- maybe, just this once ... we should leave them be. mercy costs us nothing."

" . . . what do you MEAN leave them be ? Kaeya, for Archon's sake, they're--- " He stops short of the conclusion of his statement, when finally his eyes land upon Kaeya's oddly REFLECTIVE expression. If Diluc didn't know any better, his younger brother could understand and CONNECT with these beasts. As if driving a blade through their chests is some heinous crime, in and of itself ( but, then, how many of these have they slain, either together or individually, in the past ? Why, NOW, is it such an issue ? )

There's something ABOUT this supposed ' interaction ' betwixt the hilichurls that has Diluc actually CONSIDERING Kaeya's out-of-blue proposal, as irritating as it is. So easily could he make another routine jab at the knights for neglecting to do a job, but here, now, it doesn't feel right.

Even beyond that, Diluc . . . doesn't feel like arguing with his brother, right now, who is clearly experiencing something the eldest Ragnvindr may never understand.

" Fine. Yet, if this comes back to bite us one day, it's on you. Understood ? " His ire simmers to a dull irritation, claymore returned to its manifested holster. It's more the wasted TIME, than anything, that has his mood souring further by the minute, but he supposes a temporary lack of productivity is a fair exchange for not widening his rift with Kaeya. " If business has concluded, we're heading back. We've wasted ENOUGH time here. "

#aalberich #[ diluc eyeing his brother later on like: what are you hiding??? ]#muse ;; DILUC ( ANSWERED ASK )#;; queue

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lacklusterhero747 · 2 years ago

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An Experiment in Guided Character Creation

Because of schedule changes with my work, and people being busy with life, I found it hard to keep up some of my local tabletop gaming opportunities. But I have also found that it gave me the option to do something nice for one of my coworkers.

Graciously, a friend of mine who's really never played D&D at all decided he wanted to start running a 5e game for me and several of our other coworkers, and with my sudden surplus of time, I offered to alternate games with him on Sunday nights after work so he could also have the chance to play, which of course he jumped at. So I polled the group and asked what they would want to play and they all selected Curse of Strahd.

A choice they may yet live to regret.

Regardless, since several of the players are relatively new, and the last time we made characters as a group for his game, I did a lot of the heavy lifting of helping everyone make their characters, I decided that for my game I would do a sort of guided, narrative infused character creation process, inspired by Adventurer's League packet for Ravenloft: Mist Hunters, going full production value on it with some excellent background music provided by the YouTube channel RPG Music Maker - Travis Savoie.

The process involved a series of read aloud sections designed in part to turn character creation into a sort of Bethesda RPG-esque (or maybe something more akin to Larian Studio's Baldur's Gate 3) character creation screen that could keep everyone working on the same steps at the same time, but also a method by which I could convey the tone of the world and genre that the players had chosen to exist in. I also featured a fair number of questions to prompt the players to think about their characterization in this process as well, hoping that I could urge them to create and deepen roleplaying hooks that would be useful in the game to come.

Though a lot of the text is lifted and adapted from the Mist Hunters packet, several of the questions I asked are purely my own, and I'm still proud of the results. The script I used follows:

You find yourself seated at a small table in a cramped, smoky teahouse. Thick, tallow candles shed dim light—the only light—throughout the room. An intricately patterned bone teacup and saucer is nestled atop a delicate lace doily. At the center of the table, steam curls from the spout of a silver kettle decorated with etchings of ravens in flight. At first, you believe the table is set for only you, but slowly, you realize you are not alone. X (x being the number of players + 1) other chairs like your own ring the table, and all but one of them is occupied by an indistinct shade of a person. You imagine them to be likewise confused and taking in their surroundings in a way not too dissimilar to how you are now. Slowly, your fellow travelers begin to resolve, transitioning from shadowy impression to fully realized being, replete with form and color.

Here, I had each player give the basic physical description of their character, specifically their species/lineage, but also their fashion and any other distinguishing features they wanted to highlight, while allowing them the brief chance to react to the strangeness and roleplay if they wanted to, but reminding them that the remaining aspects of their characters, such as their class and background could be revealed in due time.

A moth-eaten curtain on the far side of the room opens, and a shrouded being enters the room carrying a human skull, gilt in silver and glass. They peer at you from beneath their cowl with eyes like glowing points of amber and consider you quietly before approaching the table. "Welcome, travelers. How fortunate you are to find yourself here, in the place betwixt." They gently lift the top of the skull away—revealing the dried tea leaves and a slender silver spoon contained within. In turn, they scoop a measure of dried leaves from the skull with practiced grace and sprinkle them into the teacup in front of you before filling the cup with water. “This tea is special; indeed, a rare treat,” the otherworldly tea-monger says. “To those who can appreciate it, it can—nay will—provide the answers to many questions—even those that you don’t know you have.” “Smell the tea…lean over and breathe in the steam. It’s likely that the tea will smell differently to each of you as it sends your sleeping mind into its past.” The scent is pungent but not unpleasant, unique to each of you. As the aroma teases your nostrils, your mind stirs and suddenly you feel more aware of the whole of your being than perhaps you ever have before.

At this point, I had each player roll for their ability scores. Typical 4d6, dropping the lowest, and assigning them as they pleased before assigning their modifiers (+2 to one stat of their choice, and +1 to another, per the method described in Tasha's Cauldron of Everything). Still, I did manage to inject a bit more theatricality into the process by obligating them to roll with the dice provided:

“Now, my friends,” the being whispers, “drink deep of the tea and let the mists of your own past reveal their secrets. You cannot know where you are going without first understanding where you are from. You cannot welcome others without first accepting yourself. You cannot prepare for the future without first facing the past.” For a moment all seems normal as the flavor of the hot tea lingers on your lips. And then your mind is sent reeling. For a moment you feel as though you are trapped in a sort of peculiar gravity, your body at once leaden and yet weightless. Up and down, forward and back, become meaningless distinctions. An unknowable period of time passes. Seconds or minutes, perhaps even hours, but eventually the fog in your mind begins to coalesce, images and memory dancing across it like the light from a stuttering projector, guided by the shrouded being’s haunting voice. “What seed was planted in your youth that grows now to fruition? What is your background?”

Here I helped them choose their backgrounds and mark down their skill proficiencies, tool proficiencies, and languages (if any) they gained from their background, as well as the background’s Feature and starting equipment. Personality Traits, Ideals, Bonds, and Flaws I told them will come later. And while we did this, I also had their mysterious host pose them some questions to consider:

What is the world you hail from like? What was the culture you were brought up in like? (Anything between typical medieval fantasy and Jack the Ripper’s London was acceptable. Steampunk and Magic punk style settings like Eberron were also acceptable. After all, Ravenloft can steal its heroes from anywhere.)

In your earlier days, before you became an adventurer, what was it that motivated you? Did you have a profession?

How did the condition of your existence define you? Did you love to work, or did you work to live?

Do you have a family? Who are they? Do you still keep in touch or are they long lost to you?

After long moments locked in the theater of recollection, the voice continues, urging you through the veiled halls of the decrepit crypt that unfolds within your mind. “What event transpired that led you to choose a different path? What is your class?”

At this point I had all them pick out their character classes and mark down their starting hit points, class proficiencies, starting equipment, and level one class features. Also, during this process, they were given more questions to consider:

What catalyzed you to begin your life as an adventurer? How did you view becoming an adventurer? Fated? Hopeful? Pragmatic? Reluctant?

Your peers know of you because you possess a Feat that places you above the rank and file. What is it? Was it talent, naturally gifted, or is it a skill you developed through training? (This question exists specifically because I have a house rule where I grant every character, not just variant humans, a free feat at level one and it seemed as good a place as any to put that step of character creation in play and help them choose.)

Have you had a noteworthy previous adventure? How did it go?

Did you gain any fame or notoriety beyond your immediate circle early on in your career due to your abilities or talents? Did it earn you a moniker?

Have you witnessed any great horrors in your adventuring career? If so, how have they left their mark on you – physically, mentally, emotionally? How do you cope with it?

More time passes, as visions churn in your mind, emerging from the mist like specters before collapsing back into the fog. Again, the being speaks to you. “Reflect upon your demeanor, your motivations, desires, and dreams laid bare. Insights are never possible through the stories we tell ourselves alone in the present. Allow the tea to continue to illuminate you.”

Finally, we reached the point where I wanted them to pick out their Personality Traits, Ideals, Bonds, and Flaws, and told them they could use the tables from their backgrounds to inspire them, but first, I wanted them to pose some more questions for them to consider. Help them shape what those other answers might have been in their own way, rather than what was in the book if they felt so compelled:

What makes your skin crawl? What can turn you from a hero into a whimpering babe? What is your seed of fear? (Seeds of Fear are a mechanical idea introduced in Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft and play directly into the expanded role of the Fear Condition and Stress mechanics which we decided we would use, as well as offering them something they could potentially gain inspiration from in game by roleplaying it well)

Though we might struggle against them, many a creature is as much a product of the better angels of their virtue and the darker demons of their vice as they are of their willful choices. Which virtue best describes you (Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Kindness, Patience, Humility) and which vice? (Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, Pride)

Are you rational or passionate? Do you take considered action, driven by logic? Or are you led by your heart, leaping before you look?

How self confident are you? Do you stride boldly forth, self assured in your choices, or do you constantly question your own motives?

Are you sophisticated or superstitious? Do you fancy yourself to be well educated and experienced? Or do you rely on homespun wisdom, informed more by ritual and folklore?

What is your greatest love? For what or whom would you make sacrifices? Anything? Nothing? And would you sacrifice yourself? Or would you rather sacrifice someone else?

What is your greatest regret? Do you have any memories that haunt you at night?

What fascinates you and draws your interests? Art and Philosophy? Magic or Monsters? Swordplay and Warfare?

What are your habits? Do you have any patterns in your life? Rituals which you feel compelled to enact?

How strong is your faith? Are you the sort to go only on high holy days or are you truly pious? Or do you instead believe that the gods care little for mortals and you are on your own?

Do you have a hope or a dream? Something that you want or need? What desire, hidden or not, continues to drive you.

Questions posed, I think had them turn to their ideal, bond, flaw, and personality traits, using the chosen background and their answers for inspiration, or allowing them to simply roll if they preferred. I also told them that their personality traits could be changed or added to whenever they found a good reason to do so. These elements were not necessarily locked in stone as people are allowed to grow and change.

Finally, the fog begins to fade completely from your mind and you find yourself in the dark, smoke filled tea house once again. The being, seated in the Xth seat (Again, number of players +1), closes a tome, one you had not been aware it had even produced, in which it had been writing and recording your meditations, and returns quill to ink pot before it spreads its arms wide, indicating that it speaks to all of you. “The tea has shown you what it believed you needed to know. You have learned about yourself today, but your journey has only just begun.” The shrouded figure motions to you to look down at the table before you, where you see that both tea cup and saucer have been replaced by a small package, wrapped in black paper and topped with a ribbon of frayed, yellowing lace. Next to this sits an envelope, likewise of black paper, gilt with silver and sealed with red wax. “Take with you the treasure you find within, and mind the invitation you have been given..."

Here, finally, I had each of them roll 1d100 and consult the horror trinkets table from Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft. Just a funny little something for them to carry with them into the game... but something I fully intend to find a way to weave into the narrative if I can manage it.

Ready or not, your lives are soon to be forever changed, Mist walkers…” Its final words spoken, the being rises from its chair to retreat back behind the curtain from which it emerged, taking it's heavy tome along with it. Somewhere in the gloom around you, a grandfather clock chimes 13 times as one by one the candles in the room flicker and go out, guttering as a chilling breeze sweeps through, bringing with it a rising veil of fog. When the last candle is extinguished and all is cast in darkness, you suddenly awaken with a frightful start in more familiar surroundings, still resting wherever it was that you laid your head when you fell asleep the night before. Clearly the vision must have simply been a nightmare… a hallucination of bad food or too much drink… but no… As you take in your surroundings you see it... your eyes catch sight of a small box, wrapped in black paper, torn open and its lace bow discarded, and the unopened invitation, still sealed with red wax…

When it was all said and done, the players had a great time and they had completed characters, set and ready to step into the mists of Ravenloft and set out to tackle the Curse of Strahd. We probably wont actually get to play again for a couple more weeks, but that's fine. It will give them more time to ruminate on their characters and me ample time to prep.

I think, rather than running them as level 1 characters through Death House, I will instead use The House of Lament from Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft. I think it will give them more chances to really experience the haunted house vibes the setting can offer, and more time and ease of getting used to the Fear and Stress mechanics we will be layering onto the game.

Either way, I am very excited.

#ttrpg #role playing games #fiction first #5e d&d #character creation #ravenloft #curse of strahd #spooky vibes

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